#an entire essay can be written just on one area of this man's face

[i-am-church-the-cat]

omg we were talking about logan's eyes earlier but this pic of them is sooo heart eyes i thought you'd appreciate

oh my god... the ring of dark blue..... the lighter green with literal flecks of gold as they get to the pupil..... the smaller flecks of dark blue that adds dimension....... did an artist paint this? has someone done an artistic analysis of his eyes? bc i will. i lack some qualifications but i will

[hideawaysis]

ferris boyd, and remaining altruistic in the face of adversity

or: in which i overanalyze a children's book and write an essay about it.

(cws for discussion of child abuse, and also spoilers for "true (..sort of)" if you've never read that. 2,700+ words long not counting the screenshotted paragraphs from the book, this is much longer than your average tumblr post, be warned)

"true (...sort of)" by katherine hannigan is my favorite book. this is no secret. my url is a word originally created for the book. i talk about it constantly, especially about wanting more people to talk about it with. i practically became one of the characters from it. this book means a lot to me, and if you're a friend of mine i will more than likely recommend it to you at least once, regardless of whether or not you like reading.

there are many reasons for this. it takes a concept that feels as if it's been done to death (troublemaker kid cleans up their act via the power of ✨friendship✨) and executes it in a way i've never quite seen before. it goes extreme lengths to have you sympathize with all of its prominent characters on at least some level, even the ones who do harm. it's a tale of solace through pain, and the way people can heal inner wounds simply by sticking it out with each other.

by far the highlight of the book, however, and the answer i've received every time i've asked my friends who their favorite character was, is ferris boyd, and the way she's written. we don't usually get her pov -- out of all 74 chapters of the book, a whopping one chapter (chapter 8) is dedicated to seeing things through her eyes -- but by the time the story's come to a close, we feel as if we've learned a lot about her, and most importantly we feel as if we've learned these things with our protagonists.

when we first meet ferris boyd, he is a boy in a beat-up car with a trailer hooked to the end of it, a boy sitting next to an older man with a sadness in his blue eyes so haunting it remains with the protagonist, delly, even after she's left the area. then we learn that this is not a boy -- actually, this is a girl, who for whatever reason does not speak, and cannot be touched or yelled at or else she'll spiral into a panic attack.

then we find out that the sadness we first saw in that impala permeates her entire being. in class, ferris often has her face down on her desk, either asleep or just too miserable to keep her head up. we at least know she's too miserable to do her schoolwork. delly describes her as a disaster, and it shows.

but when recess rolls around, we see a different side of her. we see a side of her that is still sad, but in a way free to do as she pleases. though, this personal idea of freedom conflicts with what you'd expect from a kid her age. with any other 11-year-old, you'd expect freedom to be running around with their hands in the air, squealing with delight with a huge grin on their face. but ferris boyd's freedom is as quiet as she is -- her idea of freedom is sitting against a tree and reading a book as squirrels scamper over her legs.

and from here, we get to know her more and more. she likes to play basketball, and she's really great at doing so. she takes care of a black cat named mowr, who stays by her side whenever possible. she has a rickety treehouse out in the woods where she likes to sit and read. she doesn't speak, but if she wants to get your attention she'll slap her thigh or clap her hands. and while she doesn't like to be touched, not all physical contact is frightening to her -- she can't handle having her arm grabbed, but being leaned against or having her hand held isn't so bad.

the most stand-out quality that we pick up on, however, is ferris boyd's altruism towards others. apart from rb, she evidently has one of the kindest hearts out of every character in the book. she's incredibly selfless, and based on the many examples we see throughout the book, she seems more willing to help others than herself.

the first instance of this altruism that we see is in the very first chapter that we come to know her, and the only pov chapter for her in the whole book. as ferris is unpacking her things, she hears a rustling in the bushes, and as most people would, goes to investigate. she finds a black cat there, who we soon come to know as mowr, and feeds it.

now, this is a significant display of kindness under any circumstance, but here it's particularly sweet of her to do for a few reasons. for one, black cats are one of the most disliked kinds of cats in the world due to the superstitious belief that they bring bad luck. but there's another reason why this is so kind of her, too, and one that i didn't pick up on until very recently.

i remember going in with the assumption that mowr was a stray when this scene came up, and i'm sure many other people did too. but here's the thing: if mowr really was a stray/feral cat, it wouldn't be acting like this in this scene. if it were a stray, it would've gotten out of there the moment it saw ferris boyd. it certainly wouldn't have meowed, seeing as cats typically only meow to get the attention of humans, and a stray typically wants the opposite. and sure, it perhaps would've taken the food, but it definitely wouldn't have let ferris pet it.

putting this fact and the fact that this cat was at a house that'd recently been moved out of, i can only really come to one conclusion: the text is trying to imply that mowr was owned by the previous residents of the old hennepin place, and was left behind when they moved away. and, considering how ferris boyd responded to mowr, appears she gleaned this as well. i don't really have to tell you why taking in a cat that was recently abandoned by its owners is such a caring thing for her to do.

as we get to know more about ferris, we get to know more about her kind-hearted nature as well. there are a few examples here and there, such as her giving delly, somebody who at this point she's only known as the loud, angry girl who fights people and misgenders them to their faces, a second chance, or when she persistently tries to teach rb how to shoot a basket, even when he tries to throw in the towel. but one of the most significant examples of her selflessness comes up in chapter 55, when she offers to play novello in a game of h-o-r-s-e in exchange for him leaving her friends alone.

now, at this point in time, ferris boyd is not in the best state. somebody she considered to be a good friend, brud, hasn't come to visit her in weeks, and for all she knows she drove him away by being the quiet, timid girl that she is. with this in mind, plus some things we'll discuss later, it's clear why she'd jump to protect them, and it's obviously a very noble thing for her to do. but there's another layer to this i want to discuss, and one that'll be elaborated on even further later.

right after that screenshot above, this line is written.

this is pretty clearly a one-off simile, but i still found the comparsion between ferris boyd and a lamb really interesting. when you think of a lamb, you often think of innocence and purity, something that, while not the subject of this part of the analysis, will come back up later on. but you also may think of a sacrifical lamb, a symbol of sacrifice and, well, altruism.

in this scene, ferris boyd is the sacrificial lamb. she is running the risk of being ridiculed in order to help the people she cares deeply for. and in the end, she is ridiculed. but not once does she think, "i'm going to be made fun of by everybody if this doesn't go well." rather, she thinks, "i don't want to lose you. if this doesn't go well, you're gone." and when it doesn't go well in the end, she isn't hurt the most by the vitriolic words that've been hurled her way. she's hurt the most by brud, who she gave her trust to, another sacrifice considering the harrowing conditions she lives in, and in return got a non-verbal "yes, i agree" when novello said she was an it.

this trend of ferris boyd being a sacrificial lamb culminates in perhaps her biggest moment in the novel, and the first and only time she uses her voice: in chapter 65, where she saves delly from being sent to an alternative placement school by crying out for her attention.

this is, if you know literally anything about ferris boyd, a HUGE moment of vulnerability for her. up until this one moment, she hadn't spoken a word, presumably out of fear of...something, happening. so for her to go out and shout something at the top of her lungs, after being completely silent for so long...it almost seems uncharacteristic of her. but this isn't just her shouting anything. this is her shouting for her friend's safety. this, like many other things, is a sacrifice, and perhaps her most devastating one yet, seeing as it seems to lead to severe misfortune afterwards.

ferris boyd is, by all means, a very selfless person, always putting others before herself in any situation. but what is it about this part of her that sticks out so much against everything else? what is it about this selflessness that is worth pointing out? what has this feverish rant of mine been building up to?

well, to put it bluntly: based on everything we know about ferris boyd's homelife, she has every reason not to be this altruistic. in fact, one could say she has every reason to be a selfish asshole instead.

while we're never shown explicitly what happens to ferris boyd at home, we do have a lot of things that are implied for us. the first thing that comes to mind are the huge purple welts delly sees on her back while playing in the lake at delaferbia, which, combined with her fear of being touched, paints a pretty clear picture of how she's treated at home. it's noted a few times that her father is often away from home and doesn't even bother to get somebody to supervise her while he's away. also, and this part of the book might actually be in my top favorite lines from it period, we have this:

i really love this part, because it implies SO MUCH. for one, the "mouth that wouldn't speak" line gives the implication that ferris boyd's mutism is, at least on some level, an involuntary defense mechanism, rather than being voluntary as many people read it as. but also, i want to call attention to that last line. "she saw brud hit himself. she flinched, like she felt it."

in this instance, brud is hitting himself in the mouth to punish himself for having a speech impediment. so isn't it interesting how ferris boyd, somebody known for not speaking, would resonate with somebody hitting themself after speaking at the wrong time? more importantly, isn't it interesting what this indicates about her father, who was so affected by ferris boyd so much as speaking to save one of her friends that he tried to move away? and isn't it interesting how, just at the beginning of this story, they'd just moved into town and nonchalantly unpacked their things as if they'd done this many times before? because, more likely than not, they had done this many times before?

the picture that's been painted of ferris boyd's father from just these facts alone is upsetting, to say the least. and, seeing as her mother is never seen in the text or even mentioned as an aside, it seems that the only possible nurturing figure in her life is either dead, has left her, or was never there to begin with.

ferris boyd has every reason to be a bad person. abuse is a cycle, after all, and if she were a bad person, i don't envision anybody blaming her for that. we all know of antagonist characters that used to be sweet when they were younger, until something awful happened to them and they grew into a vicious and brooding person. this trope is so well-known that it has its own page on tv tropes under the name "used to be a sweet kid."

ferris boyd could be a jerk. but she's not one. because while it'd certainly be much easier for her to throw compassion out of the window and go all-out with emotionally fortifying herself, using cruelty to drive others away and prevent herself from giving people the opportunity to hurt her, she's not one to do that. that requires a level of fearfulness she doesn't have, and while yes, ferris boyd is jittery and easily frightened, that doesn't mean she can't be brave. she's very brave, actually, and much stronger than most give her credit for, which is something that's commented on in the text.

if you, the reader, have been paying attention, you will remember that i mentioned lambs being a symbol of innocence. but just as they are a symbol of innocence, they can also be a symbol of the corruption of such a thing. lambs are prey animals, and being so small and unknowing, they're easy for predators to hunt down. but when the predator fails in taking their kill, the lamb survives with torn, bloodied wool, and wide eyes that will never again soften like they used to. and that's something that rings true for ferris boyd. her innocence has been tainted, and it's left her scared and hypervigilant, but she's still alive, and she came back stronger in the end.

oh, yeah. and now that we're on the part of the story in which ferris boyd runs away in an attempt to escape her father, i want to bring this part up.

this part ties pretty much everything together. not only is it another show of ferris boyd's selflessness, her worrying for the wellbeing of somebody who isn't there for her about 75% of the time (and when he is around, he's yelling at and beating her), but also, it just really hammers in my point that, while being rude to others would be taking the easy route, that's just not something ferris boyd has the capacity to do. if she still loves her horrible, abusive father, then why would she not love anyone else?

because while her innocence was corrupted, her gentle, tender heart was not. through everything, she did not forget how to be kind to others. she did not forget the warmth of being vulnerable for somebody else who won't take advantage of that, and though she may be apprehensive about leaving herself vulnerable, she values the love of others much more than she fears being hurt.

because ferris boyd is a sweet girl. she likes animals and basketball and reading, and she would do anything to help her friends, and she likes the funny words her best friend ever likes to make up, and when she blushes she blushes with her whole face and neck, and she falls asleep in the middle of the day sometimes, and she was scared of swimming at first but when she put down her defenses and tried it out it was so much fun that she wanted to do it again after it was over.

because while ferris boyd is afraid of a lot, she's not afraid to end the cycle her father laid out for her. she's not afraid to be kind. the rips in her fleece have not mended yet, but she's willing to help mend the wounds in others.

tl;dr the gif below is ferris boyd

[galadhremmin]

We have derived Caranthir liking the Dwarves (and vice versa) because apparently, Finrod succeeds in every field Caranthir fails, and at this point it's clear this derives from the in-universe writer of the Silm and his own biases. Think about it: "Dark Finwë" , a grumpy, prejudiced lordling, and "Hair Champion", most handsome, noble king, have met with the same people!! Yet the king of the first secret kingdom is everyone's friend, but the prince that trades with them regularly is not... seems sus.

Hence, Caranthir is friends with the Dwarves. (But that is just an interpretation, so you're free to think what you wish, I just have several opinions on in-universe prejudice and the almighty narrative.)

I think that 'we' might actually have been Dawn Felagund years ago. Maybe this reading existed even before that, but I doubt that-- she's been very influential in silm fandom and was long before tumblr was much of a thing. https://dawnfelagund.com/caranthir-the-slandered

I wouldn't say it's 'clear' that what amounts to Caranthir's entire documented personality derives from the bias of the in-universe narrator, though as you can see from Dawn's writing it's a reading you can argue for. There are a number of different approaches you can take to the Silm and its biases anyway. One of the few times when it's absolutely clear the text isn't telling the entire story is when it talks about the Easterlings. I've posted about this before but the recorded names are, uhh.... the ones to betray the elves are unlikely to actually have been named things like 'ugly lord' and 'ugly beard.' 'Dark Finwe' on the other hand is a documented reference to his haircolour being dark like Finwe's own; hardly a negative judgement!

I personally think Caranthir can be exactly as ill-tempered and prejudiced as the Silm paints him without becoming an unsympathetic character. If a writer cannot make a moody, deeply prejudiced man an interesting character that is a failure as a writer; there are after all enough books who manage exactly that. That is not to say choosing not to write him that way is a failure (obviously not), but it's not necessary in order to make a reader feel for him at all.

Just going by the text, I think it actually might make for a more interesting narrative to explore in fic to me. Because he does change his mind about something, and at a very specific moment; when he meets the Haladin. That is much less dramatic if he secretly been as nice and popular as Finrod, and got along with everyone all the time already. He's been raised by Fëanor, who said things like 'No other race shall oust us!' and rallied the Noldor not motivated enough by vengeance for Finwë alone by playing on their deep-seated fear of being replaced by the Secondborn. Very unlikely that had no impact. At best it has made him uninterested in humans in his area (while they're not much of a threat to ruling instead of the elves anyway). The text says they paid them no heed.

And yet! Caranthir sees how brave Haleth and her people are. He 'does her great honour.' He changes his mind and offers them lands. His tragedy to me is not that of a slandered figure, but of this deeply, deeply prejudiced person raised to distrust the motivations of human beings -- who overcomes those beliefs, offers friendship, is rejected! then extends that same trust to the Easterlings anyway... and it's those specific Easterlings, not the ones who ally with his brothers-- who betray them all. And cause the disastrous ending of the Nirnaeth. It's the 'to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well' part of the curse hitting him in the least fair way possible. Someone finally changes for the better, and the outcome is treason and destruction.

That is a very good character arc to me, actually. His aesthetics-based scorn for the Dwarves is reprehensible but strikes me as deeply Elvish, and part of his prejudices. Naugrim is too unflattering a name for them for it not to be common. His temper-- well why can't he have one? Sure there's only one recorded instance -- but that's imo because there are hardly any conversations in the Silm! Anyway I like some people with tempers well enough. Personally I think people are missing out on opiniated grouches.

Obviously the biased anti-Feanorian Pengolodh reading is a nice one, and I have enjoyed a lot of stories written based it. But it's not at all a reading that is necessary for me to read Caranthir as a flawed but sympathetic character. He can have serious faults and still, ultimately, be someone I feel for.

What I was asking though was if I overlooked any canon evidence of Caranthir being particularly, personally fond of the Dwarves; and it seems I did not. Also; there is room for Caranthir growing to like the Dwarves over centuries without an anti-Feanorian bias reading this strong, there is simply no evidence for friendship in the rather barebones narrative (I'm not interested atm because it's wildly overdone to me & I like variety).

That said, in my opinion making Caranthir the hidden, slandered Feanorian Finrod equivalent with a dash of Curufin's Dwarf affection is not as enjoyable as simply working with what little canon character is actually there. Because there is one (and it's not the greedy tax collector of some fanon depictions either imo)

1. To start with, wrt Caranthir as the anti-Finrod, I don't think it works that well. Sure sure dark/light, open/prejudiced, repressed/shouty, but different motivations, different locations, plus they meet very different peoples even if both are Edain-- besides, Caranthir's own older brothers do successfully ally with the Easterlings without betrayal, while Curufin (much more so than Finrod! no Khuzdul for Finrod!) is the Dwarves' Friend(tm). Also, a flawed Finrod already exists. That's just the regular edition. He has his own faults and (very different) tragic arc.

If Finrod never seems to have strong prejudices to overcome, and if he's not confrontational (which... look he's a diplomat. Make of that what you will. Pretty awkward there in Doriath, buddy!) he does have trouble facing his own complicity (he wanted to sail those ships despite the murders) until Sauron beats him to death with it. He leaves Valinor with the idea of ruling but he has to give up the crown. He's ambitious, he seems emotionally repressed, he's.. possibly paying the greater Dwarves to drive the Petty Dwarves out of their ancestral home to build a city? Oops. Depending on the version you go with in that case, of course; there's also ones where he's free of the blame of that one. Not of wanting to sail those ships and being uneasy with the guilt wrt wanting to do so despite their being stolen and murdered for though. No he doesn't kill; but he wants to use the result of it anyway, and to make it worse he is actually half Telerin.

There's also (to be fair, only for sure after the disaster of the Sudden Flame because that's the recorded instance) his guards killing random innocent trespassers to keep his kingdom hidden -- yes, that's right there in Silm, yes he's still King at the time. Beren has to wave that ring. People just seem to miss that he'd be killed without it somehow.

I think it's just too easy to reduce him to the golden perfect opposite of Caranthir. Yes he's described more positively; he's also just mentioned more because unlike Caranthir he rules an actual kingdom, the greatest and richest in Beleriand in fact; and does things that have a lot of very longterm effects, like helping B&L steal a Silmaril. They don't 'meet the same people' anyway -- the Haladin have a different culture from the Beorians which contributes to their reaction to Caranthir (and iirc their later fate).

Sidenote: Dawn's essay attributes the Green Elves helping the Feanorians at Amon Ereb to Caranthir's diplomatic skills; but why not to those of Amras or Amrod? This is the quote; 'Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves' -- nothing here indicates it was Caranthir who got them that aid. In fact A&A are the hunters, i.e. more likely to have roamed in various forests where they would have encountered Green Elves, imo.

There's also the very desperate times to consider in which this aid takes place. This is just post Sudden Flame, and even if the Green Elves didn't like Caranthir they probably liked him better than Morgoth. Also, speaking of cosmopolitans, Maedhros allies with, yes, Dwarves (Azaghal), Grey elves, Easterlings (and you might say: Fingolfinians); even part of the remaining people of Dorthonion rally to Himring post sudden flame (that means Edain and Arafinwean followers in Himring, at least for a time), and he manages to be friendly with Felagund despite calling him a badger. ;)

Finrod is not the only other leader to forge diverse alliances, and though B&L ends happily his people mostly do not. Caranthir's not much like Finrod in any way. Not in motivations, temperament, tragic arc. That's fine. No hidden kingdom for a dragon to eat either. Finrod could probably do with being a little less like Finrod sometimes, though he's well-intentioned and likable. Caranthir loves to shout and isn't sneaky. Good for him.

2. Curufin also already exists. His love for Dwarves is one of his defining and redeeming characteristics and boy does he need them. He's daddy's favourite, a sneaky overambitious bitchy bastard who is also a talented smith and linguist, and truly considered a Dwarf friend, which is apparently exceptional. He's quite flawed; tries to help Celegorm force a political marriage, laughs with a bruised mouth, seeming to lose his mind while attempting and failing murder after first losing his own stronghold and then the city he tried to take from his cousin. He's just... a personality. Mostly a bad one! You can feel for him though, because he seems like an utter mess. Many 'i would love to study you' feelings on my part. Would hate for him to be real but also I'd pay to be his therapist.

3. And then finally there's Canon Caranthir. A difficult, prejudiced person who despite that (which doesn't at all have to mean there is no despite, the despite is what makes it juicy)

- seems to be responsible for re-establishing (large scale?) trade with the Dwarves, whatever he might think of them (and they of him) to their mutual benefit. I don't think he's greedy either. It seems like a mutually profitable situation. Access to Dwarvish goods seems pretty vital to Beleriand, and facilitating trade is a real service.

As someone pointed out in the replies, the Silm does mention Dwarvish companies travelling east to Nan Elmoth and menegroth various times, but quote wrt Caranthir says 'Caranthir’s people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand' and 'when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand.'

They stopped at some point and Caranthir's people made it happen again.

- which means he's practical. He seems like he's good at organising, and setting his own feelings aside if necessary despite his prejudice and temper (which is an achievement it wouldn't be without his, hm, everything). Also he and his people as well as the Dwarves work together well because ''either people loved skill and were eager to learn,' despite their (initial?) mutual dislike. Those aren't bad characteristics; seems like it was an exchange of skill as well as goods and possibly providing safe travel opportunities.

I don't like the 'greedy Caranthir' fanon and don't think it is even that easy support entirely with canon. 'They had of it great profit,' the text says-- both Caranthir and the Dwarves. They exchanged skills and knowledge and Caranthir seems to have helped them start trading in Beleriand again. That's hardly Scrooge Mcduck.

- Another thing we can say about canonthir (lol) is that he apparently attaches a lot of value to aesthetics (was he a visual artist? is a he a sculptor like Nerdanel? WORSE: AN ART CRITIC?! Feanorian art critic is truly nightmare fuel) and that's why he dislikes Dwarves (of all things...). Either way points to 'aesthetics' as something apparently important to Caranthir. Which makes sense given who his parents are. What is interesting to me is that this apparently DOESN'T matter to Curufin, who is a lot like Feanor in most things. That's interesting!

I've never, never seen this but I think it would be very funny to attribute his aesthetic prejudices to Nerdanel. I love her; but why should her opinions be perfect? I know she wasn't considered beautiful herself, but she's an artist. She's got to have had some strong opinions on aesthetics anyway. I doubt it's the beards; Mahtan had one as well. And 'stunted'...at least some of this comes down to the Elvish obsession with height yet again. Hm.

- eventually Caranthir overcomes what have to be some very deeply held beliefs about human beings and their place in the world, and offers what for all intents and purposes looks like real friendship, not the ruling over Men Feanor seems to have had in mind at best. He's capable of real change!

Anyway his character works just fine to me from canon, and what he achieves and the ways in which he fails are more interesting that way rather-- neither slandered Feanorian Finrod 2.0 nor Curufin 'Dwarf Fan' Feanorion without the sneakiness and murder attempts pack the same punch as a stupidly prejudiced grouchy man doing his best anyway for centuries in this stupid ugly cursed land, eventually changing for the better, opening up-- and being brutally punished for it by the Doom.

Dammit. I hope there's therapy in the Everlasting Darkness.

hm a bit long but that's what I get for trying to gather my thoughts wrt why after considering it a bit transferring Curufin's love for Dwarves to Caranthir is a bit boring to me personally. Though there are still stories that still do it very well.

[loser-hub]

All For One.

Summary: There needs to be more content for this gloriously sinister man and I am more than happy to provide! How does it begin? Will you escape his clutches or will you submit to his desires?

Warnings: Yandere Tendencies, Kidnapping, Mild mention of Starvation, Dubcon, Quirk use during sex, Mind-Break and a whole host of degeneracy.

Notes: I tried to make the reader as vague as I possibly could for insert pleasure! GN with as few details as possible so it could be anyone or anything! This is 18+, minors dni. If you'd like to block any content of this nature on my page please put Tw: Heavy Spice in your filtering options!

A/N: I really don't know if I should apologize for this or not, you can see the point it got out of hand so please be warned and take your tastes and limits into account while reading!

A terrible fate has befallen you, hasn't it?

Your meeting was rather innocuous. So easily forgotten despite the feelings time with him supplanted. Long before his debut in the Kamino Ward and before his defeat at the hands of the Symbol of Peace. He wasn't heavily deformed then, he could easily mix in with the crowds and disappear as quickly as he appeared. His shaggy white hair and piercing blue eyes matched only by his stature and smile, the consensus of the humdrum day-to-day passerby was that he was quite attractive. Not that he ever entertained their mindless and painfully obvious observations.

The fateful event happened rather cliché all things considered. It began in a library. Wonders never ceased and he was unsure what compelled him to enter the home of knowledge and entertainment but he never once regretted it. Wandering the sea of books he looked for anything that would pique his interest, he nearly gave up the search until his eyes landed on you. An innocent, tiny thing that perused the history section for your latest essay or project, he never specifically asked why you were there.

He was captivated, captured by your beauty. Staring there at the entrance of the aisle for so long that when you turned you shrieked, believing him to be a well dressed Weeping Angel that you had read about the night before. That was the most embarrassing moment of your life as you apologized to him and to the librarian that zipped to the location to scold you about being too loud. For once he found apologies endearing, cute even, adorable if you feel so inclined and the sheer shock that a creature like you could exist in this world was pushed to the wayside.

The encounter was swift but profound, for him at least. Using his towering height to pull a book from the shelf you were too short to reach and place with the over growing collection. You were stuttering and blushing something fierce underneath his gaze and he had to stop himself from smirking at your bashfulness. He asks for your name and once you divulge it he responds by insisting you call him Mr. Shigaraki. After more insistence from either side hearing his name fall from your lips was like he was graced with hearing the voice of an Angel.

Sadly that's where the meeting ended as your time was up for whatever was going to take up your time next and you needed to scurry away. You wouldn't be forgotten as your face was forever burned in his memory, a fondness churning in the pit of his stomach. He believed everyone else was beneath him, save for his brother, who were all ants that needed to be squashed. You were different and he needed to find out why.

Time passes, as it always does. You forgot your encounter with Mr. Shigaraki and life went on. The day started off oddly, you couldn't place why but the hairs at the back of your neck stood on end. A lingering sense of doom settled in your mind like a dense fog on a dewy spring morning but whatever the reason had yet to reveal itself. This too was forgotten as the day progressed until it was late, late enough for you to seek refuge in your bed. About to drift off to sleep when suddenly your whole room shook, no, the entire area shook like an earthquake had just opened the earth beneath your feet. Looking out your bedroom window you saw chaos, the entire area had been decimated and nothing but rubble remained. Heroes had appeared and began evacuating just in time for your home to collapse.

You drifted in and out of consciousness. The moments where your eyelids were opened you saw none other than All Might, the Symbol of Peace, face down a masked villain in a suit. Shock was written on the hero's face when you called out to him for help, accidentally gaining the attention of the villain as well. If he still had eyes they would be wide and manic, he had not forgotten you of course but there you were. He had searched for you so fervently and yet here you were right under his nose. Your presence, he could feel it using that quirk from the cat rescuer and he instantly knew it was you. What luck. The fight was abandoned when he saw this was his best chance, the rest of the heroes were too focused on fighting off his pawns and All Might was too wounded to move.

In an instant the masked villain moved the rubble that had been pinning you in place and whisked you away.

Your fear was intoxicating. The pleas, begs and sobs that you cried were more delicious than anything he had ever experienced. More euphoric than any narcotic, sweeter than ambrosia. The beats of your hands on his back drowned out by the drumming of his heart, his mouth was beginning to water. He could hardly wait.

Like any self respecting villain All For One had many, many hideouts and safe houses. Many hadn't been used in years, others were still unknown to the heroes, then there was one. The place he took you was far more special, the place he had planned to bring you after that fateful day but never used when you slipped away. Well, you wouldn't escape this time.

For a place that hadn't seen life in years it was surprisingly well kept. Not a speck of dust laid on any surface, a few lightbulbs had died or exploded when he flipped on the lights but the water still ran and there was heat, it would do nicely for the time being. During the short trip via warp gate you had passed out, the silence when it had been delicious begs was disappointing but his signature smile appeared. There would be plenty of time to hear you cry while he breaks you into the perfect doll.

After your "retrieval" he places you on the never before used emperor sized bed and retreats to the lounge chair at your bedside. He sits perfectly still, staring at you much, admiring how much you changed and grew in his absence. A hint of pride bubbles up, he's pleased to know the lovely being he remembers became even fairer and more perfect. The feat would be impossible for any other person but you were made for him, you're his, and you had to be for a man such as him.

When you wake up those beautiful, blissful begs are heard by his worthy ears once again. Behind his life support helmet he sighs, a heavenly breath that you take for annoyance. You cry. "Please don't kill me", "Don't hurt me", "I'll do anything" but oh sweet thing, you're going to do anything he says regardless. You're his. Why would he hurt or kill you? If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead.

It comes as a surprise that he's afraid to remove his facial cover. He might be the Symbol of Evil with plans of world domination but there's a portion of him that is a slave to your desires, just as the world is a slave to his. A sliver of doubt appears as you ask who he is, if he reveals his identity and you ask for proof, his disfigured appearance would revolt you. No blue eyes to see you blush, no hair for you to run your hands through, no lips to feel yours on his.

"Mr. Shigaraki" was the clue he gave you. It was adorable seeing your face go blank as your mind was wracked trying to remember the face. He watched with bated breath as your eyes showed recognition, you remembered him. You remember his face, his smile, his feeling. That wasn't helpful, now you had a face to the person who kidnapped you. Who was holding you captive for...what? Ransom? To be tortured? To be his plaything? Every possibility was worse than the last, each one more dire and inescapable and bleak.

He did his best to comfort you albeit in a deleterious manner. The Emperor of Darkness' weight was displaced from the lounge chair and moved to the bed, his near gigantic form towering over you. Knee pressing into the mattress, causing your body to naturally shift into him. You couldn't move. There was no gap to dash through if your body would get over being paralyzed in fear. The hand that could cover your head was placed on your cheek with uncharacteristic gentleness, a soft gesture that was masked by the sinister appearance staring down at you.

"Fear not, My Sweet." His voice is slightly muffled by the life support, the emotions were unbridled, intense and all together unhinged. He's wholeheartedly delusional, diluted enough to believe he's going to the the greatest Demon Lord who ever lived and would dismantle the world, rule it all the while having your love. He craves it, he needs it, he's desperate for it. It drives him mad and being this close to you sends him to the brink of insanity.

Your limitless stubbornness is as wonderful as it is infuriating. All For One can't have the object of his love be a pushover from the gate, at least not yet. He has to experience the pleasure of breaking you, making you submit to him before you're allowed to follow his orders. He has to make you his Doll first, his obedient, beautiful Doll. That's a tall order and as the days pass his desperation grows. The itch in the back of his mind needed to be scratched and it was becoming clear his tactics were having the effect he desired. You stymied his every attempt, reacted the exact opposite of how he expected. He loved it, the last flame of your fighting spirit getting snuffed out in his raging insistence. He was beginning to wear you down, headway was being made and the inevitable end result was near.

All For One's machinations had increased in cruelness, once he had left you enough water to last a week and nothing else. The food vanished and all you were left with were bottles of water. He was gone for two weeks, it only took ten for you to teeter on the edge of sanity. Devoid of any interaction from the outside world. Only you, your thoughts and the dwindling "supplies". When he returned he was pleased he was greeted with showers of affection, your touch was smothering and your body was pressed to his as close as humanly possible. The last of your will had fled in his absence and now his Doll was in the perfect state to mould to his liking.

That night it begins. You're so needy, so greedy. He decides to indulge you and removes his helmet, confident you wouldn't be repulsed by his scarred visage. He's correct of course, when you were met with the invitation to express your desperation you take it. Your lips wander. Pressing messy and half-opened kisses to his neck, jaw, and whatever remained of his own lips as his massive hands lead you towards the bed. You don't notice until the back of your knees hit the edge and suddenly you're falling.

He's on you in an instant. The bed sinks with his added weight and the heat he radiated replaced the warmth provided by your clothes. Before you knew it his thick yet dexterous fingers were pushing into your hole unprompted, sheathing them down to the knuckle before they were retracted. He was going to take immense satisfaction by making you climax until you were babbling incoherently before even preparing you for his villainous cock.

Which was exactly what he did, denying you orgasm until you were red in the face and sobbing. All For One sat back on his knees in victory, smirking as he watched you wiggle and writhe at the loss of attention. There was one final thing: hearing you finally give into him. He owned your body but he needed to own your mind, your soul, your spirit, everything.

"Say it." In the moment his voice was low, gruff, reverberating throughout your clouded mind to send heat straight down to your nethers. You might've been aroused before but nothing compared to what his voice did to you.

"S-s-say w-wh-wha?" Barely able to form a sentence you willed yourself to speak, if only to repeat whatever he wanted so he would continue with his mind numbing ministrations. The lack of sending you in a desperate rut the likes of which you had never experienced. He was cruel, further denying you what you wanted. His hand so near to your skin that the tiny peach hairs picked up the presence but when your hips bucked to force him to touch you? He left entirely.

"Beg. Beg for me to fuck you, to ruin your body, to corrupt your mind and make you mine. Mine alone."

That was quite the mouthful and you weren't sure if you could say it back but that's what he wanted. Mustering your frenzied will you commanded yourself to speak, to plead for what you so desperately wanted. "Please, please fuck me. Please I need you, I need you, please make me yours. I want to be yours, please!"

Every second, every breath, every thought had been leading up to this moment. All For One was in Seventh Heaven upon hearing your final submittance, exultantly triumphant. Your reward was swiftly delivered, the bulbous head of his cock pressed against the entrance of your hole and with one swift thrust he inserted himself to the hilt. The sharp edge of his hips cutting against the plush of your inner thighs, it hurt, it hurt so much. He had prepared you, scissoring and stretching you, it wasn't enough. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the full stuffing of his cock inside you was enough to make you regret begging him to fuck you, sensing this he didn't move. Giving you time to adjust and acclimate while licking away your salty tears. The heat of his heavy breath oddly comforting.

Once your filled hole stopped fluttering all bets were off. His hips snapped expeditiously in the customary manner of fucking ones Doll till they came undone and fell into unconscious from the exhaustion and pleasure they felt. He was unrestrained. The initial softness and care he showed was the furthest thing in his mind now all that was left was a feral need to fuck his Doll till they were bedbound. He makes sure you know who owns you, using his numerous quirks to let you there was no escape. Musculoskeletal Coiling to make his already bed shattering thrusts harder. Proliferation, creating several pairs of arms and hands to tease you in places all at once. Reaching to grasp at your neck, fingers tweaking your oversensitive nipples all the while more teased and played with places unimaginable. Once using his Air Walk quirk to suspend you both amidst the impactful love-making.

Time had no meaning. Whatever seconds you counted to remember how many times he had made you climax were a distant dream, black spots appeared in your vision, your body somehow numb and pained all at once. The lightest touch was like you had been set on fire. In one particularly lucid moment you swore a drop of his milky cum was sliding past your nose but you don't remember blowing him or snorting it out but in the haze who knows what had happened. Finally the peaceful sleep wrapped you in its arms and carried you off to a safer place for a time.

Just as you passed out All For One finally came. Engorging you to the very brim, his fingers acting as a stopper to keep his demonic cum from spilling out. Whatever was left of the wrecked bed was used as All For One took your limp, sleeping body and wrapped you up in the soiled duvet.

The afterglow shone brightly like a halo while he laid with you. Keeping you flush against him. The plotting began again. Awaiting your eventual awakening to show you the other quirks at his disposal. He was far from done with you. It hadn't been a day since your submission and he intended to keep you as his Doll till you were well and old and your last breath was the escape from his eternal love.

[writtenonreceipts]

How about 4. “I shouldn’t be this attracted to an elf” for rowaelin from the Christmas prompt list?

I had way too much fun with this.  I wrote it quick and sweet.

 #

Santa and his Helpers

Aelin Galathynius did not hate her job.  Quite the opposite in fact.  She taught high school English—mostly to the juniors and seniors—and it was one of the most rewarding things to experience.  Especially when a proclaimed despiser of Charlotte Bronte turned around by the end of the year having written a full-fledged essay about the merits of understanding Jane Eyre in all its complexity and over-zealous language.

The only thing that made the job even more worth while was the fact that she coached for the girls’ basketball team.

Unfortunately, it was basketball that partially made her life slightly miserable.

It was all thanks to one Rowan Whitethorn, the head coach for the boys’ team. To say that he and Aelin didn’t get along was putting it lightly.

The found every opportunity to fight.  When the boys took up too much time in the gym after their week for the early practice time slot or when the boys didn’t clean up enough after themselves.

It got especially worse when Whitethorn, who also worked as a history teacher in the school, attempted to say that there was no literary merit to the fantasy genre.

Aelin was going to stuff an unabridged copy of The Lord of the Rings down his throat and see how he like that.

Things did not improve as the sports season progressed.  Especially not when both the boys and girls were forced to have a holiday party together due to over booking at the Sports Center in down town Terrasen.

“It’s his fault,” Aelin grumbled to Lysandra.

Lysandra rolled her eyes and shoved a plate of cookies into Aelin’s hands. The one saving grace with the basketball season was having Lys as her assistant coach and the both of them could complain together about anything and everything.

“Please Aelin,” Lysandra said sipping at her hot chocolate.  

While the kids from both teams ran around the sports center choosing to play pick-up games of basketball, climb on a rock wall, or settle on video games—the two manned the treats table.  Mostly so Aelin could stuff her face with homemade goods the mothers had all provided.

“He’s an ass, I’m sure he did it on purpose,” Aelin insisted.

“Can we please stop this and have you just admit that you’re kind of attracted to him?” Lysandra asked.

Nearly choking on her cookie, Aelin shot a somewhat terrified look at her best friend. “Excuse me?”

“Well he’s obviously gorgeous,” Lysandra said casually.  “Even you can’t deny that.  Plus, there’s always been some sort of—”

“If you say sexual tension, I will call Aedion and tell him you’re pregnant,” Aeilin threatened.

Lysandra gasped, one hand going to her belly.  “You wouldn’t.  I have been planning revealing this thing for a week.”

“The day I say that Rowan Whitethorn is attractive is the day that you know I have lost my mind,” Aelin said.

Making a noise of disbelief, Lysandra left Aelin for a moment while she went to talk to some of the girls from the team.

Aelin shook her head.  The brunette had to be having some very, very, strange pregnancy hormones going on to think that Aelin would be attracted to Rowan Whitethorn.  He was arrogant.  A hard ass.  Never knew how to have fun.  It didn’t matter that yes; he was basically a god with a very nicely sculpted body. But that didn’t make up for anything else.

Eating another cookie to avoid more than a nod to a few of the parents, Aelin shook her head.  Rowan Whitethorn would certainly be the death of her.

“Ho, ho, ho!”

Aelin glanced up to the doors of the lobby as one Fenrys Moonbeam strut in decked out in a full Santa costume.  Beard askew and all.

All the boys let out whopping cheers and grabbed their phones.

“What is he doing?” Aelin asked one of the boys that she also had in one of her classes.

The boy, Ryan, grinned.  “Coach Whitethorn and Coach Moonbeam lost a bet on how many three-pointers they could sink in a minute.  The team got to pick the punishment.”

Aelin watched in slight horror, slight admiration, as Fenrys bounded around the front area exchanging punches and fist bumps with the boys on the basketball team and a few of the girls.  Fenrys was the favorite PE teach of the school.  Especially given his easy attitude and love of teaching.

“You look great Fenrys,” Aelin said as he approached her.

He grinned. “This thing is itchy as hell, but at least I got this and not what Rowan did.”

Aelin quirked a brow and was about to ask him what he meant when the man in question entered.

Dressed in a green coat and green leggings like something out of the movie Elf, Rowan Whitethorn sulked into the room.

The entirety of the boys’ team whooped and hollered.  Rowan waved a hand and shook his head.  Surprisingly, Aelin found, he was grinning.  Flat out, no shame, grinning.

“Looking great coach!” Ryan shouted.  

“I should hope so, Ryan this is your doing,” Rowan called back in response.

The entire thing was so entirely strange to Aelin that she could only stare as Rowan and Fenrys made rounds with the other players and their parents.

“Damn, he really does have a nice ass,” Lysandra said popping up beside Aelin again.

Aelin nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden appearance.  She really hoped Lys hadn’t noticed her blatant staring at Rowan, but with the way Lysandra was grinning, Aelin knew she was not going to experience a miracle that night.

“Seriously?” Aelin was about to give her friend a hard time when Rowan came over to the refreshment table, accepting a hot chocolate from Lysandra.

“Nicely done, Rowan,” Lysandra said.  She looked him over with appreciation. “Though you really should have found some pointy ears.

“The tights are bad enough,” Rowan said seriously.  “I’m gonna make Ryan pay for this.”

Aelin couldn’t help but laugh.  The man looked so ridiculous and outside of his comfort zone that she still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d actually dressed up.  Rowan shot her a scowl.

They glared at each other with such ferocity that Aelin wondered if one of them would spontaneously combust.  Then she decided to make the best of this situation and she broke into a feral grin.  Rowan frowned, just slightly.

“Whitehorn, who knew tights were such a good look for you,” she purred, immensely pleased when his cheeks reddened just barely.

“I see you didn’t have any trouble finding an ugly sweater this year, Galathynius,” Rowan replied gesturing to her sweater. It was a mess of tinsel and stitching and cats wearing sweaters themselves while decorating a tree.  She loved it.

“I plan on wearing it up until break starts,” she said.

Rowan surprised her once again by smirking—almost laughing with her over the idea.  Then Fenrys called him over to have a layup competition with a few of the girls and boys of the different teams.

Aelin didn’t even care if Lysandra saw her staring.

“I shouldn’t be this attracted to an elf,” Aelin finally admitted, much to her chagrin.

Lysandra howled in laughter and nearly fell into Aelin’s arms.

#

tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[trashiewrites]

The Clueless Bachelor and Bachelorette

(Bruno Bucciarati x Reader)

An: hey everyone, I know this is very different content then CoD but I do want to extend my reaches to other fandoms! I'll still be writing CoD but I'll also reach to maybe other games and anime. I hope yal all enjoy my first published Jojo Fic.

There a lot of responsibility when being a Capo for Passione. Taking orders from the boss, controlling a specific area. The last thing Bruno expected when to deal with constant female attention.

Ahh yes, at the prime age of 20. Perfect age for once to start looking for a partner. Undoubtedly, upon the bachelor's list was his truly, Bucciarati. He really couldn't deny that he's attractive but to say he comes with perks was an understatement. If one was to look at the list it would be quite easy to see that.

Walking down the busy streets of Naples with Girno was even a chore. Next thing a group of young women will be walking down the street "Bucciarati!" To look over at a groupie and see the one that (in his opinion) wasn't very attractive waving at him. He wishes he could ignore all of it, but he has a reputation to keep.

"Girls really have been after you huh Bucciarati?" Bruno look back to the newbie, his brow frowned in the slightest hint of annoyance.

"Tell me about it Giorno... I don't know what happened but I've been getting called at by women all the time now." In the distance again, hearing his name be called. This time he wasn't even bothered to look, he just waved. "I mean at first the attention was nice but I can barely go outside without a woman trying to seduce me."

"I feel that, the curse of being pretty I guess..." Giorno shrugged, Bruno could only sigh. "Let's head back to the others, at least give you a break from outside."

"That sounds like a splendid idea."

As the two walked in the the cafe the gang usually hangs, they enter to see the three huddled. Huddled against a magazine. "Wow, they really have a lot to say about Bucciarati!" Narancia moved his head closer to the book.

"Hey watch it! I'm trying to read too!" Mista pushed Narancia's head away.

"What are you all reading?"

"Oh hey, boss?" Mista closes the magazine and pulls it behind him.

"Mista! What the hell! I was reading it!" Narancia pulled on Mista's arm, getting up and personal.

"Like hell you are! You probably can barely read dumbass!" Abbacchio sighed as the two were two seconds away to pulling out the stands.

"To answer you Bucciarati, they're reading that new Local Bachelors and Bachelorette magazine."

"And I'm in it?" Bruno whispered to himself, "hand it over you two!" Mista seemed hesitant, it couldn't be that bad right? "Now, Mista" sticky fingers began to appear from over Bucciarati's shoulder. He shoved it into Bruno's hands and stormed off elsewhere. Bruno felt bad but was too intrigued by this magazine mystery to pursue it.

He gently flipped to the pages to reach the number 1 bachelor and "This is worse then I thought..." Giorno peered in, looking from the side. He noticed how much was written exactly. And well the pics were certainly something.

"Bucciarati, do you remember taking those photos? How did they get ahold of them?" The be frank, Bruno was busy reading the almost a thirst essay about himself to even notice the picture.

Giving the pictures a glance he was surprised he recognized them.

"I remember these..."

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

Sunlight shined softly down the busy Italian streets. Tourist and locals alike enjoying the beauty of the day. Bucciarati took a sip from his glass, "nothing better then a cold glass of wine on a day like this. " he would get the occasional hello from locals he knew as well as glances by curious tourists.

One person, in particular, came up to him. A young women, maybe around her late 20's with a camera around her neck. "Signore, if I may ask. May I take a few photos of you? I'm an artist and I often take pictures of things that inspire me!" To any human being the request would be rather offputting. Indeed it was, at least to Bruno. But a normal person would also decline the offer. Bucciarati didn't see the harm of a few photos, if anything he'd call himself quite photogenic despite his semi-cold demeanor. Plus to deprive an artist of inspiration didn't sit right with him; so he agreed.

~~~~~~~~~

"That artist lied... or she sold my pictures. Either or isn't good, but damn..." Bruno skimmed through the pages. Person after person, some of them he even knew. He stopped on one page and well maybe call it fate but it was the page of the number 1 Bachelorette. Giorno auditable gasped as the sight.

"She's very beautiful... I see why they placed so highly..." Mista and Narancia came from the other side taking peaks.

"Yo, you're right Giorno! She is really beautiful. Father owns a successful flower shop too!" Narancia's cheeks turned slightly red. Mista closed his eyes, humming to himself as if he was fantasizing about something.

"Girl has looks, money, and property. She's a guy's dream girl honestly!" Bruno slammed the magazine closed, proceeding to roll it up. Then uses Sticky Fingers to smack him to the ground. "HEY! WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?"

"How dare you think like that Mista. Loving someone for their 'perks'..." Bucciarati stared down upon Mista, disappointment, and guilt filling Mista's soul.

Bruno just took the magazine and left. He needed time to make sense of all of it... "geeze Mista... nice to know who you really are!" Giorno snickered as he took a seat at a near by table.

"Guys, I wasn't talking of myself!!! Come on, I would never!"

~~~~~

Bruno wondered the town, just processing it all. All this attention wasn't out of the kindness of people's hearts. It was some lousy list that said he had perks... To now have to wonder if he was being used was a terrifying thought.

"Please, let me go... I don't want this at all!" Bruno was returning to reality. Overhearing 2 people talking in the alleyways.

"Oh come on beautiful, I've got a lot to offer!"

"I'm sure you do, but I am not wanting a relationship! Please for away! I don't even know you!" Her hands try to wiggle free but she was what Bruno could assume was pinned.

"Look missy, think about your answer real carefully. If you don't date me ill-"

"You'll what?" Bruno stood firmly at the alley entrance. The man turned to see him, catching a glimpse of the girl as well. (H/c) hair laced with small flowers, (s/t) skin, as well of (e/c) eyes.

"Its none of your business buddy! So how about you leave me and my girlfriend alone!" Bruno continued to walk closer, his expression as blank as he could manage. "H-Hey! I said stay back!"

"You know I find it amusing when scum like you exist in this world. The least you can do is accept the girl has no feelings for you."

"Like you know shit pal!"

"I heard it all, the entire conversation. As well, the fear upon her face right now speaks wonders." Bruno's steps were heavy, each one making a distinct clack.

"I said stay back you bastard!!" He dragged the poor girl by the hair restraining her arms. Sliding a knife from his own pocket, placing it above her throat.

"Sticky Fingers!" The girl closed her eyes as the blue figure hit the man square in the face. Knocking him down the alley. The guy cowards back, confused beyond belief "next time don't try to force yourself upon a harmless girl. Or do I need to beat the lesson into you?"

"No! No no no! I'm sorry I'm sorry! Please spare me!!"

"Then run." The man ran off in a rush, terror riddled his face as the bruises started to solidify. The screams echoed as he ran into the darkness. Bruno turned back the the girl, she stood against the wall paralyzed from fear. "Hey, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" She shook her head. Taking a good look the most harm was some scratches and maybe a few bruises, nothing life-threatening. Bruno tilted his head, she looked familiar.

"Uh.. mister, thank you for your help. I was really scared that guy was gonna hurt me." She clutched to her basket filled with different flowers. She picked out a small white lily from the batch, extending it to him. "Men back and forth have been cat-calling me all day. It's quite overwhelming." Her smile showed a sparkle of pure innocence. Bruno clutched his first, glancing at the magazine he held. It struck him, it was her, the flower shop's daughter.

"I believe I can show you why this is happening. Come with me and we can tend your wounds as well." The girl looked up in admiration. A shy smile as well as heated cheeks. She took his hand as a quiet acceptance. "Pardon my manners, I'm Bruno Bucciarati. It's my pleasure miss?"

"(L/n), (y/n) (l/n). I owe you my life, Signore."

AN: I might make a part 2... not sure

[yangsrose]

I Latte you a lot

Word count: ~1.1k words

Warnings: none

Authors notes: Second installment to this series!!! I tried to keep this as gender neutral as I could so if I accidentally messed up somewhere please tell me >.< Also peep Jaehyun’s cameo in this because he was in the gif so I added him in adkjlbfn edit I’m adding this after finishing writing it his cameo turned out to be a whole main character oh god

Find the “Christmas with NCT” masterlist here

You were currently an icicle. Well, not literally, more like you felt like one. On the coldest day of the year, you decided to go out, deciding that dressing cute would be better than dressing warm. And boy were you wrong. You tried finding a café where it seemed not too crowded inside so that you could do your work, but it seemed like everyone had the same idea as you to escape the cold weather outside. After a long time of searching, you finally found a café that seemed somewhat empty. 

As you walked in, you almost felt as if you were walking into a hallmark movie. The warm air enveloped you immediately after you opened the door. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans rose up from behind the counter, and the entire café was decorated to resemble a very homely, cute, and cozy area. A wave of serenity hit you, and you were sure that if you had the chance to, you would never leave the small café. 

“Hi! What can I get for you?” a barista asked from behind the counter. You walked up to him and placed your order, opting to order a hot coffee as a way to warm up your insides. After placing your order, you were directed to the left side of the counter so that you could wait there to pick up your order. 

“Coffee for y/n!” You walked over to get your coffee from the barista, and when you made eye contact with him, you thought that time had stopped. In front of you was probably, no definitely, the most handsome person that you had ever seen. 

His eyes were a warm brown, and held a sense of comfort and familiarity, almost parallel to the feeling of seeing an old friend after a long time. His hair was parted in the middle, giving him a mature yet young vibe. His smile was inviting, and you found your face heating up at the way that his eyes scrunched up a bit, and the way that his cheeks showed his little whiskers and dimple. You looked at his name tag and saw a small “Johnny” engraved in the golden plate.

You thanked him and kept your eyes trained to the ground, refusing to make eye contact with him, knowing that it would just lead to you embarrassing yourself. You made your way to an empty table, and pulled out your laptop and notes to start your work. After a while of working, you were finished with your coffee. You didn’t opt to throw away your cup immediately though, instead opting to finish your work and then get rid of your cup. 

From behind the corner, Johnny stared at you with an anxious look in his eyes, noticing how you still hadn’t thrown away your cup. He contemplated going over to you and starting a conversation, but was held back due to the fact that you didn’t know each other. He watched you intently, keeping a tissue and cookie for backup in case you threw away the cup. 

After what seemed like forever, you finally got up and packed up all of your belongings. You picked up your empty cup to throw away, but before you did, something caught your eye. On the label of your order, you saw a message - actually, it looked more like an essay- written on it. 

“Hi I uhh didn’t know how to ask for your number so I’m doing it in the most cliche and stereotypical way but here’s mine if you want to save it! Or you can throw it away if you’re creeped out by it I wouldn’t mind. -Johnny (the barista who gave you your coffee incase you didn’t know) 

You looked around the café, trying to find Johnny in the small café. Even though he was a large person, he had somehow disappeared in the small café. The barista who initially took your order saw your plight and called you over to the counter, smiling as if he had a secret to hide. 

“You’re looking for Johnny right? He just ran to the back after he saw you read the message on your cup. If you want, I can ask him to come outside and talk to you.”

“No it’s fine! I’ll just text him with the number that he gave me.” you responded, feeling your cheeks heat up. Thank you though-” you stopped, trying to find a name tag that would have his name on it. 

“Jaehyun.” the other man said smiling. 

“Thanks Jaehyun. I’ll get going now. See you later!” you said, smiling and waving at him. He smiled and waved back at you, and waited until you left the café to go get Johnny. 

“They’re gone now. You’re safe.”

“What did they say? Did they throw away the cup? Did they yell at you? I probably scared them off oh my gosh-”

“They said they would text you now stop worrying.” Jaehyun reassured the taller man, internally shaking his head and face palming. Johnny’ nerves didn’t stop however, they just amplified as he awaited your response. 

After closing the café, Jaehyun started wiping down the counters. He heard a high pitched scream, and just as he was about to go investigate, he saw Johnny run up to him and stuck his phone in Jaehyun’s face before screaming “THEY TEXTED ME!!” Jaehyun slightly scoffed before muttering a “what did I tell you” and went back to his work, smiling a little at the new relationship that was blossoming. 

“Hey Johnny can you help me with the-” Jaehyun was cut off at the sight of Johnny hunched over, smiling goofily at his phone. He rolled his eyes and sighed picking up all the equipment that had to be washed. He took a picture of the state that Johnny was in before leaving however, hoping to show you the next time you came into the café. 

Little did he know that you were currently in the same state as Johnny, giggling and texting him back, feeling like a teenager who had just confessed their feelings to their crush. 

Maybe it was fate or destiny that led you to this certain coffee shop, but one this was for certain. You two were made for each other.

[becuzitisbitter]

All Cops Are Bad

The last of the essays i will be posting that I wrote for school, this one is an attempt at an approachable ACAB argument (my professor said that she was persuaded, at least)

    There is an old slogan with roots at least as far back as the 1920’s and is yet becoming more and more popular across the globe today: “All coppers are bastards.” Of course, most people just say “cops” these days.  The extensive history of the slogan might even make one stop to wonder why the police have been the object of such long-standing antagonism, if one isn’t the sort to grasp the slogan’s truth intuitively.  The reality is that all cops really are bastards, not in a literal sense, of course, but in the derogatory usage which communicates despicability.  The goal of this essay is to convince the reader that the police are bad and that policing should be done away with entirely.  After all, the police present themselves as the vanguard of the state’s repressive urges and as the guarantors of an order defined by deprivation and violence.

    Olivia B. Waxman, writing for Time Magazine, points to economic forces as dictating the development of the means and aims utilized by policing institutions in the U.S.  She writes that businesses had already been hiring private security to protect the transport and storage of their property, and that, “These merchants came up with a way to save money by transferring to the cost of maintaining a police force to citizens by arguing that it was for the “collective good.” (Waxman) In other words, America’s first publicly funded police force was simply picking up after the work of private businesses to protect their own property, but with the cost foisted upon those who were being kept out. She continues this economic argument as she traces the lineage of the modern police force back to its forerunners in the Southern runaway slave patrols. She writes, “the economics that drove the creation of police forces were centered not on the protection of shipping interests but on the preservation of the slavery system”. Thus, the primary policing institutions in the South were the slave patrols, the first of which was formally established in 1704. (Waxman)

    The police developed historically to enforce property rights rather than to ensure the wellbeing of the populace.  If it is understood that white supremacy encodes human skin with either privilege or dispossession, it should be understood that, as Mariame Kaba writes in an opinion piece published by the New York Times, “when you see a police officer pressing his knee into a black man’s neck until he dies, that’s the logical result of policing in America. When a police officer brutalizes a black person, he is doing what he sees as his job.” (Kaba) Kaba is an organizer against criminalization and a self-described police abolitionist because she believes that “a ‘safe’ world is not one in which the police keep black and other marginalized people in check through threats of arrest, incarceration, violence and death.” The police, then, are not focused on creating a safe world. They are interested in preserving the world as it is, which demands a tacit defense of misogynistic and white supremacist institutions.

    Regardless of personal attitudes or goals, the undeniable outcome of two hundred years of policing in America has been an uninterrupted avalanche of mostly arbitrary violence aimed at preserving the rule of law, that is, the sanctity of private property. In just the last year, the discourse about the role and place of police in our society has exploded with new questions and new ideas. What makes this conversation so powerful is that the police are considered so essential to the functioning of the modern world that the abolitionist movement must necessarily carry indictments on many other institutions and ways of relating that are bound-up with policing.

    Of course, many readers will be quick to react defensively.  Most disagreements with the argument presented here will take one of two forms: the claim that the argument over-generalizes police, and the claim that the police fill such an essential role that society couldn’t hope to provide an acceptable standard of life in their absence.  Both will be addressed below.

    The former argument comes in many varieties.  One might even say, “It is unfair to judge such a large group by the actions of a few bad apples,” without being aware that they were reversing the meaning of the idiom they are attempting to make use of, which actually originated as “A rotten apple quickly infects its neighbor,” according to Ben Zimmer, who is a linguist and language columnist for The Wall Street Journal. (Cunningham) Regardless of the backwardness of this idiom, many would maintain that it is wrong to generalize police or stereotype their actions based on our perceptions of a few bad actors.  Some police may abuse their power, or harbor prejudice, many readers would contend, but most police officers are decent people doing their best under difficult conditions.  The truth, however, is that literally all cops bring about harm simply by doing the jobs that they signed up for.  To go a step further, even if every police officer were to act in good faith, the task of maintaining a status quo defined by inequality would still force officers into the position of beating the cold, poor, and hungry back from the resources they need to live comfortably. This world of deprivation is not worth defending, and yet every cop has signed up to defend it.  Some readers might still say that to pain the police with such a broad brush, is to commit an act of prejudice on par with the attitudes the police are criticized for, but they are grasping at straws. No one becomes a police officer by accident.  By switching careers, they could avoid such judgement entirely.  One wonders if they would feel the same about criticizing other groups which are entirely opt-in, such as MS-13 or the Taliban.

    Could there ever be such a thing as a good cop? No.  Here is one example that I think demonstrates a larger principle: even if a given police officer is a dedicated and educated anti-racist, the logistical deployment of police departments across the US places more officers in poor neighborhoods and communities of color than in wealthy or majority-white areas. This means that even the most kind-hearted police would be more likely to detain or arrest poor people and people of color than affluent whites.  This is only one facet of a fundamentally unjust system.  The development of police departments as racist and anti-working-class institutions across History means that they are structurally and institutionally racist and anti-working-class in the here and now.  Police departments continue to defy reform because the problem is intentionally encoded into their purpose. They must be done away with entirely.

    When a protestor or graffiti artist echoes the old slogan that, “All cops are bastards,” it is an expression of a tautology.  Like the phrase “All triangles have three sides,” the slogan contains its own truth.  All triangles have three sides because it is part of the definition of triangles to have three sides.  We can’t even conceive of a triangle with four sides because by having four sides, it would cease to be a triangle.  Despicability is written into the definition of policing because the aims of policing are themselves despicable.  Any cop that ceased to work toward the aims of policing would cease to be deplorable, maybe, but he would also cease to be a cop as surely as a triangle with four sides would cease to be a triangle.

    The second primary counter argument to criticism of the police is that the police are a necessary evil, essential to protecting us from a rousseauian war of all against all.  This assumption that humanity could not get by without police seems silly, after all, the police are only a modern institution, hardly a blip in humanity’s story.  It has already been shown that the police were not created to protect the average person from harm, but to protect private property rights.  In any case, a counter argument from consequences is not the same as a refutation.  One need not know the correct answer to a problem to recognize a wrong one.  When asked, “What would you do with the psycho serial killers?” one should be unabashedly honest about not knowing the answer because there is no one answer.  The answer to each problem can only be located in the context in which the problem occurs.  This reflex to reach for a one-size-fits-all answer for all of life’s problems, along with its concomitant desire to preserve the tedious “peace” of the status quo, do a lot to explain the psychology of pro-police arguments.

    Neither the means nor ends of policing are acceptable.  The forces that shape and control our world, be they corporate or political, tower over us such that we only ever meet with their basest appendages.  The police are their piggy-toes, pun-intended.  Admittedly, the arguments presented here will be significantly weaker in the mind of anyone who really feels good about the state of the world which police maintain, however little is likely to be gained in dialogue with someone who could maintain a positive view of concentration camps, needless and ceaseless killings, the continuation of slave labor in the prison system, mass food-insecurity, etc.      

    It is incumbent upon each of us to improve the world around us.  The police are an impediment to a better, safer, freer world.  They are antithetical to equity, autonomy, and community; that is why all who fight too hard for a better life eventually find themselves faced with the police, one way or another. Nevertheless, while so much hangs in the balance, we can’t let the bastards get us down.

    Works Cited

Olivia B. Waxman. “How the U.S. Got Its Police Force” Time Magazine, https://time.com/4779112/police-history-origins/ Published: 5/18/2017, Date of Access: 12/2/2020

Mariame Kaba. “Yes, We Mean Literally Abolish the Police” The New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/12/opinion/sunday/floyd-abolish-defund-police.html Published: 6/12/2020, Date of Access: 12/2/2020

Malorie Cunningham. “'A few bad apples': Phrase describing rotten police officers used to have different meaning”

https://abcnews.go.com/US/bad-apples-phrase-describing-rotten-police-officers-meaning/story?id=71201096 Published: 6/14/2020, Date of Access: 12/2/2020

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Forever

A Very Rogers Christmas.

Part 1- The Best Things In Life Are Tree.

Summary: It’s that time of year again and the Rogers family prepare to go and pick their Christmas tree. But when Emmy calls with a bit of bad news, it puts a little downer on the whole thing for Katie and Steve decides to call in reinforcements to pull off the best Christmas Heist he can…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go, Part 1 of my Stark Spangled 2020 Christmas special- A Very Rogers Christmas.  This one was written for for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @sagechanoafterdark​ ‘s Winter/Holiday Challenge. My prompt- Finding the PERFECT Tree.

It feels like AGES since I wrote for my babies so I hope you enjoy this little three parter. Part 2 posting next Friday, and part 3 on Christmas Eve.

SSF Masterlist //  WIYPT Masterlist 

"Daddy, I found something else I want to ask Santa for, for Christmas." Rori bounced into the study and Steve closed his eyes on the papers he was trying to grade and sighed.

"I bet you have." He mumbled before he glanced up at his daughter and couldn't help but smile at her as she skipped over to him, her long pony tail swinging behind her "What is it, Princess?" "A capybara." she said, scrambling up onto his lap. "A what?" Steve frowned. "A capybara. Look!" she turned the tablet she was holding towards him to show him a picture of the brown animal "They're like huge guinea pigs. I saw one at the zoo with Uncle Buck yesterday and when I said I wanted one he told me to tell you that I was gonna ask Santa." "Course he did." Steve sighed, mentally cursing his asshole best friend. "You know, Rori, don't think Santa can get you one of those." "Why not?" "It’s too big." He attempted “There’s nowhere for us to keep it.” "Our garden is huge!" Rori blinked at him. "And when Emmy and Petey move into the Tower he can live in the cabin." Trust her to be as damned smart as her mother. "They're wild animals honey." Steve shook his head as he tried attempt number two. "But they live in a zoo." Rori looked up at him, her face full of eager excitement “That’s not the wild.” "Yeah but that’s different." Steve reasoned patiently. "They're not like dogs or cats or regular guinea pigs. They need very special care.” "Oh." Rori looked down a little, her shoulders slumping and Steve sighed.

Fuck you, Bucky.

"Okay. Never mind." She clicked off the screen of her tablet and turned towards Steve, looking up at him with those damned green eyes. "Do you think he could get me a kitty instead?"

No, just say no… "Maybe."

Way to go, Rogers. Rori's eyes lit up and Steve inwardly groaned. It was a well-known fact in their house that whenever Dad said maybe, it meant yes. Fuck.

“I love you Daddy!” she beamed, reaching up to press a kiss to his bearded cheek before she hopped off his lap and skipped towards the door “Oh, me and momma are going to make gingerbread men for tomorrow so we can have them when we decorate the tree.”

“Can’t wait baby.” He smiled

“Are you gonna be working tomorrow afternoon?” she asked a little shyly and he shook his head.

“No, I promise.”  He assured her. “All day tomorrow is family day.”

She gave him another huge smile, one that truly warmed his entire being as it made her look even more like his wife, and then headed out of the room, her feet pattering on the tiles of the hallway as she skipped back into the other part of the house. Steve exhaled and looked back down at the paper, groaning as he realised he’d lost his place. He’d been home early that afternoon hoping for more peace and quiet than he got in his office at the University to concentrate on getting through all these and for the most it had worked, until Jamie and Rori had arrived home from school full of it as usual. Katie had kept them out of his way for the most but the realisation that Christmas was well on the way had hit the eldest two and whipped them up into a fever.

Not that Steve particularly cared. He adored this time of year. It was Katie’s holiday and from the day after Thanksgiving the Christmas period started in full throttle in the Rogers household, and they’d picked tomorrow, 2 weeks before the schools broke up, to go and pick the trees for their lounge and hallway. He was a little disappointed that it hadn’t snowed yet, there had been a good covering the previous year but, still it was set to be a cold and dry day so they could still get bundled up and have their hot chocolate and snacks as usual.

He rubbed at his eyes and focussed, reading through the paper in front of him on the ‘Strategy, Diplomacy and politics of Axis and Allied forces in WW2’, wishing to God he was marking something on the course he was actually employed to teach now- Fine Arts- but all those had been done and graded last week. This was the module of History that he taught, because as the Uni said- he was a living, breathing expert.

Aparently.

An hour or so later he finished red-penning the final six paged essay, with a proud smile as that one had been particularly good and he quickly checked it over once more, making sure he’d captured all the notes on the electronic copy and queued it up to send on Monday, just like Katie had shown him how to, so that each student had the hard copy and soft copy back. He stood up, stretched, turned off his laptop and headed through to the main area of the house, the smell of baking and cooking hitting his nostrils as he went.

He walked into the kitchen to find Rori kneeling on one of the tall stools over the island-slash-breakfast bar, her hands and face smeared in pink icing as she decorated a gingerbread man, her little tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Katie was stood supervising Harry who was also covered in frosting, this one bright green. Flossie sat in the highchair opposite, banging a spoon on the tray occasionally letting out a yell or babble of something incoherent. As soon as she saw Steve she gave a huge grin and her shouts became louder and he smiled.

“Hi Floss-Floss!” he beamed, crossing to drop a kiss to her head before he looked across at Katie “Where’s Jamie?”

“Upstairs in his room.” Katie gave a little sigh “He said, and I quote, ‘I’m ten now, far too old to decorate gingerbread, mom.’ I could have cried there and then Steve.” She finished with a pout.

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, the fact her eldest baby boy was growing up was something he knew she hated “Yeah, I bet he won’t be too old to eat them, though.” He appeased and she smiled.

“That’s what I said.” Rori gave a dramatic roll of her eyes and Steve chuckled.

“You finished Grading?” Katie asked as she gently guided Harry’s hand over the cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah, all done. Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay.” She looked up at him, smiling “Your dinner is in the oven. I already ate with the kids. Sorry, I was starving.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait.”  Steve walked over the room and dropped a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

He made his way over to the Aga stove and opened the door, giving a little groan when he saw she’d done his favourite, a Mac and Cheese bake laced with chicken, chorizo and broccoli. He turned to look at her and didn’t miss the flicker of a smile on her face as she knew what he was thinking, before he pulled out the plate giving a yell as it burnt his fingers, dropping it onto the side with a clatter.

“Careful daddy, hot!” Harry turned to face him, and Katie burst out laughing.

“Yeah, thanks Son.” Steve tried not to roll his eyes as he sucked his thumb. Grabbing a tea-towel he gripped the plate, found some cutlery and sat down at the table to the side of the kitchen, tucking in.

“I finished all mine, Momma.” Rori grinned, placing the tube of squeezy frosting down on the side. Steve watched as Katie moved to look over Rori’s shoulder.

“Good job sweetie.” She smiled, “Creative, I’ve never seen a pink cat before.”

Steve paused and looked at Rori as she grinned “I know they’re not really pink, and my kitty won’t be, but it can have a pink collar.”

At that he winced and hastily shoved another forkful of food into his mouth, praying that the conversation stopped there.

Katie sighed “Rori we’ve been over this, you can’t have a cat.”

“Daddy said I could.”

Shit.

Katie’s eyes shot to Steve and he gave her his best innocent look, but from the way her features grew stern he knew he was utterly busted and he swallowed the food in his mouth which turned to cement in his throat.

“No, that’s not what I said.” Steve shook his head.

“You said maybe.” Rori shrugged “Same thing.”

“We getting a kitty?” Harry asked, looking at Katie.

“No.” she shook her head.

“But I asked Daddy if Santa would bring me one and he said maybe.” Rori looked at Katie.

“Well Daddy is wrong.” She glared at Steve and he visibly shrank in his seat. Katie’s green eyes narrowed before they turned back to Rori. “Santa can’t bring live animals. It’s in the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The Christmas Rules” Katie said quickly “No live animals. It’s not fair on them. They don’t like the sleigh.”

“But…”

“No buts Rori.” Katie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose “I’m sorry honey, but it’s not gonna happen.”

Rori pouted a little but she knew when she was beat and glanced down at the cookies on the tray before she looked up, grinning smugly. “I’ll just ask Uncle Bucky to get me one. He got me Dory.”

“Oh for the love of…” Katie spluttered “Uncle Bucky won’t get you one either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll tell him not to.” Katie looked at her “We have Stark. No more animals.”

Rori folded her arms and at that point Steve stepped in, sensing an impending tantrum.

“Aurora.” He said sternly and she turned her head to face him as he pointed his fork at her. “Enough.”

She glared at him before she sighed and looked at Katie “Can I get down now please?”

Katie obliged and pulled her stool out a little allowing Rori to hop down. “Stay right there little miss.”

“Why?” Rori frowned as Katie headed to the sink, coming back with a cloth. With a groan, Rori held out her hands so Katie could wipe them clean, along with the little smear of icing on her face “20 minutes and then its bath time. We’re up early in the morning.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Rori bounced excitedly “To pick our trees. Hey, can I get one for my room?”

Katie hesitated before she shrugged “You know, I saw some in the shop that already have the lights on and they change colour. We’ll get a big one for the lounge and hallway like normal and I’ll get you a special one. And you get to keep it for next year and the year after.”

Rori pondered this for a moment before she shook her head “I want a real one from the farm.”

Katie groaned, and threw her hands out to the side “Fine, just, go and watch TV or something in the Play Room.”

“I watch TV too please, Momma?” Harry asked and Katie nodded, cleaning him up too before she lifted him down off the stool. He toddled after Rori, yelling for her to wait and as soon as they were gone Katie rounded on Steve.

“Honey, I…” he began and winced as she exploded on him.

“Seriously? A damned cat?”

“She caught me unawares.”

“She always catches you unawares!” Katie scoffed “After six, almost seven years I’d have thought you’d be used it by now.”

“I only said-“

“And as usual I’m left to be the bad guy.” Katie ranted, shaking her head as she moved to turn Flossie’s chair so she was facing the table. “You’re an asshole.”

“This is technically Bucky’s fault.”

“Oh, no, Steven Grant Rogers! Don’t you are try and blame this one on Buck.” She hissed.

“But he took her to the zoo and told her to ask for a capybara!” Steve practically whined “When I said no she asked for a cat, the maybe just slipped out.” Katie paused, her arms folded, face furious and Steve peered up at her giving her a little smile “Don’t be mad, come on baby. I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re still an asshole.” She grumbled, before she crossed to the fridge and pulled out the wine. “And for that you can deal with bedtime. I’m going for a bath.”

“Sure, not a problem.” Steve nodded, swallowing more of his food. Katie poured herself a large glass before she moved to put the bottle back and then changed her mind. With the bottle in one hand, full glass in the other she made for the door. “I love you.” Steve shot as she passed him, and despite her annoyed demeanour, the slight smile that played on her face told him he wasn’t in too much trouble.  

****

All kids were bathed and in bed little over an hour later. The youngest three settled down to sleep, Jamie instructed he had an hour of TV or reading time before lights off.

“Ok Dad.” He nodded, running his hand through his hair as he tidied up his games console a little, Stark curled up on the bed.

“I’ll be in to check.” Steve looked at him, and Jamie rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got it. You can trust me.”

“I know.” Steve gave a chuckle “Night son.” He crossed the room to drop a kiss to his head and Jamie pushed him away.

“Gerroff, I’m ten.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still my kid so…” Steve grumbled, and Jamie burst into laughter as the pair of them began to play fight, Jamie digging Steve in the ribs with a well-aimed jab. “Ouch! “ Steve stood up, rubbing at his side, that had hurt a little too much for his liking. “Nice shot.”

“Bucky said I had a good right hook.”

Steve rolled his eyes “I don’t wanna know how he even found that out.”

“He has a punch bag in the garage.” Jamie shrugged as he flopped down onto his bed. “Like yours. He was teaching me to swing.”

“I could teach you that.” Steve replied, a little petulantly.

“Will you?”

“No. You’re ten.” He shot back and Jamie let out a groan of frustration, before Steve chuckled “Ok, I’ll teach you a little IF you promise not to use it anywhere but on the punch bag.”

“But what if I need to use it?”

“Well, that’s different.” Steve pondered, before he shook his head. “But you’re far too young to be getting into situations like that.”

“Uncle Buck said you were fighting people form the age of six. And getting your ass kicked.”

“Well, you do as I say…”

“Not as I do, yeah I got it.” Jamie grinned and Steve arched an eyebrow before he made his way to the door. He paused and turned back to look at his son, not for the first time taking in how damned tall and broad he was for his age. He pointed to Stark “Don’t let your mother catch him on the bed.”

“You know she says the same thing about you.” Jamie looked at him and Steve chuckled.

“I do, but let’s just pretend I don’t okay?”

“Okay, night dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Steve smiled, closing the door behind him.

He made his way back downstairs and into the lounge, and paused as he saw Katie talking into the laptop, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said softly, and he could tell she was fighting to keep her face straight as Emmy’s voice came from the other side.

“I’m just gutted we can’t get home to come with you guys for the tree.”

“What’s going on?” Steve frowned as he sat next to Katie on the sofa, looking at Emmy and Peter as they both waved to him on the screen “Hey Kids.”

“The UK has been caught up in a huge snow storm.” Katie turned to him. “Their flight has been cancelled.”

“Bummer.” Steve’s frown deepened “Is there nothing from another airport?”

“Not in London.” Emmy shook her head “And the roads are that bad, even if we managed somewhere else…”

“Don’t wanna risk driving Mr R.” Pete shrugged and Steve had to give it to him, that was a sensible move.

“Wise decision.” Steve bit his lip, before he turned to Katie “Can we not get The Stark jet over? You guys should have used that anyway, not gone commercial.”

The irony of his statement didn’t pass him by, as there’d been a time when he had hated using a private jet as he felt it was ostentatious, but he’d fast learned to live with it as it was less hassle and a damned sight comfier and quicker too.

“I told you we didn’t want to.” Emmy shot back and Peter hastily cut in to prevent an argument.

“Already tried Happy before we called. He can’t get in any airfield be it private or other. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Katie shook her head “If you need anything just call. Have you got a place to stay?”

“Yeah, The Savoy found us another room.” Emmy shrugged before she grimaced “I’m gonna have to put it on my credit card though.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Katie shook her head “Just do what you gotta do, we’ll sort the bill out. Do you need us to wire you some cash or-“

“No, we’ve got enough between us for that.” Pete smiled “Just the hotel. We could get somewhere cheaper if that’s-“

“If it’s that bad out there you can stay where you are.” Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money kids, it’s not important.”

“Just call us if you need anything.” Katie added.

“Thanks Mom. Look, we’re gonna go try and get something to eat and then sleep” Emmy sighed “It’s past 1 am now.”

“Sure, call us tomorrow okay, keep us updated.” Steve instructed and Emmy nodded.

“Will do. Love you both.”

“And you.” Katie smiled “Stay safe, and look after each other.”

“Got it.” Emmy grinned and with that she blew them both a kiss as Peter waved and the screen went blank.

Katie bit her lip before she tapped at the keyboard of her laptop “I’m going to send her some money, just in case. I know she has plenty in her savings, but…”

Steve nodded “Good idea. Those are for a rainy day, not a snowy one.”

Katie gave a small smile as she logged into the banking, and hesitated before she transferred a few thousand over to Emmy and closed the laptop, running her hands over her face. Steve saw her shouldes shake and he gave a sigh, pulling her to him.

“Hey, come on. They’re safe. In the poshest hotel known to man.” He pressed a kiss to her head “No doubt thinking this is some kind of huge romantic adventure. Snowed in, in London, with a mini-bar, room service.”

At that thought he grimaced, as his mind took him to a very dark place about just exactly what the spider kid would be doing to his daughter in said hotel room but he shook himself out of it as Katie spoke, sniffling a little.

“I know it’s just, well we started this tradition with Emmy that first Christmas she lived with us.” Her voice cracked “We went with Tony, Pep and Nat remember?”

“I could I forget.” Steve chuckled, his hands rubbing Katie’s back “You were almost five months pregnant and had that jumper on with a huge Christmas pudding on the front.”

“I’ve still got that.” Her voice was muffled as her face pressed into his Henley.

“And Pepper was going mad when Tony bought that nine foot tree for their lounge.”

“Ours wasn’t much smaller.” Katie laughed, leaning back to wipe her eyes. “You had to trim the top off.”

Steve chuckled, his hands cupping her face “A few days after that we found out bump was blue. Hello Jamie.”

“God it seems so long ago.”

“It was.” Steve smiled pressing a kiss to her lips. “11 years.”

“Yeah.” Katie looked at him “We’ve been through a lot since then.”

Steve nodded, as he wiped her face with his thumbs “And a lot worse than this. I know it’s disappointing, kitten, and I’m gutted as well, but it can’t be helped. We’ll still have a good time and we can go out with Emmy and Peter when they get back, nice meal and a few drinks somewhere instead, just the four of us. Start a new tradition now she’s all grown up.”

“Yeah suppose.” Katie sighed “I mean when they moved out in the New Year, they might not wanna come with us to get a tree anymore.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Steve snorted “She’ll simply be getting one for her own place. You know she loves Christmas as much as you. All the kids do. Because you make it so special.”

“It isn’t all down to me.” She smiled “You help.”

“It’s definitely your speciality.” Steve shook his head “You do the baking, the carols, the cooking…suss the decorations out.”

“Yeah, but you hang them. And you’re the one that started leaving Santa footprints by the hearth.”

“Okay so it’s a team effort.” Steve shrugged, dropping another kiss to her lips. “It always is when the kids are concerned.” He pulled back a little and nodded to her glass “You want another?”

“I wasn’t going to but yeah, now I do.”

Steve chuckled “I’ll go get us a drink, you find us something suitably Christmassy to watch.”

He stood, pressing his lips to the crown of Katie’s head before he wandered into the kitchen. As he closed the door behind him he pulled out his phone. He’d had an idea, but hadn’t wanted to mention it to Katie just in case it didn’t work…but if it did, well, he was going to reunite his family for their tradition and earn himself major husband points.

Win win situation.

“Hey punk.” Bucky drawled as he picked up.“What’s crackalackin?”

“God you talk some shit.” Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky laughed

“Sorry, we were watching Madagascar.”

“Yeah, I know where it’s from. I got five kids, remember. Six if I count you.”

“Well you could argue Diva Doll counts for two so you really have seven.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, I got a bone to pick with you about her and a damned capybara.” Steve narrowed his eyes as he spoke and there was a pause before Bucky burst out laughing. “Yeah, laugh it up, jerk. That got me in some major shit before.”

“You didn’t say yes?”

“No of course I didn’t.” Steve sighed “But she sideswiped me asking for a damned cat and I said maybe, so…”

“You fucking moron.”

“Whatever, listen, that’s not why I’m calling anyway.” Steve sighed, his voice growing serious. “I need a favour, Buck.”

“I’m listening.” Bucky replied, before Steve explained the predicament and possible solution. When he finished there was a pause and Bucky let out a long whistle. “Man, that’s…”

“I know, I know.” Steve sighed “But I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Katie’s heartbroken Emmy can’t get home.”

“Well, we can’t have the second most important woman in my life upset now can we?” Bucky replied “Leave it with me.”

“Cheers buddy.”

“You’ll owe me a life time of favours if I can pull this off.”

“We’ll call it quits for you almost getting me couched.”

“Not my fault you can’t say no to your likkle Princessa.” Bucky responded and Steve snorted.

“You’ve met her, right?”

There as another pause and Bucky laughed “Point taken.”

“Not a word to Katie.” Steve instructed “Just in case you can’t do it.”

“You seriously doubt me after all this time?” Bucky sighed “That hurts Stevie.”

“You know what else will hurt?” Steve shot back “My foot up your ass.”

“You want me to do this or not?” Bucky scoffed “Because threatening me aint gonna make me wanna do you any favours.”

“No but not wanting to see my wife upset is.”

“You fight dirty, Steven.” Bucky’s voice was low and Steve could imagine the narrowed eyes he was pulling as he spoke. “Okay, I’ll call Sam now. Leave it with me.”

“Thanks Buck.”

Steve cut the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, running a hand over his beard. Buck was right, it was a big ask and ridiculously over the top but, well, nothing was too much for him where his family was concerned. And after everything they’d been through this year what with Flossie’s horrific birth and Katie’s post-partum depression, his amazingly brave and gorgeous wife deserved the damned world. With a sigh he yanked open the fridge as he pulled out Katie’s wine and a beer for him, simply hoping that it worked.

**** “You good?” Steve asked as Jamie hopped into the back of the Q7, taking his place on the rear row of seats.

“Yup.” Jamie grinned “I prefer it back here, Rori can’t bug me.”

“Wanna bet?” Rori turned her head and peered at him from her place in the middle of the second row and Steve shot her a look.

“Enough. I hear one sound outta you that’s annoying him, we’re coming straight home.” He said sternly. Rori eyed him shrewdly, as if weighing up whether he was serious or not and he raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

“Ok Daddy.” She shrugged, turning back round. Steve shot Jamie a wink as turned and collapsed Flossie’s little stroller. He slotted it down the side of Jamie’s seat before he shut the trunk and then quickly inspected the roof rack. Satisfied he looked up just as Katie came out of the house, Flossie on her hip, Harry jumping down the steps in front of her. He headed over to his dad and peeked up, Steve giving a laugh as his little woollen hat slipped down over his eyes.

“Come here, buddy.” He said, swinging him into his arms. The little boy gave a giggle as Steve pulled his hat straight so he could see.

“Thanks Daddy!” he smiled and Steve pressed a kiss to his rosy cheek.

“No problem. You ready to get a tree?”

He nodded “Big one!” he threw his arms out wide and Steve nodded seriously.

“The biggest.”

Ten minutes or so later they were sailing out of Brooklyn in the winter morning sun, heading for the tree farm some forty or so minutes away. True to her word, Rori was behaving and chatting to Harry, Jamie was quiet in the back doing something on his tablet and Katie was gently humming to something on the radio. Steve’s hand reached over for hers and he entwined their fingers, gently bringing her arm across his body, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

The journey pass uneventfully and as Steve announced they had arrived the kids all gave a cheer. He parked the car up and then the disembarking began along with issued orders for Jamie and Rori to stay where they were as they sorted the youngest two.

“I think I’ll just carry Floss.” Katie glanced around. “Pushing her stroller is gonna be a pain. I’ll put her in the carrier.”

“You sure?” Steve asked “I would say I’d do it but…”

“You’re gonna be carrying trees, yeah I know.” Katie waved him away. “Its fine, she’s not heavy. Besides, she’ll be too big to do this with next year.”

Steve smiled at her wistful tone, and between them they had Flossie strapped to Katie’s back in no time, having become experts at it over the years. Katie glanced over her shoulder as Flossie gave her a hug grin, before she peeked around and started to gabble animatedly.

“Ready?” Steve looked around and held the hand that wasn’t containing the saw out, Rori taking it as Katie took Harry’s, Jamie falling into step at her other side next to Steve who strategically placed himself between his eldest son and Rori to avoid any potential arguments between the two siblings.

“Want me to take that Dad?” Jamie asked, nodding to the saw. Steve hesitated then shrugged, it had the safety cover on so he handed it over, Jamie slinging it over his shoulder proudly, stepping in front of them a little and Harry wriggled his hand free of Katie’s and ran forward to take Jamie’s. Jamie smiled down at him and Steve shared a glance with Katie as she smiled at him, slipping her hand into his. The family made their way to the entrance and as they approached the various little trade stands, one of which was selling various hot drinks and baked snacks. Katie took a deep breath and smiled, the warming scents of spices, cinnamon and pine hitting her nostrils.

“Smells exactly the same.” She beamed and then frowned as Steve was looking around, blatantly not listening to her as he was busy studying something to their right.

“Hey!” she tugged on his hand and he glanced down at her.

“Sorry, honey.” He diverted his attention “Just saw someone I know.”

“Oh, from work?” she asked.

“Not exactly.” He nodded in the direction he had been looking and Katie spun at the same time Rori let out a shriek.

“Emmy!” she yelled, wrenching her hand free of Steve’s and bolting towards her sister as she strode towards them alongside Peter, Bucky and Sam.

“I don’t-how?” Katie was struggling for words at the sheer emotion of seeing her eldest daughter, who should still be stranded in England, sweeping Rori into hug. “Steve? What?”

“You got Bucky and Sam to thank.” He said gently, as she spun between them all, before she strode forward meeting Emmy halfway and throwing her arms around her.

“Hey mom!” Emmy smiled, before she pulled back and gently waggled Flossie’s hand. “Hi Floss!”

“How did you get here?” Katie sniffed, wiping her eyes, chuckling before she gave Pete a hug.

“Quinjet.” Emmy grinned “It was awesome. Hey Dad!”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve swept her up into a huge hug, picking her up slightly off the ground kissing her head. “Nice to have you home.”

“Hold up, a Quinjet?” Katie looked at Emmy, then to Bucky who shrugged.

“Yeah well Steve rang me last night begging for my help…” he began, putting on a whiney voice “Please Buck, I can’t do this without you Buck, you know the usual.” Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky sniggered. “So, me and Birdbrain set off on a daring rescue mission.”

“Yeah, we totally used and abused Fury’s equipment.” Sam chuckled, as he pressed a kiss to Katie’s cheek as he gave her a hug. “He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“Oh, screw him!” Katie gave a laugh as she turned to Bucky, wrapping her arms round him. “Thank you so much!”

“Anything for you darlin’” he beamed before she stepped back and spun to face Steve, reaching up and grabbing his face. With a smile she pulled him down to meet her in a long, deep kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered against his lips, and he beamed at her, his nose brushing hers. “I love you, so much.”

“Love you too.” He smiled, before he drew himself up, a little embarrassed at their PDA in front of his two friends and the kids. “Right, who’s ready to go tree picking?”

“We’ll leave you to it.” Bucky smirked as various excited shouts rang out around them. “I’ve got stuff to do with Jen and Sam’s…ahhhh, crap.” The smile on his face turned into a grimace and Steve spun round to see a familiar figure in a trench coat and eyepatch stood by a black SUV watching from a distance.

“Son of a-” Steve snorted, shaking his head as Fury started walking towards of them. “He still knows everything.”

“You have no idea. “Sam muttered.

“Oh, trust me, we do.” Katie grinned as Fury stopped in front of them.

“Someone wanna tell me why one of my jets was in London this morning?” Fury looked at Bucky, then to Sam, then to Peter, all three of them giving him an innocent look.

“Well, there was a thing.” Bucky shrugged “Emergency.”

“Emergency.” Fury dead panned “So nothing to do with a certain Miss Rogers and Mr Parker being stuck in London in snow storm?”

“How do you know this stuff?” Bucky looked at him.

“I told you Barnes, you wanna get one up on me you gotta keep both eyes open.” He levelled him with a look. “Happy called me in a flap to see if I could action a pick up and I told him I wasn’t running a damned Uber service. And then one of them went missing so I put two and two together and looks like I came up with four” He paused and shrugged, smirking a little “Plus, you forgot to wipe the mission log.”

“Damned it Tin Man!” Sam shoved Bucky “You dick, I told you!”

As the two men began to squabble Fury raised his eyebrows and turned to Steve and then Katie, a small smile flickered across his face “Nova, Cap. Long-time no see.”

“Hi Nick.” Steve smiled, reaching out and shaking his hand.

Fury jerked his head as Katie shook his hand, his eyes roving over each of their kids in turn. “I’ll say. You’ve been busy I see.”

Katie gave a huff “One way of putting it.”

Nick arched an eyebrow before he sighed and turned to Bucky and Sam who were still bickering. “Imma let this one slide.” He spoke loudly, the two men instantly turning to face him. “But only because it’s the holidays and I’m in a good mood.”

“You know technically Stark Industries owns half those jets. Tony paid for and designed a lot of the tech on them after all.” Katie quipped and Nick looked at her, before he let out a laugh.

“You’re more like your brother than you’ll ever care to admit” he shook his head as she snorted, pointing at her.

“Worse people to be like.” She smiled fondly, and Fury gave one last scoff before he turned to Sam and Bucky.

“I’ll see you two later. Now, imma go get me some churros then split.” He looked back at them all “Merry Christmas.”

As they all waved him off, watching the curious glances he attracted as he strode towards the hot food stand and then Harry tugged on Steve’s sleeve, causing him to turn his attention from Fury to the little boy.

“Daddy, who’s the pirate?” Harry asked.

There was a pause before Katie burst out laughing, Steve following suite as they both shared a knowing glance, remembering Tony’s fond little nickname for their one time director.

The Goth Pirate.

“He’s an old friend of mine and your momma’s “Steve explained before he glanced up, not surprised to find that once more Fury had disappeared from sight. “We haven’t seen him in a while. And I doubt we will again for a long time.”

There were more hugs shared and after another final thank you to Sam and Bucky, Katie demanding they come over later for drinks, the four remaining adults and four kids all headed into the farm and the chaos began as they began to scout for their perfect trees.

“So we need two large ones.” Katie spoke, “And one for Emmy and Pete in the Cabin and a smaller one for Rori’s room.” she paused “Jamie, did you want one for your room too?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shook his head “Thanks though.”

“So four over all.” Steve nodded. “Okay gang, let’s find us some trees.”

They decided to get Rori’s first as it would be smaller and easier to carry once they’d picked it. They set about walking down the various aisles, and before long the jokes started flowing and they were getting worse and worse with time.

“What would you get if you ate the Christmas decorations?” Pete asked and Jamie looked at him, arching a brow. “Tinselitis.”

“Oh God.” Emmy snorted “That’s as bad as one of dad’s”

“Which reminds me.” Steve said, a smirk on his face, “Did you guys hear the forecast for Christmas eve? They’re predicting rain, deer…”

Katie and Emmy both let out a groan as Jamie and Peter howled with laughter.

“What do you call an elf that runs away from Santa’s workshop?” Jamie asked and Steve paused before he shrugged.

“No idea.”

“A rebel without a Clause…”

Katie, Steve, Emmy and Pete burst out laughing as Pete held out his hand to hi-five him. Jamie grinned.

“That’s a good one buddy.” Steve chuckled. “Where did you hear that?”

“Moo text me before.” He smiled “She said her and Auntie Pep had been googling them to put in their cards this year.”

“Like Father like daughter.” Katie smiled to herself, a little nostalgically as a memory of her brother crashed over her and Steve pulled her a little closer, his hand tightening on hers as he dropped a kiss to her head.

After half an hour or so of scouting and plenty of excited shouts and laughter, Rori paused in front of a tree that was the same height as her and she gave a gasp.

“Daddy, that one.” She pointed.

“You sure?” he cocked his head to one side. The tree was leaning to one side, the branches completely uneven, sticking out at all angles and the top was bent. “It’s a bit-”

“It’s perfect.” Rori insisted.

“Okay Princess, whatever you say.”  He looked at Katie as she smiled, her hand dropping to the back of Rori’s head. “Jamie, you got the saw?”

“Yup.” Jamie nodded, passing it over and they all watched as Steve gripped the trunk of the small tree with one hand a little higher up and began to cut it towards the bottom. He could have easily snapped the trunk with his bare hands but he played the part and in four strong swipes it pulled free with a little crack and Rori gave a shriek and clapped her hands.

“I love it!”

Once the safety cover was back on the saw they continued their search, walking towards the slightly bigger trees they spotted and Katie paused in front of a large, Norwegian spruce and reached out, gently crushing one of the needles between her fingers. She took a sniff and stepped back, nodding.

“That one.”

“I still can’t believe you pick them with the smell.” Steve shook his head.

“It’s not all the smell.” She protested “There’s a lot to consider. The height, width and spacing of the branches…this one’s just right for the corner in the lounge. And that one two down will do for the hallway.”

Steve chuckled, knowing better than to argue. “Positive?”

Katie nodded and once more Jamie passed him the saw. This time they all stepped back as Steve crouched down on the ground, expertly cutting the trunk and just the right place. As he took the final swipe, the tree pitched over to a loud shout of “Timberrrrr” from Jamie and Peter and it landed with a thud.

Harry gave a loud cackle and clapped, Flossie shrieking too as Steve then moved two down and repeated the action with a slightly smaller one that would sit in the entrance lounge directly in front of the photo of the pair of them at their wedding, so it would be the first thing anyone saw as they walked into the house.

Emmy strode past the tree to one that was behind it and then nodded to Pete “I think this one will do. I kinda like the way it fans out at the bottom.”

“Sure, Em.” He smiled “Mr R?”

“Oh, here.” Steve handed him the saw and watched as Pete cut his and Emmy’s first Christmas tree down, his arm round Katie’s waist, lips softly kissing Flossie’s cheek as the baby grinned. He arched an eyebrow as Emmy pressed a kiss to Pete’s lips, giving a soft huff as Katie dug him in the ribs, shooting him a warning glance which he returned with an innocent one of his own.

“Well, that was easy.” Emmy commented “It took us 2 hours last year.”

“They need to be right.” Katie shrugged simply, Steve and Emmy exchanging a look before Steve watched as Pete hoisted his tree easily onto his shoulder. It still surprised Steve how strong Peter was, even though it shouldn’t, he knew he was enhanced after all.

“I’ll take Rori’s, Dad.” Jamie stepped forwards, puffing his chest out a little, picking the smaller tree up easily and placing it on his shoulder, in an identical manner to Pete. Steve actively fought the urge to laugh as Jamie began to walk besides Peter and Emmy, clearly proud as punch at being able to help before he turned to Katie.

“Don’t say it.”

Katie laughed “Oh I’m gonna.” she smirked “If he was any more like you I’d be convinced he was a clone.”

Steve snorted as he bent down and easily lifted their two trees onto his shoulders, before they followed a little slower due to Harry being with them. Steve maneuvered around the other tree pickers as they went, his boot clad feet traipsing on the damp of the ground as they made their way back towards the main entrance and joined Pete, Emmy and Jamie at the place ready to pay. As the various helpers, all dressed in little Elf outfits bustled around to wrap their trees and strap them to the roof of the Audi, Katie was suddenly struck with a little problem.

“Hang on.” she turned to Emmy as she thanked the man who’d been dealing with and handed over the cash. “How are you two gonna get home if Bucky and Sam left?”

At that Pete gave a little grin and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, “Mr Wilson let me borrow his Chevvy.”

“Yeah they went home on Buck’s bike.” Emmy shrugged and at that Steve let out a huge laugh.

“What?” Katie asked.

“Sorry, I’m just picturing those two riding pillion.” He snorted “I give it five minutes before Sam ended up tells Buck to let him off on account of him driving his Ducatti like a maniac.”

“You’ve no room to talk.” Katie scoffed and Steve looked at her with mock outrage.

“Mom?” Jamie asked and Katie turned to him “Can we get a drink now please?”

“Sure, come on.” She smiled and they headed over to the stall. She purchased a hot cider each for her, Steve, Emmy and Pete before hot chocolate for each of the kids along with a selection of donuts, churros and Stollen as Steve took Flossie back to the car so they could pop her in the stroller. They made their way over to one of the benches by the side and sat down and Steve returned, parking Flossie besides them before he handed her a piece of a donut and slipped his arm round Katie, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She beamed, before she glanced over at the other side of the bench. Jamie was settled to Emmy’s left, talking to her about school, as she nodded along whilst Rori was perched on Peter’s knee as she animatedly told him about how she was going to decorate her tree in unicorn colours. Harry meanwhile sat in between both Pete and Emmy, his little frame chewing on a donut as he grinned at his parents who smiled back. Katie turned to look a Steve again, leaning up to kiss him softly “It’s been perfect, thank you for making sure we were all together.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a Rogers Christmas otherwise would it?” he smiled, kissing her again.

“Get a room.” Emmy grumbled and Steve turned to her as she smirked, shoving a piece of donut in her mouth.

“Watch it young lady.” Steve pointed at her.                      

“Daddy.” Rori asked “Can I go with Pete in their car to Target? I need decorations for my Princess Tree.”

Steve hesitated for a while and Pete hastily cut in “It’s no bother Mr Rogers.”

“Yeah we need some for ours.” Emmy nodded.”So we’re going anyway.”

“I come too?” Harry asked hopefully and Emmy shrugged

“If Momma and Daddy say it’s ok, course you can, squirt.”

Steve looked at Katie who shrugged “Fine by me. Sure you can manage them?”

Emmy rolled her eyes “They’re no bother.” She then turned to Jamie “You wanna come too?”

“Hell no.” he said hastily, peering round at Rori before he shook his head “I’m going home for some peace and quiet.”

Both Steve and Katie let out a loud laugh, as Katie shook her head “Oh Jamie.”

“What?” he frowned.

“Nothing pal.” Steve smiled, reaching for his cider. “Nothing at all.”

#ssholidaychallenge #sageandsweater

[maxwell-grant]

You are your top 5 Shadow agents

I don’t talk about the Agents as much as I should, even though I constantly try to stress their importance, because I’m working on essays for them individually. To be honest, I think about the Agents practically every day to the point I have a hard time separating my headcanons from the actual canon material, but I have to stay true to it, and the lack of material regarding them means that the only way I can truly talk about their characterization is by diving deep into the novels and taking notes, which I don’t have much time to do, and then finding the right books or moments to talk about, which is even more difficult. 

This by no means constitutes my big thinkpiece on them, but it’s a start, and ultimately narrowing it down was a lot harder than I expected. This order is by no means final, if you asked me this question next week or next month I’d probably have a different answer, but it’s the 5 that I find myself thinking on the most. 

Honorable mentions: Jericho Druke and Myra Reldon, who are incredibly awesome characters conceptually and who have great moments each, and whom I definitely think deserve big turns on the spotlight if the Agents ever get put on the spotlight again, but are held back by issues with their presentation and lack of prominence. Margo Lane, whom only just narrowly missed the cut because, as much as I like her and think she gets an underseved bad rep and definitely has great things going for her, I sadly have to concede isn’t as consistently great or well-written as she should be. Clyde Burke, whom I definitely like a lot based on what I’ve read and consider an integral part of the line-up, but haven’t read enough of the novels he’s in to really solidify him as one of my favorites just yet. And Slade Farrow, who is a bit too complicated to talk about superficially.

Allright, so here they are

Number 5: Burbank

As the center of all communications within The Shadow’s network and the only character in the series who is even more mysterious and elusive than The Shadow himself, Burbank is fascinating and the kind of character who simultaneously seems to be both begging for an in-depth exploration and yet who also should be dead last on the list of mysteries about the series we want spoiled, because nobody wants the mystery ruined. He’s a bit of cipher personality-wise compared to the other agents, but he kind of has to be, and I think it helps to illustrate the many forms the agents of The Shadow can and should take, that one of them is this total mystery whom we know nothing about and yet is so vital to the whole thing. And it’s interesting also because, for all the many variations we’ve had on The Shadow’s life and thoughts and feelings and etc over the years, Burbank has stayed more or less the same. Whatever variations he’s had in design aside, Burbank just is. 

The pulps did often have moments where we would get to see moments that told us a little more about Burbank, gestures he did, capabilities he had and didn’t have, little details Gibson would sprinkle in to keep people fascinated. Several scenes with Burbank are almost presented like you’re watching a movie, in the way Gibson keeps describing his face being mysteriously blocked from view by objects or lighting, like not even in your mind you are supposed to know what he is. And it’s all the more fascinating because, unlike The Shadow, as far as we know, Burbank is just some guy who’s good with tech, who was only recruited in the 2nd story but apparently knows The Shadow from before it, and whom The Shadow entrusted with virtually every secret necessary to keep his operations running. 

It’s kind of a sign as to how utterly neglected the agents are that, to this day, few writers who’ve ever touched The Shadow has ever come close to giving us any sort of explanation or backstory or anything on Burbank, and I refuse to believe these people had that much self-control. Of course I have my own ideas for Burbank, but even I would hesitate to put them on a story, because Burbank epitomizes that double-edged sword that comes with a solid narrative mystery. Burbank just is, and hopefully he will stay that way. 

Number 4: Dr Roy Tam

Mention of Dr. Tam meant much to Sayre. He was acquainted with Roy Tam, the Chinese physician. He knew that Tam was a power in Chinatown; one who worked for good

Unrolling a map, Tam showed the entire Manhattan area, studded with tiny dots in districts quite remote from Chinatown.

"These represent my outposts," he said soberly. "They are places, owned by Chinese - restaurants, laundries, curio shops, other places of business. In each of these places, I have a friend."

The Shadow understood. Dr. Tam was the motivating factor among the Chinese who adapted themselves to American ways. His mission was to create good will among races, to put an end to prejudice and superstition.

A newer and more sober spirit had replaced the old and dangerous festivities. Feuds in Chinatown were a thing of the forgotten past. Dr. Tam and his associates had done much to bring about the present sentiment; but there were persons - even among that group - who felt regret at the passing of old traditions.

Dr Tam is a remarkably layered character for one that only appears in about ten stories, and he’s one of the agents I’m most eager to discuss in-depth. He’s another one of those agents that Gibson introduced by tricking you into seeing him as a villain, as a Yellow Peril cliche, until he is revealed to be in fact a good man. Not just good, Roy Tam is presented as a powerful, influential and cunning Chinese man with a lot of assistants secretly working for him, and who is consistently presented as a progressive, pacifistic, benevolent civic leader and ally, even friend, of The Shadow. 

Tam is very much westernized and the stories paint that mostly as a good thing, and this is one of the areas that I think could very much result in an interesting story that looks at the ramifications of his role, because of course not everyone is going to agree with his viewpoints, of course him being an advocate against superstition and tradition isn’t necessarily a good thing (and it’s not how Yat Soon, The Shadow’s other major Chinese ally, works, which puts the two at odds), and of course it’s a complicated situation, but the fact that Tam invites this kind of debate at all I think is something very interesting

Largely because of the movie, Dr Tam is one of the few agents of The Shadow who’s managed to sustain appearences in modern stories, and none of them have ever really went with his original angle as a powerful civic leader. Instead he’s been largely painted as either a scientist, like in the movie, a general practitioner, and a psychiatrist, and his age has been all over the board. 

I prefer him in his original form but I also very much like the idea of Roy Tam being, like the Chinese supervillains he was created to be a subversion of, an incredible genius who’s got skills in all fields that can fit under the “Dr” part of his job and is also an incredibly capable leader able to unify splintered communities under a cause of unity and cooperation, someone who absolutely could be the adventuring genius so many other pulp heroes are, except he dedicates himself wholesale to his community and the fight against prejudice and the betterment of lives, even if he’s misguided or wrong at some of the causes he takes up. I really think this character could partake in really great stories if ever brought back.

Number 3: Cliff Marsland

(Fan-art by @cryptixcreations)

Cliff may have actually been the first agent I really fell in love with based on concept alone, even before I read the stories he was a part of and started loving all of the others. He’s one of the few agents who has prior history with The Shadow and we get ever so tantalizing hints at his background that we ultimately never get to learn about in full. He’s the resident tough guy and underworld contact of The Shadow, which in any other series might have made him the biggest badass and a loner action hero who’s too cool for things like thinking and relying on others for help. But here, trying to be that only gets Cliff into trouble, and circumstances gradually morph him into the series equivalent of a Team Dad. 

He was one of the agents who we got to see develop as a character. As he appears more frequently past his introduction, he grows from a headstrong, careless jackass, mostly interested in the action parts of the job, who “resigned himself to an adventurous career with violent death as its inevitable termination”, into one of the most reliable and capable agents, taking the lead during action scenes but otherwise fully defering leadership to Harry, and being the agent most likely to partake in gunfights and rescue The Shadow out of trouble, joining in missions like infiltrating circuses or high-society clubs and forming very strong friendships with Harry, Clyde & Hawkeye, who almost kills a man with his bare hands when he thinks Harry’s been killed. He’s the hardass, square-jawed ex-con who plays the reputation of a brutal killer, and is in reality a great friend, ally and husband (Arline has sadly only been mentioned in three stories), on top of being an invaluable fighter and secret agent.

Cliff could have easily been the protagonist of a long-running series all his own and that’s one of my favorite aspects of The Shadow’s agents. They are people with agency, goals and dreams and relationships and lives beyond the roles they play, they all have strengths and weaknesses and faults and positives that bring them much closer to us than The Shadow could ever be, with no end to the variety of roles they can take, and Cliff in particular is a character I’m very attached to. 

I do hope that he eventually found peace in a quiet life with Arline once his business with The Shadow was over.

Number 2: Harry Vincent

The Shadow as a franchise has been vastly worse off as a result of Harry Vincent being completely sidelined and mischaracterized in virtually every adaptation since, and the sheer love that Shadow fans hold for Harry purely may be the closest thing to a true universal opinion in the fandom. 

Harry is a lot of things: the audience surrogate, the protagonist of much of the early stories, the leader of the agents in field duty, the dude in distress who gets kidnapped far more than even Margo, a hopeless romantic, an action hero, the one who gets sent to recruit agents because all The Shadow has to do is send Harry on an assignment and wait for him to come back with a new friend. He is a competent, resourceful, strong, extremely kind ball of sunshine who's got the potential for greatness, even if he can't see it. 

And for this post I’m going to highlight this: Harry is, on top of all that, the ultimate embodiment of what The Shadow strives to protect, help and uplift. He is the living proof that The Shadow's mission has a good, positive effect in the world, long after criminals are brought to justice and plots are failed and victims are rescued, purely by the fact that he’s alive and helping others who were once like him. Someone who, despite having so much to offer, could have easily been swept away by the world’s callousness and cruelty, if The Shadow wasn’t there to rescue him and uplift him.

I liked The Shadow pretty much at first sight after seeing the character’s design and listening to episodes of the radio show, and my appreciation for the character grew after reading The Shadow’s Shadow, but it wasn’t until I encountered @oldschoolcrimefighters and her brilliantly informative writings on The Shadow and Harry that I not only fell in love with the series, but decided to do everything in my power to try and get other people to love it too and see the potential it has. I think a lot more people should at least be aware of why Harry matters. 

Number 1: Moe Shrevnitz

I was honestly a bit surprised when I rounded up all of the agents to make this list and Shrevy here ended up in Number One, but in hindsight, it may have been obvious all along. 

My reasonings as to why Shrevy is my favorite agent do get a bit too personal, especially because of something that happened to me as I was writing this post, so I’m putting it on a separate post here. 

[fandom-thingies]

My Complicated Feelings Toward JK Rowling

I think everyone who’s read Harry Potter and likes to talk has written something like this by now. It makes sense, right? She wrote possibly the most influential book series to come out in the last century. For me and many others, those books are an unforgettable part of our childhoods, and it hurts for the person who took us on such a journey of magic and wonder to be so unmagical herself.

So, here’s my take.

I think the thing I hate most about JK Rowling is how close she came to greatness.

There’s a reason her books became so popular, after all. For all her faults, (and there are many) she’s an amazing writer.

Every one of her characters feel like they could walk off of the page at any time and into your life. 

Dudley Dursley with his absorption of how his parents treat Harry and how his friends treat him, with his slow growth throughout the books into a person beyond who he was raised to be.

Molly Weasley with her overbearing mother henning, sometimes harmful but oh so clearly coming from a place of love, and her complete willingness to adopt any child that stands still long enough for her to do so. (Except Fleur)

Narcissa Malfoy with her belief in the horrible things she’s doing, without that stopping her from being entirely willing to do anything for her child.

Sirius Black with his tendency to unintentionally echo the sentiments he was raised with, and the tragedy of him losing his chance to ever truly grow as a person after being thrown in Azkaban for twelve years and then dying so soon after, and his complete, unconditional love for Harry.

I could write essays on any of them, and my point is that while JK’s treatment of certain issues and characters makes me want to hate Harry Potter, her characterization itself is both consistent and magnificently human.

Her world, too, is beautiful.

I first read Harry Potter before I turned eleven, and I was one of many across the nation who awaited my letter with eager anticipation. 

Can you blame me? The world she created filled so many children with wonder, made so many of us want so badly for magic to be real, to be ours- 

It was beautiful, and I hate her for what she could have been.

She had this fully realized system of prejudice that canonically created genocidal maniacs and put them in power every two generations or so, and she had this very realistic way of writing horribly flawed people that pronounces them as people without exonerating them for the awful things she’d have them do, and I can’t help feeling like “the horrors of war”, as well as she wrote it, wasn’t the story her world deserved.

But that’s a big idea to tackle, and I think it will be tackled best if I start small. I’ve spoken now of the beauty of her world, of her characters. Now I’ll speak of what marrs it.

Like I said, I want to start small.

So, let’s talk about the house elves.

TL;DR? Hermione was right. They’re indoctrinated from birth into believing the only thing they’re good for is housework, as well as being raised to abhor any elf who chooses to do otherwise. It’s a neat little self perpetuating system that bears absolutely no similarity in ideology to the mythology JK built it off of, and as such loses the aspect of choice that’s so significant to brownies.

Add to that the socially acceptable abuse, and you’ve got something that looks far more similar to slavery than it does little fairies who come to clean your home and get mad if pay them because they’re doing it as a favor.

And that’s why it’s so concerning, when JK brushes Hermione’s campaigning off in canon so casually.

It’s honestly hard to say when I started to be leery of JK Rowling, except that it was several years before the TERF scandal occurred. I think this was probably one of the earlier areas, though.

The first time I remember wondering if Harry Potter’s greatnesses were in spite of her intentions, rather than because of them, though, wasn’t the house elves.

It was, rather, a different contentious issue in the fandom, and one I’ve always fallen quite firmly to one side of, as someone who’s been bullied myself.

The first time I remember being suspicious of JK’s beliefs was when I realized she didn’t write Snape with the intent for him to be a villain.

Snape is not a person anyone in the fandom seems to be able to agree on. Some see him as a flat, cartoony villain, while some see him as a tortured soul who only did all those terrible things because he was hurting inside, don’t you see? 

Personally, I drew the line at him being a child’s boggart, as well as the time he attempted to kill Neville’s toad, Trevor, because seriously; what the fuck.

It had always been my belief that while him being obsessed with loving Lily motivated him to work on the side of good, it was more like Narcissa’s willingness to betray her cause for her son than anything else, being a sympathetic trait without absolving his cruelty.

Then I realized that a bunch of people (likely including JK) view Narcissa similarly to how they view Snape, seeing both as people who do bad but are good, rather than people who do good but are bad, and I honestly don’t know what to say to y’all.

You know having good traits doesn’t make a person good, right? Being capable of affection doesn’t absolve people of cruelty or make it your responsibility to forgive them and try to get them to change, it just tells them that they can do bad things without being punished for it. 

Do you guys need an abuse hotline? 

Anyway, that’s when I stopped liking JK, since I’ve been bullied myself and seeing her treat such a horrible bully as a good person kinda soured me on her. I’m not mad at her for letting her bullies grow and change- I love Draco’s and Dudley’s character arcs. I’m just mad at her because unlike those two, Snape is an adult and she kinda wrote it like forgiving him was an expectation of Harry, rather than a personal choice (and not an easy one either! Forgiving bullies is hard and it’s not always healthy!)

I’m getting off topic, but I genuinely believe that discussing this kind of thing is important, so I’m leaving that in.

Getting back to what this is actually about, I’m the kind of person who sees potential in things, often before I see the work itself, (it’s why I write fanfiction) and Harry Potter has so much potential it hurts, because so much of it is just wasted.

I said, earlier, that “the horrors of war” wasn’t the story best suited to this world, and I stand by that.

The first reason I believe that is because I don’t think that the black and white morality this kind of narrative often creates was well suited to JK’s writing style. JK has a tendency to put her characters in boxes of “good” or “bad” and as someone who doesn’t really believe in inherent goodness or evil, this will always feel unrealistic to me.

Because in the end, it’s JK’s minor villains, the ones not directly involved with Voldemort’s war, that really shine.

My favorite villains in the series were Umbridge, the Dursleys, Draco Malfoy, and Cornelius Fudge, because they were the villains who felt real, who felt like flawed people making flawed decisions because we’re all fundamentally products of our environment-

These are the villains who stuck with me, who I still want to take and shake because they were the kind of cruelty we’ve all faced.

Voldemort, as the main villain of the story, would have been more powerful if he’d been an amplified version of these people. In fact, the story would have been better in general if Fudge or Dumbledore had been the villain, because the problem with Voldemort is that unlike the good villains in this story, who feel real because we’ve all met people like them, Voldemort is and will always be larger than life.

A genocidal maniac is a villain few of us have faced societally, and one none of us have faced directly.

Also, rather than being a worse version of Umbridge or Fudge, Voldemort is more akin to a worse version of Snape. He’s a tortured soul who does bad things because bad things were done to him, rather than being cruel through his choices, his own agency.

That’s the first reason why “the horrors of war” wasn’t the best choice of a narrative for this world.

The second is that I don’t think JK sees anything wrong with her muggle hating characters.

She clearly thinks killing muggles is wrong, of course. She’s not that bad.

But, well, the muggle characters in Harry Potter are consistently kind of awful.

First there’s the Dursleys, selfish, entitled, egotistical, and cruel to anyone different from them. Then there’s Snape’s muggle father, who was horribly abusive, as well as cruel to anything different from him.

Then there’s the muggle prime minister, who despite being an important figure, is left completely out of the loop for anything concerning wizards, pretty much only used when the ministry needs the muggle news to say or do a certain thing, like when Sirius Black was declared a criminal.

There’s also the family at the quidditch world cup, of whom who only meet the patriarch, a somewhat stupid man who remarks uncomprehendingly on the oddness of wizards trying to assimilate into muggle society, a man who is canonically obliviated ten times a day.

And that’s it, that’s all the muggle characters I can remember. Aside from the Dursleys, none of them are given more than a page or so of screentime, and none of them do anything significant.

No, wait, I did actually forget two.

Hermione’s parents, who are obliviated and sent to Australia when the war starts, because the only thing they could ever do in a war is be victims.

Muggles in Harry Potter are consistently stupid, ineffectual, and cruel to anyone different from them.

Out of the entire massive cast of Harry Potter, there are few enough muggles that I can list them all off the top of my head without googling and the only muggle in the story ever given the all important chance to be kind is Dudley Dursley, who is taken out of the story the moment he stops being an awful person.

I’m sure you see the problem.

The issue with Harry Potter is that JK acts like the problem is solved when muggles are no longer being actively persecuted, when in reality that’s only the beginning of solving the prejudice that plagues her world.

Voldemort is frequently called “wizard Hitler” and I think that’s more accurate than people realize, because as with Hitler, people easily see the problem with Voldemort committing genocide, and they’re fine with working to stop that, but the moment they’re asked to examine their own biases, their own small cruelties and exclusions, the ten thousand cuts they’ve inflicted with their own hands…

The moment people are asked to examine themselves, to look close at the mirror and point to what allowed someone like Voldemort to gain a following in the first place, they turn away and go back to turning a blind eye to the fact that if you don’t address the societal issues that made him gain a following in the first place, there’ll just be another when it’s been a few years and people have forgotten.

In the end, Grindlewald is wizard Hitler. Voldemort and the death eaters are wizard neo nazis.

I’m not Jewish, though, so I’ll let them be the ones to expand further upon this, as many have.

My point here is that JK’s story would have been more powerful if it had been about addressing the issues that underpin the death eaters, rather than killing their leader and acting as if that’ll solve anything.

JK Rowling is antisemetic, racist, and a TERF, among other things, and while I’m glad it shows in her work as little as it does, it does show, and I’m not going to cover that in this because a thousand other people have covered it better than I ever could.

Suffice to say, I’m nonbinary, and I’m glad I was disillusioned with her before I knew she was prejudiced directly against me, because loving her before she said the things she said and did the things she did would have hurt.

The fact that her world shows so clearly the consequences of her beliefs, even in the context of a prejudice that doesn’t exist in our own world…

I guess she’s always been too good a writer for her own good, in the end.

[kinglazrus]

Therefore I am

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @kili-kai-wox (kilikani on ffn): Danny is surprised when he receives an A+. I wonder what subject it could be from?

Summary: There are two things Danny never expected to get out of his philosophy class: an A+ and to be confronted about his never-ending existential crisis

Warnings: discussion of/thoughts about death and the meaning of death.

Word count: 2971

Today is a grim day for Danny Fenton. It just might be the end of him. He's backed into a corner, enemies approached from all sides. His allies have abandoned him. Friends, family, all gone. He's on his own out here and it doesn't look like he's going to make it. Rations are getting low.

Jazz slaps her hand against her forehead and groans. "Don't be so dramatic!"

Danny, pinned against the lockers by his friends and sisters, howls in outrage. "I'm almost out of gummy bears!" He shoves the near empty plastic bag in Jazz's face, shaking it furiously. "And look! It's mostly just the white ones! I might as well starve."

"Ooh, I love the white ones!" Tucker snatches the bag out of Danny's hand. Fishing a few gummies out, he pops them into his mouth and chews, a blissful smile on his lips.

Danny moans. "My rations."

Sam rolls her eyes.

Danny was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch when they cornered him. They came out of nowhere, surging out from the crowd of shuffling students, surrounding him before he could realize what was happening.

With Jazz in front of him, Sam to his left, and Tucker to his right, they block off all routes of escape. Except the ghostly ones, but too many students are milling about for him to safely use his powers.

Danny doesn't like the look in their eyes. Sam's eager glint, Tucker's grin, Jazz's stern frown. They all set him on edge.

"Can I just please go to lunch?" he begs. Thanks to Skulker, Danny didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning, except a handful of cereal. The only thing he wants right now is to go get some food, even if it's the crappy cardboard pizza they serve in the cafeteria. He needs sustenance damn it!

Tucker stealing his gummy bears is the deepest betrayal he could get right now.

"No," Jazz and Sam say at the same time.

Tucker stealing his gummy bears is the second deepest betrayal.

"Come on, man," Tucker says around a mouthful of gummies. "Just spill it."

"It wasn't my fault," Danny whines, wilting against the lockers. Jazz's frown deepens, turning from disappointment into a full-blown pout. Left with no other choice, Danny relents. "Fine! But I'm telling you, he was asking for it."

He's about to expose his plans but stops when he catches their confused faces. "What?" he asks.

"Lancer was asking for it?" Sam asks. She leans against the lockers next to Danny, eyebrow raised.

"Lancer?"

"Yeah. Mikey told us what happened in philosophy class. And we told Jazz," Tucker says. "What do you think we're talking about?"

Danny thinks about his parents' new ecto grenade—completely harmless to humans, of course—rigged up in Dash's locker, ready to explode as soon as someone opens the door. "It's not important right now. Philosophy? I got an A, yeah. Awesome, right?"

"And you didn't tell me!" Jazz says, offended.

Oh, Danny thinks. That's why she looked disappointed. He doesn't know how he was supposed to tell her, though, because this is the first time he's seen her all morning.

"Dude, you didn't just get an A," Tucker says.

"Okay, A+."

"Dude."

Sam, exasperated, grabs Danny's shoulders and forcibly turns him toward her. "Mikey told us how Lancer stood up at the front of the class and said your paper was the best he'd ever read in that class."

"Oh." Danny's cheeks burn and he ducks his head. "Yeah. That."

When he turned the paper in last week, he honestly thought he would fail the assignment. The night before it was due, Cujo managed to dig his way out of the Ghost Zone again and immediately wanted to play. Danny was happy to oblige since, for once, he had all his homework done on time and there were no ghosts to take care of that night. The real trouble came when he had to go downstairs for dinner, leaving Cujo in his room with a stern reminder not to leave it.

Miraculously, Cujo obeyed the command. But that meant there was a bored, excitable puppy in Danny's room, alone, for almost an hour, with nothing to play with. His room hadn't been neat when he left it, but it was trashed by the time he came back. His backpack was particularly mangled, and his essay ripped to shreds.

Danny hadn't thought Lancer would accept "a ghost dog ate my homework," as an excuse for not having the assignment done. But he no longer had the library books he used to write the damn thing in the first place. Which meant he had to replace his typed, carefully referenced, well-thought out essay with a rushed, handwritten mess that consisted only of Danny's personal thoughts.

Suffice to say, he wasn't too confident in the new essay. The last thing he expected was to get a passing grade for it, much less actual praise. Danny doesn't get praise, not outside hero work, at least. He gets lots of sighs and disappointed looks. Maybe a stern, "This is proof you can do better," when he pulls a grade higher than a D. But not praise. Never praise.

"It was... something," Danny says. He doesn't usually get embarrassed by attention, although that doesn't necessarily mean he likes it either. But getting called out by Lancer in front of the whole class was an entirely new experience.

Before Lancer started handing out the papers, he had stood at the front of the class and waved the stack in the air.

"I have to say, I'm very impressed by the work some of you did. Very thoughtful," he started. "But there is one paper in particular that I would like to bring up."

Lancer shuffled through the stack, shifting everything around until a bundle of loose leaf ripped from a notebook sat on top. The pages were stapled poorly, and the handwriting was borderline illegible. Danny knew instantly it was his and expected the worst.

"This paper was, perhaps, the most insightful essay I've ever read in all my time teaching this class," Lancer said. He beamed in Danny's direction. "It was speculative, introspective, and intuitive. Written purely from the student's own thoughts on life and death. This is what philosophy is about, and I hope I can see similar work from the rest of you in the future."

Danny sank into his seat as Lancer walked down the aisle, heading right for him, and held his paper out.

"Thanks," Danny muttered, taking his assignment. He couldn't bear to lift his gaze and meet the burning stares of his peers. The worst part, though was when Lancer asked to see Danny at the end of the day.

"Are you gonna go?" Tucker asks.

"I don't know." Danny's grip on his backpack tightens as he thinks about the paper stuffed inside. "I'm not in trouble or anything, and it didn't really sound like I have to go."

"I think you should." Jazz reaches out and ruffles Danny's hair, smiling proudly at him. "You did good, little brother. You're smart, and Lancer knows that. Whatever he wants to talk to about, I'm sure it's good."

Danny grumbles, shoving Jazz's hand away and fixing his hair. He doesn't make it neat, but he messes it up the way he likes it to be messed up. There's a difference.

"I guess. As long as no ghosts interrupt, I'll go," Danny says. Jazz is right—she usually is, much to his chagrin. Whatever Lancer wants, after what he said about Danny's paper, it has to be good. But he still hopes the Box Ghost shows up so that Danny doesn’t have to go.

"Can I have my gummy bears back?" Danny asks, turning to Tucker.

Tucker, cheeks puffed with gummies, looks down at the empty bag. He slowly shakes his head. "I don't think you want them back."

—

Danny hesitates outside Lancer's door. The final bell rang five minutes ago, and most students have already fled the school grounds. The football team is still here, somewhere, because they have practice in half an hour. Everyone else is out front waiting for their buses. Jazz left in the initial crowd. Sam and Tucker offered to hang around and wait for him, but Danny waved them off and told them to go ahead. They have better things to do.

It crosses Danny's mind that he can lie to them. If he skips out and only tells them he talked to Lancer, they will probably accept it and leave it at that. Jazz might probe him a little about it, but if he acts annoyed about it, she'll stop. But he's being ridiculous. There's no real reason why he can't walk through this door right now and get this over with. Jazz is right. It's probably a good thing. But something about it sets Danny on edge.

Sighing heavily, he reaches out and knocks on Lancer's door, standing on his toes to peek through the window.

Lancer, sitting at his desk, grading a pile of new assignments, looks up. He sees Danny and smiles, waving him inside.

Danny pauses for a second, then turns the handle and steps into the room.

"Please, Mr. Fenton, close the door and take a seat," Lancer says.

Danny does as told, closing the door a little too hard, and shuffles over to the desk closest to Lancer's. Swinging his backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down on the floor beside him and slides into the chair.

While Lancer makes a few more notes on the paper in front of him, Danny scans the classroom. Sometimes it feels like he spends half his day in this room. Lancer teaches a surprising number of courses. Danny's almost impressed by the range. Little hints of each course are scattered throughout the room. A poster about calculating surface area by the window, a cartoonish timeline of US history along the top of the wall, aperiodic table taking up most of the back wall.

For philosophy, there's a collage of famous philosophers taped to the front of Lancer's desk. Danny thinks a former student made it, because it's just some images cut out and glued onto a stiff piece of poster board.

Danny stares at each face in the collage, trying to recognize them. Friedrich Nietzsche is the only one he can identify by name. The only reason Danny remembers him in the first place is his wild mustache. Hard to forget something like that.

"Mr. Fenton."

Danny's head snaps up, gaze jumping to Lancer.

"I'd like to congratulate you again for writing such a wonderful paper" Lancer says. "But I had a few questions."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Are you okay, Mr. Fenton?"

Danny blinks. "I­­­– what?"

"In your paper, you spoke a lot about death, dying, and our perceptions of life now that we know there is some form of afterlife. Some of your points were rather... personal."

Danny thinks back over his paper. The moment he realized he had to make the whole thing up, he decided to talk about the one philosophical debate he was personally invested in: the significance of life after death. He mentioned his parents' views on the matter, that ghosts are mindless monsters, but mostly spoke about his own and what questions he had about it. Thanks to his personal experience with dying, he had a lot to talk about.

Lancer reaches for an open notebook sitting on his desk. Lifting it up, he scans the page for a moment, then reads, "'Some people falsely believe ghosts are not, and never were, human, but are instead creatures from another dimension connected to our own. While some ghosts definitely aren't human, I have met countless that were. They remember living and dying, and there is evidence of their human lives left behind. What does this mean for people who are still living? If we can die and nothing changes for us, does dying matter at all?'"

Danny immediately recognizes his own words. Lancer must have written down what Danny said in his essay. It makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want his thoughts lying around where anyone can read them. He especially doesn't want Lancer to pick and choose them at random for whatever this conversation is.

"That doesn't really sound personal," Danny mutters.

"No, it doesn't," Lancer agrees. "But the things you go on to say after this point are concerning, to say the least. Which brings me back to my original question. Are you okay?"

Danny's face scrunches as he thinks. So what if he got personal? It's a personal matter. That was the whole point when he wrote it. He doesn't understand what Lancer's getting at.

Lancer sighs and keeps going. "'Lots of people think about what happens after they die. Usually, they're talking about religion and what waits for them on the other side. Personally, I wonder about what happens to everything I leave behind, and what dying would do for me.' Would you like to expand on that?"

Danny leans away. "No?"

"What dying would do for you," Lancer repeats.

"What are you­­– oh." Finally, realization dawns on Danny. He squirms uncomfortably. "I'm not– I don't want to–"

He cuts himself off with a sight. How is he supposed to explain what's going on in his head without giving his secret away? Danny's not okay, but he isn't not okay, either. He's just... dead.

He died, but he lived, and it changed him. And yet, at the same time, nothing changed at all. In the grand scheme of things, Danny died and everything stayed the same. No one noticed, except his friends, who were there and are probably scarred for life.

Besides, Danny lived, in the end. So he's supposed to be fine, right? But he doesn't know how to deal with going through something that traumatic and realizing it didn't matter.

Ghosts look at life differently. They don't regret dying because once you're dead, whatever led up to that point no longer matters. They remember their lives, but they don't care about them. If Danny had died all the way that day, he wouldn't care either. Thinking about that messes him up.

Lancer watches him expectantly. Danny realizes he's been silent for too long, and he has to say something.

"It's complicated."

"We have the time, if you'd like to try," Lancer says.

Danny shakes his head. "I really don't. You don't need to be worried about me, or anything. I don’t want to die or anything. I just..."

My whole life is just one big existential crisis.

"Mr. Fenton." Lancer stands up, pushing away from his desk.

Danny keeps his eyes on the philosophy collage as Lancer approaches. Holding himself perfectly still, he doesn’t look away, even as Lancer crouches next to Danny's desk.

"Okay."

There's nothing special about the word, or the way Lancer says it. He has no clue what's going on in Danny's mind right now, but he's looking at Danny with warm eyes, offering him a comforting smile, and Danny actually feels like he could be okay.

"For whatever it's worth, Mr. Fenton, I don't think my days would be the same without you. But I understand."

He really doesn't, but Danny appreciates the effort.

"If this isn't something you'd like to talk about with me, I won't push it. Perhaps I could have approached you more delicately about the matter." Lancer pats Danny's shoulder. "I hope you will talk to someone, if you need it. And don't let this stop you from pursuing your interest in philosophy."

Danny doesn't have the heart tell Lancer he only took the class because he thought it would be easy.

"You have a knack for it."

"Um, thank you," Danny says.

Lancer pats him again, then stands. "Don't let me keep you. I'm sure, as you students would say, you have to get vibing."

Danny grimaces. "We really wouldn't."

Dismissed, he gathers up his backpack and practically sprints to the door, yanking it open. Halfway out, he pauses, looking back over his shoulder. Lancer is back at his desk already, resuming his grading.

"Thanks, Mr. Lancer," Danny says. "You're not really 'hip', but... you are kind of cool."

He runs out of the room before Lancer can respond. Lips pressed in a firm line, he contemplates whether today was good or bad after all. A+ on his essay? Good. Getting praised in front of the class? It sounded good, but it felt bad and it was awkward as hell. Tucker eating all his gummy bears? Definitely bad.

The talk he just had with Lancer? Debatable.

Danny rounds the corner, heading for the front doors, and almost barrels right into Dash. He swerves at the last second—thank you reflexes—and skitters out of Dash's way.

"Watch it, Fenfreak," Dash says.

Danny rolls his eyes. "You get more creative every day, Dash. Why are you even still here?"

"Practice tonight, duh," Dash says.

Right. Danny gives Dash a critical look. "Going to your locker?" he asks.

"My stuff's already in the gym, dweeb. Why do you care?"

"I just thought I saw Paulina put some in there early. Could have been a love letter or something." Danny shrugs.

An eager gleam enters Dash's eye. Danny almost feels sorry for the poor guy. He's probably the only person who can't tell Paulina is hopelessly in love with Star. Why else would Paulina say she can't date any boys because she's saving herself for the ghost boy? Seriously.

Dash runs for his locker, yanking it open. As a resounding bang echoes down the hall and green go splatters all over the walls, floor, ceiling, and Dash, Danny finally makes up his mind. Today is a very good day.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Forever

A Very Rogers Christmas Part 1- The Best Things In Life Are Tree

Summary: It’s that time of year again and the Rogers family prepare to go and pick their Christmas tree. But when Emmy calls with a bit of bad news, it puts a little downer on the whole thing for Katie and Steve decides to call in reinforcements to pull off the best Christmas Heist he can…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So here we go, Part 1 of my Stark Spangled 2020 Christmas special- A Very Rogers Christmas.  This one was written for For @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @sagechanoafterdark ‘s Winter/Holiday Challenge.

Prompt- Finding the PERFECT Tree.

"Daddy, I found something else I want to ask Santa for, for Christmas." Rori bounced into the study and Steve closed his eyes on the papers he was trying to grade and sighed. "I bet you have." He mumbled before he glanced up at his daughter and couldn't help but smile at her as she skipped over to him, her long pony tail swinging behind her "What is it, Princess?" "A capybara." she said, scrambling up onto his lap. "A what?" Steve frowned. "A capybara. Look!" she turned the tablet she was holding towards him to show him a picture of the brown animal "They're like huge guinea pigs. I saw one at the zoo with Uncle Buck yesterday and when I said I wanted one he told me to tell you that I was gonna ask Santa." "Course he did." Steve sighed, mentally cursing his asshole best friend. "You know, Rori, don't think Santa can get you one of those." "Why not?" "It’s too big." He attempted “There’s nowhere for us to keep it.” "Our garden is huge!" Rori blinked at him. "And when Emmy and Petey move into the Tower he can live in the cabin." Trust her to be as damned smart as her mother. "They're wild animals honey." Steve shook his head as he tried attempt number two. "But they live in a zoo." Rori looked up at him, her face full of eager excitement “That’s not the wild.” "Yeah but that’s different." Steve reasoned patiently. "They're not like dogs or cats or regular guinea pigs. They need very special care.” "Oh." Rori looked down a little, her shoulders slumping and Steve sighed.

Fuck you, Bucky.

"Okay. Never mind." She clicked off the screen of her tablet and turned towards Steve, looking up at him with those damned green eyes. "Do you think he could get me a kitty instead?"

No, just say no… "Maybe."

Way to go, Rogers. Rori's eyes lit up and Steve inwardly groaned. It was a well-known fact in their house that whenever Dad said maybe, it meant yes. Fuck.

“I love you Daddy!” she beamed, reaching up to press a kiss to his bearded cheek before she hopped off his lap and skipped towards the door “Oh, me and momma are going to make gingerbread men for tomorrow so we can have them when we decorate the tree.”

“Can’t wait baby.” He smiled

“Are you gonna be working tomorrow afternoon?” she asked a little shyly and he shook his head.

“No, I promise.”  He assured her. “All day tomorrow is family day.”

She gave him another huge smile, one that truly warmed his entire being as it made her look even more like his wife, and then headed out of the room, her feet pattering on the tiles of the hallway as she skipped back into the other part of the house. Steve exhaled and looked back down at the paper, groaning as he realised he’d lost his place. He’d been home early that afternoon hoping for more peace and quiet than he got in his office at the University to concentrate on getting through all these and for the most it had worked, until Jamie and Rori had arrived home from school full of it as usual. Katie had kept them out of his way for the most but the realisation that Christmas was well on the way had hit the eldest two and whipped them up into a fever.

Not that Steve particularly cared. He adored this time of year. It was Katie’s holiday and from the day after Thanksgiving the Christmas period started in full throttle in the Rogers household, and they’d picked tomorrow, 2 weeks before the schools broke up, to go and pick the trees for their lounge and hallway. He was a little disappointed that it hadn’t snowed yet, there had been a good covering the previous year but, still it was set to be a cold and dry day so they could still get bundled up and have their hot chocolate and snacks as usual.

He rubbed at his eyes and focussed, reading through the paper in front of him on the ‘Strategy, Diplomacy and politics of Axis and Allied forces in WW2’, wishing to God he was marking something on the course he was actually employed to teach now- Fine Arts- but all those had been done and graded last week. This was the module of History that he taught, because as the Uni said- he was a living, breathing expert.

Aparently.

An hour or so later he finished red-penning the final six paged essay, with a proud smile as that one had been particularly good and he quickly checked it over once more, making sure he’d captured all the notes on the electronic copy and queued it up to send on Monday, just like Katie had shown him how to, so that each student had the hard copy and soft copy back. He stood up, stretched, turned off his laptop and headed through to the main area of the house, the smell of baking and cooking hitting his nostrils as he went.

He walked into the kitchen to find Rori kneeling on one of the tall stools over the island-slash-breakfast bar, her hands and face smeared in pink icing as she decorated a gingerbread man, her little tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Katie was stood supervising Harry who was also covered in frosting, this one bright green. Flossie sat in the highchair opposite, banging a spoon on the tray occasionally letting out a yell or babble of something incoherent. As soon as she saw Steve she gave a huge grin and her shouts became louder and he smiled.

“Hi Floss-Floss!” he beamed, crossing to drop a kiss to her head before he looked across at Katie “Where’s Jamie?”

“Upstairs in his room.” Katie gave a little sigh “He said, and I quote, ‘I’m ten now, far too old to decorate gingerbread, mom.’ I could have cried there and then Steve.” She finished with a pout.

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, the fact her eldest baby boy was growing up was something he knew she hated “Yeah, I bet he won’t be too old to eat them, though.” He appeased and she smiled.

“That’s what I said.” Rori gave a dramatic roll of her eyes and Steve chuckled.

“You finished Grading?” Katie asked as she gently guided Harry’s hand over the cookie shaped like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah, all done. Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay.” She looked up at him, smiling “Your dinner is in the oven. I already ate with the kids. Sorry, I was starving.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait.”  Steve walked over the room and dropped a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

He made his way over to the Aga stove and opened the door, giving a little groan when he saw she’d done his favourite, a Mac and Cheese bake laced with chicken, chorizo and broccoli. He turned to look at her and didn’t miss the flicker of a smile on her face as she knew what he was thinking, before he pulled out the plate giving a yell as it burnt his fingers, dropping it onto the side with a clatter.

“Careful daddy, hot!” Harry turned to face him, and Katie burst out laughing.

“Yeah, thanks Son.” Steve tried not to roll his eyes as he sucked his thumb. Grabbing a tea-towel he gripped the plate, found some cutlery and sat down at the table to the side of the kitchen, tucking in.

“I finished all mine, Momma.” Rori grinned, placing the tube of squeezy frosting down on the side. Steve watched as Katie moved to look over Rori’s shoulder.

“Good job sweetie.” She smiled, “Creative, I’ve never seen a pink cat before.”

Steve paused and looked at Rori as she grinned “I know they’re not really pink, and my kitty won’t be, but it can have a pink collar.”

At that he winced and hastily shoved another forkful of food into his mouth, praying that the conversation stopped there.

Katie sighed “Rori we’ve been over this, you can’t have a cat.”

“Daddy said I could.”

Shit.

Katie’s eyes shot to Steve and he gave her his best innocent look, but from the way her features grew stern he knew he was utterly busted and he swallowed the food in his mouth which turned to cement in his throat.

“No, that’s not what I said.” Steve shook his head.

“You said maybe.” Rori shrugged “Same thing.”

“We getting a kitty?” Harry asked, looking at Katie.

“No.” she shook her head.

“But I asked Daddy if Santa would bring me one and he said maybe.” Rori looked at Katie.

“Well Daddy is wrong.” She glared at Steve and he visibly shrank in his seat. Katie’s green eyes narrowed before they turned back to Rori. “Santa can’t bring live animals. It’s in the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The Christmas Rules” Katie said quickly “No live animals. It’s not fair on them. They don’t like the sleigh.”

“But…”

“No buts Rori.” Katie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose “I’m sorry honey, but it’s not gonna happen.”

Rori pouted a little but she knew when she was beat and glanced down at the cookies on the tray before she looked up, grinning smugly. “I’ll just ask Uncle Bucky to get me one. He got me Dory.”

“Oh for the love of…” Katie spluttered “Uncle Bucky won’t get you one either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll tell him not to.” Katie looked at her “We have Stark. No more animals.”

Rori folded her arms and at that point Steve stepped in, sensing an impending tantrum.

“Aurora.” He said sternly and she turned her head to face him as he pointed his fork at her. “Enough.”

She glared at him before she sighed and looked at Katie “Can I get down now please?”

Katie obliged and pulled her stool out a little allowing Rori to hop down. “Stay right there little miss.”

“Why?” Rori frowned as Katie headed to the sink, coming back with a cloth. With a groan, Rori held out her hands so Katie could wipe them clean, along with the little smear of icing on her face “20 minutes and then its bath time. We’re up early in the morning.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Rori bounced excitedly “To pick our trees. Hey, can I get one for my room?”

Katie hesitated before she shrugged “You know, I saw some in the shop that already have the lights on and they change colour. We’ll get a big one for the lounge and hallway like normal and I’ll get you a special one. And you get to keep it for next year and the year after.”

Rori pondered this for a moment before she shook her head “I want a real one from the farm.”

Katie groaned, and threw her hands out to the side “Fine, just, go and watch TV or something in the Play Room.”

“I watch TV too please, Momma?” Harry asked and Katie nodded, cleaning him up too before she lifted him down off the stool. He toddled after Rori, yelling for her to wait and as soon as they were gone Katie rounded on Steve.

“Honey, I…” he began and winced as she exploded on him.

“Seriously? A damned cat?”

“She caught me unawares.”

“She always catches you unawares!” Katie scoffed “After six, almost seven years I’d have thought you’d be used it by now.”

“I only said-“

“And as usual I’m left to be the bad guy.” Katie ranted, shaking her head as she moved to turn Flossie’s chair so she was facing the table. “You’re an asshole.”

“This is technically Bucky’s fault.”

“Oh, no, Steven Grant Rogers! Don’t you are try and blame this one on Buck.” She hissed.

“But he took her to the zoo and told her to ask for a capybara!” Steve practically whined “When I said no she asked for a cat, the maybe just slipped out.” Katie paused, her arms folded, face furious and Steve peered up at her giving her a little smile “Don’t be mad, come on baby. I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re still an asshole.” She grumbled, before she crossed to the fridge and pulled out the wine. “And for that you can deal with bedtime. I’m going for a bath.”

“Sure, not a problem.” Steve nodded, swallowing more of his food. Katie poured herself a large glass before she moved to put the bottle back and then changed her mind. With the bottle in one hand, full glass in the other she made for the door. “I love you.” Steve shot as she passed him, and despite her annoyed demeanour, the slight smile that played on her face told him he wasn’t in too much trouble.  

****

All kids were bathed and in bed little over an hour later. The youngest three settled down to sleep, Jamie instructed he had an hour of TV or reading time before lights off.

“Ok Dad.” He nodded, running his hand through his hair as he tidied up his games console a little, Stark curled up on the bed.

“I’ll be in to check.” Steve looked at him, and Jamie rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got it. You can trust me.”

“I know.” Steve gave a chuckle “Night son.” He crossed the room to drop a kiss to his head and Jamie pushed him away.

“Gerroff, I’m ten.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still my kid so…” Steve grumbled, and Jamie burst into laughter as the pair of them began to play fight, Jamie digging Steve in the ribs with a well-aimed jab. “Ouch! “ Steve stood up, rubbing at his side, that had hurt a little too much for his liking. “Nice shot.”

“Bucky said I had a good right hook.”

Steve rolled his eyes “I don’t wanna know how he even found that out.”

“He has a punch bag in the garage.” Jamie shrugged as he flopped down onto his bed. “Like yours. He was teaching me to swing.”

“I could teach you that.” Steve replied, a little petulantly.

“Will you?”

“No. You’re ten.” He shot back and Jamie let out a groan of frustration, before Steve chuckled “Ok, I’ll teach you a little IF you promise not to use it anywhere but on the punch bag.”

“But what if I need to use it?”

“Well, that’s different.” Steve pondered, before he shook his head. “But you’re far too young to be getting into situations like that.”

“Uncle Buck said you were fighting people form the age of six. And getting your ass kicked.”

“Well, you do as I say…”

“Not as I do, yeah I got it.” Jamie grinned and Steve arched an eyebrow before he made his way to the door. He paused and turned back to look at his son, not for the first time taking in how damned tall and broad he was for his age. He pointed to Stark “Don’t let your mother catch him on the bed.”

“You know she says the same thing about you.” Jamie looked at him and Steve chuckled.

“I do, but let’s just pretend I don’t okay?”

“Okay, night dad. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Steve smiled, closing the door behind him.

He made his way back downstairs and into the lounge, and paused as he saw Katie talking into the laptop, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said softly, and he could tell she was fighting to keep her face straight as Emmy’s voice came from the other side.

“I���m just gutted we can’t get home to come with you guys for the tree.”

“What’s going on?” Steve frowned as he sat next to Katie on the sofa, looking at Emmy and Peter as they both waved to him on the screen “Hey Kids.”

“The UK has been caught up in a huge snow storm.” Katie turned to him. “Their flight has been cancelled.”

“Bummer.” Steve’s frown deepened “Is there nothing from another airport?”

“Not in London.” Emmy shook her head “And the roads are that bad, even if we managed somewhere else…”

“Don’t wanna risk driving Mr R.” Pete shrugged and Steve had to give it to him, that was a sensible move.

“Wise decision.” Steve bit his lip, before he turned to Katie “Can we not get The Stark jet over? You guys should have used that anyway, not gone commercial.”

The irony of his statement didn’t pass him by, as there’d been a time when he had hated using a private jet as he felt it was ostentatious, but he’d fast learned to live with it as it was less hassle and a damned sight comfier and quicker too.

“I told you we didn’t want to.” Emmy shot back and Peter hastily cut in to prevent an argument.

“Already tried Happy before we called. He can’t get in any airfield be it private or other. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Katie shook her head “If you need anything just call. Have you got a place to stay?”

“Yeah, The Savoy found us another room.” Emmy shrugged before she grimaced “I’m gonna have to put it on my credit card though.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Katie shook her head “Just do what you gotta do, we’ll sort the bill out. Do you need us to wire you some cash or-“

“No, we’ve got enough between us for that.” Pete smiled “Just the hotel. We could get somewhere cheaper if that’s-“

“If it’s that bad out there you can stay where you are.” Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money kids, it’s not important.”

“Just call us if you need anything.” Katie added.

“Thanks Mom. Look, we’re gonna go try and get something to eat and then sleep” Emmy sighed “It’s past 1 am now.”

“Sure, call us tomorrow okay, keep us updated.” Steve instructed and Emmy nodded.

“Will do. Love you both.”

“And you.” Katie smiled “Stay safe, and look after each other.”

“Got it.” Emmy grinned and with that she blew them both a kiss as Peter waved and the screen went blank.

Katie bit her lip before she tapped at the keyboard of her laptop “I’m going to send her some money, just in case. I know she has plenty in her savings, but…”

Steve nodded “Good idea. Those are for a rainy day, not a snowy one.”

Katie gave a small smile as she logged into the banking, and hesitated before she transferred a few thousand over to Emmy and closed the laptop, running her hands over her face. Steve saw her shouldes shake and he gave a sigh, pulling her to him.

“Hey, come on. They’re safe. In the poshest hotel known to man.” He pressed a kiss to her head “No doubt thinking this is some kind of huge romantic adventure. Snowed in, in London, with a mini-bar, room service.”

At that thought he grimaced, as his mind took him to a very dark place about just exactly what the spider kid would be doing to his daughter in said hotel room but he shook himself out of it as Katie spoke, sniffling a little.

“I know it’s just, well we started this tradition with Emmy that first Christmas she lived with us.” Her voice cracked “We went with Tony, Pep and Nat remember?”

“I could I forget.” Steve chuckled, his hands rubbing Katie’s back “You were almost five months pregnant and had that jumper on with a huge Christmas pudding on the front.”

“I’ve still got that.” Her voice was muffled as her face pressed into his Henley.

“And Pepper was going mad when Tony bought that nine foot tree for their lounge.”

“Ours wasn’t much smaller.” Katie laughed, leaning back to wipe her eyes. “You had to trim the top off.”

Steve chuckled, his hands cupping her face “A few days after that we found out bump was blue. Hello Jamie.”

“God it seems so long ago.”

“It was.” Steve smiled pressing a kiss to her lips. “11 years.”

“Yeah.” Katie looked at him “We’ve been through a lot since then.”

Steve nodded, as he wiped her face with his thumbs “And a lot worse than this. I know it’s disappointing, kitten, and I’m gutted as well, but it can’t be helped. We’ll still have a good time and we can go out with Emmy and Peter when they get back, nice meal and a few drinks somewhere instead, just the four of us. Start a new tradition now she’s all grown up.”

“Yeah suppose.” Katie sighed “I mean when they moved out in the New Year, they might not wanna come with us to get a tree anymore.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Steve snorted “She’ll simply be getting one for her own place. You know she loves Christmas as much as you. All the kids do. Because you make it so special.”

“It isn’t all down to me.” She smiled “You help.”

“It’s definitely your speciality.” Steve shook his head “You do the baking, the carols, the cooking…suss the decorations out.”

“Yeah, but you hang them. And you’re the one that started leaving Santa footprints by the hearth.”

“Okay so it’s a team effort.” Steve shrugged, dropping another kiss to her lips. “It always is when the kids are concerned.” He pulled back a little and nodded to her glass “You want another?”

“I wasn’t going to but yeah, now I do.”

Steve chuckled “I’ll go get us a drink, you find us something suitably Christmassy to watch.”

He stood, pressing his lips to the crown of Katie’s head before he wandered into the kitchen. As he closed the door behind him he pulled out his phone. He’d had an idea, but hadn’t wanted to mention it to Katie just in case it didn’t work…but if it did, well, he was going to reunite his family for their tradition and earn himself major husband points.

Win win situation.

“Hey punk.” Bucky drawled as he picked up.“What’s crackalackin?”

“God you talk some shit.” Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky laughed

“Sorry, we were watching Madagascar.”

“Yeah, I know where it’s from. I got five kids, remember. Six if I count you.”

“Well you could argue Diva Doll counts for two so you really have seven.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, I got a bone to pick with you about her and a damned capybara.” Steve narrowed his eyes as he spoke and there was a pause before Bucky burst out laughing. “Yeah, laugh it up, jerk. That got me in some major shit before.”

“You didn’t say yes?”

“No of course I didn’t.” Steve sighed “But she sideswiped me asking for a damned cat and I said maybe, so…”

“You fucking moron.”

“Whatever, listen, that’s not why I’m calling anyway.” Steve sighed, his voice growing serious. “I need a favour, Buck.”

“I’m listening.” Bucky replied, before Steve explained the predicament and possible solution. When he finished there was a pause and Bucky let out a long whistle. “Man, that’s…”

“I know, I know.” Steve sighed “But I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Katie’s heartbroken Emmy can’t get home.”

“Well, we can’t have the second most important woman in my life upset now can we?” Bucky replied “Leave it with me.”

“Cheers buddy.”

“You’ll owe me a life time of favours if I can pull this off.”

“We’ll call it quits for you almost getting me couched.”

“Not my fault you can’t say no to your likkle Princessa.” Bucky responded and Steve snorted.

“You’ve met her, right?”

There as another pause and Bucky laughed “Point taken.”

“Not a word to Katie.” Steve instructed “Just in case you can’t do it.”

“You seriously doubt me after all this time?” Bucky sighed “That hurts Stevie.”

“You know what else will hurt?” Steve shot back “My foot up your ass.”

“You want me to do this or not?” Bucky scoffed “Because threatening me aint gonna make me wanna do you any favours.”

“No but not wanting to see my wife upset is.”

“You fight dirty, Steven.” Bucky’s voice was low and Steve could imagine the narrowed eyes he was pulling as he spoke. “Okay, I’ll call Sam now. Leave it with me.”

“Thanks Buck.”

Steve cut the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, running a hand over his beard. Buck was right, it was a big ask and ridiculously over the top but, well, nothing was too much for him where his family was concerned. And after everything they’d been through this year what with Flossie’s horrific birth and Katie’s post-partum depression, his amazingly brave and gorgeous wife deserved the damned world. With a sigh he yanked open the fridge as he pulled out Katie’s wine and a beer for him, simply hoping that it worked.

**** “You good?” Steve asked as Jamie hopped into the back of the Q7, taking his place on the rear row of seats.

“Yup.” Jamie grinned “I prefer it back here, Rori can’t bug me.”

“Wanna bet?” Rori turned her head and peered at him from her place in the middle of the second row and Steve shot her a look.

“Enough. I hear one sound outta you that’s annoying him, we’re coming straight home.” He said sternly. Rori eyed him shrewdly, as if weighing up whether he was serious or not and he raised his eyebrows, challenging her.

“Ok Daddy.” She shrugged, turning back round. Steve shot Jamie a wink as turned and collapsed Flossie’s little stroller. He slotted it down the side of Jamie’s seat before he shut the trunk and then quickly inspected the roof rack. Satisfied he looked up just as Katie came out of the house, Flossie on her hip, Harry jumping down the steps in front of her. He headed over to his dad and peeked up, Steve giving a laugh as his little woollen hat slipped down over his eyes.

“Come here, buddy.” He said, swinging him into his arms. The little boy gave a giggle as Steve pulled his hat straight so he could see.

“Thanks Daddy!” he smiled and Steve pressed a kiss to his rosy cheek.

“No problem. You ready to get a tree?”

He nodded “Big one!” he threw his arms out wide and Steve nodded seriously.

“The biggest.”

Ten minutes or so later they were sailing out of Brooklyn in the winter morning sun, heading for the tree farm some forty or so minutes away. True to her word, Rori was behaving and chatting to Harry, Jamie was quiet in the back doing something on his tablet and Katie was gently humming to something on the radio. Steve’s hand reached over for hers and he entwined their fingers, gently bringing her arm across his body, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

The journey pass uneventfully and as Steve announced they had arrived the kids all gave a cheer. He parked the car up and then the disembarking began along with issued orders for Jamie and Rori to stay where they were as they sorted the youngest two.

“I think I’ll just carry Floss.” Katie glanced around. “Pushing her stroller is gonna be a pain. I’ll put her in the carrier.”

“You sure?” Steve asked “I would say I’d do it but…”

“You’re gonna be carrying trees, yeah I know.” Katie waved him away. “Its fine, she’s not heavy. Besides, she’ll be too big to do this with next year.”

Steve smiled at her wistful tone, and between them they had Flossie strapped to Katie’s back in no time, having become experts at it over the years. Katie glanced over her shoulder as Flossie gave her a hug grin, before she peeked around and started to gabble animatedly.

“Ready?” Steve looked around and held the hand that wasn’t containing the saw out, Rori taking it as Katie took Harry’s, Jamie falling into step at her other side next to Steve who strategically placed himself between his eldest son and Rori to avoid any potential arguments between the two siblings.

“Want me to take that Dad?” Jamie asked, nodding to the saw. Steve hesitated then shrugged, it had the safety cover on so he handed it over, Jamie slinging it over his shoulder proudly, stepping in front of them a little and Harry wriggled his hand free of Katie’s and ran forward to take Jamie’s. Jamie smiled down at him and Steve shared a glance with Katie as she smiled at him, slipping her hand into his. The family made their way to the entrance and as they approached the various little trade stands, one of which was selling various hot drinks and baked snacks. Katie took a deep breath and smiled, the warming scents of spices, cinnamon and pine hitting her nostrils.

“Smells exactly the same.” She beamed and then frowned as Steve was looking around, blatantly not listening to her as he was busy studying something to their right.

“Hey!” she tugged on his hand and he glanced down at her.

“Sorry, honey.” He diverted his attention “Just saw someone I know.”

“Oh, from work?” she asked.

“Not exactly.” He nodded in the direction he had been looking and Katie spun at the same time Rori let out a shriek.

“Emmy!” she yelled, wrenching her hand free of Steve’s and bolting towards her sister as she strode towards them alongside Peter, Bucky and Sam.

“I don’t-how?” Katie was struggling for words at the sheer emotion of seeing her eldest daughter, who should still be stranded in England, sweeping Rori into hug. “Steve? What?”

“You got Bucky and Sam to thank.” He said gently, as she spun between them all, before she strode forward meeting Emmy halfway and throwing her arms around her.

“Hey mom!” Emmy smiled, before she pulled back and gently waggled Flossie’s hand. “Hi Floss!”

“How did you get here?” Katie sniffed, wiping her eyes, chuckling before she gave Pete a hug.

“Quinjet.” Emmy grinned “It was awesome. Hey Dad!”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve swept her up into a huge hug, picking her up slightly off the ground kissing her head. “Nice to have you home.”

“Hold up, a Quinjet?” Katie looked at Emmy, then to Bucky who shrugged.

“Yeah well Steve rang me last night begging for my help…” he began, putting on a whiney voice “Please Buck, I can’t do this without you Buck, you know the usual.” Steve rolled his eyes as Bucky sniggered. “So, me and Birdbrain set off on a daring rescue mission.”

“Yeah, we totally used and abused Fury’s equipment.” Sam chuckled, as he pressed a kiss to Katie’s cheek as he gave her a hug. “He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“Oh, screw him!” Katie gave a laugh as she turned to Bucky, wrapping her arms round him. “Thank you so much!”

“Anything for you darlin’” he beamed before she stepped back and spun to face Steve, reaching up and grabbing his face. With a smile she pulled him down to meet her in a long, deep kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered against his lips, and he beamed at her, his nose brushing hers. “I love you, so much.”

“Love you too.” He smiled, before he drew himself up, a little embarrassed at their PDA in front of his two friends and the kids. “Right, who’s ready to go tree picking?”

“We’ll leave you to it.” Bucky smirked as various excited shouts rang out around them. “I’ve got stuff to do with Jen and Sam’s…ahhhh, crap.” The smile on his face turned into a grimace and Steve spun round to see a familiar figure in a trench coat and eyepatch stood by a black SUV watching from a distance.

“Son of a-” Steve snorted, shaking his head as Fury started walking towards of them. “He still knows everything.”

“You have no idea. “Sam muttered.

“Oh, trust me, we do.” Katie grinned as Fury stopped in front of them.

“Someone wanna tell me why one of my jets was in London this morning?” Fury looked at Bucky, then to Sam, then to Peter, all three of them giving him an innocent look.

“Well, there was a thing.” Bucky shrugged “Emergency.”

“Emergency.” Fury dead panned “So nothing to do with a certain Miss Rogers and Mr Parker being stuck in London in snow storm?”

“How do you know this stuff?” Bucky looked at him.

“I told you Barnes, you wanna get one up on me you gotta keep both eyes open.” He levelled him with a look. “Happy called me in a flap to see if I could action a pick up and I told him I wasn’t running a damned Uber service. And then one of them went missing so I put two and two together and looks like I came up with four” He paused and shrugged, smirking a little “Plus, you forgot to wipe the mission log.”

“Damned it Tin Man!” Sam shoved Bucky “You dick, I told you!”

As the two men began to squabble Fury raised his eyebrows and turned to Steve and then Katie, a small smile flickered across his face “Nova, Cap. Long-time no see.”

“Hi Nick.” Steve smiled, reaching out and shaking his hand.

Fury jerked his head as Katie shook his hand, his eyes roving over each of their kids in turn. “I’ll say. You’ve been busy I see.”

Katie gave a huff “One way of putting it.”

Nick arched an eyebrow before he sighed and turned to Bucky and Sam who were still bickering. “Imma let this one slide.” He spoke loudly, the two men instantly turning to face him. “But only because it’s the holidays and I’m in a good mood.”

“You know technically Stark Industries owns half those jets. Tony paid for and designed a lot of the tech on them after all.” Katie quipped and Nick looked at her, before he let out a laugh.

“You’re more like your brother than you’ll ever care to admit” he shook his head as she snorted, pointing at her.

“Worse people to be like.” She smiled fondly, and Fury gave one last scoff before he turned to Sam and Bucky.

“I’ll see you two later. Now, imma go get me some churros then split.” He looked back at them all “Merry Christmas.”

As they all waved him off, watching the curious glances he attracted as he strode towards the hot food stand and then Harry tugged on Steve’s sleeve, causing him to turn his attention from Fury to the little boy.

“Daddy, who’s the pirate?” Harry asked.

There was a pause before Katie burst out laughing, Steve following suite as they both shared a knowing glance, remembering Tony’s fond little nickname for their one time director.

The Goth Pirate.

“He’s an old friend of mine and your momma’s “Steve explained before he glanced up, not surprised to find that once more Fury had disappeared from sight. “We haven’t seen him in a while. And I doubt we will again for a long time.”

There were more hugs shared and after another final thank you to Sam and Bucky, Katie demanding they come over later for drinks, the four remaining adults and four kids all headed into the farm and the chaos began as they began to scout for their perfect trees.

“So we need two large ones.” Katie spoke, “And one for Emmy and Pete in the Cabin and a smaller one for Rori’s room.” she paused “Jamie, did you want one for your room too?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shook his head “Thanks though.”

“So four over all.” Steve nodded. “Okay gang, let’s find us some trees.”

They decided to get Rori’s first as it would be smaller and easier to carry once they’d picked it. They set about walking down the various aisles, and before long the jokes started flowing and they were getting worse and worse with time.

“What would you get if you ate the Christmas decorations?” Pete asked and Jamie looked at him, arching a brow. “Tinselitis.”

“Oh God.” Emmy snorted “That’s as bad as one of dad’s”

“Which reminds me.” Steve said, a smirk on his face, “Did you guys hear the forecast for Christmas eve? They’re predicting rain, deer…”

Katie and Emmy both let out a groan as Jamie and Peter howled with laughter.

“What do you call an elf that runs away from Santa’s workshop?” Jamie asked and Steve paused before he shrugged.

“No idea.”

“A rebel without a Clause…”

Katie, Steve, Emmy and Pete burst out laughing as Pete held out his hand to hi-five him. Jamie grinned.

“That’s a good one buddy.” Steve chuckled. “Where did you hear that?”

“Moo text me before.” He smiled “She said her and Auntie Pep had been googling them to put in their cards this year.”

“Like Father like daughter.” Katie smiled to herself, a little nostalgically as a memory of her brother crashed over her and Steve pulled her a little closer, his hand tightening on hers as he dropped a kiss to her head.

After half an hour or so of scouting and plenty of excited shouts and laughter, Rori paused in front of a tree that was the same height as her and she gave a gasp.

“Daddy, that one.” She pointed.

“You sure?” he cocked his head to one side. The tree was leaning to one side, the branches completely uneven, sticking out at all angles and the top was bent. “It’s a bit-”

“It’s perfect.” Rori insisted.

“Okay Princess, whatever you say.”  He looked at Katie as she smiled, her hand dropping to the back of Rori’s head. “Jamie, you got the saw?”

“Yup.” Jamie nodded, passing it over and they all watched as Steve gripped the trunk of the small tree with one hand a little higher up and began to cut it towards the bottom. He could have easily snapped the trunk with his bare hands but he played the part and in four strong swipes it pulled free with a little crack and Rori gave a shriek and clapped her hands.

“I love it!”

Once the safety cover was back on the saw they continued their search, walking towards the slightly bigger trees they spotted and Katie paused in front of a large, Norwegian spruce and reached out, gently crushing one of the needles between her fingers. She took a sniff and stepped back, nodding.

“That one.”

“I still can’t believe you pick them with the smell.” Steve shook his head.

“It’s not all the smell.” She protested “There’s a lot to consider. The height, width and spacing of the branches…this one’s just right for the corner in the lounge. And that one two down will do for the hallway.”

Steve chuckled, knowing better than to argue. “Positive?”

Katie nodded and once more Jamie passed him the saw. This time they all stepped back as Steve crouched down on the ground, expertly cutting the trunk and just the right place. As he took the final swipe, the tree pitched over to a loud shout of “Timberrrrr” from Jamie and Peter and it landed with a thud.

Harry gave a loud cackle and clapped, Flossie shrieking too as Steve then moved two down and repeated the action with a slightly smaller one that would sit in the entrance lounge directly in front of the photo of the pair of them at their wedding, so it would be the first thing anyone saw as they walked into the house.

Emmy strode past the tree to one that was behind it and then nodded to Pete “I think this one will do. I kinda like the way it fans out at the bottom.”

“Sure, Em.” He smiled “Mr R?”

“Oh, here.” Steve handed him the saw and watched as Pete cut his and Emmy’s first Christmas tree down, his arm round Katie’s waist, lips softly kissing Flossie’s cheek as the baby grinned. He arched an eyebrow as Emmy pressed a kiss to Pete’s lips, giving a soft huff as Katie dug him in the ribs, shooting him a warning glance which he returned with an innocent one of his own.

“Well, that was easy.” Emmy commented “It took us 2 hours last year.”

“They need to be right.” Katie shrugged simply, Steve and Emmy exchanging a look before Steve watched as Pete hoisted his tree easily onto his shoulder. It still surprised Steve how strong Peter was, even though it shouldn’t, he knew he was enhanced after all.

“I’ll take Rori’s, Dad.” Jamie stepped forwards, puffing his chest out a little, picking the smaller tree up easily and placing it on his shoulder, in an identical manner to Pete. Steve actively fought the urge to laugh as Jamie began to walk besides Peter and Emmy, clearly proud as punch at being able to help before he turned to Katie.

“Don’t say it.”

Katie laughed “Oh I’m gonna.” she smirked “If he was any more like you I’d be convinced he was a clone.”

Steve snorted as he bent down and easily lifted their two trees onto his shoulders, before they followed a little slower due to Harry being with them. Steve maneuvered around the other tree pickers as they went, his boot clad feet traipsing on the damp of the ground as they made their way back towards the main entrance and joined Pete, Emmy and Jamie at the place ready to pay. As the various helpers, all dressed in little Elf outfits bustled around to wrap their trees and strap them to the roof of the Audi, Katie was suddenly struck with a little problem.

“Hang on.” she turned to Emmy as she thanked the man who’d been dealing with and handed over the cash. “How are you two gonna get home if Bucky and Sam left?”

At that Pete gave a little grin and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, “Mr Wilson let me borrow his Chevvy.”

“Yeah they went home on Buck’s bike.” Emmy shrugged and at that Steve let out a huge laugh.

“What?” Katie asked.

“Sorry, I’m just picturing those two riding pillion.” He snorted “I give it five minutes before Sam ended up tells Buck to let him off on account of him driving his Ducatti like a maniac.”

“You’ve no room to talk.” Katie scoffed and Steve looked at her with mock outrage.

“Mom?” Jamie asked and Katie turned to him “Can we get a drink now please?”

“Sure, come on.” She smiled and they headed over to the stall. She purchased a hot cider each for her, Steve, Emmy and Pete before hot chocolate for each of the kids along with a selection of donuts, churros and Stollen as Steve took Flossie back to the car so they could pop her in the stroller. They made their way over to one of the benches by the side and sat down and Steve returned, parking Flossie besides them before he handed her a piece of a donut and slipped his arm round Katie, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You have a good time?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She beamed, before she glanced over at the other side of the bench. Jamie was settled to Emmy’s left, talking to her about school, as she nodded along whilst Rori was perched on Peter’s knee as she animatedly told him about how she was going to decorate her tree in unicorn colours. Harry meanwhile sat in between both Pete and Emmy, his little frame chewing on a donut as he grinned at his parents who smiled back. Katie turned to look a Steve again, leaning up to kiss him softly “It’s been perfect, thank you for making sure we were all together.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a Rogers Christmas otherwise would it?” he smiled, kissing her again.

“Get a room.” Emmy grumbled and Steve turned to her as she smirked, shoving a piece of donut in her mouth.

“Watch it young lady.” Steve pointed at her.                      

“Daddy.” Rori asked “Can I go with Pete in their car to Target? I need decorations for my Princess Tree.”

Steve hesitated for a while and Pete hastily cut in “It’s no bother Mr Rogers.”

“Yeah we need some for ours.” Emmy nodded.”So we’re going anyway.”

“I come too?” Harry asked hopefully and Emmy shrugged

“If Momma and Daddy say it’s ok, course you can, squirt.”

Steve looked at Katie who shrugged “Fine by me. Sure you can manage them?”

Emmy rolled her eyes “They’re no bother.” She then turned to Jamie “You wanna come too?”

“Hell no.” he said hastily, peering round at Rori before he shook his head “I’m going home for some peace and quiet.”

Both Steve and Katie let out a loud laugh, as Katie shook her head “Oh Jamie.”

“What?” he frowned.

“Nothing pal.” Steve smiled, reaching for his cider. “Nothing at all.”

[seokiloquy]

Pumpkin Spice - Miya Osamu

AU: Regular, coffee shop(?)

Server Collab (Linked)

Tags/Warnings: GN Reader, swearing, time-skip spoilers

Word Count: 9.2k+

Working at a cafe in the middle of the busy streets of Tokyo’s business sector often led to many customers in need of a nice brew and in association, tips. Lots of tips that often fell into your pocket at the end of the day. The pay was good enough and made up for the moderately long commute from your campus that you spent sleeping on the train. On top of that, your boss was the nicest and most supportive old woman in downtown Tokyo. 

The interior of the cafe was soft and homey in comparison to the reflective silver exterior of the building outside. Seats with red vinyl cushions filled the open area leading to the wooden top counter that you worked behind, mixing up whatever ludicrous drink they asked for. The customers loved you. You loved the money. It was the best.

It was sunny that day, people were smiling for once as they walked to work for once. The traffic was light, people weren’t running late, and to top it all off you had just gotten an email that morning with the mark for your latest assignment, a perfect grade.

“We’re closing.”

“Like, just for today, right?” you asked Juri, brows furrowed as a disbelieving smile pulled on your face as if you were being pranked. She gave you a sad look. “Right?” you repeated, pouring in a measured amount of coffee beans into the espresso machine.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” Juri gasped. “The building owner jacked up the renting price and I just can’t afford it now.”

You reached behind you for the counter, gripping it tightly between your fingers as you pulled yourself closer to slump onto it. A dull ache began to grow right between your eyes. “Don’t apologize, Juri. There’s nothing you can do. I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” she spoke after a moment, skating over the thin ice that froze over your conversation. “You can spend more time studying now at least, university gets harder in your final year.”

“University’s the reason I needed this job though.” You walked around Juri’s stout form, reaching for the coffee machine, grabbing hold of a mug and readying yourself for the freshly pressed beans. “I have to pay for it somehow.”

“(Y/N), darling, maybe a three shot espresso isn’t the best thing to have right now.”

You gave the old woman a sour look over your shoulder before shooting back the mug of dark bean soup. Immediately, your tongue tried to escape your mouth. “Oh god, you,” you gagged momentarily. “You were right. That was horrid.” An uncomfortable shiver ran over your shoulders and through your spine.

Juri’s wrinkled hand came to rest over the black strap of your apron that hung desperately to your shoulder, squeezing it tightly to the point of bruising. She pulled you down roughly and flicked your forehead with her nail. “Stupid,” she chastised. 

Walking to the sink, she grabbed the mug you held and rinsed it out before handing it back to you, filled to the brim with cold water. She rubbed your back, encouraging you to suck back the water to rid the bitter taste from the corners of your mouth. “If you want, I’ll write up a letter of recommendation for your resume.”

“I’m not sure whoever would hire me would take the time to read it, no one uses reference letters anymore. But thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

She smiled, making the wrinkles on her face shift slightly. “Anything for you sweetheart. Besides, you’ll need every advantage you can get with your horrid cooking.”

On your last day of work, Juri sent you off into the dark streets of Tokyo with a notebook filled with homebrew, baking and cooking recipes —the last two being one’s you have never and likely never will touch— and a container of cookies that she had made that morning. 

The book, in and of itself, was innocent enough. A relatively mute earthy colour palette that made flowery designs from one edge to the other. But, you knew there had to be some secret spells of torture within the pages, or just something that you’d injure yourself with.

Not even a day later, far into the night, a sugar-covered cookie was left forgotten on your table as you scrolled through job listings on your computer, occasionally getting distracted by the scantily clad fictional characters that promoted a game on the edges of the webpage. You reached for the cookie, shooting your eyes back to the list and scrolling.

Your dorm was rather modest, more like a small apartment when compared to some of the other dorms on campus though. Which admittedly saved you money and made it more expensive at once. With your own kitchen and modest living space attached to a bedroom and bathroom, you successfully managed to isolate yourself from any other students in the building for just an extra fee. Luckily, having a kitchen meant that the school didn’t supply you with food, saving you money, but also leaving you starving since the only recipes you had in your head were for coffee. Moment’s spent in your kitchen alone with a grumbling stomach sometimes made you wish you were roomed with another person, or had taken the university's food plan. Curse your late teenage pride. 

The walls were off white, surrounding a room filled with mostly dark furniture —namely navy— and reflecting the light that came off your computer screen. They made large shadows against your floor and walls. Your two fingers swept along the mousepad, moving the dry list up your screen. You bit into the cookie, quickly scarfing it down and clawing for another, mumbling to yourself as you skimmed over all the nanny jobs, and full-time positions. Corporations that would likely not give you enough pay were quickly forgotten, also.

The neighbours above you were playing study music rather loudly, letting the smooth sounds seep through the walls gently, it made you want to sleep, they probably had an essay to work on. You sighed, rubbing your eyes before sparing a glance at the time displayed in the corner of your screen. 1:32 am. Swallowing down the tired taste in your mouth, you swiped your fingers harshly against the pad, entirely too tired to do any more thinking and letting the loading screen of the website choose your job for you. You threw your head back, slumping into your seat with a worried wince, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t regret it.

You squinted at the top result of the most recent listings. “Huh.”

The black uniform wearing man scratched his head through his matching, logo crested hat, making it shift slightly to reveal his dyed hair underneath it. You sat silently on the plush stool at the counter as the older man —he couldn’t be much older than you, could he?— skimmed through your resume lightly before reading the reference letter Juri had written for you. The sweater he wore tightened at each opening, puffing out into what looked like a cozy crewneck. Definitely not the most common uniform for a food establishment, but you wouldn’t complain, it was starting to get colder. He rested his elbow on the counter-table, turning the top of his stool to face you directly.

“You’ve never worked in food before?” 

The open-concept space of the man’s restaurant/cafe seemed to close in rapidly, making the light brown tables and decorations blend in with the white walls and red seats. The colours spun in your vision, blurring all your surroundings except for the tall, hunched man in front of you. He seemed to pop off the screen of your static vision with a halo of light surrounding him. You blinked rapidly, mentally shooing away the loopy visions. There wasn’t enough sleep in your system. That and it felt like you were about to be penalized. 

Noticing his intense, stoic eye-contact, heat from your stomach rushed up to your cheeks and ears. He had pretty, grey eyes. Your lungs vibrated under your sternum as you tried to suck in enough air to speak. A bashful smile crept onto your face as your fingers fiddled together, occasionally dragging the pad of your thumb over the length of your nails.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve never been very good in the kitchen. Juri, my old boss, wouldn’t let me help her with baking the pastries because I would always burn myself. I’m working on it though.” That was a lie, a total lie. You weren’t working at it at all. You continued, laughing at yourself, “Because of that, Juri always had me doing beverages. So when I saw you were looking for a barista, I applied.” Well, that was only a partial lie.

The silver-haired man chuckled lightly, “I received your request for an interview, your request, 5 minutes after I posted the listing.”

Biting your lip, you reached for a napkin from one of the dispensers as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact. He seemed to enjoy watching your fingers fiddle with the limp piece of paper. You coughed, “Is that a good thing? Cause my desperate self is in need of a job. I’ll even risk burning my hands off if that’s what’s needed.”

He laughed again, taking the black, curve-rimmed hat off his head and set your papers down next to it on the sleek wooden counter. “(L/N), relax. I am looking for another barista, I had my previous one go work at our second location because it’s closer to home. So I’m short-handed and know only the basics about coffee, and with winter fast approaching I need help.”

You ripped the tissue paper in your hand in half before compiling it and stuffing it quickly into your pocket. “Does that mean I’m hired? Cause I need to pay for my tuition.” He watched, an amused smile pulling at his face, he stood up gesturing for you to follow him. With an awkward grin, you followed his silent instruction. 

The rectangular counter you were sitting at wrapped around the back corner, creating a two-metre space walkway that led to the bathrooms and cut off an unlabeled wooden door from being easily accessed by customers. You followed his steps, watching his black Adidas sneakers step over the lines of the large wood floor panels. He opened the wooden door, gesturing you inside, before pulling a box off of the shelf that sat against the back wall and dropping it onto the counter next to a sink. Pulling out a cozy-looking crewneck sweater with a proud and yet desperate smile. 

“This is the kitchen and break room,” he said, throwing out an arm to the rest of the large space, before walking back over to you, sweater and cap in hand. “Can you come in tomorrow? I can show you the ropes.”

“I’m sorry Miss, but we don’t have that drink here, it's not the season yet.” You smiled apologetically at the older woman who was digging through her bag in frustration. You hated telling customers little white lies, the feeling dug at the sides of your stomach each time you had to. It was becoming more frequent with October fast approaching.

“I’m sorry too,” she replied, letting her purse drop onto the counter with a smack. “My daughter has been nagging me all day to pick up one of these drinks and no one has it yet.”

You flexed and clenched your fist underneath the counter before adjusting your cap to try and give the woman a confident facade. “We’ll be getting the ingredients next week, so hopefully she can hold off until then. For now, would you like some onigiri? They’re freshly made.”

“Please.”

After ringing up the woman’s total and sending her out the door with a wave, you turned to your co-worker with an anxious grin. Taichi scoffed in response, openly laughing in your face. “You have to stop lying to our customers!” he berated with a lopsided expression.

“I know, I know! But I hate seeing them annoyed or upset. I can’t help it that they keep asking for a drink that we can’t make!”

The 1st year university student (who you quickly found out went to the same school as you) chuckled, leaning against the onigiri display. “What are the ingredients for it anyway?” he asked, watching you rest your hip against the counter next to the cash register.

“One cup of pumpkin puree, half a cup of sugar, half a teaspoon of pumpkin spice seasoning but that’s optional. That’s to make the pumpkin sauce. Then you need a quarter cup of pumpkin sauce, two ounces of espresso, eight ounces of milk, and then whipped cream and cinnamon on top,” you listed, staring off onto the floor.

“You have that memorized?” Taichi asked rhetorically, mouth hanging open.

You crossed your arms. “I’ve been working as a barista for over 3 years now. You start to remember things.”

Taichi lifted his hat, taking a moment to ruffle his straight cut black hair before setting it back down on his head. “Well, you can just ask Miya to order some, right?”

Snapping your finger, you sent the younger boy a finger gun with a pensive look pulling your eyebrows upward, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

On your next shift, after an early morning lecture about the global economy and stock market (which you tried not to sleep through), you walked into the break room to find your silver-headed boss curl over the edge of the small round table in the corner of the room while sitting on the old futon next to it, hair tousled in an oddly pleasant way. His hands moved quickly as he scribbled into the papers before him, the tight grip on his pen making his muscles flex slightly in his arm, that was made visible by his rolled up sleeves.

You quickly looked to your shoes, trying to calm your breathing down. “Um, Miya,” you called lightly, trying not to startle him. Nearly dropping the pen in his hand, he looked up. “Sorry,” you said, pulling your hands into the sleeves of your uniform.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done,” he said, watching your fidgeting hands. “Did you need something?”

“Pumpkin sauce.”

He gave you a strange look, nose scrunching as a single eyebrow lifted. “Pumpkin sauce? Oh right, that’s a thing isn’t it?” Miya said as if just remembering the time of year, looking away from your wiggling fingers to the empty kitchen across from him.

You gulped. “Yes, for pumpkin spice lattes. A lot of customers have been asking about it.”

He raised the other eyebrow in your direction, trying to strangle down a teasing laugh. “You lied to the customers didn’t you?”

“I might have told a little white lie so they wouldn’t get upset.”

Miya sighed, holding eye contact with you for a moment, before signing the last sheet of paper in front of him with an entertained smile. He looked back up while gathering the papers into a neat pile. “I’ll get an order in by next week.”

“Thank you.”

Why did you ever decide that philosophy was a good thing to take in university? Seriously. What were you thinking? You stared at the empty document before you, blinking tiredly as you groaned.

 Aesthetics. The first unit that your professor chose to discuss for a university-level because it’s likely the easiest to discuss. The essay itself was more introductory than anything. The instructions were to write an essay about how aesthetics and attraction to particular aesthetics are created, how society plays a role, and finally, your own personal stance.

You clearly remember glaring at the young professor when she said she wanted to gain a deeper understanding of each student. That’s for high school, you thought, mentally going over the three years of university you’ve already suffered through. Then again, maybe an easy grade. The only downside was that even though you’ve gone through nearly a decade and a half of school, you’ve never been good at writing an introspective piece.

“Professor Suzuki, How introspective should it be exactly?” you had asked her after the lecture had finished.

She gave you a sharp pointy smile with a light, slow shrug. “However much you think is needed. But I do want to learn about you and your experiences.”

Your brows were pinched together tightly, as you tried to understand. “So like an attraction autobiography?” That's deeply concerning. 

She never did give you a clear response after that. Dancing around the direct answer you needed to hear. She must’ve been a high school literature teacher at some point.

A self-deprecating chuckle escaped you, making the younger boy who was lazing about on your couch turn his attention away from the tv. “What crawled into your pants?” Taichi asked, pouring the last remains of your chip bag into his mouth.

“I have to write about stuff for a philosophy essay.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of an essay?” The empty chip bag crinkled loudly in his hands as they folded the plastic messily.

You scowled at him. “If you’re going to be a smart ass you can stop eating my food and go back to your dorm.” Standing up from your kitchen counter, you scanned the junk-filled counters, eyes landing on the small carpet patterned notebook that sat sadly on the corner edge.

Taichi ran up from his seat, pleading for you to not send him out, claiming that his roommate was mean and hogged up the whole space. You partially ignored him, letting his yapping ring numbly in your ear as you flipped through Juri’s old recipe book.

“Wanna help me make cookies?” you asked, turning your head his way and effectively cutting off his rambling.

He paused, letting his bottom lip hang open before snapping it shut in a cautious sneer. “You’re deciding to bake? I’d rather risk getting bullied by my roommate. Bye.” He ran out of the dorm. Ran. 

“God, my baking skills don’t warrant that kind of a reaction, jeez,” you huffed to yourself, slamming the notebook shut. No longer in the mood to experiment in the kitchen.

“Did the new rice come in?” the blond asked, letting his whole torso lie flat on the short table extension of the main counter.

The light click of a plate resonated in the empty restaurant. “You’re lucky,” the grey-haired one said, monotone response making the other look up to the large, meat-filled onigiri waiting for him on the porcelain plate. “Fresh shipment just came in this morning.” At the entrance of the building, the bell attached to the door sang lightly as it opened. Notifying your entrance, while a cool autumn breeze rolled past you. “Speaking of shipment. (L/N), the pumpkin sauce came in!”

You unravelled the scarf around your neck as you walked, giving your boss a large grin that made him gulp slightly. “Really? That's amazing, Miya..” The blond, noticing the other man’s reaction upon your entrance, spun in his chair, making his honey brown eyes meet yours. “There’s t-two. Two of you?” The scarf you had taken off sat limply in your hand as you stared off blankly at the two identical men.

“(L/N), this is my brother. You can call him Atsumu.”

The blonde sent you a small vibrating wave and a smirk, leaning his elbow against the counter as he tilted his head in your direction. With tightened brows and a tight, awkward smile, you nodded in response, bowing as your hand began to grip your colourful scarf a bit tighter. The blond followed up his brother’s introduction. “If you’re gonna call me Atsumu, you might as well address him as Samu.”

“Samu?” You questioned.

Over the table, ‘Samu’ smacked his brother with the black cap from his head. Hitting his shoulder with a loud smack before facing you. “Osamu is fine.”

You nodded hesitantly before bowing again. “Call me (Y/N), then. The both of you.” Facing your silver-haired boss, who still gripped his black baseball cap tightly between his fingers, you pointed to the back room with a meek smile. “I’m gonna go put my stuff down. Sorry for being a bit behind. I was up late working on an essay.”

Osamu nodded. “Sure thing, I have a new recipe for you to try out when you come back out,” giving you an understanding smile before ushering you off to the back, watching the folds of your jacket move with each step. He gulped. As soon as your back fell behind the door frame's edge, he weaponized his flimsy hat again, making the older twin howl as the top button hit his temple.

“What was that for?!” the fake blond screeched.

Osamu sent him a deadly glare. “Don’t flirt with my employee. They’re too young for you.”

“We’re the same age, Samu,” Atsumu teased, as he dropped his voice a couple of semitones. “I don’t see you restraining yourself.”

Atsumu left Onigiri Miya with a number of small bruises running along his hairline that morning. Though, he refused to leave without sending you a request to watch his upcoming game. “I want to have everyone watching,” he said, forgetting to even tell you what you’d be seeing, leaving his younger twin to take the burden.

You sat on one of the red plush stools, swinging it side to side and Osamu stood on the other side of the counter, onigiri filled plate in hand. He wore a hesitant grin as he set the plate down in front of you. Then, he started talking as he walked around the counter. “They’re slightly different than the ones I usually make so they look a bit weird, but we had the ingredients so I thought I'd play around with the different flavours.”

The store was empty. As expected for an early Saturday morning. It was also windy outside, making the inside of Onigiri Miya feel that much warmer as the howling wind ran loudly against the glass wall of the entrance, occasionally making the polyester awning above the entrance flap around like paper.

You gave him an encouraging smile as he walked around your seated form, nearest hand brushing over the length of your shoulders through the black sweater. A chill ran down your spine as his hand fell from the end of your shoulder. He sat down beside you, spinning the stool to face you head-on, much like how you both were during your interview. “I’m sure they taste great. What are the fillings?” you asked, reaching for one-half of the two pairs of onigiri on the plate.

“Well, since the pumpkin sauce came in, I figured I would play around with it a bit,” he said, reaching for one of his own.

Once you bit into the centre of the rice ball the smooth sweet flavour of the sauce rolled over your tongue. The orange sauce dyed the rice on the inside, making the colour soak in the individual grains. You let the flavour sit on your tongue for a moment. “Were you going for a sweet onigiri?”

Osamu chuckled a bit. “Kind of. I made the other one more savoury though.”

You looked at the other slightly misshapen onigiri on the plate, then up at the maker of them, meeting his eyes with a kind supportive smile. “The choice is yours,” you said, taking one off the platter and taking a large bite out of it. “But I think they’re both pretty tasty.”

“Really?” he asked, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning toward you in earnest. “Not too sweet or bland?”

“They’re perfect. Just like the chef who made them," you complimented happily.

Osamu flushed slightly, trying to pout as he chewed away at his onigiri. "You don't have to be so nice, they still look a bit lopsided."

"Does the appearance of the food really matter? I thought the taste was the biggest factor," you teased lightly. Whenever you made a brew for a customer, most never really cared if there was a cute design sprinkled on the top, or if the layers were visible from the side of their plastic cup if they took it to go. All you ever focused on was the taste, and when the 7 am rush comes through, patrons are typically too tired to even care about the look so long as they get their dose of coffee in.

"Do you never look at the exterior of things? Most consumers judge their first impressions of things based on their appearance. Like book covers."

You furrowed your brow. "I've never really thought about it. A lot of the books I read are digital now so there's no need for a fancy cover."

"What about people then," he prompted, leaning further forward, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. His normally grey eyes seemed to hold tints of the honey brown from those of his sibling. "Have you ever... let's say, been attracted to someone based on their appearance alone?"

Your gaze shot back and forth between his eyes and the fringe of his silver lightly brushing over his eyebrow before finally settling on his left, blown out pupil that started more directly at yours.  "Maybe subconsciously." It came out in a light whisper.

The bell at the entrance rang, a ragged, tired looking suit-clad woman wobbled in. Eyes blinking slowly as she waved her hand in the air. "Light roast, double shot espresso with whipped cream! I am running late!"

You shot out of your seat, knocking off Osamu's hat by the brim with your own, before grabbing a mug from over the counter and rushing to the mixtures. "On it!"

"Thank you," she panted, handing her card to Osamu to ring up.

Your head and shoulder twitched as you bounced on your toes outside the glass wall of Onigiri Miya. The wet concrete and frozen air of the early morning made the idea of curling against the polished glass with your face tucked into your scarf all the more tempting. Another silver tickled your spine.

Groaning you spun around to face the golden brown and red streets. Wind carried the dry leaves over their drowned sibling until falling into a puddle themselves. You closed your eyes, trying to redirect the heat in your body to your hands that were tucked into your pockets, clenched tightly.

Something cold lightly smacked against your nose and eyelids.

Cracking your eyes open, your lashes pushed against a brown decaying wall that blocked out all the light of the early morning. When it was away, leaving a cold residue behind, the light made your squint.

“You're here early,” the silver haired man said, tossing the old leaf over his shoulder before pulling a collection of keys from his coat pocket and gently tucked you out of the door with his free hand. Opening it up, he placed the keys into his back jean pocket.

“Did you just give me a face mask with an old leaf?”

“Sure did,” he said, matter-a-factly. “Why are you here so early? You’re not a morning person.”

You followed him through the glass door, letting him take the responsibility of flicking off the lights as you pulled your coats and scarf off. “You said today was your brother's game, I didn’t know what time, so I figured I'd be here a bit early.”

Mouth open, Osamu stared at you without blinking, as if searching for a joke. “You know most post games happen in the evening right?”

“So I’m here early for nothing then.”

The two of you walked through the empty restaurant, coats slung over your arms as you conversed.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he teased, hanging up his coat on the hanger in the back, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt slightly. “You get to work.”

“Yay,” you yawned, reaching for your uniform sweatshirt.

“For money.” He added.

He had trouble making you laugh throughout the morning, only receiving yawns and frustrated pout in response as you made coffee for all the equally tired customers.

You’ve never seen a volleyball game before, only ever having tried to play during gym class in high school. On top of that, you never understood the rules, but you blamed that on the phys ed teacher rather than your own inability. 

The live recording of Astumu’s game was being played on multiple sports channels. It got pulled up on the large screen of the tv that sat against the wall 30 minutes before the game even started. Osamu stood with you and Taichi —who had made it to work at a reasonable time to watch the game—, explaining the rules and positions over layers of customer chatter, as he made onigiri in view of the game instead of in the back where he normally worked. He pointed to the screen.

“That’s Hinata in the opposite hitter position. He pretty much does the same thing as Bokuto,” he shifted his arms angle to point to the duo-tones haired player on the screen. “An outside hitter.” Then, facing you, he watched as your nose scrunched in thought.

“What makes them different, then?” Beside you, Taichi nodded along, handing a customer a plate of onigiri.

“Their orientation with the setter,” Osamu replied. Before letting out a loud cheer, fist clenched and elbow tucking quickly into his side as his brother scored another point.

You let out a loud, exasperated laugh, shaking your head slightly. “There are a lot of rules and stuff you want me to memorize.” On the other side of the counter, a girl came up to stand in front of you, asking for a pumpkin spice latte. “Sure thing. Taichi, ring her up for me would you?” you asked, making your way to the coffee machines that sat along the length of the counters, continuing to talk to Osamu. 

You looked at the available ingredients. “We’re gonna need more pumpkin sauce.” 

“I’ll order it. Is it that confusing?” He asked, following you to the machines.

Mug in hand, you gave Osamu an unsure look as you reached for the whipped cream, stretching your arm only to knock it farther away. “A little? But at least their mascot is cute.”

“The black jackal?” he laughed, taking hold of the whipped sugar and placing it in your open palm, to which you smiled in thanks. He quickly diverted his gaze, staring at the blank walls as he bit inside of his cheek. “Didn’t even bother to listen to me ramble then, too busy gushing over the cute mascot. I thought visual exteriors weren’t important to you.”

“Oh shut up, I was listening,” you scoffed haughtily, smacking Osamu’s shoulder as you walked past his tall figure to give the girl her mug. “And he was interacting with the young fans, it was cute.” You looked at the clock. “It’s 6:30, I’m gonna take my break. I got an essay to write.”

Taichi laughed mockingly. “Good luck. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Osamu watched your back as you walked away, adjusting his hat as he turned to face the upcoming customer that had just walked in.

“Bake at 450? Oh, that's Fahrenheit? Why, though? Okay, got it. Oh shit, did preheat it too much then?” 

Juri, as lovely a lady as she is, had terrible handwriting, or terrible in your opinion because you couldn’t read it. Whether it was a letter, or note for an order of cookies and bread, the intricate curls of her connected lettering always made your brain feel like it hit a brick wall. Holding the book in your right hand, you used the other to carry the tray of separated butter cookie dough and hooked your foot underneath the oven handle to pull it open. Still glaring at the writing, you slowly lowered the metal tray onto the racks.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Can—”

“Fuck!”

Taichi let himself in, turning the corner of your kitchen counter to quickly pull your hand away from the immense heat source. You clenched your teeth tightly, airy and painful laugh falling through your grimace. Dropping the notebook, you wrapped your hand around your left wrist, squeezing it tightly as Taichi helped you stand up. An endless series of insults left you, directed at the large cubic fire instrument.

“Okay cold water, here we go.” Taichi then left your side to finish tucking in the metal tray, silicone glove on his hand. He turned back around to see you hunched form leaning over the running sink, choppy breaths flying out of you. “Why are you baking?” he scolded.

“Oh, I can’t bake now?”

“You’ve never been able to bake.”

“Oh screw you, dude. I’m trying to learn a new skill.”

“Learning how to kill, more like it.”

Hand still stuck under the cold running water, and pain still crawling up your arm like red ants deciding to feast on your flesh, you slowly turned your head to face the younger boy, smacking your lips. You glared, “Why are you here, Taichi?”

The new university student dug his socked toe into the tiled floor of your kitchen. Pursing his lips and sending you a pair of finger guns as soon as he met your glare. He lowered them when you didn’t laugh. “I was hoping you could take care of my closing shift tonight? I have a group assignment due tomorrow and no one did any work.”

Spinning your head and torso uncomfortably to look behind you, you stared at the clock on your wall. You bit your lip. “Taichi, your shift starts at 6.”

“Uh, ya.”

“It’s 5:30.”

“Uh-huh,” he continued, barefaced, as he tucked his hands into his jean pockets.

“You're working here and waiting for the cookie timer to go off.”

Taichi nodded, moving his feet to look at the oven counting down. “Okay, got it. Do I get to eat some of them?”

You sneered at him as your blistered hand throbbed painfully at the movement of you grabbing your things, notebook included, in haste. “If they don’t kill you.” 

“Osamu! I’m so sorry for being late!” You yelled rushing through the main door and startling a few customers. You ran towards the staff only door unravelling the warm scarf from around your neck and letting your jacket fall off your shoulders as you went. 

Osamu’s eyes followed your frazzled movements, chuckling lightly as you kicked the wooden door open. He yelled through the door as you changed into your cozy uniform. “Calm down, (Y/N). You’re not late. Taichi called in too, so don’t worry.”

You poked your head through the door, brows pinched in the center before slowly walking up to stand next to him. “So I’m not late?” you asked, adjusting your hat. 

The customers had gone back to their individual activities, typing away at their computers or reading whatever book in hand or chatting over a simple brew and snack Osamu had put together for them. You looked out the front window, the sun was already beginning to set over the darkening leaves, letting a warm glow pour in through the glass to cover every surface inside the cafe despite the temperature outside being the opposite.

The evening was spent with both of you helping the late-night customers with their requests, often having to dance around each other's forms with a light ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’ to notify the other.

“Thank you both. Have a good night!” the last customer called, waving, as they walked through the door.

Osamu waved back as you collected the mugs and plates that were left at the tables, taking them to the back room. “I’m gonna wash these up then take my break. Is that alright?”

“No problem, we probably won't see anyone else for the night so I can handle it.”

The door swung shut behind you. 

When you turned on the tap hot water poured out quickly, and without thinking much of it, you stuck your left hand under it. You flinched, letting out a strangled yelp before switching the water to cold, letting it wash over somehow forgotten burn on the back of your hand. You sighed at your own stupidity, grabbing a dirty plate. Luckily the dishes were quick to clean, the light music you set up on your computer beforehand helped. Before you even realized, the dishes were washed and dried, and you could get some work done on your essay.

You sat down on the couch futon, blowing cold air onto your burnt hand that you switched tabs on your laptop. The constant yawns escaping you only seemed to make lying on the slightly deformed seat way more tempting than trying to get some school work done. 

“Can’t do beauty standards, everyone’s gonna do beauty standards,” you yawned again, taking your fingers off the keyboard and turning your eyes away from the bright screen. Your eyes burned as you closed them, leaning your head back against the back of the folded futon. Another yawn. “Maybe books covers?” you breathed slowly. “Hmmm.”

On the other side of the door, Osamu wiped down the table seats and counters until they were spotless, letting the red vinyl and wood patterns shine through uninterrupted. As he cleaned the glass front, squeegeeing it to crystal clear perfection, Osamu watched as the last bit of sunlight that bounced off the top of the buildings across the street disappeared. It suddenly looked a lot colder in the streets.

Hanging up the damp towel, he made his way into the backroom, flicking off the lights in the main area as he walked through the door. “(Y/N) how’s the essay going?” he trailed off, catching sight of your curled up body lying sideways along the old couch, laptop continuing to play a soft tune.

You had one foot off the couch, touching the floor, and another resting on the wooden armrest. The open legged sweats you often wore were crunched up at the knees. Your torso was twisted so you were partially on your side and your hands were pulled into your chest. Mouth slightly parted, Osamu could hear your small breaths as your chest rose and fell.

He chuckled, walking over to your side, and glancing slightly to your screen. The essay you had been rushing to complete was left open, unfinished. He closed the computer, tucking it into your bag, pulling out a small notebook to make space. The bookmarked page fell open as he set in down on the table. With a curious huff, he read the recipe over.

“Huh, simple enough.”

As he reached to gently shake your shoulder in hopes to wake you up, he caught sight of the burn that ran along the back of your hand. Huffing, he lifted his hand, put the book back in its place  —tucked between your laptop and the side of your bag—, and walked over to where the first aid kit was.

A scratchy hum was the first noise you made upon waking up. Bleary-eyed, and drained of energy, you slowly blink up to see your hand being gently wrapped in a soft cloth-like bandage. You squinted up to the black-clothed man as he fastened the bandage together.

“Did I really fall asleep?” you asked sadly, voice slightly hoarse. “I have to… write.”

The light in the room was dreadfully bright, making you squint as you tried to look at Osamu’s face. All his features were hard to see, leaving only his hair as an anchor point for you to admire as the light bounced off of it.

He said something, but in your delirious state, all you could make out was the smooth deep hum of his voice reverberating in your head like a slow waltz. You hummed again, letting out a lethargic ‘nice’. Your eyes shut again, and you drifted off to his low, breathy chuckle. An unconscious mumble followed, but you were too tired to hear his immediate response.

“Come on (Y/N),” he cooed, massaging your shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Another incoherent mumble bubbled out of your mouth as Osamu tried to sit you up. Your head bobbled as you moved to be upright, falling backwards before he could catch it. Chuckling at his own mistake, he stuck an arm out, curling his hand around the back of your neck to bring it forward again. As he cradled your head gently in one hand, he used the other to continue prodding at your shoulder.

“Okay, sleepyhead. You gotta wake up now.”

There are those moments where people wake up and they think they see an alien, or shadowy figure at the edge of their bed. Those scary figures that seemed to carry a negative connotation a majority of the time. Most people, if they were to wake up, eyes fuzzy, and see a silhouette immediately before them they would very likely think the same, flail about, and duck for cover. You were not most people.

Eyelids hanging millimetres away from shutting, you gazed drowsily at the blurry from before you, tired mind trying to put together the dark shape as your body swayed back and forth. Falling forward slightly to get a closer look.

Osamu grunted slightly, catching your limp weight. The hand he used to rub your shoulder had now made its way around your back, lifting you from a different angle. His other hand still protected your neck from strain, holding your head closer to his chest. He looked down at your hazy gaze, perfectly timed with your own sudden need to lean upwards.

A near chortle of a huff forced its way out of Osamu’s nose, painting your cheek in warm air as your eyes shut fully. The feeling of your lashes dancing against the bridge of his nose tickled, making his shoulders scrunched up slightly. His grip tightened, pulling you ever so slightly closer. The light scent emitting off of your hair washed over him like a wave of fresh air, and the heat radiating off your body felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. There was a light tug at the end of his sweater as you wrapped the fabric gently between your fingers. Tough dried from being parted in your sleep, Osamu could feel the malleability of your lips as they pushed against his.

This one last surge forward, you let your arms relax, falling almost entirely limp in Osamu’s arms as you pulled away.

He blinked slowly, trying to look at the colour of your eyes between the slits of your lashlines.

Another warm hum left you was your head curled into his shoulder. “Cute.”

Osamu scoffed quietly to himself, laughing as he shook his head. “You never stop lying.”

Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, a good brother, the best even. He kept his twin out of trouble, made sure he didn’t get injured and protected him from bullies. All for the payment of letting Osamu torment him for all eternity with repeated punches and kicks. Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, but he wasn’t.

“Assumu, shut up or I’m gonna punch the daylight out of you.”

“Vulgar. That’s a new one, Samu. Try me.”

Hinata grabbed hold of the blond twin’s forearm as he made taunting motions to his brother, pinning it down onto the table. The smaller red-head cried out for the two brothers to stop, calling for Bokuto’s aid.

“Ya, both of you stop it. I’m trying to eat here.”

From behind his white mask, Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh, brushing a hand through his wavy hair at the part. “Would you all calm down?”

Atsumu teased out a laugh as he settled back into his seat between Hinata and Bokuto, who both happily went back to eating their donated snacks. The blonde leaned his elbows onto the counter and bounced a leg beneath him as he looked up to his uniform wearing brother. 

“So,” he drawled, smirking at the grey-haired man. “You kissed (Y/N). While they were asleep no less. Doesn’t that seem kind of rapey to you?”

Osamu groaned, ripping the black cap off his head before throwing his arms into the air. “I didn’t force it! (Y/N) was hardly even awake, definitely in some sort of dreamscape, and then just kissed me.” He groaned again, knocking his forehead into one of the coffee machines, making it rattle lightly.

“Damn,” Atsumu replied, finally relenting his mockery and reached for his own onigiri. “Guess I lost my chance then. Do you know if they even remembered it though?”

Setting down his hat, Osamu walked around the counter, pulling up a chair from one of the tables to sit with the four teammates, making them spin in the stools.

“No idea. I just drove (Y/N) back to the university dorms with Taichi’s help.”

Bokuto’s muffled voice spoke up, as he tried to talk through his full mouth. “How is Taichi doing anyway. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

Osamu grimaced at the visible mushed rice poking out between the duo-toned man’s teeth. “He had a project to finish, that’s why (Y/N) was here last night. Overall he’s been doing good though.”

Hinata swallowed his last bit of onigiri, turning the top of his stool to face the older man more clearly. “When will we get to meet (Y/N), then? We could probably see them both at the same time.”

Osamu scrunched his nose up, digging his face into the palms of his hands and let out a tired, run-down laugh. “Hopefully soon if I don’t get arrested for sexual misconduct.”

Sakusa glanced at the drink orders that were written in chalk against the side wall. “Hey Atsumu,” he switched the subject. “Can you make me a pumpkin spice latte?”

Sighing, the owner of the restaurant got up from his chair and walked back to the coffee machines he had earlier abused with his forehead. “I can give it a go, but it definitely won’t be up to (Y/N)’s standards.”

Sakusa just waved it off, not caring.

“I mean, they’re still bad, but at least they’re better than last time.”

You stopped your slow typing and let out a puff of hot air. “If you actually helped maybe you’d be eating better cookies.”

“Hey hey, no no no,” Taichi laughed, munching into another dry cookie from the pile. “You’re the one that wanted to learn a new skill.”

You threw your head back into the soft couch of your living room and grabbed one of the throw pillows from the corner, shoving your face into it to muffle your angered scream. Running out of air, you dropped the pillow into your lap, shutting your eye tightly as you panted for air.

“Here,” he said, stuffing one of the burnt biscuits into your open mouth. “Eat a cookie.” 

Taking the box of poorly made cookies with him, Taichi stood up from the wooden bench at your kitchen counter and made his way to flop down onto the other side of your couch. He stuffed another straight into his mouth as he kicked his slipper clad feet onto the coffee table right next to your laptop.

“So, What’s got you all wound up? It has to be more than these cookies.”

“I,” you paused, taking a large intake of decaying leaf air into your lungs through the open window. You got up, wiping your hands on your well worn sweats, and shut the window lightly, so the only thing coming in though it would be the view of red leaves. The palms of your hands dug into the window sill. “I need to get this essay done. It’s due in two days.”

“Not buying it. Keep going,” he said, flicking his finger in a circular motion in the air.

You sighed, still looking at the old piles of leaves in the courtyard outside your dorm. “My baking skills still suck, this essay is due in two days, and I still haven’t written the personal reflection portion of it.” You spun around and leaned against the window, challenging Taichi’s disapproving expression.

He tsked, sucking in the air. “There’s something you're not telling me. What happened?”

You quickly diverted your gaze to the top corner near the exit. Your nails made a clicking sound as they flicked against each other. “I, I can’t.”

“(Y/N),” he strained.

“Nope.”

“(Y/N).”

“I can’t.” You played with the bandage on your hand.

“(Y/N). You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m gonna get fired.”

Taichi stood up from the couch, stalking over in your direction, meaning to pin you into the corner. He stood tall in front of you, arm crossed as if he were a principal. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“I kissed our boss.”

“You did what?”

You squeaked uncomfortably, thrashing your arms about and shaking your hands to calm your nerves. Head thrown back, you yelled. “I kissed Osamu!”

His arm dropped. Taichi threw his back into a curve, spinning around as he laughed wildly in sharp honks. “That’s amazing!” he squealed, throwing himself onto the couch and kicking his feet into the plush armrest.

“Shut up, I could get fired!”

Taichi, gasping for air, sat up from his fit of giggles and sighed. “Okay, what the hell happened?”

You puffed out an annoyed gulp of air and waddled over to the couch, slumping into the open space next to him. He leaned forward, beckoning you to talk.

“I was half awake, delirious after trying to write an essay about fucking aesthetics and attraction of all things. Osamu tries to wake me up, and I plant a big one on him before falling asleep again.”

Taichi laughed, happy to hear your tale. “That’s what happened yesterday? I just thought you were overworked.”

“I was!” He smirked, watching you squirm around. “Don’t take it out of context, you know what I'm talking about.”

“Fine, fine.” He relented and reached for the half-empty box of cookies, holding it in your direction. “Eat one. You need it.”

You frowned as you bit into the over-salted cookie, swallowing it as fast as you could before the taste settled in your mouth.

“Besides,” He said, grabbing another for himself. “I don’t think getting fired is something you’ll have to worry about.”

Long night shift. The sun had fully set, making the neighbouring stores’ exterior decorations glow in all their spooky glory. You shivered as you yawned, feeling cold air run over the length of your shoulders underneath your sweater.

With a spray bottle and damp towel, you swiped down all the counters, really digging into the coffee stains that were left by an overworked mother and her grumpy toddler. For the umpteenth time that night, another yawn tore it’s way out of you as you walked toward the sink behind the counter to wash the dirtied cloth. You kept your bandaged hand out of the hot water, doing your best to just use the one.

After ringing out the both you grabbed one of the clean mugs from the counter, stalking over to the coffee machines to whip up something for yourself. You yawned again.

“Tired?” From the backroom, Osamu emerged, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Hmm? Oh ya. I’m whipping up a pumpkin spice mocha of sorts. Don’t want to fall asleep again.”

Osamu coughed and leaned against the counter next to you, setting down a small box that you didn’t bother to look at, too busy with your coffee. “Ah, right. Do you mind making one for me too? I’d like to be coherent, tonight. I’ll grab some fresh onigiri too.” He smiled at you.

Trying to beat the heat that was quickly climbing up your neck to try and darken the colour of your cheeks, you bit your lip and poured all your focus into the orange-hued liquid in front of you. Behind you, Osamu reached for the freshly made onigiri from the chilled display case. You could hear the fabric of his sweater shuffle as he bent down to pull it out. You reached for the whipped cream with your eye tightly sewn shut.

“Got it,” he said as you turned around with both mugs in hand.

Once in the back room, you set down both mugs onto the table, before sitting down in one of the corners of the futon, letting him take up the other half. Osamu sat down slowly, pushing the second onigiri your way. “Eat up. You can restore some energy.”

You thanked him before taking a bite from the rice ball, it was filled with spicy salmon. Smiling, you took another bite.

Osamu took a sip from his coffee, trying to lick off the leftover whipped cream from his upper lip. It looked like a small mustache, and you laughed.

“Enjoying the food, over there?” 

You chuckled again. “It’s great, but. Jeez, you have a mustache.”

Osamu grumbled, whipping the top of his lip with his thumb. “Here,” he said, grabbing the small box off the table and holding it out to you. “These are for you.”

Setting down the half-eaten Onigiri, hesitantly took the box between your fingers. You gave him a confused look as you brought it into your lap. Lifting up the attached paper lid, you found yourself staring at a small collection of cookies, iced and cut to look like the adorable black jackal mascot from his brother's team.

“I saw the recipe in your notebook that...night. I wanted to make you something as an apology, and you said that the mascot was cute.” You looked up to see him scratched back of his head, staring pensively into his mug before glancing up to meet your eyes. He flinched back, pursing his lips and racing to look at the mug again.

“You don’t have to apologize, Osamu. I initiated it.” you reached into the box, pulling out one of the cookies and took a small bite out of the jackal’s ear. “I didn’t hate it either.”

You chuckled in embarrassment, watching from the side as his ears turned a rosy colour. Taking another bite from the cookie, you leaned forward a bit, trying to catch sight of his pink cheeks through his hanging fringe. You prodded.

“I did call you cute too, remember?”

Your fingers danced over your laptop’s keyboard.

I don’t often find myself thinking about the way aesthetics affect my opinions. Looks, trends, and opinions are always evolving and changing. I don’t have the capacity to keep up with such superficial things in the same way a majority of people do. Though, on a rare occasion, I will find something endearing enough to call ‘cute’. /

Outside your window, you could see the last few leaves fall off their branches. You sat down, curled up on your dorm’s couch as you saved the final copy of your essay, nibbling away at the cookies that sat on the table next to you, pumpkin spice latte in hand.

This is now the longest thing I’ve written thus far, and so the next few I write will be short cause I’m lazy. 

Once again, this oneshot is part of a fall themed server collab, the masterlist is linked at the top, so I recommend that you give all the other stories a read, I would appreciate it. -Bacon

Posted: 25/09/2020

[larktb-archive]

Hi! I'm too shy to come off anon, but I need your help understanding something. I hope I'm not bothering you!!

I don't want to interact with anyone who is a fascist, but I'm not entirely sure what makes someone fascist. Can you please explain it to me?

I know I could look it up myself, but I know that not all definitions online can be correct and I just want your perspective;;

Thanks!

Hi anon! Well, fascism comes in many forms so “sussing out who’s a fascist” is technically a little harder to do than having a simple checklist. After all, doesn’t a White Supremacist have different beliefs to a Japanese fascist? And doesn’t a Japanese fascist have different beliefs to a Wahabist? These beliefs clash don’t they? Well, yes and no. Sure the surface level beliefs are different but the underlying core beliefs of these groups are actually quite similar; it’s the specifics which are different. Even though it isn’t a “bible” on what is fascism and shouldn’t be taken as gospel, Umberto Eco has an essay called “Ur-Fascism” which contains 14 points, which can help us identify whether certain beliefs are fascist no matter the specifics of their belief system. I’ll explain the points in short and give some examples. Quick disclaimer, I am not an expert on fascism or any of the ideologies I’ll discuss by any means so if you aren’t taking Umberto Eco’s writing as the 100% correct truth, definitely don’t take mine as that either (this is how you should treat most sources tho):

1. Cult of Tradition and 2. Rejection of modernity

I put these two together because they’re kind of inseparable. This is basically the idea that there was a “glorious past” that people need to return to and modernity is a corruption of that “glorious past”. In British fascist thought, this past is generally the 19th century at the zenith of the British Empire or mid-20th century Britain. The latter is more common for people who wish to be a little more PC with their writings; instead of trying to use a by-gone era that pretty much no one alive can remember, they use a much more recent time with nostalgic ideas of “the good old days” which doesn’t seem threatening on it’s surface but is dogwhistling for a time when there weren’t as many immigrants in the country.

You may have seen the “reject modernity, embrace tradition” meme and it’s pretty much the most obvious incarnation of this idea. Similarly you may seen people online use “degenerate” as an insult. If you look at the meaning of the degenerate it means “having lost the physical, mental, or moral qualities considered normal and desirable; showing evidence of decline”; it’s microcosm of these ideas put into a single insult. This is why you tend to see conservatives use it more than progressives.

I’d also argue that terfs obsession with 2nd wave feminism and their utter rejection of intersectionality and modern feminism is another manifestation of this idea. 

3. Action for actions sake

This is less detectable in terms of individuals but still important to note that these people tend to support action without a cause. Sure the insurrection at the white house earlier this year was action, but it had no substance behind it. It was action for actions sake, which is why any principled leftist didn’t support it. Fascists will tend to openly just call for action but won’t be very specific about the purposes of the action; as long as they agree with the ideology behind it they’ll support it. It’s why fascists love harassment campaigns and mindless acts of terror. Take Wahabist terrorist orgs like Al-Qaeda or ISIS, it doesn’t matter if bombing an Ariana Grande concert has no point, the only point is the action itself.

4. Disagreement is treason  

This one’s pretty self explanatory, they will ostracize you if you disagree with them. Again, terfs tend to do this, and I had a long conversation with an ex-terf I called a dumbass, who basically said that she was ostracized by them and mocked for having different beliefs (hope she’s doing well actually). There’s numerous stories from ex-terfs like this.

5. Fear of difference

There’s a tendency for fascists to group people into “us” and “them”. “They” are considered to be intruders who need to be removed whereas “we” are the people who deserve to be here because it is “our” right to be here. In Zulu Nationalism, this tends to be any non-Zulu speakers who they deem to be “Shangaan” even if they aren’t actually Tsonga, it’s just a pejorative at this point. If you see vague references to the “elite” without any reference to who they are and what makes them “elite”, this is tends to be a dogwhistle for Jewish people. Western Fascists have very little issue with the workings of capitalism itself or the accumulation of wealth by capitalists, they just don’t like “them”, taking “our” stuff. Any references to “us” and “them” is pretty much a red flag.

6. Appeal to Social Frustration

Fascists will tend to brush upon actual issues faced by the poor today but will instead blame it on an outside force. You’ll see job loss being blamed on immigrants or vague “elites”. Terfs do this too. They’ll see young girls who are genuinely struggling with patriarchal issues and divert all that pent up rage towards trans people and the “q*eers” (which they do tend to use as a slur unlike what most people would have you think). 

7. Obsession with a Plot

Everything is a conspiracy! The election was rigged! 9/11 was fake! that fucking pizza place/this furniture company is a sex ring! All of these are supposedly plots by the deep state who are trying to do... something or other. You’ll notice these “Plots” don’t actually have a purpose, but the fact that there is a plot itself is the issue. This is a way of engendering paranoia in the group while also feeling that there is a constant war against you even if there isn’t. This is also why, despite news sources being pro-capitalist the right will swear up and down it’s leftist media which is controlled by “them” (usually just meaning Jewish people).

8. The enemy is both strong and weak

“Trans people have infiltrated academia and the only reason people refuse to see gender as an immutable biological concept, is because they’re too afraid of the trans cabal to say anything. But also everyone can tell trans people are crazy and haha you have a high suicide rate.” It’s contradictory that’s the point. They need to feel that they’re both counterculture but also they need to be winning at all times so that contradiction is necessary. Also the use of the word “cabal” is a pretty big red flag for all forms of fascism.

9. Pacifism is trafficking with the enemy, 10. Contempt for the weak, 11. Everybody is educated to become a hero and 12. Machismo and weaponry

All of these are kind of interrelated so I’m grouping them together (also this is already fucking long as hell so I don’t wanna bore you any further). You’ll tend to see a love for the military or at least military aesthetics when looking through fascist blogs. Guns aren’t just a tool for fascists, they’re representative of masculinity and the necessity of violence. Pacifists and anyone who refuses to fight are weak and therefore are “degenerate”. If you do not fight, if you are not willing to fight, you cannot be a “hero” (an ubermensch or a matyr). This comes with the fetishization of violence instead of the recognition of violence being an means to an end, and the worship of individuals rather than of communities and organizations. Take Japanese fascists and their lionisation of the imperial military and their desire to once again have an actual army.

Terfs don’t necessarily fit these roles except for arguably 10 considering how much they seem to look down upon the mentally ill and those who commit suicide and surprisingly 11 since that involves the hatred of non-standard sexual activities and terfs hate non-standard sex (this is from the most vanilla bitch who is very uncomfortable with kink but understands its not inherently good or bad). I have a feeling this is more so because terfs are mainly women (there are male terfs ofc) whereas this was written for male led organizations. 

13. Selective populism

When fascists talk about “the people” they tend to mean “the people we like”. “The working class” can be translated to “this cishet white christian man from Minnesota who owns land but hey he lives in a rural area so he’s working class right?”. They’ll also tend to have “tokens” who will suddenly become the mouth piece of the entire community they’re supposedly representing even if no one in the community asked them to (i.e. Milo Yiannopoulos). 

14. Ur fascism speaks Newspeak

They speak in terms which are both inaccessible to anyone outside of their circles whilst being so simple that once you learn them it becomes easy to understand. They abhor any form of “academic” speech so you’ll rarely see them source things (unless those things happen to agree with their views, which is rare but Jordan Peterson is popular for a reason) and if they do source things they probably wouldn’t have read them fully and will rely on you also not reading them. This is to limit any critical thinking so that your brain is basically jellified into an unquestioning organ which only responds “yes” or “no” and only appeals to a higher authority without any form of reasoning involved. This is why they complain about “the lefts memes being too wordy”... because they’re used to not having to read (this is somewhat tongue in cheek but heyho if the boot fits).

And that’s the 14 main features of fascism, if anyone is displaying multiple of these ideas then they are most likely fascist, and if an organization or group continuously replicates these ideas, then they are definitely fascist. I hope this wasn’t too long but like I said... very complex topic. (Also hopefully this is written well, it’s 10 PM and I am surviving off Irn Bru energy drink). Hope this helped!

[inaure-forhalla]

because at this rate i will simply never have proper full written out bios for my muses, below the cut find some more detailed information about my muses that give you more info than just the vibey little blurbs i shat out at some ungodly hour of the day:

akllasqa mamani:

aklla is the daughter of a scientist that had all her titles stripped of her, and prohibited from working in the field after unethical experiments came to light. this doesn’t stop her from laying low and forming a personal lab, although under a watchful eye. she proceeds to learn and absorb all she can about genetic editing, and with the use of the CRISPR method and friends manning labs, she produces her own genetically edited egg. this is where aklla comes from, she’s planted in her mother’s womb and grows to be a girl who continues her life under a microscope. her mother is constantly poking and prodding at her, in a desperate attempt to note every deviation from regular behaviour from a girl who was tailored. aklla is diagnosed with anti social personality disorder in the future, and as a child is known to have conduct disorder. she’s been called a sociopath more times than she can count and is prone to sudden, and violent outbursts. all in all, a difficult teenager trying to maneuver through a society that works against anyone with any mental diagnosis.

jolene walsh:

honestly jolene’s the only one i have a full bio for, so because i’m lazy catch that here. 

vivian han:

vivian grows up in a house that values tradition, and in particular the image of a good family. her parents are not overtly religious, but they’re devout christian’s. they got married young, and without much thought and this leads to strife in their household. they start to fall out of love right in front of her eyes, but old time tradition and religious beliefs compel them to stay together despite divorce being the healthiest option for them both. being the oldest daughter in the house, vivian often has to play peacekeeper between her parents fights. she grows weary of it, but knows her options are limited. the older she gets, the more time she spends outside of the house. parties where the music is so loud she can’t hear her thoughts, she drinks away whatever she’ll have to face when she gets home. vivian is the fun girl, and the smart girl, and the party girl, and she does whatever she can to keep up every front she has. straight a student, but beloved by her peers. and only because she tries so hard. sometimes that comes with a small mean streak to be accepted by her peers, but she grows out of that quickly. guilt wears on her conscience heavily. an unhealthy relationship is all she knows as she grows up and so it leads her into her own. she dates a boy who becomes her ruin, but she tolerates it because that’s all she knows. she tolerates it even when he pushes her against a wall and she’s worried she has a concussion. he never hits her, and that’s his excuse. she files a restraining order after much thought and push from her friends. but it only makes her wild nights even worse, she has more pain to drink away now.

gabriel and ronan:

two boys that were once part of the same band, now leading two completely different lives. gabriel has always had his head in the clouds, always dreamt of life as a musician. his parents could do little to stop what his heart wanted. as a kid he’d play in shows any chance he got at school, and even kick started his own garage band with his friends. he never wanted to be the star of the show, gabriel was more than happy in the background. and that’s how he becomes the bass player of Golden Ours. he grew up in a bustling house that knew nothing about love, and it’s what he puts out into the world. his energy comes from genuine joy, and the desire to spread kindness. he’s a humble star from humble beginnings, and does his best to not let fame get to his head. naturally, there are slip ups, ones he does his best to hide. but all in all, he makes for pleasant company. not much tragedy in this one, rather typical if you ask me. 

ronan on the other hand grows up in completely different circumstances. the accident child of an alcoholic and a junkie, he never really knows stability in his life. his parents never have a good means to finances, and he picks up odd jobs as a kid to support himself if not his parents. he holds his father’s anger and defends himself after each bark and bite from his parents. he doesn’t grow up in a good house, and he doesn’t know if he likes them more when they’re sober or completely out of their minds. he swings a fist at this father at eighteen and is met with his ass on the curb. with little to nothing to his name, he sofa surfs as long as he can, gets himself jobs here and there, nothing that lasts too long. he comes across gabriel before the band hits the charts and it begins as roommates soon turned bandmates. he joins as lead guitarist. ronan’s one to butt heads with the band often, but at the end of the day, they’re family and family was meant to fight. but the disputes only heighten when ronan pushes them to take deals that come their way. change their look, change their sound, change change change for the mainstream media. they won’t take it, and so ronan does. leaves the band behind and embraces life as someone he doesn’t recognize in the mirror. he goes from alt indie rock to more mainstream pop rock. his manager decides what he wears, what he sings, what he signs up for. the money’s good, but he hates himself. but the money’s good.

mira deol:

mira lives a quiet life for the most part. second oldest daughter of five, their family is never without festivities. she’s a good student, not the top of her class, but trying. she sits in the middle of everything, never too loud, never too quiet. mira seems to breeze by life in the background and a part of her itches to be at the front of the show. she knows she’s not built for it, so instead she’ll smile and nod through it all. her life flips upside down, she becomes part of headlines when her family is killed at sixteen. in the middle of the night, the confront what they think to be a robber. her father and his broken english yelling downstairs, threatening to call the cops when a gun’s pulled out on them. mira, silent, watches from the top of the stairs while her entire family is sat down on the rug. one by one, they’re lined up and taken out with a single shot to the head. execution style. she scampers into a closet, and her hands search the dark floors for the gun she knows her dad has. and she sits there, as quiet as ever, hands shaking as she holds the gun in front of her. she thinks he’s left until she hears the creaks up the stairs and the closet door swings open. she closes her eyes and empties the bullets into her assailant without a second thought. mira’s found with blood, both her own and his, on her body. she hasn’t left the closet when they find her, a neighbour calls when they hear the last round of gunshots. her face takes the newspapers by storm and she’s a charity case. without any other family overseas, she moves in with her next door neighbours. a girl she knows from school. she suffers from traumatic mutism for a year. rehab and therapy get her to open up, and she cries anytime she speaks for another year. her life is spent in and out of therapy, and when she finally moves out and manages to get into university, she lives alone. everything about her life screams at her to live with company, but fear of what happens to company around her forces her into living alone. currently, mira is still healing. it’s been five years since her family’s death and she’s pushing herself back into society slowly. her emotions are hard to handle, and she’s incredibly clingy when she gets attached. 

buster jones:

buster lives a comfortable life. his parents work good jobs and they don’t expect much from him. as the youngest of a trio of boys, he’s the family’s baby for most of his life and he milks it for all it’s worth. he spends most of his time gaming, eating, or hanging out with friends. never the best student, but he manages to pull through with the tutors his parents throw at him a countless number of times. he doesn’t tell them that he’s paid kids to do his homework and essays, they don’t need to know that. but when both brothers leave the house, grow old enough to make it out on their own, the attention turns back to buster. buster who does nothing for the family but eat half the contents of their fridge, which can no longer be excuse as the appetite of a growing boy. so his parents make him take up a job, any job, they tell him, and so he goes to work at a mcdonald’s. he reckons it’ll be the least amount of effort he’ll have to put in, and impossible to get fired from. plus, free fries anytime he so pleased. he’s working through his last year of highschool, projected to have to take a fifth year if summer courses fail him. when he makes it to college he takes up criminal justice. not with the dreams of being a lawyer like his mother so hopes, but with the dream of getting into the fbi. only because it looks cool on television and he swears they know everything about area 51, and the gps’ that babies are injected with. an avid reader of conspiracies that he spouts like his life depends on it, what he doesn’t have in book smart, he also doesn’t have much in street smart. how buster makes it through the day, everyone wonders. but somehow he does.

elena castillo:

she grows up doted on. an only child, given the world at her every whim. her father loves her, her mother loves her, but doesn’t have to love as much since her father takes care of that part. her father dies when she’s eight, and her mother doesn’t take it well. elena had shown various talents at a young age, and the one her mother hones in on is her ability to skate. never having taken professional figure skating, her mother says it’s time for her to try. she doesn’t protest much, knows just how pushy her mother can be. she’s a good child for the most part, prone to temper tantrums, but mother knows best. elena’s mother focuses all her energy on her daughter, and it becomes obsessive. like a pageant mom, she signs her up for every competition under the stars. elena is bound to win most of them, and that’s because her mother doesn’t let her rest until she gets her routine down pat. elena’s perfectionism is taught and forced down her throat, it doesn’t come naturally. it doesn’t take long for the girl to embrace that figure skating has become her life. pulled out of classes on a whim just to participate in competitions, she learns how to catch up with classwork quickly without disappointing her mother. she never admits it, but she seeks validation from the one parent she still has. thinks maybe she’ll gain the same love she got from her father if she does it right. elena is quick to snap as she grows older. becomes her biggest critique, and with it comes a sharp attitude that she’s quick to lash out onto others. she projects her own insecurities, and drags people down to bring herself up. she’s now a professional figure skater, one of the best of her age at twenty. but it didn’t come easy, and she’s not willing to give it up easy. in front of the cameras and the crews she waves and smiles. once the lights drop, so does the facade and she doesn’t bother to lift a finger for anyone she deems not worth her time. she becomes more like mother, and over the years, they become more like partners than mother and daughter. their relationship is never healthy.

luciana pereira: prev lucarus

has the sexiest bio it deserves a read here

imogen, willa, devna mini bios coming soon !