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passingdaysthings · 2 years ago

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06.06.2023 - Period Mood

Today is Tuesday.

My last post was cut short because Taylor called, and I just talked to him before getting back to work.

I am officially done with my 3rd quarter of grad school, and I am so happy. I finished my last homework assignment like an hour ago, and I think I am going to chill for the rest of the day. I was gonna go to the gym, but my period finally started after being 33 days and it’s hitting me pretty hard. I can’t even remember the last time my period gave me this much pain and bloating. I am gonna try to really rest and not think about school for this short break I have because I think I need to take care of myself better while I am in school. Of course, I do the gym and do my work properly, but I don’t really think I take care of my mental health well. I kind of just push things until I hit a breaking point and have a panic attack about it. I am taking one course again this summer because I am pretty busy this summer, and I think I should enjoy it rather than constantly studying and doing work. I hope this will be a good summer. I am really excited because I’ll be doing to California for my birthday in like 3 weeks, and I’ll be going to see Fall Out Boy. I am also planning to work on my volleyball fundamentals while I am on break because I feel like I have been getting lazy. I am not sure if it was because I was in school or if I am actually being lazy. We will just have to see how I do while I am playing on break. I did really poorly yesterday on offense, and that really bothered me. I am not an offensively strong player, but I was giving up points there which is the problem. If I am not scoring then I shouldn’t be giving up points.

Moving on to the real reason why I am writing today, and I believe it’s mostly my period really pushing the thoughts forward. As I have said before, Taylor and I’s relationship has become that of regular friends, and it’s like we never even went through the stages we did to get here. It’s as if we have always been like this which is fine with me, but every now and then, I get SMACKED with all the things we use to do and talk about. Let me kind of break it down:

April 2022 - June 2022: Getting to know each other, talked everyday, and I dumped Peter

June 2022 - mid - Aug 2022: Friendly, but definitely had conversations that were not considered “just friends” things, really pushed the friend boundary

Mid-Aug 2022- End of Oct 2022: Definitely not a relationship between two people who were just friends, sexual stuff, and more couple stuff, time of my confessions and rejection

Nov 2022 - Feb 2023: Confusing time after I got rejected, but we still were intimate(?). A very confusing time for me because I am def not able to do that whole no string attached thing.

Mid-Feb 2023 - present: Taylor ending our sexual relationship and reverting to normal friends or as normal as we can be I guess

For starters, I am kind of sad because I feel like the time we spent together during the April to July period was really wholesome and fun, and we were just there for each other as people. I really felt like we both cared about each other not that we don’t now, but for me, I feel like part of it was invalidated by the progression from that point. The time period where we had a sexual relationship. I don’t feel like I did anything wrong of course, but I also have to deal with the new emotions it brings. Nothing I said during our early stages of friendship was a lie, but I can’t help doubt Taylor intentions from the beginning. I don’t think his intentions were bad though because we are still friends now. Its just a thought here and there. I just don’t really know how to deal with it sometimes because he is still my friend, and we still talk everyday. I understand that people do what I did with other people and move on, but this dude is literally a huge part of my life. Like what the actual fuck? On top of that, it is my first time even having this kind of relationship with someone, and I really got bamboozled. I really thought this man liked me because I would not have done any of that if I knew he didn’t like me. I guess there were signs that he didn’t like me, but there were way more signs that he liked me. Literally, everyone around me thought he liked me, and they all supported me saying something. This is why I have trauma now. CALL ME BABE ALL YOU WANT AND ACT JEALOUS, BUT YOU DON’T LIKE ME UNTIL YOU SAY IT. I literally cannot LOL. I do not understand it. There are times where I wonder if I was the one being delusional during that time, but I have been assured that it wasn’t me. Like... this man hates talking to people and being social, but he spent time talking to me everyday morning to night. We still talk everyday now even though it’s much less time wise. He called me babe, got jealous, and sends me money for boba. He told me he wanted to sleep with me, and that if something ever happened to me, then he wouldn’t last very long. SIR? UM, SIR? I’m sorry, but imagine having a boyfriend with that kind of past with his girl best friend because that’s what I am to Taylor (unless he lied about all that). I don’t think he lied though because he is always very concerned about me when something happens. I am his best friend.. that he wanted to fuck, and that was reciprocated. I was interested in sleeping with him too. He says he is never going to get a girlfriend so it won’t be a problem, but for me, I don’t know, dude. I didn’t really plan on being single forever, but I mean, I guess, it could happen. Who knows LOL. I get so many emotions every time I think about that period of our friendship because it just confuses the fuck out of me, AND I didn’t get any closure. The only thing I pursued after my rejection was why he decided that he wanted to sleep with me and all that stuff, and all he said was “idk”. I was speechless. I was like... this man changed our whole relationship dynamic on impulse though which I am not surprised after getting to know him more. He does things impulsively with no explanation pretty often, and I happen to be on the receiving end of those impulses this time. I have accepted that, but I feel like not all of it was impulse. I fully believe there was a part of him that liked me, but he simply didn’t want to commit to anything. I am fine with though. I didn’t really pursue much after my rejection because I felt like it was for the best. I don’t think we would be able to handle a romantic relationship with each other because he doesn’t like to communicate, and I place a lot of importance on communication. He is also rude af when he talks some times, and I don’t mess with that. I definitely get annoyed with what he says a lot of time, and I hold it in because we’re simply just friends. I would not be okie with it if we were more, and this includes things he says to me personally too. I feel kind of bad assuming a relationship between the two of us would fail, but it’s true LOL. I think it would also be to the point that we wouldn’t even be able to be friends after. I already think the friendship we are maintaining right now is destined to fail some time in the future. Random thought I am having right now, Taylor literally says that he ghost friends or drops them randomly for no reason at all, but he told me that I am stuck with him forever. He told me that, and I still feel like our friendship might end one day. That’s so pessimistic of me, but it’s because I know him pretty well. He may have said things that show that I am special/important to him, but we are talking about a dude that broke up with the “love of his life” to go fuck other girls soooooo like... his words.... not reliable. I hope that he gets help one day and figures all this out. I will be here to support him though because regardless of all the things we’ve been through, I love him and consider him my best friend. He knows more about me than anyone else who has walked this earth.

-P

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tartagliad · 4 years ago

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Birthday

Summary: It's Childe's birthday!

Genre: fluff and short fic (?)

G/N reader!

Warnings: none

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Beautiful beautiful morning. Well you woke up at 5 so the sun wasn't shining yet. The reason why? Well, today is your partners birthday and you wanted to prepare something special, though there are some twists that you made. One of them is you wanted to ignore him and forgot his birthday. Secondly, you wanted to get a little help and invite Zhongli to his birthday, I mean he's Childe's close friend and you knew him so why not invite him. You took a shower and made some breakfast. When you were cooking, Childe came out from the room and just woke up, perfect. He came up to you and hugging you from behind, putting his head on your neck.

"Morning..", "good morning love." you said, he's so cute when he just woke up, you're a bit unsure if you wanted to continue the plan, but you stay determined. You knew Childe is a bit clingy especially on this specific day. "Do you know what day is today?'' he asked you, you knew this was gonna happen, "Tuesday? yeah, I believe it's Tuesday." you lied. He frowned and looked at you, finding some clues if you're lying, to his surprise you kept your normal face. "Oh yeah.. it is Tuesday.." he said with a little bit of hurt in his voice. "Here's your breakfast babe.'' you said, "Oh and I have to leave since the guild needed me." you added, Childe looked at you sadly, "Can't you stay for awhile? I miss you.." he plead, but you said you cant and give him a kiss and leave in an urgent, Childe just nodded. Your planned worked and now on to the next step.

You were at the funeral parlor as planned to meet Zhongli, "Good morning Zhongli," "Good morning y/n, how's he?" Zhongli asked. "He's.. well.. let's just say he's disappointed when I have to leave early," you shrugged, Zhongli nodded and take you on shopping for some things, but also keep an eye if Childe is around. It's almost lunch and you head back to the parlor to put the stuff you've bought while Zhongli reserved a place for both of you to eat, you quickly went to the parlor and leave immediately, acted like nothing happened. As you were walking you saw Childe, you wanted to greet him but your next plan was to ignore him. Childe walked up to you but you swerve thinking he was a random person. His heart hurt, like literally... its me special day why you do dis to me :(. "y/n." he called but you didn't notice, he watched where you were going and he was shocked that you were spending time with Zhongli. He wanted to pull you and hug you but you were far away. And so he left.

Time skipped

Childe never felt so lonely on his birthday, you weren't there to give him a proper attention and you went out and talked with his closest friend. Even Zhongli didn't have time to talk to him, yeah sure busy.. busy talking to my partner :). His day never felt really dull, he's just wish that today ended quicker. You on the other hand was preparing some decorations with Zhongli at your house, nothing much just a cake, balloons, flowers, and gifts. Everything went well and everything is set, Zhongli is looking out at the window to see if Childe was coming. After a few hours, Zhongli finally saw Childe and the two of you took place, turning of the lights. Childe unlocked the key and came in, 'sigh, they're aren't home yet...' he thought. Then when he turned on the light, "SURPRISE!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY.'' both of you shout, Childe jumped.. he couldn't believe what he sees, "so two of you actually remembered," Childe said, "Of course we are. What kind of person are we if we forget about your birthday." you said and Zhongli nodded. "Go on make a wish," Zhongli said, Childe blows the candle and both of you cheered. Then both of you give him the presents, Zhongli gave him a really good quality scarf since Childe lives in Snezhnaya, the fabric is really soft, he can't wait to use it. You gave him a bracelet and a sweater, the sweater is warm and soft and the bracelet has charms on it, a narwhal the shape of his constellation and a rose.. the flower that he first gave to you. He thanked both of you for the present.. but you said there's one more, a voice recorder device..? You told him to play it.

"Ajax, happy birthday, this is me Tonia, I hope you're happy at Liyue now, I hope you're doing great on your work.. y/n wanted us to make this, so here it is hehe. Oh Anthon wants to talk to you, here Anthon..

Ajax, happy birthday, I hope you're healthy and happy, we're sorry we aren't able to visit you to celebrate you're birthday. this is the least we could do. One gift from one family! BIG BROTHER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! it's me Teucerrr, I can't wait for you to come back home and play again. I really wanted to show you some toys that I've just bought, they're really cool!! and dont forget to bring big brother/sister y/n with you, I wanted to see them, I hope they're okay. Btw, mom and dad wanted to say something, here you go mom..

...

Darling, happy birthday. We hope you're doing great, we're really sorry that we couldn't see you sweetie, I know you really missed us and scenery of Snezhnaya, home feels a bit empty without you. We wanted to thank you for your hardwork and dedication towards your duties, we're happy as long as you're happy. We just wish that we could hug you and hang out together.. Reading your letters aren't the same comparing you're at home telling us stories about your work.. ah.. the recording almost reached its limit.. sigh, time to say goodbye and sending some thank you's to your partner for accompanying you. Once again happy birthday Ajax! we love you.. byee"

Tears formed in his eyes.. this is really beautiful, he never thought of having this as a gift, he hugged both of you tightly. He never felt so far from his family after hearing that. You wiped his tears away and looked at him softly. Childe thanks you and Zhongli for this lovely gifts, he wanted to keep it. After that, you and Zhongli treat him for a dinner. Three of you talked and laugh together, basically spending some time together. It's almost late, Zhongli parted ways from you and Childe and wave a goodbye.

When you got back home, both of you got ready for bed. Once you finished, Childe pulled you into a cuddle, you softly brushed his hair and kissed him softly on his lips. Both of you just talked before both of you started to drift of into a deep sleep, you swear you could feel him smiling while he's sleeping, he's really happy.

"Thank you for today, I couldn't imagine this day without you, and I also never thought hearing my family's voice at a time like this.. you really are an angel.''

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(A/N: happy birthday to my beloved Childe!! This is really long than I thought ehe.. sorry for being inactive again, I already have school so I'm trying my best to write.. btw, I'll be doing a little surprise so stay tuned. BYEE)

#genshin impact #genshin childe #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin boys #genshin x reader #childe x reader #childe #genshin fluff #tartalgia #genshin headcanons #genshin blog

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omegawolverine · 4 years ago

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Braid Me a Home

summary:

"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)

a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]

—

When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.

Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.

Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.

From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.

—

Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.

It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.

Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.

Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.

It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.

Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.

Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.

So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.

Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.

—

When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.

Well. Not too too different.

Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-

Right. This is about Tommy.

When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.

If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—

Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.

So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.

Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.

It was Wednesday afternoon.

Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.

Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.

When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.

Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.

Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.

“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.

Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.

That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.

—

At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.

Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”

Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.

—

When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.

It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.

“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.

Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.

As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.

Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.

In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.

—

Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.

And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.

#dream smp #/dsmp #dsmp #sleepy bois inc #sbi #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #fic #fics #fanfic #fanfiction #the dream smp #shit self #dami writez #/rp #dsmp fic

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dilly-oh · 4 years ago

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The Office War

Kakashi had been stealing his pens again, Iruka was certain of it. His particular favorite was sitting right there out in the open on that bastard's desk, the orange one with the ugly troll cap that'd been a present from Naruto, as well as several others he'd bought at his own personal expense because the quality of pens the company provided for employees was a damn joke. Iruka had standards.

Those are my fucking pens, douche-bag, Iruka thought as he sat at his desk, seething with righteous fury. Get your own.

He could see the smarmy asshole's hair poking up out of his cubicle, gray and spikey and in desperate need of brushing. As he watched, his computer chair tipped back and Kakashi came into view, lazy-eyed and tapping one of Iruka's own pens against his weird medical face-mask in thought.

Just let it go, Iruka told himself before he could get truly riled up. He didn't need another talk with HR after the incident with Genma eating his lunches. That had gotten pretty out of hand - there had almost been a lawsuit involved. It's just a few pens, right? Nothing to start a fight over. It's not a big deal.

And then Kakashi poked the pen under his mask and started chewing.

That did it.

Time to confront the bastard. With passive-aggressive guilt-tripping.

Iruka stood up from his cubicle and sauntered over as nonchalantly as possible.

“Hey, Kakashi. What's up?” he greeted. Kakashi gave a distracted grunt in reply, eyes glued to his computer screen. “Sorry, can I borrow a pen?” Iruka went on, baring his teeth in challenge more than smiling. “Mine seem to be...missing.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” Kakashi said, immediately handing him the one from his mouth, covered in teeth-marks and spit. Iruka recoiled in disgust.

“Maybe...not that one. How about...that one?” He pointed to the orange one on his desk. Kakashi shrugged and handed it over. Iruka's eyes narrowed. Time to go in for the kill. “Wow. This pen is really nice. Where did you get it?”

“Dunno.” Kakashi shrugged again. “Picked it up somewhere.”

Okay, screw passive-aggressive. Time for full-on confrontational.

“Okay, cut the shit!” Iruka burst out impatiently. “Those pens are mine! Give them back!” He reached over and quickly snatched them up, hugging them protectively to his chest. “And...” He paused, eyes raking over Kakashi's sloppy work station. “Is that my stapler?”

“Oh, is it?” Kakashi said innocently.

“Yes it is!” Iruka snatched it away as well. “What else of mine do you have?”

“Just some papers and binders and stuff. Oh, and I borrowed your pencil sharpener last week but it crapped out after sharpening my hundredth pencil-”

“That was YOU?!”

“I needed them for a seminar.”

“That thing cost like thirty bucks!”

“I thought you wouldn't mind,” Kakashi said simply.

“Normally, no, I wouldn't, but YOU take things and KEEP them. That I mind. Plus you don't even have the common courtesy to ASK first.” Iruka turned away with a huff. “Don't touch my shit again.”

And with that, he stomped back to his desk, arms full of his reclaimed supplies.

That'll teach him.

---

Apparently, it did not.

The next day, all of Iruka's paperclips were missing. He spotted them on Kakashi's desk, bent into abstract shapes. Mostly dicks.

That son of a bitch.

This called for war.

---

After an entire weekend of planning, Iruka was ready.

On Monday, he took a screwdriver to Kakashi's computer chair, subtly loosening the screws at the base of the seat so it would break when tipped back at a lazy angle. He heard the crash from the break-room and almost choked on his granola bar laughing.

On Tuesday, he drained half of Kakashi's pens of ink and rigged the other half to explode, splattering everywhere when used. All of Kakashi's reports that day were sent back and he had to stay an extra hour just to re-sign everything.

On Wednesday, he jammed the copy machine. Kakashi, the procrastinating prick, wasn't able to print out the dozen or so information pamphlets he needed five minutes before the important presentation. The meeting was rescheduled for the following day, much to everyone's irritation, most of all Kakashi's, who prided himself on his copying skills.

On Thursday, he stole every single staple in the office. Kakashi, who had finally managed to print the copies for the presentation, was forced to tape all of the papers together. The strange looks he got from the others as he passed them out was well worth the effort.

On Friday, he sabotaged Kakashi's coffee cup to spring a leak when he took a sip. Iruka heard him curse from across the room and looked up to see a satisfying amount of hot coffee had spilled all over Kakashi's shirt and face mask. Hissing in pain, he stood and stomped to the nearest bathroom. Iruka couldn't resist following the other man inside for a victory gloat.

“So...” Iruka said smugly, joining Kakashi at the sink where he was attempting to dab the stain away with wet paper-towels, “had enough?”

“Of what?” Kakashi asked distractedly. “Coffee?”

“ME, you idiot! It was all me!” Iruka exploded. “Your chair, the copy machine, your coffee! All ME! Are you ready to admit defeat yet? Have you been thoroughly chastened?”

“Well, I'm mildly annoyed, if that counts,” Kakashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “I can't believe you went to all that trouble. You should put that effort into your work.”

“I should put more effort into my work?! You're the one sneaking naps in your cubicle!!” Iruka sputtered furiously, his face burning with rage, then cut off as Kakashi reached up and removed his mask and his face started burning for an entirely different reason.

Oh, shit.

Kakashi was hot. Kakashi was really hot. Kakashi was hot enough Iruka wanted to go to HR and lodge a complaint – He's too fucking hot. It's not fair. Fire his ass.

This changes nothing, Iruka told himself as he broke into a sweat. He's still an asshole, he still deserved it all, the stupid son of a-

“Damn. It's not coming out.” With an annoyed tsk, Kakashi smoothly removed his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and stripped it off, his shoulders and chest rolling obscenely with the motion. Iruka's mouth went dry.

...This may have backfired, he thought, eyes glued to the slope of Kakashi's back as he bent over the sink, scrubbing at the stain.

“I...have to go,” Iruka said blankly.

“Well you came to the right place,” Kakashi replied, focused on his work.

“No. I mean. Leave. I have to leave. Like right now.” Iruka slowly backed up, hit the wall, then slithered along it til he found the door, desperately snatching at the handle, his eyes still riveted by Kakashi's sculpted chest.

“You're leaving early?” Kakashi glanced up at him. “Aren't you out of earned time?”

“Just take it out of my paycheck gotta go bye,” Iruka blurted before finally wrestling the door open and tumbling out into the hallway, shoving past a confused intern as he bolted towards the exit.

---

The sight of Kakashi shirtless haunted Iruka all weekend long.

He considered calling in sick on Monday, but didn't because Kakashi was indeed correct – he had no more sick leave left after Naruto gave him food poisoning for his birthday by being cheap and trying to bake a cake.

Also, he wasn't a coward.

So, come Monday morning, he marched right back into the office at 8 A.M on the dot, rode the elevator with his head down, pointedly ignoring everyone while also on the lookout for a certain silver-haired individual, and walked straight to his desk.

Which was covered in a stunning array of brand-new office supplies. Pens, mechanical pencils, highlighters, large and small paperclips, all sitting there still wrapped in plastic with that new-store smell. Iruka almost burst into tears at the sight.

“Whose dick did you suck to get all those?” Izumo whispered, his voice thick with jealousy.

“No-one's!” Iruka snapped at him as he sat down, mystified. He tentatively picked up a box of pens, delighted to see they came in a variety of colors.

“Do you like them?” Kakashi asked, leaning in over his shoulder. “I was gonna get flowers, but I figured you'd appreciate these more.”

“Kakashi!” Iruka bolted up out of his chair like he'd been shocked. Which, frankly, he had been. “Wait. You did this?” He gaped at the other man in disbelief, then his stomach dropped like a weight. Oh, God, of course this wasn't real. It was too good to be true. The supplies were probably all fake, rigged to break or explode or-

“It was the least I could do to apologize.”

“...Apologize?” Iruka blinked. “Why?”

“Some kid came by looking for you on Friday, after you left,” Kakashi went on, scratching at his face mask in an almost nervous gesture. “Seemed real upset about an orange pen missing from your desk. Said it was a present from him. And, well...I connected the dots.” He nodded towards Iruka's desk, where Naruto's gag “Worst Big Brother Ever” mug sat in its place of honor beside his monitor. “I'm sorry. I didn't know that pen meant so much to you.” He dropped his gaze in shame. “I shouldn't have taken it. Or any of your other stuff, for that matter.”

“It...it's alright, Kakashi,” Iruka said quietly, looking at him in a whole new light. Perhaps he should reevaluate his opinion of the other man. Sure, he was a lazy, procrastinating jerk sometimes, but he seemed to have a good heart. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. “And...thank you for the supplies, they're very appreciated, but honestly, there was no need to trouble yourself-”

“Want me to take my shirt off again?”

And maybe he was just an asshole.

Kakashi smirked down at him, and Iruka could imagine how, under the mask, it pulled at the stupid beauty mark on the side of his mouth.

...A really, really hot asshole.

“...Yeah alright.”

(Written for @kakairu-fest Kakairu Month 2021, Day Six Prompt: Office AU)

#kakairu #KakaIru Month 2021 #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #office au #don't fuck with Iruka's office supplies #he will cut a bitch

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modern-vellichor · 4 years ago

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Just Like Her Mother

Chapter Three

Summary: Its your birthday, and a new side of you is seen.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, cigarettes, smoking, lakes :)

Tuesday morning rolled around, warm sun slipping through the curtains of Charles' room. He slipped out of bed and got dressed. His hair was still a mess as he lumbered down the stairs. He could see you waiting anxiously by the open door.

You were watching the driveway excitedly. Charles stood behind you and yawned.

"What's happening?"

"Theo's coming," you stated.

Just then a car began to drive up to the house. You started rolling back and forth on your heels, excitement oozing out of you. Charles watched with half-asses interest. When the car was halfway up the drive, a door opened and a boy around your age jumped out.

Immediately the two of you began running towards each other. The car kept driving and you lept into the boy's arms. He lifted you off the ground and spun you around. You walked back to the door still in each other's arms and Charles rolled his eyes.

"Charles!" You called out, beckoning for him to come to the car.

He stepped into the fresh morning air with a soft scowl.

"Charles, this is my cousin Theo"

Suddenly Charles felt bad about all the hassle he gave you about Theo. He faked a welcoming smile and shook the boys hand.

Other people exited the car. Theo backed away to fetch a baby out of the back.

You introduced him to your aunt and uncle, and to the two other children, both only young.

You ushered them all inside, Charles hung back so he could walk with you.

"hey," he whispered. "I'm sorry, about... you know"

"it's okay," you whispered back. You jogged away to catch up with your family.

When Charles arrived in the dining room, the table was laid with breakfast. You sat across from Theo, feeding a cooing baby in your lap. You were all sitting towards one side of the table, the seat at the head was free. Charles sat down and dished for himself.

Your uncle talked to him with great interest, asking him all sorts of questions. You spent the entire day with your family, laughing and drinking and smoking. As non hit and the sun was blazing down on the house, you all moved into the garden.

As Charles followed you through the backdoor he realized he had never been this side of the house. He took in his surroundings as you all walked the little path to a small patio with a table and chairs.

You propped your feet up on the table, a cigarette in one hand and a full glass in the other. The two young children played quietly at their parents feet. Everyone at the table had a cigarette but Charles. Your uncle lazily threw one across the table at him.

"So, Charles," he drawled. His English was good but you could tell it wasn't his first language. "Y/N tells me you've spent time in Italy"

"Oh, leave him, Uncle!" You giggled.

You were a different person now that your family was here. Charles could tell it wasn't an act either. You were happy and free spirited.

"oh no, it's okay," Charles mumbled quietly to you before turning to your Uncle.

You spent most of the afternoon like that, occasionally going inside to fetch another bottle of whatever they decided to drink next. They were up until late in the evening, after the children were put to bed. Eventually Charles excused himself but he could hear you laughing into the early hours of the morning.

Charles slept in late the next morning. Your uncle's car was missing from the driveway. He looked for you before finding you in the drawing room. The fire was crackling softly and you had a cup of coffee on the table in front of you. Theo sat across from you, reading the newspaper out loud. A young girl played at your feet and a baby cooed softly in your lap.

Charles sat down in a free seat next to you. You mumbled a soft good morning and Theo read on. Charles poured himself a coffee from the pot on the table.

"Who's the little guy?" He asked softly.

"this is James," you said, bouncing the baby softly. "And that's Adeline," you nodded to the girl on the floor. She was no older than five.

"Where's your uncle?"

"They've gone out for the day, won't be back until late"

Charles fell silent as Theo turned to you. He didn't even spare Charles a glance as he spoke to you. His voice was soft and in a language Charles didn't speak. His Italian was good, but he didn't speak French. He recognized a few words but the two of you spoke so quickly that Charles gave up and picked the paper up off the table.

His interest only piqued when he heard his name muttered. But the two of you still conversed in French.

"Charles?" You asked softly.

He hummed in response, not taking his eyes off the paper, though he wasn't reading.

"would you like to bring the children out with us?"

In his peripheral, Charles could see Theo shaking his head lightly.

"oh, no. You two go ahead, I'll hang back"

You murmured softly but got up anyway. You patted Adeline on the back and took her little hand, leading her away from Charles' feet.

You and Theo were out for the whole afternoon. Charles didn't even see you when you got home, you took the children into your office. Charles walked past the open door and stole a glance. You and Theo were sitting on the floor playing with Adeline and James.

Charles did get to see you at dinner. This time he was included in the conversation. You kept snapping softly at Adeline, who was hanging off of Charles' leg and asking him silly questions.

"Adeline," you whispered angrily. "come sit over here and stop bothering uncle Charles"

With wide eyes she waddled sadly over to the seat next to you. Charles chuckled quietly into his drink.

The three of you made awkward conversation as you ate. Eventually you fell asleep, little James asleep on your chest. Theo turned to Charles.

"I'm gonna take Addie and James to bed."

Charles nodded and watched him lift James out of your arms and lead Adeline towards the stairs.

Charles pushed out of his chair and made his way over to your sleeping form. He hooked an arm under your knees and one behind your back. He grunted softly as he lifted you out of the chair. You didn't stir. He carried you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, it was closer anyway. He laid you in his bed, tucking you in, before slotting in on the other side.

You woke up in the middle of the night when James began to cry. Charles woke up and watched you hurriedly walk out the door. A few seconds later the baby grew quiet again and Charles didn't see you until morning.

You all sat at the table, sharing coffee and cigarettes. You and Theo laughed loudly and your aunt and uncle watched proudly. Charles observed the scene from where he sat at the head of the table. He couldn't help but notice how domestic it all felt to him.

"so, Y/N," your uncle finally said and the table quieted down. "Your aunt and I have a little something for you"

You shook your head politely, eyes wide in soft surprise. Your uncle placed a neatly wrapped parcel on the table in front of you. You gentle untied the ribbon and unfolded the paper to reveal a thick leather bound book. You rifled through it with a smile and thanked your uncle. Charles watched in mild confusion as Theo also pulled out a little box that contained a necklace.

"happy birthday, lady bug," he said as he smiled softly.

"Any big birthday plans?" Your aunt chuckled loudly.

"uhm," your gaze fell upon the confused face of Charles. Suddenly you grew nervous. "Yeah, we're having a party. Some family friends, some of the locals are coming too. Mum planned it a while back and you know how she is so,,,"

"how is she?" Charles asked, it was the first thing he had said all morning.

"Her parties are always lavish, lots of people in expensive clothes and big dresses, you know," you choked out the words as you spoke to Charles.

You continued to tell the group the plans for the evening before excusing yourself from the table and disappearing upstairs.

The last time your mother was home, which was a long time ago. She had slipped Hilda a box with strict instructions.

'Do not give this to Y/N until her birthday'

And of course Hilda followed them and kept the present hidden. She knocked gently on your bedroom door. You called out and she pushed it open, box in hand. She left in on your bed with a smile. She gave you a quick hug and muttered a 'happy birthday, sweetheart' before leaving.

You slid off the lid and opened the tissue paper to reveal a rather extravagant gown. It was long and silky and dark, you pulled it out and laid it on the bed. In the box there was a piece of card covered in your mother's handwriting.

Happy birthday, Y/N

I'm sorry I cant be there, wear this tonight, for me.

Love, mum

You smiled sadly at the note and slipped the dress onto a hanger and into your closet.

The party was loud and full and boring. You sat, slumped in a corner next to Theo. Charles hopped from conversation to conversation lazily, always keeping an eye on you.

Every time a young man would walk over to you Charles' blood began to boil. Everytime someone asked you to dance or asked about your love life Charles nearly raged. But he kept it cool because he knew you were uninterested. And deep down he wished it was because of him.

A few boring hours passed and Theo turned to you with an excited look. He whispered in your ear and your face lit up, you nodded frantically and the two if you hurried towards the door.

Charles followed you out of the house, through the backdoor. He raced back inside and up the stairs to his bedroom, he gazed out the window, searching for you. You came into sight at the far end of the garden, by a little pond. Charles could hear your faint laughter. He rushed back down the stairs and through the garden. He slowed down as he neared the edge of the lake, half hiding behind some hedges. He arrived just in time to watch you and Theo jump into the lake, shrieking and laughing. Your dress was soaked, and Theo resurfaced to throw his sodden jacket on the grass.

The wet fabric of your dress weighed you down but you didn't care as you and Theo dived under the water once again. Reeds grew from the lakes floor. The lake wasn't really part of your garden, it wasn't part of anyone's garden. It was always busy during the summer as the surrounding houses brought their kids for a swim.

The moon was high in the sky and the evening air was cold. You could hear faint music and see distant lights from the party ongoing in the house. People would be leaving soon and you knew that. The sooner they left the better, you thought.

Charles finally left the protection of the hedge, calling out for you, feigning worry.

"Y/N?"

He heard you mutter a curse and hurry out of the water.

"Charles? What are you doing? You should be at the party," you muttered angrily, still dripping.

"so should you," he stated coolly, with a sly grin.

"what do you want?," you snapped, annoyed by the man.

"Nothing, I was just worried about you!" Charles mocked.

You rolled your eyes and dived back into the water. Charles called out for you as you disappeared under the dark surface. He stood on the edge of the grass, looking out over the glassy lake. Suddenly two hands emerged, grabbing onto him and tugging him into the black water.

It was cold and unexpected. He gasped and sputtered as he surface, you a few feet away from him, laughing loudly and uncontrollably. He glared angrily at you and you just swam away, still giggling.

Charles adored this new side of you. This playful, and free, and happy side of you. He longed to see it more often. Deep down, Charles hated himself for being soft and caring, but you seemed to bring out the best in him, for good or worse.

#charles blackwood #we have always lived in the castle #charles x reader #charles blackwood fanfic #charles blackwood fluff #charles blackwood x you #charles blackwood x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #seb stan #sebastian stan characters

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1iam · 4 years ago

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ADVANCED MENTAL ALCHEMY “The All Is Mind; The Universe Is Mental.” - The Kybalion

The Universe is the product of an entity of intellect and it is entirely mental. Through scientific research we know that all forms of "matter" are actually energy under law. Also, with the advent of Quantum physics we are just beginning to understand the relationship between consciousness (the observer) and the Universal energy. As stated above, the mind is all, and being all, it has the ability to place its will upon the material Universe (material reality). The Mind is not human but its greatest expression in the mental mechanics of material reality is in the form of Man. A man/woman, is the Mind in flesh. The walking, talking creator of material reality. The Universe that we live in is a mental energy arrangement that responds to the collective mental activity of us all to produce an experience of material reality for the Mind to exercise and entertain itself. At any point of material observation (person), the Mind can awaken from its dream in character personage and exercise its will upon all of material reality (The Universe). The Universe (material reality) is an energy arrangement that is constantly changing and adjusting based upon the mental commands it receives from people, who are basically for lack of a better term, "God in the flesh." The energy of this mental matrix does not obey the rules of time, distance, and matter when making adjustments and changes but it does do its best to stay within the present storyline of material reality so as not to cause the matrix to become meaningless. Probably 99.9% of the time, the changes and adjustments made by the energy matrix are complete and unnoticeable to the unawake human family. But, if you'll just look around right now and consider your daily life so far, I'm sure you can imagine that there is an enormous amount of information under law here and hiccups can occur in the process.

During the week of April 11, 2021 to April 17, 2021 I had a doctors appointment that Monday the 12th that required me to take the day off from my trucking job with CMAC Transportation. The doctors appointment didn't take long and I was actually happy about having the day off because that would leave me with a four day work week. Driving a semi is not an easy job and five day work weeks take a toll on you, so I was happy to have a doctors appointment to excuse one of those days. I had that Monday the 12th off but my boss (Rich) at the CMAC account where I work informed me that week that he needed me to work on Saturday, April 17, 2021. I'm all about making the company and our customers as successful as possible. I didn't want to work the Saturday, but they needed me and I was there. It turned my four day work week back into a five day work week with only Sunday the 18th before Monday again and at least another 5 day work week. That stuck with me in my mind! I worked Saturday the 17th of April, carried a load of WestRock cartons to Kelloggs in Battlecreek, MI. I started at 6:00 AM, got my paperwork, logged into the Qualcomm in my tractor, called dispatch for a load number and logged that into the Qualcomm. I did a pretrip inspection on my tractor and logged it into the Qualcomm. You know, the whole nine! The GPS on the Qualcomm was logging my whole trip. When I got to Kelloggs I signed a gate pass and went and got signatures for the load from the receiving department. I drove back to Brownstown MI with the Qualcomm logging my trip the whole way. I did a post trip inspection of my vehicle, certified the day and logged out of the Qualcomm. I turned in signed paperwork at WestRock insuring that the load was received in Battlecreek in good condition. I went home. It wasn't a long day, I was done by 1:00 PM.

I had an appointment at the Secretary Of State office to have my driver's license renewed on April 27, 2021. My license expires on my birthday in July this year. Because of the pandemic I got an early appointment. If I missed my April appointment the next opening was in October! I notified CMAC Transportation of that and of course, they gave me the day off to go and handle my CDL-A situation. I was happy about that because it wouldn't take that long and it turned my five day work week into a four day work week. I went and handled that business on Tuesday, April 27, 2021 and had a great day off from work. Near the end of the work week, my boss at WestRock, Rich, notified me that he really needed me to work Saturday the 1st of May. In my mind, I'm like "All hell naw! That's blowing my four day work week!" Of course, I'm about being of value to the company and the customer. They will never regret hiring me. All I said was "Yes Sir, I'll see you in the morning." But, in my mind, I'm thinking I see how they're going to play me, every time I get a day off during the week they're going to work me on Saturday. Anyway, I worked Saturday the 1st of May as well. But these two Saturdays are in my mind because I worked them and they blew my four day work weeks. When the April 11, 2021 to April 17, 2021 pay period came around, guess what? Saturday, April 17, 2021 wasn't in my pay! Okay, okay, they slipped up, it can happen. I'll just call CMAC Transportation and notify them that they missed paying me for Saturday April the 17th, no problem, right? WRONG! CMAC notifies me that they have no record of me working Saturday, April 17th. Now, not only was my four day work week screwed up, but CMAC is telling me I didn't work on Saturday April the 17th and they're not paying me. At this point, in my mind, I'm like, "Hey! You got me fu*ked up!" I tell CMAC Transportation to go back to April 17, pull up my truck number and the Qualcomm record of the whole day, logged as me, the driver, working! CMAC Transportation tells me that they have no Qualcomm records, nothing that says I worked on Saturday April the 17th. Okay, at this point, I'm thinking, obviously, CMAC is another sleazy trucking company trying to rip me off and I'm done! I don't let companies, people, nobody mistreat me and just move along as though nothing happened. I told my wife, Debbie, that I was going to resign from CMAC Transportation. Debbie talked to me about the trucking profession, trucking companies and how unethical they have been all around. She said, if you're going to be a company driver, you can't run every time they screw you. She was right, but at the same time, I just couldn't eat them screwing me out of my Saturday pay as though nothing happened. As a happy medium between my wife Debbie and myself, I didn't resign CMAC Transportation but I did notify CMAC that I was done working Saturday's until they paid me for working Saturday, April the 17th. Now, wherever that led was up to them, but I keep my word. We started going back and forth about me not working any more Saturdays with text messages and an administration person named Tiffany was attempting to help me understand that they have no record of me working that day and if I did work that day, I must have done so without logging into the Qualcomm. She insinuated I was just driving the truck without taking care of any business and the truck itself never reported unauthorized driving that day, which is totally ridiculous and even insulting to me, being the professional driver that I am. My boss at the CMAC WestRock account, Rich, said he remembered me working that day but he was kind of hazy about it. Rich is very busy everyday and the day in question was almost three weeks back, so he didn't seem absolute about it like I was. Rich said he would try and get me paid for that Saturday, even though there was absolutely no record of me working that Saturday according to CMAC Transportation. Long story short, WestRock and CMAC Transportation valued my service and respected me as a driver so much that they paid me for Saturday April the 17th, 2021 even though they say they have absolutely no record of me ever working that day. I want WestRock and CMAC Transportation to know that I am truly honored by that. I do understand pay procedures and processes and how difficult it is to pay with no record of what you're paying for. The pay was a respect thing and I'm honored by that. A few days ago Google send me an email with my April Timeline recorded. This is a GPS Timeline that tracks the movement of my cellphone everyday, all day. Finally, I would have proof that I went to Battlecreek MI on Saturday April 17, 2021. I opened the email and rushed to that Saturday and boom! There was no record of me going to Battlecreek MI on Saturday April 17,2021. Only then, did I realize that the energy matrix had made a change that was incomplete. The matrix flipped my Saturday in every way except my memory. By leaving the Saturday worked in my memory, it created a conflict that could have cost me my job had WestRock and CMAC Transportation not been so generous. Rarely does the energy matrix miss a detail when making changes and adjustments but it does happen from time to time. CMAC Transportation not having any record of the Saturday should have tipped me off, but this rarely happens and the Google Timeline made me aware of it.

I did list some other examples of energy matrix slip ups in my Teachable course on Mental Manifestation. Thanks for listening. The experience was enjoyable when I think about it. It took me through a range of different emotions and was worth the observation. https://mental-manifestation-school.teachable.com/

#wakethegod #amorc #rosicrucianism #tumblr #cmactransportation westrock

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pairodicelost · 4 years ago

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something needs to change soon bc i have so much i wanna do and make, and the dead weight of my own body and the prolonged suffering i dip in and out of is just untenable

had a well and truly terrible mental health day on tues... monday night was acute suffering and rumination and DAMAGED GOODS feeling, I drunk drafted an email to [redacted] shedding light on [redacted] (amazingly articulate, graceful even? though a tad dramatic), I drank gin, I went to bed. set off by watching vids of a young person i follow having a manic sobbing laughing undressed spiral online which really just grabbed my heart by the throat. Tuesday I couldnt get up until 3pm, and Angel sneezed so I panicked, either lung cancer or dust from her bedding (which i’d been changing daily!!) so I deep cleaned her cage extremely, held her on me almost the whole time, spent hours with her really while I did it and drank coffee and swept the house and handwashed her cloths and sewed things for her cage and then suddenly, cried and cried for awhile while she crawled on my shoulders. then made rly good dinner bc cooking is now something i like????

facetimed my sister super grumpy from my bad day and she was sour too, bad day on her end, rude boss, lotsa pressure, but she practiced delivering her presentation of the neuroscience data she gleaned and described in her (first! ever!) published manuscript/experiment. somehow cheered each other up. went to bed sober and not too late.

I am struggling to write and struggling to paint, collage with words is completely off the table lately bc my brain just convulses and turns into a wet towel and cannot focus. I think I need to aggressively enforce a week of NO MAKING ANYTHING, its okay to just cook and watch movies and play with the rats. No drawing or painting and most of all no shame over that. my self worth is all wrapped up in it, im supposed to be wildly productive in all my downtime so that I est a body of work, all weekend and all week nights go to this second life which will emerge - and I just gotta stop and chill tf out with making that my identity and my everything. this is about cooking! im worried about money all the time (bad bad bad, youre supposed to exercise gratitude and act and believe as if you already have the things you want, you know this!) but I have an overflowing pantry and a full fridge and freezer (its a minifridge and freezer lmao) and lately, unable to finish projects or deal with words, I’ve gotten into cooking! and baking! it keeps the kitchen warm, too, and is profoundly comforting.

french onion soup, nondairy tomato soup, brussel sprouts roasted with potatoes dressed in balsamic + garlic with eggs fried in there, butternut squash

so something is level and good within me, i suspect a lot of things are getting there.

today:

1. get to fedex/office depot and make 50 copies of zine

1.5. mail 2 maya while there

2. pick up carriers for the babes

3. assemble zines at home to send tmrw

4. get rid of a ton of the paper scraps and ephemera I’ve been hauling around the country for ten yrs. collage and material belongings are stressful rn so best be rid of em. clear desk and files. make sewing stuff accessible.

5. prep batch of mail - for C in Fresno, R’s forgotten birthday card, MK’s thank you, grandparents, C + M, early bday to T??? and J in NC and E.

It’s funny though bc the new rat just hung with me for over an hr while I wait on hold with unemployment and I have little pulled-apart raspberries and carrot slices on an old open journal and my coffeetable is littered with envelopes and a banker’s lamp and nail polish pain meds allergy meds earache oil chapstick toothpaste lighter mouthguard and also an open bottle of charles shaw right next to a mcdonald’s cup i’ve been using for days to drink water out of bc the straw really helps, and super floral-smelling black tea i just made myself and I looked at this mess and thought to myself “is this happiness? i think maybe i’m really happy.”

#practically a journal entry

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paradisobound · 5 years ago

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World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 9

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Explicit (heed the rating change!)

Word Count: 2.6k (this chapter)

Warnings: Smut

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

Back when Dan was a teenager, he used to have thoughts in his head about what it would be like to spend Christmas with Phil. Sometimes he would sit alone in his room and think about what they would do. Would they exchange gifts? Would they celebrate together?

In the present, Dan is overcome with these thoughts once again as he lays awake lone in his apartment. It’s well past midnight, but his mind hasn’t shut up since the night before when he and Phil...did that. It wasn’t like they progressed any further than kissing, but Dan doesn’t honestly know how they kissed for. All his knows is that when they stopped, his lips were a bit sore and swelled to the touch but...he doesn’t regret it.

Maybe that’s why he’s still up at night.

He doesn’t regret the kissing. At the time, it had felt really right. But it was what Phil had told him after that is making Dan’s head still reel.

Let’s go away for Christmas together.

Dan didn’t give Phil an answer. He just said he’d think about it and then he left for the evening where he stayed awake the entire time worrying about what he had done. At the office yesterday, Phil had told Dan he could book them tickets to the Isle of Man for a getaway. It would just be the two of them.

It didn’t feel right, Dan supposes, to be going away on a getaway with your boss. But he feels like he’s crossed a line by kissing Phil. Yeah, they were both a bit inebriated when it happened but that still doesn’t stop the fact that Dan did want it. He wanted to be kissed by Phil again after all of these years.

He turns on his side and the clock reads close to 2 now. He knows he’ll hate himself in the morning if he doesn’t get some sleep, so he shuts his eyes and tries to fall asleep.

And he does eventually, but his dream comes in the form of him and Phil exchanging Christmas gifts and the cycle begins again.

***

There was nothing Dan hated more than dealing with the printers. Every time he went to them to give them his finished manuscript, they always harped on him for something or another. He’s tried to let it go in one ear and out the other but that doesn’t always happen.

He’s on the way back to the office and can’t wait to get back so he can tell his goodbyes to Phil and then leave for the evening to go home. He has the day off tomorrow and he really cannot wait to spend the day doing absolutely nothing and just relaxing in his apartment.

The elevator doors open up and Dan looks up to see Damien standing directly in front of him. Dan really wanted to roll his eyes but he knew that he couldn’t for the act of civility.

“Didn’t you get Phil’s message?” Damien asks as Dan steps out of the elevator, “He texted you that you could go home as soon as you were done.”

Dan pulls his phone out from his pocket and sure enough, there is a text from Phil telling him to go home.

“Well, still needed to come back and grab my stuff,” Dan says, walking past Damien as Damien walked towards the open elevator doors.

Damien didn’t step onto the elevator though. He turned around and the doors shut behind him as he crossed his arms over the chest and asked, “What are you doing the 24th?”

Dan furrowed his brows, “Christmas eve?” Dan asks.

“No, Phil’s birthday.”

At first, it takes Dan a minute to remember what Damien even means. Surely Phil’s birthday wasn’t the 24th? Then it hits Dan like a ton of bricks and he’s stood there with wide eyes as he looks at Damien who just laughs, “You forgot, didn’t you?” He says.

“I--”

“Well, just wanted to ask what you were doing,” Damien says with a shrug. “Phil doesn’t like his birthday but I thought maybe I would take him out to the bar for the evening and you could tag along.”

Dan feels a bit caught off guard by the invitation but he just nods and flashes a smile, “I’ll consider it.”

Damien doesn’t say anything more, he turns on his heels and pushes the up button on the elevator and steps inside.

Dan takes a moment to process everything before he walks to his desk and gathers his things. He leaves the office feeling a bit off kilter, a bit unsure of what his mind is even thinking. He feels cloudy, a bit weightless.

When he gets on the tube, he pulls his phone out and checks his calendar. It’s then that he realizes the 24th is is in 2 days, he never even noticed it. He has no gifts, no presents or cards for his family. He was never even aware Christmas was this close. His days were blurring together and going by so fast. He’s been at Onyx for nearly three months now and yet, he doesn’t feel like he has.

He shuts his eyes and leans his head back on the window as he lets out a sigh.

***

Dan wakes up the next morning to the insistent ringing of his doorbell from the outside. He looks at his clock and he sees it’s a little after 9, but he was content until sleeping until midday. He didn’t really feel like being awake, much less alive, this early in the morning.

He gets up slowly and walks to his door to see Phil stood there, holding a pair of printed tickets in his hand, “We’re going to Isle of Man,” He says. “I’ve rented us a cottage.”

“Wait what?” Dan says, his brain still waking up and not processing everything that Phil is saying.

“I don’t want to spend Christmas in London...I want to spend Christmas alone with you. So please...come with me to the Isle of Man where we can get away for a bit. Just you and me,” Phil pleads. “We can take the time to catch up.”

“What about work?” Dan asks.

“Onyx closes for the holidays like every other company,” Phil says. “It’ll be okay. No one will question it.”

Dan bites his lip as Phil hands him a printed version of their flight itinerary. He looks down at it for a moment and studies it before looking up, “Okay.”

Phil’s eyes widened and he immediately became excited, “Oh awesome!” He exclaims, “Our flight leaves tomorrow at 8am. But I’ll meet you here before that.”

“Sounds good.”

Phil leaves, not long after and Dan stands on the other side of the door as he contemplates all that he just did. He’ll have to get Phil a gift now, but what do you give an ex-lover? Let alone one that you might be getting feelings for again?

He sits down on the floor and puts his head in his hands as he closes his eyes.

He might have gotten himself into a mess.

Dan got Phil a Studio Ghibli Totoro plushie from a convenience store down the road from his apartment. He texted Phil asking if Phil liked anime, because that’s what Dan likes too and he figured that would make getting him a gift easier. Phil responded that he did and he named specifically this anime so this is what Dan got him.

It’s quite big, but not too big that Dan can’t travel with it. When he packs his overnight duffel bag for the two day trip, he stuffs it into the bottom under his clothing and then packs the rest of his essentials.

He’s feeling a bit nervous now. Now that the bag is packed, he feels like everything is so much more definite. Dan’s is actually going on a trip with Phil and it’s something he’s doing willingly. He honestly never thought he would ever get this opportunity. When he was a teenager, this was all he could think about.

He used to fantasize about spending time with Phil when they got older. He used to think about how they would go on holidays together and they would visit places like Paris and Tokyo and it would be just them, in love. It would be them making memories because as teenagers, they had no way to do that.

Dan finds himself getting emotional when he thinks like that. He used to have such big pipe dreams for him and Phil but they all collapsed so fast around them.

His phone vibrates next to him, and he picks it up and answers it thinking that it was going to be Phil. But his voice stops and his skin pales as he hears the unforgettable voice on the other side.

***

“Are you familiar with the Isle of Man?” Dan asks as he and Phil step out of the cab at the end of the driveway that lead to the cottage.

Phil turned to him and nodded, “When my parents divorced, this is where my mum moved to and I moved here with her as well. She’s not around here anymore, but even if she was, I don’t think I could see her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Phil says with a smile. “We’re going to make new memories on the Isle for me and I’m much happier about that.”

They walks inside the cottage and it’s so small and quaint. But yet, it feels so homey. Dan feels so comfortable being here. The living room is quiet and the kitchen is small. He goes down the hallway to put his stuff in his room when he sees just two doors. He opened the one and its the bathroom. He steps back and furrows his brow and then pushes the next door open and only sees a single king bed.

He turns back around, “Phil...there is only one bedroom.”

Phil steps into the view of the hallway and nods, “Yeah, we’re sharing a room.”

“Why?” Dan questions.

“Because if we’re going to catch up, I figured that we could start by at least sleeping together.”

Dan’s eyes widen and Phil immediately puts his hands up to stop Dan’s thoughts.

“It was also the only cottage that the rental company had at the last minute for the holidays so I took what I could get. But I thought it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Dan just nods and bites his lip as he walks into the room and sets his stuff down on the side of the bed. He sits down on the edge and rubs his hands over his face. When he finally stands up to put his stuff away, Phil walks by and calls, “I’m using the shower,” and Dan wants nothing more than to just curl up.

Most of the places around aren’t open due to it being Christmas Eve so they get their food at a small Tesco in the town centre. They grab some quick food they can heat up and Dan buys Phil a cake and then they make their way back to the cottage.

They sit in the small dining room and Dan leaves momentarily to grab the gift for Phil. He fishes it out of the bottom of his bag and takes a deep breath as he walks out and sees Phil staring at him.

“Happy Birthday,” Dan says, handing him the plushie. Phil takes it in his hands and squishes it against his chest like a child and it makes Dan smile, “Do you like it?”

Phil nods, “I love it! I love Totoro.”

They’re stood in the living room, and Dan feels like the air around them just changed significantly. Phil sets the plushie on the couch behind him and then says, “When I was younger, I used to fantasize about us over the holidays. I used to think about what we do, what gifts we would exchange. I was always really excited for them…”

“...But they never happened.”

Phil nodded and Dan feels his cheeks heat up.

“I used to do that too,” Dan admits. “I used to do that all the time.”

Phil suddenly moves forward and places his hand on Dan’s jaw and connects their lips in a heated kiss. Dan wraps his arms gently around Phil’s neck and lets himself melt into the kiss. For some reason, his body wasn’t telling him to push Phil away, that he was making a mistake.

Instead, he arched his chest closer to Phil and whimpered into the kiss.

They ended up in the bedroom, Dan making quick work of getting his jeans off and slipping them to the floor. He lays down on the bed and let’s Phil hover over him as Phil reaches between them and slips his hand instead of Dan’s boxers.

It’s been so long since they’ve touched each other and Dan will be lying if he says he hasn’t thought about this, hasn’t reminisced of the sex they had when they were younger. They were so inexperienced, so young and dumb but yet it always felt so good.

Phil fishes his cock out and Dan hisses as the cool air of the room touches his skin. He feels so hot all over, and Phil’s skin feels the same way under his touch. Dan kisses him again, letting himself get back into the kiss again as Phil pulls off his shirt and then tugs at Dan’s. They undress all the way and Dan spreads his legs, letting Phil in between them.

Maybe he’ll regret this tomorrow, he’s not entirely sure. But tonight, he feels nothing but want and need. He needs Phil. He wants nothing more than to feel Phil inside of him again.

Phil gets out the lube and a condom wrapper from his bag next to the bed and Dan waits, his chest heaving. Phil maneuvers back so he can get proper access to Dan and Dan finds himself blushing, feeling a bit self-conscious. But then Phil bends down and kisses just below his belly button and that all washes away.

When Phil entered him, it took Dan’s breath away. Phil was a lot bigger than he remembered, but he filled him so well that he really couldn’t do anything but let out a loud moan and a series of whimpers.

Phil hit him in all the right spots and they both didn’t last long, Dan finishing in pearl streaks over his stomach and Phil staggering a bit and finishing inside the condom. When Phil pulls out, Dan lays on his back and lets himself take hold of the situation. He doesn’t have enough time to really gauge what he’s done because Phil removes the spent condom and then immediately snuggles up to Dan, turning Dan on his back so they can cuddle, Dan being the little spoon.

Right before Dan drifts off, he can feel the kisses littering the back of his neck and he hears the faint sound of Phil saying, “I love you” and Dan feels like his heart is simultaneously filling and breaking.

Because Dan got a call from his estranged fiancee the day before, and he’s going to eventually have to Phil about her. But he can’t after what they just did, and he spends the night worrying about this instead of taking in the moment at hand.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #fluff #smut #first love fic #princesslexi763fics

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pollylynn · 5 years ago

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Blackwing 602: Chapter 5—A Caskett Season 2 Multi-Chap of Indeterminate Length

A/N: Ever been trying to write something and you need your characters to just cross a damned room and they won’t? Yeah, just asking. No reason. IChapters 2, 3, and 4 are here on Tumblr. Chapter 1 is on AO3. If you don’t want to read the first part, all you need to know is that in “A Chill Goes Through Her Veins” (1 x 05), Beckett pockets what turns out to be a very expensive pencil when she’s in Castle’s office. This is technically just after Love Me Dead (2 x 09), but this doesn’t have anything to do with that.

Title: Blackwing 602, Chapter 5 WC: 1100

The outer velvet box, flocked with ravens, opens with a shunk as the top separates from the bottom. Home, far later than she should be, she sets the top aside on her desk. The bottom rests next to it, with its own nested box still snug inside.

That’s how things stand for a while after Hallowe��en—a while after the party. Then the day comes, windy and cold, when she tips the inner box, watered silk and tied tight with an intricate bow, out of the bottom. And again, that’s how things stand for a while.

She doesn’t forget about the contraband inside—the stolen property she means to make a gift of—any more than she’d forgotten about it for the months that she’d left the thing itself sitting at the far back of her desk drawer at work. But it’s not the focus of so much attention. It’s not the focus of any kind of ritual, daily or otherwise. Unless leaving that intricate bow—that fancy contraption—intact is a ritual.

It might be a ritual.

Its time has passed. That’s what she thinks whenever she happens to take in what now seems to be the funeral hue of both boxes, the embossed outline of each velvet raven. It all seems ominous now, not silly and festive and right as it had before, but she knows the change is in her. She knows it’s the month, it’s the weather, it’s everything.

It’s proximity to her birthday and the way the end of another year hastens toward her. It’s the holidays she won’t celebrate for the tenth year running, and she doesn't resent that. Really, she doesn’t. Thanksgiving, Christmas—she knows her place in it all and there’s not a single person rushing out of the precinct in a loud tie, an ugly holiday cardigan, an ill-fitting football jersey that she resents.

But after that—after the last calendar page flips—it will be. . . more than ten years. From now on—for the rest of her life—it will always be more than ten years since her mother was in this world. She will pass out of her twenties, sooner rather than later. She will enter her thirties and another decade without her mom.

She looks at her hands all the time now. At home and at work and everywhere in between, she looks at them and she can’t help counting each finger. Whether she’s typing or bumping the plastic curve of the vending machine with the side of her fist, whether she’s deftly wielding chopsticks or curling five fingers around the grip of her gun and bracing with the other five to face down a paper target—she can’t help thinking that they’re not enough. They’ll never be enough again to count off all the years it’s been.

She’s in her own head. It’s not unusual for her, for this time of year, it just feels that way. She snorts aloud when she catches herself thinking it. It is what she feels it is. That’s the profound-sounding truth she finds herself contemplating in the waning hours of her birthday, also known as Any Given Tuesday.

She’s had a call from her dad and cupcake from Lanie. The boys and the Captain know better than to even mention it, but Lanie is irrepressible. He—Castle—is surprisingly repressible. Surprisingly repressed.

At home again, far later than she should be, she sits with her chin propped in her palm and one elbow on her desk, and she contemplates that, too. Music comes low through her computer’s speakers. The five inadequate fingers of her left hand toy with the trailing end of the ribbon around the watered silk box, and she contemplates the fact that her birthday has all but passed without a word of acknowledgement from him.

He had clearly known it was her birthday. He’d been repressible—repressed—all day, not dead. He had jogged his knee and opened his mouth, then closed it. He’d looked expectantly at her, then looked away every single one of the thousand times she had caught him. But he hadn’t said a word, slipped a clandestine card beneath her desk blotter, ordered something ridiculous and timed it so that she’d find it on her doorstep, late in the day.

It’s surprising. And it’s satisfying in a strange way that suits the two of them. It’s him reading the room—reading her and where she is. It’s him, for once, not pushing his way into every corner of her life, but not withdrawing, either. It’s him being . . . present on her terms. It’s shockingly mature and respectful.

And it’s lonely.

Tonight with five inadequate fingers drumming against her cheekbone, five inadequate fingers toying with the ribbon of an intricate bow whose moment has passed, it’s lonely.

She tugs on the end of the ribbon in something more than frustration. The intricate bow comes undone. The watered silk sides of the box fall away with satisfying immediacy like the walls of a magician’s box. But rather than laying bare a space devoid of the lovely assistant in her fishnet tights and sequined body suit, they reveal the gleaming ebony barrel.

It’s an odd thrill to see it again, to feel it in her hand. It tugs her backward in time, just over two short weeks, two long, grey weeks.

The Bat Cave!

She hears his voice, bright and pleased that she wasn’t mad, that she remembered that first time, that the party was not going to end on a sour note between them. She feels the warmth of her own grin, because she’d been pleased, too. She’d been eager to mark the occasion—to celebrate . . . them, she supposes. Their partnership.

She’d been eager and she still is. She taps the eraser on the splayed out inner surface of the tiny magician’s box. She glances at her watch and sees that the last few minutes of her birthday haven't quite ticked away yet.

It’s too late to call Lanie, and she wishes it weren’t. She has a favor to ask and it’s going to sting a little. It’s going to involve some mumbling, some blushing, some swallowing of her own pride, and if it weren’t very definitely too late right now, she’d just as soon ask it tonight.

In the meantime, though, she presses the sharp, silky point of the pencil against her fingertip. She smiles to herself and envisions it, transformed. She whispers to herself—The Bat Cave—and wonders how early is too early to call Lanie in the morning.

She’s still eager. A/N: Blame having tricked myself to running nearly 7 miles in the snow with snowflakes attacking my eyeballs? It suddenly occurred to me that Kate’s winter headspace and rituals would kick in right after Hallowe’en. I think there’s probably just a chapter or two after this.

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 1 #Castle: A Chill Goes Through Her Veins #Castle: Season 2 #Castle: Love Me Dead #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Lanie Parish #Roy Montgomery #Jim Beckett #Javier Esposito #Kevin Ryan #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing

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macgyvergirluk · 4 years ago

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macs big birthday

i done this for lucas birthday on monday but as its my own birthday on sunday im not going to have time to shear this on time so thought id put it up earlie. hope you have a wounderful 30th birthday monday :)

Jack has a plan, it’s not every day you turn thirty and Jack is going to make sure Mac has the best thirtieth birthday ever. Jack knows that once Mac’s father had left on his tenth birthday. Mac hasn’t cared much for birthdays ever since. Until he met Jack. Jack got kind of upset when he found out by accident that Mac was having his twenty first birthday in the sand box, so he grabbed a few fellow soldiers and they had a little party of their own for him. And even though it wasn’t much Jack had to give to Mac. He gave him his first taste of alcohol, and it was not the good stuff. Ever since then Jack had tried to make the day special for Mac.

But this one has to be extra special it is the big three zero. But he had promised Mac no fuss or big parties as Mac hated to be fussed over and Jack want this to be the best birthday Mac has ever had and the most memorable.

Jack has spent months planning Mac’s birthday and checked in with Matty that it was ok for him and Mac to have that weekend off. Also the Friday and Monday to make it an extra-long weekend. Matty had given it the go ahead and even planned to give Mac a lot of lab work that week so Mac and jack wouldn’t end up getting injured. Jack had sorted it with Riley to track them and where they were going so if she saw any suspicious activity to warn them and then send someone in to sort it before it got to Jack and Mac as Jack actually wanted to enjoy this vacation as much as he wanted Mac to. And that meant not getting kidnapped or shot at.

As the time grew closer Mac was getting suspicious of all the secrecy around him and was worried that Jack may have gone over the top for his birthday. Not that Mac didn’t appreciate Jack's efforts but he just liked have a couple of quiet beers with friends, no mad parties. But he knows Jack loves an excuse to throw a party from time to time.

So Mac is quiet surprised when Jack tells Mac to pack his hiking gear and anything he would need for a few days away fishing. He is even more surprised that Bozer wasn’t packing and says he’ll see him in a few days and to enjoy his trip. Once Mac’s jeep is all packed up, he and jack set off early Friday morning. Jack jumps in the driver’s seat, Mac in the passenger’s and they set off.

‘You excited, hoss. Just us and the wilderness.’

‘Yeah I was surprised when you told me what you had planned.’ Mac smiles.

‘Well, it’s your big three zero, you got to enjoy it, man.’

Three hours later Jack pulled up in front of a lovely log cabin situated next to a large lake.

‘Let’s get the stuff inside, then hit the lake. I fancy fish for dinner.’ Jack says.

‘And what if we don’t catch any?’

‘Then you’re gonna be out there a long time, hoss, cause we got nothing else.’ Jack jokes.

An hour later once they have settled in to the cabin, Mac and Jack are out on the lake, rods out in the water relaxing and sipping a beer.

‘Now this is the life.’ smiles Jack.

‘Who new turning thirty could be so peaceful?’

‘You won’t be saying that when we’re back at work.’

‘Right now I’m not even thinking about that.’

It takes them two hours to get a bite and by that time jack has nearly given up until Mac’s rod starts to move and he catches the world’s smallest fish.

‘Just put it back that won’t even scratch the sides. [AM1] I suggest we go and cook those steaks I brought just in case.’

‘Sounds good.’

Mac loves sitting outside cooking on the campfire and listening to Jack ramble on about his dad, who would bring him to places like this as a kid. Mac is grateful he has Jack in his life.

The following day they go for a hike through the woods and find a waterfall. Mac can’t think of any place he’d rather be right now.

Jack was so glad he has tired Mac out today, hopefully the kid wouldn’t wake up too early for the surprise tomorrow. Being a secret agent has its draw backs when you want to sneak around.

For extra measure Jack may have slipped a little bit of a sleeping tablet in to Mac’s hot chocolate as he knew Mac hates any type of drugs. But Jack wants to make Mac’s thirtieth birthday special.

The following morning Jack makes sure the blond was sound asleep which he was and he quietly lets Bozer, Matty and Riley in to the cabin to start preparations. While Bozer starts on his famous pancakes, Jack and Riley start to put up decorations while Matty sets up all the cards and presents on the coffee table.

It isn´t till nine am that a disheveled Mac walks out the bedroom, hair a mess, half asleep. He has woken to a surprise smell of pancakes not just any old pancakes but the ones he only associates with Bozer.

He nearly jumps a foot in the air when Jack, Matty, Riley and Bozer jump out from behind the sofa yelling happy birthday.

‘Before you say anything about no parties, this is not a party, this is your family wanting to spend time with you on your big day.’ Jack explains, leading Mac over to a seat in the living area where Bozer hands him a plate with pancakes.

‘Thanks Boz.’

Mac looks at them all, as they all dig in to their food. He can’t believe they have driven all this way just for him on their day off. They could have been in bed still relaxing.

‘Thanks for coming, you really didn’t have to.’ Mac says.

‘It’s not every day my man turns thirty.’ says Boz.

Once breakfast is eaten, Riley announces, it’s time for presents and excitingly hands Mac her gift, a blue envelope, inside is a message saying he was going to be spending 2 days with NASA engineers behind the scenes.

Mac looks at Riley in disbelieve.

‘How…?’

‘I think you mean thanks and that’s for me to know and you not to know.’ she smiles.

‘Thanks Riles.’

‘Me next, me next.’ Bozer chants, handing Mac his present.

Mac laughs when he opens it, it’s a book called cookbook for scientists.

‘You do know that probably won’t help his cooking.’ Jack says, ‘may help him blow it up more.’

‘I hope not.’ Bozer answers, now worried about his gift while the others laugh.

‘Now blondie, I’m not one for getting all sentimental on you but as it is your thirtieth happy birthday.’ Matty hands him a large box. Mac doesn’t know what to say as he opens it and pulls out thirty boxes of paper clips and thirty rolls of duct tape.

‘You can never have to many.’ she smiles. Mac puts the box down and gives Matty a big hug.

‘Now my turn, I bet you can’t wait to see what I got you hoss.’ Jack goes over to the cupboard and comes back, handing Mac an odd shape parcel. It’s a bear holding the number thirty. Mac looks at it as he was not expecting that from Jack. Jack is known for his randomness but normally it’s something Mac can use or they can do together but a bear…

‘You like it?’ Jack asks.

‘Yeah.. its.. great.’ Mac smiles. He knows big birthdays mean a lot and maybe as this bear has thirty on it it’s to remind him of his time here. And mac shouldn’t be ungrateful, he isn’t, he’s just surprised. It isn’t till he goes to put the bear on the table that he notices a string round the bear’s neck and that string led to a bag behind the number thirty. Mac takes the bag from the bear and opens it and inside is a set of keys. A set of keys he recognized. They are the keys to the Mustang he and jack had spent the last year doing up together, after jack had bought it as a random buy.

He looks at Jack stunned, then back at the keys.

‘Happy birthday, hoss, she is all yours. You need a great set of wheels for when you find a lady friend one day instead of that jeep of yours. I know she doesn´t beat my GTO, but…’

‘Jack, it’s perfect, thank you.’ Mac says trying to hold back his emotions on such a gift. He pulls Jack in a hug which Jack returns not wanting to let go of his boy. Mac may not have a dad to share in these moments and make these moments special, but Jack is sure going to make up for that loss.

The rest of the day is spend swimming in the lake playing random outdoor games followed by a lovely birthday meal prepared by Bozer with a massive number thirty cake, made to look like it had been made out of paper clips.

Mac can’t be happier as he blows out his candles. This has been his best birthday yet. And he got to spend it with the people he loved.

‘Right, some of us have to work tomorrow blondie, so we got to love you and leave you and we’ll see you both bright eyed and bushy tailed on Tuesday.’ Matty announces as they prepare to leave.

‘Absolutely Matty.’ Mac smiles.

As Mac shuts the door after their goodbyes and settles down with a cold bear with Jack, he feels that no other birthday will ever come close to this one.

‘Thanks Jack.’

‘For what?’

‘You know.’

Jack just smiles.

#MacGyver #jack dalton #lucas till

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bennedeto · 2 years ago

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Coco Gauff article from ESPN

Tuesday, August 23, 2022 Coco Gauff is ready for greatness, on her own terms By Alyssa Roenigk COCO GAUFF IS at a crossroads. She's sitting in the passenger seat of her first car while her dad, Corey, studies the computer in its dash. Radio off. Windows up. Air conditioning on. "This was my birthday present," Coco, who turned 18 in March, says of the black Audi e-tron she's never driven. "Usually, I hook my phone up in the car, but my dad uses the regular radio, like satellite radio." "I'm so old-fashioned," Corey says. Corey readjusts the driver's seat, turns right out of their gated community and crosses the Florida turnpike. He also hasn't driven this car since he purchased it four months ago. He and Coco, the No. 12 women's tennis player in the world, haven't been home much. There was the Stuttgart Open in April. Madrid and Italy in May. The French Open in June. Wimbledon last week. This two-week stretch in mid-July is the longest they've been in Delray Beach all year. Coco didn't want a car. She deferred when Corey offered to buy her one for her Sweet 16, then again on her 17th birthday. She also doesn't want to take her driving test, so she's still operating on a learner's permit. "I don't like driving," Coco says. Besides, she has Grubhub when she's feeling Chick-fil-A, and Mom and Dad when she wants to take her younger brothers to see the new Minions movie and go bowling like she did Friday night. "I really don't need a car," she says. Dad gave her one anyway. "He's tired of driving me everywhere," she says. Today, Dad is driving her around Delray, passing through some of the landmarks of her childhood. It's been only three years since Coco erupted onto the tennis scene with a win over one of her idols, Venus Williams, and it's clear she's not about to give up all the comforts of that childhood: post-practice conversations in the car with her mom and dad, crosstown commutes with her grandma and grandpa. But now at 18, she is ready to reach for greatness -- and her first Grand Slam title -- on her terms. So as Serena Williams, the player she has modeled her career after, leaves the game, Coco is stepping into the spotlight and growing into the player and person she wants to become. "It says 42 miles 'til I need to charge it," Coco says after glancing at the mileage display. "We haven't charged it since we took it off the dealership. I hope one of us remembers how to do it." COCO WAS 8 when her parents found themselves at their own crossroads. Corey and Candi Gauff didn't plan to raise a professional athlete. But they saw something special in their oldest. The way she sat off by herself and concentrated on tasks for long periods. The way, at 3, she crawled out of her stroller and chased her much older cousins around a 400-meter track with a look of determination on her face. "She believed she would catch them," Candi says. College athletes themselves, Corey and Candi encouraged their daughter to explore lots of sports in the Atlanta suburb where they lived. Coco tried gymnastics and soccer, played basketball like her dad, and ran track relays like her mom. After a meet when she was about 7, she complained to her dad that a girl on the relay team wasn't trying hard enough. "I told her, 'She's probably trying her best,'" Corey says. Tennis was different. "Tennis spoke to me," Coco says. "I liked being alone on the court. I liked the idea of all the mistakes being on me." When Coco was about 6, Corey realized he didn't know enough about tennis. He'd played seriously for a year in middle school, but tennis never spoke to him. He started researching the trajectory of women's players who were great at a young age: Martina Navratilova, Martina Hingis, the Williams sisters. He searched their stories for patterns. "They all had strong parental figures in their life early on," Corey says. "Almost every one of them were homeschooled for the benefit of getting more time in the day to spend on the court. I wanted to take the best of what they did and start to put a plan together." Corey Gauff's 10-year plan. It's become a fabled part of Coco's narrative. Corey says he crafted the plan, meant to take his daughter to the pros by 18, in stages. "By 9, we want her to play these tournaments and accomplish this and see where she is," he says. "If she crosses a benchmark faster, then you change and plan again for the next couple years. The biggest weapon you have is preparation." He didn't just study players. He also examined how the women's game was changing. How players like Lindsay Davenport and the Williams sisters introduced power and Hingis won by mastering angles and playing with finesse. He tried to predict how the game would evolve, something he learned from studying another parent: Richard Williams. The Gauffs have never been shy about the Williams family's influence on their own. If Coco hadn't seen two young Black girls playing tennis on television, she might not have asked her parents to buy her a racket. "If it wasn't for the Williams sisters, Coco would not be a tennis player," Candi says. "And if it wasn't for Richard, my husband would not have studied tennis in that format. He's patented himself off [Richard Williams] and used their roadmap." From the beginning, Corey encouraged his daughter to chase big dreams like they did. He told Coco she could be the greatest of all time, even better than Venus and Serena. "I think you can speak things into existence," Corey says. "I'd always tell her, 'You can be the best in the world.'" Less than two years into the plan, the Gauffs realized Coco had the athletic ability and drive to be an elite athlete. But she needed better technical coaching than she was receiving in Atlanta and during summer camps in Florida. One afternoon during spring break in 2012, Corey called Candi, a teacher, from work. "He said, 'I think you should go home [to Delray Beach] for a year with Coco,'" Candi says. "'That's where the best tennis is.'" Corey would remain in Atlanta and work at his job in pharmaceutical sales during the week, and if Coco was happy and progressing in tennis, he would transfer to Florida in a year. "Our job as parents is to help support them to be the best they can possibly be," Candi says. "I didn't want to look back and say, what could I have done?" For all the talk of a 10-year plan, Coco has never seen it, never asked to know much about it. But she trusts her parents, who involve her in short-term decisions, even if they don't always reveal the greater plan. "I don't know if I'm following the plan or not," she says. "SERENA. VENUS. SERENA. Venus. Serena, Venus, Serena, Venus," Coco says. She smiles, tucks her bottom lip under her top teeth and inhales a giggle. "That's all I watched growing up." Coco doesn't mind the questions about Serena. She knows the comparisons are inevitable because she has spent years making them herself. She hung posters of the Williams sisters on her wall, modeled her shots off theirs and told anyone who asked that, yes, she wanted to be "the next Serena." Or she planned to be even better. Coco felt a connection to the sisters when she stepped onto the courts at Delray's Pompey Park, when she looked around and wondered how many of the same people had watched them play there, too. Serena and Venus had attended sixth and seventh grade at the middle school where Coco's maternal grandmother, Yvonne Odom, taught and, for a short time, worked on their backhands on the same courts where Coco practiced hers. It wasn't that she didn't like other women's players. It's that all other players existed outside of her awareness. "My coach and I only watched their matches," she says. "I didn't really look up to anybody else." When she was about 9, Coco was cast as a body double for a young Serena in a Delta Air Lines commercial shooting at a country club in Palm Beach. "It was so cool," she says. The director asked Coco if she could hit a serve. What she heard was if she could hit a serve like Serena. "I remember trying to hit the serve so hard," she says. "And I made it in." "THAT'S RAINBERRY LAKE, where we lived after we moved out of my grandma and grandfather's," Coco says, pointing to her old neighborhood out of the car window. "It was hectic living in [my grandparents'] house, but it made us all closer." Candi and Corey, who both grew up in Delray, brought their daughter back to where their roots run deep. Coco played tennis and basketball at Pompey Park, on the same courts where Corey had honed his shots, across the street from Corey's mother's home, next to the baseball field that bears Candi's father's name. "There's Pompey," Coco says. Corey slows the car, turns in front of the tennis courts. "I remember coming here early in the mornings when it was just my dad teaching," she says. "It was pretty much me and him out there. Anybody in the area has known who I was since I was little because I've grown up playing tennis there." In Delray, people know one another. Parents look out for each other's kids, and everyone celebrates when one of their own achieves success. Returning here wasn't just about better coaches and courts. It was about providing Coco with a place to return to away from the spotlight and pressure, somewhere she feels safe. About ESPN Cover Story Your monthly ticket to the biggest stories on the most captivating athletes, told with inside access, bold reporting and unforgettable visuals. Read it. Watch it. Share it. Katie Barnes on the untold story of Jonquel Jones, the WNBA's reigning MVP. Hallie Grossman on the secrets behind Oklahoma softball's success. Wright Thompson on the long, final March of Coach K. For the first few years in Florida, Candi attended Coco's practices and shared the notes she took with Corey, who worked with Coco on weekends. She also oversaw Coco's schoolwork and made space in her schedule to be a kid, spend time with her cousins, sing in the choir and participate on the church dance team. (Those TikTok skills came from somewhere.) When Corey noticed Coco's opponents in local tournaments were gravitating to her backhand, he studied the best two-handed backhands in the game and found a coach to help her improve the shot. "He started her out like Venus, with the racket really low," Corey says. "Then straight back, like Serena." Though she's still evolving, today Coco has one of the most lethal double-handed backhands around. When Coco was 10, Patrick Mouratoglou, Serena's longtime coach, offered her a grant to train at his academy in France. She'd blossomed, learning how to slide on red clay, utilize a slice and play by feel. "I was a player who just liked to hit everything," Coco says. "That's where I learned to become versatile. That's where I realized I could be good at tennis." In September 2017, Coco made her junior Grand Slam debut at the US Open in New York. Only 13, she was the youngest finalist in the tournament's history and didn't drop a set until the final, where she lost to Amanda Anisimova, another south Florida youngster three years her senior. Four months later, the Gauffs decided Coco was ready for her junior Australian Open debut and made the nearly 24-hour journey to Melbourne. "I was coming in with big hopes," Coco says. "I expected to win." When she lost in the first round -- in singles and doubles -- she was crushed. Back at the hotel, Corey couldn't sleep. He asked his wife if he was the right coach for their daughter, if they were on the right path. Was this all worth it? Missing school dances and summer vacations to fly halfway around the world and be disappointed? But tennis is a loser's sport. No one escapes constant defeat, but the best players learn to deal with it, to grow and gain motivation from their losses. It was a harsh lesson to learn so far from home, but an important one. Corey decided his daughter wouldn't play another tournament until she was ready. Not to win, but to handle whatever player or result came her way. For four months, Coco didn't play another tournament. She and Corey returned to France to work with Mouratoglou and his team. "We wanted to improve her serve, her movement, her consistency from the court, to play with more angles and get more height on the ball," Corey says. They focused less on results and more on the career and the player they were building. It worked. She won her first junior Grand Slam title in June at the 2018 French Open. She became the youngest junior girl's No. 1 in history, signed multiyear endorsement deals with New Balance, Head rackets and Italian pasta maker Barilla. The plan was back on track. But home in Delray, Coco has said she felt isolated and depressed. She was no longer the little girl who wanted to be alone on the court. She wanted time to be a kid away from tennis. She wanted friends. Her parents realized they needed to adapt the plan for the teenager in front of them. "You can get off track when you're scheduling everything for a player and schedule too much into the day," Corey says. "We don't always get it right, but we try to be mindful that sometimes the best activity is to sit around, do mindless things and not be on the clock." When selecting the brands Coco would represent, her parents and agent looked for family-minded companies that wouldn't ask too much of her while she is young. And Coco started playing doubles, where she could work on her volleys and let her hair down with a teammate. "Doubles is fun," Corey says. "Singles is never presented as fun. It's not fun. It's intense. Nobody is there to say, 'Attaboy' or 'Attagirl.' You do all the lifting on your own." CANDI SAT IN her car in a hotel parking lot in Bonita Springs, Florida. It was May 2019, two months after Coco's pro debut (two years ahead of the plan). Coco and Corey had been on the road for a long stretch, and Candi was thrilled to drive cross state and see her daughter play. She didn't like what she saw. In the first round of qualifying, Coco suffered her worst defeat of the year, losing 6-1, 6-1 to a player ranked outside the top 300. "It wasn't the loss," Coco says. "It was how I lost." After the match, Candi returned to the hotel to wait for Coco and Corey. She wanted to give her daughter some space. "That's one thing Caroline Wozniacki's dad told me," Corey says. "'When they get off the court, give them a couple hours before you talk about the match.'" When Coco arrived, Candi asked her to climb into the passenger seat. "I'd like to hear how you're feeling," Candi asked her. But, Candi remembers, Coco "was not being very verbal." Candi told her daughter she was disappointed. Not that she lost, but that she looked like she didn't care. "I said, 'I don't see no fire. I don't see that you want to be out there.'" She told Coco if she didn't want to play tennis, didn't want to play at this level, that was OK. That was her choice. "We sacrifice," Candi said that day. "But we sacrifice knowing you're giving your best. And what I saw today was not your best." Coco said she felt she was trying, that she did want to play, but the scouting report had been wrong and she didn't know how to adjust. So, she gave up. "You know how to return a serve, right?" Candi asked her daughter. "You know how to hit a tennis ball? How to run after every point?" "Yeah," Coco responded. "Then you know how to win every match." Candi asked her to think about the best players. To think about Serena. Does she stop running for every point? Does she stop believing she can win, even when she's facing match point? No, Coco told her. Never. "That was the change," Candi says. "From that moment on, it was like, boom." At her next tournament, Coco lost in the second round of qualifying at the French Open, but she chased down every point. Her parents told her they saw the fire. SHORTLY AFTER ROLAND GARROS, Coco was offered an unexpected wild card into qualifying at Wimbledon. Her parents weren't sure if she should accept. She'd already said yes to the French, and they figured she'd also go to New York, where she would feel more comfortable and be closer to home. But Wimbledon? It seemed like such a big stage. But Coco told Corey she wanted to play. So, he accepted. And she performed, winning three tough matches to become, at 15, the youngest player to qualify for the tournament's main draw. When the draw was released, Corey couldn't believe his eyes. "I just started laughing," he says. "How can she be playing Venus Williams in the first round?" Candi and Corey wondered if they'd made the right decision. They worried Coco would be disappointed again, like she was at the junior Australian Open. But when Corey told Coco her opponent, she was thrilled. "It was a dream," she says. "I always wanted to play them, but I thought they'd be gone before I got on tour. Did I think I could win that match? No. Because Serena, Venus, Serena, Venus. All the time, in my head." Coco had never seen Court 1 in person, so the day before her match, she walked out with her parents. "It's so big," she said. "But the lines are the same," Candi told her. "The net's the same height." Pretend it's Pompey, Corey told her. That's something he says from time to time, when he sees in his daughter's eyes that a moment feels too big. "He says, 'Take your mind back to Pompey,'" Coco says, "'to where it all started.'" On the day of the match, Coco pictured Pompey instead of Court 1. She never looked at the scoreboard so she wouldn't see her opponent's name. She felt the fire. And she fought. But up a set and a break at match point, a thought crept into her mind. "Venus and Serena, they always have these moments where they're about to lose and then they beat them," Coco says. "I was like, 'Ugh, I'm going to be one of those stories. I don't want to be one of those stories.'" When Venus returned a crosscourt forehand into the net at match point, Coco's knees buckled. In all her dreams about this match, she'd never seen herself beating Williams. She walked to the net, shook Williams' hand and pulled her in close. She didn't let go until she said what she'd already told Venus so many times in her mind. "I said, 'Thank you for everything,'" she says. "I said, 'I wouldn't be playing tennis without your influence.'" "I DIDN'T PLAN on it," Coco says, and runs her manicured fingernails through her long braids. She has new studs in her ears. "It just happened." She'd been thinking about a second piercing for a while, and yesterday after dinner at the mall she and her cousins saw a sign in the window at Claire's: 20% off in-store purchases with an ear piercing and starter kit. "I was like, this is the time," Coco says. In the car, she thinks back to her win at Wimbledon, about the effect of "Cocomania" and the overnight fame that came far ahead of schedule. Suddenly it wasn't just her saying she wanted to be the next Serena; reporters and fans wanted it, even expected it. After the tweets and the calls and the advice from Michelle Obama -- "It's OK to say no sometimes," the former first lady told her -- Coco says she started to believe her own hype. She thought every tournament revolved around her, and whether she won. "I got too caught up on what people thought about me when I lost," she says. But when reporters asked if she felt the pressure, if she worried about burnout or expectations, she told them she felt none of it. That she enjoyed the pressure, that she got a kick out of hearing commentators dissect her game on TV, and that she wanted to win more Slams than Serena. "I was lying," she says. "I lied a lot. I was feeling pressure, but I didn't want to believe it." Six months after Wimbledon, at the 2020 Australian Open in January, Coco upset defending champion Naomi Osaka in the third round. She was the youngest player to defeat a top-five seed in nearly 30 years. But instead of feeling proud of what she'd accomplished, "I didn't even celebrate," she says. "I was like, I need to win the trophy." In the next round, she faced eventual champion Sofia Kenin and lost in three sets. She had played her way into the fourth round of a major, at age 15, ranked No. 67 in the world, but felt only disappointment. "There's big successes and there's little successes," Coco says. "I was so focused on the big successes, I ignored the little ones." GRANDMA YVONNE DROVE her to Pompey Park on a Saturday afternoon in June 2020, four months into the COVID-19 shutdown and one month after the murder of George Floyd. The past few months felt isolating in a different way from traveling on tour and now here she was, surrounded by her community in the place where her family had stood up time and again. Marching to City Hall in a Black Lives Matter protest that day, Coco planned to blend into the crowd. She listened as her grandmother spoke passionately at the podium. She thought about the lessons she'd learned from her, the first Black student to integrate Delray's Seacrest High School in 1961, and her grandfather Red, a former collegiate and minor league baseball player who started the first Little League in Delray for Black players in 1971. They were educators, and they taught her to be involved, to study up on the issues that mattered to her. She'd been having difficult conversations with her friends and family lately, and posting about racism and police violence on Instagram even though it made her parents uncomfortable. Corey's plan for her tennis career was carrying her to the highest levels of the sport, but she had a plan, too. To become the woman she wanted to be when she stepped off the court. "When I leave this world, I don't want to be remembered as just being good at tennis," Coco says. "I want to be remembered as a good person and a good advocate." Standing behind her grandmother at the park, she thought about her younger brothers, Codey and Cameron, and her dad and grandpa and how angry and scared she felt every time she looked at them. Then she thought about something Corey has said to her since she was little. "He told me, 'You can change the world with your racket,'" she says. "I never really knew what it meant when I was young. But tennis is a platform to reach more people. Tennis has never been a sport where people spoke out about certain things compared to other sports. I felt like it would be irresponsible of me not to say anything." She walked to the podium with poise and confidence and spoke off the cuff. "My name is Coco and who just spoke was my grandma," she said. "And I think it's sad that I'm here protesting the same thing she did 50-plus years ago." For two-and-a-half minutes, Coco implored the crowd to love one another, have tough conversations and use their voices. She promised to continue to use her platform to spread "vital information and awareness." Her speech wasn't planned, but it was powerful. "I heard many things this past week. And one of the things I've heard is, 'It's not my problem,'" she said. "But if you listen to Black music, if you like Black culture and if you have Black friends, then this is your fight, too." COCO AND HER parents stepped out of a taxi onto Avenue de New York in Paris in May. She reached into her bag and retrieved a black cap and gown and her high school diploma, which she earned from the Florida Virtual Flex homeschool program. The day before the start of the French Open, she pulled the gown over her white, knee-length dress and posed in front of the Eiffel Tower. She tossed her cap into the air like she'd seen other students do. "It felt nice to accomplish something outside of tennis," she says. "It was closure," Corey replies. At Roland Garros, she played without thoughts of school assignments and test scores in the back of her mind. Between matches, she walked the streets of Paris, watched birds fly from tree to tree in the park, rented a bike and explored the city. In postmatch interviews and news conferences, she spoke with ease and maturity about not letting results define her as a person. After her semifinal win -- her first in a Grand Slam -- and one week after a gunman killed 21 people at a Texas elementary school, she wrote "Peace" and "End gun violence" on a television camera lens. She lost the final to Poland's Iga Swiatek, who was on a historic 37-match win streak. "I had a perspective shift in Paris," she says. "I realized life is so much more than tennis and winning and losing. This life is enjoyable. I don't want to regret not having as much fun as I could have because I was worried about results." For so much of her life, Coco and her dad followed the Williams blueprint. But she knows now that it is unrealistic and unfair to define her success against the greatest women to play the game. Her dad's 10-year plan is in the rearview, and she doesn't want to get caught up in anyone else's timeline. She knows she needs to win one Grand Slam before she can win 23. "My goals are the same," she says. "But the mentality behind them is different. I want to enjoy the tough moments." She'll test that mindset many times over her career. But if she's learned anything from watching the Williams sisters, it's that they kept the fire through it all. "For a long time, I was stepping onto the court trying to be the next great American whatever, the next Serena," she says. "But that's not why I play tennis. I used to say I wanted to be the greatest because that's what people wanted to hear. Now I say it because it's what I want for myself." COREY PULLS THE Audi into the tennis center's parking lot with 25 miles remaining on its maiden charge. "I should probably watch you do this," Coco says. She grabs her bag and trails Corey to the EV charging station. He follows the prompts on the screen, pushes a few buttons. Coco grabs the charging cord and walks toward the car as Candi arrives, fresh from dropping Cameron at practice. "Do you know how to attach it?" she asks. "Do you?" Coco replies, and they laugh. "She's been gone so long, we haven't been able to try this," Candi says. Coco and Candi connect the charging cord to the car. Corey hops back into the driver's seat. "I think it's charging," Coco says. "It says it's connected," Corey says. "Oh, it says it's not charging," Coco says, and slinks away from the car. "Well ... you guys can figure this out." In four days, Coco will leave home again and won't return until after the US Open in September. She is using the time in Delray to work with her dad and coach, Diego Moyano, on sticking her volleys, holding court position, and putting more balls into deep play. One of the best movers on tour, Coco is still improving the consistency of her serve -- one of the fastest in the women's game -- and her forehand. Although she finally stopped adding inches to her height (5-foot-10), her arms grew a half-inch recently, which changed the geometry of her game, so she's working to adjust and find extension on her shots when the ball is close to her body. And she's learned from the emotional experience of her first Slam final. Back on the road, she will defeat Osaka in the second round of the Silicon Valley Classic in August and win the doubles title at the Canadian Open, where she will become the second-youngest player in history to reach the world No. 1 ranking in doubles. And she'll take walks and listen to the birds and post lip-syncs and "fit checks" on TikTok. Then it's on to New York. "It's my favorite Slam," she says. "Playing in front of the home crowd. I hope I can win in front of them." She pauses, takes a moment before continuing. "That's the goal, but we'll see. I know one day I'll hold the trophy there." When Coco learned that Serena plans to hang up her racket after New York, she added one more wish to her list: "I'm hoping my draw can work out, so we play each other." Then, three days after the US Open final, she has an appointment at the Delray Beach DMV to take her driving test.

#Coco Gauff #Tennis #ESPN

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topweeklyupdate · 7 years ago

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TØP Weekly Update #54: COVER ME (7/13/2018)

Finally, after months of solid drought, the barren wasteland known as the TØP fanbase has finally been blessed with rain. And not just a gentle sprinkle; it’s been a consistent heavy downpour, a veritable flood. Even before new music, this week gave us new content from the group every single day. There will probably be something new out by the time you’re done reading this. So let’s not waste any time! Here’s your week in Twenty One Pilots news.

This Week’s TØPics:

Your Band Is Back: Trench Coming This October

“Jumpsuit” and “Nico” Released

New Logo/Theming/Everything

Josh Speaks

And SO. MUCH. MORE.

Major News and Announcements:

This time last week, I was certain that we would be getting new music on the 6th because it was my birthday. Turns out, myself and many others in the Clique read a little too deeply into Clancy’s promise that “everything would be different” by morning. We did not receive new music on that date, which, for the record, was way earlier than most reports had pegged. The fanbase wanted music ASAP and interpreted the letter to fit that, and anyone who said the band lied about when music was coming was just not being honest with themselves.

Things were different starting last Friday. On the one-year anniversary of their departure, Twenty One Pilots directly reached out to their fans for the first time, not through the wide platform of social media, but with an email message to their mailing list.

The message only consisted of the subject line “ARE YOU STILL SLEEPING?” and a gif of an opening yellow eye, with images fitting the iconography of the Dema site flashing under the eyelid. The Clique basically lost their minds at this direct contact, so much so that major publications like Billboard finally started to report on the long gestating speculation. Everyone was excited to see the eye open over the course of the day, bringing everything full circle and culminating (presumably) with new music.

That... didn’t happen. Rather, dmaorg.info was restored after being down for only a few hours, and this gif of torches was added onto the site. This indicated that Clancy had escaped Dema, and the Clique promptly set about assuming that the next day would mark the band’s full return. Further, the name of the gif, “they_ca_ntseeFCE300″, seemed to confirm what people would be speculating ever since Josh dyed his hair nearly two years ago: the next era’s color would be yellow (specifically, FCE300) to symbolize hope and light pushing back against the dark.

The next day brought with it another update from Clancy (and the general concession among the Clique to stop expecting new music every night and just go to bed). In one of my favorite bits of attention to detail so far, Clancy’s latest journal was messily handwritten on a scrap of paper, due to the fact that he had successfully escaped Dema and was now traveling through- big shock- a region called “Trench”. The writing itself is kinda rambly and generic (so I can relate), with Tyler Clancy marveling at how much he loves being in the trees being alone out in nature. That said, I do love that there is a definite story being presented, with Clancy experiencing changes, taking action, and going on a real journey through this world that Tyler’s created.

On the back of the paper, however, is something much more interesting: a blown-out image that, when reversed, revealed a dead body. That was creepy enough as is; far more creepy was the Clique’s CSI-level discovery that this ripped photo fit with several other dmaorg.info images in a giant puzzle. Who was this man? Was this a random poster that Clancy grabbed as he escaped, or are we supposed to take it as a metaphor? Was it a random citizen of Dema? A bishop? Clancy himself? Blurryface? So many questions.

Twenty One Pilots truly made their mainstream return on July 9th, when they posted a second video of a half-opened eye, not just for hardcore fans, but on all of their social media platforms. This return was accompanied by a total overhaul of the band’s general branding: a new yellow-and-black ||-// logo was revealed for the new era, while the old “silence” banners and even the website subscription box were covered up by bright yellow tape. Billboards featuring the logo on this yellow tape aesthetic sprang up in cities all around the world, from London to Toronto, Berlin to Melbourne, even an entire building in São Paolo. The boys were back.

On Tuesday, Twenty One Pilots again returned to social media to post a second video. The eye, now about 3/4 open, depicted even more of this medieval battle, now with the addition of the Watchers on the cliff throwing... something (rocks? rose petals?) into the air. Instead of generic white noise, this clip was scored by a muffled but still obviously crunchy bass line. As radio stations across the country began to tweet about a major alternative release coming Wednesday morning (with a few even mentioning they were from Columbus), we finally knew that we were going to be ok....

New Releases:

And then I was not okay.

Early Wednesday morning, Twenty One Pilots dropped two singles and announced the names and dates for the next album, Trench, and tour, Bandito. My prediction from last week was 100% correct, and you all may thank and validate me in the comments below like and subscribe. “Jumpsuit” is our main single with a full cinematic music video, while “Nico and the Niners” is the more lore-heavy low-key song for the fans. I’m going to pull back from fully going in on picking apart every sonic and thematic element of both songs and save that for (hopefully) a less busy week, but you know I gotta write about their first new music in two years. Cause that’s what I do: I write too much.

Guys, “Jumpsuit” is a straight-up banger. Featuring a killer driving bassline, some of Tyler’s most impassioned screams, and a truly devastating bridge, I have not tired of this song one bit in the last few days. It takes me on a complete emotional journey in just four minutes every time, and it does so mainly through its soundscape (there’s only the hook, three couplet verses, and that damn bridge). It’s so, so, so, so good, potentially (dare I say it) the best sonically arranged and produced song the band has ever released.

So... what’s “Jumpsuit” about? Well, a lot of things, but in a word: pressure. Again, the lyrics are super vague, I think deliberately so. Clearly the song is about the singer feeling pressured by others into taking a path that he does not want to travel down. That bridge, delivered in an eerie detached falsetto, shows Tyler pushing back even at his weakest point, stating that he will not submit to what others want him to do unless they “grab him by the throat, tie him down, and break his hands.” Certainly you can argue that this is about the music industry. The “breaking his hands” line is killer in that context, as it signifies that the industry can’t control him without taking away the things that makes him valuable to them in the first place, his artistic ability and freedom. You can also say that it’s just playing straight into the concept, with Clancy breaking away from the bishops’ control. But the deliberate vagueness of the lyrics means that the audience can apply the message- and the empowerment of that killer bassline- to whatever struggle they are facing. That’s pretty darn rad.

The music video, directed by “Heathens” and “Heavydirtysoul”’s Andrew Donoho, is sick. Tyler (looking extra fly in his new yellow hooded jumpsuit) attempts to flee from this creepy Red Riding Hood old dude on a white horse (Nico?) through what is certainly a Game of Thrones filming location while other figures in yellow duct tape jumpsuits look on from the cliffs above. Tyler is captured by the bishop, who “smears” him by putting the black Blurryface makeup on his neck. Tyler is freed briefly from the bishop’s control when the other yellow-clad figures throw yellow petals down on him, but he is chased down knocked out or killed. The others flee the scene, save for one very handsome looking drummer boy... Oh, and there’s a bunch of intercut clips of Tyler on the car from “Heavydirtysoul” for some reason.

Besides those “Heavydirtysoul” scenes, which truthfully don’t connect much to the story of the video beyond artificially welding it onto the end of the Blurryface Era, this is one of the band’s best videos yet. It totally fulfilled all of my expectations of a more epic scope for this era, from the gorgeous Iceland setting to the dope as hell costumes to the implication that the story might continue on from this point. And there are tons of little Easter eggs, from brief flashes of the nine bishops to possible cameos from the Josephs and Duns. We don’t really know for sure if Tyler is playing Clancy or if the red dude is Nico, but it will certainly be fun to continue to fill in the blanks as we move forward and (hopefully) hear more from Tyler directly.

“Nico and the Niners” is a weird track, but one that I still absolutely love. In some ways, it’s a more traditional tøp track, with some of the raggae elements found on Blurryface and a rap verse to fit all of Tyler’s lyrics in. But in other significant ways, it’s a totally different path for them. For starters, just look at that title: it’s very explicitly about this album’s concept from top to bottom, with Tyler singing about fleeing Dema and its bishops’ control and even heavily referencing “Jumpsuit”; there’s clearly going to be a great deal of thematic cohesion in this project. But there’s also just the general vibe of it: just as “Jumpsuit” was a heavier rock song than anything we’d yet seen from the band, "Nico” is way more laid back, its repeated references to being high and even its visualizer of assorted shrubbery making it a potential stoner anthem (whether that was Tyler’s intention or not). Regardless, the song is brimming with character and hooks, and it’s already grown on me significantly in just a few days.

Oh, and one more thing: this song lives up to its Dema-referencing title and content by being cryptic af. The track is littered with reversed audio in the instrumental bits, including the “we are banditos” snippet from dmaorg.info and another sample of someone who sounds a lot like Josh saying “We will leave Dema at true east, renounce Vialism [the bishops’ ruling philosophy, alluded to be Clancy in an earlier journal].” I swear, if all it takes for Tyler to make all this stuff is a year break, he should do this after every album.

With all that new music, the fact that we finally have a name for Album 5 almost got lost in the shuffle. Trench was a popular guess over the last few days thanks to dmaorg.info, but it’s good to finally know for sure. Graphic designer Brandon Rike from the Blurryface Era is back again, revealing a cover featuring a badass-looking vulture/falcon/whatever, some new logos (including the return of FPE!), and some more yellow tape that appears to be covering the names of the rest of the album’s songs. Not too much else to say at this point; we’ll just have to wait until some of that tape gets peeled off between now and October 5th.

Finally, let’s talk about the Bandito Tour. It bears mentioning that, amidst the otherwise overwhelmingly positive positive atmosphere of the band’s return, this tour name received the most general opposition from fans and non-fans alike. The fact that “bandito” was probably going to turn up in a lyric from two decidedly white dudes was already enough to put some folks on edge, but the idea of an entire tour of predominantly non-Hispanic tweens flooding arenas and calling themselves banditos was enough to turn a few people against the band. And look, I get it- I hear “bandito” and the first things I think of are John Wayne Westerns and Speedy Gonzalez, and I get why a lot of fans might feel uncomfortable with that. But, to be fair, the band hasn’t used any of those stereotypes and banditos is a word for outlaw used in a number of Romance languages. Perhaps most interestingly, there’s not yet any evidence that the word even appears in the album itself. So far, the only appearance of “bandito” is in a coded message on dmaorg.info and in reversed audio in “Nico”. If this does turn out to be a name meant to only make sense to the most hardcore of fans, it is almost redeemed (I mean, I still think the name is a little silly, but I’m already in presale).

So, with that out of the way, let’s actually talk about the tour itself. It will be an international arena tour- even if the band’s sound is not going in a pop direction, they still clearly feel confident that the Clique will show up wherever they go. The first show will be hosted in Nashville (their first arena concert in that market) on October 16, not even two weeks after the release of the full album. What a baller move, and much preferred to the Blurryface rollout where we didn’t hear most of the songs on the record until nearly two months after the album release and they didn’t play near me for even longer. The boys will tour the U.S. until November 21, even playing arenas in a few markets that they’ve never played large venues in before, and then hit up Australia and New Zealand in December.

The most objectively interesting leg will be in Europe from January through March. Not only will the band play their first arena shows in markets like Moscow, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Central Poland, and Manchester, they will return to markets like Dublin and Glasgow they’ve been absent from for years. Most exciting, Twenty One Pilots will play their first shows in Bologna and Stuttgart and venture into the countries of Ukraine, Switzerland, Spain, and Portugal for the first time ever. Needless to say, the rabid fanbases of all of these regions are super excited, and I’m super excited for them!

Other Shenanigans:

While Tyler has continued to stay silent (much as he has since mid-Blurryface Era), Josh immediately jumped back on Twitter with a standard Josh joke and even resumed his morning workout Snapchats. On Thursday, Josh even called into BBC Radio One with Annie Mac to give a quick interview about the new era. He didn’t provide a ton of information, but it was just a delight to hear our kid’s voice again. A few tidbits of info:

Josh reported that he was calling from Trench, I hate him.

The sick bass riff on “Jumpsuit” was born from soundchecks toward the end of Emotional Roadshow. He says that, as a result, it sounds closest to the Blurryface sound, serving as a good transition into the new era. (If this is what he thinks is close to Blurryface on Trench, this album’s gonna be nutter butters.)

Both Josh and Tyler are really nervous about the elaborate rollout, both out of the usual fear that no one stuck around and out of wariness of severely disappointing people when they hear the actual music (so far, so good...)

Trench continues to have the “diverse” sound of the previous records and also was designed to be played live.

Josh also tuned into Apple Music’s Beats 1 for an interview with Hanuman Welch. This conversation was less about the new album and more about the “hiatus”. More tidbits:

The band views collaboration as a “sacred” thing, and while they’re not against it in the future, it has to be done in a context that makes sense and not merely for marketing purposes.

The band has never used the word hiatus because they’ve been working. They drew back from the spotlight to allow themselves some time to recharge, but also because they were worried of oversaturation (particularly after the Grammys pushed them into that next-level pop culture sphere). Rather than make a bunch of social media posts that didn’t mean anything just to stay relevant, the band decided to draw back, focus on music, and in the process “thin the weeds” of fans who weren’t the diehards.

For the last few albums, the music has come from a specific personal place the band was at while write, whether it be a spiritual journey with Vessel or tackling insecurities on Blurryface. Josh says the same remains true with Trench, but notes that there will be a little more fleshing out themes by working on a specific story with this one (he still says it’s not really a concept album, but ok).

Believe it or not, we are not done. While the boys were blazing a brave new path forward, another bit of content reminded us of where the band came from. Greg Wells, the producer who made Vessel the masterpiece it was, gave an hour-long interview to Billboard’s Pop Shop Podcast. He mainly speaks about getting started in the industry back in the 90s and working on the mega-blockbuster Greatest Showman soundtrack, but he does talk about Vessel for a bit approximately forty minutes into the interview. I won’t give the exact time-code, not because I’m lazy, but because the entire interview is worth listening to. Greg just seems like a rad dude. His laid-back nature and the seriousness he takes with his craft really shine through; he and Tyler must have gotten along just fine.

Community Spotlight:

The Clique took some heavy losses over the last year, as a great deal of old fans moved on to greener pastures. But that just left room for a whole host of new fans to rise to the occasion and help us get through that long drought. Today, I wanted to give a shout-out to GingerSheep and Stolen Potential, two Clique vloggers that have really kept the fanbase informed and uplifted and have been working their butts off reporting on the daily content. I know how long it takes me just to research and write one of these- I can’t imagine the work that then goes into filming and editing on top of that nearly every day. Hats off to you, good sirs. Make sure you all check out their channels if you haven’t already! But, you know, don’t stop reading these. I have bills to pay with all the Tumblr money I’m not making.

Well, that wasn’t too much, was it? If you made it all the way to the end, mad props. See you next week for a slightly tamer week (probably).

Power to the local dreamer.

|-/

#twenty one pilots #tyler joseph #josh dun #trench #jumpsuit #bandito tour #nico and the niners #hiatus #dema #top weekly update

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potrix-the-queerschlaeger · 7 years ago

Text

Tony and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

A/N: This is a very belated birthday present for @upallnightogetloki, who wanted more of Nāga Tony and Bucky. If you haven’t read the first part, my inspiration were the Nāgas mentioned in Hindu culture, but I’m totally picking and choosing, here. Basically, in my A/B/O ‘verse, they’re snake shifters living normally among humans.

Set in a nebulous, alternate universe, set after Avengers 1, with everyone happy, alive, and still friends. What even is CA:CW?

~6K, rated M for swearing, mostly.

(Also: check the (spoilery) tags if you’re iffy about A/B/O ‘verses. This got a little weird. In a cute, fun way, though?)

Monday

Bucky blinks blearily, not entirely sure why he’s awake hours before his alarm is supposed to go off. He yawns, and when he doesn’t hear anything unusual, he closes his eyes, ready to doze off again, but huffs when a stray elbow catches him in the ribs.

“Babe,” he mumbles, nuzzling the back of Tony’s head, and tightens the arm he has wrapped around Tony’s chest. “‘S still early, go back to sleep.”

“Sorry,” Tony whispers back, reaching down to slot his fingers through Bucky’s. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

They lie quietly for a few minutes, still apart from Tony’s thumb stroking over the back of Bucky’s hand, and Bucky slowly, lazily running his nose up and down Tony’s neck. But then Tony twitches, and lets out an aborted noise of discomfort, and Bucky’s instantly on high alert.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, propping himself up on one hand, and gently rolling Tony onto his back with the other. “Are you hurt?”

Tony looks soft and sleep-rumpled, mostly, and maybe a little paler than normal, though it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. Bucky brushes his hair back, then presses the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. “It’s not time for your heat yet. Is it? You feelin’ sick?”

“Not really,” Tony says, and takes Bucky’s hand, moving it to lie just below his belly button. “It’s just my stomach, feels kind of bloated.” He grins, tongue-in-cheek. “Probably from Clint’s chili last night.”

Bucky presses down gently, eyes widening when he’s met with more resistance than expected. Tony’s certainly in shape, especially for a man his age, but he doesn’t usually have washboard abs like Steve or Thor, although it almost feels like it now. His stomach, while not looking any different from what Bucky can tell, is definitely more firm, almost hard.

And sensitive, if Tony’s sudden, sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

Bucky stops moving, and pulls back a little. “Does it hurt?”

Tony’s shaking his head before Bucky’s even finishes asking his question, arching up shamelessly to push his stomach into the touch. “Keep going, feels nice.”

“So spoiled,” Bucky accuses, smiling, as if they don’t both know that that’s entirely Bucky’s fault. He leans down to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Tony’s hipbone, and lightly strokes both hands up and down Tony’s sides.

When Tony gasps, he hooks two fingers under the waistband of Tony’s sweats, and arches a questioning eyebrow up at him. Tony nods eagerly. Bucky grins, and goes to work.

More after the break. Or read the rest of it on [AO3].

Tuesday

“We do have a front door, y’know,” Bucky teases, but he does put down his knife, and wipes his hands on a towel before letting Rhodey pull him into a hug. “It’s this big, rectangular hole at the bottom of the building? That opens when you walk towards it, all on its own? Apparently that’s all the rage these days.”

“You’re hilarious,” Rhodey deadpans, clapping Bucky on the back a couple of times before stepping away. “The landing pad’s easier.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and turns back around, pulling another sweet potato onto the cutting board. “Mhm, sure. ‘Cause gettin’ in and out of your armour doesn’t take longer than the actual flight from your apartment to the tower.” Under his breath, but still deliberately loud enough for Rhodey to hear, he adds, “Has nothin’ to do with you bein’ a showoff at all.”

Rhodey has Bucky in a loose headlock, and Bucky’s ranting about cooking etiquette and knife safety when Tony walks into the kitchen. He’s covered in what Bucky hopes is grease or oil, trying and completely failing to look stern with his mouth twitching tellingly, hair sticking up in all directions, and the too long sleeves of one of Bucky’s henleys—which Bucky’s been missing for the last half week—falling down over his hands.

It’s stupidly adorable, Bucky thinks, and some of that must show on his face, because Rhodey makes a mock disgusted, long-suffering noise under his breath, shoves Bucky away with a hand on his forehead, and goes to hug Tony instead. Bucky laughs, entirely unrepentant, winking at Tony behind Rhodey’s back.

For a moment, Tony smiles back, eyes twinkling mischievously, but then he suddenly goes pale, before turning faintly green. He practically jumps away from Rhodey, nearly stumbling over his own feet, and covers his mouth and nose with his hands.

“Tones?” Rhodey sounds concerned, and Bucky is, too. He quickly steps closer to put a steadying hand on Tony’s elbow, asking, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks, nodding, and when he removes his hands, a normal, healthy colour’s already returning to his cheeks. “Ugh, sorry. I don’t know what that was. I got a whiff of your aftershave, and I just,” he trails off, wincing apologetically at Rhodey.

Rhodey frowns. “It’s the one I always wear,” he says, craning his neck to sniff his collar.

Tony shrugs helplessly, leaning into Bucky when Bucky curls an arm around him. “Maybe you’re gettin’ sick after all?” Bucky suggests, and pecks Tony’s cheek when Tony scowls up at him. “You did have that stomach thing yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Tony insists stubbornly.

Bucky and Rhodey share a pointed look, making Tony huff, cross his arms over his chest, and pout. Bucky reels him in closer, and peppers kisses across his face until Tony scrunches up his nose, and starts pushing at him, laughing softly.

“How ‘bout,” Bucky says, pressing a final kiss to the tip of Tony’s nose, “you go an’ take a shower, then find a movie for us to watch while Rhodey helps me finish dinner?”

Tony grumbles some more for show, but forty minutes later, he’s happily snuggled up against Bucky’s chest, feet in Rhodey’s lap, munching on his burger and sweet potato fries, and making fun of the shitty science in the movie.

Wednesday

“Communal floor, please,” Steve says, leading Bucky into the elevator, and uses his towel to dab at his damp face.

Bucky hangs his own towel over his shoulders, and fumbles with his hair tie for a moment before getting it loose, and shaking out his hair. He sprays sweat everywhere in the process, grinning when Steve grimaces, shoots him a dirty look, and mumbles, “Asshole,” under his breath.

“Language, Captain,” Bucky chides, and Steve, as usual, groans, throws his hands up in the air, and complains, “You weren’t even there, Buck, you’re not allowed to tease me about this!”

“Watch me,” Bucky shoots back, and then they’re off, squabbling, bickering, shoving, and trying to trip each other on their way to the kitchen.

Bruce takes one look at them, sighs deeply, and gets up, taking his tea with him. “Keep it down, would you? Tony’s asleep in the den. He looks like he could use the rest.”

Steve makes an apologetic face. “Sorry.”

But Bucky frowns, checking the clock on the microwave. It’s only a little after two in the afternoon, and they’d slept in for once—weekends mean nothing in the superhero business—until nearly lunchtime after turning in early the previous night. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge, chugging it in only a few big gulps, then goes to check on Tony.

And, sure enough, Tony’s sacked out on the couch, wrapped up in the thick duvet from their bedroom with only his head peeking out. His hair is a complete mess, as usual, but there are also dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted, even while asleep. Bucky gently rubs his flesh and blood thumb over the skin under one of Tony’s eyes, feeling guilty for not having noticed sooner.

It makes Tony stir, but Bucky quickly shushes him, running a soothing hand through his hair. “Everything’s fine, babe, go back to sleep.”

“M’kay,” Tony mumbles, inhaling deeply a few times to get some of Bucky’s Alpha scent, before turning his face into a cushion.

Steve, having tiptoed closer, peers over the back of the couch, then raises a questioning eyebrow at Bucky, who can only shrug in response.

He’s still worried when Tony wakes up in time for dinner, but he does look a lot better, and keeps insisting that he was just catching up on sleep. Which, with Tony’s schedule, does make some sense.

Bucky decides to let it go, but ushers Tony to bed a good hour earlier than usual, anyway. Just to make sure.

Thursday

Tony swallows his mouthful of what Bucky’s pretty sure is vanilla ice cream with a big portion of the leftover pulled pork from their earlier BBQ, and sighs in obvious bliss, eyes fluttering shut. They snap back open when he goes to load his spoon up again, and discovers his bowl is empty.

“What,” Bucky demands, and can’t even enjoy Tony’s startled yelp over his growing disgust, “the hell are you doin’?”

“I, uh. I was hungry?” Tony offers, but he’s looking shifty, clearly knows that this is at least a little weird. “What, is that a crime now?” he asks defensively, protectively pulling his bowl against his chest. “You’re always on my case about not eating enough.”

Bucky just stares at him until Tony wilts, and averts his eyes. “I wanted a snack, and it seemed like a good idea at the time? And it’s actually not that bad?”

“Well.” Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, not sure where to go from here. “If you say so. I think I’ll stick to a sandwich, though.”

“Whatever,” Tony says, but he’s smiling, relieved, as he hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “I guess I can forgive your culinary deficiencies. If,” he waves his bowl at Bucky, “you get me another one of these.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Bucky mutters, and flicks the back of Tony’s head on his way to the fridge.

He does fix Tony another bowl, though.

Friday

“—what your problem is, man, but you need to calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! You calm down!”

“That doesn’t even make sense! Tony, what’re you—hey, no, that’s not fair, you can’t—hey, ow! You asshole!”

“You know what you did, don’t start with me—”

“I have—stop squeezing me, dickbag—I have no idea what it is you think I’ve done, but—”

“Stop lying!”

It’s like walking into the darkest timeline; the coffee table is overturned, popcorn and soda spilled everywhere, the lamp on the floor, one of Clint’s shoes sticking up from behind the TV, and the curtains ripped partially off their rods.

At least nothing’s on fire. Yet.

“What the actual fuck do you two knuckleheads think you’re doin’ here?”

Both Clint and Tony freeze at the sound of Bucky’s voice, but Clint doesn’t remove his hands from Tony’s hair, and Tony doesn’t make a move to let Clint go. Neither of them look the slightest bit ashamed, and, for a moment, Bucky considers just walking back out, and leaving whatever this is for someone else to deal with.

But his Alpha instincts put up a protest against the prospect of leaving his mate in the middle of a fight, never mind that Tony’s more than capable of defending and looking out for himself. And tends to get huffy when Bucky conveniently forgets that. Since Tony seems to be pissed already anyway, though, and it doesn’t look like the situation is about to resolve itself without further collateral damage, Bucky doesn’t feel too bad about stepping in.

“All right, c’mon.” He places his hands on his hips, and quirks an eyebrow. “Cut it out. Clint, let go of Tony. Tony, for fuck’s sake, unwrap Clint.”

Tony hisses, baring his fangs. “He—”

“I didn’t do shit!” Clint yells, and all but pushes Tony off of him the instant Tony has uncurled his tail from around Clint’s legs. “One second we were watching the game, shooting the shit, and the next he turned all scaly, and went completely berserk!”

“You drank from my glass!” Tony yells back, and lunges at Clint again, toppling them both back onto the floor. “It was my glass!”

“That’s what this is about?” Clint asks, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

“Screw you!”

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. Come on, man, what—”

“You could’ve asked! That’s what normal people, who weren’t raised in a goddamned barn, do before taking—”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, looking heavenward. If there was any of the Catholic upbringing still left in him, he’d be praying for strength right about now. Instead, he grabs Tony by the back of the neck, ignoring his angry cursing and flailing, and pulls him off of Clint.

With his free hand, he points at Clint. “And you. You know our kind gets territorial sometimes. Which,” he directs at Tony, when Tony shoots Clint a gloating little smile, “doesn’t excuse any of this bullshit. Clint, ask before touching his stuff. We’ve talked about this. Tony, remember that Clint’s an idiot, and doesn’t do half the crap he does on purpose.”

“Hey,” Clint objects, but it’s weak. He gets up, stretches, and cracks his neck. “Whatever, man. Tony, I’m sorry I accidentally took a sip from your glass, please forgive me, yadda yadda.”

Tony glares some more, before slumping. Eyes fixed on the floor, he admits, so quiet is barely audible, “I might have overreacted.”

“Little bit, dude, yeah.” Clint grins, and holds his hand out for a fist bump. “Friends again?”

“Obviously,” Tony sniffs, haughty, but he does bump Clint’s fist.

Clint nods, still grinning widely. “Okay, I’m out of here. If Cap asks about the chaos, tell him I was never here.”

“You okay?” Bucky asks, once Clint is gone, rubbing a hand up and down Tony’s back.

In answer, Tony tucks his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, mouth open against Bucky’s skin, breathing him in. Bucky tugs him in close, holding him tight, and rests his cheek against the top of Tony’s head, gently swaying them from side to side.

“I just,” Tony mumbles mulishly, a few minutes later, his face still hidden away. “He got on my nerves all afternoon, and the glass thing was just the last straw. It was stupid, I know that, I really do. But I couldn’t help it, I felt—I felt protective over that glass. It was mine. And he was touching it.”

“It’s a very nice glass,” Bucky offers, laughing when Tony pinches his side. “An’ this isn’t nearly as bad as the glitter and glue incident last month.” He pauses, then adds, “I don’t know why we even let the two of you be alone in a room together. It never ends well.”

“Clint’s a dick,” Tony grumbles, but it’s without heat.

“Wanna go swim for a while?” Bucky asks, kissing the side of Tony’s head. “Work off some steam? I feel like shiftin’, too.”

Tony smiles, and presses a kiss to the sensitive spot behind Bucky’s ear. “Sounds like a plan.”

Bucky lets him nuzzle for a moment, then says, teasing, “After we clean up here, of course.”

Tony groans dramatically. “Ass.”

Saturday

“Thank you, Tony,” Pepper says, smiling, when Tony puts a plate piled high with every greasy food the brunch buffet has to offer in front of her. She pats her swollen stomach, and Bucky’d always thought that thing about pregnant women having a glow about them was bullshit, but it’s definitely true for her. “It feels like all I do anymore is eat, sleep, and cry.”

Happy very carefully doesn’t say anything, but one corner of his mouth curls upwards, giving him away. Pepper huffs, and swats at him. “Oh, shut it, you. This is all your fault, now you have to live with the consequences.”

“Not complaining,” Happy says, and takes her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it.

Tony pulls a face at them, because he is a forty year old child, then winces when Pepper, presumably, kicks him under the table. Bucky shares a commiserating glance with Happy, who just shrugs, and rolls his eyes a little, clearly fond.

“So,” Bucky says, leaning back, and draping an arm over the back of Tony’s chair. “Gettin’ anywhere with the name?”

“Grace,” Pepper says, at the same time as Happy says, “Emma.”

“That’s a no, then?” Tony asks dryly. Then, eyes lightening up, he suggests, “How about—”

“Not Antonia,” Happy and Pepper say in unison, before turning to grin at each other.

Tony gasps, all feigned betrayal, and presses a hand to his chest. “Words can hurt, you know.”

Brows arched challengingly, he reaches across the table, snags a piece of baked brie off Pepper’s plate, and pops it into his mouth. He chews obnoxiously for a few seconds, smug and satisfied with himself, then suddenly stills, face scrunching up.

Before anyone has the chance to ask what’s wrong, Tony pushes back his chair, and quickly puts his hand over his mouth when he starts gagging. Everyone stills, waiting with held breath, but then Tony shakes his head, says, “Nope,” from behind his hand, and takes off in the direction of the bathroom.

Bucky’s right behind him, locking the bathroom door while Tony falls to his knees in front of the toilet, and starts retching. Wincing in sympathy, Bucky grabs some paper towels out of the dispenser, wets them, and then goes to crouch next to Tony, pressing a few of the them against the back of his neck. Tony makes a grateful little noise, before cutting himself off with a groan, clutching at the toilet seat when the next wave of nausea hits.

“Fuck,” he croaks, once he’s done, sitting back.

“Here.” Bucky hands him the remaining towels so he can wipe his mouth, and brushes the sweaty hair away from his forehead. “Feelin’ better?”

Closing his eyes, Tony leans back against Bucky, breathing in and out deeply a few times before answering. “Little bit.” He grimaces, and throws the balled up towels into the toilet. “Wow, that sucked.”

“Any idea what that was all about?” Bucky asks, standing, and gently pulling Tony back to his feet as well. “Was the cheese bad?”

“I don’t think so?” Tony shrugs, moving over to the sink to rinse his mouth. Once done, he continues, “It tasted fine.”

Bucky gestures around the bathroom, skeptical. “Doesn’t look fine.”

Tony hangs his head, and sighs, before meeting Bucky’s eyes through the mirror. “I feel okay now,” he insists, but holds up a hand when Bucky opens his mouth to argue. “But I’ll have Helen take a look at me if things are still off on Monday. I’m not calling her in on a weekend because of a stomach bug that’s probably going to resolve itself in the next twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t like it,” Bucky says, stepping up behind Tony. He wraps his arms around his waist, and rests his chin on his shoulder. “But I guess I can live with that. We’re callin’ her if you puke again, though.”

“Such a worrier,” Tony huffs, acting put out, but there’s a pleased flush to his cheeks. “Okay, deal.”

Bucky gives him a careful squeeze, and kisses the side of his head. “Deal,” he agrees.

Sunday

If it were up to Bucky, he wouldn’t leave Tony’s side after the incident at brunch yesterday. But Tony’d put a quick end to his annoying, unnecessary, Alpha-dumb—to quote Tony—hovering, and gone to swim a few laps by himself after sending Bucky off to his weekly bro date—again, quoting Tony—with Sam.

“—and then I sprouted real wings, and flew off into the sun.”

Bucky blinks, looking up from his phone to stare at Sam. “What?”

“Oh, so you are listening,” Sam says, pointed. “I must’ve gotten confused because you’ve been staring at your phone for the last ten minutes. My bad.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me for worryin’ about my mate,” Bucky grumbles, but he does put his phone away. Then takes it out again, and makes sure the volume is up, before shoving it back into his pocket. “Shut up,” he tells Sam, who, of course, isn’t even nice enough to try and hide the fact that he’s laughing at Bucky.

Sam just sips his coffee, looking amused. Because he’s an asshole.

“Do we need to talk about how you lost your shit when Stevie fell outta that chopper, ‘cause if I remember correctly, you—”

“That was completely different,” Sam insists, glaring. “He had a punctured lung.”

Bucky clucks his tongue dismissively. “It’s Steve. He has a punctured lung, or several broken bones, or a concussion that’d kill a regular human every other week.”

They both pause while they let that sink in. Bucky’s the one who bursts out laughing first, but Sam isn’t far behind, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, what even are our lives these days?”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” Bucky snorts. He grabs another handful of bird food from the bag sitting on the bench between him and Sam, throwing it close to the group of pigeons watching them. “Caw caw.”

Sam cackles. The pigeons keep watching them, slowly inching closer. Before they reach the food, though, Bucky’s phone goes off, and they scatter in a panic, cooing angrily.

“Aw,” Sam says sadly, frowning after them.

Bucky fishes out his phone, heart skipping a beat when he sees that it’s Tony calling. He firmly tells himself to not be ridiculous, takes a slow, steadying breath, and answers, as casually as he can manage, “Heya, sweetheart. What’s up?”

There’s a too long beat of silence, and yep, there’s Bucky’s anxiety again. “Tony? Hey, are you all right, babe?”

“Uhm.” Tony doesn’t sound hurt, at least, but Bucky can immediately tell that something’s wrong by the way he hesitates. Again. “So, uh, no rush, but could you, maybe, come back early? And bring Sam? And have him bring his first aid kit?”

Bucky’s instantly on his feet, impatiently gesturing for Sam to get a move on. “Not gonna lie, you’re scarin’ me here. Are you—”

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m fine. No, really,” Tony says, and Bucky can hear him smile, “I am. It’s nothing bad. I think? I mean, we’ve only ever talked about this in really vague terms, but I don’t think you’re going to hate it. Or, well, I hope you won’t? Great, okay, now I’m starting to freak out, which, wow, so not the reason I should be freaking out right now, but—”

“Tony, hey, breathe.” Bucky listens to Tony inhale shakily, then breathe out again a little more calmly. “That’s it, you’re doin’ so good, you’re doin’ great.”

For some reason, that makes Tony laugh. It’s a little shrill, nearly drowning out his whispered, “Oh my god, you have no idea what you just said.”

Sam, in the meantime, has managed to flag down a cab, waving Bucky over now. Bucky slides into the backseat gratefully. “Tony? We’re on our way, ten more minutes. Are you alone? Is there anyone else home?”

“I, ah. I don’t really want anyone else here?”

“Okay, seriously, what’s happenin’ with—”

“Shit, there’s more? I gotta go—”

“Tony, don’t you dare—”

“Just, get here. Please.”

Bucky pulls the phone away from his ear with shaking fingers after Tony ends the call. He doesn’t notice his prosthetic hand is gripping the door handle tight enough to dent it until Sam discreetly taps his knuckles. “Fuck.”

“JARVIS would’ve alerted the medical staff, or the rest of the team if something bad was happening,” Sam reasons, which does help, if only a little. “Right?”

“Right.” Bucky nods, mostly to himself. “Right.”

He does jump out of the cab before it even comes to a full stop, though, running for the door. He forgoes the elevator in favour of the stairs, startling one of the janitors. “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder but doesn’t stop until he reaches his and Tony’s floor, at which point he realises he has no idea where Tony even is.

“Jay, where—”

“Sir is in the lagoon, Sergeant Barnes. He requests your presence.”

Bucky races across the living room, into Tony’s office, then through the hidden door into the formerly secret, artificial lagoon area. “Tony? Where are you? Are you—what the fuck?”

Tony, fully shifted and lying on the sandy shore, cringes, curling in on himself, and around the—the egg?

“What the fuck?” Bucky repeats as he slowly inches closer, eyes flitting between Tony’s sheepish face and the—yes, that’s definitely an egg. “Tony, what the fuck?”

“You sound like a broken record.” It’s supposed to sound teasing, joking, but Tony’s obviously nervous, voice shaking ever so slightly.

That’s enough to snap Bucky out of his shock. “No, hey, that’s not—I’m surprised, is all.”

Tony’s shoulders lose some of their tension. He chuckles, hoarse. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

After another moment of open-mouthed staring—this is unusual, even for them, sue him—Bucky shakes himself, and begins to shuck his clothes. He’s shifted when he reaches Tony, and wraps his tail around Tony’s, reassuring, eyes never leaving the egg. He lets his hand hover over it, awed. “Can I—?”

“Go for it.” Tony’s smiling for real, now, eyes warm and soft. Then, smile morphing into a grin, he says, “It’s yours, you know, daddy.”

“Dumbass,” Bucky says absently, preoccupied with—with his kid, hell.

He, very gently, cups a hand over the egg, carefully stroking along its curve with his thumb. It’s surprisingly warm, pulsing a little, and Bucky can’t help but smile, too, finally looking up at Tony. “Babe! We made this!”

Tony preens. “Yeah, we did. Actually—”

“Honestly,” comes Sam’s voice from the door, eyes wide, brows up, “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, here. Congrats, though.”

Bucky beams at him. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you could just,” Tony waves his hand around, “check them? There probably should be heartbeats, right?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. I can certainly try, we’ll just have to—”

“Wait, wait,” Bucky interrupts. “Them?”

Tony lifts his tail, revealing four more eggs. Sam chokes on a laugh. Bucky feels a little faint, all of a sudden.

“So,” Sam sums up, half an hour later, “neither of you knew this could happen?”

“Both my parents were human,” Tony says, head on Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky cradles all five—perfectly healthy, as far as Sam can tell—eggs in his lap. “Apparently, everyone thought the Nāga lineage of the family had died out generations ago until I came along.”

“My mother was human,” Bucky explains, “so no egg-laying in my family. My father died early, an’ none of my sister inherited the Nāga genes. Pretty much figured everythin’ out on my own as I went.”

Sam eyeballs him, then glances down at the eggs. “Not everything, it looks like.”

Bucky flicks some sand at him with his tail. “Shut up.”

“Careful,” Tony hisses, reaching for the eggs. “And don’t fight in front of the children.”

“I don’t think they’re far enough along to catch it yet, sweetheart,” Bucky says, amused, but helps Tony transfer two of the eggs into his own lap.

“That’s the thing, though,” Sam says, thoughtful. “We don’t really know, do we? They have heartbeats, yes, they’re all warm, and none of them have any cracks or fissures, but that’s all I can tell you. You sure there’s no one else you could ask, someone who,” he chuckles under his breath, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, “actually knows anything about the procreation habits of mythical, aquatic snake people?”

“Our kind’s pretty rare these days,” Bucky sighs, running a finger along some of the patterns on one of the eggs. “Didn’t even know there was anyone else before I met Tony. I doubt there’s more.”

Tony coughs awkwardly. “Actually,” he says, “I might’ve had JARVIS call someone already?” When both Bucky and Sam only look at him, expectant, he winces, but goes on, “He’s not one of us, per se, but he’s probably our best option, especially on short notice. He is Atlantean, after all, and we did help him out with those freaky mutant sharks, so he still owes us one—”

“No.” Bucky glowers at Tony, and seriously considers pushing him over into the water, for all the good that would do. “No fuckin’ way, I hate that guy.”

“Bucky, honey—”

“He’s such an asshole, though,” Bucky whines, but he knows Tony’s right.

And Tony knows that Bucky knows, because he looks apologetic as he runs a soothing hand through Bucky’s hair. “You can always mock his clothes, if worst comes to worst.”

“Damn straight,” Bucky mutters. He would’ve done that anyway. “Who runs around in a speedo all day, anyway? Gill-breathing dick.”

“Somewhat small,” Namor concludes, peering closely at the egg in his hand. Bucky has to restrain himself from snatching it away. And punching Namor in his dumb, pointy face for good measure. Namor brings the egg up to his ear, listening intently for a couple of moments. “Otherwise in good health. Strong.”

Bucky does grab the egg, then, protectively holding it in the crook of his arm. “Great, thanks, now go away.”

“What’s the incubation time?” Sam asks, the traitor, completely ignoring Bucky. “I’m assuming the environment is suitable, considering Tony built it for himself?”

Namor looks around the lagoon critically. “It will do.”

Bucky bristles. Tony takes his free hand, and squeezes his fingers, before turning to Namor. Excitedly, he asks, “So. How long until they hatch?”

Reluctantly, Bucky hands the egg back over when Namor gestures for it. He examines it again, and Bucky nearly loses his shit when he taps it. Fucking taps it!

Tony elbows him sharply, but he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh when he whispers, “He’s not going to scramble our kid, relax.”

“Just so you know, I’m puttin’ a ban on egg puns right now,” Bucky tells him, entirely serious.

Tony pouts at him. “Spoilsport.”

“My estimation would be twelve to fourteen weeks,” Namor says, drawing their attention again. “Although it is difficult to tell. I have known few of your kind in my time.”

“Okay, wait.” Tony twitches a little, nervously petting the eggs he has cradled in the loop of his tail. “You’re saying we’re going to be parents in, what? Three months? That’s a third of the time I was expecting! We’re not prepared! Why don’t we get nine months?”

Namor looks supremely unimpressed. “You are not human.”

“But!” Tony flails around. “Five?”

“Ah, yes. A small litter,” Namor says, nodding. His lips curl, clearly disapproving. “Not much of a surprise, considering the parentage. An anomaly and a half-breed, I—”

“Oh, you fuckin’ hypocrite!” Bucky explodes. He has the good sense to hand his egg over to Sam before shoving Namor in the chest, hard. It’s satisfying how offended the bastard looks. “Your father was human, in case you conveniently forgot ‘bout that again.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, Namor sniffs, and turns around, head held high. “It might be best if I take my leave now.”

“Goodbye, your majesty,” Bucky mocks.

“Always a pleasure to see you, buddy,” Tony adds.

Sam, both hands cupped over the egg’s sides, says, “No fighting in front of the children. Come on, guys.”

“Sir,” JARVIS pipes up, timing as uncanny as always. “The Atlantean convoy wishes to know where to leave their gifts.”

Tony perks up at that. “Gifts?”

“Traditional Atlantean children’s clothing—”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Great, tiny speedos.”

“—gems, and approximately fifty kilograms of fresh shrimp.”

Sam collapses, laughing, and even Bucky has to grin at that. “Such a weirdo.”

Tony shrugs, unconcerned, and suggests, “Paella party?”

Friday (eleven weeks later)

Exhaustion is etched into every line of Tony’s face, and Bucky knows that he himself doesn’t look any better, but he can’t remember ever having been happier in his entire life. He scoots a little closer to Tony, brushing some of the sand off Tony’s stomach. On Tony’s chest, Eloise wiggles, tiny rosebud mouth pursing, before opening in a yawn.

There’s collective cooing from everyone close enough to see.

Tony bends down to drop a kiss on her head, chuckling softly when she happily swishes her tail. “Hey, pretty girl.”

“They’re all pretty,” Steve says decisively. He gently rocks Augustus in his arms, stroking the tip of one finger over the dark red and gold scales on his cheeks. “The prettiest. Yes, you are, so pretty.”

Pepper, sitting with her feet in the water, her own daughter in her lap, looks a little dreamy. “I miss her being that age,” she sighs wistfully, tickling Emma-Grace’s belly.

Clint raises an eyebrow at her. “She’s nine weeks old.”

“Still,” Pepper sniffs. Happy consolingly pats her shoulder.

“You’re all baby crazy,” Clint accuses, as if he hasn’t glared anyone who’s tried to pry Rosalie out of his arms so far into submission.

Bucky shares an amused look with Tony. Not that he blames Clint; they do, indeed, have the best, smartest, prettiest babies. Bucky can say as much, entirely without bias.

There’s a splash from the of the pool, followed by Thor’s booming laugh. He has, thankfully, decided to wade a little deeper into the water, since, apparently, the Æsir aren’t big on bathing attire. And Bucky can do without Tony’s knowing smirks whenever his eyes catch on some of Thor’s ridiculous muscles for a beat too long.

Thor’s smiling hugely down at Victor, big hands helping him float on his back, praising, “Very good,” while Rhodey watches them closely, ready to jump in if necessary.

On one of the towels, Natasha is holding Theodore, not moving a muscle, looking as scared as Bucky’s ever seen her. Bruce and Sam are kneeling next to her, Sam helping her adjust her grip, while Bruce rubs her back reassuringly.

Bucky narrows his eyes at them. “Are they?”

“All Bruce does whenever I bring it up is blush,” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows. “Which I’m assuming is a yes.”

“Go Nat,” Bucky whistles lowly, making Tony laugh, and Eloise fuss unhappily. He quickly scoops her up, apologising, nuzzling her hair, and making shushing noises. “‘M sorry, darlin’, shh. Daddy’s sorry, he didn’t mean it. Everything’s okay, you’re fine, sweet girl.”

Eloise, always the most complacent between the five of them, settles easily when Bucky tucks her against his neck, letting her scent him. She snuffles a little, then seemingly decides that Bucky will do for now, and promptly falls asleep.

Proud, Bucky glances over at Tony, not expecting the soft, open look on his face. “What?”

“I love you,” Tony says, face flushed. “So much.”

Bucky’s answering smile is undoubtedly sappy, but he doesn’t care one bit. “Love you, too,” he says, and leans in for a deep, lingering kiss. “All of you.”

Eloise, of course, chooses that moment to pee all down Bucky’s chest and stomach.

Not that it changes anything.

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