#doable!!! just ignore the part where it’s all the work I’ve been putting off for literally a month I got this!!!!!

[meteortrails]

power napping before pathophys and then it’s back to the fucking Grind of getting my presentation abstract done, getting my ochem hw that’s already 2 days late done, AND getting my corn profile paper back on track since I missed the last like. three checkpoints. which were graded too :( AND I have that fucking inorganic exam on Friday too goddamnit…

[gb-patch]

Ask Answers: August 8th

Well, doing big posts all together worked for a while but lately I’ve been putting it off because it takes a long time to get them done. I think I’m gonna try switching back to answering asks whenever I can fit it in and posting them one at a time instead of waiting until I’ve filled out one of these major collections.

But for now, here’s more ask answers! Thank you for the questions and for all the kind words along with them ^^.

Hello!! I'm here to ask if its possible to get  the game and its dlcs on steam and play it on android?

I’m afraid not. Steam doesn’t have Android builds on their own site and Steam is not cool with keys for other sites being given out for Steam purchases, so you don’t get the Itch version from buying on Steam.

Hello! Sorry to bother you but, I had a question, if we buy the Game on itchio do we get steam keys or would we need to purchase it twice? 

You would have to buy it twice if you want it in both places, I’m sorry. To repeat myself a little, Steam doesn’t like the key trading thing. Itch may support giving keys for another site, but the reverse isn’t doable with Steam and Steam doesn’t even really want you to get a Steam key for buying somewhere else either. So we just don’t mess around with that.

hey, sorry if this is frequently asked, but is step 4 free dlc or paid for? some of your sources are contradicting each other. 

It’s free! There’s a paid wedding DLC, but Step 4 itself is entirely unpaid.

Hello! I just had a quick question, for the Baxter and Derek DLC's will we be able to confess our feelings to them or let them confess to MC? or will it only be one way? (they confess to MC)

Both type of options will be available!

Hey there! I wanted to ask whether or not the Derek DLC is still on track to be released in August since on the steam discussion board it says it will be released mid 2021. I totally understand if it isn't, I'm just really looking forward to it! If you answer then ty! And keep up the amazing work :D 

It’s not, aha. Unfortunately, 2021 wasn’t easier than 2020 as we hoped so things are still slower than planned. It’ll come out late 2021 or early 2022.

Hi! Firstly I just want to say that I LOVE Our Life. I have played a bit of similar games but this one instantly wins for the best one! Everything about it is amazing! I just wanted to ask if Derek would ever lose feelings for MC, like if they make the deal and then MC gets with Cove would he move on? and even if you don't, after "losing contact" would his feeling fade or would he still like MC? 

If you don’t really keep in touch with him and clearly move on with your life, Derek will too and he’ll be over it. But if you are still close as best as you can be, he’ll still think the MC is special. Though, he’ll always support your relationship with someone else if that’s what’ll make you happy.

Hello! Sorry if you've answered this before but: 'How's Lee related to us? Though which momma? And does she share our player-chosen last names? Also, do you know if Noelani took Pam's last name or did it happen the other way round? 

She’s related to Pamela and Pamela’s last name is the one they use, so the MC has the same last name as Lee.

Will we be able to choose which (they or he) we tend to call Qiu by more often, or will it randomly change depending on the moment? 

Qiu knows which pronoun they’re comfortable with at a time and you’ll call them what they’re happy with. And it doesn’t change between lines, it takes multiple scenes or even full Steps for it to switch. So for extended periods Qiu will be totally a guy or fully agender.

Will Step 4 of OL2 have moments?

It’ll be an epilogue like it is in OL1, so it won’t have a bunch of different Moments.

Hello! Just a quick question, is Sunset bird from OL1 based on a real location? If so what's it called? I wanna visit it +_+

ps i love your games so much <3

It isn’t based on one specific town you can go to, but there are a lot of little coastal towns in Cali that have a similar vibe!

Heyaaa ( I hope you're all well ), umm… it might seem kinda stupid to ask but did Patreon members can have a key for the dlc's ( all the steps-released dlc ) even if they became a member this month or later ? (me? saying this cuz it's my case? maybe ;-;), and once again thanks for absolutely all the amazing works on all the games ! u-u 

You wouldn’t get the DLCs for backing there. The Patreon is for extra bonus content/early access, rather than being a storefront to purchase the normal DLCs. Rarely we give them out as a side gift, but it hardly happens and if what you want is the DLCs it’s best to ignore the Patreon and  buy keys for those directly from Itch or Steam. I’m sorry for the confusion.

Hey y'all, love what youre doing w/Terry. Trans rep outside of player customization is so rare and important to see more of so thank you so much. I do have a question and its that does he have a canon sexuality? I know Miranda was said to be straight ace but I dont believe anything was stated for Terry probably because he wasnt revealed to be a guy which changes things. Im also curious if well get answers on how long hes liked Miranda since he may have liked her in step 3 before she liked him 

Terry likes women and Randy likes men! And he did like Miranda back in Step 3.

Will the Wedding Dlc release at the same time as Step 4? 

They’ll come out separately with Step 4 releasing first.

I really love Our Life so much! I've spent over 20hours playing it even though I only got it a week ago! I was wondering if I could make a fangame for Our Life with a different love interest but same plot. Next-door neighbors romance, multiple steps, etc? I'll probably make it on Google Slides though- 

Sure! I hope you have fun with it and I’m glad you love the game.

How does Cove feel about poly relationships? 

He’s got nothing against them for the people they work for, but he’s 100% monogamous and would only be comfortable with a partner who was willing to be monogamous with him.

Idk if this has been answered before but will Step 4 include the option to advance your feelings towards Cove? 

Yep, you’ll be able to determine your feelings and what your relationship is.

In step 4 will there be a chosen to say we live with Cove even as just friends? 

Yeah, you can choose to live with Cove and that can be done when you’re friends.

I just played the game with the MC and Cove being best friends and omg it’s still so damn cute like the wholesomeness of it all is too much for my heart I swear ^.^  Now with that all said I was wondering can we still marry Cove? if we only love him as a friend like let’s say we’ve made deal with him similar to the one we can make with Derek because let’s real no one could compete with what the MC and Cove have even if they aren’t in love. 

It’s great to hear you enjoyed the friendship story! You can live with Cove, but you can’t marry him platonically. Cove has familial affection for the MC if they’re best-est friends. He wouldn’t think to marry someone he loves like family and even grew up with as though they truly were siblings.

Are you still going to be making a DLC for XOBD? :] 

Yes! We’re slowing adding voiced lines and fixing errors.

It makes me laugh that Shiloh's last name is Fields because that's what I put as my last name! So in Our Life when he talked about "Ms. Fields" picking him up I was extremely confused, lol. That dude mimics personalities so much that he stole my surname!

Oh, wow, that’s a very funny coincidence, haha.

hi !! i cant seem to be able to get the scene where mc is able to propose to cove despite being at the 'love' stage and telling him i'd want to get married, are there any other details that im missing out on? the options just dont appear at the end... 

Maybe you missed telling Cove you were in love with him even if you mentioned wanting to get married or you might’ve accidentally said earlier in the game that you don’t want to progress your relationship further with Cove. We haven’t removed them, so you can get the scene again. It’s just kind of easy to miss since there’s multiple requirements. You can read a little guide in the FAQ.

wait what di you need to do to be able to propose to cove? I've been trying but haven't had much luck 

You can check out the FAQ linked above!

does cove only develop a crush on the mc if the mc is also at crush/in love with him? 

Technically, yes. We treat the non-romantic relationship options as truly non-romantic since we don’t want to bait and switch people. But there’s nothing wrong with headcanoning that Cove does have feelings developing for the MC even before the MC has.

Is there a way to make/allow Lee and Baxter to date?

No, they just don’t have enough time together.

We also got a group of asks related to Tamarack in OL2, but I’m afraid the way they talked about people with larger bodies made me not want to post their words, even if the person didn’t say they’re trying to be hurtful. I will separate out the core question and answer it though, so people can know that info.

Does Tamarack lose weight in later Steps?

No, she doesn’t. As for the other questions included, to be honest, I don’t have to explain/defend having romance options of different sizes. I’m sorry if you’re dealing with unhappiness that’s connected to body image, if that’s where the negative emotions are coming from, but even so I can’t meet you on that level and pretend it’s a problem that needs an answer. A girl who simply isn’t thin being a main love interest is just not an unreasonable concept. Also, Tamarack isn’t a lesbian. Yes, she can date a female MC, but that doesn’t undo her actual sexuality, so I’m not sure where that one part at the end was coming from.

I wonder... can we "fight" with Qiu over leader status? 👀

Not really, haha. No matter how cool your MC is, they’re never gonna replace Qiu for the other kids around. So you can either partner up with him, follow him too, or not be a part of all that group politics stuff.

So when I play the game, sometimes I mentally call Cove “Covie/Covey” and that made me wonder, how does Cove feel about being nicknamed? Not like Romeo/Space Cadet/etc. but like pet names relating to his actual name

It’d depend on his age, personality, and your relationship with him! When he’s younger he’d probably be embarrassed, when he was grown he’d probably be more casual or happy about it.

will you be able to date baxter in step 3 while at crush with cove (but not dating him ofc) sorry if this has been asked already. i really love baxters step 4 design btw!! 

Yeah, you can be crushing on Cove and date Baxter if you weren’t already dating Cove. You just can’t be truly in love with Cove and then switch to Baxter.

I just got my friend into our life, and they adore shiloh and derek sooo will there be more of them in the second game? 

I’m afraid not. But you can see plenty more of Shiloh in XOXO Droplets/XOXO Blood Droplets, haha.

I see you haven't gotten any xoxo droplets asks recently but I'm still obsessed with these boys!! I was just wondering if Nate would curse under any circumstance? 

Yeah, Nate does use certain swear words (damn, hell, bastard) on very rare occasions.

Hi there! I have a question about the wedding dlc. Will we be able to plan a honeymoon during the planning stages of it or would it be something that Cove and the mc would rather plan later on? Thank you! Absolutly love the game by the way, definitely one of my favorite games! 

The focus will be on the wedding day itself. The topic of the honeymoon might come up a bit, but there won’t be any choosing of the exact location and such.

Hi! I have two questions and it's completely understandable if you only answer one/neither and I'm sorry if you've already answered either before! First, is there a set year in which OL:B&A takes place (ex: Step 1 being set in 2010 & Step 2 being set in 2016, etc.) or is it simply up to interpretation? Second, have you guys thought about doing a coming-of-age game where the MC has a tough home life or upbringing? (like one of their parents is an addict, a parent being transphobic whilst the player has the option to be trans, or having friends that are influencing them to do drugs, etc.) That's all! Thanks for making beautiful games. <3 

There is a set timeline!

Step 1: 2006 Step 2: 2011 Step 3: 2016 Step 4: 2021 

And we don’t currently plan on making a game like that. The Our Life series exists to be a safer environment for people to play around in and if we did do a brand new series that was harsher edged it’d be something more fantastical and/or plot-driven instead of a different type of modern day slice-of-life growing up story. I’m sorry.

i don’t know if you’ve already answered this, but do you have a guess on when phase 4 will come out? as well as ol2? i’m so excited for both of them, the inclusivity in this game is amazing, you guys should be really proud of it! 

Step 4 will be coming out very soon! OL2 is gonna take until 2023 to be anywhere near completion. But we might episodically release the Steps one at a time as they get done instead of waiting for three to be finished before launch like we did with the first game.

Hello, I was curious if there was an official or unofficial discord server for the game? 

We do have a discord! You can join by clicking this link HERE.

how long do you plan to keep ol's patreon running? 

Hopefully for at least a few more years.

Are you considering ever making merch? 

Yeah, but I don’t know when it’ll happen or what exactly we’ll make, aha. It’s something we want do, just nothing is set.

hi! i just found out about your game a couple of days ago on tiktok (so sorry if you’ve already answered this question) and i was wondering if y’all are ever planning to release it on iOS? 

I have no idea. It’s hard for a small group to get Apple approval and I honestly can’t say if it’ll ever happen or not. Maybe someday, though!

Hi, I love the art style of Our life and I would like to know if the artist has a Twitter? Also, could it be possible to fund more CGs for the game from him/her? So many times, I wish there was one like when the cutscene of the sunshower. 

That’s nice of you to offer. He doesn’t have a Twitter, at least not one that’s public enough to be shared with me. And I’m afraid not. The issue is that the CGs take huge amounts of time rather than there not being a budget for it. He’s gotta make CGs for Step 4, the DLCs, and new character sprites, too. There isn’t space in the schedule for even more. Sorry for that.

Hi, how are you?!

Are you planning on accepting new writers or is it always the same people who write your stories??

Thanks!!

Our Life: Beginnings & Always won’t be getting new writers, but we will be hiring a new team of writers for Our Life: Now & Forever eventually!

perhaps this counts as nsfw and I'm sure it has been answered before but what does Cove prefer, chests/boobs or butts? or perhaps both :3c thank you for this wonderful game (and the patreon bonus moment, it was worth all the waiting and more ♥) 

He’s a “chests of all shapes and sizes” kind of guy, haha.

i was wondering- did any of the writers actually grow up by the beach? as someone who's lived in a beach town all their life it really did feel nostalgic to play through our life 1 

I was born and raised in Cali! Though, not right by the beach. We still had to make trips out, but the setting is based on my own childhood memories of small beach towns we went through.

In Derek’s upcoming DLC, will we be able to reference the pact we made as teens? (love olba and xod/xobd so much btw you’re literally amazing) 

Yep, you will be able to talk about that!

Oh, sorry about the Cole being secretly L ask, then!

If you wanted context: Death Note is about this one guy who finds a notebook that kills anyone who you write the name of in there. The guy eventually develops a God Complex and starts mass killing criminals and stuff. L is the one trying to find out who is killing all these people.

Me and my sister first joked about it because I couldn't remember how to translate a word about the way Cove was sitting, so I just did the pose, and it looked a lot like how L himself sits! Then we just snowballed from there, with more and more nonsense connections.

That’s okay! Thanks for explaining. I’m sorry I didn’t know what you meant.

[drabsyo]

Drabs, I know that you usually draw Fleur with slightly darker blonde hair than Narcissa. Was it a choice so that it’s easier to distinguish them from each other or was your Fleur maybe slightly influenced by the actress from the movie who had darker hair?

In the books Fleur didn’t seem to have much description other than having long silvery hair (waist length?) and having this glow around her. So like with Narcissa, what works have influenced your design of Fleur?

It’s fascinating sometimes to read the artist’s perspective and your previous reply to the anon about Narcissa has been very interesting.

Thank you!!! 🥺

I was actually pretty embarrassed over how enthusiastic I got over the whole hair thing, but I'm glad it made some sense at least 😂 And now that I've been given even more reason to talk about it... (Let's face it, I shouldn't even be allowed on this website to begin with, ya'll have been way too nice to me.)

Only click on keep reading if you want to read Some Nonsense.

I did consider Fleur's actress when I thought about her hair color. Though I pictured it to be something of a mix between movie Fleur and Elsa’s (from Frozen) hair. But the way I drew Fleur's hair, the way it falls across her shoulders, that was more of... well, I imagined Fleur to have effortlessly perfect hair, like she doesn't seem to need to style it so much because it's already whimsical as it is, what with her being part-Veela. There were a lot of fanfictions that helped me to sort of see a better image of Fleur in my head so really, I owe it to all the talented writers out there!

It's also the same with Narcissa's case. Though I decided to give her paler hair, compared to Fleur's, because I wanted to emphasize that air of vulnerability Narcissa has—this image she conjures, like she's this fragile thing made of glass, which typically in fanfiction is what Narcissa uses so that Voldemort would overlook her a lot, hence why she wasn't given any "missions" or "tasks" while Voldemort was in Malfoy Manor. Slytherin preservation. This "fragile" image was something Narcissa capitalized on and maintained perfectly, but in post-war Cissamione fanfictions, she no longer has to put on that façade—she starts living for herself, but the quiet sadness about her never really goes away.

I really did struggle at first, I had to find a way where I could draw them without confusing people and myself.

So, again, I sifted through a lot of canon and non canon material about these two characters which funnily enough made me see some kind of parallel going on between them. I know. Fleur Delacour and Narcissa Black. Parallels?! It's nuts. But again, this is only within Fleurmione and Cissamione fanfiction, and it really helped me to draw them better. (At least in a way that made them distinguishable from one other at first glance, I’d like to think.)

These 'hair scenes' are mostly the bits where Hermione "first" sees Fleur. Hermione is entranced, a little curious, sometimes she feels indifferent, but the general theme is Hermione immediately finds Fleur beautiful—which probably explains why Hermione in fanfiction sometimes thinks Narcissa could be part-Veela like Fleur. And as you can imagine, that's where my struggle began.

You'll see what I mean in a minute. And just like last time, remember that this part comes with spoilers.

🔹 In Fighting is our form of Flirting by InsomniacAndBi in Chapter 2 Hermione sees Fleur for the first time. This is the first Fleurmione fanfiction I've ever read, and also the first time I've encountered Fleur's character. Tall, bright blonde hair, won the genetic lottery, aristocratic features, face held in a scowl, floats into the room with effortless poise, immediately starts demanding things out of people... Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it. Like some other blonde we know.

"Non!" A voice from the doorway said. "This is not what was agreed."

For a moment, Hermione thought about ignoring it but turned to glance over there if only to quell her curiosity. A girl stepped into the room and Hermione's phone call was forgotten in a moment. She knew that it wasn't nice to stare but Hermione couldn't help but do it because, in all honesty, this was the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She was definitely taller than Hermione was, with bright blonde hair and...clearly she had won the genetic lottery.

Her skin practically glowed and it looked so smooth and soft. It made Hermione wonder if she used those fancy beautification charms or had a very lengthy skincare routine. Or maybe, just maybe, this is what being rich did to people's faces. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that this girl was rich - like extremely rich, like even rich people thought she was rich. That kind of rich. That was the type of rich that this girl was.

Also, only super rich people curled up their lip like this girl was doing.

She breezed into the room like she was floating and Hermione hastily ended her phone call and promised to call back later.

"This is not what was agreed," The girl said again and Hermione felt incredibly small sitting in front of her. Not to mention, the girl's clothes screamed 'I'm rich and I know it' and Hermione's screamed 'I'm so out of place that I might as well be a bull in a China shop'.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione managed to get out when it became apparent that the girl was waiting for her response.

"You are English." The girl looked shock for a moment at Hermione's accent before shaking her head angrily. "This is not what was agreed."

🔹 In Oath of Silver by i_shall_wear_midnight immediately in the first chapter, when Witcher Hermione first meets Fleur, it's something Hermione quickly notices. Vivid sapphire eyes. Silvery blonde hair that shimmered in the torchlight. And once again, right off the bat, Fleur is pushy. She wants things done her way. It’s just so cute how she doesn’t even let the fact that Hermione is a Witcher, an extremely dangerous outcast in society, get in the way of that.

(I'm sorry for this but I just have to gush about Oath of Silver. Hermione as a witcher is just so fitting for her character; she possesses that natural eye for detail that remarkable witchers have, witchers like Geralt and Vesimir (a skill that gets even more honed through the Witcher Trials). Hermione even has Geralt's dry sense of humor, a bit rough around the edges, brilliant, snippy without really meaning to (because she asks a lot of questions and would rather get to the point), but has a good heart.)

The witcher figured that would be the end of her human interactions for the evening, but only a few minutes later, the stunning newcomer from before appeared before her. Upon closer inspection, Hermione couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t be conspicuous in any group of people she happened to find herself immersed in. The woman was looking back at her with vivid sapphire eyes, and silvery blonde hair that shimmered even in torchlight. Her attire was travel-ready, but elegant.

“Bonsoir. You are a witcher, oui? Or perhaps a ‘witcheress’ is more accurate? I am not familiar with all the terms…” She watched the beautiful stranger patiently while she fumbled through Hermione’s professional title. As if the distinctive, amber colored cat-eyes hadn’t given her away, the brunette mused wryly. Eventually, the blonde gave up and sat herself down at Hermione’s table, her medallion twitching faintly as the stranger got settled. Hermione filed that away for later. Her new dinner buddy seemed to be oblivious to the curious and concerned looks now being thrown her way at boldly taking a seat at a mutant’s table.

“I came from Ellander,” she began in a non sequitur. “The temple, and spoke to the priestess Nenneke, who told me about you.” Hermione continued eating her second serving of stew and waited for her to get to the point. “I would like to hire you as an escort as I travel back to Toussaint.” The witcher finally put her spoon down.

“Sounds like you ought to be asking some mercenaries to be your bodyguards,” she responded, eyeing the bow the woman was carrying on her pack meaningfully.

“A pair seems doable, and I’d prefer you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.”

“Yes, technically, I am aware,” she replied, beginning to show signs of impatience.

“Then why are you soliciting a monster-slayer?”

🔹 Witnessed here in Time and Blood by whistle.the.silver is probably the most interesting one because it uses the concept of Veela hair as a wand core brilliantly. Again, this comes with huge 🛑spoilers🛑. Read the italicized words at your own risk. I can't add the entire clip here, as the topic of Fleur's hair is littered throughout several other chapters. But this story shows us a Fleur who is willing to do anything in order to protect Hermione during the course of the war.

My memory is a bit foggy, I haven't read this story in months, but here's what I remember:

This takes place during the time of Shell Cottage, where Fleur is married to Bill and takes care of Hermione. Fleur didn't expect to fall in love with the young brunette and, as the Golden Trio's time in Shell Cottage comes to an end, she worries over Hermione's safety. Fleur, using magic only known to the Veela tribes, does her best to offer Hermione protection in any way that she can--even going as far as to study what Lily Potter did so Harry could live. At one point, Fleur cuts her own hair with a length now roughly above her shoulders to give Hermione a new wand. But this isn't the only bridge Fleur is willing to cross to make sure Hermione survives the incoming battle. Fleur's grandmother, Ron, and even Bill himself, is a little sceptic over the propriety of Fleur's actions, but Fleur is determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Hermione makes it out of the war safe and alive.

So that was a lot to wade through, I know.

But if you've skipped all those parts for the sake of missing spoilers then let me go ahead and explain why the parallel between Fleur and Narcissa are there. Sure, it's plain to see that they have similar physical characteristics, but they're also similar in other ways.

In Witnessed here in Time and Blood, Fleur is willing to do whatever it takes to protect Hermione during the war: sacrifice the secrets of the Veela, make Hermione a wand, make her marriage and friendship with Bill suffer, be scrutinized by her Veela tribe, etc. And didn't Narcissa do the exact same thing during the war to make sure Draco made it out alive? They both chose to 'betray' everyone else for the sake of this one person. Not to mention, in Extinction by rubikanon Narcissa even makes Hermione a wand. (I’m telling you, there are so many parallels between these two ships and I can probably list more but I'd rather not make this post longer.)

Here, I’m just going to go ahead and say it—it’s almost like Fleur and Narcissa in fanfiction have the same love language.

A glaringly obvious difference between them is their upbringing, and we could argue that this why Fleur tends to be more open with her emotions while Narcissa tends to be more carefully guarded with hers. And I don't know if writers realize these parallels but as someone who's a huge fan of both characters and as someone who makes the occasional fanart of them, it's a pretty difficult detail to ignore. This crazy conspiracy all started because I had to find a way to make both characters look distinct from one another... It's just so interesting that writers from two different ships unknowingly make these parallels with two completely separate characters who are often at the opposite ends of the seesaw.

But again, let's take a look at Extinction by rubikanon. (I know. Extinction?! AGAIN?! Always.)

Spoiler warning!

🔹 Extinction by rubikanon has a marvelous take on this, as it turns out Fleur and Narcissa are actually good friends, and if I remember correctly, occasionally exchange letters (I’m unsure about this bit, I might have read it in a different story). They just get along remarkably well; I imagine they both share a kind of mutual respect for each other, a quiet understanding for the way the other woman carries herself: poised, meticulous, they pride themselves in their work, they both know how to handle an Ocean Of Secrets™, they're both accustomed to being under the spotlight of the public eye, and they’re both dedicated to their loved ones. Needless to say, Fleur and Narcissa are both giddy over the prospect of being with someone they love and adore, and end up meticulously planning numerous (I think it was hinted) double dates (Fleur with Bill, and Narcissa with Hermione) with the same kind of endearing enthusiasm that leave Hermione and Bill with no choice but to agree to the whims of their respective lovers.

(Scene seen in Chapter 23: Build Up Your Defense 2 of 2)

Narcissa and (Hermione) I were sitting together on one of the couches when Bill and Fleur arrived later. They showered Teddy with kisses on his little cheeks. He'd gotten past his clingy phase and adored us all, struggling to walk around the room by bracing himself on everyone's knees.

Suddenly Narcissa reached up and grabbed onto someone's wrist behind her head. "Don't even think about it," she said.

"That's just scary. How did you know I was there?" George stood up from behind the couch, a toy spider dangling from his hand. Teddy shrieked with laughter.

"She has eyes in the back of her head," Draco said.

"Mothers," George grumbled, sitting down close to Angelina. "Dump her, Hermione. I need you to date someone more prankable."

Fleur looked in surprise at the two of us on the couch. "Oh, la vache! How did I not know zees? You are lovers?"

"We're dating," I said mildly, though we really were lovers. In every sense. I glanced at Narcissa and bit my lip as heat spread through me. My imagination started planning a middle-of-the-night rendezvous.

"No wonder she (Narcissa) was so adamant about healing that curse," Bill said thoughtfully.

"Adorable! Simply adorable!" Fleur exclaimed, sitting down on Narcissa's other side. "We must go out for a double date next week, all four of us. We'll dine at L'Escargot!"

Narcissa's eyes lit up.

"Oh, no," I said.

"You won't have to eat snails," Narcissa said. "Please, mon amour?"

"French doesn't work on me."

"Please?" She kissed my cheek again and again. "Please? Please?"

Laughing now, I pulled her in for a kiss on the lips and said, "Yes, alright. But only because I have fond memories of trying new foods with you."

"As do I," she agreed.

Then we realized everyone was staring. Narcissa cleared her throat and straightened up, blushing. Draco made a face. Ginny looked a little more favorable. Harry held in laughter, and Andromeda hid her camera.

"Adorable!" Fleur declared again.

🔹 Also, I just have to add Sugar and Spice by waltzlikeits1698 because Chapter 4: Happy Birthday, Harry is absolutely hysterical. During Harry's birthday party, Hermione sulks in a corner because Fleur has apparently been avoiding her. Ginny decides to do something barking mad, something Hermione typically falls for.

“Ooh, someone’s grouchy,” Ginny teased, retracting her arm and facing Hermione fully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione insisted, although even she could hear the pout in her voice.

“Sure seems like it,” she snarked, summoning two shots and offering one to Hermione with a waggle of her eyebrows. Hermione pulled a face and Ginny shrugged before downing both, one after the other. (...) “You know, I spotted a tall, blonde drink of water hanging around the stairs.”

“What!?” Hermione exclaimed, whirling around and leaning out of the room to look at the staircase. Sure enough, standing at the bottom and resting a slender hand on the bannister was a tall, blonde witch who made Hermione’s heart stop with her mere presence. She had started forward before she knew it, her heart taking up an even quicker beat as she crossed the few steps and reached out a hand to clasp her elbow. The woman turned, that beautiful blonde hair catching the candlelight as it moved in one long sheet.

Hermione retracted her hand in horror, her eyes widening. “Mrs Malfoy!?”

Narcissa Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the witch who had practically accosted her. “Miss Granger. Can I help?”

What was she even doing here?

“Uh,” Hermione said dumbly, “sorry, I just… need the loo. Can I-?”

She gestured lamely to the staircase. Both women stared at the perfectly reasonable gap that Hermione could easily pass through. The moment stretched on.

Slowly, Narcissa returned her inscrutable gaze to Hermione, who squirmed uncomfortably in response. She then took a small step to the side and gestured for Hermione to pass. She did so and, as she turned the corner of the staircase, sent a deadly glare at Ginny, who was practically pissing herself with laughter.

(...)

Fleur had arrived. Hermione couldn’t explain exactly how she could tell, considering she had been in the duplicated bathroom for the last ten minutes after humiliating herself in front of Narcissa, but she knew it like she knew that it was levi-O-sa.

(...) (Hermione) She tried to avoid eye contact with Narcissa on the way back down and was thoroughly unsuccessful: the witch had physically reached out and laid her own hand over Hermione’s on the bannister, forcing her to stop and look up. Then, with an intention behind her eyes that Hermione had neither the brain capacity nor the energy to delve into, she said “It’s Ms Black now.”

Then she had released Hermione’s hand and turned back to her conversation with Andromeda and two wizards Hermione didn’t recognise.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of people Hermione didn’t recognise.

Anyway, long story short, this is the result of reading both Fleurmione and Cissamione—

But RIGHT. At the end of the day, again, these are just some crazy little things I picked up on and I may or may not be right, no one has to agree with me, everyone can disagree with me. Actually, yes feel free to disagree with me. I need to get out of this damn site and you know, touch grass.

Okay. Well. I'm gonna stop here now. So. Bye. But thank you anon for this lovely ask!! I’m really touched that you wanted to know what inspired the way I drew Fleur 🥺💕💖 But still. So sorry for this massive word vomit!! 😂

[illfoandillfie]

Don’t Talk To Me About Love

Day number 4 of the Platonically themed event! This is another idea thats sort of been bouncing around my head since I posted Platonically. In the months since then I’ve started and stopped this blurb about 60 times - at one point I intended it as a sequel but then ended up absorbing part of the plot into PNDDAOF. But here we are. It is somewhat complete and I’m much happier with it now then I was before. 

Yet again, this blurb is inspired by a song - Don’t Talk To Me About Love by Altered Images (less the lyrics and more just the title but it’s a bop so like check it out anyway lmao) 

Words: 2,150

Warnings: It’s about the Communication. There’s talk of an argument but nothing specific and honestly this is mostly just about the two of them Dealing with something out of the ordinary. 

Every morning with Ben follows the same pattern. No matter who wakes first, no matter how long it takes you to get out of bed, Ben will greet you with a kiss on the cheek. It’s a litmus test of your disposition and a lesson hard learnt. Most days you’ll lean into him, wrap your arms around him, press your lips to his, snuggle back into his embrace, and he knows that it means you’ll be okay with the actions that convince others you’re boyfriend and girlfriend. But every so often it’s different. Those days, what he has come to call your no romo days, his cheek kiss will be returned but you’ll pull back before he can sweep you into something deeper, a sign that you don’t have the patience or energy or whatever it usually takes, to deal with romance. Those days are few and far between, mostly occurring months apart, seemingly at random. But because of that it took quite some time before you got the hang of dealing with them as partners. On your own it had been easier to avoid romantic expressions, but with Ben it was harder to manage.  

The first time it happened after you’d started the QPR, you tried to push through, tried to ignore the tension you felt as he unexpectedly kissed you, his hands pulling you into him. There was a sudden urge to run away, your blood running cold, and Ben must have sensed that something was off. He was always observant where you were concerned. When he asked if something was wrong you pretended there wasn’t but he kept badgering you until you told him what was up. Unfortunately you sort of bit his head off, frustrated by the constant questions. You immediately regretted your tone and choice of words but the damage was done, Ben’s expression one of hurt and confusion. Before you could try to explain better he’d left the room. He gave you space for the rest of the day, barely crossing your path at all, but it was too much space, an overcorrection. And that made you mad more than anything else. After all you’d warned him that this happened sometimes, that you had days where you were repulsed by the thought of anything romantic, completely turned off by actions that could be read as such. How dare he be hurt by it, as if you were an inconvenience he had to endure. He was the one who suggested you do the QPR thing in the first place, why did he suddenly think it only included the times you were acting closest to a regular girlfriend. At that point you hadn’t yet moved into his house so you left and slept in your own bed that night, sick with worry that you’d ruined everything with Ben, that you’d wake up in the morning to find not only your QPR broken but that your best friend wouldn’t want anything more to do with you at all. You felt stupid to have thought that a QPR could work, that you could ever fit anywhere. Clearly you were meant to be alone.  

But the next morning brought rational thought and rational conversation as well as a higher tolerance for romance. Ben called to make sure you were okay, confessing to a fairly sleepless night spent worrying if you'd got home safe and feeling bad about how you’d left. But you could hear his smile when you invited him over to talk about it, could practically see it in your mind’s eye. And then you saw it for real, a proper grin, when you’d opened the door and dove into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. He’d squeezed you tight, relieved that things between you were still good. It took a serious conversation to sort out what had gone wrong. You tried to better explain what it was you felt - the queasy feeling at the idea of being involved in any sort of romantic act and the discomfort when confronted with romantic imagery or depictions of romance and romantic couples – reassuring Ben that it wasn’t anything he’d done, and he apologised for giving you the cold shoulder, admitting his distance had been because he wasn’t sure how to act around you. Talking it out helped and when you were done, both feeling like you better understood what would help the situation, you curled up in bed together to catch up on the sleep you’d missed.  

The next time, nearly six months later, you’d been better prepared and, though it was still a little rocky, it had gone smoother. Ben didn’t try to avoid you, so you didn’t feel as abandoned as you had the last time, but you made sure to maintain some distance from him, knowing his feelings were different to yours and not wanting to put him in any awkward situations. There were moments when neither of you knew what to do or say, moments when it felt like you were both treading on eggshells to try and avoid a repeat of the last time. But when you asked to take a break from the TV series you were halfway through because the romance plotline didn’t hold the same enjoyment it usually did, he seemed to understand and agreed to what you needed. The time after that had been barely a month later, far sooner than you were expecting. You supposed that your relationship with Ben was having an impact. After all it had been a while since you’d last been in a romantic relationship and though what you and Ben had wasn’t that, it did cross some of the same lines. Surely it was natural that your mind would try to balance things out by making you feel unequipped to deal with romantic subplots and sentimental love songs more often than before. Or at least that’s how to tried to explain it to Ben when he made a huffy comment about the increasing frequency of your romance repulsed days. If it hadn’t been for an interrupting phone call from his mum, you might have fallen into another fight. Instead, you spent the time he was on the phone thinking about why things felt so hard, trying to come up with possible solutions. You went over some activities in your head, comparing how you usually felt about them and what you felt when you were romance repulsed. Cheek kisses still felt okay because they were generally a way you showed affection to everyone you knew, but being kissed on the lips seemed to cross a line, no matter how it was done. Cuddling too could be okay depending on the context but you’d probably prefer not to just to be safe. Sex on the other hand was a big question mark You’d never tried having sex on a no romo day before, but you assumed if emphasis was put on the physical pleasure it could work, though maybe positions that didn’t force eye contact would be more enjoyable. But perhaps that was better left to be explored when you were both more comfortable with the situation. Even dinners out together and datey things like that could be doable if you didn’t have to deal with candlelight and intimate seating.  

As soon as Ben was finished on the phone you tried to explain your thought process to him.   “The way I think about it is like...regularly I have a mental picture of what actions I feel are platonic and what actions cross into romance. Sometimes those lines aren’t super clear like with kissing, but I know which it is when I see it or experience it.” “Right, like how you don’t mind spooning in bed and getting really close but on the couch you prefer to rest your head on my lap or whatever.” “Yes, exactly. It might all be considered variations on cuddling but to me there's a big difference in how they feel. Well a no romo day is like if you took all of those distinct lines and moved them over a little. The lines are still there but the image is distorted and not quite what I’m used to seeing.” “Okay,” he stretched the word out thoughtfully, “so...it’s not that everything feels romantic it’s just that your tolerance levels have changed?” “Yeah, I think so. It’s not easy for me to understand either. Especially since sometimes things change more than others. But yeah, that’s pretty much it. But my big question is what do you need? I don’t want this to become a big problem or cause fights every time it happens so, what’s going to help make it feel more normal for you?” Ben thought for a moment, “Physical contact. I don’t mean that in a sexual way either, just physical contact. I mean you know how touchy I can be. It grounds me. Even just a hug or, y’know, rubbing my back as you walk past me, things like that. A high five even. If we’re out with the others it’s not so bad cause they all know what I’m like too and none of them will mind if I lean on their shoulder or sit on their lap or whatever. But when it’s just us...I need that physical contact to feel settled and I guess it’s been harder to feel okay about it when you flinch away from me. Makes me feel wrong just because I want to be close to you.” You were a little stunned by the honest and carefully considered way he responded to your question, and felt a little bad about trying to force space between you, “I knew you liked that sort of thing but I guess I didn’t realise how important it is for you.” Ben shrugged, “Normally it’s something I don’t even think about. But with you lately it’s like I just haven’t known what to do.”He paused, biting the corner of his thumb nail as he thought, “I don’t think the way I love you is entirely platonic anymore. I mean it hasn’t been entirely platonic for a while now but those feelings aren’t going away. And I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or anything, it’s just how it is, and I think it’s part of why I’ve been so weird or whatever about this whole romance repulsion thing.” “Yeah it must be kinda hard to understand what I mean,” “I’m trying to understand it and I’m trying to be respectful. But you gotta give me a little more. And you have to be more understanding of where I’m coming from too.”

After that, you both made adjustments to accommodate the other and talked through what solutions worked and what didn’t. Ben spent some time consulting google for ideas and found you a playlist of songs that had aromantic vibes or at least could be reinterpreted so the romantic meaning was more relatable for you. And you made more of an effort to keep up a physical closeness with him – sitting shoulder to shoulder as you watched TV and shared a bag of microwave popcorn, rubbing your hand over his back as you stepped behind him in the kitchen, surprising him by placing a cold hand to his face or stomach when he wasn’t expecting it – even on regular days when you didn’t hate the way it felt to be held by him. You figured that emphasising those sorts of small physical gestures would help both of you in the long run. Every so often something would arise that needed a little extra discussion but you both took them in your stride and did your best to be accommodating and patient.  

And by the next time a no romo day occurred, things were as close to perfect as you could hope for. You wriggled out from under Ben’s arm when you woke, better able to recognise the sick feeling  creeping up on you. Stepping out of bed you switched Ben’s oversized sweatshirt for one of your own and tiptoed down to the kitchen putting your anti-romantic playlist on softly as you made coffee and toast. When Ben eventually surfaced he pressed his lips to your cheek but he already felt you wouldn’t want anything more than that, putting together the pieces and proved right as you gave a small shake of your head. He gave your waist a brief squeeze in acknowledgement before turning toward the fridge to begin his own morning routine. And just like that you knew things would be okay. You couldn’t say you knew what he felt or that you entirely understood it but, yet again, Ben had shown that his love for you was less about Love and more about you. And you hoped he could see that you cared for him just as strongly, even if you felt it differently.

[ozarkhealingtraditions]

Animism and Environmental Protection

More articles on my website! 

Animism lies at the heart of Ozark folk belief, although it’s a modern word you probably won’t hear many of the old timers using. In the mountains, this worldview manifests as a deep connection to the land, in particular the local bioregions that surround the individual and community. Old trees, caverns, natural springs, rivers, etc. are viewed not as lifeless land features, but rather as unique personalities with their own lifecycles and souls. Solitary trees in fields are often said to be protected by the “Little People” or Ozark land spirits, akin to the fairies from across the Celtic world, brought to these lands in the hearts of believers. Old growth trees hold their own roles within the spiritual hierarchy and often go by the names of “grandpa” or “grandma.” Natural springs were at one time fiercely protected by hillfolk because of their life-giving waters, used not only to sustain the body but also as sources of spiritual cleansing and healing. Legends and folktales abound about the invisible owners of certain caverns or large boulders that often stand out against the wash of the forest landscape.

Traditional views toward appeasing the land spirits is often simplified to maintaining a good relationship with these otherworldly inhabitants. Protecting and maintaining springs or allowing certain parts of the forest to remain wild are just a couple examples of this important take on environmental protection. A good balance with the natural world was at one time integral to not only the physical survival of hillfolk, but also a means to ensure good spiritual health for the community. This is an equilibrium lost to many modern inhabitants of the Ozarks with more and more reliance shifting off the land itself and onto local grocery stores, city water, and the pharmacy. For many though, this balance is still seen as a part of the Ozark identity. I myself have encountered many old timers who still give offerings of food, smoke, water, and other traditional items to these places of power in order to keep this tapestry of life intact.

This relationship with the land has birthed many traditions of environmental protection amongst those still living closely with the plants and animals of the mountains. It’s a culture rooted in the views of animism, which sees everything in the natural world as possessing its own unique identity. As opposed to many pantheistic worldviews, animism is deeply connected to the spirits of the local landscape as opposed to “higher” beings like gods and goddesses. The spirit of a mountain spring is then unique amongst other entities that might surround it. These guardians are often said to have had their own births at one time in the ancient past. Likewise, they aren’t always considered immortal. The destruction of these places of power then means the death of the individual spirit itself.

On one of my travels, I met an old man who was still shaken by the removal of a huge boulder near his home to make way for a modern road nearly thirty years before my arrival. His family had been on their land for several generations and recalled to mind many of their folktales about the spirits or Little People who had their villages inside the rock itself. It was common knowledge to the local community that disrespecting the rock would bring a curse not only upon the individual themselves, but also their family. This spiritual affliction would manifest as strange illnesses without any physical cure, and it was said the only remedy was apologizing to the Little People and making amends with certain food offerings. In a particularly sad part of our conversation, the old man said when the road crew removed and destroyed the boulder it sent a shockwave through his family. They themselves didn’t see any curses from the removal but he reckoned anyone who was a part of the work had. I asked him what he thought might have happened to the villages displaced by the act and he just shook his head saying, “When something like that happens, they’re [Little People] killed off…they can’t survive outside their homes.” In his words, this act was akin to genocide. It was almost as if members of his own family had been taken away to a very uncertain future.

This was by no means an isolated story and I’ve encountered many people, old timers and young folk alike across the Ozarks with similar tales of cutting down old growth forests, plugging up springs, and more. One woman I met said her family protected an old patch of ginseng near their family home for many generations. “Probably the last one around these parts,” she told me. Because the patch wasn’t on their land, they were unable to protect it from eventual clearing for new construction as the local town expanded. She still cursed the name of the developer, although he’d been dead for years. According to her, the ginseng had put a curse on his family for their disrespect. She said shortly after the houses were built, they had trouble with fires and power outages limited only to that spot. In addition, she said the developer’s family all became “sickly,” and eventually moved away from the area. Whether this tale was true or not, I don’t know, but there were others in the area with similar anecdotes about the situation.

When viewed in these terms, protecting the local environment takes on a very different life from simple ecology. The land is protected not just because of the vital food, water, and medicine it might provide, but because the spirits of the land become members of the family or clan itself. The same respect is shown to these invisible members of the community as it is to the living. Just like a person wouldn’t bulldozer over someone’s house, rip out a home garden, or poison a well, the land spirits are respected and left to their own lives and communities. Maintaining this equilibrium with the natural world then recognizes the vital importance the land has to offer to all those living there.

This belief has been such an important part of the Ozark worldview not just here on colonized land, but it stretches back to our ancient ancestors who didn’t see themselves as being separate or above the natural world but as just another link in the chain. The spirits of the land are important because they’re seen as being individual entities with their own stories, wisdom, and magic to offer. Just like when we lose our own tales, remedies, and other traditional knowledge with the passing of the older generations, never to regain them again, how much have we lost from ignoring the spirits of the land? How many grandpas and grandmas have been lost to us by being thrown into the gears of materialism and so-called progress?

For many people today, this animistic worldview is foreign to our modern mindset. Protecting the environment is left to those struggling in the Amazon rainforests, or those fighting for their rights to clean sources of water. We somehow see ourselves as too forgone, perhaps, or wholly apart from the problem. And meanwhile, our mountains are being leveled for new cookie-cutter housing subdivisions, forests uprooted to make straighter roads, and native prairies dug up and replaced with invasive ornamental plants not suited to our climate and local wildlife. Working towards healing this equilibrium starts with you and your home. Here are some other ways you can help protect the land.

Instead of planting invasive ornamentals like privet, bush honeysuckle, nandina, or bamboo, consult local nurseries that specialize in native alternatives. In many cases, native varieties of plants have much more to offer. They are usually better suited to our climate, require less water, and provide a plentiful source of food for both pollinators and birds. They also add to the seedbank of the land. Seeds travel across large stretches of land by air or are carried by local wildlife. Planting with natives ensures the spread of these important species that are too often shaded out and killed by invasive varieties. You can even help out if you’re living in an apartment with little access to the land. Several friends of mine living in apartments have started planting native flowers in pots on their balconies to attract local pollinators. Many of these wildflowers are also edible and used in traditional Ozark medicines.

Reconsider removing large trees on your property and instead try and maintain them by trimming properly.

Spay and neuter your outdoor cats and participate in local programs to catch and release feral cats. Along with deforestation, outdoor cats are the number one source of native songbird loss here in the Ozarks.

Consider volunteering with groups who help to return natural areas to a more sustainable system. There are several here in Northwest Arkansas who go out to the local trails at certain times of the year and pull out invasive plant species that are killing out the native varieties. If you don’t have a group around you, consider starting one! Consult your local extension office for guides to invasive plants affecting the area.

Protect springs and other natural water sources by volunteering to clean up trash around the area. If you’re unsure of how to clean and maintain natural springs on your own property, contact your local extension office.

Honor the spirits of old trees, springs, and mountains with traditional Ozark offerings of loose tobacco, cornmeal, beans, milk, and water.

Many of these suggestions are doable not only for people who own land but even for those living in apartments or on small lots. Whether you’re someone interested in animism as a worldview, an environmental protection advocate, or even someone who doesn’t really like going outside, it’s important to reconsider your own relationship to the land and help out where you feel comfortable. Extreme actions like chaining yourself to an old growth tree about to be removed aren’t required for caring about the natural world around you.

[audreycritter]

how do you balance creating fan works with juggling your responsibilities? I've been struggling with finding the time/motivation to write what I want.

First, my creativity output tends to come and go in waves. Some weeks I’m writing 1-3k a day, some weeks I don’t even open documents at all. Some weeks are in-between, where I open stuff and poke around and do a few hundred words here and there, but not much more. The “off” times I’m usually reading, playing games, watching movies or shows, talking to friends, and thinking about stories or scenes. Sometimes, this isn’t even anything I’ll ever write! Sometimes, I don’t think about stories I’m writing at all. It’s more whatever pops into my head and less structured.  Part of me wants to be Disciplined and write every day, but the reality is that unless it’s a very tiny limit like 100-200 words, this really isn’t doable for me. I have kids I homeschool, I have a house and a husband and a dog and there are times in life when I need to deep clean a bunch of rooms, or plan out school stuff, or go on hikes, and I still have to have time to recharge. Writing sometimes is that recharging, but I can’t afford to force it when it isn’t. 

Because the reality is that to find that time, you have to give up something. There isn’t a version of the equation where “finding time” involves creating more time than you already have. The things I can afford to cut out to work on writing are the things I do in my own entertainment time-- I write instead of doing those things at all, or as much. So, I tend to write when it’s the thing I want to do, and enjoy doing, because otherwise it would be an emotional and mental drain I couldn’t afford. When I’m writing a lot in a day, it means I’m not really reading fic or novels, I’m not watching much TV, I spend way less time chatting online, I don’t really scroll tumblr as much, I’m not playing video games. The things I usually do in the bit of time in the afternoons or evenings when I have a chance to just do something I want to do, that’s what I give up to make room. (Sometimes, I give up sleep, but I don’t recommend doing this often. I can’t say I fully regret the times when I’m on a roll and stay up super late, but this really isn’t healthy or sustainable long-term because I’m not in a position to sleep in late-- if you can afford to sleep in late, that might be different.) Two caveats: This is a fact, but not always a conscious decision. Sometimes, I might actually think, “Okay, so I’m not going to have time to watch this tonight after all,” but that’s pretty rare. Usually, if I’m giving up stuff to write, it’s just the natural consequence of really wanting to write and enjoying it and focusing on it. The same as if I’d gotten sucked into a really good book and spent the evening/night reading-- I’m not consciously deciding “I will give up other entertainment options for this today,” as much as I’m just doing the thing I want to do. The second caveat is that I have ADHD! Wanting to write and getting started can be two different things because of my difficulty switching tasks or starting a task. The rule that tends to help me the most are on the days I want to write, or think I want to write, and have stuff I’ve been thinking about writing, but keep not getting started, I give myself ten minutes alone with an open document. A timer, ten minutes, the document, and nothing else. No app switching, no scrolling, no background chores. Those ten minutes of boredom don’t always kickstart writing, but they give me the chance to determine if writing is the thing I actually want to do that day. I get going and I’m on a roll and I ignore the timer when it goes off, or I poke around, maybe write a few words, and the timer beeps and I’m free to go do something else because it’s not a good writing day. 

I’m not always the best at balancing, to be honest. Sometimes, I give up sleep, or put off minor chores. Sometimes, I forget to eat. I do not recommend these, but I think it’s okay if you’re WORKING at balancing and sometimes realize you’ve made an error, as long as you scramble to catch up and give yourself some space to learn. Because my responsibilities are centered around tiny humans, I have a framework of school and meal times I can’t ignore; if your responsibilities are more “quiet” and easier to overlook (like homework, or self-care, or work from home) you might need to just teach yourself to not even open documents until you’ve done certain tasks. Jot down notes if you’re afraid you’ll lose something! But don’t buy into the myth that a “real writer” is completely controlled by impulse and whim. Will there be rare days when you ignore everything else to write for four hours? Maybe! But that shouldn’t be the goal, or the norm, because unless you have a household staff and responsibilities that cater to your whims, it’s really not realistic or healthy. 

The big things are to figure out how to be hard on yourself and how to be gentle with yourself. If you’re too tired, really want to watch a show, overwhelmed by work, just need to talk to a friend or chat server for an hour, it’s okay to just do those things and not feel guilty. Unless you are writing fulltime as your job, it is a hobby and you don’t “have” to achieve a certain level of productivity to be valid as a writer. The times to be hard on yourself are when you know you want to write, and are enjoying the actual process, but your brain isn’t trained to focus on it for stretches of time-- when you’re writing and think of something to tell a friend, wander about a random fact, want to check tumblr when you pause to think about a sentence, that’s when you sternly tell yourself “no, give it thirty seconds before you jump away from this task” and see if you end up getting unstuck with that little breath of boredom space. If you’re really disengaging, that’s okay, but your brain might just need to build the muscle of staying focused on the structure of creative output. It’s a muscle! You might WANT to do fifty pushups, but if you haven’t made your body stick out five for a while, and then ten, and built up, it’s probably not going to cooperate and you’ll feel miserable and broken and useless if you just try to get to fifty the first time. But...building to fifty requires not getting distracted and wandering away when you’ve only done 2 of 5 the week you’re working on sets of five.  My only other recommendation if you haven’t done a lot of writing before is to not fall into the editing trap. Unless you just REALLY LOVE EDITING and it engages and charges you to write more, don’t get stuck in the loop of opening a document or a notebook to write and spending all your time editing the few paragraphs you already have. A lot of the first draft stuff will probably suck. That’s okay. Just finish the thing. You know the cake analogy in fandom? “Write that hurt/comfort, it’s just more cake!”? Getting stuck editing the first bit of a story over and over until it’s polished is sort of like looking at a bowl of three ingredients of a cake recipe and going “This doesn’t look much like cake, maybe if I add more flour...” until you have a bowl full of something that really isn’t cake and isn’t anything closer to cake, no matter how pretty you’ve made those three ingredients look in the bowl. Maybe it’s a very lovely color and has pretty sprinkles on it! Still not a cake. You’ve wasted your limited time, and worn yourself out, and you know you still don’t really have anything closer to a cake to pull out of the oven and show off. The time to edit is when the cake is done and cooling, and you’re making icing and picking out trimmings and cutting up fruit and shaving chocolate or whatever.  And then the next cake will probably be better because you practiced doing the whole thing and have a better idea of what to do and not do the next time. Then, opening a document or grabbing a pen and notebook can be a new, engaging chance to create instead of “oh it’s this same stale bowl of aesthetic half-batter.” (Again, if you find editing as you go super recharging, ignore this-- some people are just very good at tweaking batter as they go without stalling completely-- just give yourself the time to figure that out.)  I hope this helps! Feel free to send follow-up questions or clarifications if I misunderstood something or you want a differently structured answer or just MORE INFORMATIONS.

[agentofmischief]

What I want to see in future Sims Games (Discussion)

I was just watching a video on youtube by Plumbella about Sims 4′s failings at launch, and what still is lacking versus the previous games. A lot of it I agreed with, because I didn’t start playing Sims 4 until 2 years after it’s release because they didn’t have toddlers and pools, which to me was sacrilege. Why would I play a sims game that took a huge step back by removing toddlers? And what sims game doesn’t have a pool mechanic? How am I supposed to mass kill my sims?

Anyway, after watching it, I began thinking about what I’d like to see in the next generation. It’s likely not far off, as it’s been 8 years since the release of Sims 4, and usually each generation has run 5 years. And as a simmer since Sims 1, here’s a list of what I’d like to see in the next edition, or Sims 5. I’d like to discuss this, so if ya’ll have any additions or points, I’d like to read them.

For Sims 5, what I'd like to see:

-Better semi-open world, so we can go within a neighborhood lot to lot with ease, but load for a different part of town maybe.

-3D world/town maps

-Auto-age toggling (like we have in 4)

-Build/design neighborhood lots and locations (like in Sims 2). *This was one of my favorite parts of the sims 2, and I've been missing it in recent base games. It's not exactly world building like Sims 3 had in an expansion pack, because from what I heard it was a bit much. But maybe I'd like to turn the island in Brindleton Bay into a small community town with 4-5 15x20 lots or 3 varying lots. It could work with a semi-open world because while you’d control the lot sizes in a neighborhood to a point, the size of the neighborhood is still the same.

-Set life story for townies/npcs. *As an adult, I'm appreciating the lore around the sims more than I did as a kid.

-Color-wheel, at least for CAS. *I don't think it's necessary for build, because while it was fun in sims 3, it was also bit much. I am preferring the swatch options for build and buy. It's a lot more realistic. But hair color, eye color, skin color, and makeup are all highly different person to person. There is no reason not to have a color-wheel for those.

-Zodiac and better personality system. *In 4, we have 3 traits and a life goal, completely ignoring the zodiac scales in previous games, which provided better character personality for gameplay. In 3, we had 5 traits that essentially covered it, as the zodiac scales always had 5 sliders anyway, but it did mean we lost the base personality aspects, and those sliders. I can understand EA wanting to steer away from Zodiac signs, but maybe move to an MBTI slider scale instead, which would still add a lot more dynamic character personalities, with 3 additional traits for preferences, hobbies, and lifestyles.

-Gender toggling *we have it in sims 4, and it should continue in future editions.

-Memories and want/fears system over whims *These were in 2 and 3, and were so much better for storytelling reasons. Emotions are fun sometimes, but can be annoying. Especially when a neighbor dies during the welcome wagon, and your sim is sad for 5 days for mourning when they didn't even know them. Maybe an emotion system that works with memories and a wants/fears system.

-Extensive family trees *In sims 2 and 3, you could see a full family tree on one page, rather than just one sim’s immediate family tree.

-Sims Gallery system *easily best part of sims 4 for the community on the whole.

-Bendable stairs *amazing sims 4 addition that needs to continue

-Automatic roofs *I miss this from 2 & 3, because it took me years to figure out how to make good roofs, and I'm too lazy to put in 50 roof pieces.

-Terrain tools *These were in sims 2 & 3 base game on release, but were added way late in sims 4.

-Cars! *They were in 2&3. Why they were never put in 4 is beyond me.

-Risky Woohoos and Fertility toggling *MCC mod allows this, and makes for better story-telling in my opinion. With the evolution of woohooing since the first game, and the evolution of where sim babies come from (1st gen was kissing a lot until *boom* baby. Woohooing was only with one certain bed or jacuzzi, and did not make a baby. It wasn’t until Sims 2 did that change.), it feels like a natural progression for that mechanic. And thanks to MCC, we know its possible within the game mechanics.

Most of these we have now in sims 4, but if Sims 5 had all but one or two at launch, I feel like that would be a generation worth buying at release. Some fun additional ideas I have that I think would make the game fun, but maybe not doable for a while (or maybe at all) would be:

-Reboot Sims City as a fusion game with the sims to allow simmers to bring over towns/cities as a neighborhood base. *Like take sim city back to the bare bones idea it was when it came out of Super Nintendo of being the mayor and building one city, but allow players to also play as the sims within that town.

-Add 2 new ages: Preteen and Middle-Aged *I feel like this would add a lot of game-play value as well as storytelling to the game. Preteen could be used to really experiment with likes & dislikes and hobbies, since that time kids are really discovering who they are. It’s weird to see sims go from literal children to pretty much young adults with the teen styles. Personally, it feels like the age body-wise jumps from 6-10 to 16-19, which is a serious jump. And Middle-Aged would add so much elder gameplay. YA = 19-29 Adult = 30-70 now, when it should be 30-49. With an addition of Middle-Aged would be 50-69, and you could still have work-life, while losing the ability to try for baby when your sims are practically grandparents already. You could also have a mid-life crisis mechanic. All without worrying that your sim is going to die of old age after 2 days.

I know this has been a long-winded list. If you’ve read this far, thanks. Leave a comment on your thoughts. What should be in the next generation of Sims?

[joon-ipersgirl]

O7 - “the promising proposition”

genre: mafia!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, mystery-thriller

pairing: namjoon x reader (f)

word count: 5.1k

warnings: cursing (if i miss any, let me know!)

summary: charismatic. beautiful. fearless without question. the ambitious team of seven young men in charge of spiral, downtown district’s hottest new club go above and beyond to provide 100% satisfaction to their clients. 

after an eventful night out, you have no choice but to join the team for property damages greater than your intern salary. challenging a series of events that can no longer be left to coincidence, secrets threaten to burst at the seams as your professional and private life collide, and another - more sinister - debt is added to your total. 

how far are you willing to go to pay back your pound of flesh? remember, nothing is ever as it seems...

a/n: it’s been a minute but we’re back! winter break is here and i’m determined to write so here’s part 7 as i still work on my tae halloween fic (whew) and some more holiday related scenarios/oneshots. thank you all for being so patient and i hope you enjoy this next part. i only have one more pre-written part for this story so updates may be even slower lol. as always, send your reactions as they make me super happy lmao. thank you vi for beta-reading this and enjoy everyone!

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

The four of you sit in Manager Kim’s office, tense. Well, three as Paul had ruined his chances during last week’s meeting but you know he can feel the heaviness in the air as you wait for Madeline’s decision. She sits comfortably behind her large desk after calling you in to tell you who’d be assisting her on the Cavallero project. Her large, black fedora is propped on her head at a dangerous angle as she has her feet kicked up on her desk, her signature steel toed boots accentuating her full black outfit. You’d spent the previous days in the breakroom trying to figure out what made this project a higher priority than the rest of the contracts you’d acquired and who would be the lucky winner.

“Lovely of you all to join me, though Paul you were not really needed.” He tries his best to hide behind Laura from Manager Kim’s disappointed stare, but to no avail. “I know you all have been eagerly anticipating which one of you lucky interns will have the privilege of working with me on the first part of the Cavallero contract. You’ll find out shortly as his assistant will be dropping off the final notes on what he expects to see at the event; I’ll send one of you down to fetch him. We’ll have a brief meeting afterwards and then get to work. The rest of you will work under that person, following their orders diligently. Now, I need updates on the rest of our projects. Where are we?”

You barely listen as James rattles off what he was able to accomplish with the Emmerson’s engagement party. You think his design is doable, chic for an event planned in spring, but lacking in some of the finer details you know the future Mrs. Emmerson would appreciate; she’s a woman after your own heart with her love for champagne, meals created by chefs with Michelin stars, and exquisite fine china. Of course Madeline would pit you against each other for this job though. Not that you mind, you’re more than capable of fighting for what you believe is mine. It’s just less work when it’s given to you nicely packaged. Like the gifts you’re sure future Mrs. Emmerson would like to receive from her future husband’s wealthy friends.

“Y/N?” You focus back on Manager Kim who’s waiting expectantly, her glasses slipping down her nose. “The Williams’? What’s going on there? Or have you not made any progress?”

“The Williams have signed off on the zoo theme for their son,” James interjets before you can gather your thoughts. “We’re looking into finding the best face painters in the city and we’ve almost secured a catering contract for the 150 vegan cupcakes Mrs. Williams ordered. The invitations are currently being designed based on the chosen theme and will be ready for client approval next week.”

“Very good, James. Please send me a copy of your notes to be added into the file. Y/N, I expect better from you. That’s everything I have for today. You’re all dismissed,” she finishes with a wave of her hand, her glasses sliding down her nose once again as she searches for one particular document on her desk.

You don’t wait for the rest of them to follow as you make your way back to the tiny cubicle-like room you share. Manager Kim normally never calls you out in front of the rest of them and you’re fuming. Tossing down your legal pad, you whirl around as the three of them enter the room.

“What the fuck, James?!” you hiss as he calmly sits behind his desk and resumes typing on his computer.

“Looks like the Princess is upset,” Paul stage-whispers to Laura as he too sits down. You ignore him. He’s just as irrelevant beforehand as he is now.

“What do you need, Y/N? I have to send the notes from the meeting to Manager Kim,” James responds, not looking up at you. Your face further sours.

“You read my fucking files?! That wasn’t your event to handle and you know that!” you yell.

“Well, you took too long to respond -”

“I had barely opened my mouth -”

“- and Manager Kim needed a response, so I responded,” he finishes, ignoring your outburst.

“Y/N, please calm down. We don’t want to make a scene,” Laura pleads.

“Calm down? Laura, he made me look incompetent,” you argue.

“But you are, Y/N.” You pause and turn to James once again. Disbelief is written across your face as you stare each other down. You were the imcompetent one? “You should be ready to answer any question about any event J&M has going on whether it’s your’s or someone else’s. It’s not my fault that you were never taught the basics of efficiency in a company. The job has to get done and I completed the task. Simple,” he finishes. His incessant typing is all you hear as you stare at him. James had never been this bold before. Especially not with you.

“Watch your mouth, James,” you tell him coolly.

“Furthermore, your failure in that meeting shows that you’re incapable of handling bigger projects. I mean, you couldn’t recall the most straightforward details of a birthday party for a six-year-old child. Why should Manager Kim trust you to work on the coveted Cavallero contract? You’ve given her no reason to. All you’ve done is eliminated yourself from the running, effectively leaving Laura and I. Which is no challenge because -  no offense Laura - you’re not really competition. I just hope you guys can maange when my hands are full with this project.”

You laugh as Laura cowers. You weren’t sure whether it was from the sound or James’ particularly harsh words, but the atmosphere in the room was much worse than in the meeting. Biting back the words you really wanted to tell him, you heed Laura’s advice and decide to not cause a scene. This is a professional establishment and you need this job. There are goals you want to accomplish and you wouldn’t let a slimy bastard like James Carter distract you. He’d finally shown his true colors - what he really thought of you - and you’re only grateful the others had been around to witness it.

“Alright, James. It seems like you’ve been holding back on us. Just remember: a word once let out of a cage cannot be whistled back again,” you tell him as you resume your duties at your desk. Flipping open a new page of your legal pad, you write neatly at the top: Emmerson Engagement. If James thought he had bested you, he had another thing coming.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Laura asks as she joins you in the staff room for lunch.

“Never better,” you reply, sipping on your iced coffee as you warm your leftover lasagna in the microwave. Gods bless your sweet, sweet roommate.

“What James said to you this morning was pretty harsh,” she says as she makes herself a steaming cup of green tea. Always the health conscious one that girl.

“James seems to be tired of our shit,” you chuckle. “I’ve heard worse though, Laura. Don’t worry about me. He said some pretty harsh things about you, too.”

She nods. “I didn’t think he could be so mean! And counting me out?! I worked really hard on my designs!” Laura’s voice doesn’t sound too sure, but you nod in agreeance.

“Your bridal party design last spring was very well done,” you tell her around a mouthful of lasagna.

“Exactly!” she says in a huff as she plops down across from you, nearly burning herself in the process. “And your event was really good too! The one you did a few months ago,” she trails off. You laugh.

“Which one was that?”

“You know, the one for the family with that really fancy theme? And lots of people came...”

“Oh, the Winter Wonderland scene on the ice rink?”

“Yes, that one!” she exclaims.

“That was Marie’s project before she got transferred to Jenson’s team,” you say with a laugh. Laura almost chokes on her tea as you wipe your mouth clean. “No need for you to try and make me feel better by pretending to remember something I’ve worked on. I’m honestly fine,” you chuckle again.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry -”

“Y/N?” James stands in the doorway looking quite displeased. You raise your eyebrows at him in response. “Manager Kim would like to see you in her office. Please make it quick as I’m going to get Mr. Cavallero’s assistant soon.” You laugh loudly.

“Of course, James. I’ll be sure to let Manager Kim know you’d like her to rush her meeting for your convenience.”

He scowls as you brush past him, your half-eaten lunch and coffee in hand. Mercury must be in retrograde for James to think that he can make demands of you any type of way. It seems that you need to put him back in his place; he’d gotten too comfortable with the little office jokes you all shared. Grabbing your legal pad and pen, you smooth down the little flyaway hairs and your white button down shirt; you couldn’t receive another lashing looking unkempt. Knocking on the door, you wait for Manager Kim to answer before you enter.

“You asked to see me, Manager Kim?”

“Yes. Please take a seat, Y/N. I’ll be with you in a second,” she replies as she finishes typing on her computer. You sit gingerly in the unoccupied chair as you’d done this morning and wait for her to rip into you. “Right. Let’s get to it. What was that this morning?” You inhale deeply.

“Honestly, I was thinking about James’ event and mentally noting changes I would make as possible suggestions to him when you called on me. I wasn’t dozing off because I was bored,” you answer.

“Hmm. And what changes would you have made?” she asks curiously as she gives you her undivided attention.

“Well, the future Mrs. Emmerson is a woman of prestige. Class. While roses are a classic choice, white tulips are pre-on-trend and I think she would enjoy being a part of that group. He also chose the Dom Perignon champagne, but I thought Veuve Clicquot would be the better option. High price doesn’t always mean high flavor. I do agree with his choice of venue though. The high ceilings will look great in the low afternoon light and the white lights in the evening will make for great photos,” I finished. “But of course, the client is always right and if this is her chosen design, we’ll go with that.”

Manager Kim stares at you until you start to feel slightly uncomfortable under her gaze. You know you hadn’t overstepped and she had asked for your honest opinion, but when sitting in front of one of the best event designers in the game, second guessing yourself is inevitable.

“You didn’t think to say anything earlier in the meeting?” she asks.

“I wasn’t aware that giving opinions on other people’s events was ideal during a regular updates meeting.”

“You should speak up more. Your ideas aren’t as bad as you think they are,” Madeline says as she leans back in her chair. “How else do you expect to lead any major project?”

Just as you’re going to respond, a knock sounds at the door. “Come in!” Manager Kim yells.

“Should I leave? James did say he was going to collect Mr. Cavallero’s assistant,” you trail off, getting ready to stand.

“No. No, you’re fine,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Ah, Mr. Carlisle - oh! And Mr. Cavallero! What a surprise! I didn’t know you would be joining us,” Manager Kim says as she stands and you follow suit.

“I happened to have some free time and decided to tag along as Lewis was dropping off the notes. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it would be helpful to have me here in case you had any questions that needed direct attention,” Mr. Cavallero responds. “And please, call me Jonas.”

Mr. Cavallero, or Jonas as he would like to be referred to, is dressed in his typical big spender suit: a deep navy blue suit with a pristine white buttoned-down shirt and pre-released Versace patent leather monk strap shoes. His aura fills the entire space, though he only stands in the doorway of Madeline’s office. You can practically feel the gel between your fingers as you look at his salt-and-pepper slicked back hair; the sheen is almost as bright as his shoes.

“And Miss Y/L/N, yes? What a pleasure to see you again. Will you be sitting in on this meeting as well? Lewis could only sing your praises after you left,” he asks. You struggle to keep your face neutral as James’ searing gaze washes over you. You know Manager Kim’s ears must be red as her secretive meeting is foiled by her best client.

“Actually, I was just -”

“- going to bring the file for the event as you were previously suggesting. Right, Y/N?” Manager Kim says as she turns to you with a stiff smile. “You are our chosen intern, afterall.” You can barely contain your gasp as she says the words. You had gotten the contract?! James does not try to hide his shock at her statement as his eyes widen and his mouth nearly falls open.

“It’ll be a pleasure working with you again, Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Carlisle says with a smile.

“Of course,” you reply with a deep head nod. “I look forward to working with you both as well. I’ll be back with your file shortly.”

“Thank you, Y/N. And thank you James for going to get them. You may leave now,” Manager Kim adds as she turns her attention back to her guests, inviting them to sit and make themselves comfortable.

You walk calmly, though you feel anything but that, across the room as James holds the door open for you. Pleading with the gods to be on your side, you race ahead of him to the breakroom for fresh, new bottles of water - a sight to see in a knee length pencil skirt and the infamous 4-inch stilettos that are apparently still required in this day and age. Your office is filled with hushed whispers until you round the corner and enter the small room.

“You got the Cavallero project?!” Paul exclaims. “Holy shit! You’re better than I thought, Y/N!” You laugh as you search your desk for the copy of the previous plans you’d developed from that day’s secret meeting.

“Congratulations, Y/N!” Laura cheers, bouncing up and down. “Your first real major project. Isn’t that exciting, James?”

“Sure. If you can be happy for someone who fucked her way to get the position,” he says biterrly. “Lewis could only sing your praises after you left?” James scoffs. “Sounds like you worked really hard in that meeting.”

“James!” Laura gasps.

“Oh it’s fine, Laura. If you think that James, I can’t stop you,” you say with a shrug. “But I’ll be happy to discuss my scandalous sex life with you after I meet with our coveted client.”

You prance out of the office with a smug smile on your face. Of course James would resort to a low blow because he didn’t get what he wanted; he was worse than the six-year-old child he had reprimanded you about. Tucking the fake file under your arm as the real one is still in Madeline’s office, you carry the bottles of water back to the meeting. After passing the bottles to your clients, you stand diligently behind Manager Kim with your notepad at the ready.

“Please Miss Y/L/N, take my seat,” Jonas says, standing.

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“I insist. I do my best thinking standing up.”

“He does this often in his office,” Lewis agrees. Glancing at Manager Kim, you gingerly sit down on the end of the chair after thanking Jonas again.

“You had mentioned that you enjoyed the designs Y/N had developed, but as you know these are drafts and can be changed as you deem fit, Mr. Cavallero. Are there any things that come to mind or can we work on finalizing these details?” Madeline asks. You watch as Jonas strides around the office, seemingly in thought.

“You proposed hosting the event at one of the upscale hotels downtown, but I was wondering if you had any other options. We want the environment to feel lavish, but not over the top,” he replies. “I was actually thinking of something -” he pauses “ - more intimate.”

Writing down his wishes, you rack your brain for places that fit his description. Most clients of his caliber wanted something extravagant, but Jonas was proving to be a very different man. Quite the surprise that you were not expecting. “Would you like something with more modern architecture or classical?” you ask.

“I have always been a fan of French architecture; the European style also seems to be popular among our own clients. Most of them come from European backgrounds,” Jonas answers.

“They might find the interior design reminiscent,” Madeline thinks aloud and jots it down.

“It could be very good for signing contracts, sir,” Lewis adds.

“I may have a suggestion. Chateau’s is a little outside of the city, but the view is magnificent. It’s family owned so that may benefit you with your clients as well. It also has a rooftop that would look great in the afternoon sun as well as the late evening should the event last longer than expected,” you suggest. “I’ve also read great reviews saying that the food is well prepared too.”

“This could lower your costs for your first event and more money can be reserved for the benefit gala you’re also organizing,” Madeline sneaks in. She’s right, of course. A benefit gala planned by Madeline Kim would require much more than what Mr. Cavallero had said he was okay with spending, but he didn’t need to know that right now.

“Hmm,” he ponders turning around. “This sounds doable. I’d like to see what you can come up with for designs for this new place as well as scheduling a visit to see it for myself. All of this can be done before the initial deadline of securing a venue, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Madeline responds and you keep your composure as you review your mental calendar of events knowing this would be difficult to pull off. Brunch is scheduled a month and a half from today’s date meaning you had to somehow convince Chateau’s to take on your client, create an acceptable menu, and allow you to make any decorating changes within two weeks to make the deadline. Madeline is batshit crazy, but it would have to get done to secure the benefit gala - the whole reason for the company even accepting this contract.

“I can have all the details typed and sent to you within the next week. I’ll also keep the downtown hotel as an option if Chateau's is unavailable for your intended date. I’m sure we can use the rooftop of a hotel to create an intimate setting that your guests would enjoy,” you add. “I would also like to request the location of the benefit gala. I understand this is a very important event for your law firm and I would like to begin drafting plans for your approval at the earliest convenience.”

“Yes, of course. We use the Finca Corte as they have the best grand ballroom in the city. Lewis, please send Miss Y/L/N the past itineraries of the event so she may have a better understanding of the atmosphere we wish to create for our guests.” Lewis nods and makes his own notes, before his wrist watch alarms.

“Ah, Mr. Cavallero. Your 4pm meeting is on time this afternoon. We should leave now so you aren’t late,” Lewis warns. Jonas nods and you all stood to say your goodbyes.

“Please, if you need anything, reach out to Lewis and he’ll get in contact with me so I can answer any of your questions,” Jonas says with a smile as he shakes your hands.

“Of course, Mr. Cavallero. Please feel free to do the same,” Madeline replies though you can hear the tightness in her voice and for the third time, you wonder what her relationship is with Jonas. They had to have had some history for her to always seem on edge in his presence.

“Let me walk you both downstairs,” you offer. J&M isn’t as large as Hastings and Lewis, but there are many twists and turns on each floor that guests could get lost in.

You don’t turn your head as you pass your tiny office space and head for the elevator. You wouldn’t give any of those fuckers your attention in the presence of high quality clientele. It’s cramped inside but not uncomfortable as you ride down from the fourth floor. Jonas turns to you once again as you stand in the lobby.

“Again Miss Y/L/N, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. Lewis would be happy to answer any of your questions if you can’t get in contact with me,” he says and hands you his business card.

“I actually did have one question before you go. Well two actually. Finca Corte - it isn’t a chain, is it? Just one location?”

“Right. On 17th and Main near the Grande Theatre, but the next block over,” Jonas replies.

“And there’s no need to call and reserve the date? The notes Lewis had given us hadn’t mentioned anything about the date or a deposit,” you state.

“No, the firm takes care of those details. The benefit gala is always reserved for the third Saturday in May every year,” Lewis responds. Three months from now, you think.

“Oh, wonderful. I know you have to get going so I’ll email you any other questions, Lewis. Thank you again. Please return to the firm safely,” you say cheerly and wave. They return it and you wait for them to get into their sleek town car before you let your face fall into a frown. You’d never been to or heard of Finca Corte before, but why did the location seem so familiar? You try not to dwell on it too much as you head back upstairs. There are more pressing matters at hand, like putting James back into the roach-infested place he’d crawled out of. You grin as you head off the elevator.

Rosalia greets you as you enter the old two-bedroom apartment you share. Slipping off your heels that you’re sure has blood crusted into the toes from excessive wear, you scratch behind her ears as she purrs. She’s one of the better things to happen to you in your life and you’re grateful for her little pieces of affection even though you’re positive she had made some attempts to smother you in your sleep so she could have your bed.

“You’re home?” Amaya calls out from her hidden position on the couch.

“Yeah! Did you make dinner?” you ask as you follow your nose to the kitchen where a large pot stews on the stove.

“Of course I did. We all know you’d starve if I didn’t cook,” she says as she bumps you out of the way to check on the food. You mock her as you sit down at the antique metal table that you rarely ate at, choosing to have your meals in the much more comfortable living room on the sofa.

“I could survive!” you yell, trying to defend yourself, but Amaya isn’t having it.

“You couldn’t. Was the lasagna okay today, though?” she asks, changing the subject.

“The best. You should really consider opening a restaurant and forgetting all this computer engineer stuff,” you tell her seriously.

“Ha! As if that would pay off these loans. Either way, this is an investment. Once I’m done with this degree, I’ll be able to program computers to make these dishes for me and rake in a ton of money to get us out of this place,” she says with determination.

Amaya is a third year computer engineering student at Oberman University. Surprisingly smaller than you, she carries as much kick as you do, the two of you getting into numerous instances of mild misdemeanors. Amaya had actually hacked a few systems after she had found out that you weren’t really registered for classes at the University so you could get some credit; she’s a computer genius. Thanks to her, you technically have an Associates degree, but of course Oberman would never grant it to you unless you actually re-enroll. Amaya doesn’t take anyone’s shit though she looks like she’s 12 with her big green eyes and short blunt bob, the bangs a little too long and falling into her eyes.

“Thank you for including me in your plans for world domination, Aya,” you say while taking your hair out of your bun.

“Of course. You know you’re family to me, even though you leave your fucking dishes in the sink,” she replies while placing a piping bowl of beef stew and white rice in front of you. You thank the gods for her as you tuck in, burning your tongue in the process.

“I love you. So, so, so much.”

“Are you talking to me or the stew?” she asks with a laugh as she blows her food to cool it down. You laugh in response. “How was work? Oh my gosh, did you get the project?!”

You grin and nod. “I did!” She squeals in delight and claps her hands. “Though James was extremely displeased. He actually called me incompetent -”

“Hold on. He called you incompetent? Has he seen his progress report? And wasn’t he the one that forgot to submit his file that made that whole project you did a few months ago late?”

“Right. He was so shocked when Madeline announced it was me, even insinuated that I fucked my way to get the position. Kim was heated that Jonas mentioned our meeting while he was in the room though because it was supposed to be a secret,” you explain.

“Of course he would say something like that.” She rolls her eyes. “There seem to be a lot of secrets happening around you. Speaking of which, when do you head back to Spiral to snoop?” Amaya asks. “Do you think you can find anything in the hallway? Maybe you should break into Suga’s office or something,” she suggests.

“Friday night and I don’t think Suga would leave anything lying around like that for me to see again, not after I’m pretty sure he caught me reading his papers a few weeks ago,” you reply, pushing the rice around the plate. That had been extremely careless and might have killed a lead to your mini investigation before it had even begun.

“The one with all that information right? Gosh, I wish you had my photographic brain, that way you could have written down what you had seen and we could solve this whole mystery,” she groans.

“Oh no, Aya. I don’t want you getting involved with this. It seems way too dangerous and you -”

“- have my whole life ahead of me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. But I want to know where this guy went. Like what if he’s still out there and looking for you?” she questions.

“I know, I know. I don’t want you worrying about it though. I can handle it,” you promise. “I feel like I’ve seen the address before though, but I can’t figure out where.” You rub your forehead as if you could magically make the numbers appear in your mind again. Aya’s photographic memory really would have come in handy.

“What about the date?” Amaya asks. “Or the name? You said the name was weird, unusual.” You nod. What had it said?

“There was a date, a location, and a name with an amount of money. Like a contract or something,” you sigh. “It looked really similar to the ones we have at work. Fuck. I don’t know. Between this and planning the benefit gala, my brain feels like it’s going to explode.” Amaya laughs as she finishes her dinner.

“Please don’t hurt yourself. It’ll come to you,” she says, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Well, I have Calc 3 homework to finish and these theorems won’t do themselves so I’ll see you in the morning. Wash your fucking plate,” she finishes and pointes her finger at you. You hold up your hands in surrender as she leaves hers in the sink for you to clean. It’s the least you can do as she made all your meals.

Grabbing your purse and lugging it behind you after washing the dishes, you head to your room, Rosalia following in tow. Surprisingly, your bed is still intact which means that Amaya had made sure Rosalia hadn’t gotten into your room. Bless her. Not that there was much to get into as you the minimum possessions a person could have: a bed, a few photos, and enough clothes to last you a few weeks without doing laundry. You place your files and notepads onto your bed, eager to go and take a shower before organizing your notes in preparation for the debrief you would no doubt have to give to the rest of your colleagues tomorrow.

“Was your day as long as mine, Rosalia?” You scratch her head as she hops up on your bed and makes herself at home between your papers, a few of them scattering to the floor. “Apparently not as you want to make mine even longer,” you murmur as you bend to pick up the loose sheets of today’s meeting notes from the Cavallero project. You pause.

Jonas. That was the name that was on top of the paper in Suga’s office. What would be the odds that the Jonas on the paper would be the Jonas Cavallero you were working for? If that Jonas was the same Jonas, then was the location on the paper one of the events you were working on? How would Suga have that information? You sit against the side of your bed. Unless -

Yanking your phone out your purse’s side pocket, you google “Hastings & Lewis benefit gala”. Just as you’d suspected, the information is public knowledge: the third Saturday of May at the Finca Corte. There is no way in hell that Spiral is catering that event; they weren’t ritzy enough to be hired by the likes of one of the most expensive hotels in the city for one of the biggest events on the city’s calendar. Something is going on and you just know all of this is connected somehow. You just need proof. Maybe Maya is right. You’d broken into a few places before. How hard could it be to get into Suga’s office?

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

[chrysalispen]

upon pale dawns, prologue: “ardent for some desperate glory” (PREVIEW)

A brief peek at what I’ve been drafting for my next longfic, set during ARR. 

More under the cut.

========

Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Second Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

 The room was cold and the silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.

The quiet itself was no surprise. Research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that- particularly when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous. But the relative dark and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had for several bells now been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had at this point been awake for most of the past thirty hours.

Thus when the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. 

He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels. The small timer long ago affixed to his personal aetherometer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, to ensure he would waken. 

After a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him off-course from his dreaming state by ilms, a rudderless ship caught in deep currents. His transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt incredibly reluctant: heavy and sluggish. 

Nero blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was aggravating an incipient headache. He righted his posture and smacked the damned thing until the room was silent once again before reaching for the cold mug he had left on a borrowed coaster. Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout. It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. 

So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place, pulsing like a heartbeat. Nero swore under his breath when a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white- one he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently. 

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

His annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen and its bland error message for a few beats. Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue. Not unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same. 

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was given to rather more direct methods of approach by nature. His patience, as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the service of the imperial army, was very much a learned skill: one developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error, mathematics and sequencing and carefully collected data. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye and a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion, one simply could not rush the desired results. 

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the tedium- or so one could fondly hope. 

He leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumble of the air unit. 

A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents. The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers; they seemed to mock him with each little shimmer, ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. 

Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. 

This was but the least method at his disposal. He'd have to look into a few other options, something that might extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use. While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was a bulwark of preliminary information, a bare framework upon which he planned to build. Ideally, he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together a system that was more or less analogous to that of Allag. One powered by ceruleum, rather than aether. 

What the solution perforce lacked in elegance, it should compensate with efficiency. Tangible results.

A functional Weapon.

If he could just- 

A much lower-pitched sound than his desk alarum - this one a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. His first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third. 

That, unfortunately, was a sound he could not ignore. With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device.

“Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no trivial disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord tol Scaeva?” 

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

He managed, only just, to suppress his impatience. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank." 

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who had likely been the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. 

Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three words together. Just what he needed.  

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further. 

“Lord Sc-”

“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I would assume?”

“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. A bit tight, but doable.

For a moment the only sound he heard was nervous, ragged breathing and the flat drumming of his right hand’s fingertips upon the metal surface while he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an annoyance but the summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could countermand, secret project or not. “Understood," he said. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the man could waste more time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.

[mamashenisfav]

For Minho part two

Masterlist

part 1

You felt so useless. You couldn't help them or save them. You couldn't be what they needed, you weren't even able to be what you needed. You felt so alone and helpless, like nothing you could ever do would be enough. No against the Flare and WICKED. You didn't know how everyone else did it, you felt like you were literally going out of your freaking mind. Suddenly you were startled by the door opening. To your dismay, you had been found by Thomas.

"Oh Y/n" he sighed sitting down next to you and pulling you into his arms. "It's okay, everything's going to be okay" he coaxed. Before long, you had relaxed into his arms, the tears ceasing. After a while of sitting like that he asked

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," you replied staring at the door.

"Well, come then," he said helping you up.

"Where are we going?" you asked.

"We are going to get you cleaned up and then we will meet with the others on the best way to get Teresa here," he answered.

That's exactly what you did, and the plan was set. Thomas would go and lure Teressa away to a secure location where Newt, Gally, and a couple of men from the right hand would be waiting to bag her. You were waiting for them to arrive. You felt like you sat in that room for a lifetime before they came back.

When they settled in, you stood behind Teresa not wanting to look at her. Gally removed the mask covering her face. "Okay, so here's how this is going to go." Gally started, "I ask the questions, you give the answers" he finished. Teresa nodded sheepishly. "Okay we'll start easy, how do we get to Minho?" Gally asked.

"You guys don't seriously think that I-" she started staring at Thomas for help. Gally interrupted "Why are you looking at him? Look at me. He's not going to help you. Now answer the question."

Teresa paused for a moment before answering, "He's with the others in holding, on level three."

Newt stepped forward speaking up, "How many others?" he asked.

"28," answered Teresa.

"I can make that work" Brenda replied.

"You guys don't understand, that is maximum security, you can't even get in without a thumbprint ID" Teresa explained.

"And that is why we are taking you with us" Thomas answered.

"I don't know, we don't really need all of her, just her thumb" Gally spoke.

"It won't make a difference, you won't even make it through the front door-" Teresa started.

"Because of the scanners, we know, you are going to help us with that too" Thomas finished untying her and gesturing to the scalpel. She removed them one at a time until it was your turn.

"Y/n, I'm glad you here, I thought you were...." Teresa said.

"I don't want to hear it," you remarked hissing slightly as she pulled the tracker out of your neck.

"Y/n, I-" Teresa started, but you had already walked away

After you had gone through the plan several times and geared up, it was finally time. You were going with Thomas and Newt to rescue Minho and the rest of the immune children. Gally was in charge of finding the serum and Brenda was securing a getaway vehicle. Everyone was as ready as they were going to get, so you entered the compound.

While Thomas and Gally were handling security, you were with Newt who was coughing again. There is no denying that he was getting worse. You went to him to make sure he was okay. After a moment he stood a bit straighter and the coughing ceased. It was going time.

Teresa opened the doors to the pod where they were holding the immune kids. Thomas and you shot the guards with the stun gun. Newt located keys off one of the guards and began opening up the rooms. He assured the kids that everyone would be okay. You searched the room for Minho, but he wasn't there. This is when you came unglued.

You marched to Teresa, slamming her into the wall. "Where is he?" you demanded. When she hesitated you slammed her back against the wall, "Teresa, you really don't want to mess with me right now, because as I see it you are the only thing between me and Minho, we've come this far, so I'll ask you again, Where Is He?" you demanded. Thomas and Newt stared at you both in disbelief and in awe.

"I-I have to track him through the computer," Teresa muttered. You let go of her and allowed her to walk to the computer. After a few minutes of searching, she replied "They've moved him to the medical wing, Thomas that's on the other side of the compound."

"You'll take us there" Thomas replied helping her up. You and Newt followed slightly behind them. Your masks were back on and you were headed into the elevator. In the last possible second Janson appeared. The word tension did not even begin to explain the atmosphere. He informed Teresa that Thomas was back. He had no idea how right he was.

As you exited the elevator Teresa started again "Thomas, the serum won't cure Newt. It would barely buy him any time," You rolled your eye, 'What is her deal' you wondered.

"Don't listen to her Tommy, this is just another part of her game" Newt replied. Then Teresa urged again

"Thomas listen there is something that I don't understand about your blood. If you just left me to run some more tests, I could save him. I could cure Newt for real. Think about it Thomas, Brenda was infected. It was your blood that saved her. You can save him too," he ignored her, and gestured to the door instead,

"Open it" he commanded.

She complied, "Please Thomas, I'll protect you" she insisted.

This is when you had enough. "Oh, you'll protect him? Like you protected Minho? How many people does it take? How many people are you willing to round up? Torture? Kill? When the hell does it stop?" you all but scream.

"It stops with a cure" she answers. "There is no god damn cure" Thomas chimes in.

Before you could continue on your way you were stopped by the voice of Janson. "Don't waste your breath, Teresa, they've already made their minds up," he remarked as he and the guards loaded their guns.

You instinctively stepped in front of Newt. Thomas put his gun to Teresa's head. "Back up" he yelled. He then spoke directly to Janson, lowering his voice "Tell them to back off."

Janson chuckled, "Thomas I've known you since you were a little child, you would never shoot"

Thomas stared him in the eye. "You don't think so?" Thomas challenged. "Okay then, do it," Janson said lowering his gun.

"Shoot her" he urged.

Suddenly Teresa broke free from Thomas' grip and shoved him, you, and Newt backward. She then sealed you into the capsule. As soon as the glass door closed, Janson and the guards shot at it. You stared at Janson for a moment before Thomas pulled you away from the door. The three of you didn't get far before you were discovered.

You were hiding, trying to come up with a plan. The three of you rounded a corner when Thomas saw Ava. He pointed his gun at her. He still blamed her for all of this. He was about to shoot when you were being shot at. Before he could react you pushed him and Newt out of the way.

You started running and calling for Minho when you felt a pain in your side. You reached down instinctively and noticed blood on your hand. It couldn't have been that bad, and you definitely had bigger things to worry about. Newt, Thomas, and you were edging your way back shooting at the guards coming from all angles. "Shit. I'm almost out" Thomas said switching to his handgun. You and Newt were covering the side halls. "Thomas, get down" you yelled before throwing an electric grenade taking out the majority of guards. The three of you continued to run. You hid in a corner, thinking that you were in the clear. And then all of a sudden a guard came out of nowhere.

"Drop your weapons, get on the ground" he demanded. "I said get on the ground" he repeated. 'This is it" you thought 'after everything, this is what it comes down to.' You were about to comply when he was tackled out of the air and knocked out. You were shocked for a moment, but then that was replaced with relief. The three of you ran and embraced him. You were so happy that you barely noticed the pain.

"Is this real?" he asked.

"Yes, this is real" you answered. Your reunion was cut short and you heard gunshots coming towards you. The four of you ran and entered an abandoned room. Minho and Newt focused on barricading the door. You didn't feel well and were leaning against the wall. The guards were sawing through the bolt on the door. It wouldn't be long until they broke through.

"Anyone got any ideas?" Minho asked. With that Thomas grabbed a tank and threw it out the window. The four of you gathered to watch it drop. After all, you were kind of out of options.

"Okay," Thomas mumbled. "This is doable, we just need to get a little bit of a running head start" he finished.

The guards were almost through the door. "Are you sure about this?" Minho asked.

"Not really," Thomas answered honestly.

"Great pep talk" you chimed in.

"Yeah," Newt agreed, "We're all bloody inspired". Just then the guard made it through the lock.

"It's now or never," Minho said as he grabbed your hand. Then the four of you jumped.

You were surrounded by water. You searched for the surface, and then felt arms around you. You gasped for air as you were pulled out of the water by Minho. Before you could plan your next move you were once again being forced to your knees by guards. "You've got to be kidding me," Thomas said rolling his eyes. Just then you were surprised when one of the guards took down the other three.

It was soon revealed that this imposter was Gally. Minho was confused, but you promised to fill him in later. You were about to start running again when you stumbled. You groaned in pain causing the others to look at you. You glanced down to your side and noticed it was now soaked in blood.

"Shit," Minho cursed as he went to you and helped to support your weight.

The five of you started to head to your secret entrance, hiding from WICKED. It wasn't long until things got worse. Violent coughing was overtaking Newt, it was now more apparent than ever that you needed that serum. Thomas hoisted up his friend and rushed towards the tunnel. It was only twelve blocks. You could make it. You had to make it.

Suddenly, there was an explosion, the right hand had taken down the wall. It was an all-out war now. You had to move, you were running out of time. But it seemed that you were also running out of options. Gally decided to try the Walkie Talkie to see if Brenda or Frypan were in any position to offer you guys any assistance. As Brenda picked it up, Thomas took it from him. "Brenda...listen to me, we aren't going to make it, you have to leave, get everyone out," he said.

"No" Brenda replied, "I'm not leaving you okay, so forget it." she continued.

"Even though you should?" Thomas asked. A moment later she answered

"Thomas, I'm coming to you."

"What do you mean?" Thomas questioned. "The Berge is here, get to the top of a building near the tunnels," she replied.

"Okay guys we gotta move, we are three blocks away, we can do this," Thomas said as he boosted Newt up. Minho had looked down at you, about to help you up. You were pale and sweating, he had never seen you look so small and innocent.

"Up we go Y/n" Minho said hoisting you up. "Sorry" he whispered as you groaned in pain.

"Min," you huffed. You knew that you were getting worse. With every step, you were depending more and more on Minho to support you.

You had made it about a block before the group had to stop again. This time it was Newt, he was coughing up black blood. Just then the Berge flew overhead.

"Okay let's go," Thomas said, but then he saw Newt. Then he made the tough decision.

"You three go ahead, get the serum, and get back as soon possible," he said.

"No" you spoke up.

"What do mean no?" Thomas asked.

"I mean that I can't go with them" you answered.

"There's no way I'm leaving you here, I just got you back" Minho argued.

"We don't have time, Newt doesn't have time. I'll just slow you down. Minho, you don't have a choice. Please." you pleaded.

"I don't want to lose you again," he said.

"You won't, but you have to go now, Newt's life is on the line," you replied. He began to walk away when Newt grabbed his arm.

"Minho, thank you. Thank you for everything," Newt whispered.

"Hey, you just hang on, you hear me" Minho got back up and started to run away with Gally. He didn't want to leave you, but he knew you were right. He also knew that Newt's time was running out. You watch him and Gally runs away, knowing it could very well be the last time you would see him.

"We can't stay out in the open," you say trying to push yourself up, "Come on, we need to try to make it to the top of this building. It's our only chance."

Thomas knew you were right, Newt was running out of time. "Okay if we're doing this, we're doing it now. Come on Newt, we're getting up." Thomas said as he went to Newt's side.

"No. Tommy. Wait." Newt struggled.

"Newt, we really don't have the time right now" Thomas added. But Newt refused to move until Thomas agreed to take his necklace.

"Please, please Tommy, please" he begged.

"Okay, okay, I'll take it. Now we've gotta go, I need you to give me everything you've got." Thomas pleaded. Newt agreed.

Thomas helped him up, supporting the majority of his weight. He turned to you, "I need you to give me everything you've got as well. For Minho," Thomas said to you. You trudged forwards. Your entire body ache with each step, you were becoming light-headed, the blood loss finally getting to you. But you couldn't give up. Not now, not after everything you have been through.

Newt stumbled and wasn't getting back up. You heard Thomas pleading for him to just hold on. And that was when the announcement was made by Teresa. Telling him he could save Newt. That all he had to do was come back and it would all be over. You were currently sitting against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Then suddenly, Newt stood up and turned towards Thomas. Thomas was cautious, "Newt-" he started.

"Thomas watch out" you yelled. You tried to get up, go to Thomas and help. But it all became too much.

Thomas ducked under an attack from Newt. "Newt, listen, it's me, it's Thomas," he said trying to make him remember. Newt got up and attacked Thomas again. "I don't want to hurt you Newt" Thomas breathed. Newt was trying to choke Thomas, but then he stopped.

"I'm sorry, Tommy I'm so sorry." he cried. Newt grabbed the gun out of Thomas's side holster and held it to his head.

"Noooo" Thomas screamed knocking it out of his hand. Then Newt reached for the knife he had tucked away earlier. Thomas went to reach for it and Newt slashed his arm. Before Thomas could react Newt had the blade held to Thomas' chest.

Thomas kicked Newt off of him, he tried to tackle him, to get the knife away. at that moment you knew that Newt's or Thomas's life was on you, so you stand up with everything you had and run to their way. as your body slams against theirs's you felt so much pain from the knife that just handed at your shoulder. you feel on the ground, knowing that you just saved your friend.

Before Thomas could even truly process what happened, he knew what he had to do. Brenda ran up just as he was getting ready to leave.

"Thomas?" she called after him clearly devastated by the scene in front of her.

she runs up to Newt and infected him with the cure. Newt and you were both on the ground. one alive and one taking their last breath.

Thomas glanced over his shoulder one last time, but his mind was already made up. He was going to WICKED, he was going to end this once and for all. Brenda was going to go after him, to stop him, but was stopped when she heard you groan in pain. She instead went to your side and tore her shirt to wrap up your wound.

Nothing could've prepared Minho, Gally, and Frypan to see your lifeless body laying on the ground. Though they had lost people before, nothing had ever felt so devastating. Minho didn't know how to react, but his sense of survival took over as he went over your side.

"Y/n? Hey now, stay with me, I'm going to get you out of here," Minho said mostly to himself trying to have hope that you were going to live but really there weren't any of them since your eyes were already closed. the last thing you were thinking about was how you saved your friends' life and how much you loved Minho.

y/n could hear how Minho was yelling at her to open her eyes but no use. her pulse slowly slowed down, and at that moment Newt woke up looked around and his heart slowly broke at the sight of his dead friend, and his heartbroken best friend.

[twokinkybeans]

Stark On Ice Chapter 5: Glitter and Gold (Starker Figure Skating AU)

Read here on AO3!

-

Chapter 5: Glitter and Gold

Peter groans at the sound of his alarm. The loud, blaring tune is pulling him back into consciousness after a good night’s rest. He grabs his phone to turn the alarm off and ponders sneaking in an extra five minutes just because he’s so comfortable within these soft, thick sheets. However, the amount of notifications has him frowning. He only needs a few seconds of skimming through them to feel the blood drain from his face.

No.

No, no, no!

There are too many missed calls. Too many texts about him and Tony, and when he opens one of them, his heart sinks. Tony and he have been caught kissing. Peter sinks into the sheets a little more to trick his nerves into settling down. Obviously, they don’t. His fingers dial MJ’s number almost automatically. He knows he should call Tony too, but MJ is honest and objective, and she always knows what to do. She’ll tell him how bad the situation is. “Peter Benjamin Parker, what the fuck have you-”

Bad. The situation is bad. 

And right at that moment, Peter can see his career crumbling before his very own eyes. Everything he’s worked for. Everything his parents worked for. The legacy they left behind for him. None of that matters anymore. He’s done. “MJ,” he chokes out, tears threatening to blur his vision. His voice is small. It’s a wonder MJ even caught her name falling from his lips. She quickly catches on to Peter’s clear panicked state and quips a quick ‘stay right where you are; I’m coming over’ before she ends the call. Peter stares at his lock screen. He ignores the notifications that are still flowing in- wave after wave after wave.

Tony. He has to call Tony.

 -

Not much later, they’re all squeezed around Peter’s small dining table. MJ, Steve, Tony, and of course, Happy too. Though the latter has pulled his seat a little further back- clearly not wanting to be involved in the drama. Peter doesn’t blame him. Working for Tony Stark must be tiring. “I warned you, I-” “Steve, we didn’t do this on purpose!” “Still!” “My security system didn’t alarm me. I figured we were safe.” “Safe,” MJ deadpans “-god. Y’all gotta stop blaming each other. We know neither of you did this on purpose, so all we gotta do now is figure out a solution.” Peter sends her a grateful smile before turning to Tony.

“Have you dealt with something like this before? Do you know how to shut it down?” Tony nods slowly. Not a good sign. Tony can be stubborn. Frustrated. But he never displays a sign of powerlessness as he does now. “Media is too fast. Trying to stop the fire is a lost cause. We either confirm or deny.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Peter isn’t sure what to say next. Lying… He hates lying. Doesn’t think it’ll help solve issues in the long run. Lying will probably only make it worse. But if they admit the truth… He doesn’t even want to think about the possible consequences. Steve groans and leans forward on his elbows resting on the table. “I talked to the PR-team quickly. They recommended to try and keep this quiet until at least the end of the season. Three more weeks.” Tony shakes his head at that. “People aren’t going to wait that long. Celebrity Spin-Off is too commercial. People are too invested. They won’t let it slide, trust me. We ain't straight enough.” Peter lets the words sink in. He wonders if there’s an easy way out of this at all. Probably not. If there is, they would’ve known. “What if we…” he starts. Steve and Tony raise their heads at him. MJ only grins. “Keep going.” “Well, an official statement is way too heavy. I mean, of course, we’re two men, but we’re adults, and nothing about this kiss is illegal. If we make it too heavy for ourselves, people will think of it as a scandal too.” “So you’re saying to ignore it? I told you that won’t-” 

“No, Tony, hear me out.” Peter takes another breath. “We don’t say shit. We skate our routine. By the end, we kiss each other. Confirming what the public already knows anyway.”

MJ nods approvingly and wants to give him a high five, but Steve shakes his head. “You could eliminate yourselves like that if people don’t vote-” This time, it’s Tony who speaks up. “Y’know what, I agree with Peter. They already know what’s going on anyways. Heck, I got myself tangled up in this show by accident because I didn’t want to play along with the “everyone in the skating world is straight”-norm. I’d rather get eliminated over a kiss than rumors, and eh, it’s just a show anyway. I don’t mind if we don’t win.” Steve throws his arms up. “Alright, alright, you’re right. It’s not our TV show. Skating is what we do best. If this is what you want, I’ll play along with you.” Peter glows up. He has worked with both Steve and MJ from the very start of his actual skating career at the Midtown Ice Arena, and the fact that they both support him means the world.

“Hey Peter, shouldn’t you be at-” Ned’s mouth drops when he sees Tony Stark. The boy is standing in the doorway, still wearing his PJ’s, his laptop clutched to his chest. “H-Hi?”

-

Peter and Tony skate towards the middle of the rink. It’s time for their second choreo of the night. The music hasn’t started yet, so it’s simple, easy forward strokes until they come to a halt. Peter can tell Tony finally masters his skates outside their choreos too. The subtle movements are smooth and steady. Peter is proud of him. Of his hard work and dedication toward something he’d never done before.

I am flesh and I am bone Rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold

Peter grins, their tight outfits shining in the spotlights. Blinding Lights. Peter huffs quietly, not showing it but having fun about his little inward joke. They’d performed the altered version of that choreo for that earlier this night. His arm aches a little now, but it’s doable. He’s skated with worse pains before. Like that time he broke his little toe. Or the time- No. Focus. 

Peter jumps swiftly into Tony’s arms for the stationary lift- careful to keep his blades away from Tony’s body. Tony catches him easily and supports his back with the warm, big, broad hands. Peter loves being held like this. It's almost bridal style, the way they're holding one another. God, Tony is so handsome from up close. The stubble on his cheeks. Little marks and spots are covering the skin and showing the man's many years of experience here on earth.

I've got fire in my soul Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

On the first ‘ting’, Peter throws his head back and lifts his right leg up straight. The next, he comes back in bridal style and easily slides down until his knees rest on Tony’s upper legs. From there, the music picks up, and Peter rolls his shoulders down sensually while Tony bends his knees further. Their foreheads press together, and Peter licks his lips as he resists the urge to kiss the man already. Peter then lowers his skates back onto the ice and lets go of Tony when he feels the grip. Lowering his body, coming back up with a sexy body roll. The audience whistles. Peter grins and reaches his arm out to grab Tony’s hand, wincing slightly at the sharp pain shooting through his deltoid. Fuck. He keeps smiling though and refocuses on the next part of the sequence. Twizzles. Then, skating their short eight-figure before both lifting a leg to slide forward in a paired spiral.

Do you ponder the manner of things In the dark The dark, the dark, the dark

Forward strokes. Peter quickly glances at Tony before he changes his hand position. The man looks so happy. So proud of himself. Peter smiles and nods at Tony as a sign he’s ready for the loop lift. It’s a challenging lift for Peter as he always has to keep himself from jumping too high- it’s not a loop jump. So instead, he pushes himself off the ice just enough for Tony to lift him, spin the both of them around and then put him back down. 

I am flesh and I am bone Arise, ting ting, like glitter and gold

Here comes the most challenging part. Peter grits his teeth together. He’s done the death spiral so often he isn’t scared of it. Tony is a bit, though.

I've got fire in my soul Rise up, ting ting, like glitter

Peter tries to give Tony the most encouraging smile he can muster up as they shift their hand positions. They start circling and spinning, and once they’ve got momentum, Peter takes a leap of faith and lowers himself into the death spiral.

'Cause everybody's in the backroom's Spinning up Don't know what you're asking for

Tony grips him tightly- the two-handed version still – and Peter feels so fucking free as the man spins him around and around. They’re going a tad too slow, so Peter squeezes Tony’s hand as a sign to pull him back up. Thank god the man catches on. To drag out time now that they're up early, Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck gently- both their bodies still spinning on the spot.

And everybody's in the front room's Tripping out You left your bottle at the door

They come to a halt, their chests falling and rising rapidly due to the exercise. Simultaneously, the song has the breathy part- thanks to Steve for the little detail. From there, they both know there’s only one bit left before the song comes to an end. “You got this,” Peter whispers quickly before they break away from one another. The turn, facing the same end of the rink as they start running. Actual running, on the ice. They go faster and faster until halfway through, they both drop onto one knee and lean into a deep backbend as they slide forward. The audience goes wild. Steve knows how much Peter loves Johnny Weir, a famous Olympic figure skater, for his unconventional costumes and choreos. When Steve told Peter they were going to use his signature move, Peter had been thrilled. They hadn’t been so sure about Tony being able to pull it off, but the man was way more flexible than he seemed, and here they are. Peter feels ecstatic.

Like glitter and gold Like glitter Like glitter and gold Like glitter

They slow down. Leaning back up. They moved into some sort of V-shape, closer and closer to the other, so now that their knees are almost touching, they pull each other in closer until Tony is fully kneeling and has Peter splayed out in his lap. The song ends. The audience almost starts to cheer, but not before Tony leans in and passionately crashes their lips together. Tony’s lips are salty from the exercise, yet so soft and firm and already contain a strange hint of familiarity. Peter moans slightly, deepening the kiss now that they still can. He’s reeling with the loud applause and cheers and confused noises coming from the crowd around them. He knows they made the right decision.

After a few seconds, he reluctantly pulls back. Turning around proudly and sticking his still good arm in the air. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Not with the people seated in the first row, not with Beck, who made his way on the ice for the standard post-choreo interview. Peter simply stands there.

This is me. He thinks. Mom and dad, this one's for you. I’m taking back control of the ice.

-

Masterpost Next Chapter (to be uploaded)

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Stranded with You | Bodhi Rook x Reader (Oneshot)

Prompt: There was only ONE bed!

Fandom: Rogue One (Star Wars)

Words: 4105 ??

A/N: So this took longer than expected. I had it written out and ended up deleting everything since it didn’t spark joy and ended up writing 4k words instead. Takes place after the whole Battle of Scarif.

-

For the past two weeks, there had been one problem after another. First of all, the reports given underestimated the number of people involved in the trade routes. Second, The weapons dealer that you were hunting down had somehow caught word of the Rebellion’s investigation before you even landed on the planet. Third, because of this, there had been an ambush and with quick thinking on your pilot, you were able to get out of the area, but not without sustaining any damages to the ship’s system. You weren’t able to get far and managed to land on a nearby planet.

Good news, the ship was salvageable and the two of you had gone unscathed. The planet that you landed on had been a part of the trade routes, so you could still do some investigation. Bad news, you weren’t sure how long until the dealer tries to hunt you down. And… the most affordable inn near the docks was so popular with trades folk and travelers that they only had one room available. This should have been fine, and almost fortuitous given your situation, but opening the musty and moldy door, the two of you realized that there was only one bed.

Had you gone with someone that you were close with, whether it was Cassian, Luke, or Shara, then this would have been a minor inconvenience. But, you were assigned to go on this mission with Bodhi as your pilot. Bodhi Rook, a defected cargo pilot of the Empire. You didn’t mind that he was from the Empire, it wasn’t like he was given much choice to work for them. It was the fact that every time you tried to get close to him, he wouldn’t even look at you. Maybe he doesn’t like you. You used to be assigned to intercept the Empire’s cargo ships, after all. You were pretty sure you had run into each other at least once or twice.

“I, uh, I’ll sleep on the floor,” Bodhi offered.

He slowly made his way inside, dropping his bag on the floor to use as a pillow. He began taking his jacket and vest off on the table and sat down, taking his goggles off last with a sigh as he looked around the room. You walked over to the bed that seemed to fit only one person.

“We can rotate who gets to use the bed,” you said, “We’re going to be here for a while.”

Bodhi nodded. “I would need to know which parts need replacing and see what kind of exchanging system this planet uses,” he said, looking everywhere but you.

“Okay, do you need help?”

“No, I think I’m good,” he said quickly.

The two of you sat in silence, the reality of the situation sinking in. Bodhi cleared his throat, standing up and grabbing his bag with him.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved past you towards the door, “Are you checking the ship now? It’s late.”

“I’ll be out for a couple of minutes,” he said.

“Okay, do you want me to come-”

“No, it’s fine. Get some rest.”

You sighed, grabbing his arm before he could walk out. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if we separate.”

“Look, I need to be doing something, okay?” he snapped, yanking his arm away.

You raised your hands and backed off. “Okay.”

Bodhi huffed, looking at the doorway then back at you. “I’ll use the comms if anything comes up,” he said.

“Okay. Be careful out there.”

Without another word, he left, leaving you alone with the ruckus of the tavern nearby leaking in through the windows and the couple arguing through the thin walls next door. Yo closed the door behind him and fell back onto the bed.

There were times where you saw Bodhi as this soft spoken person, a bit optimistic, even. There were times where you saw him as a leader, showcasing his quick thinking and confidence. But, those were only when he was around his crew.

Around you, he was closed off. Sometimes snappy. At first, the Rogue One crew didn’t believe you when you told them about it, but Chirrut had said that there is conflict in his mind, a storm that calms when he’s around his friends. You understood that much, as you knew that they’ve been through a lot together. You wished that you could at least have a simple conversation with him.

You managed to go to sleep after reporting to base on your current status, your data pad and communicator lying next to you on the bed. You were roused from your sleep by the door opening, your hand reaching out for your blaster by instinct. Bodhi froze by the doorway, eyes widening as you looked ready to pull the trigger. When your brain was fully awake, it eventually registered that it was only Bodhi coming back. You sighed tiredly, setting the blaster down.

“Think we can repair it in time?” you asked, stifling a yawn.

Bodhi nodded. “Possibly. I just need to look around for the right parts. If they’re not available, I might have to send in a custom order, which will take longer.”

“But doable, right?”

He grunted, trudging over to the refresher to wash up. The stench of alcohol and some kind of herbal smoke wafted in the air as he passed. You ignored it, not wanting to question what he had been up to. It was definitely more than checking up on the ship.

You leaned against the headboard as you scanned for reports related to the area. The place was crawling with criminal activities, but there were rules that even they tried to follow. Honor among thieves and all that. Still, when it came to the arms dealers that you were tracking, one slip up could make this whole mission blow up.

-

The next day, you and Bodhi decided to take a walk around the small city, using scarves to cover half of your faces. So far, there hadn’t been any active violent crimes and there were a fair amount of citizens that seemed comfortable walking about the city. 

The two of you went into a tavern to get something to eat. There were a lot of travellers mingling, their heads turning every time someone new entered. Satisfied that it wasn’t who they feared it was, they go back to their conversations.

“This isn’t as bad as the last planet,” you noted.

Bodhi hummed in agreement. “I’ve seen a few shops we could check on for the ship parts,” he said, changing the subject, “I, uh, had asked around last night on the best repair and salvage parts shops. It depends, but bigger ship parts are mainly near the docks where there is more traffic. That also means that it’s more expensive.”

You cursed under your breath. There’s not enough credits between the both of you and the Rebellion is on a tight budget as it is. “Think we should just call for a team to pick us up once we retrieve information on the trade routes?”

He pursed his lips, looking around at the tavern, then at his drink. “Think they’d actually send someone for us?” he asked lowly.

“What?” You frowned at the implication. “Why wouldn’t they? It’s not like we’re on warring territory. Even then, I’m sure we could get one of our friends to come.”

He nodded at this. “Yeah, but what if they ask for a status report. And like a good soldier, you tell them everything. Our ship was attacked, now we’re grounded until we can fix it, but we may not be able to afford to. Then, they ask if we’ve got the intel. They’ll only ask about the intel. You send it to them, then ask when a crew is going to rescue us. No reply.” He made each point with a jab of his finger while looking you dead in the eyes.

“Bodhi,” you said softly, “That is not going to happen to us. Do you think Jyn would stand for that? Cassian? Shara? Kes? Luke? Even Leia?” You shook your head. “Even if they are ordered to stay put, it’s not the first time they’ve gone against orders.”

“We blow up the Death Star and there’s still a war going on. Not as immediate or impending, but there are remnants scattered across the galaxy. They can’t risk any Imperial sympathizers or potential traitors.”

You stared at him. “What does that have to do with us?”

“I was an Imperial cargo pilot, (Y/l/n),” he said, “Why do you think they sent me on this mission with you? Just because I’m familiar with how the Empire works? Because I can fly a ship? They want to keep an eye on me and so the minute I slip up, they’re going to send in the order for you or someone else to eliminate me.”

“Bodhi, I think that’s a little extreme,” you said, your voice wavering.

“Is it?” He looked around your vicinity again, as if looking for a spy with a sniper.

You sighed. “Look, we’re stuck here and we still need to look into the trade routes. We get those done and see what happens next. I won’t tell them the full details and if we’re still unable to get the parts, I’m going to make sure they send someone before I give the intel, okay? There are many ways around this. We’re going to be fine.”

Bodhi studied you for any deception. Once he was sure you were telling the truth, he let out a long exhale and leaned back in his chair. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry about all of that, I-”

“No, it’s fine, Bodhi. I understand.”

-

For the past few nights, Bodhi refused to take his turn on the bed. He would go out late, claiming to check on the ship and see if he could haggle for the part. You had the feeling that he was doing more than that. So, one night, you decided to follow him.

He had walked passed the ship and went deeper into the city, parts where you’re pretty sure you two hadn’t walked through before. There laid various forms of entertainment, including the gambling den he went straight for. Bright lights lit up the streets as the crowds became thicker. You weaved through them to catch up to Bodhi while maintaining a distance. He disappeared into the building, smoke escaping as people walked in and out.

Bodhi had considered his options, how they were going to get their information and then get off the planet. The prices for the bigger parts were ridiculously expensive, more than he remembered Jedha having, and certainly more than what he can afford. He had considered calling in a team to pick the both of you up once you managed to get the information, but then he was reminded of how some of the higher ups viewed him.

Although they awarded the Rogue One crew with medals with retrieving the Death Star plans, Bodhi suspected it was from the insistence of Princess Leia. Everyone else was still wary of him, though those who had fought with him on Scarif or worked with Rogue One had already overlooked the fact that he had been a part of the Empire. With that in mind, he didn’t want to be too dependent on the Rebellion for every issue. This was something that could be done without their involvement.

He went back to what he knew, his old habits that he could benefit from. Gambling. He had once sworn that he would never do it again, only an innocent game of sabacc here and there with some of the pilots, but nothing too serious. But here he was, gambling what little credits he had to double, even triple, it. That way, he can afford the parts and he can fix the ship. Then the two of you could leave, report in with the information, then leave the mission behind.

You left him to it, waiting on standby in case anything happens. From the beginning of the mission, you noticed that he never carried any form of protection with him. Even when he’d leave at night, he would only bring his usual gear. While you couldn’t exactly stop him from gambling, you could at least be nearby to protect him. And that’s how it’s been for the rest of the week.

Slowly but surely, Bodhi had been able to replace the damaged parts of the ship. You never spoke to him how he managed it. He never seemed to want to talk about it anyways. You’ve been reporting back to base your progress without disclosing any details about the ship. Another benefit you had with following Bodhi every night was the information you gained just from gossip around the streets and within the gambling den. Having more time to walk around the city, you had a rough map of it in your head and were slowly narrowing in on the arms dealers you were looking for. Things were happening and you’d be able to get back to base in no time.

That is, until one of the gamblers accused Bodhi of cheating. Drinks were splashed, ash trays toppled over, card tables flipped, and blasters were drawn. You rushed to Bodhi’s side, to his surprise, your own weapon drawn as you maneuvered yourself to stand between them.

“Move aside,” the gambler growled, charging their weapon.

“What’s happening here?” you asked, adrenaline running through you with your eyes darting around to watch out for any sudden movements.

“That rat’s been cheating us dry!” They turned to the card dealer. “You’ve seen it, right?”

The card dealer sighed, eyes drooping as they cracked their neck. “I’ve seen nothing.”

The gambler growled again. “I want my credits back!”

“Enough, Girricks!” The card dealer shouted, pulling out a blaster rifle from under the flipped table and aiming it at the gambler. “I think you’ve had your fill here. Leave the premise or we will be forced to escort you out. Make any violent moves and I will not hesitate to shoot.”

Girricks sneered at the card dealer, whipping their head around to glare at you and Bodhi before withdrawing their blaster and storming out of the den. Card tables were fixed up right and drinks were refilled once they left.

The card dealer turned to the two of you. “I suggest you leave as well,” they said calmly.

“Okay, thank you,” you said, grabbing Bodhi’s arm and guiding him out.

Bodhi sighed once the two of you were out, “What were you doing here?”

“I’ve always been coming here because you’ve been coming here,” you said casually while you walked in the direction of the inn.

Bodhi frowned. “You’ve been following me,” he muttered.

“Yup.”

“How long?”

You shrugged. “After the first week? I figured you needed protection and I was right. Never leave the room without a blaster next time. By the way, do you even know how much filler I had to put in my reports so there’d be no gaps when I leave out this kind of stuff? Paperwork. I hate it. Even one of the best spies in the Rebellion, Cassian, hates it. I heard he sometimes make Kaytwo write them for him and-”

Bodhi stopped, grabbing your shoulder. “Thank you… (Y/n).”

You smiled. “You’re welcome, Bodhi.”

-

The ship repairs were near completion and so was your intel. After that whole incident at the gambling den, you and Bodhi had become closer. He still insisted on sleeping on the floor, but at least now, he doesn’t silently leave the room at night.  You were practically his bodyguard, which he needed given the amount of people that’s been getting angry at him for his winning streaks. Can’t go to the same den, of course, and you were definitely not playing those kinds of card games.

After another successful night of winnings, the two of you made your way back to the inn. Bodhi was in good spirits at the progress the two of you made. The sooner you get off the planet, the better. You both decided to stop for a late night snack before heading in as Bodhi believed that the ship would be fixed by tomorrow, as he had won the final part in a card game.

Everything was going smoothly, but unfortunately, someone with a grudge had other ideas. None of you ever thought that that encounter with Girricks would turn around and bite you in the ass. It turned out that they were much more petty than either of you thought.

With two hired mercenaries, Girricks waited near the inn to ambush you and Bodhi. You were in such a good mood that night, that you didn’t suspect a thing. Even after it happened, you still admonished yourself for lowering your guard. Things could have gotten way worse than it had.

It started with a bolt of light shooting out from the dark alley. Instinctively, you whipped your blaster out and stood in front of Bodhi, eyes scanning the area. Another shot from the opposite alley and you pushed Bodhi aside, shooting in the direction of the shot before following Bodhi in cover.

“You think it’s those bucket heads?” you whispered to Bodhi.

He shook his head. “They tend to use overwhelming numbers over a selected skill few and the mission isn’t high level enough to warrant the latter. It’s something else.”

You peeked over from the pile of crates and saw Girricks lumbering over with his blaster, calling over the two mystery shooters from the alley. Your mind raced as you came up with a plan to separate them. From the looks of them, those two were average mercenaries, but you couldn’t assume and underestimate them.

“Come out, rat!” Girricks shouted, “If you won’t give me my credits back, then I’ll have to take them from your dead body.”

“Geez, Bodhi, how much did you win from him?”

He shrugged. “A lot. He’s a terrible player.”

“And a terrible loser, too. How good are your combat skills?”

“Um, Chirrut has been teaching me a few hand to hand combat and Baze taught me how to shoot, but I need a weapon.” You looked around for something to improvise with before giving Bodhi your blaster. “What? No!”

“Here’s what we’re going to do. They’re coming this way right now. I’m going to find a way around and distract them, then you shoot. Just don’t shoot me.”

“But-”

You disappeared into the shadows before he could protest any further. He gripped the blaster and breathed deeply. He could hear their heavy footsteps growing closer and closer, his hand trembling as he readied himself. As a cargo pilot, he didn’t have much use for weapons, usually carrying around a first aid kit and candy that he stole. Even at the Battle of Scarif, he hadn’t done much of the fighting, concentrating on getting the message through. If he ends up dying on this planet because of a sore loser gambler after surviving everything he had gone through, he would be extremely pissed.

There was a loud clatter, followed by a shout. Bodhi peeked over the crates and saw you had thrown something at one of the mercenaries. They both turned their backs towards him to shoot you. Bodhi raised the blaster and pulled the trigger, exhaling as he did so. One stumbled over before falling after another shot from him. The remaining mercenary whipped around, looking for him. Bodhi shot again before ducking back, but he couldn’t help but notice that there was no sign of you.

“Come out, rat!” Girricks repeated, “I have your little friend here. Continue hiding like a coward and your friend dies, and you will be next.”

“Bodhi, do as they say,” you said.

He sighed, raising the blaster in the air before rising from his hiding spot. He glared at Girricks as he stepped forward, seeing you pinned by the creature’s burly arm. You nodded at him, assuring him that it was okay.

“Drop your weapon!” Girricks ordered.

Bodhi did as he was told, slowly bending down to drop it, then kicked it over to the injured mercenary. They limped over and grabbed it, training their rifle on him.

“All this over some credits?” Bodhi asked.

Girricks laughed. “No, not just the credits you stole. The credits that I will be rewarded when I turn the two of you into the Empire.”

“Look, we were just doing a supply run when our ship got damaged,” Bodhi said.

“You’re part of the Rebellion. I could tell by the way you two carry yourselves. This idea that you have that you serve a higher purpose to spread peace across the galaxy. You fight while the people caught in the middle have to suffer.”

“This is a fight that the Empire provoked,” you said, struggling within his grasp, “Occupying planets and moons, reaping their resources and killing and enslaving their people. Turning us in will only give you but an insignificant and temporary sense of euphoria before you find yourself suffering again. It’s not worth it.”

“Do not lecture me, rat!” Girricks turned to the mercenary. “Grab him and let’s go.”

You wiggled around and bit Girricks arm. He shouted, slapping you across the face and sending you to the ground. Bodhi saw you fall and felt a rush flow through him as he tackled the mercenary, wrestling for the weapons before getting a hold on their rifle and using the butt of the weapon to get them out. Bodhi crouched over the body and pointed the rifle at Girricks.

“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot!” Bodhi shouted. “Drop your weapon!”

You stood with wobbly legs, staggering over to Bodhi’s side. He handed your blaster back, his eyes never leaving Girricks as they moved to drop their blaster. With a twitch of a muscle, you shot their hand before they could turn their blaster around to shoot. Their blaster clattered to the ground, leaving Girricks vulnerable. They raised their hand in defeat, glaring at the both of you.

“Next time, I won’t miss,” you warned.

“Give it up, Girricks, and leave us,” Bodhi said, “While we’re still in a good mood.”

“A murder’s a murder, no matter what side you fight for,” Girricks said. With that they turned and walked away.

Bodhi’s shoulder sagged in relief, turning to you as you lowered your blaster. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “I’m good. You?” He nodded. “Good. Let’s get some rest now. I want to work on that ship first thing in the morning. The sooner we get off of this planet, the better.”

Bodhi agreed, letting you lean on him as you two made your way towards the inn. Once through the door of the room that you became familiar with for the past few weeks, you both fell backwards on the bed, too tired to shower or even argue who gets to use the bed.

You were the first to wake, finding it hard to move with something holding you down. Bodhi had wrapped his arms around you during the night, which explained why the temperature felt warmer than usual. You carefully removed his arms around you and stood to stretch. Looking down at him, he looked peaceful and relaxed, not as tense as his waking state. You smiled, then decided a shower was definitely in order.

Later that day, you finished up your report in the ship while Bodhi had been doing the finishing touches. He rushed in, dropping his tools, and went straight for the pilot seat. He flipped a couple of switches and pressed some buttons, making you wish that you learned how to fly. Then again, if you did, then you might not have gone to this mission with Bodhi.

The engine gave a promising hum and Bodhi laughed in excitement. “Okay! Let’s finally go home!” 

The base was relieved when the two of you came back, the Rogue One crew being the first ones to greet you. They noticed a change in the way you treat each other, but Chirrut was the first to know. He had simply smiled in silence, patting the two of you before walking off. It came to no surprise later that week when you and Bodhi entered the mess hall while holding hands. Almost a year later, you ended up living in the same quarters. One bed, of course, though this time there was no discussion on who got the bed.

[drferox]

Acceptance of non-conformity

@octarine-ash said to @ask-drferox: Hello! I'm (hopefully) graduating from vet school in Qld at the end of the year. As a queer person who hasn't been widely out at uni, I have a whole bunch of extra anxiety on top of my huge pile of general new grad anxiety. I know you've been asked for similar advice before, but I'm wondering if you'd share any tips you might have for finding a clinic that will feel safe and supportive? Have you found different areas to be more/less tolerant of things like gender nonconformity? I will absolutely be getting tf out of Qld and a big part of me wants to run straight to inner Sydney/Melbourne, but I like large animal work and I'm very scared of narrowing my career options too much. Do you know how realistic it is to get back into mixed work after doing smallies as new grad? What about if I did an honours research year or something? Do you have any experience working in 'compromise' practices  that are just outside cities and do a bit of hobby farm work?  How can I call out bigotry from my colleagues or clients? I want to try lots of different types of vet work and probably work overseas soon after graduating - what would you say is the minimum reasonable period to stay in a job as a recent grad? Big apologies for the absolute bombardment with questions!!! Thank you so much for your blog, even with lots of vets around irl it's still a very valuable resource and incredibly motivating. I appreciate the work you put into it a huge amount.

If you want mixed animal work, i would absolutely get ‘tf’ out of Queensland too, with Hendra being on my mind.

I will straight up say Australian Rainbow Vets and Allies is probably an excellent resource for you. You can find them on Facebook, and Kate has been pretty helpful any time she gets a spare minute. Definitely check them out. You might even figure out if anyone is hiring, or find a mentor.

I feel like it’s very difficult to get back into mixed work after working smallies for a while. The job you have in your first two years will help cement your skills, and if you narrow yourself too quickly it’s really hard to get back. Doable, I know it gets done, but difficult. I started in mostly smallies with hobby farms and occasional large animal enterprises, and found it wasn’t quite enough experience to do production animals super well on an industrial scale, but it did help me figure out what I wanted to do. The large animal work tends to be more basic in that scenario, as a lot of hobby farmers genuinely have little idea of what they’re doing and nutritional issues are common. You’ll probably figure out what you really want from a job in the first 18 months to 2 years, but some new grads only stay for the first 6 months, and that’s fine too.

Onto the more complex topic of finding somewhere safe, supportive and tolerant, and how to call out bigotry.

Some clinics are very distinctly open and supportive of the LGBTQIA+ community, especially when one of the owners falls under that umbrella themselves. But there are also a lot of clinics which are quietly or less extroverted about their support.

Quite a lot of people in my generation, when someone comes out, have a reaction along the lines of ‘oh yes, that makes sense in hindsight’. In older generations there seems to be a lot of ‘so, how does that work? What does that mean?’ but not malice as such, just not necessarily confronted by the idea before.

I’ve worked at practices where people have come out of the closet, and been very stressed about doing so, and it really turned out to be a non-event.

There is a particularly rough style of Aussie humor though, which you probably know by now but can catch some people off guard. It’s a little rough and dismissive but in a joking way. For example, one woman was terrified about how the boss would react when he found out she was a lesbian. All he did was give her a cheeky nudge and say “well you’re not going to get pregnant then” and made sure she had a +1 on her Xmas party invite. End of discussion.

In fact, there’s probably a lot of practice owners who just don’t care about someone’s identity or orientation, including rurally where they’re just glad to find someone who will do the work.

That said, there are some places, some of which I’ve been as a student, which set off warning bells that the culture there might not be all that welcoming or tolerant. And there are hints that, even without discussing it, there are places that are more open to new ideas and accepting of diversity.

Some good signs:

Diversity in the staff. There’s not always an obvious sign that someone belongs to the LGBTQIA+ community, but diversity in race and body types is hard to hide. If a clinic is employing some types of minorities, they’re more likely to be accepting of others.

Tattoos. You can infer some information about people by their tattoos, and as long as they’re not something like white supremacist symbols, they’re a good indicator that the clinic and community is more likely to be accepting of diversity. Normally I would say the same for piercings, but not all piercings are appropriate for a vet clinic so it might not be apparent.

They/them pronouns on the ‘about the staff’ page. Subtle, but if you see one generally a good sign.

Generally once you have some diversity in to break the ice, other types of diversity are likely to go down well.

Rabidly hateful google reviewers who have also left positive reviews for other people critical of, for example, same sex marriage. Suggests the clinic has done something right, or employed at least one LGBTQIA+ person.

Some potentially suspicious signs:

All the employed staff look the same. Might be a coincidence if all the employed staff are tall, blonde women with the same two haircuts, but it also might not be.

Always, always advertising at least one position.

Employers that say you are obliged to wear make up.

In short, the more diversity you can see within the staff, the more accepting the clinic is likely to be of diversity in general. The more conformity you see, the more conformity is likely to be expected. I picked my first job by spotting two staff members and thinking I could turn out like either one of them, and I was happy with that. Seeing a workplace that employs multiple women over 30 years old, about the time when your tolerance for garbage decreases, was encouraging.

Calling out bigotry from clients is easier if you know the clinic will support you. A simple “That’s not acceptable sir/madam” will often cut them off, sometimes followed up by a “That’s not up for discussion, it is unacceptable.” If need be, you can also use “I suggest you see a different veterinarian in the future,” if they are particularly noxious. Once you call them out, most of the bad ones will avoid you so you can get on with your life.

Calling out colleagues is harder and takes a lot more patience. You might not feel secure enough to call them out as such, but a quieter chat along the lines of ‘hey, this was hurtful because X, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.’ That makes it personal, still semi-private as you haven’t embarrassed them in front of other people and it gives them a simplified choice to either consider changing their mind, or at least keep their mouth shut versus being a deliberate asshole. Best to assume ignorance before malice.

The future might look intimidating, but you’re going to wrangle it anyway.

[darkwalk]

Angry medics and confused gladiators

I’m on chapter 19 out of 21 (the last being a very short epilogue) for the second draft of ‘Lighting Fires’ and the third draft should be MUCH quicker so I’m really excited to be close to finishing this!

But I’ve also cut out a lot of things from the rough draft and thought people might appreciate them. So, an early chapter of the rough draft that was completely changed the second time around below the cut:

.

.

“Really Sideswipe,” the medic quickly pulled out the destroyed parts and set about cleaning what remained, “When are you lot going to learn to drop it?”

“Didn't say anything.” Orion murmured.

“Yeah, he didn't say anything Doc.” Sideswipe mimicked cheekily, “Just me and myself and-”

Ratchet slammed his tools down. “Oh shut up. You're not as funny as you think you are.” With a scowl, he bellowed at one of the guards to grab a shoulder strut from a certain bin. The gladiators in front of the shelving shuffled slowly out of the way, the more injured just sliding down a bit. When the guard unlocked the bin and couldn't seem to find what Ratchet was looking for, the medic started swearing.

“-rusted scrapheap of a- tch! One of these days, if I ever get a break, I'm going to reorganize this Primus-damned SIN against medical efficiency!” Stomping over, Ratchet started going through the bins one by one to find the part he was looking for. Sniggers slunk around the room. Unfortunately, their medic had good hearing because he whirled around to snarl at them all. “You laugh now but just wait till it's one of you on a slab and I can't save your afts because I can't find the parts I need!”

“You're wasting time. Find it and fix the mech. There are others waiting.” Paradigm called over coldly.

Ratchet's face twitched, holding back a sneer. Instead of replying, he slammed through several more drawers before finding the right part and stalking back to Sunstreaker. Without a word to the mech watching him silently, Ratchet started putting his shoulder back together.

Orion glanced at Sideswipe and got a grim look in reply. Neither spoke and several moments passed with only the other patient's chatter before the doors opened. Instead of a wounded gladiator or a cellmate rejoining their group, the guards led in Jazz.

Everyone went silent. Optics flickered between the guards and the small bloody mech who was very obviously not one of them.

Hearing the sudden quiet, Ratchet lifted his helm from Sunstreaker's wound and peered over his shoulder. Flat blue optics narrowed as the guards pushed Jazz towards them. Whispers of 'baitmech' and '-doing here?' floated about. Straightening, the medic turned around.

“What the frag is this?”

Ignoring him, one of the guards turned towards Sideswipe. “He's in your cell now. Don't kill him.” With that, he shoved Jazz hard towards the gladiator and the pair of guards left. Surprised and unsure of what was happening, Sideswipe didn't react to Jazz bumping into his front and merely stared down at him. The others in the room began to mutter and point at the group. Orion moved closer and set a reassuring hand on Sunstreaker's good shoulder, as the mech had started to get up to watch.

“What. The Frag. Is This?!” Ratchet snarled louder. Jazz had shuffled back out of Sides' personal space and was immediately accosted as the medic spun him around to look him over. “Well?!”

“Um. Hi?” Squeaked the visored mech.

“You're one of the bait mech.” Sideswipe stated aloud to himself in obvious confusion. “Why are you here?”

Jazz fidgeted in place, turning to look at everyone and everything around him. “Ah um... kinda won? The match?”

“A bait mech won?” Sunstreaker rumbled, his lip curling in disbelief. “Against-”

“Voltage.” Orion finished. Whispers grew louder into actual words and denials. More than a few glares were sent their way. Ratchet huffed and returned to the task at hand. Taking a step away from Jazz and towards his cell, Sideswipe piped up warily.

“And how the frag did you manage that?”

Turning back towards the trio, Jazz finally seemed to notice Orion and perked. up. He spoke to him in a relieved rush as if he wasn't sure who else to talk to. “It was kinda-..... I um-panicked? An' stabbed him an' ah guess ah hit a fuel line 'cause he just bled a' bit an' dropped.” He twisted his servos in the cuffs without seeming to realize he was doing it, nervousness nearly pouring off him in waves.

“So why is he with our cell?!” Demanded Sunstreaker, starting to lift himself up until Ratchet pushed him back down.

“We have room,” Orion spoke up despite the heavy unease settling in his tank. “And they sat him with me during the early matches so they know we're less likely to pick a fight.” Hissing in frustration, Sideswipe turned away to glare at the wall while Sunstreaker growled. Jazz visibly shrunk in as everyone ignored him and the growing tension from the other cells in the room.

Ratchet finished Sunstreaker's shoulder and started turning the sensors back on. “I take it Voltage's cellmates are going to cause trouble for you now?” He may not have been involved in cell grudges but he wasn't blind. He knew how things worked. Orion tapped his fingers quietly against the edge of the table. The medical bay was not the best place to be talking about these things. Not with so many audios listening. Trading a heavy look with Sides, he pressed his lips into a thin line and remained silent.

Getting no real answer, the white and red mech glared at the trio and turned back to Jazz. “And you, what kind of injuries do you have?”

“Some cuts?” Jazz replied hesitantly, twisting a bit to highlight a couple deep gashes in his right side, a ragged hole in his back where an armor plate had been ripped out, and the crumpled edges of his armor. Orion was a bit surprised the small mech wasn't showing much of a reaction to what had to be quiet a bit of pain. “It's okay....erm, not really that bad-”

“Shut up. Get on the slab.” Ratchet growled.

Sunstreaker got up and hopped off, moving over to stand next to his twin. Jazz carefully climbed up onto the medberth after Ratchet unlocked his cuffs. “I gotta ask; is anyone here actually nice?”

“Orion.” The Twins and Ratchet stated together.

Jazz turned his helm to look at the big mech in what Orion thought was an inquiring look under the visor. With a shrug, Orion chose the simplest answer. “I don't like to pick fights.”

He turned away from the small mech who should have been dead and went back to watching the room. Neither he or the Twins looked at Jazz all throughout Ratchet repairing him and then welding up the small injuries on Sideswipe. But Orion could feel a prickling on his plating again. Jazz was watching them.

Sunstreaker must have felt it too. His armor continued to bristle, slick down as he realized he was bristling, and then rise up again. The more sullen brother had a well known dislike of anything that covered parts of the face and made it hard to read expressions. Masks were doable, if he knew that person well. Visors were not. Orion shifted to brush his elbow against Sunny's arm, a barely there touch, to help him settle as they waited. No response from the gold mech except a quick flit of his optics. In Sunstreaker speak; a thank you.

Finally, they were all done and a guard came over to escort them out and back to their cell. The trio straightened their backs and didn't bother to glance at the other fighters, little hissed remarks and suspicious looks nipping at their plating. Jazz tagged along behind them, twitching at every unexpected sound. As they shuffled silently out of the room, Ratchet yelled after them. “Don't come back for at least a week! I don't want to see you!”

“You love us Hatchet!” Sideswipe seemed to perk up out of habit. He twisted around to call back. “You'd miss us if we didn't get hurt and come see you so often!”

“OUT!”

[melynen]

Sweet Pandemonium - 00Q

((Inspired by the prompt of LDWS week 4, and adds on to this fic.))

“Who authorised this?” Q demands as soon as he’s finished reading the mission brief. “Who, upon seeing that the mission requires two agents, in their infinite wisdom decided to give it to double-ohs bloody five and seven?”

Moneypenny, for her part, gives him a look that is a mix of virtuous innocence and smug satisfaction that is surely meant to proclaim her sterling inculpability. Q sees right through it, though, because she’s barely even trying to conceal the latter.

Bond and Shaw, the bloody double-ohs in question, give him matching hurt looks, both of which Q is perfectly capable of ignoring, having seen them far too many times due to Bond being his lover and Shaw his close friend. A very close friend with whom he’s been undercover as boyfriends, he might add, which only means that he’s even better equipped to resist the pout that’s forming on those full lips.

“I am hurt, Q,” Shaw declares when all it does is make Q roll his eyes. “Hurt, I tell you. Bond and I are the best agents for this mission, ask anyone.”

“I did, and I can think of at least five better candidates off the top of my head.”

“Should I feel insulted? I think I should feel insulted,” Bond says, making Moneypenny grin and Q feel the beginnings of a small but persistent headache forming behind his eyes.

“I’m making R your handler, just so you know,” Q tells the room at large. There’s no way he’ll touch this particular mission with a ten-foot pole, that’s for sure.

“Oh my sweet crumpet,” Shaw says, strangely cheerful, “you can’t.”

“It needs to be you. M’s orders,” Bond adds.

Q glances at Moneypenny who nods at him, sounding a touch apologetic. “They’re correct. The mission needs the best people, and you’re it, Q.”

“We’re all it,” Shaw corrects.

“Yes, fine, you’re all it. Just remember this the next time you feel like complaining about never getting any interesting missions.” Moneypenny gives both agents a pointed look, then turns back to Q. “You’ve got until the end of the week to finish the kits. Do you think it’s doable?”

Q nods. “Yes, I see no problem there,” he says, with the barest hint of a stress over the word ’there’. The problem lies squarely on Bond and Shaw, as far as he’s concerned.  

Moneypenny smiles. “Excellent. I’ll go give M the good news.” She offers Bond and Shaw a regal nod and then leaves Q’s office.

“The way I see it,” Q tells the two menaces still remaining, “there’s only one way for this mission to succeed.”

“Which is…?”

“That neither of you will call me anything other than Q while we’re on the clock. There will also be absolutely no ignoring me or accidentally losing your earpiece or any other shenanigans I’m used to seeing from you. Yes, Bond, I mean you. And yes, Shaw, I do mean the ban on all pet names. Can you both do that much for me?”

Q looks from Bond to Shaw and back and raises an eyebrow to show that he means business. Neither of them look particularly impressed, however.

“Of course, darling,” Bond is quick to assure him.

Shaw nods emphatically. “Certainly. You know us, we aim to please.”

Q snorts. “Yes, yourselves.”

“Is it just me, or does our Q have an awfully low opinion on our sincerity?” Shaw asks, ponderingly.

“He does, doesn’t he? I think we ought to do something about it,” Bond replies, taking a step closer to where Q stands.

“I agree. Perhaps you have something in mind to start with?”

“I most certainly do.”

“Bond…” Q says warningly, but to no avail. Bond still makes his way over to him and effortlessly corners him against the filing cabinet; although to be entirely honest, Q’s not exactly resisting his boyfriend’s advances. (It’s been a long day and he misses Bond’s closeness, so sue him.)

“Well, it looks like you have everything under control here,” Shaw says, sounding more amused than the situation warrants, at least if anyone asks Q. (Not that anyone does, but he’s not exactly surprised.) “So I shall take my leave. Though Q? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

With those parting words, Shaw exits the office. Q shakes his head at what has become an inside joke of sorts between the three of them, and then focuses his attention on Bond again.

“Hello, Q,” Bond says with that specific tone in his voice. Q has become intimately acquainted with it during his time as Bond’s boyfriend, and so he can easily predict just what the man is after.

“Hello to you too,” Q says, patiently looking into Bond’s eyes.

“I’ve missed you all day,” Bond murmurs and leans closer to nuzzle at Q’s neck and jawline. Q shivers at the feeling and brings up a hand to run his fingers through Bond’s hair, still feeling elated that he can.

“You’ve been here at my branch most of the day,” he feels compelled to point out. Although to be fair, he’d been too busy to really acknowledge Bond’s presence for the better part of the day, and when he did it was to give the man a gadget that needed testing, or to direct him to some of his minions that needed a helping hand.

All in all, Bond’s feelings are definitely welcome.

“That is certainly one way to put it,” Bond allows, sounding muffled but clearly amused. “Another would be that I was here but you were pretty much ignoring me.”

“I can’t help it if I’m busy while at work.”

“Neither can you blame me for wanting you in my arms.”

“You’ve got me there now,” Q says, then gasps when Bond takes it as his cue to start nipping and kissing at his skin.

”James… we’re in full view of the cameras.”

“I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t,” Q mutters, but he tilts his head obligingly when Bond nudges him with his nose and enjoys the affection.

“It’ll be fine, darling,” Bond says after a while, punctuating it with a gentle kiss at the corner of Q’s mouth.

“Will it though?” Q asks, seeking reassurance. “Will you two be able to follow the mission directive without any undue deviations, the way you especially have a habit of doing?”

“We will,” Bond says. “While we may occasionally act in ways that might suggest otherwise, we are professionals.”

“Sometimes I do beg to differ,” Q says, and gets a kiss with more than a hint of teeth in it as his punishment. Not that he considers it a punishment, really, and he retaliates by lightly scratching his fingers along Bond's scalp down to his nape.

“You really don’t have to worry about the mission,” Bond says after. “Besides, you’ll be in our ear the whole time.”

“Mm, yes, there is that.” Q says, although there’s still perhaps a hint of disbelief in his tone.

Bond tightens his hold on him in turn, but this time he keeps whatever comments he may have for himself.

Q tries his best to bury his misgivings against Bond’s chest and enjoy the feeling of being held so close. After all, it could be worse: he could be expected to physically leave Q Branch and go into the field together with both Bond and Shaw. He shudders at the mere thought of it and hopes that things will never go quite as far as that.

[piccolina-mina]

The Art of Reciprocity

A/N: For @shadowandbones, the only person who could ever get me to write kysobel/kybel.💙 

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She pressed a manicured nail hard on the doorbell, not bothering to let up.

She couldn’t tell if the buzzer was working or not, so she knocked on the door for good measure, until she heard a muffled thump and swearing. Then a series of locks were unlatched and the door was wrenched open.

She smiled, syrupy sweet at a disheveled looking Kyle, stepping across the threshold and pushing past his lame attempt to block the entrance.

“No, by all means, come in, Isobel,” he mumbled, shutting the door and shuffling, barefoot back to a makeshift cocoon of blankets on the couch.

“No worries, I already did,” she tossed back, taking in her surroundings, her nose crinkling at Kyle’s questionable taste in decor. 

She could work a miracle there. It screamed “bachelor pad,” and while he was neater than she would’ve imagined, it could have used a bit of a feminine touch.

God knew the Sheriff didn’t count. She was pretty certain the only time Sheriff Valenti would’ve witnessed the full spectrum of the rainbow is if she actually showed the woman her pleasure treasure trove.

“I was being polite. I could’ve come in on my own.”

“You being polite? Never!” Kyle snorted as he burrowed into a pile of blankets.

He stiffened when she plopped down next to him and kicked her feet up on the coffee table as if he still hadn’t gotten used to how she encroached on space without warning.

“You mind?” He nodded pointedly at her feet on his table, and she rolled her eyes, but took them off and kicked her shoes off too. She looked smug.

For a brief moment, she wondered if he would say something else, but a forced smile was frozen on his face.

She shrugged, her eyes landing on a pathetic looking sandwich on a saucer. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of it, so she snatched a half and took a bite, blanching at how utterly tasteless it was with its sad, wilted lettuce and boring multigrain bread.

“Kyle, this is – this is sad, man,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich that she unceremoniously spit back out on the saucer.

“I was going to eat that,” he stared, disgusted at the chewed up bits that landed on top of the other half.

“You shouldn’t, though,” she took a swig of his Gatorade, ignoring his dissent and smacking his hand away.

She choked back the pungent beverage that reminded her of melted popsicles on hot summer days in the desert. “You should have better standards.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said tiredly, snatching the bottle back from her and placing the cap on it. He sighed, collapsing back into his mountain of blankets as if the mere act tuckered him out.

She took in his appearance for the first time since she got there. His normally well-styled hair was damn near plastered to his forehead. His face had a sunken pallor unlike its usual tan, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

His t-shirt had patches of sweat, and his skin glistened with sweat even though he shivered on occasion. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he had some killer stubble action going on.

“You look like sh!t,” she mused out loud. “Yet still doable,” her tongue darted out to lick her lips because the stubble was definitely hot. “It’s unfair, really.

“I don’t get sick, Doc, so I’ll be fine.”

“Isobel,” he blinked slowly, unamused as tired eyes met hers. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Can a girl just drop by and chat with a friend?” She quipped. She batted her eyes playfully.

“We’re friends?” He deadpanned.

It came off both lighthearted and honest, the latter causing her to recoil a bit. Her lips turned downward as she refrained from a snappy comeback because … were they?

And in his defense, she did come over there with an ulterior motive, so was he wrong?

His expression softened, picking up on her shift in mood despite her best attempt to hide it, put that mask of hers back up, the one she had perfected for the better part of two decades.

He opened his mouth intending to walk back his comment, except before he could say more he was overcome with a coughing fit. 

His whole body convulsed with each cough, and he groaned when he was through.

A small part of her was amused that even physicians suffered from a man cold.

He feebly reached for his meds, and she used her powers to pop the lid off and place a couple of pills in his hand. She telekinetically pushed the Gatorade in his other palm too.

“Thanks,” he said, out of breath. He threw back the meds and rested his head on the back of the couch for a moment.

“How about I make you something to eat?” She swiped her palms across her jeans and stood, making her way to his kitchen and rummaging through his cabinets without so much as waiting for a response.

“You’re going to cook?” Kyle sputtered, dumbfounded. “For me?”

“Why is it so hard to believe I can be nice?”

“Isobel-” Kyle started.

“Don’t answer that. Yeah, I’m going to cook for you,” she slammed a few cabinets and arranged a bunch of on ingredients on the counter.

“Southwestern Chicken Soup,” she frowned. “Well, a variation of it, you know, you have a surprisingly well-stocked fridge. Last time I was at Michael’s, all I found was boxed mac ‘n cheese and Twinkies.”

“Isobel-” Kyle began again, watching the blond studiously ignore him while getting down to work. “I just-”

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and go shower,” she pointed the edge of a knife in his direction, nose upturned at his sweaty state. “Take your time, if we’re lucky, and you do it right, everything will be done once you’re out.”

She couldn’t resist the potshots, but his brow arched, more amused than offended. So much for hitting him where it hurt in retaliation.

She angrily chopped vegetables, the action serving as a release for her pent-up frustration. She busied herself assembling the soup, then searched high and low for any alcohol beyond the unappealing drafts in the back of the refrigerator.

She followed the sound of running water toward Kyle’s bedroom, dark colors, and sports paraphernalia abounded, and not only didn’t she bother knocking on the bathroom door, but she yanked back the shower curtain too.

“Kyle – stop shrieking,” she snorted at his surprised yelp. “It’s just me. Hey, do you have any wine?”

She never clocked him for the modest type, but it still surprised her when he stood stark naked, soap and suds pooling at his feet, and stared at her more exasperated than anything else.

“Isobel, do you have any comprehension of privacy?”

“Relax,” she gave him a slow once-over, biting her lip against her own volition. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You saw mine, and I most certainly got to see yours,” her eyes roamed downward with appreciation before returning to his face. “Consider us even. Wine?”

“No, just beer. What can I say? I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Cute,” she yanked the shower curtain closed.

“So you keep saying,” Kyle chuckled beneath the rushing water.

She turned the cold water up with her mind, and he yelped as she slammed the door.

He didn’t say much when he was done. He smelled amazing, like himself, and it brought some color back into his face. He seemed revitalized but also more relaxed, as he sat on the stool across the island from her.

 She could feel his eyes on her as she slid a heaping bowl of soup in front of him while leaning against the island and finishing off a half-empty bottle of beer.

He ate in silence, enthusiastically, she noted, and she secretly applauded herself for impressing him, even if he didn’t admit it.

“This is amazing, Isobel. Thank you,” he shoveled the last spoonful in his mouth.

Go figure; Kyle wasn’t spiteful or petty. He wasn’t – he wasn’t like her.

“Thank you,” he said again. His voice was soft – his eyes earnest and genuine. He reached across and rubbed her arm, and the intimate gesture sent warmth throughout her.

He knew she was attracted to him, and she propositioned him often, but it wasn’t just that he looked like a deity carved from stone. Kyle was a good guy, warm and cool at once, and he was so easy to be around. With Kyle, she could just … be.

With Kyle, she felt like the only thing that mattered was the present, not her past and who she was then, not her future and who she could be.

For Kyle, the present was enough, and since that’s all she could figure out, day by day, minute by minute, she appreciated the comfort in that, in him.

“So, Isobel,” Kyle flashed her that warm, disarming smile that cut through to the core of her. “Are you going to tell me why you really came over here?”

In hindsight, the only reason she was so agitated with his earlier response was because of how right he was, how right everyone was.

She did only come over for selfish reasons, and she didn’t know how to not be so self-absorbed, but she was trying. She wanted to be better.

“How did you do it, Kyle?” She attempted to sound lighthearted, but her voice cracked at the end. It hadn’t gone unnoticed based on the way his eyes widened infinitesimally. “How did you figure out how to be a better person?

She half shrugged, threw in a crooked smile too, and hoped he didn’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Smell the loneliness on her skin.

She felt unsteady, constantly, endlessly unsettled. She felt like, at 28 years old, she didn’t know shit about herself, and she was starting from scratch.

She didn’t know who the hell she was, and if she didn’t know, how could she expect anyone else to?

“In high school, you were –”

“Kind of a dick?” He offered sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. Not my finest time.”

“And apparently, I’ve always been a bit of a bitch,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he contested, his head canted to the 

“You would be one of the few who didn’t.”

“Isobel, you’re human,” he frowned. “Well, close enough. You’re not perfect; no one is.”

“You are,” she joked.

“Not even close,” he argued with a scoff.

“Everything in my life is a lie, and everyone important in my life is stuck with me, they never chose me. My own husband didn’t even lo–” a lump caught in her throat as her eyes misted over.

“I distinctly remember a certain bartender choosing you, only you, out of a bar full of women. That wasn’t a fluke, Isobel.”

“Yeah, because she didn’t know me,” she argued, picking a carrot out of his soup bowl and popping it into her mouth to give her something else to do.

“No, because she did know you because you allowed yourself to be known. No rudeness, or snottiness, no snarky comments, or a prickly exterior, just you, letting go, being … you.”

She wanted to argue, but he shook his head. “You want to know how I became a better person? I’m not. I work every day to be better than I was the day before with the understanding that there’s no end to it." 

"You care to give me something I can work with, Yoda?” She snarked.

“Alright,” he sat back. “For starters, being aware of the other people around me certainly helps.”

“Like at the very least noticing that someone is sick after you’ve bogarted your way into their house?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he replied coolly. “Look, I had to face who I was and the things that I had done, work through my own shit, and the rest just fell into place.

"Life happened. It has a way of beating you down and teaching you lessons. My world expanded beyond this small town and my small thinking or that of those around me.

I forged my own path, focused on me instead of what others thought of me. By doing that, I became better for myself and everyone else. I grew up; every day I’m growing up, and so are you, if you allow yourself to. You stop fighting the process, and it all goes smoothly.”

“And as for others, Isobel, you can’t have real friends until you actually learn how to be one. It’s not always about someone choosing you. It’s about you choosing them, and then putting in the work to show why it’s worth it, why they’re worth it, why you’re worth it.  And you are. Worth it.

He ducked his head, made eye contact with her even though she attempted to look away blinking back tears she refused to let fall.

"All you have to do is get out of your own head, get out of your own way, and show up.”

He gave her that full smile that let her know he wasn’t being a dick. 

“You’re so busy wondering why you don’t have friends that you can’t see that you do. You know who your friends are?

They’re the ones who show up for you, the ones who will make you a priority. You know how you become a better friend? Return the favor. It’s as simple as that.”

His voice drifted off on the last line, and he stifled another cough. 

He patted the counter, gave her a tight-lipped smile, and hoisted himself off the stool. He was giving her space after saying his piece.

He shuffled to the couch and slumped down, kicking his own feet up on the coffee table and toyed with the remote. 

For the first time since she waltzed in, she was unsure of her presence. She cleaned up the kitchen, put things away, and placed the leftovers into the refrigerator.

She meandered in the kitchen, not really wanting to leave but unsure if she should stay.

“Can you bring me another Gatorade when you come back in here?" 

It was as if Kyle read her uneasiness, her reluctance, and she released a relieved titter as she brought him another drink, looming over him as she held it out.

He grabbed it, not releasing it for a bit, dark eyes boring into hers as if he was searching.

For what? She didn’t know, but he had a way of stripping her bare with one glance, it rattled her but also thrilled her, comforted her being looked at and seen.

But still, "You gonna stop batting those browns at me? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were the one trying to undress me with your eyes,” she joked.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Isobel. Saw it all before, remember?” The slight smirk took the sting out of it. “I was just wondering if you were a Wendy or a Ruth." 

"What?”

“How do you feel about drug cartels?” He ignored her confusion, queuing up his Netflix. 

“Is that a trick question? Are you part of some criminal enterprise in between surgeries and alien research, Valenti?”

“Haha, I’m being nice, I’m willing to sit through the first two episodes of Ozark again to catch you up, but if we ever plan on making it through the first season today, we gotta start now.”

“I’m…” she squinted at the screen. “That’s… isn’t that like ten hours?”

He waved at his bundle of blankets, sweats, and Kleenex boxes. “I don’t have any other plans today, do you?”

“Me? You want to binge a show about drug dealers  … with me?”

“My house, my choice. And I’m sorry, I’m not watching Outlander or whatever,” he continued, burrowing into the covers again.

“Yeah, no, but–”

“It’s always more fun bingeing with a friend,” he shrugged casually. 

The obnoxious gong of Netflix played at the same time she plopped on the couch next to him. 

But she couldn’t take her eyed off of him, his profile, relaxed, and unbothered by her, by her company. High cheekbones, strong jawline, and long eyelashes. 

Warmth flooded her chest. 

“It starts off hot, if you keep glaring at me, you’re going to miss stuff, and I’m not starting it over again,” he murmured. 

She leaned in close, tilted his head toward her with a manicured finger beneath his chin, her face impossibly close.

“Kyle,” her voice dropped an octave, as their faces were centimeters apart, she could smell the body wash still clinging to his skin, the spices from her soup on his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, meeting her hooded eyes with his own.

She pressed her lips against his, a searing hot kiss, sucking his bottom lip between her own, nibbling, then soothing it with her tongue. Her fingers playing with his hair at the base of his neck.

She pulled away, leaving his lips swollen, his mouth slightly ajar, eyes a bit unfocused. She knew he was constantly thrown off by her temerity, but he never seemed to hold it against her.

“For being my friend,” her voice cracked at the end, and he was back to looking at her like he could see her soul.  She averted her eyes, settled in resting her head on his shoulder as she pulled her feet up on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” she broke their comfortable silence halfway in.“How do I remind you of Wendy and Ruthie? Wendy’s bitchy, and Ruthie is obnoxious!"  Kyle shrugged, with a wicked grin.

"You’re an ass,” she hissed, punching him in the shoulder.

“Oh, but you like it,” he teased.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’d also ride it,” she sighed. 

“Isobel,” he choked on his drink, and she held her chin up triumphant and unapologetic. 

“Hey, do you have any… dude, hold your arms up over your head,” she whacked him on the back as he sputtered and coughed.

“Anyway, do you have any popcorn?” She stared at the screen with rapt attention, unaware of him glaring at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes.

“Screw you,” he replied with no heat.

“Hey, I keep offering. You’re the one who says no. Now, are we watching this, or are you going to keep talking about your feelings, Valenti?”

She didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, she turned the volume up and stretched out on the couch half sprawled on him, ignoring his protest.

It felt good having a friend.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-