#his old iterations barely touched on it. sad really

[rpvlix]

//Kenny drops things a lot. He's not as coordinated as he used to be, sometimes signals get mixed up and he loses sensation or control or just spasms. Surgical work is much harder now, I'm sure you can imagine. His temper's always been rotten, but it's perhaps a bit worse on bad days.

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (PT.4) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART FOUR

Summary

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother.

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

----

"Miss Y/N, is daddy okay?" Hoisuke peers up at you from the backseat as you pull up to your apartment unit. You glance at him through the rearview mirror and smile, "don't worry, he's fine. He's just going to be slightly late."

Iwaizumi had called you earlier that day, sounding breathless and stressed out as he iterated how slow traffic was moving. On impulse, you'd proposed to bring Hoisuke over to your house to make things more comfortable and after a slight bout of hesitation, he'd agreed to pick his son up in the comfort of your home.

"This is the first time I come to your place, miss Y/N," Hoisuke's eyes are darting back and forth across the tiny kitchenette to your right to the small tv screen plugged to the wall on the left. Granted, your flat is merely anything special and far from ready for unexpected guests. But the sharp curiosity gleaming in your student's eyes holds no judgement and for that you apprrciate him all the more.

"You hungry?" You ask while settling him down at your tiny dinner table compact enough to fit snuggly up to your kitchen counter.

Hoisuke purses his lips in thought and you swear he's learnt this facial expression from observing his father, "hm yeah. A little bit," before throwing you a sheepish grin.

So you whip up something simple; omelette rice with your special Korean chilli sauce as a sudden downpour splatters through the cityscape, the rain dancing to its own rhythm as it splatters over your windowpane. The TV plays in the background, a random cartoon that gets interrupted with Hoisuke's giggles and that ignites an affectionate smile on your lips as you chide himto eat. And you're not really sure why your chest feels tight and filled to the brim with comfort, but you realise you don't actually mind having the small human around that much.

Teachers aren't supposed to have favourites. But you admit to yourself that teachers are only human. And if you are to choose, Hoisuke would be one of yours.

"Miss Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?" Hoisuke's voice pierces through your thoughts and as you blink down at him, you shake your head, "no, I'm single as a pringle."

"You are not married then."

"No I'm not."

"Great!" Hoisuke jumps up on his seat, eyes twinkling with mischief, "then do you want to marry daddy?"

"What?" You laugh out, "it doesn't work that way Hoisuke."

"But I like you miss Y/N," he replies with the seriousness of a child wanting his way, "You'd be a great mum. Can you be my mum?"

"Oh gosh kiddo," your hand reachea out to ruffle his hair, heart twisting at how easily he leans into your touch, "I'd love to be your mum, but--"

"Then marry my dad," Hoisuke's mumble is muffled against your side. He unconsciously snuggles up to you and you caress the top of his head down to his nape, "daddy likes you too. He really likes you. You make him happy. He laughs a lot when you're around, and he doesn't get sad like he usually does when Mama is here."

"But that would be unfair to your mum wouldn't it?" You say softly, "you can't have two mums. She'll be upset."

There's a slight pause where you can see the cogs turning in his brain, "yeah," he says eventually, "but I don't really like going to Mama's anyway--"

The sound of your doorbell jolts you both to attention. You give Hoisuke's head one more ruffle before getting up to unlock the door.

Only to come face to face with none other than Hoisuke's mother.

You blink. Once. Twice. Unconsciously taking a step back.

She's pretty. Prettier up close, with those feline cat eyes and that full mouth that renders any man crazy. Standing a few inches higher than you, there is no doubt as to why Iwaizumi had fallen for her charms in the first place. She looks like the kind of woman that would still be elegant even dressed in a mechanician's uniform.

"H-Hello," your eyes dart from hers to a blank spot on the wall opposite, "can I help?"

"Where's Hoisuke?" Her voice is smooth, yet hard enough to make you wince.

"I--" your mind races. Isn't Iwaizumi supposed to pick him up? And how the hell does she know where you live?

She seems to read your face as she says, "I saw you with my son leaving the school. You're his...teacher, aren't you? I was waiting to pick him up."

"I thought Iwaizumi-san--"

"I don't need a reason to see my son," she arches her brows at you in a way that makes you want to crawl under a carpet and hide.

"Mama?" Hoisuke's voice floats from behind you, a tentative waver of nervousness as you hear him pad up to the door.

"Does Iwaizumi-san know you're picking him up?" You hope your tone is diplomatic, but the way her body tenses proves you otherwise, "You can tell him Hoisuke's with his mother," she nods at her child, "now come on Hoisuke. Let's go home."

Maybe feeling the tension in the air, Hoisuke merely shrinks back, "but it's Daddy that picks me up."

"Yes well, Daddy's not here now is he?" She gestures aggressively towards him, "now come on."

"Maybe we should wait until Iwaizumi-san gets here," you try to smooth things over, "he's on his way--"

"Don't tell me what to do with my child," Mizune snaps and without warning, grabbing hold of Hoisuke's arm before pulling him out of the flat. He resists.

"Mama no, let's wait for Daddy--"

"Daddy isn't coming. Now stop being so difficult," she doesn't relent against the way her son twists and kicks at the ground while you stand there, mind blind with panic because you've never actually had to deal with such a situation before.

"Mama please!" Hoisuke cries out with a sob.

You want to move. You urge yourself to. But your feet won't budge. It's like you're rooted in place.

Hoisuke has started crying at this point and in an attempt to smoothen things out, you try again by saying, "I'm sure we can all calm down and talk this out. As a teacher, I cannot--"

"That's right," Mizune's feline pupils narrow down on you, making you flinch at the rage simmering through those dark orbs, "you're his teacher. And as a teacher, you should know how to keep your boundaries. You're not his mother and you never will be. So fucking stay out of my family's life."

The words burn as they etch themselves into memory and you can only watch, hand clutched to the door as Mizune drags her crying son away. His cries are loud enough that they bounce throughout the corridor and keeps resonating even when he's long gone, as you try to comb through the last fifteen minutes where everything has turned upside down.

Fucking stay out of my family's life.

Your brain reels. Your heart feels heavy. You don't know what to do, what to say.

And Mizune's words are as sharp as a knife.

Don't tell me what to do with my child.

A sob slowly catches the back of your throat, eyes slowly brimming with an onset of tears.

You're not his mother.

The truth hurts. You know that Hoisuke is not your child, know that all this time it's merely Iwaizumi and his son, and then you watching on the sidelines. But hearing the cold rejection thrust in your face hurts more than you'll admit.

You aren't quite sure how long you stand there gazing into the empty corridor as if if you will it hard enough, Hoisuke will come running back to you. It is only when a familiar alto reaches your ears that you snap back to attention:

"Y/N?"

Jerking at the sound and looking up to see none other than Iwaizumi, drenched and breathless, standing a few feet away from you, your breath hitches in warning.

He closes the distance between you, frowning upon noticing the tears at the corner or your eyes, "what's wrong? Where is Hoisuke--"

"I'm..." your eyes drop to the ground, "I'm sorry," your whimper is barely above a whisper and you feel him move closee, his hand gently grasping your arm.

"Y/N?" His voice is gentle, though ragged and breathy, "what happened?"

It's probably the gentlest he's ever been with you. Turning away to cup your mouth with your hand, your teeth clamp down onto your lower lip in hopes of keeping the emotion from spilling over.

"Mizune came," you murmur out, "she took Hoisuke home."

There's a sharp intake of breath on his part. A pause, "how did--"

"She followed us."

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh as he moves towards you and you stagger back to hide your tears, but it proves useless when his hand grasps your arm to pull your hand away.

Deep brown mocha meet yours. Your throat tightens.

"Sorry," you breathe out a forced chuckle but it's clear from Iwaizumi's face that he's spotted your tears, and that he just knows that there is something bothering you.

But he doesn't ask. Doesn't question your intent or your feelings.

Instead, he pulls you close, close enough you're stumbling into him, before his hand wounds around the back of your head and presses you against his shoulder.

It shocks you, the sudden intimacy of his touch. His citrus smell once again invades your space and you can't find it in yourself to keep on holding on before you break down.

Maybe it's because you had felt-- at this point in time -- that you were someone significant in Hoisuke and Iwaizumi's life that you're not crying into Iwaizumi's shoulder as if everything is going downhill in your life. But you're comforted by the casual way he holds you with his head turned away so that you can bury yourself in the crook of his collarbone.

"Sorry," you manage to mumble out after you've managed to calm down. He's moved you back into your flat and has sat you down onto your kitchen chair, having rummaged through your utensils to bring you a cup of water that you sip on gratefully, if only to act as a distraction from the way he's gazing at you.

Iwaizumi shakes his head silently, looks away and clears his throat, "I'm gonna call her. You good?"

You nod and after searching your face for a few more seconds, he slides out of his seat and walks away with the device already presses to his ear. Bowing your head and gulping down the rest of the water, you manage to block out his angry alto resonating through the compact space as you focus on regaining control of yourself. You rarely fall to pieces like that, rarely give in to the downward pull of your emotions because the nature of your job obliges you to.

"Y/N."

You jump involuntarily and look up to see the said man sporting a frown, "is Hoisuke okay?" You ask.

"He's fine," a sigh escapes his lips as he slides back into the chair as if there's a weight pressing down onto his shoulders, "I'll pick him up tomorrow after school."

You nod. Good, the last thing you need is for Hoisuke to be disrupted by problems that don't concern him.

When he speaks next though, his alto is hoarse and thick, "I'm sorry Y/N. You don't deserve to get in the middle of all this."

"It's okay."

His eyes pierce yours with burning hot intensity, causing your gaze to drop to your fists laying across the table, knuckles so tight they're turning white.

A bout of silence ensues, lest for the pounding in your heart while your thoughts take on a tumultous turn for the worse. What if Mizune is angry? What if she stops Hoisuke from coming to school altogether? What if she makes her child move just for the sake of keeping him away from his teacher who can't seem to keep her nose out of anyone's business? What if--

Warmth floods your hands so suddenly that it interrupts your train of thought. Head jerking up in surprise to see Iwaizumi's hands clasp yours, your blood suddenly pulses through your limbs upon feeling his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles.

Iwaizumi is not a man of words. That much you know, but this evening has been full of surprises for you both. So you force yourself to relax, almost enjoying the gentlest of his touches fluttering across your skin.

"How," your words are choked, "how angry is she?"

"That doesn't matter."

"But what if--"

"None of this is your fault, Y/N," he replies firmly, followed by a gentle squeeze, "whatever you have cooking in that head of yours, stop."

Nodding and sighing in defeat, you lapse into a more comfortable silence as the time dwindles on. It's different to have someone else occupying your flat, considering that you've gotten so used to living along after your horrible breakup. A good kind of different.

When you bid him goodbye that evening -- granted you shall wake up with dark circles and puffy eyes the next day -- he suprises you with another casual, one-armed hug which signifies so much more for the usually reserved man, Hoisuke's bag hanging loosely from the other. He holds you close, his grip strong and secure and making you wish you can melt in a puddle of warmth at his feet, while his cheek pillows atop your temple against the side of your head. You lean in, cozy and warm, while his heart beats underneath your ear like a gentle drum easing you of today's worries and you wish you have the willpower to keep yourself away, in vain.

He pulls away slightly, mutters a soft "night" before a ghost of a kiss imprints itself on your temple.

Your breath hitches but the moment is gone all too son. He's already swivelling around and making his way down the corridor, leaving you to stare after him with a wild, raging heart.

You know, without a doubt, that you're already a little too skin-deep.

----

Iwaizumi is furious. Filled to the brim with a rage that's threatening to bubble over his insides.

He'd gone round to fetch Hoisuke in the morning as promised, just managing to keep himself from knocking his ex-wife's double mahogany doors down only to be greeted by that stupid bastard who'd stolen his wife away.

Todoka had always roamed within the same circle of friends as Iwaizumi and Mixune, having met under the same dormitory roof and sharing common sports interests. So imagine how big of a slap it was to hear that he'd been the one stealing kisses and sharing soft subtle touches with his wife behind his back.

"I could've driven him if only you'd let me," Mizune had told him as they waited for Hoisuke to finish brushing his teeth. is ex-wife's familiar soprano made him tense. Her face was a cold mask of indifference that covered up her silent anger. She'd folded her arms, chin jutted out and lips pursed, "he's my son too, you know."

"Was he still your son when you went and fucked Todoka?"

She'd sighed. As if dealing with the tantrum of a child, "Why are you bringing this up again?"

"Because you never put him first. Not when he threw his tantrums, not when he cried for you. Not even when he was sick," Iwaizumi spat out, the words tasting bitter upon his tongue.

"I had issues Hajime, you know that--"

"Like what? Like we weren't good enough for you? Like I wasn't pulling myself apart while you were out for nights on end?" Iwaizumi would've continued with an onslaught of pent-up statements if his son hadn't spoken out:

"Daddy?"

"Hey bud," Iwaizumi's anger had deflated like a hot air balloon, "you ready to go?"

And so he packed his son up in the car, his ex-wife watching his every move, and just after he'd closed his vehicle door did Mizune mention something about you.

"Do you like her?"

He'd bristled, "none of your business."

"Hoisuke is my son," Mizune's eyes had hardened into steel, "I don't need anyone else filling up his head with stupid ideas, nor do I want him to get hurt--"

"Like you did?" The words were fire burning upon his tongue. His shoulders were squared as he faced her fully, "stop beating around the bush, Mizune. We both know you hate the fact that Hoisuke loves spending time with Y/N."

"That's not it, I--"

"Y/N has spent more time with Hoisuke in a week than you did in a month. She's wiped his tears more timesthat you've seen him cry," he swivels towards his car then, "are we done?"

"You're acting like a child."

"I'm not the one picking a fight because of some petty jealousy," Iwaizumi had snapped.

"I'm not jealous!" Mizune burst out, her patience finally wearing thin, "I'm trying to look out for him, for you! She's not right for you--"

"Don't. Talk about her like that,” Anger had flared at how dismissively she spoke of you, visible as his knuckles tightened and a vein throbbed in his forehead, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck out of my life."

He'd driven off without looking back, knowing full well he'd shocked her into silence and if he were to be honest with himself, that outburst had eased some of the knots in his stomach. Dealing with Hoisuke's anxiety after witnessing yet another argument though, that was something else.

"Daddy, I don't understand why you and Mama fight so much," Hoisuke finally finds his voice when they stop inside the school gtounds. His small chubby hand, fitting into Iwaizumi's large one, cling to him with more force than necessary as they make their way to his respective class.

"Your mama and I...have different opinions on things," Iwaizumi tries to explain, suddenly guilty that his son has to pick up all the broken pieces. Impulsively, he ruffles Hoisuke's locks, "don't worry."

And that's when his son stops in mid-walk, looks him dead in the eye, and tells him, "Mama doesn't like miss Y/N, does she?"

It's a different kind of slap, but he shouldn't have understimated the little five year old. Children know much more than they let on snd here's the proof of it.

Iwaizumi allows both his hands to clasp Hoisuke's shoulders and bends down until they are face to face, "hey," dark mocha meets lighter caramel tinged with a fear of a child desperate for a family that all his friends can take for granted, "that doesn't matter. Do you like miss Y/N?"

Hoisuke nods, eyes wet.

Iwaizumi's heart swells and he swears he doesn't ever want to see that expression on his son's face, not if he can help it.

"Then it doesn’t matter what your Mom tells you," he squeezes the child's shoulder for good measure, "no one can boss you around and tell you that you're not allowed to like who you like," he brushes a few hairs off Hoisuke's forehead, "not me, not even your mom. Got that?"

“Will we be able to invite miss Y/N again?” Hoisuke asks with a trembling bottom lip. 

“If you want to.” 

“Do you want to, daddy?” 

That question takes him by surprise, the familiar guilt lurching through his stomach as he tries to comb through an excuse to hide his growing feelings. 

Except, why does he have to hide in the first place? 

It takes a moment, before Iwaizumi nods, “yeah,” he murmurs gently with the softest of smiles, “I want to.” 

Hoisuke nods once more, which is shortly followed by lurching into Iwaizumi's arms as a sob echoes from his throat. His father holds him close, glad that the earlier tension from Hoisuke's has dissipated into relief for now.

What he doesn’t know though, is that you stand just a few feet away, body tucked into the corner of the wall and holding up your racing heart against your chest. 

------

The more you spend more time with the Iwaizumis, the more your heart gets invested in the coaxing warmth that makes up their family. You try to dismiss what you've overheard back in the school corridor but it's an itch you can't quite erase now that you've been exposed to Iwaizumi's feelings, which does nothing to stop the way your heart skips a beat whenever his gaze lingers upon yours for too long.

And you've taken notice. Or you think you do. Of how he sounds more gentle whenever he talks to you, how whenever you play hands they drift towards each other for a few extra seconds that causes your skin to tingle with warmth. How it is so goddamn easy to fall into this familiar routine of playing families with Hoisuke around like a human sunshine.

But there's still one thing nagging you. Which is why you corner him once you have tucked Hoisuke into bed on Saturday night, seeking him out on the small terrace tucked beside his kitchen that overlooks the glowing city lights.

"Can I ask you something?"

His gaze flits to yours. He nods.

Swallowing back the sudden knot of anxiety in your throat, your question comes out more like a soft proposition rather than a demand fot answers.

"I know it's none of my business, but-- I overheard you and Hoisuke a few days ago in the school corridor," your words are rushed and quick as you fold your arms over your chest, "did you and Mizune have a fight...about me?"

Iwaizumi shifts in your peripheral to face you, but your eyes adamantly find purchase onto the cement ledge splattered with dirt. For a split second, you wonder whether it wouldn't have been better to keep your mouth shut.

"What did you hear?" He asks quietly.

With a slow breath, you tell him what you've heard, underlining that this whole encounter was an accident.

"And from the way she acted when she saw me...well, it's not hard to put two and two together," you finish off in a mumble, then quickly adding, "look I--I don't want to come in-between you and your family. I just don't want Hoisuke to get hurt."

Surprise flits through his features. He regards you for a long moment, long enough that you feel like squirming underneath his gaze.

Then, taking you by surprise, he chuckles softly and shifts his elbows onto the edge of the terrace, "No wonder he likes you."

You blink at him. It suddenly feels a little too warm.

"None of this is your fault, Y/N," you wonder since when have the formalities dropped from Miss Y/N to just Y/N and decide that you like the way your name rolls off his tongue, "Mizune gets jealous over stupid shit and if she can't see someone else making her son happy then that's not our problem."

Your teeth unconsciously find purchase onto your lower lip, which he notices. That doesn't stop him from reaching over to press his thumb against your lower lip, "don't."

You freeze at the touch. His thumb is warm against your mouth, calloused and sending a series of tingles down your spine.

He must realize the intimacy of his touch, for he drops his hand away and mutters, "he's...livelier. when you're around. Happier, even. I've never seen him like that with his Mama."

"What about you?"

You feel like slapping yourself. The audacity coming out of your mouth surprises you and you swear your cheeks burst into flames.

Iwaizumi looks at you almost at the same time your pupils focus on his, causing your breath to hitch.

Why the hell can't you just keep your mouth shut?

Iwaizumi's voice is merely a murmur when he speaks next, deep and laced with a roughness.

"What about me?"

Your brain seems to turn to mush, "do you like having me around?" You hope you don't sound too pathetic.

Your heart almost stops at his next set of words.

"I do."

And there's that smile, barely there but enough that your own lips stretch to mirror his action. Until you realize you are smiling at him like a fool and quickly look away like you've just been burnt.

Something shifts in the air between you, spurred on by the way your eyes keep searching each other's with a growing tension that makes your skin rattle. Iwaizumi's frown is present, yet not unpleasant and you're not quite sure who moves, just that he's suddenly a little closer. Close enough you get a whiff of the citrus smell you've come to recognize as his own.

"Miss Y/N?"

Hoisuke's voice suddenly snaps you out of your daze. Quickly whipping around to see the said boy rubbing his eyes, a hand unconscioudly scratching his tummy, your entire countenance softens as he blinks up at you sleepily.

"I can't sleep," he mumbles out with sleep still in his eyes, "can you come back to bed with me?"

"Yeah sure," you're already on your way over to him, scooping the child up in your arms. He takes this chance to bury his face into the crook of your neck, sighing contently.

You turn back to his father, a dark silhouette against the bright landscape, "I'll be right back."

But Hoisuke surprises you by saying, "you too, Daddy."

Iwaizumi stills, "what?"

"Come to bed too, Daddy."

For one single moment, it's like time stops. You can't see Iwaizumi's face but a moment later he straightens and walks over, nodding at you when he's close enough. You don't realize your heart is besting like a hummingbird until you hear it throbbing through your chest as you try squeezing into Hoisuke's bed, you in the corner and his father barely hanging onto the edge, Hoisuke squished in-between.

It's like an instinct for the boy to latch onto your shirt. He turns to burrow himself into the curve you've made with your body, facing Iwaizumi who is half-sitting, half-lying down in an angle that surely isn't comfortable.

So you decide to point it out to him, patting the bed for good measure in hopes that he doesn't notice the warm flush of your neck.

"It's okay," your whisper tickles Hoisuke's hair, "it's only until he falls asleep."

He hesitates, before you see his head nod and he slides his body a little closer, chest curving into Hoisuke's back and close enough for you to get bathed in his warmth.

He smells good. He looks good. God. Why does he look so damn good?

Stop! You squeeze your eyes shut aa if that might help your racing thoughts, and you are so caught up in your own head that you almost miss the gentle brush of Iwaizumi's fingers against your shoulder.

You tense up right before realizing that his action is intentional. Your shoulders slowly relax, a shaky exhale escaping your lips as he takes the chance to linger over your arm a little longer, before falling away onto the mattress.

You fall asleep that night listening to not just Hoisuke's, but Iwaizumi's heartbeat. 

----

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[baronessblixen]

Hello loaf, here’s a prompt for you

Mulder/Scully falls off the bed/couch and they laugh about it so hard they cry

Combining these two! Thank you both so much for these prompts. Set after "The Goldberg Variation". Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Wc: 1314

Feeling (Un)Lucky

He doesn't know if it's a euphemism or what, but when Scully asks him to help her with her new mattress, he says yes. It's the Saturday after the Henry Weems case and Mulder is still feeling lucky. How could he not with Scully asking for his help? For once, she's all casual. Not Scully casual - there's no blazer or blouse in sight - but actual jeans and a form-fitting top. Lucky, indeed.

"So," he says, taking off his coat, "you got a new mattress?"

"It was time," she muses, leading him into the bedroom.

"It's big," is Mulder's first thought when he sees the old and the new mattress side by side.

"I like big," Scully says in return and he barely just catches her smile as she turns away from him. He looks at the bedroom, at the two mattresses. One thing is clear: Scully doesn't need his help. She wants his help.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" He asks, rolling up his sleeves.

"Help me carry the old one out? I have someone come and pick it up in 15 minutes." Mulder takes one side, Scully the other, and the mattress is downstairs in no time at all. They stand there, holding it up, waiting.

"Are you sure someone is going to pick it up?" Mulder asks. "I could call the Gunmen. I'm sure Frohike would pay you for this mattress."

"They're gonna be here any second, Mulder. Be patient."

He's been patient for years. Seven years, to be exact. He puts his hands on the top of the mattress and looks over at her.

"Why did you get a new one?"

"Like I said, it was time."

"Time," he murmurs. "But why now?" He doesn't get an answer because a truck reading 'Mattress King' rounds the corner and stops right in front of them.

"This all?" A guy asks leaning out of the window. Scully nods at him. "Good. Guys! One mattress to go." He grins at Scully and tips an imaginary hat. "If a queen like you ever needs a king-"

"Yeah, thank you," Mulder says, grabs Scully by the arm and walks back inside. "The 'Mattress King', Scully?"

"They're new. They recycle the old ones. It's better for the environment."

Mulder grumbles. "There's only one king, you know."

"I know," Scully says, humoring him and patting his hand.

Back inside the apartment, her bed looks eerily naked. Standing in front of the frame feels monumental and downright obscene. Disposing of an old mattress is one thing. Helping her with a new one is a whole different game. That is if she still wants his help.

"Do you-"

"Can you-" they both speak at the same time and blush when they realize it.

"I can help with the new mattress," he says. "If you want."

"It's easier to do it together."

Mulder nods. And what are they if they aren't partners? He will watch her back and flip her mattress. He will flip other things, too, if she lets him. After all, it’s only fair; she flipped his switch years ago and now there can never be anyone else for him.

They each pick a corner across from each other, share a glance, and without a word heave the new mattress onto the bedframe.

"That's one heavy mattress," Mulder complains.

"I went for quality. I want it to last." He stares at her, but she's already turned her back to him, rummaging through drawers. "This is the tricky part," she says when she turns back around, holding a set of sheets.

"Putting on sheets?"

"My arms aren't long enough."

"Mine are."

Unbeknownst to Scully, Mulder has a secret talent: sheets. His grandmother taught him how to put them on perfectly. If he can't wow Scully with his wit or his boyish agility, maybe this will do it.

"Why are you so good at this?" She asks, astounded. Secret weapon: fired. He grins.

"Can't tell you all my secrets, can I?" He winks at her and, feeling confident, leans over to tuck in the sheets at the corner. Except that he misses. So much for his secret talent. He leans over the mattress and misses it again.

"I'll do it," Scully says but Mulder is a man possessed. He puts his knee on the mattress and realizes a moment too late that it's a mistake. The mattress is bouncy. Really bouncy. He's in the air for approximately half a second but it's enough for his whole body to somersault and fly over the edge on the other side. Right in front of Scully's feet.

"Mulder! Are you-" her hand flies to her mouth, obviously trying to stifle a laugh. It burst through her fingers, and she laughs like he's never heard her laugh before. He forgets the pain in his hip, forgets that his body mistook Scully's new mattress for a bouncy castle.

He stares up at her and a huge grin spreads on his face as he watches her laugh. She's laughing so hard that she's crying, the emotion forcing her to her knees. Seeing her laugh up close, her red face, tears streaming down her face not in sadness, but in happiness for once, he joins in. It comes as easily as breathing, laughing with her. She is making noises he's never heard before and it makes him laugh even harder.

"You just-," she attempts to say, her voice not cooperating.

"I just-," he tries, too, but to no avail. Scully puts her hands on his thigh, still laughing.

"Are you- did you- hurt yourself?" He'd take her question more seriously if she weren't still absolutely losing it. As he watches her, her utter bliss and carefreeness, his own laughter ebbs down, is replaced by something else. Something that's been sleeping inside of him for a long while.

"I love you," he says, the three words slipping out between their laughter. Scully's face turns serious, and he reaches out to wipe away the tears. He's thankful that she's stopped laughing after his confession. Another ‘oh brother’ might break him.

"I'm not high," he continues, "or in pain. My ass once more broke the fall. It's had a long week." His joke draws another smile from Scully. "I love you, Scully. I love that you asked me here to help you, that you trusted me to help you. I love you.”

"I trust you, Mulder," she says. "I-," she licks her lips. "I know that you- and um-"

"Hey," he says, tipping her chin up. "You don't have to say it back."

"But I- I do feel it."

He nods, smiling. "I know you do. Take your time, Scully. I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you," she whispers and, with her hands still on his thighs, leans over to press a long kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I haven't laughed like this in forever. I think the last time was with..." Her silence says it all. It was her sister. Mulder touches her cheek, his thumb gently stroking it.

"I will happily fall off the bed every day for you just to make you laugh."

"Tempting," she says with a smile. "But how about you try sleeping in it tonight without bouncing off?"

"I- I think I can do that," he says, stunned. New bed, new iteration of their partnership. He grins. “Is that why you really asked me to help you? To lure me into your bed?”

"Maybe," she admits. Everything that been leading them here. Like their own lover’s countdown from the new Millennium until now. He wants to kiss her. Wants to christen her new mattress right away.

"I'm sorry," she says, breaking the moment, “but you, on the bed.” Her giggle turns into another full-blown laugh. There will be time for everything later. Right now, he just laughs with her.

[rivalsforlife]

one more ahaha but the cherry blossom scene at the end of catch up game ch 3 because i'm still thinking nonstop about it all the time 👀👉👈

ABSOLUTELY I CAN also for anyone reading this go look at Mika’s art which inspired this scene. It’s the tumblr version so you can reblog it too, which you should do, even if you don’t read my long rambling,

okay once again rambling below...

Traditionally, Larry Butz arrived at any social gathering anywhere from half an hour to three hours later than the time he was told, so all things considered, he was actually early. Phoenix wasted no time informing him of the latest betrayal among their small elementary school friend group.

this is a direct callout to one of my friends from high school, where we started seriously considering telling her that any social event we were planning started an hour earlier than it actually did so that she’d make it there on time. We never did in case this turned out to be the time she actually made it on time, but still.

“Larry, remember that one time we were trying to make that gigantic hopscotch game, and we ran out of chalk?” He pointed an accusatory finger at Edgeworth, who sighed. “It turns out, Edgeworth hid it all along!”

Larry blinked, then shrugged. “Oh yeah, right, that. Well, I kind of had an idea…”

“Wh — You hid this from me too?! D-Death! The death penalty for the both of you!”

“Why does this all sound so familiar,” Edgeworth commented under his breath.

I think this part is mostly there so Larry actually does something because I couldn’t find any real way to fit him into this fic...? Anyways the dialogue there with Phoenix threatening the death penalty on Miles and Larry is pretty much directly lifted from the end of Turnabout Goodbyes, which is why Miles comments on it sounding familiar. 

They continued on in that vein for some time, dredging up old elementary school memories. Phoenix proclaimed to be the only innocent member of that group, before Edgeworth brought up a set of very nice gel pens Phoenix reportedly stole from him. Phoenix and Edgeworth got caught up in their argument, and barely even noticed when Larry wandered away, joining Maggey and Gumshoe at the fishing pond while Franziska critiqued them.

This sort of familiar banter was normal. As Edgeworth teased in that same way he had ever since Phoenix first faced him in court, he had to wonder if he’d just imagined the way Edgeworth had been looking at him during the party. Maybe everything was fine, after all.

Not pictured: Phoenix and Miles leaning in closer to each other as they argue. too close. Larry tries to comment but neither of them hear him. Eventually he just walks away because he’s sick of third-wheeling with these two. It’s my firm belief that if there weren’t the court benches in the way that they need to slam, these two would slowly walk closer and closer to each other as they argue because they. uh. want to “intimidate” each other. that’s why they’re nose to nose like that. the whole courtroom is suddenly very uncomfortable.

Haha anyways also I think these two would pick the dumbest things to argue about all the time? Never seriously arguing, the just like bickering because they don’t know how to hold conversations about their feelings.

“You still haven’t explained exactly what happened to my gel pen set,” Edgeworth accused, as they circled around the argument for the third time.

Phoenix threw his hands up in the air. “I just forgot to return it! I didn’t know you were so bothered by it. You should have brought it up!”

“Back then? You were so sensitive. If I brought up that you might have upset me in the least, you would have burst into tears.”

“I wasn’t that sensitive.”

Edgeworth sighed. “Wright, you cried when I got a question wrong on a spelling test, because you thought I would be sad about it.”

“And you were!” Phoenix retorted. “You cried for like an hour!”

“Because when you started crying, I thought it was something I had to be ashamed of!”

More bickering, pretty much! Also I do think Phoenix cried A Lot and was super sensitive up until the whole Dahlia trial which traumatized him pretty badly... 

Anyways the REAL story behind this incident which I am making up just now is probably that Miles was on the verge of crying because of Getting Something Wrong -- which I totally get, I absolutely almost cried over spelling tests as a baby -- and Phoenix picked up on this and realized his best friend was sad and started crying, which made Miles start to fully cry, and it just became a mess.

Meanwhile Larry with the 3/10 on his spelling test was just like “I don’t get what you guys are so upset about a 9/10 is great” which just makes them cry even more.

(Then Gregory probably found out about this incident and sat Miles down and gave him a speech about “everyone makes mistakes and it’s okay to not be perfect all the time, this is a learning opportunity and it shows you what you need to work on!”

:)

That sentiment didn’t last very long.)

Wow I’m getting off topic, moving on --

Phoenix crossed his arms. “I remember this whole thing very differently than you do. You cried first.”

“I never cried in fourth grade.”

Phoenix leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Origami.”

“Do not bring that up!” Edgeworth hissed as Phoenix reared back, laughing.

I don’t know if you need to lean in super close and whisper that in his ear though Phoenix, that might be a bit unnecessary. Miles got lucky here in that his Eternal Shame over not being able to fold an origami crane in fourth grade overrode whatever reaction he undoubtedly would have had about Phoenix’s face being very close to his face.

Anyways this banter is here in the fic mostly because I really wanted to show them being all comfortable and happy with each other. That was a major thing I wanted to push as much as possible in these earlier chapters, that they do care about each other a lot even before we enter the more outright romantic territory.

“Regardless, I am certain you took my gel pen set, so don’t try to blame faulty memory on that one. I bet you carelessly used them all up, didn’t you?”

“Hardly! I wouldn’t even touch it after you left. It reminded me of you.”

Some of the fight left Edgeworth’s stance. “Really?”

“Well… yeah.” He wasn’t sure why the admission suddenly felt like a confession of an entirely different sort.

aw man Phoenix you brought feelings into your banter NOW what are you going to do.

I’m preeetty sure I have books that I lent to my friends in fourth grade that they never gave back so it’s of course not an inherently romantic thing, they probably just forgot it was mine and obviously aren’t going to bring it back now ten years later, but for Phoenix in this case it was probably more like “I borrowed these gel pens from Miles and then keep forgetting to give them back but was going to after winter break, and then he left, so I need to hold onto them until he comes back”. Miles was taken from his life so suddenly it probably had a huge effect on him, especially since he had few friends at the time and Miles made such a big impact on him.

The two of them sat underneath the tree in a sudden, serene quiet. They’d both discarded their suit jackets at some point, down to their dress shirts and waistcoats. Phoenix pretended not to notice the way Edgeworth’s eyes darted across the line of his shoulders and lingered longer than they should have.

I don’t ever really pay much attention to what people are wearing or what they look like at any particular time when I’m writing, but in this case I took extra care to make sure they were in the same outfits as in the art that inspired this!

Maybe I’ll ramble a bit more about that! Pretty much the “theme” of narumitsu week this year was “cherry blossoms”, so I wanted to find some way to incorporate them into this fic somewhere somehow. I decided to have that as a focus on Free Day because I enjoy having structure and wasn’t sure what to have for the day.

Some of this scene, mainly the picnic, is inspired by that one official art here. The first iteration of this chapter had everyone in it (with the obvious exceptions of Diego and Mia) but then I took out Maya and Pearl for reasons I explained when I was talking about the scene in chapter 6 where I decided to cut a lot of Maya’s scenes out of this fic... even though I love her a lot.

And of course when I thought about cherry blossoms and narumitsu I thought about Mika’s art, yes I am linking it again, which I believe she posted about a month or so before I started planning and I was Thinking About It Constantly. It’s gorgeous and since there was the perfect opportunity to use it here I just couldn’t resist and here we are.

Back to the paragraph: Miles attempted to subtly check Phoenix out. It was not subtle.

“Do you still have those gel pens?” Edgeworth asked, softer. “I think you owe me them, after everything.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Phoenix, but it was difficult to have a heated argument right now, for some unknown reason. “If I still have them, they’re in a box somewhere. Plus, they ought to have dried up by now.”

“I doubt it.” A faint smile was beginning to crawl on Edgeworth’s face. “Those gel pens were state of the art.”

“Sure they were,” Phoenix dismissed. “And, what, you’re going to use them? Sign your fancy prosecutor documents in bright pink?”

“What makes you think I don’t do that already?”

“You wouldn’t — oh, wait, of course you’d have customized ink in the same colour as your entire wardrobe, who am I even talking to…”

“Mhm.” Edgeworth brushed his bangs from his eyes, a motion that Phoenix’s brain decided to fixate on for some reason. “But really, you went to all the trouble of keeping the set, and you never used any of them?”

(Miles voice) “oh so you kept something as trivial as that for so long because they reminded you of me? Tell me more. Why do you want a reminder of me. What exactly do you think of me, Wright,”

hm pretty much as soon as Phoenix brought Feelings into this conversation the atmosphere kind of changed and you can now imagine Miles staring with the most adoring expression at Phoenix while Phoenix is ignoring this with such intensity that it doesn’t even show up in his narration. But he also watches the way Miles brushes his bangs from his eyes, so he’s not much better.

And thinking about it now this scene really went on for too long about gel pens hahaha... 

“Objection!” Phoenix declared. “I used the blue one to write you letters at first.”

“Ah, of course you did. I never got any of those… How many did you send?”

“I don’t even want to know…”

Edgeworth hummed and looked off into the distance, where Gumshoe was demonstrating how to cast a line. “Your level of dedication is something else,” he said, as if to himself.

“Well, yeah. You were my only non-Larry friend. You were…” Phoenix swallowed. “You were important to me, you know? You saved me.”

“You keep bringing that up. You’ve more than returned the favor, you know that, don’t you?”

“I’m inclined to disagree.”

I don’t have a consistent headcanon about whether Miles got or read the letters, in this fic presumably von Karma intercepted them and got rid of them... and then presumably Miles ignored any that were sent to him as an adult.

Also these two are going to have ridiculous arguments about who saved who until they’re on their deathbeds, I’m sure.

Edgeworth turned back towards him as if to retort, but stopped halfway, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at Phoenix.

“... Something on my face?” Phoenix asked, trying to quell the feeling of some sort of anxiety that bubbled up when Edgeworth stared at him like that.

insert mikacherryblossomart.png

Miles turns away for one second and then suddenly oh no he’s even more gorgeous now

Edgeworth was silent for some time. Then, very softly, he said, “You have cherry blossom petals in your hair.”

“What? Do I?” He reached a hand up to brush them out, but Edgeworth stopped him by grabbing his wrist, freezing Phoenix.

“With your hair, you’ll never get them out like that.” With his spare hand, Edgeworth began to pick each individual petal from his hair. “You look so — silly, Wright.”

Partially a callback to the beginning of chapter 3, when they were kids:

“Y-Your hair,” Miles managed to say through stifled laughter. “One of the flowers fell into it.”

Phoenix hands shot up into his hair. “Really?”

“You look so silly, Phoenix.” When Phoenix failed to find the flower, Miles reached out. “Here, let me.” 

 Phoenix remained still as Miles reached up to the top of his head and picked the flower out of his hair. “Your hair’s really soft,” Miles said quietly, before handing it over to Phoenix. “Here you go.”

because Miles apparently remembered that it was difficult for Phoenix to get the petals from his hair the first time, and also, wanted an excuse to touch Phoenix’s hair again.

But also the dialogue and interactions are ONCE AGAIN INSPIRED BY MIKA based on this reply to my reply to the art on twitter. look at that you can go and retweet the art on twitter too!

Overall this gives us an accurate Thoughts to Speech translator for Miles:

Miles: You have cherry blossom petals in your hair and it is going to kill me.

Phoenix: What? Do I?

Miles: No, wait, don’t brush them out, I want to touch your hair because it is soft and this is the perfect excuse. You look so captivating.

if Miles had said that out loud though it would probably have killed both of them.

Phoenix let out an awkward, low laugh, starting somewhere deep within his chest. “R-Really.”

“Mhm.”

Edgeworth’s eyes locked with Phoenix’s, and time seemed to freeze. There was a sudden thrum of tension in the air, as if Phoenix were in a play and he’d suddenly forgotten his lines, forgotten he was supposed to be in a play at all.

(chanting) “kiss kiss kiSS KISS KISS --”

But before either of them could break the sudden spell over them, a fishing hook whirred through the air, and —

“Ack, I — I think I got it stuck!”

but of course that needs to be interrupted at the worst possible time because this is fanfiction and this is how things work!

“In the tree?! How did you even manage to get it that far?”

“Don’t worry about it, Maggey, I can climb up the tree and get it unstuck, just hang on —”

“No, no, if I just give it a big yank—”

“Maggey—!”

I broke the first rule of writing dialogue because I can’t really remember who’s supposed to be saying what. I think that Maya had a few lines here and then I didn’t change them since there were no dialogue tags...

Pretty much -- Maggey with her eternal luck tried to fish but released the line too early as she was swinging back so the line went back and got caught in the tree branches directly above Phoenix and Miles.

I think the dialogue progression goes Maggey -> Originally Maya but now either Larry or Franziska -> Gumshoe -> Maggey -> everyone going MAGGEY NO!!!

I remember going fishing with my grandpa once a long time ago and either I or my brother did get the fishing line stuck in a tree. would not recommend.

The branch above Phoenix and Edgeworth jostled, and pink petals burst all around them, fluttering down and catching in their hair and on their clothes. One petal even fell behind Edgeworth’s glasses.

They stared at each other for a moment, stunned, Edgeworth’s hand still loosely wrapped around Phoenix’s wrist, as Maggey shouted apologies from the distance.

There are no cherry blossom trees where I live so I have no idea if we’re even in the right season for this or if cherry blossom trees even behave this way - but I’m basing it off of... you know when it’s that point in fall where if you shake a tree branch leaves will just scatter everywhere? That. 

Also RIP to the other four who were just having a grand old time fishing and then turn around seeing these two sitting really close to each other almost holding hands about two seconds away from a kiss... which they’d just interrupted...

And then — the most incredible thing happened, and Edgeworth began to laugh.

Phoenix could have catalogued all the laughs he heard from Edgeworth: the usual, short laughs often mistaken for a scoff by those who didn’t know him as well as Phoenix did; the triumphant, smug, courtroom laughs when he thought he had Phoenix cornered; to the quiet, restrained ones in private that were more of a hum than anything else. This laugh was new.

This was a full-on fit of laughter bubbling deep in his chest and spilling from his mouth, which Edgeworth quickly covered with his free hand, with the additional bonus of covering his reddening face. It wasn’t something hidden or faked or triumphant, it was genuine, and open, and Phoenix could swear it was one of the most beautiful sounds he ever heard.

Miles here is going through an emotional rollercoaster having been two seconds away from finally kissing the love of his life only to be interrupted at the worst possible time, which is just so on brand for the two of them that he can’t help but start laughing hysterically. Plus Phoenix probably looks absolutely shocked suddenly covered in petals, which doesn’t help.

Then the next two paragraphs are brought on by Phoenix Pining and also me wanting Miles Edgeworth to laugh more... 

From my notes for this scene:

They stare at each other for a moment and laugh, and Miles’ laugh just utterly captivates Phoenix and makes him fall so completely in love immediately and oh no he is screwed he is utterly screwed.

So pretty much I had to encapsulate the “falling so completely in love immediately” part which I decided to do by focusing on Miles laughing. I wanted to draw a lot of attention to that which is why there are so many paragraphs dedicated to Miles laughing and Phoenix thinking about Miles laughing.

Trucy’s laughter always made the world feel a little brighter, and made Phoenix feel stronger. Edgeworth’s laugh did the opposite; it dislodged something inside of him, it weakened him, it made the whole world go soft and fuzzy around him. Instead of illuminating all the good in the world, it turned Phoenix’s world into one person.

More focus on Miles’ laughter but also... kind of drawing attention to Phoenix’s reaction to this being different from his reaction to other people he cares about laughing? Because feeling warm and happy when seeing someone you care about non-romantically laugh is normal, but then I wanted to make it clear that this is a different sort of feeling for Phoenix. 

Also Phoenix has to realize this is a different sort of feeling for him because otherwise he could brush it off like he’s probably dismissed all of his romantic feelings throughout the years as “oh I’m just glad my friend is happy, and I rarely ever hear Edgeworth laugh so him being relaxed enough to laugh like that makes me feel happy too,” but it’s not what he’d expect if he just sees Miles as a friend. And it’s described as weakening in the paragraph because right now the subject of his romantic feelings for Miles isn’t something that Phoenix can fully or easily accept right now (as chapter 5 would indicate).

Edgeworth’s fit of laughter subsided, and he shifted his hand so he could look at Phoenix again, the hints of a shy grin peeking out between his fingers, his hair and his shirt and his face adorned with a sweet, gentle pink. It was like looking at an entirely different person — or, no, the same person, but with all armor off, all guards lowered.

Miles is very embarrassed right now but kind of... in a good way...? Like again, almost kissed the love of his life then rudely interrupted at the last possible moment, plus Phoenix’s whole reaction to the thing gave Miles the impression that Phoenix wanted to kiss him as well, so he’s feeling a little giddy. Plus he was just laughing a lot when he normally doesn’t do that. Overall he’s not used to expressing his emotions so he’s embarrassed and a little shy about it...

The part about Miles’ “hair and shirt and face adorned with a sweet, gentle pink” refers to both the cherry blossom petals (in his hair and clinging to his shirt and a bit on his face) and also him blushing quite a bit.

It all feels a little out of character honestly haha because Miles isn’t really the type to be blushing hardcore like this and be a little shy, buuut in this case I let myself get away with it because he’s dealing with romantic feelings he hasn’t ever dealt with at this level before, and it’s also out of character just enough to really strike Phoenix in the heart. You can just imagine him staring at Miles with the most lovestruck expression on his face because he hasn’t seen this side of Miles before and he loves it.

Phoenix’s heart stuttered in his chest, and may have stopped entirely.

He was screwed.

He was completely and utterly screwed.

And even Phoenix can’t deny that he’s super in love at this point. 

I think I wrote this part, changed the words “screwed” to “doomed” right before posting, and then switched it back again for no particular reason. The Vibe just felt a little off but oh well.

Then the next chapter skips over the rest of this picnic but honestly Phoenix’s brain skipped over the rest of this picnic as well. Imagine the two of them just kind of standing around in a lovestruck daze for a while. I think Franziska had to physically drag Miles out of there. no one knows how Phoenix got home, not even Phoenix and least of all me!

But thank you Mika for requesting this!! And for drawing such incredible art for me to base the chapter around haha!!!

[abitnotgoodiebag]

Blur

Title: Blur

Square Filled: I1 - Did they or didn’t they?

Warnings: drunkenness and terrible mental gymnastics

Word Count: 2,881

Summary: Sam thinks he needs an aspirin, better yet, he needs to get up outta here.

Link to AO3

Blur

Sam groans as he swims back into consciousness.  Both his brain and his tongue are unpleasantly fuzzy and he wants nothing more than a cool washcloth, a cold glass of water and complete darkness and silence for the next decade.  He is too old to be drinking himself into terrible hangovers.  He knows the importance of staying hydrated and yet, here he is again, wishing for death to claim him. Sam can certainly say that he has never been the best at making good decisions.

As Sam debates the pros and cons of moving from his comfortable cocoon, he becomes aware of the sounds of soft snores uncomfortably close to him.  He feels the body heat of someone else underneath the sheets of his (is it his?) bed. He also realizes very suddenly that he doesn’t have a single stitch of clothing on.

Shit.

Sam tries to think of who could possibly be behind him snuffling softly in slumber.  The fact that he’s naked probably means that they are too and Sam could slap himself for the second time in as many minutes.  The pounding in his head doesn’t help at all with his mood and Sam may have finally found the reason to quit drinking altogether.  Waking up with strangers in bed is definitely something that is part of his twenties, not to be done when he’s staring at the front steps of forty.

Sam curses the fact that he is the first one to wake up and debates whether or not moving will wake his bedmate.  His memories of the night before are patchy at best and the more he tries to piece together his time at the hotel, the more alarmed he becomes.

-------------------------------------

It was the one year anniversary of the battle against Thanos and Sam would rather have been anywhere else.  The country was not as accepting of Sam as they had been of Steve. Sam didn’t want to think too closely about why exactly that was (because it was way too easy to get angry and what would that solve?), but there were days that he just wished his detractors would say what they really meant, and not use their carefully-coded acrimonious checklists on why Sam would never be Steven Grant Rogers.  Every single decision Sam made was examined under a microscope in the media. /r/notmycap can’t go a week without some viral thread castigating him and slightly less often, Bucky (It’s always the ‘Winter Soldier’ or ‘The Asset’ though, they seem determined to remind the world that Bucky had a violent and unsavoury past).

If the bad press wasn’t enough, the list of full time Avengers was embarrassingly short.  The Defenders did their own thing, as did Reed’s little group. It almost wasn’t worth anyone’s time trying to talk to Charles Xavier unless the subject was mutant rights (not that there was a problem with that, Sam definitely knew how stupid people could be around anything they perceived as 'different').  No one wanted to work with the reformed psychopathic (his words, Sam wasn’t convinced) mercenary, well, Peter was trying to tell everyone that he wasn’t so bad but Sam wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole.  Sam, Bucky, Rhodes, and Wanda were all that was left of the Avengers Initiative.  Sure they had emergency and consulting members, but the fact was, Sam was barely captain of anyone.

Sam’s cheerless thoughts had him spending his time at the bar, after quickly making the initial rounds to greet everyone.  He had to admit, Pepper knew how to throw a party.  While there weren’t a lot of full-time Avengers, Thanos had united the entire world against him, and so the rented ballroom (in the most fashionable of hotels) was full-to-bursting.  He scanned his eyes across the room taking in the small groups that didn’t quite mesh together. Thor and his new traveling companions, the Guardians of the Galaxy stood in a loose circle laughing entirely too loudly.  Thor finally found a group who also lacked inside voices, Sam was happy for him. He looked better than he did that day.  That too-long day that Sam went to battle in the fields Wakanda and ended the fight on the remains of their battered home in New York five years and mere seconds later.  

Sam was glad he wasn’t around to see Thor's slow slide into misery.  He had heard Steve (over the phone, Sam still can't quite look at his wrinkled face) tell him the stories of Thor’s grief at losing his father, brother, best friend, and planet within a week only to lose half of existence the very next day.  Sam couldn’t imagine that pain.

Sam dealt with a different sort of grief.  He had missed five years. Five years of his mother's life, five years of his niece’s life.  Unfortunately so had her mother, his sister.  Sam would never understand how his mother dealt with losing both of her children for five years, believing them gone for good.  His house and belongings were all long gone, leaving him and Bucky to scramble to find an apartment together in the aftermath on the ‘Unsnappening’ (fucking twitter called it that and unfortunately it seemed to be stuck).  He refused to put any more stress on his mom by moving back in when Kayla had to get used to her mother being back.  Besides, it was just easier to live with Barnes. He didn’t have any memories of those five years, as far as he could tell no one did, but he couldn’t help but feel it in his bones that he had spent the time with Bucky.

Shaking his head to dispel that line of thought, Sam looked for his best friend.  They had arrived together, as usual, but Bucky was quickly called over by Yo-Yo and Shaw, both of them eager to hang out with the soldier (he’d taken to being a SHIELD operative surprisingly well, all things considered, he even had work friends, Sam was proud of him).

Turning back to the bartender, Sam ordered an old fashioned.  He had recently discovered that between the two of them somehow Sam was the hipster, even though Bucky had refused to give up his ridiculous (fucking beautiful, if Sam was being honest) man bun.  Sam refused to listen to modern music (unless it was Beyonce, but really, it’s Beyonce it goes without saying) and read his paper at the table instead of staring at his phone all the time.  Sam couldn’t help it, he was an old soul and he had endured Bucky’s teasing goodnaturedly.  He absolutely drew the line at handlebar moustaches and penny-farthings though.

“Birdman number two!”  Clint said in what he probably thought was an acceptable volume, clapping Sam on the back.

Sam startled and grinned as he saw his fellow bird-themed hero.  “Barton! How is life treating you?”

“Can’t complain.”  He said with a cheeky smile as he leaned toward Sam and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “If I do, Laura will give me the old boot.  But I’d deserve it because she is the world’s greatest wife.”

“Damn right I am.”  Said Laura as she appeared next to her husband.

Sam sipped his drink and watched them bicker gently.  He loved that in a couple. Sure the schmoopy ones were cute and all, but life is always better with laughter and it was clear the Barton’s were full of laughter.  They excused themselves after two rounds, Laura saying that she was tired and Sam was once again left to his thoughts.

Before he could sink into them too deeply, his eyes landed on Bucky standing next to a scowling Valkyrie and taking a swig out of Thor’s comically enormous flask (Just because he was doing better didn’t mean that he wasn’t still struggling).  Sam smiled slowly at the blush that spread across Bucky’s face after his second long pull. Seems like Thor brought the good stuff.

Sam, armed with his bourbon and a liquid loss of inhibitions, (after the second old-fashioned, Sam wondered why he was even pretending to do anything other than get hammered and stopped bothering with anything more complicated) pushed away from the bar and headed in Bucky’s direction.  

“Hey there my good people.”  Sam smiled lightly as he reached Bucky, Thor, and Valkyrie.  “Is this the 5000 proof section?”

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly after his last pull and passed the flask to Val, Thor letting out a brief sad noise in his throat, knowing he wasn’t going to get another swig any time soon.  “Sure is, pigeon. This is the cool kids table and you can’t sit with us!”

“Ten points to Hufflepuff for correct use of Gretchen Wieners.”  Sam said as Bucky looked confused. Belatedly, Sam realized that they hadn’t gotten to the Harry Potter series yet, Bucky picking both Star Wars and Star Trek (every single iteration, Bucky was obsessed) instead.

“Friend Falcon-Captain!  It feels good to have a night of revelry with all of my shield-broth-”  Thor stopped, his smile faltering slightly. “My shield-mates! Let us toast!”

Sam tossed back the last few drops of his bourbon while Thor waited for Valkyrie to pass him the flask.  Bucky just snorted at Thor’s naivete and headed towards the bar to grab a less alien drink. He reappeared a minute later with three glasses and handed two to Sam and Thor respectively.  They clinked their glasses and drained half of their short tumblers as Valkyrie finally drained the flask.

Bucky and Valkyrie let out loud (and surprisingly deep) twin belches sending Thor and Sam into a fit of giggles.  Bucky joined in their laughter while Val just rolled her eyes and walked off in the direction of the bar, no doubt in search of a bottle or two to occupy her hands.

“What’s so funny?”  Shaw asked, coming up behind Sam and throwing his arm around Sam’s shoulder and resting his chin on the other one.  Yo-Yo circled around to bump robotic shoulders with Bucky causing Sam an immediate sharp flare of jealousy in his gut. Yo-Yo and Bucky shared too many similarities for Sam to not see her as a potential threat for Bucky’s time and affection.  

“Bucky was just showing us how to play the tummy pipes.”  Sam said, his words slightly slurred.  His laughter stopped abruptly.

Sam’s smile fell away and Bucky noticed immediately.  He glanced briefly to Shaw draped over Sam before he was somber as well, leaving Thor confused as to what exactly was happening.

“Oh-kaaaay.” Shaw drawled as he picked his head off of Sam’s shoulder, leaving his arm curled around Sam's neck.  Sam was confused, Shaw was Bucky’s friend, they’d met maybe 4 times total, but if Sam were to guess, he’d bet he was less intimidating to use as a prop than the once-king of Asgard or a super soldier.

Yo-Yo raised an eyebrow.  “It seems like we need to catch up with you guys.  I could smell you from a foot away.”

Shaw hummed in agreement even though he was clearly ahead of Yo-Yo too if his inability to stand up straight was any indication.  “Valkyrie went off for more, but I fear that she does not intend to share anything she finds.” Thor said, sounding vaguely disappointed.  “So I must go and fetch us another round!” He looked very proud of himself for thinking of that as he turned and strode away.

“He is amazing.”  Shaw sighed, “What’s his deal anyway?  Why doesn’t he stay here full-time?”

Bucky glared at Shaw and Sam watched on in confusion.  So now it’s not just Yo-Yo he has to worry about, now Bucky has a thing for Thor?  Sam (not for the first time) thinks sadly, that he’s just a man.  He’s no Inhuman, he has no enhancements, he’s from plain old Harlem, not some mythical planet, and he can’t call lightning with a thought.  He’s just Sam and maybe all he would do is slow Bucky down. So zoned out, Sam jerked when Shaw and Bucky laughed, making the room wobble unpleasantly. His obvious distraction just caused them to laugh harder while Yo-Yo’s lips curled into a small smile.

Sam, who realized he was the butt of some joke, flipped them off, making Shaw start all over again, finally taking his arm off Sam’s shoulder to cradle his midsection as he bent forward, cackling madly.

Thor returned with a tray full of shot glasses.  “Let us drink!”

“Damn big guy, you do not mess around, do you?”  Shaw sounded awestruck as he straightened up and Sam was not at all bitter about everyone’s obsessions with Thor.

Yo-Yo and Bucky grabbed two apiece, taking them in rapid succession just a hint of redness on their cheeks indicating that they were drinking anything other than water.

Shaw grabbed two shots, holding one out to Sam smiling wide, “Us normies gotta stick to our singles.  I can’t believe we’re more meat and no tech and still manage to be the lightweights.”

Sam laughed at Shaw’s dig, even as he seethed inside at Bucky leaning down to murmur something to Yo-Yo, eyes on Sam the whole time.  Thor ignored all of them in favor of knocking two shots back one-handed, looking disappointed at their flavor.

Sam, now unable to remember exactly how much he had already had, felt that being upright was overrated and sat down, hard.  Bucky glanced at him in concern, opening his mouth to ask if Sam was alright, but Sam glared back insolently and Bucky’s jaw snapped shut and he turned back to Yo-Yo who had been watching them in amusement.

Shaw grabbed two of the last four shots and again passed one down to Sam, shrugging.  “To bad choices!”  

Sam quickly echoed the toast and gulped the offered drink before clumsily getting off the floor, not finding it comfortable craning his neck up at everyone.  Yo-Yo ambled away, tray in hand, clearly off to refill it. Sam saw Bucky moving out of his peripheral vision, but by the time he turned his head to get a proper look, Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

---------------------------------------

Sam squeezes his eyes shut as he realizes that the last person he can remember talking to was that irksome weirdo, Deke Shaw.  Bucky had left him at the party alone with Shaw, clearly chasing after Yo-Yo. Sam is gripped by a combination of self-loathing and envy that almost chokes the air from him. He will never forgive himself if he has tumbled into bed with that asshole.  This whole situation is entirely backwards. He’s pining after a grumpy, nerdy, absolutely gorgeous white boy from the past, not a strange, trouble-magnet from god-knows-when in the weird-ass future.  

Sam knows who he wishes it was behind him.  Every day he tries his hardest to be the best friend (who is he kidding, he’s doing a great boyfriend audition and has been for months) to Bucky.  After living together for almost a year, they have a certain bond, but not quite the type Sam wants.  He thinks Bucky wants it too, most of the time, but Sam knows better than to try and rush something before its’ time.  Sam’s father always told him that anything worth having was worth waiting for if necessary and James Barnes was definitely worth having.

The person behind him snores loudly once, before Sam feels a hand reach around his middle, drawing him back into a firm torso.  Sam freezes immediately, afraid to look down and finally solve the mystery. The body he's trapped against is mostly warm. Mostly, because Sam can definitely feel the not-quite-cool smoothness of what Sam will bet everything he owns is vibranium against his shoulder blade.

Sam relaxes and very slowly, smiles.  All of the hatred at himself for possibly ending up with anyone else leaves him as almost quickly as it came.  He can't wait for Bucky to tell him everything.  Or Thor.  Or even Yo-Yo, even though Sam will make Bucky do all the talking if that's the route they have to go.  Sam is willing to bet he has some interesting message on his phone if he bothered to check it (If it was even still on at this point, who knows how late in the day it is).  Knowing that he’s lying here with Bucky surrounding him makes the not remembering much easier. He has no regrets other than not committing every single detail of the previous night to memory to constantly replay over and over and over again.

Satisfied that it is indeed Bucky he’s woken up with (Sam breathes in deep and could slap himself, how did he not smell the traces of his own body wash?  Bucky is always stealing it instead of using his boring bar of soap and smelling himself on Bucky drives Sam crazy) makes it easy to let his eyes fall shut and let the hangover pass. His best friend (and maybe, hopefully, probably, finally more) is curled around him keeping out the noise and light of the world and Sam needs to sleep this hangover off.  He smiles to himself as he focuses on the soft snores and drifts into a peaceful sleep. Sam knows that everything is going to be just dandy.

[miss-bvnny]

@gosalynmallardlockdown​ tagged me to talk about 10 favs from 10 different fandoms and while I don’t...EXACTLY participate in a whole lotta fandom stuff this is a chance to rant about my babys so guess what mother trucker!!!! Gonna try and pull out a few ‘’Unexpected’’ ones that I don’t usually rant about!!!

Captain Holly (WSD 2018) - Okay so I’m Big Nasty into WSD as most of yall know. I’ve read the book, seen the movie, seen the 90s kids series, and now the 2018 version. And like...it’s HARD to pick a favorite iteration among all of them. Like of course the book is king above all and I love EACH for their own strengths but like...2018 Holly hits different. Seeing them do just THAT much more with his character and really make him POP in some very unexpected ways was refreshing and interesting. I know we all talk about how Blackavar’s death in the movie was out of nowhere and really sad AND IT WAS, but like...Holly dying in front of Hyzenthlay??? After admitting he loves her????? Nah man that hits too different.

Kylo Ren (Star Wars) - Yknow considering how hard they fucked up his character in 8 and 9, and also considering my refusal to acknowledge TROS, he’s kind of a hard one to defend, but....Yeah. Sometimes we just love villains, ladies. TBH tho I think this one comes mostly from how I’ve written a LOT for Ren in the past, especially during Quarantine this year. I kinda...got attached to him through writing for him, if that makes sense??? Like I KNOW he’s kind of weak as far as SW villains go but He’s Still My Boy. But yeah I lvoe Ren pry him from my hands and also in an ideal SW canon he would have been able to do a Battouga end of lecture Alexa play Zero by Imaigne Dragons.

Walter Beckett (Spies in Disguise)- Hey remember when a Funnee movie about a talking Will Smith Pigeon did better than SW and Cats??? Walter is....such a great character. I think he’s my favorite Tom Holland character (This is not a diss on Spiderman, don't read it that way) I love the idea that a character who’s still grieving and healing from his mother’s death was so affected by her being killed in the line of action that it inspires him to invent non violent ways to fight crime is...so sweet. He’s kinda like Varian from TBEA in a sort of ‘’adorable inventor boy’’ niche??? IDK hes my son dont be mean to him.

Rabbit (Winnie the Pooh) - Yall ever seen the New Adventures Of Winnie The Pooh??? Yall ever seen the Find Her Keep Her episode?? I dont think I need to say more. I know not a lot of people like Rabbit because he’s the cranky and slightly mean impatient grouch but like...Find Her Keep Her changed me.

Master Shifu (Kung Fu Panda) - I! Love! Emotionally! Constipated! Old! Men! I love those....hardened by trauma but still loving and kind beneath a strict exterior characters. Show me a character who is perceived as unbreakable, and then show me something can break them, and I WILL love them. Kung Fu Panda as a series is a hidden gem in Dreamworks history and it has a lot of really deep moments in it that really touch me, and seeing the flashback with Tai Lung’s backstory always gets me.

Judge Claude Frollo (HBOND)- Yeah. Yeah. Controversial one in this day and age, huh? Look, I....have a really serious attachment to him. First of all, in an age where every other Disney villain just wanted money or power, his motives were...a welcome and also really fucked up change of pace. I respect that. Secondly...ten years ago this month I met someone so important because we were both a couple of scene girls on Deviantart hyperfixating on him. If anything had changed in him, if he had been just a LITTLE different, or if he hadn’t happened at all...I might not have met them. And I think that terrifies me more than anything. So yeah, REALLY evil guy, but I love him for what he did in my life.

Yondu (GOTG) - ‘’He may have been your father, but he wasn’t your daddy’’ Like...what more do you need??? I love??? Frenemies??? And also Frenemies who are attached to the main character in a familial sense??? 

Cantus (Fraggle Rock) - I think I’ve seen exactly three episodes of Fraggle Rock in my entire life and one of them was Cantus’s episode but anyway yeah I love him a whole awful lot. He’s just so....chill and wise, he’s got this real ‘Jedi Master’ vibe and there’s always something about the characters voiced by Jim Henson himself. Plus his design is just *Kisses*

Mavis Dracula (Hotel Transylvania) - God..the FIRST HT movie is like...my favorite Halloween movie. What a cool concept. Too back 2 and 3 were fucking awful and now the trilogy is super badly aged. Characters played by Selena Gomez are usually so annoying and schlocky, but like...Mavis has this incredibly strong charm to her, a very vibrant character, honestly. 

Rooster (The Secret Life Of Pets 2) Like the sane majority of people, I agree TSLOP was barely strong enough to even warrant a sequel, but of course its a funnee minion movie that make a shit ton of money so It got one anyway. Despite my deep personal hatred for every single Illumination movie OTHER THAN HOP, HOP IS GOD TIER, I’m glad they made TSLOP 2 because Rooster was the greatest thing to happen to the movie. Out of all the three plotlines in the movie, the farm one was the most cohesive and not just a pandering mess. Harrison Ford playing his own fursona was very enjoyable, and made the movie honestly kinda worth seeing.

Uh....I don’t....know ten people so if you see this and wanna do it, consider yourself tagged lmao

[eightysixed]

Rosetti

It wasn’t often that she left her high tower, as Rob teasingly called it, but every now and then she ventured outside. She could fuss and object to that description, but at the end of the day she knew it was true. The girl bordered on recluse far closer than any of her age peers did.

Emmeline sat in the foyer, occasionally looking up from her phone to take in the view. The Christmas tree was yet to be put up, but little touches here and there of the festive season were starting to spring up. A wreath here, a smattering of holly there. Eartha Kitt’s voice drifted from the deeper recesses of the hotel as well, a soulful melody that put everyone in the lobby in a more pensive mood. She looked up from her phone finally as someone approached.

“Miss Gray, your car is waiting.”

The prim blonde was grateful to see there were no paparazzi lurking across the street from the plaza. Occasionally when this high profile face or the other stopped by, they’d be camped out there, waiting, finger on the trigger. Emmeline paid them no mind, but they’d caught her in pyjamas once on a Trader Joe’s run. She wasn’t sure where those photos had gone exactly, but she still didn’t feel easy having them sitting on the hard drive of some paparazzo. Maybe she’d have Neil look into it.

She thanked Guillermo as he opened the door of the town car for her. A lifetime spent bouncing around the lobby of the hotel as a child, playing hide and seek with the bellhops, trying on the hats of doormen, and she had gotten to know them all. Her adult iteration had a rolodex of their names and faces committed to memory. She was sad when the good ones left. Her favourite, Mark, had been gone almost two years now, and his absence was keenly felt. Her mind drifted to him as the car crawled its way down East 57th street.

They passed Bergdorf’s, and Emmeline purposefully looked the other way. As a child the department store had excited her, but now it filled her with boredom and dread.The same old, same old shit. Nerves were getting the best of her as she picked at her fingernail. If she wasn’t successful today...no, she would be. The important question would be, whether he liked the gift. It was a gamble. He’d given her so much over the years, all she could do was this, a very small thank you. It would probably be the priciest Christmas gift she’d ever given anyone, whatever that price ended up being. She just hoped he liked the Pre-Raphaelites as much as he’d insinuated one time during a discussion of Michael Snow over chamomile tea.

Sotheby’s New York was a cold, corporate affair. The London edifice was much more humble in comparison, and its interiors held lively discussion; or so Emmeline remembered. Strolling in here, nobody greeted her warmly or was there to take her coat. But Jasper, one of her dad’s many right hand men, was there already. He was speaking into his Bluetooth headset, and smiled with a respectful nod when Emmeline approached.

“Morning.”

He finished his call promptly. “Morning. Are you excited?” he asked, almost like one would ask a child before taking them to an amusement park. Emmeline wasn’t sure if the tone was patronising or not, but she’d have time to dissect that later.

“Yeah. A little nervous.”

“Why? It’s as good as ours. You just wait. It’s not even the biggest catch on the list.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve done these for your father,” Jasper insisted. “And I’ve never lost a single one. You’ll see.”

That brought a seed of reassurance to Emmeline and the girl smiled. One of the women employees came up to them and ushered them to their seats before much more conversation could be had. 

The first few works rushed by, a Jacques-Laurent Agasse, a very minor Rembrandt, an antiquity sculpture, a Tiepolo sketch. Most everyone who was here was waiting for the final, most valuable piece — a Rubens, which Emmeline could really care less for. She was waiting, breathlessly, impatiently for number 12, nerves on high as she jiggled her foot. She absorbed herself into her phone for a few moments, checked instagram, and soon, it was being brought forth. For some reason, she found it hard to swallow, and was somewhat grateful that Jasper would be doing the bidding on her behalf.

“Bidding starts at $40,000.”

It was a minor work, to be sure, nothing that noteworthy, and small — barely 12 inches across. But it was a beautiful one at that, with sumptuous colours that melted into one another and brought her to life. Her being Joan of Arc. She looked so small from where Emmeline sat, but so important at the same time. She wanted that painting, needed it, for herself as much as for Peter.

The price doubled, tripled, soared up into six digits fairly quick, but Jasper remained adamant. Finally, the last price he called out went unchallenged. A second rolled by, two. Sold, the woman banged a gavel and with it, all the blood concentrated in Emmeline’s temples rushed out to her toes. Relief.

She assumed she’d be going home with it, but no, due processes had to be gone through. The picture would be delivered to her in a weeks’ time. What a wait, all that buildup for nothing, Emmeline thought, but the relief was still present, almost like an adrenaline rush that had taken her up, then down a rollercoaster dip and she’d made it out on the other end. This was why people did this, she supposed. A thrill as good as any.

“I actually thought it would’ve gone for higher,” Emmeline admitted to Jasper as they strolled out of the building, to a noontime sun-shower. The whole process had taken all of two hours. A man with an umbrella jogged up to Emmeline, her driver. Thanking him, she took it. “You’d think something like that…priceless…”

“Everything has its price,” Jasper said matter-of-factly. The painting had gone for $380,000. Certainly the most expensive gift Emmeline had ever bought. But it was hers. And soon, it would be Peter’s. She was happy.

“Thanks,” she told Jasper, who shook his head at the ridiculous notion of that.

“Don’t mention it. Are you headed back to the hotel?”

Emmeline thought about it for a moment. That had been her plan for the day— go home, slip into a bubble bath, order lunch and try to write. But now, she felt like doing something. She was out, anyway. Might as well.

“No.”

“No?” Surprise was there. Jeez. Even the guy who barely knew her, knew.

“No. I’m going to see a movie.”

[dayna-scully]

ncis/tiva s8 lb

season 3  |  season 4   |  season 5  |  season 6  |  season 7  |  season 9  |  season 10  |  etc

8x01

mountain mama

I can assure you, I do not have any tan lines

things that would probably get you arrested

sharks circling again

this would have been better as the s7 finale

8x02

I am a younger model

I can hear ya McGee, I got ears

8x03

seriously dinozzo

is this also necessary

husbands

8x04

why is he trying to break into ziva’s computer

you’ve been flirting with the Miami heat

a walking Israeli love machine

handle with care, contents priceless

he loooves her

8x05

dinozzo? turning down a girl in a bikini? the world must be ending

ooooor he’s in love

tony has every iteration of ziva memorized

Compared to the ziva I shared a bed with five years ago

You were just putting on a show…you were putting on a show, right?

they always put ziva in these father & daughter situations

here again

I can tell/that’s just my knee

her daddy taught her to play catch 😖

��my father taught me”

gibbs’ nod is everything

8x06

special Ethel

you’re dating within your age range

why are they always sitting behind each other!! Never at their own desks!!!

if only that shirt fit a little better, tony

it might be slightly less horrifying

are you supposed to be fat Elvis?

8x07

aww ziva’s American passport

wow, you’re in a great mood

ziva is worried

ziver

I’m a federal agent, dad

I very much doubt that senior does anything but lie by default

oh dad, shut up

oh toe-knee

ziva is a grandma name

ugh all these assholes

she sees her dad all the time, Abby, his name is gibbs and he works upstairs

oh ziva

McGee needs to change his pants

I wish they had spent less time on Eli and more on ziva’s mother

we are calm, you’re yelling

tony can tell when she’s getting squirrelly

8x09

I don’t really care about Leon’s flashbacks…

8x10

looks like tony, doesn’t sound like tony

oh gosh, I’m sorry, are you and he-?

the lady doth protest too much

she’s got the eyes of a killer

you feeling okay, dinozzo?

enough! we’re just friends, there’s nothing different about him

oh really ziva

ziva: ????

you are not crazy

and that is why we love you

oh, we?

this coming from the girl who said she barely had a professional relationship with tony yesterday 🤔

but you love him

yeah, sure, “we”

ziva’s gonna shoot the confetti

that was always so hilarious

8x11

duck, call

abbses

that is why it is called a bat nap

May be code for something/yeah, hedonism

men are trash

8x12

McGee noticing tony staring at ziva’s empty desk

tony definitely hasn’t been thinking about her all weekend

I need my inhaler/I want ziva back

I promise you, Ray is a good man

why do you have to reassure tony about him hmm??

8x13

ziva feels bad but not bad enough to get involved

a pool dolphin

late nineties?? That makes you sound so…

ziva was barely a teenie bopper in the late 90s

you know, Tony, you do not wear jealousy well

oh so we’re acknowledging the fact that he is jealous of the guy you might be dating mmhmm okay

I know a bickering couple when I hear one

this reminds Gibbs too much of Shannon and jelly

ziva is endlessly amused by tony

this is all about mcgee but she’s only looking at tony

I like Tony’s maturity around the service people they encounter (usually)

for someone without rank over them, he sure seems to pull it

I’m not sure I wanna open up those wounds, duck

well is she talking about saleem or about Eli

you’re too young to act so old

8x14

I do not want to hear about your threesomes

whyyyyyy do they always have to go back to Kate

which writer was obsessed with her

when confronted with a psychologist, ziva looks to tony

hmm worried about something?

I want something permanent, something that can’t be taken away - is that too much to ask?

oh z bb

I liked Kate but I don’t understand the preoccupation the show has with her

it really rubs me the wrong way, like ziva wasn’t enough even to the writers, she was always just the puppy to kick when they needed drama

8x15

“this new app” it’s the same program you guys have had since season 3 but okay

close your mouth, tony

I miss my blackberry

ziva’s being the nice big sister and Tony’s being a dick

I could never be that energetic

oh mcgoo

the hydrant didn’t deserve such an undignified death

ziver, get the phone

8x16

sometimes the brains sneak out of the hole

tony and ziva stuck together for hours 👀👀👀👀👀

8x17

I cannot smell you from there

oh the sass

ziva is going to eat ej

very territorial

mmhmm thank you thank you

why all the touching ziva

no this one’s problem is definitely her bite

ugh

8x18

tony looks kind of ashamed that ziva is noticing he’s talking to ej

8x19

ziva wants gibbs at her wedding he’s her dad

I should stop this

bickering

8x20

oh yes all the flirtatious looks at tony

I don’t have a special anything and it’s none of your business

the last time ziva has a boyfriend in town, you killed him, tony

I suppose this candlelight dinner may have seemed sweet but it just seems cheesy and try-hard

uh ooooh

if you were fine you wouldn’t be here

oh my god tony said thank you to someone

what about you and ej?

oh christ ouch

the implication being that he…never understood ziva

that is the fakest fucking eyeball I’ve ever seen in my life

8x21

ziva is going to murder ej

dinozzo got some ass and now he thinks he’s hot shit

why don’t you tell him how many sides it has, Tim

I’m pretty sure you don’t like her, z

this stakeout scene is adorable

the writers make very strange choices

why is Tim jealous of the other guy when it’s been three thousand years since he and Abby slept together

like either commit to mcabby or let it go!!!!!

why does ziva look so sad

YOU CANT DO THAT

you can’t make pixels where there are none!!!

stop doin that!!!!

brunch date ft. shared croissant

same

the cia you say

8x22

why don’t you just investigate

and again, ziva is always watching tony

Tony’s hair was never that dark but ok

you can’t outrun me, I’m wearin tube socks!

you’re not just any partner, McGee

you’re her little brother

I don’t think that would count as reading him his rights, tony

8x23

most bottom feeding mudsuckers

franks looks more like a corpse than when he’s actually a corpse

tony and ej is unsettling everyone, not just ziva

that wasn’t even that deep???

poor ziva

there is always another monster

how does tony reconcile this kind of intimacy with his insistence that they have a totally platonic professional relationship

like that is undeniably incredibly intimate

he initiates the hug, and that’s a totally different hug from Abby and McGee

anyways

8x24

gibbs is gonna murder secnav when he finds out

if he wasn’t, I am

Tony’s really wound tight

ej’s patronizing is gonna drive me up the wall

it’s just different for some of us

oh???? Different how, Anthony?????

cause you can’t live without her?????

I hope tony knows ziva’s actually alive post season-whenever

I need to find ziva

supporting each other

no thank you please don’t come back, ej

ziva needs steady, ciray is not steady

[jodiwalker]

TATBT Recommends: 'The Haunting of Hill House,' AKA, Spooky 'Parenthood'

"Ghosts can be a lot of things: a memory, a daydream... but most times they're just what we want to see."

**This article originally appeared in the TATBT newsletter. No spoilers beyond the first episode!**

Steven Crain uses these words to undermine the idea of "real" ghosts in the earliest moments of this ghost story, immediately establishing himself as The Haunting of Hill House’s skeptical audience surrogate (although I trust that we are all much less of a drag than Steve, while simultaneously being just as hot as him).

Series creator Mike Flanagan then spends the next 10 episodes proving to us and to Steven, in the most frightening ways possible, that just because the ghosts of Hill House can be explained doesn't make them any less real — and no amount of logical explanation can rid Steven or his family of the ghosts that bind them together. Trauma is not logic-bound, and neither are the scars it leaves behind.

The Haunting of Hill House dropped on Netflix a week ago, and while I knew it would be an extremely loose adaptation of Shirley Jackson's fearsome 1959 gothic horror novel of the same name, I surely could not have guessed that the malleable nature of that adaptation would turn this haunted house story into what I've been referring to as...Spooky Parenthood.

And that’s a compliment. Prepare yourself for a gushing recommendation,; although I do discourage you from watching Hill House with the lights off, a full bladder, or in the near vicinity of anything that casts a shadow. The list of things that made me do a double-take, followed by a full 20-second stare down to see if they moved again include: the shadow of a sink faucet, every open door in my house, and the reflection of my own face in the TV when I finally turned Hill House off.

The Haunting of Hill House follows the Crain family at two different points in their lives: the summer when they briefly lived in a gorgeous, super haunted Victorian manor that was "born bad," and then 26 years later when a great tragedy forces them to reckon with the ways in which that house never left them, no matter how long ago they left it. The nonlinear nature of this family story might lend itself more glaringly to a This Is Us comparison, but the thing is...I'm the one making said comparison, and I think Parenthood is a far superior family drama to This Is Us.

And The Haunting of Hill House is, indeed, an excellent family drama. Who knew?! I love a good scare, especially around Halloween, so I set into Hill House expecting to do a little doom, make a little ghost, get scared tonight. All those things happened, but I also found myself crying repeatedly — a reaction to entertainment I both cherish and live in fear of. The cleverness of this series is that Flanagan understands that horror can be doubly horrifying when its rooted in care.

After getting to know the Crain family, you don't just want these people not to be tormented by ghosts because ghosts are the worst; you don't want them not to be tormented by ghosts because you care for them, in that same complicated way they care for each other in the midst of their own grief and tragedy.

The scares of Hill House aren’t just frightening...they’re sad. And surely there is nothing more frightening than despair. So the question remains: can you enjoy watching a series that asks you to repeatedly bare your second-hand soul in a sea of self-reflective human tears? 

Parenthood and The Haunting of Hill House say yes you can, and you will probably love it all the more precisely because of that emotional connection.

With style and empathy, Hill House coaxes viewers into caring for a family who turn away from their shared trauma and mental health at every turn. It makes you care for them so hard, you won't even give up on them when those turns so often reveal floating men in bowler hats and long-haired ladies with disturbing 90-degree angles in their necks.

Because of that time spent cowering under beds and around corners with the terrorized younger Crains, you understand why older Luke would turn to drugs; why Shirley would build up walls so steep no one can get in; why Theo would give so much to her work and so little to herself; why Nell would find the allure of her mother's own mysterious demise irresistible in the wake of numbing personal tragedy; and why Steve...

Well, Steve is just kind of sanctimonious and rude, but he's an eldest child with a superiority complex, and when building a family drama, it's important to depict accurate family dynamics. We need look no further than Adam and Kristina Braverman to know that just because someone is annoying doesn't mean they're not bringing a necessary ingredient to the familial table.

Sorry oldest children. — signed, ME, an endlessly lovable youngest child; a more reliable Crosby, if you will.

Of course, the youngest child in this scenario is Nell, a touch on the unreliable side because at only 6-years-old when her parents moved her to Hill House, she and her twin Luke were most vulnerable the spectral happenings within. A child cannot use logic or happenstance to explain away what's right in front of them — they can only see what's there. It's no surprise that being told what’s right in front of you is actually all in your head could leave psychological scars so lasting they'd lead grown-up Nell to...

Well, you’ll see.

If you don't like horror or earnestness, there's a good chance you won't like The Haunting of Hill House. But if you like even one of those things, this weird hybrid of a series might just sway you into liking the other. To call it "fun" would not exactly be correct on account of all the oppressive grief and sorrow and whatnot. But it thrills in that way only a truly spooky story can, and the family at its center is so thoroughly engaging.

Undoubtedly, life is a far more difficult journey for the Crains than it was for the Bravermans, but I am here to tell you, the healing that awaits them at the end of this battle is worth the fights and frights, if you’re willing to take the trip with them.

Oh that's right — this show is scary as hell and it gets a (mostly) happy ending. A few other helpful things to know going in:

THE CASTING

I've said repeatedly that Flanagan takes his time establishing empathy for the Crain family through recognizable sibling dynamics, and familial grief and devotion, but there is one thing he employs that establishes connection immediately...

The Crains are all smokin’ gorgeous, starting with their parents played by Henry Thomas in a pair of spooky-but-whatever-I'm-into-it blue contacts and Carla Gugino who has been maybe the most beautiful woman in the world for like 20 years running. The woman does not age, she just spawns cute little versions of herself who grow up to be beautiful, haunted adult iterations of herself. And the only thing I like more than a group of unreasonably hot characters...

Is the perfect casting of miniature versions of those characters. Seriously, I know y'all like This Is Us, but eat your fucking heart out Mandy Moore's painted-on wrinkles. The kids in that show are cute and they bear a passing resemblance to their adult counterparts, sure, but look at this:

Elizabeth Reaser (grown-up Shirley) and Lulu Wilson (l'il Shirley and also Camille's ghost sister in Sharp Objects) look...exactly alike??? It is wild. And it just goes on from there...

I've hardly even mentioned Theo, the coolest Crain sibling by far, played by the impossibly gorgeous Kate Siegel in full-size, and by the most prolific child actor of her generation, McKenna Grace, in fun-size.

I have mentioned Steve, but it's worth noting that much of his insufferable adult characteristics are assuaged by the fact that his younger self (Paxton Singleton) is a highly endearing little preteen nugget, and his older self is played by hot ass Michiel Huisman pretending to be a nerd by always carrying around a pair of lucite-framed glasses, but never actually wearing them.

And, oh the twins; these poor, poor twins who have just the most adorable faces, you can almost understand how a ghost would want to get all up in there for a squeeze. Given all these Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Actor magic tricks, it could only be intentional that tiny bespectacled Luke (Julian Hilliard who must have Jacob Tremblay absolutely shaking) grows up to be Oliver Jackson-Cohen who could legitimately play Captain America post-experiment. 

The camera spends a lot of its 10-hour run time zoomed-in on the face of little Nelly (Violet McCraw), so it's a delight every time you're struck once more by how much grown-up Nell (Victoria Pedretti) looks exactly like an enlarged version of her child self...even if every zoom of grown-up Nell is not a delight in and of itself.

That’s from the first episode! It’s not a spoiler, really! You’ll just have to watch!

IT'S THE SUMMER OF 1992

The Mall of America is opening, Ross Perot thinks he should run for President, and the Crain family have just moved to Hill House with intentions of flipping it to make enough money for their "forever home." It's difficult to immediately tell what time period the Crains are in when they move into Hill House because Olivia, the warm but occasionally possessed Crain mother is prone to swanning around the drafty mansion in velvet robes and wedges.

So, sometimes you might feel like it's 1970, but knowing from the beginning that it's 1992 could be helpful to your viewing experience.

The present-day timeline is 26 years later, and this will make it all the more curious as to why they brought in Timothy Hutton to play a 26-years-later Henry Thomas when Timothy Hutton is only 10 years older than Henry Thomas, but...should I just show you the young-and-old Shirley comparison again, and what say we forget all about this misstep??

THIS IS EPISODIC TELEVISION

The first five episodes of Hill House are building blocks, each one told from a different Crain sibling's perspective. I don't normally like to say this because it can make a viewer hyper-aware of their own viewing experience, but you gotta stay vigilant when there are ghouls peeking out from every dark corner anyway, so here goes: Just give it a few episodes! You might not find yourself enthralled in the first one or two, but the build is so enjoyable along the way. Y'know, if you find secondhand suffering and personal terror enjoyable (I doooo).

And once you make it to episode 5 — Nell's episode — you might not shake it for days. I certainly would not recommend watching it right before bedtime or in any sort of rush. I can think of few other entertainment experiences so suspenseful and conclusive; so terrifying and moving all at once.

And that emotional climax makes the perfect entry point to the marathon that is episode 6, which plays out like a stage production in only five continuous shots, the longest one running 17 minutes straight.

And this is where I warn you that some people who have loved the series have not loved the final episode. I am not one of those people because I'm sappy as hell and I love a perfectly tied ribbon around an oozing, molding, rotten, terror-wrapped package.

No, the emotion-heavy resolution of Hill House is not subtle, but family resolutions rarely are. They take time, and work, and they cannot be passive. Deep wounds — cuts that have been kept open for a lifetime — must be healed with intention. The ghosts that have haunted the Crain family for decades haven't disappeared by the time the final credits roll, but acknowledging that they were ever there in the first place is comfort enough.

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[viciouswastingsoftime-blog]

The Pop-Punk Paradox

"I declare I don't care no more." - "Burnout" by Green Day

I think Green Day ruined my life. 

This is something that I might be imagining. At this point, there are way too many factors, and it is impossible to verify just exactly where it all went wrong, of course. However, I would venture to say that somewhere around my twelfth year, a plucky little band from Northern California up-ended my adolescence and shifted my mindset towards nothing in particular--and there's the rub. When The Who released their Teenage Wasteland ("Baba O'Reilly") in 1971, the not-even-nascent punk scene hadn't yet crawled on its belly across stages. In 1994, green-haired and snot-nosed, the burgeoning would-be movement was already starting its third (?) iteration of relevance in earnest. Twenty-four years ago, Green Day essentially released their own version of "Who's Next" in "Dookie," a bratty yet accomplished generational thumb to the eye that found a way to connect using the kind of low effort that was so alluring and effective to an era of youth that never wanted to care as much as they actually did.

I was introduced to Green Day in 1993 by the tandem of my older sister and God sister. This was done simultaneously while in my mother's 1989 Mazda Minivan. Particularly (might I add), following a stellar and surely stirring rendition that my entire 6th grade class had just laid down of an unapologetically and specifically Christian musical entitled "God's Project." At that time, I was unaware of what a punk band was--I really only barely knew what a rock star was. I knew that it  meant your songs were played on the radio, and I knew it meant that you were very famous. Experiencing these guys seemed different than all of that, though.

There was a lack of normalcy to what they were ranting about. There was no shine or polish to it. They sang about being weird and sad and jacking off in front of the TV. Side note/Full disclosure: I really only had a slight understanding of what *that* was at that juncture. This only added to the peculiar attraction. 

 The thing is, though, that the song being played ("Longview," of course) made my mother in the front seat of the Minivan positively furious as soon as she realized what those lyrics were all about. Just off of the heels of such a pious performance by her son mere moments earlier, the parallels were simply too obscene for her to bear. And it is that kind of moment--when you step outside of yourself to remember that everything sucks and this will make you feel better--that will inevitably attempt to wonderfully warp your clueless existence. Moving forward, leaning into the whole thing seemed the only suitable scenario; to "rebel" against a clearly antiquated system of values. That would be fun.

It was right then and there that I fell in love with apathy. And Green Day were happy to oblige.

Clocking in at 38:16 seconds of almost otherworldly narcissism and counterculture coolness, Green Day's third LP "Dookie," as an album, was a downright force of nature for me. A shiny new nickel. I became excited about it. The thought of it would make me smirk. I'd sit in class during most days, looking ahead to once again examining and analyzing the album liner notes and art work while laying on the floor of my room. The cassette was actually my sister's, which she would "loan" me most afternoons and nights. I remember accidentally cracking its case. My following mea culpa was the stuff of true valor. 

"Dookie" is the kind of album that somehow both caters to its worst tendencies, yet gravitates towards ambition. It's steeped in tradition--brimming with those simple economics of the Buzzcocks and The Clash aching to find a proper home. The sarcasm doesn't so much bite as it gums at you. And Billie Joe Armstrong's knack for writing a memorable hook is fucking supernatural. But its really its simplicity that I think won everyone over. 

Uncomplicated and uncompromising, “Dookie” was just philosophically consistent enough to not be hypocritical, and also marvelously play the game of pre-teen woes and marketing strategies. Armstrong's both perceived and genuine ennui (as it were) were equally as important, and provided the LP with gravitas and a lingering complexity. “Basket Case” wasn’t only a watershed moment for the band, it felt like a cultural touchstone. A generational rallying cry that played itself out in countless suburban homes filled with awkwardness, aggression and paranoia. While none of this was necessarily profound, or even 100% true, it was all I could do to not fall in love.

In my world, Green Day’s notoriety was utterly inconsequential, of course. It was all swagger and attitude. I hadn’t really picked which version of cool I had wanted to be yet. So, when Billie Joe came around with his cursing, emotional unrest and hair dye, I was nudged in just the right direction. Looking back, though, loving Green Day did more than provide an adolescent with a rebellion blueprint (which it did). On a larger scale, a band like Green Day, playing the music that they were playing at the specific time that they were playing it only solidified what would become a life-long useless obsession with pop culture woes and dispensable art. And this urge is as strong today in me as it ever was then. 

24 years later, my mom will still get offended if she hears “Longview.” This doesn’t do as much for me as it did when I was a 12 year old boy looking to offend and rebel, but it is not without its charms. I grew out of Green Day as a band by the time I was in High School, sure. However, what I never got over was the aching love that comes with obsessing over art. While this doesn’t seem so bad on the surface, it should be noted what an all encompassing consumer it can be. When I say Green Day may have ruined my life, it is an acknowledgement that they touched it. Maybe they didn’t guide it or shape it or dictate it. What they did was build a foundation of finding integrity among crippling superficiality. Let’s call it the Pop-Punk Paradox. 

[hejin57-blog]

MUSIC MASTERS: CD ONE

Might want to rewind a bit...

-----

-----

RETURN OF THE SPACE COWBOY: PART SEVEN

-----

It had taken just about every ounce of his will for Michael to hold back how much of a blubbering mess he really was right now.

Between his nerves on the verge of exploding from facing the Nagataki siblings again, to his constant observation of Rob's struggle to even just walk alongside him, Michael was almost beginning to wish he'd stayed back at Rob's place.

Instead, they were now only two blocks away from Semi-Sound, where only hours before, Michael Kay had nearly met his maker.

"You think Colleen's gonna really be alright back at the Sound Loft?" Michael asked, in an attempt to keep Rob's mind off the walking itself.

His uncle's pace remained unchanged, though he still felt spikes of pain shoot through his calves nevertheless.

"When this is is all over, it would probably best if you let me handle her. Better she kill me then kill you." Rob suggested, only for his nephew to answer with his best attempt as a joke.

"Yeah, but not if those two kill us first!" Michael declared with a very forced laugh.

They both stopped as they finally reached the back alley leading into Semi-Sound's back entrance. Behind them, as late night taxis honked and their lights flashed by, Rob simply shook his head at his nephew's words.

"If it makes you feel any better, Mike, you're already leagues better as a Music Master than I was at your age."

Michael just gulped in response as they cautiously approached. Even having Rob here with him, he was beyond nervous. It seemed all of his previous elation from practicing his new song effect and avoiding Colleen's lecture had finally ran out.

"That means a lot, Rob. You just being back with me, it means more than I could ever say. If anything happens, I just want you to kn-"

Rob cut him off as he grabbed onto the handle of the back door, which barely hung onto its hinges from Nami's previous assault.

"Hey, don't even start with that talk. Because when we walk out of here with that bass guitar, you're going to remind me about everything I have to apologize for."

In a rare moment, Rob allowed a semblance of sadness escape his normally stoic tone of voice. And that was exactly what Michael needed before he found himself hugging his uncle tightly.

As they stood silently in the cold breeze, Michael wished more than anything that these wouldn't be the last moments he and Rob would have together, especially after only just having him come back.

Of course, Rob easily sensed all of his fear. He opened what was left of the door as he put a reassuring hand on Michael's shoulder.

"Come on. Let's just grab the bass and get back to Colleen."

-----

Rob had been on edge since they'd left the apartment, but it only became worse the moment he'd seen Semi-Sound's ground floor suddenly clean and organized.

Most likely the work of a song effect, a majority of the previous damage and mayhem from the Big YMCA and Rob's own battle with the Nagataki siblings had been all but mysteriously removed.

Now Rob found himself scaling a flight of stairs as his body ached for the touch of that white bass.

Michael waited at the ground floor, presumably to act as an early scout in case the Nagataki siblings returned. Rob had given specific instructions for him to stay there no matter what, and that once Rob had the bass guitar, he would teleport down and have them both back at the Sound Loft before they knew it.

But nothing could be further from the truth. As Rob stopped for a moment, sweat beginning to form on his his forearms as his body heaved against the effort, he replayed everything in his head.

One of those Japanese kids had taken the bass guitar, as it was curiously gone from the spot on the ground floor where Rob had left his bloody fingerprint upon it.

But Rob could feel an echo of it still inside the store. He'd felt that echo since they'd originally escaped, and it was the very same thing that drained his body of energy the longer he was away from it.

Having been Synkronized to his original bass for so many years, his body simply could no longer be without some iteration of the five-string instrument.

Thankfully, Rob could still feel its echo high above them, on the third floor of Semi-Sound.

Though his body was wracked with fatigue, Rob made his way through rooms of used instruments and speakers before reaching a spacious old karaoke room that had certainly seen better days. Through that, up one last flight of stairs, the elusive white bass awaited him.

When he closed the door behind him, he was met with the sight of third floor, which held the nicest and most expensive instruments within the store's inventory. Rob smiled to himself as his eyes searched for the white bass.

It wasn't a huge surprise that the pricey instruments had remained up here.  Ricky never failed with his cheap nature, even when Zero Beat was footing the bill.

Though he looked for a good five minutes, Rob couldn't see any sign of the white bass guitar anywhere.

As his body continued to weaken, and frustration began to build inside, Rob debated taking another guitar when the atmosphere around him began to change.

Music slowly increased in volume from behind him as Rob's expectations came to fruition. The bass player fixed his cap, but didn't turn around just yet.

"I understand you are looking for this." Arashi Nagataki stated as he revealed himself.

"You got me. So let me guess, this is the part where you threaten my life, and expect me to beg? I think you'll be walking out disappointed."  Rob answered in his most casual tone.

The echo of the bass was just behind him, resting in a pair of unusually strong hands.

Rob darted for his cassette player, only to feel the sensation of foreign fingers digging into his jacket pocket. He looked down, only to see a literal red heart, complete with thin arms and legs, holding his cassette player as if it was some prize.

Rob grabbed at it, but it scuttled away back to Arashi with the speed of a primate.

Turned around fully to face him, Rob was met with sight of the elder Nagataki, hands in his pockets as he was surrounded by a half dozen of these heart-shaped Sentonals. They made no noise, but moved erratically as if only held down by their Music Master's sheer will.  Concept of Love continued to play around them, as if contrasting their own silence.

One of them in particular held onto the white bass guitar with an iron hard grip.

"I would not worry about your life. Zero Beat needs you alive. But your nephew will not be so lucky."

Rob could only lower the brim on his cap, hoping that he'd evened the odds for Michael by splitting them up like this. But Arashi seemed to read his mind before he could answer.

"I am sure Nami will keep him very busy. But you should focus on yourself. Because while I will not kill you..."

Rob could feel the tension snap in the air, and all at once, Arashi's Sentonals jumped at him like a pack of hungry animals. They punched, kicked and clawed, quickly bringing him to the ground with their combined weight.

Rob fought back as best he could, but their numbers put them in clear advantage.

Arashi just casually walked in front of him as his Sentonals continued to lay down their beating. He looked down on Rob, lowering his sunglasses as he finished his statement.

"...you will not be delivered to Zero Beat unharmed."

Without a bass guitar to fight with or music coursing in his ears, Rob could only thrash as much as possible as these heart-shaped beings assaulted him in silent fury.

As his body felt each blow from their tiny fists, and his mind struggled to stay conscious, he could only think of his nephew, even at a time like this.

He hoped that leaving Nami to Michael was the right choice.

-----

It was at the ten minute mark of waiting for Rob that Michael began to start pacing.

He didn't immediately panic, mostly because that was the last thing he wanted the Japanese siblings to see if they did happen to waltz in.

Instead, Michael plopped down behind the empty counter and stared at his phone, waiting for the signal from Rob that would surely come at any minute.

But after another three minutes, it was like waiting to hear from Calvin all over again.

Michael sighed as he understood the situation being forced upon him.

Whatever fear or apprehension he had would need to be silenced for the time being.

Knowing that time was of the essence now, Michael put on his headphones before dashing towards the stairwell door.

It would be two on two this time, at the very least.

But Michael could only hope that with Rob not having his bass, perhaps they would still have close to a fair fight.

-----

Unlike his uncle, Michael had scaled the three floors of stairs with relative ease. Powered by a mixture of adrenaline and nerves, he soon found himself at an open door leading into a room of pure darkness.

Next to the door was an old, poorly written sign stating "Karaoke." Underneath it was Japanese text, written in black felt marker, but of course it still remained completely alien to Michael.

Not wanting to waste a moment, Michael closed the door behind him as his eyes tried to adjust to the room. From what little he could see, it was large enough for at least a dozen people, and the floor was smooth enough to be danced upon comfortably.

The afro-headed teen was able to take but a few more steps forward before the light switch suddenly clicked on.

Leaning next to it, with a gap-toothed smile on her face and arms confidently crossed as she stood completely in Michael's way, was none other than Nami Nagataki.

"Oh hallo, Afro-kun. Did you get my message?" she asked, her voice practically drowned in happiness.

Michael was already in fight or flight mode, fingers twitching as he wondered how quickly he could get to his music player.

"I, uh, can't really read Japanese." he replied, trying to sound just a little more unsure in an effort to buy time.

Nami walked towards him, basking in her confidence as her steps echoed throughout the karaoke room.

"It is very easy though...well, easy for me. Just like dancing." she pointed out, her eyes scanning him up and down.

"I would like to dance with you very much, Afro-kun."

Her words sounded inviting, but Michael knew better. That look in her eyes was anything but.

"Nami, right? Look, maybe I can take your offer from before. If you just let me walk right past you, I won't be the hero here." Michael offered as his solution, but his words were meaningless to her now.

Nami snorted loudly in response. "I have a better idea. Last one standing leaves. How does that sound?"

With that, Nami clicked on another switch next to the light. There was a light whirring noise as a disco ball began to spin above, the lights automatically dimming as its brilliant lights flashed across the entire karaoke room.

But what really caught Michael's attention was the massive amp and sound system located to Nami's far left. He noted the old style remote in her hands, and it took only a second for him to realize why her headphones being around her neck was so inconsequential.

"You're really gonna do this, aren't you?" Michael asked sincerely.

Nami's expression only soured in response. "Yes, I am. I will do it for Nii-san, and I will do it so that you can understand how much of a loser you really are."

Michael glanced behind him, realizing that there was no way out of this. If he was going to get to Rob, then he was going to have to take down a real Music Master all by himself.

There would be no Big YMCA to win the fight for him, since of course it wouldn't fit.  

No Kim to give him advice, and no Rob to jump in at the last moment.

It was just the two of them, here and now.

Michael accepted his fate, readying his stance as his free hand went for his music player.

"Then this is going to be your last dance, Nami." he told her, the muscles in his legs raring to go.

"Okay, Afro-kun.  Let us see who is the hero now."

Her finger clicked on the remote in the instant that Michael pressed play on his own device. Michael began to run headlong at her, but Nami didn't move an inch, even as Canned Heat emerged into the air and Michael's heels began to literally burn up the dance floor.

The room's speakers blasted out her music, four of her familiar killer arrows hovering above her as they manifested but a moment later.  

Under her command, two of them launched forward towards Michael's midsection, but he dove quickly, sliding on his heels as his heat-infused hand reached for Nami's still unused headphones.

Michael seemed as if he was about to finish in his fingertips, when all of a sudden, Nami simply wasn't there.

There was nothing superhuman about it. She simply flowed to one side, effortlessly dodging his heat in the process. And in that same motion, he felt the toe of one of her Gogo boots kick hard into his shin.

One second, he was diving at her, and before he knew it, he was rolling onto the floor as Nami laughed loudly.

Michael acted quickly, going into an L-kick as another three of Nami's killer arrows nearly cut into his headphone wire. He jumped back on his feet, but before he could so much as try to hit her, Michael felt her knuckles crashing right into the bridge of his nose.

She wasn't very strong, but it still hurt, and it still was enough to send Michael sliding back. As he shook his head, trying to recover, Nami was already sweeping her leg out.

Michael yelped as he felt himself flip over. His back hit the dance floor hard, and his head started to spin as the incredibly loud sound of Hyper Eurobeat seemed to only make everything worse.  

"You are not very fast." Nami mocked, as Michael just gasped in frustration.

If he could just get rid of the speakers, then at least Nami would have to go back to fragile headphones.  

Unfortunately, he had little time to think, as the sound of sliced air signified the rain of her killer arrows coming down to claim his life.

Michael rolled sharply to one side, dodging each one by a sliver as Nami casually followed him, her hand swaying back and forth as she bobbed her head to the music.  Each sharpened arrow made loud cracking noises as each punctured the wooden floor in succession.

Finally, it was the very last one that came down right into the fabric of Michael's tie dye shirt.  As he tried to move, he found himself very much stuck as the arrow's point dug into both cotton and the wooden floor alike.

Michael could only look up as Nami stood above him, clearly relishing her superiority in this whole situation.

"Do you know Nii-san told me I have to kill you?" she asked the boy, who seemed out of options as five more of her killer arrows hovered above her shoulders.

"So what's stopping you?" Michael pointed out, while Nami just smiled down at him in response.

"I wanted to see if you could dance first.  But you are very disappointing to me."

Michael frowned, and in response, Canned Heat began to flare up in his heels.  Memories of fighting Kim rushed back to him, and before he knew it, his legs were spinning as he performed a windmill of rushing air and red-orange heat.

Nami's smile vanished as she finally backed off.

It wasn't so much that she couldn't dodge his attack.  She was faster than him, that much was certainly a fact.

But what was also a fact, was that those American dance moves of his were something she had continued to struggle with to this day.  Nami fought to keep her apprehension off her face even as Michael was back up and ready to face her.

"Is that disappointing enough for you?" he asked with sarcasm and his own snide smile.

Nami shot back sharp, annoyed words.  "Oh, shut up and die!"

More arrows surged at Michael, but he swayed his body to one side to just barely dodge them.  Nami's aggression only seemed to be mounting, and her fists battered at his stomach even as he craned his neck back to dodge yet another of her killer projectiles.

Michael let out a pained grunt even as he moved his limbs in the smoothest dance he could muster.

But Nami's neon arrows of death came like endless rain, and it was only another twenty seconds of intense dance-dodging before Michael could begin to feel the lactic acid building in his limbs.

As three more came at him, he did a cartwheel backwards in order to create space between himself and Nami.

Unfortunately, Michael's chest was heaving and his breath short as he tried to regain his posture.

He was only so fast, and in this human form, he only had so much energy.

He looked up, only to see Nami slowly approaching him, reveling in her supremacy.

If there was a time to use that song effect, then it was now or never.  His finger went for his music player, though Nami seemed unafraid of his movements.

Still, she couldn't get another insult in before Michael Kay pressed fast forward on his music player, closing his eyes as he began to Harmonize with the very same song he had practiced in the Sound Loft only hours before.

A sharp bass line punctured the air as another high-pitched voice surfaced as if to counter Hyper Eurobeat. She put her arm to her eyes as the light around Michael became all the more brilliant. Delicate, clinking sounds accompanied the process of each and every section of his skin transmuting into what seemed like metallic facets.

-----

-----

Another second passed, and Michael stood up, now staring down Nami Nagataki with neon green orbs. Where once he had a black haired afro, there was now a shimmering disco ball taking its place. His face had become robotic and featureless, save for his eyes and slightest ridge of his nose.

With no mouth to speak of now, Michael could no longer grin nor make any cheesy one-liners. But now was not the time for talk, as Nami had made it abundantly clear.  

"Oh, so you are Mecha Afro-Kun now?" Nami asked in jest. "It makes no difference. I will break you like a toy anyway!"

As if responding to her growing annoyance, a dozen of her neon arrows of death manifested in the air above Nami.

When they surged forward, Michael neither blinked nor could he even let out a breath.

Instead, his robotic limbs moved with incalculable speed and rhythm as they dodged every single projectile that came his way. Some flew beneath his arms, other above his metal globe of hair, and even more came nowhere near close to even hitting him.

When they were all spent, Michael stood with shoulders locked, as Nami eyes widened.

He said nothing, instead beckoning her with a single finger.

Fortunately, she was more than happy to oblige, as more of her killer arrows flew out in a stream of destruction. His robotic form seemed unfazed, however, as he moonwalked back towards the towering speaker system as arrow after arrow crashed into old furniture, wall and floor alike.

Nami pushed her arms wildly, forcing all her strength into increasing the speed of her song effect projectiles. She gritted her teeth as she watched Michael continue to dodge each and every one with seemingly no effort.

Finally, Michael stopped in place, arms and legs spread out as his feet shimmied to the beat of the music. If he could smile right now, he would have.

Nami was losing her patience, and she was awful at hiding it.

Michael shrugged right in front of her, only to receive an angry declaration in return.

"You think you are good? Let us see you try without your stupid song!"

Of course, Michael just mechanically shook his head in response. Nami's face scrunched up, and she pushed both of her arms out as the rest of her killer arrows flew forward with deadly intent.

Under the influence of Dancing Machine, everything around Michael moved as if underwater. He had more than enough time to arch is entire back into a perfect ninety degree angle, something his human form would have been previously incapable of.

With a quick limbo, Michael watched all nine of Nami's arrows smash right into the same speaker system that fueled their power. Electricity sparked out as the speaker's internal wires were cut apart, and when the damage was done, Nami was left standing alone as every last one of Hyper Eurobeat's projectiles vanished from this plane of existence.

Still without a mouth, Michael put his index finger and thumb to his head in his best mocking gesture.

But even without a song effect active, Nami charged at him, death glare pasted on her face.

She threw a punch, but she might as well have been drunk to Michael. He dodged it easily with just one step, before quickly shifting onto the floor as he transitioned into a  headspin.

One sneaker sole slapped against Nami's cheek, and then another, and then two more as he began to increase speed. Going as fast as a top, Michael continued his assault until Nami finally slid back from all the force.

Her left cheek was red from the blows, but Nami wasn't thinking about the pain.

Instead, her previous feelings of frustration began to resurface as she watched Michael switch from his headspin right into a handstand. He pushed off the ground with ease, back-flipping right into a standing position.

"Easy, easy, easy! I can do that too, and make it look better in every way!" Nami whined, even as she lifted her headphones up to now cover her ears.

Michael just held up one finger, taunting her as he shook it back and forth.

But if there was anything Nami had learned from years of playing at the arcade, it was that so-called saltiness would only cause victory to slip out of her grasp.

This time, Nami stood her ground as she allowed another song to take over, a smile slowly forming on her face.

Michael's metallic face remained unchanged, but underneath all of the reflective facets that now made up his skin, he was beginning to feel that hint of nerves again.

As he heard Nami's new song, Michael found himself almost wanting to hum along to the disco beat at the beginning.

-----

-----

But then when the singer began to belt out in Japanese, and Michael's eyes spotted an array of colors flashing just behind Nami, did he remember that her song effect would be anything but friendly to him.

Realizing that Nami would be truly down for the count if he could just take out her headphones, the afro-headed robot teen dashed forward.

One silvery faceted hand reached out for the device over her ears, only to stop short as Michael felt a fist suddenly meet his mid-air.

Facets cracked as the being punched hard into Michael's knuckles. He couldn't yelp out from the horrible pain of his delicate form being harmed, but Michael retracted his hand nevertheless.

Formed from Sweet Survivor, Michael was now faced with the form of an iridescent  and statuesque girl. She looked far more fragile than her punch had let on, clad in a futuristic dress and bearing completely pupil-less eyes. She didn't stand in front of Nami, but rather floated just above the ground under her own power.

"Before, that was just level one. Are you ready for level two, Afro-Kun?"

Nami's Sentonal slammed one hand into her other open fist in response. She moved forward in the air, afterimages following her with a flashy rainbow of color as she prepared to strike.

Michael expected one punch, but instead he was faced with fourteen in succession. All of a sudden, where the world had previously moved at a snail's pace, everything felt real again.

Every one of Michael's limbs worked in furious concert as even this robotic form struggled to dodge each punch.

"DANSUDANSUDANSUDANSUDANSU!" Nami's Sentonal cried out triumphantly as it laid down its assault upon him, it's voice speeding up to match the blows.

Meanwhile, Nami herself took her sweet time as she approached Michael from behind, all with the intention of removing his headphones quickly and quietly.

But even as Michael's attention was on the punches assailing him, even he wasn't so slow again to not react as Nami's fingers almost brushed against the metal globe that had replaced his hair.

Michael slid down, sweeping his legs out as he knocked Nami off her feet.

Reacting in the same instant, her Sentonal shifted forward to catch her in its arms just before she would hit the ground. With this, Michael Kay had enough time to retreat back, if only for the moment.

He noted the rainbow silhouettes forming a trail behind Nami's Sentonal, their brilliant colors lighting up the dim of the karaoke room.  Some of them were quite close for comfort, but Michael didn't think much of it.

It was only when Michael saw that gap-toothed grin on Nami's face that he began to realize something was very wrong.

What appeared to be just afterimages around him proved to be otherwise, as more than one multi-colored punch suddenly came at him.

Dancing Machine allowed him to dodge the first, and then the second, but when the third and the fourth came, Michael found himself bouncing back and forth as the blows cracked more of the facets that made up his skin.

He couldn't scream or cry out, and as the fifth hit his belly, he found that he couldn't even exhale to stifle the pain.

Hunched over as all six of the afterimage copies hovered around him, Michael Kay could only weakly look up as she pointed his direction, still cradled in her original Sentonal's arms.

"Behind you, Afro-kun."

Michael didn't even have the strength to turn as an indigo fist smashed right into the left side of his face. Finally, he could feel a scream of pain coming out, as his right ear bud was violently knocked out in the process.

Michael slammed down onto the wooden floor, his breath catching up to him as he felt pain aching from his entire body. He stared down at the floor, trying to recuperate even as he realized Dancing Machine had been interrupted.

His hand went to pop his ear bud back in, but instead Michael choked out a gasp as Nami's boot slammed into his midsection and sent him tumbling backwards into the broken speaker.

The world spun as Michael Kay bumped the back of his head hard.

His vision started to fluctuate as his ears tried to focus on each decisive step, while Nami approached with her Sentonal in tow.

He was clearly outnumbered, and though Dancing Machine would allow him to dodge her attacks, he still couldn't predict the actions of seven different Sentonals at once.

Michael could feel pain in one knee and a throbbing ache coming from the left side of his face. Nami was standing over him now, her Sentonal aggressively behind her and prepared to strike him down if need be.

"The stage is over, Afro-kun. And looks like I got the high score." Nami rubbed in, but Michael was far more concerned with pain and fatigue than her insults.

Nami leaned down, her eyes becoming serious as their faces became uncomfortably close.

"Now you are going to tell me that you lost, and that I won. You are going to tell me how much of a better dancer than you I am, and you are going to beg me to teach you." she explained, clearly not expecting Michael to have any other options.

"And maybe if you do that, then I will tell Nii-san that you died like a hero, and you get the chance to walk away."

It was hard to say if Michael legitimately thought about taking her offer. Nami waited to hear his response nevertheless, intending to end their fight one way or another.

A rush of emotions swirled through Michael at a time like this, but out of everything he could have said to her, it seemed he decided to choose his words poorly.

"You can't break dance, can you?"

Nami's expression just about cracked. Her smile shifted to a pout as she glared back at him.

"I can not...what?"

Michael didn't relent though, even as he readied his right hand to move when the time was right.

"You heard me. You can't break dance. You must love those rhythm games, right? Sounds like it doesn't take a real dancer to be any good at them."

Nami's eyes almost popped out of her head as she shrieked back at him.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Michael raised a knowing eyebrow in response. "Or what?"

In response, her Sentonal's fist hovered just in front of his face, ready to clobber him at any moment.

"If I wanted to, I could learn your stupid dance moves so easy. I just..."

Her voice trailed off, as uncertainty in her words become beyond obvious.

"...you're just not good enough? It's okay, we all start somewhere." Michael finished her sentence for her.

Who knew that Kim's brand of insults would be the one thing that might save him from doom?  Michael would have chuckled if Nami wasn't about to bash his teeth in.

Finally though, Nami's demeanor broke, and her Sentonal's fist went straight for Michael's face.

All of the energy stored up from not moving during this exchange finally became of use, with Michael barely ducking as the yellow-green fist smashed right into the speaker behind him.

Her anger so focused on Michael, all of Sweet Survivor's  afterimages had combined into the original form for this one blow.  Because of this, Nami now found her Sentonal unable to immediately pull back from the tangle of plastic and wires it had broken through.

Michael acted quickly in response. With one hand, he popped in his remaining headphone, while his legs shifted into his familiar windmill maneuver.

Canned Heat was already flaring in his right hand as his legs battered into Nami's knees, sending her flat onto her back and staring up at the ceiling.

She was quick though as she sat up, but in this moment, Michael was quicker where it counted.

From another of his practiced handstands, he flipped high up into the air, landing on his feet right behind her.

As five sets of fists all went for him, Michael closed his eyes and focused all of Canned Heat's energy not in his heels, but in his previously cold left hand.

There was a light crackle, and before Nami's Sentonals could beat Michael asunder, he had completely vaporized her headphones in one precise motion.

Michael stood up, and finally, his limbs relaxed. He looked to both sides, and Nami's Sentonals were gone in the same moment her music had been cut off.

Nami herself, meanwhile, didn't even turn around. Instead, she stared forward before pulling her legs in and burying her face in her knees.

Michael didn't know what to say, but his eyes went towards the door out of the karaoke room once he was sure the fight was over.

It was when he grabbed the doorknob that Nami spoke, albeit in a tone drained of all her previous cockiness.

"How did you know I could not do any of that?" Nami asked, and Michael expression softened once he heard the sniffle of tears.

"You're...not good at hiding it. You know, if your brother wasn't so crazy about nabbing my uncle, maybe we wouldn't have had to do this."

Michael didn't turn, but he also felt something stopping him from opening the door to freedom as Nami continued.

"How can you do all of that? How can you make it look so easy? Since I was a little girl, I could never dance like that." she asked, searching for some reassurance, if any.

Michael sighed before he replied.

"I can't really explain. Dancing is sort of my thing, you know?"

He turned ever so slightly, smiling with sincerity for the first time in their whole encounter.

"It's the only thing I'm good at."

Nami didn't respond, and Michael left it at that. He shut the karaoke room door behind him, rushing up the last flight towards the room where he could clearly hear a struggle between two Music Masters.

When he was finally gone, Nami could only look up at the ceiling, no longer crying but her tone of voice defeated nonetheless.

"It is supposed to be my thing, Afro-kun. And if you take it, what do I have left?"

-----

-----

Even as Michael unexpectedly rushed into the third floor instrument room, Arashi was only so caught off-guard.

As Rob weakly reached out from the floor, Michael only had a moment to react as more than one of his heart-shaped Sentonals jumped at him like rabid monkeys.

With Canned Heat still active, Michael waved his right hand in an arc, and four of them were bisected in mid-air as he let loose its destructive heat.

Michael's eyes spotted the white bass guitar, his heels flaring up as he prepared to make a run for it.

Unfortunately for Michael, Arashi was already switching to Ultrasoul right as he was only two feet away from the guitar itself.

Orange energy and his flowing scarf followed the elder Nagataki's quick response, and Michael could only gasp as he felt a gloved hand roughly grab him by the throat.

Michael's heated hand instinctively went for his wrist, but in this form, Arashi just ignored the sizzle as he spoke to Michael with threat in his voice.

"How did you get past Nami?"

"I...I beat her." Michael could barely choke out as a response.

Arashi's eyes narrowed underneath the visor of his helmet.

"What? This must be a joke."

"Why don't you ask her...yourself?" Michael recommended, but it only earned him a tighter squeeze in response.

"Once we are finished here, I will. But I assure you, this will not be quick." Arashi promised, beginning to squeeze with every intention of crushing Michael's vertebrae slowly.

Everything that had happened to Michael Kay in these last two months flashed in front of his eyes, with his only solace being that Rob might have time to escape in these moments that Arashi was focused on him.

He was on the edge of what felt like his last breath when Arashi's grip slackened, and he dropped Michael in response.

The afro-headed teen shook his head and focused on the scene in front of him, as Rob had grabbed Arashi from behind in an attempt to restrain him in some fashion.

It took every ounce of strength he had to even put up some sort of fight, but Rob remained steadfast as he shouted to his nephew.

"Mike! The bass!"

Michael's eyes darted back to the white instrument right nearby. At first, he thought Rob wanted it passed over to him, until he reached for it and remembered Canned Heat still shrouded over his right hand.

Michael's gaze went back to Rob and Arashi, watching as the elder Nagataki finally pulled Rob off and threw him with unreal strength towards the wall of delicate instruments. Rob groaned as he made impact, all manner of guitars, standing keyboards and percussion falling around him.

There was no time left, as Arashi came for him, his own fist lit up with orange light and with the intent to put a bloody hole right through Michael.

With his heat-infused hand, Michael grabbed the neck of the bass, and for no more than a second, he focused all of his energy into it.

But instead of vaporizing, it radiated with the same orange-red aura Michael had seen that very first time he used Canned Heat at the Dust Bowl.

With Arashi now right in front of him, Michael threw the instrument headlong, as it burned like a fiery lance.

All it took was one swift kick for Arashi to blow it apart, and it seemed all was lost.

What he didn't count on, however, was the radiating heat packed inside, which exploded outward in violent display once its vessel was destroyed.

And though Arashi didn't feel it even at this close of a range, his defenseless headphones were disintegrated in but an instant, leaving him unprotected as his music stopped and UItrasoul deactivated in response.

Michael watched as Arashi tumbled backwards into a drum set, knocking over cymbals before he landed propped up against the center drum.

He touched his head, realizing his headphones were no more.

Then he touched his stomach, and both Michael and Rob looked on at the red splotch that was beginning to expand underneath his undershirt.  A shard of the broken white bass jutted out painfully from the spot, and the shock of it hit Arashi all at once.

He went to fix his sunglasses, and perhaps to say something, when the sheer pain became too much.  Arashi's mind went black as he quickly passed out.

Of course, there was no way Michael could tell the difference. He found himself approaching the downed Japanese teen with sudden sympathy, only to be stopped as Rob put a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him.

Michael's eyes tracked down to the extravagant, colorful bass now slung over his shoulder. He wanted to say something, anything to his uncle, but clearly now was not the time.

With his cassette player back in his pocket, and music back in his ears, Rob held onto his nephew as Traveling Without Moving played in the air once again.

The next second, and both Music Masters vanished, replaced by familiar green and gold threads, which faded away some moments later.

The music stopped in response, and silence reigned as Arashi laid defeated and still bleeding among the instruments.

-----

Arashi had initially wondered if he was dead when he finally came to, and if the warm female presence holding his head up was the mother he only so vaguely remembered from his childhood.

If he had the strength, he might have laughed in the irony, considering everything he'd done.

Even if it was all for Nami's sake.

But as his vision became clearer, the elder Nagataki realized that he was sprawled out on the floor of Semi-Sound, and a burning pain reminded him he was still very much bleeding from a stomach wound.

"I'm here, Nii-san." Nami assured, though her eyes wandered towards his wound as debated what to do next.

Arashi weakly looked to one side, and both Michael Kay and Rob Prototype were nowhere to be seen. Shards of what remained of the white bass guitar littered the floor.

Now they had truly failed. If his sunglasses weren't still on, then Nami might have been able to notice the growing sorrow in his eyes.  The realization that his sister's life and most likely his own, was now forfeit, began to hit him in full force.

"You lost." he stated, but for once, his Nami was far more concerned with his well-being than his insulting observation.

Her expression changed though, as a strange look of elation replaced her previous worries.  Michael's dancing flashed in her mind, only for her to force herself back to reality a second later.

"For now." she replied, her fingers now reaching for the shard of wood embedded in his stomach.

Arashi didn't have to say a word as she went for it.

There was a sound of suction, before his loud groan of pain echoed throughout the entire third floor.

Nami tossed the bloody shard aside, as she applied pressure on the wound with Arashi's jacket.

It was then that the door leading back into the stairwell opened, and both siblings looked up to see two foreigners walk into their midst.

Nami narrowed her eyes, preparing to stand up and face them, when the red-haired girl wearing the leather vest put her hands up in assurance.

"Relax, sushi roll. We're not here to start a fight.  Zero Beat sent us."

Arashi's raised his voice as best he could, while Nami remained poised to react nonetheless.

"We failed. Is it not obvious?"

He winced as his wound continued to bleed, with Nami focusing again on applying pressure as before.

Helia smiled snidely in response.

"Actually, you two just did us all a pretty huge favor. So I wouldn't say you failed. And trust me, Renaldo here knows quite a bit about actual failure."

Both siblings said nothing in response as the glasses-wearing boy next to Helia was already scrolling through his music player.  Renaldo himself just tried his best to ignore Helia, but she was already insistent.

"Hurry up." she demanded, as he played the song of choice. "They might actually kill us this time if we don't get these two back to Tokyo in one piece."

Renaldo said nothing, instead leaning down as he began to focus the chosen song effect into the palms of his hands and onto Arashi's still bleeding wound.

Helia, meanwhile, had already taken out a cigarette.

She took a long, slow smoke as she looked wistfully at both Nagataki siblings in their current state.  She badgered Nami in particular, who showed none of her previous cockiness given the situation.

"Why the long face? You and your brother might just be the luckiest bunch in the land of the rising sun."

Helia exhaled a gray cloud of nicotine as she smiled through her teeth, clearly peppier than usual while Renaldo continued his work.

"Just be happy we got here when we did."

Fast forward to the next track...