#i actually got to the research stage and did some pretty good research about sky diving with disabilities.

[lucindarobinsonvevo]

had this idea for a fic a while ago where dylan’s skydiving career takes a nose dive after one of the people’s he’s teaching dies on his watch. in a fit of desperation to avoid going to jail and never seeing his kids again he sacrifices his pride and calls paul to ask for help. paul of course flies right to cains on the first red eye flight and spares no expense to help. the real meat and potatoes of the fic is after Paul’s lawyer uses evidence Paul found to find Dylan not guilty and after awkwardly asking Paul to stay for Christmas (they’re...friends? again. or, dylan hates him less anyway) and offers to take him skydiving which Paul agrees too on account of his failing marriage back home and not wanting to face his kids in New York about it. 

The skydiving scene is literally just an extended metaphore for how Dylan feels about Paul. in freefall. he’s going to crash if he does nothing but he wants to keep going as long as he can that sort of thing. Eventually when they make it back to Paul’s unit Dylan decides to make a move and they kiss. havent decided if i would bother to make it r-rated or just leave it there. idk i also like the idea of an epilouge where Paul takes over narration and muses about relationships and all the times he’s tried to remake Dylan and failed and it’s because none of them would ever make him feel about them the way he felt (feels?) about Dylan. Paul uses the skydiving metaphore -- He’s going to crash one way or another, but if he has a choice at all he’d prefer Dylan. Then he schedules a phone call with his kids and starts browsing gifts for Dylan’s children. 

[bestiesenpai]

Canidae - Geto Suguru

Ah, my first hybrid au and full on yandere piece for jjk! A momentous occasion, I hope everyone likes it lol, femme reader btw. 7.5k words

part two

Content warnings: pseudo-incest, yandere shit, kidnapping, not a/b/o but there’s mentions of going into heat, size difference(although I’m not sure how well I wrote it), talking about a past murder(but no actual killing), choking, stalking, dumbification, kind of shy/skittish reader, drugging(w/ pills and w/ a syringe), brief mention of drug usage, needles, slimy men...there’s a lot of slimy men in here

(S/N) = stage name

It’s been about two months since you ran away from home. You try not to think about it, but in the quiet moments of the day, the hours that you should be using to sleep before your next shift, during meals and even at work, it creeps up like a sickness that just won’t leave.

You hadn’t wanted to leave your home, even if the people there weren’t really your family by blood. After being adopted by the Getou family in your late childhood, you thought life would get better. They seemed like a wonderful family of fox hybrids, all silky black hair and cunning little smiles. Although they weren’t in your same species family, as a house cat you could get along with them easily, a subtle praise to evolution for making foxes more like cats than dogs.

“Hey house cat, stop sulking by the bar and go talk to customers.” A slap on the wall next to you jolts you out of your thoughts and into the loud and bustling world around you.

“S-sorry boss.” Ducking your head away from your furious boss, you adjust the skimpy shorts and crop top that truly did nothing to hide your skin. Working at a seedy hostess bar wasn’t exactly the plan when you ran away, but they were the only place willing to hire you.

Looking out across the crowded bar floor, at least you didn’t have to worry about going out on the street and handing out flyers to get customers tonight. There were several men of different species and ages, sitting at the bar with dark liquor or having pretty bunny girls pour drinks from overpriced bottles at private tables.

Taking a glance at what table you’d been assigned, your stomach twisted in knots. It was a table full of lion men, their business suits wrinkled beyond hope and their manes even more disheveled than what was normal for a lion.

“Hey pretty kitty!” One of them shouted drunkenly, waving a large clawed hand at you as you shuffled closer.

“H-hello.” Giving a nervous wave, you felt a little better at seeing a coworker - a red panda hybrid - sitting between a few of them.

“Ah this is (S/N), she’s a newbie!” The girl, who called herself Fuyumi, announced. Holding up her glass in salute, she took a sip.

“Fresh meat huh?” Suddenly, all eyes were on you again, but the atmosphere shifted. A predatory look was shared between the group and a few men got up to let you slide into the booth, next to your coworker.

“What a pretty little thing you are.” A lion purred loudly next to you, putting a heavy hand around your arm and squeezing your shoulder.

“T-thank you! Let me- let me pour you a drink?” Shrinking under the weight and his lecherous gaze, you grabbed the liquor bottle they ordered and refilled a few drinks that needed to be topped up. Your ears were pressed flush to your head from the nerves, tail slightly puffed up behind you.

“So, your name is (S/N)?”

“Mhmm!” The stage name was something you thought of on the fly, trying to make it the least like your real name as possible. Accepting a drink from Fuyumi, you tried to ease the anxiety pricking at your skin.

Listening in on a story being told by one of the men, you tried to act like you were paying attention. Faking a smile, laughing loudly and keeping the drinks full - those were the only things on your mind. Not the clients walking by being escorted to secret back rooms or the people so obviously snorting something up at one of the tables in the back.

“(S/N), you’ve been quiet!” The man with his arm around you shook you side to side, his eyes falling to your breasts moving and being squished together when he squeezed you to him. “Tell us about yourself!”

“Uhm-” Taking a quick glance at Fuyumi, you cleared your throat. “Well I’m new to Tokyo-”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He cut you off, an eager look in his eyes. You shook your head obediently. Even if you did have a boyfriend, you couldn’t say yes. You had to be seen as attainable, just within arms reach if they wanted to have you for themselves.

“That’s good, the boys in Tokyo won’t do you any good.” A man to your left chimed in. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his hairy chest covered in golden fur. “But the men in Tokyo are a different story.” He winked at you and you forced a giggle up, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your slight displeasure.

“Yeah, what you need is a man, (S/N). You seem so nervous!”

“House cats usually are.” Fuyumi piped up. Grabbing your chin, she pursed your lips with the tips of her white painted claws. “Isn’t that right?” Cooing at you like a baby, she shook your head and turned you to face the men at the table. “(S/N) was so nervous for her interview she nearly cried!”

A round of mocking teases sounded at the table as Fuyumi let go of you, some of them calling you a ‘poor baby’ while others offered to buy you another round of drinks to help you feel better. Your face burned, embarrassment and the close proximity of all the bodies around you making a light sheen of sweat glisten on your skin.

“I’m fine now, though, promise!” Biting your lip, you did as you’d practiced before your shift: putting an arm under your breasts, you pushed it up and tilted your head down, looking up at the men from beneath your lashes. “I feel much better with all these big strong men here.”

It made you sick, the way they all leered at your body and visibly adjusted the front of their pants. Ordering a few more bottles for the table, the sick feeling refused to leave. It clung to the back of your throat, rising bile that refused to be swallowed down.

Hours later, as the sun began to rise and proper members of society were starting to head to work for the morning, you were finally done with work. The table of lions had bought your time for the whole night, their egos boosted by your show of submission.

“You actually did okay tonight, house cat.” Your boss grunted, thumbing through the cash she was counting. “Here’s your cut.” Holding out a handful of bills, you knew better than to question how much was in it. The last time you’d tried to speak up about being shorted, your only window was shattered by a brick and it cost all of your money to fix it.

“Thank you.” Nodding politely, you took it from her hand. It felt slightly larger than normal, but you knew it wasn’t the full amount you’d been promised to receive when you started working. There was always a bit taken off the top, and since you were a newbie, even more.

Quickly changing into baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, you slinked out of the club's back entrance with your hood drawn tightly. Located in the red light district, no one batted an eye at you or where you worked, but it wasn’t them you were worried about.

Running away from home meant running away from the only family you had left, an over controlling big brother with an obsession. An obsession with you. Ever since you met, got adopted all those years ago, he had been infatuated with you.

As a young, freshly teenaged fox, suddenly acquiring a little sister had been exciting. Especially when it turned out you weren’t the same species. He always wanted to be around you, ask you questions about what it was like to be a cat. At first they were innocent, asking about your diet and favorite toys, but as he got older, his interest in you skewed.

You saw the search history on his computer, he spent hours researching cat hybrid heat cycles and when the best time to mate was. He started to go through your phone, taking it away from you under the guise of just being an annoying older brother while secretly looking through all your messages. Always getting jealous if you hung out with friends or didn’t want to sit in his room with him. And his friends knew about his obsession, feeding into it and talking about how much they wished to have a little sister like you, and if he’d be so kind as to share.

Your older brother became more obsessed with you while he was looking for a job after university. Spending hours applying for jobs and going to interviews, he wouldn’t shut up about getting a good job and moving out with you. And when he finally got that good job he always mentioned, that’s when you had to run.

Walking with your head down through the streets, waiting at a crosswalk to pass had you on edge. Just remembering the way he held your hand in public with a grip tight enough to cut off circulation had you shoving your hands into your pockets. A couple walked across the street with their arms around each other, and suddenly the suffocating weight of your brother's arm around your waist as he slept in your bed with you was back.

Forcing air through your lungs, you ran the rest of the way home. It wasn’t a long way to the crummy apartment block you called home and you were inside your cramped studio space and crumpled against the door in no time.

It didn’t always feel good to be in here with it’s water stained ceilings, barely usable pipes and the one, barely big enough window near the front door. You could hardly call it a home, it was just a room with the mattress you bought second hand and the clothes you ran away with strewn across the floor with a tiny kitchen shoved into the corner and a bathroom that surely wasn’t up to code.

But for now, it felt amazing. Your running had only exacerbated the exhaustion you had from working such grueling hours, and just crawling over to your dirty bed took all the energy you had left. With the sun beginning to rise properly into the sky, you closed your eyes and went to sleep.

The sudden alarm from the crappy phone you bought was what woke you up, the early evening sun and the sound of your neighbors yelling at one another through the walls pulling the last few bits of sleep from the edges of your mind.

And so do the set of crystal blue eyes staring in at you from your window, one that not even you can see out of because it’s too high.

“Sat-” The name catches in your throat, and when you blink again the eyes are gone. Rushing out of bed, you rip open the front door and look up and down the hallway. But there’s no one there, no bright white arctic fox fur to be seen, and certainly not the man attached to it.

Gripping the door tightly in your fingers, you linger in the threshold. The longer you stayed out, the more the vivid eyes watching you sleep became a memory, something your overworked mind must have conjured up as it went from sleeping to being awake. With a shaky sigh, you step back into your apartment to get ready for your next shift.

Meandering through the busy streets, you passed by shops that were starting to become familiar to you. There was the odd convenience store, a few illegal gambling dens with restaurant fronts, strip clubs and sex shops.

With time to kill before your shift, you dashed into a convenience store, it’s stark fluorescent lighting a nice switch from the everchanging neon signs outside. Scrounging up what little pocket change you had, you bought the cheapest food possible and sat down at the tiny table near the windows.

Eating slowly, trying to savor not only every bite but every minute before going back to work, a flash of white caught your eye as the convenience store door was opened. The little jingle that played was the only indication someone had actually entered, you barely saw the door open or close.

You could only see a glimpse of the pure white, not even a full on look. Glancing over your shoulder, you didn’t see anyone standing in the aisles, no ears stuck out to give you an indication as to who had come in.

But there was the feeling of being watched that had you on edge. When you turned fully away from the window to look at the store behind you, there wasn’t anyone watching you, yet the feeling still stuck. The target on your back had just been shot dead center, a sharp pang of fear gripped your heart the longer you looked at the seemingly empty aisles.

“Long way from home, little kitten.” A familiar face emerged from your right, but it wasn’t the man you thought it was.

“N-nanami?” It was a shock to see him in a neighborhood like this, his pristine suit more fitted for the financial district a few train stops over that he sometimes visited for work. He was in his usual suit, the one he liked to wear when he was over at your house, and his blond ears and tail were as immaculately trimmed and proper as ever.

“Hm, you’re not calling me Kento-nii anymore?” He said scornfully, sliding into the seat next to you and leaning his elbows on the table.

“Sorry, Kento-nii.” Bowing your head, you turned back to the table as well. Clenching your quivering hands in your lap, your claws dug into your skin to try and ground yourself. Kento hadn’t even said much and yet you were ready to pass out.

“Why’d you run away? You know we all miss you.” Leaning his head in his hands, Kento stared out the window at the people walking by. His lip curled a little in disgust, and a low growl rumbled from the back of his throat. “This isn’t the place for a girl like you.”

“You know why I had to leave.” Staring down at your hands, your eyes burned as you blinked away tears at the memories forcing their way back to you.

“I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“Kento-nii, please-” Your voice trembled, catching in your throat as it broke.

“Tell me, (Y/N). Why did you leave?”

“S-su-” It made you want to throw up just saying his name, so you didn’t. “He killed our parents.” Saying it out loud made the painful burn behind your eyes grow stronger until you were blinking hot tears down your cheeks.

“That’s not true.” Kento said calmly while turning to you. “Your parents died from-”

“Don’t lie for him!” You shouted, finally looking up at Kento. As soon as your voice raised, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, forcing your head against his chest and pulling you into a tight hug. Dipping his head down, Kento’s chin brushed your ears as he pressed his lips to them.

“Listen little kitten, you know better than to raise your voice at me. And you know better than to lie.” The fingers around your neck tightened and Kento dug the tips of his claws against your pulse. “Your parents died in a murder-suicide, nothing more nothing less.”

“Let go!” You sobbed, thrashing around in his hold. It was truly useless to try and fight against him. Foxes - and truly, a lot of other hybrid types - were much larger and stronger than you. There wasn’t any chance you had at trying to beat him in strength, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try.

“Calm down, you’re making a scene.” Fully enclosing his hand around your neck, Kento squeezed the air from your throat and shut down the subsequent scream that followed. Reduced to whimpering, you stilled your body and tried to tug his hand off.

Gasping and choking when he finally let you go, your body was weak from the lack of oxygen and you fully slumped into Kento’s hold. Struggling to catch your breath, there was little solace you could find in his hand stroking between your shoulder blades.

“Come home, (Y/N).” He said gently, like he was coaxing a child into eating their unwanted vegetables.

“No.” Shaking your head weakly, your body trembled violently. Kento didn’t need to speak for you to know he wasn’t pleased with your answer, the pregnant pause that followed was enough.

“Why must you be so difficult, hm?” With a heavy, disappointed sigh, Kento let you sit upright again. Tsking at your bloodshot eyes dripping with tears, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped your face clean.

Your lower lip shook as you looked up at him, honey colored eyes to match his blonde hair. Vertical pupils stared back at yours, the only thing the two of you really had in common.

“I’ll ask one more time: will you come home with me, (Y/N)?” Cupping your cheek, Kento wiped the snot dripping from your nose and the drool that had started to drip past your lip. “If you say no one more time, I can’t promise anything.”

“Kento-nii…” Sniffling pathetically, you blinked hard and shook your head.

“(Y/N).” Groaning in annoyance, Kento dropped his hands and put his head back. “I don’t think you’re listening-”

“Y-you listen to me!” Standing up abruptly, your chair fell over from the force and loudly clattered to the ground. “I’m never going back there! Not ever!” It was dangerous to shout at Kento, especially as you saw his pupils begin to dilate. Out of all your brothers friends, he was the one who took the rules most seriously.

Grabbing the food you had left, you ran out of the convenience store. As your feet slammed against the pavement, you didn’t dare look over your shoulder to see if he was chasing after you. Kento hadn’t been the type to play those sort of chase games back at home, but the desperation to have you back in that house was strong enough that he just might follow you.

Running all the way to the clubs back entrance, you slipped inside and hid in the storage room. No one truly bothered to come back there anyway, it was the perfect place to hide behind a few untouched boxes until it was time for your shift.

“Hey house cat, someone personally requested you.” Your boss grunted when she saw you, a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.

“Who is it?” Attempting to look at the clipboard in her hands, you didn’t quite catch the name of the person that was written down.

“Who cares, it’s some rich fox wearing glasses. He’s at the back, you can’t miss his white hair.”

“What?” Your eyes shot open, heart stopping as her words bounced around your skull. It was too much of a coincidence that Kento had found you and now a white haired fox had requested you.

“Hey.” Grabbing you by the shoulder, your boss glared at you and turned your body around. “Get to work already and stop zoning the fuck out. You don’t want to make me put you on flyer duty do you? There’s some weirdos out tonight that would just love-”

“No! No, I’m sorry ma’am. I’ll get going right away.” Stepping away from her tight hold, you tried not to tremble as you walked to the back table. As you got closer, your knees nearly gave out on you as the fear you had was materializing right before your eyes.

It was indeed Gojo Satoru, your brother's best friend and the deadliest arctic fox you’ve ever come to know. With his pristine snow white hair and ears, keen blue eyes and those trademark dark sunglasses he wears, there was no mistaking him.

“Hey, little sister.” He crooned as you slid into the booth next to him, keeping a healthy distance between the two of you. “Missed ya.”

“Toru-nii, why are you here?” Keeping your eyes locked on the melting ice in his cup, you could barely breathe from the weight of your fear. There wasn’t anything that Satoru couldn’t - or wouldn’t - do. He’d always been the smartest, the strongest, he could beat any hybrid in anything he set his mind to, even with clear biological differences set between them.

“What do you mean why am I here? I’m here to see my favorite little kitten at her new job!” Throwing his arms open wide, Satoru had an easy smile on his face despite your obvious discomfort. “Although, I can’t say you’re doing very well so far. My glass is still empty.”

Wordlessly, you stiffly poured him a drink and slid the glass over to him. Pouring one for yourself as well, you clinked your glasses together when he raised it and took a short sip. Usually you didn’t drink on the job, getting the bartenders to mix you something that was mostly pure juice. But tonight you needed to take a bit of edge off.

“Please just go.” Forcing the words out of your tight throat, a wave of nausea washed over you as Satoru put his hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t leave here without you.” His lips brushed your ears like they used to back at home, but this time he wasn’t whispering crude little jokes to get you to giggle. Sliding his hand from your shoulder to around your ribs, Satoru quickly overwhelmed your personal space with the size of his body.

“Toru!” You gasped as his claws dug into your ribs, threatening to push through the spaces and break them entirely. Tugging on his hand, you looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention to your lonely little table in the back.

“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Kento already tried to be nice and you were just so mean to him.”

“T-toru-nii, please!” Desperate tears sprang to your eyes as every word he spoke was punctuated with a tightening grip around you.

“And here I thought we trained you to be a good girl, (Y/N), I really did. But good girls don’t yell at their big brothers, they don’t lie and-” Satoru broke off to send a charming smile to a few passing hostesses before returning to you, “They certainly don’t run away.”

A choked sob racked through you, drowned out by the loud music being played overhead. In your struggle to get his hand off, you hadn’t realized Satoru slid you onto his lap until it was too late and he could wrap both long arms around you.

Forced to lean back against his lanky body, his fluffy white tail wrapped around yours, deftly hugging it close to him. Engulfing your scantily clad body, Satoru burrowed his nose between your ears, inhaling the scent he always said he liked back home.

“I’ve always wanted to see you wear something like this, ya know.” Thumbing the edge of your crop top, Satoru dipped his fingers underneath the fabric. “Always wanted to dress you up and play pretend, be my cute little hostess for the night.”

“Stop.” Grabbing his wrist, your eyes desperately searched for someone to come save you. But being seated at a table so far in the back of the club was playing to Satoru’s advantage; no one really paid attention to the back of the club because that’s where the truly shady things happened.

“C’mon kitty, play with me.” Satoru whined, bouncing you on his lap a few times. He was always childish, always whining for you to pay attention to him whenever he got the chance, and now was no different. You couldn’t see it, but you knew he had that trademark silly smile on his face regardless of the fact he had a death grip on your body.

“Toru-nii.” Jutting your lip out in a pout, you finally lurched your upper body forward enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“There’s that cutesy little face I missed.” Cooing at you, Satoru loosened his grip enough to let you sit sideways across his lap. Forcing you to wrap an arm around his middle, Satoru kept a tight grip on your back.

“Toru-nii…” Fiddling with the fabric of his shirt, you stole a glance at the eyes staring right through you. “Why do you- why are you helping him so much? You know what he did, I don’t-”

“I helped him do it.”

“What?” Your jaw fell slack and you stared right at him.

“Look, there’s no point in lying to you.” Leaning forward, Satoru grabbed his drink and took a generous swig. “I helped your brother kill your parents and stage it. We even practiced on a few drifters before moving onto the real deal.” Satoru’s smile had fallen, an unfamiliar serious look taking its place.

“You have no idea how long we all planned it, all three of us. Kento took care of your trust fund and the insurance, I subdued your parents and got them in position, and Suguru was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Tears were streaming down your face, smearing the makeup you’d put on, dripping into your open mouth. All other noise in the club fell away, leaving your ears ringing loudly from the silence in your head. Air was barely coming in or out of your lungs, your throat too tight to properly breathe.

“We had it all planned out perfectly, but then you just had to go and mess it up.” Satoru landed a swift slap to your thigh. “You just had to be a bad kitty and run off.” A second slap knocked the air back into you and your body jerked back.

“Toru-nii, why?!” Your scream was loud enough to be heard over the music, and Satoru looked around at the few curious eyes that were now looking at you, his ears flattening against his head as he forced a smile.

“We had to do it (Y/N), so we could all live together as a pack.”

“B-but we already had one.” Sure, you didn’t necessarily need to live in a group but it was nice to be in your adoptive family's pack and be surrounded by their love and care.

“That one...wasn’t the right fit.”

“For who?” Sniffling loudly, you wiped the snot from your nose. “Who wasn’t it right for?” It had been perfectly fine for you. There wasn’t any fighting, no strained dynamics and when your parents were alive, there wasn’t an overbearing older brother trying to completely consume you.

“You’ll do much better in the pack we have now, (Y/N).” Gripping your upper thigh tightly, Satoru leaned forward to press his lips against your ears once more. “Your big brothers will take great care of you.” A sound got caught in your throat, something halfway between a gasp and a scream.

“T-toru-Toru-nii.” A fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes and you blinked hard to keep them at bay. “Can I use the restroom? I just- I really need to use it.” Satoru stilled for a moment, sizing up your words and his options.

“Alright, but be quick.” Slowly releasing the tight hold he had on you, you could finally breathe again. Sliding out of the booth, you bolted to the employee bathroom and collapsed against the far wall.

There wasn’t a way out of the club without Satoru seeing. Even if you ran out the backdoor, he would still see you coming out of the bathroom. The front door was no use, there were too many people you would have to maneuver around.

“And then I said- what the hell, house cat? Are you drugged out?” A few bunny girls walked in, their long floppy ears decorated with silk ribbon. They never really spoke to you, but they weren’t mean to you either.

“My client- he’s just- I-” Stammering, you couldn’t find the words to explain the situation.

“Is he being a fucking freak?” Sauntering up to you, they tugged you up from the floor to lean against the sink counter. Sighing loudly as you nodded, one of them pulled out a small baggie from her bra, a few red pills tucked safely inside. “Here, slip one in his drink and he’ll be out like a light. Then you can have security escort him out.”

“No, he’ll notice.” Satoru would notice without a doubt if you tried to slip something into his drink. He was always watching you, sometimes more than your brother was.

“Alright well I’ll mix a drink and bring it to him, tell him he gets a free drink as a first time customer.”

“You’d do that, really?” You were nearly beside yourself with a sudden rush of hope.

“Yeah, why not? It’s been a while since I’ve had to drug a client. Plus, we can’t have our newest recruit quitting on us already!” Giving you a cheeky wink, the girls sent you on your way, promising to handle it swiftly.

Returning to the table, Satoru pulled you onto his lap once more. You didn’t struggle or make a single peep as his arms wound around you again. His grip was much softer now, not threatening to bruise and crush you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the girls you talked to walk to the bar. They didn’t look at you at all, going straight to the bartender and whispering a few things in their ear. Attempting to make conversation with Satoru, you didn’t have to wait long for them to come to your table.

“Hi sir, we heard it was your first time here!” One of the girls shouted, bouncing on her heels and making her ears flop around.

“Mhmm, so we thought it would be a nice treat to give you a drink on the house!” Another girl came up, setting down a bright pink cocktail. “Go ahead and try it, I bet you’ll like it!”

“Hm, okay.” Shrugging his shoulder, Satoru grabbed the drink and took a sip, smacking his lips together at the flavor and then taking another. “This isn’t bad, thank you!”

“Of course sir, our pleasure.” Winking at the both of you, they walked away slowly, keeping their eyes on Satoru and fully turning away after seeing him down half the drink.

Satoru always did like a bit of liquor, and it would quickly be his downfall. The drink was a sweet fruity concoction to mask the bitter pill as it dissolved and Satoru’s deadly sweet tooth was hooked immediately.

You didn’t even fully wait for him to pass out before getting out of his lap. His heavy head bobbed side to side, his words slurred not like you’d heard before and his arms had fallen slack off of you. Only his droopy eyes could seem to follow you, silently demanding you to stay in place.

Throwing on your outside clothes in the back room, you kept your hood tightly drawn as you ran from the club. You weren’t worried about pissing your boss off and having to deal with the repercussions, you wouldn’t be returning to that place ever again.

Bursting through your front door, you grabbed whatever clothes you could and shoved them into your bag. The small stack of bills you kept hidden in the bathroom was a welcomed weight to your growing pile, there was enough to at least buy a train ticket and a hot meal a good distance from Tokyo.

Under the cover of the moonless night, you tried to stick to the back alleys on your way to the station that would take you out of town. It paid off to live in such a seedy area, you knew all the ins and outs and where to go to avoid being seen.

Popping your head out from an alleyway, the street before you was deserted. A long string of old warehouses called the street home, their brick and mortar facades well worn from time. Dodging the streetlights as best you could, you could practically taste freedom on the tip of your tongue.

“Oh little sister.” A voice rang out into the dead street, an eerie song sung on the lips of the one man you’d never wanted to see again. Keeping as still as possible, your eyes burned from not blinking, and your lungs from not breathing.

His slow, methodical footsteps scraped across the cement ground, echoing in the silence and heightening your anxiety with every slow drag of his feet. As the sound drew closer, you pressed yourself against the doorway of a warehouse. There wasn’t any way you could outrun your brother, so you had to devise a plan to outsmart him when he got close enough.

“Little sister, I’ve been looking for you.” Suguru came to a halt right in front of you, his towering build casting a shadow over you in the already dark alcove. He was wearing what he had on the last time you saw him, a simple black tracksuit and his favorite slides. His hair had gotten a little longer, resting a few inches past his shoulder blades with the top half in a bun.

Quirking a brow, Suguru hummed low in his chest, reaching an arm out and resting a hand next to your head. His long black claws scraped against the wood of the door, his hand easily large enough to encompass your whole face and then some. The natural musky scent of his body was sickeningly familiar, like you’d only gone just a few hours without smelling it.

“Tell me, did you have fun playing hide and seek with your big brother?” Flashing two rows of gleaming white and perfectly straight canine teeth, Suguru leaned over you, the expanse of his chest blocking out any wiggle room. “I hope you did, because I’m done playing now.”

“Y-you’re not my- my big brother anymore.” Screwing your eyes closed, you twisted your head away from him as much as you could.

“Don’t say such things, (Y/N), you’ll hurt my feelings.” Suguru laughed dryly, clearly unamused.

“Getou li- ahh!” In a flash Suguru had his other hand around your neck, lifting you up to dangle on your tiptoes as he choked you.

“Don’t you ever call me that again, do you fucking understand?” Staring at you with unblinking eyes, Suguru squeezed hard. When your eyes started to roll to the back of your head he let go, stepping back slightly to let you fall to the ground.

Struggling to regain your breath, you tried to crawl away through the small gap left between the wall and him. You barely got one full step before Suguru grabbed you by the back of your hoodie, forcing you to stand and practically dangling you in the air like a doll.

“What’s this?” Seeing the sliver of skin underneath the hoodie, Suguru wrenched it off of you. Your sweats came off shortly after and you were exposed to the elements and his growing glare. “Care to explain why you’re half fucking naked?”

“G-” You started but quickly pressed your lips closed at the sharp look he sent you. “Suguru, just let me go.”

“Answer my fucking question.” His tone left no room for further argument, and you slowly drew your arms over your exposed midriff.

“I started working at a...a hostess bar.” Your words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy and clinging to every part of you. Suguru’s face made no change, the only thing that tipped you off to his anger was the intense flaring of his nostrils.

“My precious little sister has been working at a hostess bar for the past two months? You’ve been dressed like this every night, getting stared at and perved on by god knows what kind of men? You ran away for this?” Suguru’s voice was far too steady for the situation, spiking the already high adrenaline in your blood.

“Suguru please-”

“And it seems you’ve forgotten the number one rule. You know what you’re supposed to call me.” Backing you up onto the door again, Suguru’s fluffy black tail flicked out behind him, it’s long drawn out shadow swaying back and forth.

“You’re not my brother.” Licking your lips nervously, your eyes followed his tail. There was no way you could look him in the eye after saying that. Suguru began to laugh, a cold and hollow sound from the base of his throat that sent a chill down your spine.

“And why exactly is that?” Slamming both hands down on either side of your head, he leaned down to make eye contact with you, his pupils blown wide against his already pitch black irises.

“You know.” Forcing the words out of your mouth, you curled into yourself as much as you could.

“No, I don’t.” Speaking slowly, Suguru waited just a few seconds before slamming his hands down again. “Tell me little kitten, right now!” You let out a piercing scream, covering your face with your hands.

“You killed our parents! You killed them and I heard you fucking do it!” Coming face to face with your adopted brother, the man that killed your parents in cold blood, and having to talk to him about it were all making your head spin.

“No, no I didn’t do that, honey. You’ve got it all wrong.” Suguru’s voice dropped low, instantly adopting a soothing tone. His fingers toyed with the edges of your ears, brushing the soft fur gently. “Mommy and daddy...they had problems. And I know it must be hard to believe, but they did it to themselves.”

“You’re such a liar!” Smacking his hand away from your ears, you glared at him, frustrated tears stewing on your lash line. “I heard you shoot them Suguru! I heard mom-” Your voice cracked, and the tears began to stream down your face. “I heard her tell you not to do it.”

Falling silent, Sugurus face remained neutral. His hand remained in the air from when you smacked it away, and the only indication he was still alive was the subtle flicker of his eyelids and the way his chest barely moved as he breathed.

“I knew I should have drugged you more.” He finally broke the silence, putting his hand back on the door to keep you trapped. Everything Suguru did felt like you were watching it in slow motion. The way he drew in a deep breath, expanded his chest and arms out wide and then drew you into a tight, bone crushing embrace all felt like it happened too slow. Like you should have been able to prevent it.

“Suguru!” You screamed his name from the top of your lungs, throat quickly going raw from the volume of your shouts. “Let me go! Let me go!” Writhing around, you felt the air quickly being squeezed out of you.

“It doesn’t matter now though. It’s all in the past!” Laughing to himself, Suguru took a few steps back, going to the middle of the deserted street and under a light post. “That’s right! The past! No need to worry about it, what’s done is done!”

“Su-Sugu-nii! Sugu-nii please!” You finally broke. You finally called him what he had trained you to call him for all those years. Your precious big brother.

“Oh how I missed hearing you call me that!” Still laughing, Suguru let out a loud hum. “I think I should record you saying that so I can play it over and over whenever I need my fix.”

“Sugu-nii, please!” The tears of frustration were now turning to tears of fear and desperation. The squeezing had stopped, you could just barely suck in air, but your feet still dangled off the ground. “Please let me go- this isn’t okay!”

“What does a dumb little kitten know about what is and isn’t okay?”

“Sugu!”

“You’re just a stupid little baby who got scared without her mommy and daddy and ran away. Well don’t worry, my darling sister, Sugu-nii is here to take care of you.” Nuzzling his nose against your ears affectionately, Suguru sighed contently. “We’ll be a family again, just like before. You’ll be with the pack just like you’re supposed to.”

“I’m not- not even a fox, Sugu!” Your chances of leaving his hold anytime soon were quickly diminishing, there wasn’t much you could say - if anything - to convince him to stop. “I don’t need to live in a pack, I don’t- I’m not a canine at all!”

“Hm, like that matters. Foxes act more like cats anyway.” Shrugging his shoulders, Suguru put his hand on the back of your head, raking his nails softly against your scalp. He was holding you now like a baby doll, the arm that had previously been crushing you against him now coming to rest under your bottom and cradle you.

Something caught your eye, making you twist away from Suguru in hopes that it was someone that had heard the screams and was coming to save you. Your heart deflated just as quickly as it swelled when it was Kento who had appeared, a metal briefcase in his hands.

“Look, Kento-nii is here. Go to him.” Putting you on your feet, Suguru nudged you forward. Your knees locked, refusing to move toward the imposing figure.

“It wasn’t nice to drug Gojo like that, little kitten. He’s passed out in the back of the car as we speak, you’ll have to apologize to him when he wakes up.” Kento closed the distance between the two of you, eyes glowering and brows tightly knit together.

“How did you-”

“You think just because you run away we can’t track your scent? How do you think we found you at the club after you so rudely left our conversation? Just a few sniffs and it was like you walked us right there.” Flicking the briefcase open, Kento’s face was obscured as he began to dig around for the contents. “I was waiting by the backdoor of that shitty little club, I had a feeling Gojo wouldn’t be able to convince you to come back and you’d make a run for it again, and you did. It was far too easy to call up Getou and let him know.”

The words Kento was saying were barely sticking inside your head, your complete focus going to the loaded syringe he had pulled out from the briefcase and was now holding in his hands, an almost bored expression on his face.

Taking a step back as he took one forward, you bumped into Suguru’s chest. He made a tsking noise, quickly sliding an arm under your chin and another around your middle to keep you from moving.

“Stop! Stop, Sugu-nii please!” The tears that dripped down your face didn’t matter anymore. Your voice going hoarse from all the screaming didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. At least, nothing you wanted mattered.

“Just try to be calm, little sis. Kento will be quick.” Suguru chuckled darkly, resting his chin atop your head. Any further words you had dissolved into frantic screams as Kento grabbed your arm and wrenched it away from your body.

Pushing the needle into you, he injected you with a serene face. Like he had practiced this before, almost as if he was a doctor giving you a flu shot. Whatever was in the syringe was gone quickly, Kento unloading the whole vial into you before calmly placing it back in the briefcase and shutting it.

“Don’t cry baby.” Suguru cooed, pressing a flurry of kisses on your head as he loosened his hold and began to wipe the tears off your face.

“Sugu- Kento-” You were losing track of the world and fast. Things blurred together, the crisp edges of Kento’s body were melting into the brick walls behind him. Your limbs were giving out on you and Suguru was quick to pick you up and cradle you like he had done before.

“Sshh, just go to sleep.” Pressing his lips against your ear, Suguru whispered softly, giggling at the way you closed your heavy eyes and relaxed into his embrace. “We’ll be home before you know it. One big happy family.”

[themagicalmysticalboy]

Rarepair week, george&paul? Angst/comfort maybe? Let it be era? Hurt my soul :)

a/n: you’ve got it babe! i actually did some research for the flashback scene so it’s pretty accurate to reality, according to Ringo’s and some crew member's accounts.

Don’t Let Me Down

For as cold as it had been for the last month, the sun was shining high in the sky. A peculiar sight that brought a hint of warmth to Paul’s face but did not extend further than that. He could be in a summer's day desert and still feel the cold churn in his stomach. Looming tall and strong over him was the Abbey Road studio. The uncharacteristic beams of sunlight lit the many windows with a yellow glint. A million-eyed monster ready to tear him to shreds if he dared step closer. And he did dare. He peeled himself off his car and stiffened instantly. He’d been leaning against the passengers' door so long that when the wind hit his back it sent a shiver right through him. Or maybe it was solely his nerves. Either way, he didn’t plan to dwell on it.

A few Scruffs were waiting outside with paper coffee cups in hand and drink carriers stacked against the wall. So George was in. He had really come back. The cold churn rose to his chest. At this rate, he’d be a human popsicle by lunch.

There was a disjointed chorus of “Hi Paul” and “Good Morning” which he replied to with a courteous wave. He’d been largely turned off by the Apple Scruffs for some time now but there wasn’t really any malice. Having your house broken into was more than a bit off-putting, though. So he felt justified. George was the most tolerant of them, buying them coffees and breakfast foods every so often. They must have missed him while he was gone. Yeah. Surely they did. Because I did. Paul pushed the sentiment to the wayside. They still had an album to make. They still had songs to record and a documentary to be part of. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him again. That had only led to an explosion.

Preparing himself with a stiffened posture and pushed back shoulders, he walked into the studio with a smile. It was almost painful to keep up but the cameraman was already in his face and he refused to let on to his nerves. He needed some inkling of control here and there was so little of that to grab hold of these days.

When he walked into the recording room, he found people scattered across the room but he didn’t find John or Ringo. It was still early in the morning so it made sense but he was undoubtedly rattled by the realization, becoming more rattled when he noticed George looking at him. Paul didn’t dare meet his eyes, drifting down to his feet. He looked soft, despite his sharp features. Cozy in his furry boots and warm jumper. He missed looking at that face and touching that body and kissing those lips. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been able to do any of that. Too long.

George gave a thin-lipped smile before turning to Billy Preston at the piano. Was that a good sign or was this small sign of grace feigned for the cameras?

Whatever it meant, it drove Paul mad. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness but he sure as hell would take it. There was no helping the intrusive memories of the aftermath of George walking out. He had done it so nonchalantly that no one was sure he had actually left until they got to the recording room and found him and his guitar missing.

Something had shifted in the room as soon as the three remaining Beatles looked at each other. John was breathing heavily with an icy glare. There was a glint in his eye that screamed danger. It was focused on Paul. Picking up the bass with a death grip on the neck, Paul just stared John down. There was a mutual understanding in the moment. The rage in both of them was bubbling over more and more by the second.

John yanked his guitar from the rack and they both plugged into the amps. No one seemed to remember the camera crew was still around. They just turned to Ringo, who was already at his drums, drumsticks in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. He was pushing so hard it had to hurt. And that was it. John squared up to the mic and began to scream the lyrics to a song they'd already wrapped up but they all threw themselves into it without question. Screaming, banging, and heavy riffs filled the studio. Nothing made sense and every fiber of Paul’s being hurt so much that he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, at least. They all felt some level of hurt.

Ringo was even mad- at the situation or at George or at Paul, it didn’t matter. He banged and slammed away like never before. It sounded so wrong coming from him but at the moment it was the only right thing to do. They sounded perfectly horrible. There was a distinct addition to the vocals and Paul turned to find Yoko sitting on George’s little blue stool, wailing along with John’s screams. Yes. Perfectly horrible.

When the song was up the energy was still poisonous and thick in the air. They weren’t done, not by far. Paul stepped up to the mic and John did not move away. With little notion of what he was doing, he went at the lyrics of another song. The words spat from his tongue with vitriol and fire.

They all needed to scream. Ringo was at the mic at some point, coming up with random words on the spot. Really just to have something to yell about. 

When they finished, panting out the last seething breaths, Paul felt empty. 

“Way to fucking go,” John yelled, eyes fixed on Paul. “Way to go.” his voice was drastically quieter, more tired and sad and hoarse, eyes drifting to his feet.

Paul’s bass suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, pulling the strap down against his shoulder painfully. Maybe it was more the weight of his mistakes than the bass. Everything felt painstaking and dreadful for the rest of the day. The anger was gone and the screaming was done. There was nothing else to keep his mind from wandering into a wall of depression.

In the present, sans John and Ringo, he shyly grabbed an acoustic guitar and went to sit in a corner. He worked on one of his own songs, quietly strumming and murmuring. He didn’t like it yet, keeping it to himself. The awkward air in the studio only exemplified his need for privacy. So he stayed tucked away, only speaking when spoken to, like a good little schoolboy. George had even come over to ask about the song but Paul told him it wasn’t right just yet. There was no way he was about to embarrass himself on top of all this.

He went back and forth for most of the day. Playing several takes of various songs before turning back to his own song. There was a part on one of the songs that Paul found needed a quieter guitar part. The thought of addressing this issue to George was met with resistance. Was he really ready to address him? The guitar part could be addressed later, maybe. He could suggest another take tomorrow. But the song. It just wouldn’t be right. And maybe no one would be willing to do another take later. That struck a nerve in Paul that rang louder than the rest of his rationale. 

“Maybe,” Paul started, resolving to look directly at George for the first time since he walked in. “The guitar could be a bit quieter next take, y’know? Just sounds a bit heavy.” He tacked on quickly, glancing at Ringo, “The drums too.”

Ringo gave him a pained expression. Paul looked George dead on with a weak smile, though he could see John’s cautioning glare in his peripheral vision. George’s eyes were dark and apathetic. His jaw was set tight.

George Martin came over just when he was about to respond. Oblivious to the tension between them, he clapped a hand on John’s shoulder with a grin. “That was a great take, lads. Why don’t you take a lunch break with the film crew.”

“Wasn’t good enough for Paul,” George huffed, leaving first. “But what is?”

George Martin didn’t hear the remark and walked off to talk with Mal.

“You’re really going to cock it up already?”

“What!” Paul went quickly to his own defense. “It was a suggestion, is all. I’m not treating him with kid gloves just because we had a row.”

“A row? He left the bloody band.” 

“Not being a prick for one day isn’t kid gloves,” Ringo suddenly chimed in.

Paul gaped. “Caring about the songs is being a prick now, is it?”

John huffed an indigent laugh. “You’re painfully stupid.” He left with Ringo in tow before Paul could ask for any clarification. Not that he was sure he wanted any.

Stunned by the attacks, he stared blankly at George’s guitar. He had absolutely none of his friends at his side. He had managed to push them all away when all he wanted, so desperately, was to bring them together. They were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand and all he could seem to do was open his hands to quicken the fall. He’d lose them forever. It was all his fault. How long would it take? When would they figure out he wasn’t worth the trouble?

He just wanted them to be alright. He wanted to go back to how they were and just tour a bit. Play on stage like they all used to love. The band couldn’t rip apart. It just couldn’t because Paul would tear apart with it. And yet here they all were, at wit's end with one another. The connecting link to this free fall was Paul, of course. He had made Ritch leave and then George. It was all too obvious that John wanted out - surely Paul’s fault as well. 

He couldn’t imagine a world without Ringo, John, and George playing at his side. He didn’t want to. It was something new and terrifying that had no qualms with keeping him up at night, even when three glasses of scotch in. He couldn’t recall the last time he slept without drinking. Even still, nightmares filled his dreams and made sleeping seem worthless and just as tiresome as not sleeping at all. What a poor excuse of a man he was becoming.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, he got up. Thankfully, the film crew had truly gone to lunch. He was mostly alone with a few straggling technicians in the booth.

There was no way in hell he could go to lunch now. Not while it felt like the world was out to get him. Not while he felt on the verge of crying. Instead, he decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold winter wind cooled his hot skin. He fell against the wall with a thud and bit his lip. His eyes were pricked with tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not now. 

Dragging a hand down his face, he dove into his pocket and pulled out a spliff he’d rolled that morning for this very reason. His hand was caught on his chin as he eyed the thing. A beacon of hope.

He wasted no more time in lighting it. The earthy taste coated his tongue and warmed his throat. He relaxed on the exhale and repeated the process until his mind was a little numb. The carefree smoke floated high above before disappearing into the brisk wind. It would be so much easier to disappear with it.

“Stay gone too long and they’ll think you quit too.” 

Tension pulled at his neck and traveled down his body. With an involuntary jerk of his fingers, the spliff fell to the concrete. He didn’t look at the newcomer and didn’t need to. The calming drawl could only be from one person.

“So?”

Paul reluctantly turned his head to find George’s steady gaze on him. Words abandoned his brain. “So,” he asked stupidly.

George’s features suddenly dropped and Paul noticed there had been a hint of lightness seconds before. Great. Already cocking it up. 

“Oh, fuck you, then.”

“George! No, no!” He jumped forward and grabbed George’s wrist. “Please, love.”

There was hesitation in George’s step. He shook Paul’s hand off but did not leave. “Do you even care? Care that I left.”

His brow furrowed and his mind swirled back to life. “Of course. We were all-”

“I didn’t ask about the others. Did you care?”

It seemed like such an absurd question. There was nothing to suggest he didn’t. He was downright miserable. Was that not plain to see? Something inside him made him want to switch back on the defense. Deflect and reject. But he couldn’t let himself slip anymore. Everything was on the line now. His entire relationship was up to bat. He’d just be honest. And honesty wasn’t all that hard when your heart wrenched at the thought of this charade continuing for another second.

“Yes! I cared. I thought you’d never come back and I was terrified.” He was desperately searching George’s face for any recognition of belief. “You didn’t answer my calls for weeks and I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. If you don’t I can't even blame you at this point. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

There was no hint of emotion from George. He had a corked brow that could mean anything. The time passing with no answer couldn’t be good. Maybe he wouldn’t answer at all and just leave Paul standing here like an idiot.

“You want to know what you did wrong?” A look of contempt screwed up George’s features. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”

A weight crushed every bone in Paul’s body. He deserved this. He deserved the heartache and pain. The more it hurt the better George might feel. He just had to hold his asinine tongue. 

“You treat me like I couldn’t find writing talent if it bit me in the arse.” Paul tried to interrupt, despite himself, with an explanation. “Shut up and listen!” George moved closer, sizing Paul up. “When’s the last time you took any suggestion I’ve made seriously? You’ve been screaming from the damn rooftop about staying together and getting back to basics yet you sit in your little fucking corner like a punished child, ignoring us to work alone. What’s the point, then? Just to show how much of a pain you can be? You act like you don’t want me- any of us- near your songs and then boss us around on our own.”

George was pulling in unsteady breaths. He leaned forward slightly, really looking into Paul’s soul.

“You weren’t even the one to ask me back. Had Ritch do it for you, you coward.” George pushed him into the wall and Paul took it. “And you have the gall to ignore me! Even when I came to you like a stupid loyal puppy! That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Your little puppy that you get tired of when it makes too much noise. Well, fuck you and your damn songs. Fuck whatever you think you’re doing. You’re not keeping us together and you never could.”

Just punch me. The thought was screaming at the forefront and wouldn’t settle. Too angry with himself to stop, he yelled back, “Don’t you think I know? I see everyone slipping away and turning from me and all I can do is push you further! No matter what I try or how good I think I’m doing, you’ll just leave me out cold.” Caught up in it all, he shoved George back. “And you’re not a puppy! You’re my mate. You’re- I love you, alright.” 

His voice cracked and, god, he was crying. He was actually crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Really just didn’t think you’d come back if I asked. And if that makes me a coward then sure. That’s what I am. If being a coward is what I need to have you near, fine.”

A muscle in George’s jaw tightened. He was stiff and his eyes were damp. His voice was so soft when he said, “Why didn’t you look at me? When you walked in you wouldn’t even really look at me. And when I tried to talk you just buried your head in your notebook.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But as soon as you have an issue with a song you go in with those big eyes of yours and I don’t want to hate you. It’s not fair.”

“You’ve said it, y’know. I’m a right coward. Scared to lose you if I speak and losing you just as fast when I don’t. Shouldn’t have turned you away. I shouldn’t have ignored you. The song- the stupid song. Don’t know if I even cared about how loud your guitar was. I just wanted to look at you, I think.”

“Looking at me now, aren’t you?”

And he was. They had been staring relentlessly and it felt good, no matter how much yelling they’d done. He wiped harshly at his cheeks to clear them of tears. “I’m sorry for being a prick.”

“Aye. You should be.” The words might have hurt if the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch up. He rubbed Paul’s shoulders and arms. “Just talk to me, okay? I won’t disappear, I promise.”

His smile was sad but genuine. All Paul could ask for. He nodded but then realized he already missed the point. “Okay,” he voiced. “Talking. Always been my strong suit.”

George’s smile grew and he pulled Paul into a hug. He hugged back fiercely, balling his hands up in George’s jumper.

“I don’t deserve this.” The words weren’t meant to leave his mind but they seemed to come of their own accord. 

George moved him back and Paul almost pulled them right back together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing a hand up to caress George’s cheek, he tilted his head. “I don’t deserve to have you. Don’t deserve to have this band. Wouldn’t you be better off without me? I’m just here to cock it all up.”

“You… really mean that, don’t you?” With a shaky breath, George brought him back into the hug and gently held Paul’s head to his shoulder, petting down his hair. “No matter what happens to the band, it’s not because you don't deserve to have it. It’d be because we all need space, alright?” He held Paul a little closer. “And you don’t get to decide if you deserve me. That’s my decision.”

Paul nestled into the crook of his neck, scared to ask but not willing to keep it back. “And you think I do?”

“No. No. I just fancy hugging people I hate.”

Paul smiled into his neck. “Arse.”

[bytheangell]

If you are still taking prompts, what would you think about writing something(s) based off of this, either/both, the Professor/TA, or the Writer/Editor?

Dedication (modern AU, Herongraystairs, check the link in the ask for full writer/editor prompt, a wonderful plot idea by @high-warlock-of-brooklyn!) (Read on AO3)

This is the first book Will and Tessa are collaborating on. They’ve written plenty of books individually and Jem’s worked with each of them in turn. But this is the first time they’ve co-authored, an experience that’s proving unique and challenging for all of them.

Being with Will and Tessa while they work on a new project is always a blessing and a curse. They’re two of the best writers of their generation and when they work on their own they’re brilliant, but when they work together - well, they’re also brilliant, but that brilliance is coupled with the occasional near-catastrophic clash of opinions and emotions.

Which is where Jem comes in.

Where Will and Tessa are so driven by passion and feelings, Jem finds it much easier to distance himself from their project (and from the writers themselves) enough to see the bigger picture and find solutions before the issues build up. Like many things about the three of them, it’s a perfect balance - they just work, better than anyone (including Will, Tessa, and Jem) ever imagined possible when they first got together.

It’d been a messy start, with Will and Jem already together but both developing serious feelings for Tessa after they met during a book event. The three of them quickly became very close. There were whispers of which of them would end up leaving, then confusion when the answer was none: instead of two of them growing closer and shutting the third out, they all seemed to adjust and adapt naturally around the three of them coexisting. They aren’t perfect, but they are perfect for each other, at least as far as Jem’s concerned.

Jem knows that what they have is special, which he reminds himself of over and over as Will and Tessa sit on opposite sides of the sofa, voices quickly elevating to nearly shouting over an issue with one of the characters Will is in charge of writing: one he’s chosen to give a pretty damning curse from a trickster faerie in this land of magic their current collaboration is set in.

“Tell him he needs to make the changes, Jem,” Tessa insists, the third time she’s repeated the demand now.

“Tell her that this plot adds depth, and without it, he’s boring,” Will counters. “Sometimes people - characters - need to be brutally honest about their own faults and issues. Sometimes people are disappointing.”

That’s how Jem can tell things are spiraling: when Will and Tessa - who have effectively communicated and collaborated on half a dozen bestsellers and who love each other more than Jem’s ever seen two people experience love - refuse to speak directly to one another. The moment they start talking around each other and at Jem instead is when he knows he has to step in and diffuse.

Usually, it’s a matter of taking a break, getting some fresh air, and coming back with clear minds. Jem normally isn’t one to pick sides, but this is different. He isn’t worried about the direction of the book… but after reading the latest draft from Will, which Will wrote while refusing to speak to either of them for a full week, he’s worried about Will. And he knows Tessa is, too.

“Perhaps a good starting point would be admitting this isn’t really about the character at all,” Jem says softly, gazing closely between Will and Tessa. Will looks a bit guilty and Tessa looks away entirely, which tells Jem that he’s right in guessing their concerns are also less plot-based.

“...what else would it be about?” Will asks defensively. But they can all sense how he’s been pushing them away lately, much like the cursed character undeserving of love he’s written in. It’s obvious that Tessa isn’t sure how to bring it up or else she would’ve already. Or maybe she already had and it hadn’t gone well.

“Tessa, would you mind making some tea?” Jem asks, waiting until she’s out of the room to turn back to Will.

“Will… you know this is about you. You barely talk to anyone for a week then come back with this character in such a self-deprecating mindset…”

“That’s ridiculous. He’s just a character,” Will says, but Jem can tell he’s entirely unconvinced of his own words.

“So if Tess came back having written Evangeline that way?” Jem counters, and there’s that look of subtle guilt, right back on Will’s face as he frowns and pieces together why Tessa’s so upset with him.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Will sighs.

“We’re not mad at you,” Jem’s quick to point out. “We’re just worried. It’s been a while since you tried to push us away like this, I just want to make sure you’re okay. We both do. Take it out in the writing if you want, but talk with us, too. Alright, my love?”

Jem’s tense as he waits. This has one of two options: Will relents and listens to him and they all have tea and talk this out, or Will storms out and they don’t see him again for another day or two.

Will stays. “I’m just letting the pressure get to me,” he admits. “I’m sure that’s all it is... But yeah. Okay. Tea.”

Tea, meaning ‘I’ll stay. I’ll talk. I’ll try.’ Jem leans over and places a barely-there kiss on Will’s lips before he relaxes back in his seat. Reaching out a hand that Will readily takes, Jem gives it a tight squeeze as they both wait for Tessa to return.

They talk.

In the end, the character arc stays. With a few redeeming modifications at Tessa and Jem’s entirely unbiased suggestion, of course.

---

A little over halfway through the first draft things seem to stall out. They have a progress deadline that week with the publisher and they’re cutting it close - mostly because Tessa keeps tossing everything she writes without giving Jem the chance to look it over. Recently she’s let her curiosity get the best of her, delving into research she should be allowing Jem to help with.

...and when he says ‘delving’, what he really means is stubbornly obsessing over, nitpicking bits of lore to streamline, and doing hours and hours of research for single-line references.

“When was the last time she slept? Like, an actual night of sleep?” Jem asks Will one day after a quick touch-base meeting that went… not terribly, but not particularly great, either.

“You need to get her out of here. No books. No wifi. I tried to kick her out but… well, you can imagine how well that went,” Will admits, and Jem winces in sympathy.

“The Time Out Cottage?” Jem asks, referring to a small cottage they own for unplugged getaways, where the wifi signal is nonexistent and a landline exists for emergency calls. “That means we’ll both be out of easy reach, and with that Friday deadline-”

“I can handle it,” Will cuts him off. “She’s been getting in her own way for days now, but she refuses to listen to me.”

A few minutes later Jem tentatively knocks on the door to the small study that does, in fact, look more like a makeshift research library. He nearly doesn’t see Tessa behind the small mountain of books on the floor, but he hears her pen tapping rapidly against the hardwood. No, not just rapidly - anxiously. He knows that action all too well.

“Tessa, what number is that?” he asks, the question needing no further explanation past his accusatory tone and pointed look at a coffee mug, which is next to a second coffee mug, which is next to a cup of black tea.

“Four? No, wait… what time is it?” she glances around and seems surprised by the height of the sun in the sky. “It’s afternoon already?”

Jem sighs. “It’s nearly four o’clock, Tessa, and your blood is probably about 90% caffeine. Come on, get your things, we’re taking a trip.”

Tessa looks immediately horrified. “No! I can’t, we can’t! The deadline, and I still have to streamline the fae lore between the two-”

“Will has it handled for 24 hours. That’s all we’re asking. 24 hours without research.” “Jem, you know-”

“-that you’ll be twice as productive once we’re back and you’re refreshed instead of running on fumes and fever dreams?” Jem cuts her off, his tone kind but insistent. He bends over and picks up a piece of paper. “Tessa, my love, this is nearly incoherent.”

Tessa reaches up to take the page from him and frowns. “I… okay, I can make out some of this, but I’m pretty sure that bit talks about aliens which isn’t any more reassuring. Will did say I was writing myself in circles, but I thought he was just, well, being Will, so... Yeah. Okay. Maybe I need to step back for a bit.” Tessa sighs. “The Time Out Cottage?”

“I already packed you a bag,” Jem confirms with a soft smile, leaning down to kiss the middle of her forehead before reaching out a hand to help her up off the floor.

When they return exactly 24 hours later, Tessa gets back to work and the lore practically falls into place between the two of them.

They meet the Friday deadline without a problem.

---

Jem spends his free time playing violin while Will and Tessa go through the first draft and begin to brainstorm fixes for plotholes, new minor characters to add to scenes that feel a bit lacking, and other small improvements to really round out the story and the world they’re weaving. They both claim to think clearer with his music in the background so he stays, even if he doesn’t feel particularly useful for this stage of the process until they have a single, coherent draft to hand over to him.

These are the moments Jem’s own insecurities and flaws float to the surface. The moments he watches Will and Tessa, so alike, so perfect for each other, connect on a level he isn’t privy to. He knows it’s a silly thought, that he and Will have their own things, as do he and Tessa. But sometimes he wonders if they truly need him around, or if he’s simply just become too much a part of the routine to actively get rid of.

He watches them sit next to each other with shoulders touching, hunched over a small screen, whispering back and forth. There’s a small smile on his face, one that’s wistful and tinged with hints of longing that, much to his dismay, they pick up on.

“I know that look,” Tessa says, catching Jem’s gaze and drawing Will’s attention before Jem can wipe the expression from his face. “Get over here. I think we’ve done enough work for today.”

Will is the first to move over, making room for Jem in the middle of them. After placing his violin back in its case Jem heads over to join them on the sofa, embracing the way Will and Tessa immediately crowd into his space once he’s settled, both placing a comforting kiss to his temples simultaneously before resting their heads on each of his shoulders and a placing a hand in each of his own.

They talk a bit, not about the book, but about anything and everything else, and fall asleep there, still entwined together.

---

It’s rare for any part of one of their books to be a surprise to Jem upon publication. He sees all the drafts, talks them through the acknowledgments and dedications, double-checks the reference pages against the chaotic piles of books and notes around their home.

So he’s immediately (and rightfully) suspicious the moment they hand him the first advanced copy and tell him to open it, watching his every move with eager expressions. Excited, but anxious.

‘A dedication to the one most dedicated to us:

This book would not be what it is without the kind heart, encouraging words, and infinite patience of James Carstairs. Neither would we. Jem, you are a light in our darkest hours, and we don’t know where we’d be without you.

We hope we’ll never have to find out.

Jem, our love, will you marry us?’

Jem reads, then re-reads the dedication. He closes the book, then opens it again, reading it a third time for good measure.

“Well?” Will asks impatiently, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from Tessa. Will huffs.

“I see you’re as dramatic as always,” Jem says quietly, instead of answering the question posed in the book. He knows his answer. He’s known for a while now what his answer would be, should the topic ever present itself, but he gets a bit of joy from making Will wait in anticipation just a short while longer.

“He wanted to be even more dramatic and show you at the event tomorrow,” Tessa admits. “But we decided against it. We thought you deserved the chance to say no without two hundred sets of eyes on you.”

Jem raises an eyebrow. “You think I’ll say no?”

“You haven’t said ‘yes’ yet,” Will points out, but he doesn’t sound nervous about it. Nor should he be.

“Yes,” Jem says, smiling brightly. “Of course it’s yes.”

[n6or]

don’t leave me | raihan nsfw

Rating: Explicit 

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply 

Category: F/M 

Fandom: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions 

Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/ReaderDande 

Additional Tags: Self-Insert, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Drunk Sex

Words: 4456

READ HERE ON AO3!

It was a blur, really. A messy night of open-mouthed kisses and desperate touches between two hopeless singles. His mouth had found the soft skin of your neck, sucking, biting, bruising the beautiful canvas with his own work of art. Your back had arched up off his bed, thighs trembling as strong hands caressed your supple curves. Even drunk he had you wrapped around his finger, flushing furiously as his hot breath fanned against your ear. You knew it was a mistake—knew that it was just a drunken fling, but the way he held you, the way he whispered those sweet nothings as if it were only the two of you left in the world… it made your heart flutter.

And that’s why, when the first rays of light disrupted your sleep, you knew you had to leave. The light that filtered through the thin curtain made your head throb- made you want to groan and grumble in annoyance, but that would stir Raihan.

Raihan.

Ah.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and blinked.

Morning blurs were the worst...

From your right came a quiet grumble, the Dragon Tamer clearly disturbed by your efforts of reaching over to grab your glasses from the bedside table. You bit your lip once his very strong (and very naked) arm tightened around your waist.

The way the sun poured through from your left, highlighting his beautiful, brown complexion… It made your heart flutter. It reminded you of why you had to leave. And that’s why you did. With no note, no goodbye, and no apology, you left.

Raihan was your best friend--he had always been your best friend. Ever since you were children you had been inseparable; wherever one was, the other wouldn’t be too far. You both followed very strict rules. Very strict rules imposed by a certain dragon gym leader. You were best friends and that was it. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, of accidentally breaking your heart and having you leave him forever.

“I mean, it’s not like you even like me, so it’s not too much to ask, yeah?”

The way he smiled that day almost knocked the wind from your lungs. How could he be so dense? You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell or cry or both. So instead, you smiled and gave him a sharp nudge of the elbow to his ribcage.

“Of course I don’t like you, idiot.”

You rushed down the brick pathway of Hammerlocke, praying that you could just make it back home without too much disturbance. Thankfully, it seemed as if your author was kind and you returned home to have a brisk shower. You grimace at the constellation of reds and purple that litter your chest, neck, thighs, shit!

“Good job, Dragon tamer,” you growl before drying yourself off and changing into your uniform.

There’s a shaky sigh as you pull on your lab coat, noticing the way the red blemishes (along with the very prominent bite marks) are still visible above your collar. Tapping your foot repeatedly, you let out another heavy huff, removing your glasses for a moment.

“Stupid idiot,” you mumble again, voice quiet, shaky. You rub your temples, fingers trembling slightly. “You ruin everything. Every single damn time!” Whether your words were directed at Raihan or yourself, you don’t quite know… but the burn in your chest doesn’t ease up at all.

The memories of last night ache your head as you stroll into the research facility, scarf around your neck, eyes fixated on the floor as you make your way to your desk.

“Heya~ Well don’t you just look beautiful~” Sonia is laughing as she approaches your desk, twirling some of her ginger hair. “I didn’t think you’d really get that drunk! You almost outdrank me!”

You grimace at the thought, adjusting your glasses.

“Y-Yeah… It was pretty wild, I guess.”

“Hm… and you disappeared sometime after Raihan left, too!” Sonia is pouting and you can feel the anxiety swelling in the pit of your throat. “Did you both get home oka-”

“Delivery!”

Thanking the heavens above, you shout suddenly, “I’ll get it!” Before leaving your desk. You sign for the package and ignore the chuckling comments made about your scarf in the summer heat. You just smile and bid them a safe journey before closing the doors.

Staring down at the box in your hands, you worry your lower lip, teeth anxiously raking at the soft skin. You could avoid talking about it, but you couldn’t avoid the way you felt about it. Your stomach was shallow and your chest felt . . . weird. You couldn’t describe it. But knowing that the friendship between you and Raihan had been destroyed in one night… It felt like a cold cavity.

The scarf helped.

           It helped more than that delivery man knew.

It’s lunchtime when you first check your phone. You were anxious, terrified of seeing a message from Raihan, but there was nothing. You stared at the screen in disbelief for a few short moments.

“You expecting a call?” Sonia suddenly asks, leaning over your shoulder and peaking at your phone screen.

“S-Sonia!” You yelp, clutching your phone to your phone and looking up at the ginger.

“What? It was just a simple question, y’know~ if you need to go make a call to a certain someone I totally get it!” She fixes your scarf with a small smile before offering a rather sympathetic smile. “But I hope you’re okay… You seem really…” She trails off and drags a chair over to sit beside you, sighing. “You seem out of it. Like, normally I wouldn’t press this kind of thing, because I know it makes you nervous, but it’s affecting your work and…”

“I’m fine.” You manage out, interrupting her second trailing sentence. She searches your eyes, a gentle hand now resting on your knee. Then she nods.

“Alrighty then!” Sonia gives you a firm rub to the shoulder before leaving some documents.

When she leaves, you sigh, leaning back into your chair. There’s a faint wince from the dull ache in your hips, head hanging over the back of the chair.

This was going to suck.

                       Bad.

The day is long and drawn out and by the end of it you’re certain you’re going to pass out. You can’t quite pinpoint when you actually fell asleep last night, but it must’ve been late considering the daze that seems to be clouding your head. Reaching for a Poke-ball from your bag, you falter for a moment. You notice one rotom phone in amongst your keys, but then you find a second… and it’s Raihan’s.

“C’mon!” Raihan laughs into your ear. Your cheeks are burning by this stage. Hell, with the way his hands hold your hips and his lips caress the shell of your ear, you’re certain that the heat you’re exuding could cook any curry. “Let’s dance, babe! It’s one night~ C’mon! Put my phone in your bag and let’s dance~”

The memory hits you like a truck -- so hard that you’ve had to crouch. A poke ball rolls out of your opened bag and out pops a familiar little Leafeon. She hums softly, curiously, waddling over to nuzzle against your thigh.

“Lea? Leafeon?” She purrs, her two little paws resting on your knee as she leans up and nudges her nose against the backs of your hands. Your fingers part and you meet her caramel eyes, earning and excited squeak from the eeveelution. She presses her nose to your cheek, and you sigh shakily.

You have to pull it together.

And that’s exactly why you did the only thing that you knew you could do in this situation; you called Leon.

“Heya! How’s it going, mate?” Leon’s voice is somewhat strained as he speaks, words hurried.

“Uh, hey Lee. I wanted to--” You can hear muffled voices in the background as you talk. You frown. “Ask you a favour… Could I drop something off to you?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah! Sure mate, sure! Uh--Hop, just--Sorry, Y/N, I’ve got a situation here, haha.”

“Oh… I could call back if you…”

“No! Wait, Y/N, wait!” It’s Raihan’s voice. You blink, swallowing thickly.

“I-I have to go. Can you tell Raihan that Sonia will have his phone? Thanks.”

You hang up.

Leafeon purrs sadly, her head pressing to the shaking of your palm. She licks it gently before nudging at your leg.

You had to take the phone to Sonia.

All you wanted to do was disappear.

And that’s what you did.

Without explanation, you shoved Raihan’s phone into Sonia’s hands and took off to the Wild Area.

“You’ll--You’ll regret this,” you whisper, breathless. “Raihan.. Ha…”

“I could never regret making love to you,” he countered quietly, larger hands holding your thighs, your legs over his shoulders as he kissed up to your throbbing warmth. “Never, Y/N.”

His mouth is hot against you, tongue lapping up the sopping wetness of your nether regions. The way he curls his tongue inside of you would have, on normal circumstances, remindws you that this isn’t his first rodeo, and, on normal circumstances, that would have you refusing any sort of affection let alone sex… but with the aid of a little alcohol, you didn’t care. You wanted to hold Raihan, to let him touch you, to use you, to love you… even if it was only for one night.

You wanted to love him, even if it was a drunken mistake on his behalf.

Pushing back the vines of your secret little area, you sigh shakily. Along the way you had released Bewear from her friend ball; she had let you rest on her back, taking you back to the little place most of your Pokemon knew you loved. You give her a warm squeeze before dropping back down to your feet.

It’s a clearing decorated with beautiful wild flowers, shrubs, lit by nothing by the moon and the little lights that litter the night sky. Your hands are shaky as you pitch your tent, Beware and Leafeon both try their best to help you, sensing that something is off. Once the tent is done, you smile your thanks, give them one final embrace, and return the pair back to their respective Poke-balls. You tuck both away into your satchel and sigh. Tonight, you decide to go to bed without dinner, and without checking your phone. And instead, you grab your dragon jacket -- the one matching to Raihan’s -- and curl into it.

You don’t recall how long the cries racked your body for, but somewhere along the way your silent sobs ceased, and exhaustion won.

You were gone for almost a week. On the first absence from work Sonia had called you, on the third day with no word it was Leon who called you, and on the seventh day…

Well, when you woke up, it wasn’t morning, nor were you alone. Considering your world was blurred from the lack of glasses, all you could see was the outline of a giant, black shadow moving outside your tent. Your eyes widened when you heard the twig snap. Battling was not your speciality. You see, you never wanted to be champion, that was always Raihan’s dream. You were happy to live a contented life amongst your Pokémon and work for Sonia as her assistant until Hop was old enough to train…

So, to put it simply, you were completely

and utterly

fucked

right now--

especially if that thing intended on fighting you.

You reach for your glasses first, grabbing your ladle second. Like hell you’d put your Pokémon in danger. You’re shaking profusely as you quietly raise to your feet, eyes burning, stinging, wet. As you approach the entrance of your tent, you hear a hushed profanity leave the beast outside. You pause instantly, brows knitting together.

“Fuckin’ sticks,” comes the growl.

That’s when you launch yourself out of the tent, aiming high with your ladle and throwing it at the offender.

“O-Oi! Y/N, Y/N! It’s me! It’s--” Raihan’s standing there, hands raised defensively, eyes flicking between you and the murder weapon. He blinks incredulously. “Is that-- …Is that a ladle?”

“Yes it’s a ladle. Mind your business. More importantly, why are you here at goodness knows what time, you moron?! You’re--that’s so inconsiderate of you! I seriously thought I was going to die, you stupid, big, dragon, moro--” Your words are cut off when two strong arms envelope you into the tightest, warmest hug you have ever received.

“I know.. I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Your arms lay limp by your sides, eyes staring up at the full moon. Ah. It’s beginning to blur for you now.

“Stop it,” you whisper, voice feeble. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you doing this…”

“I have to apologise, Y/N.”

He clutches you tighter, his face buried in the warmth of your hair.

“No you don’t. If you apologise, then you will end up apologising for what happened--for being drunk. You’ll say it was a mistake and you never wan--”

Again, your words are cut off, but this time it’s by a warm pair of lips occupying your own. Your eyes are wide, tears glistening in the light of the moon.

Your hands come to his chest and you push him back.

“S-Stop that,” You wipe your mouth on the back of your hands, looking away. “Go away, Raihan. You’re-- You’re making things worse.”

Raihan grabs your wrists so gently… they’re almost completely different to the ones you felt the other night.

“Do you really want me to go away, Y/N…?” His voice is quieter than usual -- all his usual confidence seemingly extinguished. You feel the way his lips press tenderly against each of your fingers. It makes thinking hard.

“You’re…” By now you’re looking down, embarrassed, flustered… “You’re the one who made the rules… It was never me. I never wanted them but you’re too stupid to realise that I’ve been-” You cut yourself off from pouring out anymore unnecessary information. Your eyes are wet again. Snatching your hands away from the dragon gym leader, you turn your back to him and move away. “This is your fault and here I am, trying to fix your mess again…” You rub at the back of your neck, sighing shakily. You take your glasses off and rub at your eyes profusely, angrily, shoulders trembling.

“Y/N…” Raihan’s voice is so small as he moves to stand behind you. “It was shit what I did-”

“It was.”

“And I’m shit-”

“You are.” You sniff and there’s silence.

“But please don’t send me away, Y/N. I know I made those stupid rules. I was scared. I know that sounds stupid, but we were so young, and I was already so into you…” You can feel his fingertips gingerly reaching to touch you but pulling back just before he can complete the contact. “That night wasn’t a mistake at all. You’re not a mistake, Y/N. I’m pissed off that I took advantage of you while you were drunk… While we were both drunk… and for that—man… you’ll never get how sorry I am.” The crack in his voice makes you flinch.

Hesitantly, your fingers meet, yours curling around his, faces still downcast. You hear the breath of relief, followed by the forehead dropping onto your shoulder. His free arm wraps slowly, cautiously, around your waist, drawing you back into him. His face is wet in the crook of your neck and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying again.

Instead, you turn around in his arms and bury yourself into his chest, his arms caging you between them and the warmth of his body. Your hands move up the outlines of his tensing shoulder muscles, fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

“I thought the promises would stop me losing you,” he murmured. “But instead they just fucked things up even more, huh?” His hand goes to the back of your hair, fingers entangling in the back of your feathery strands of hair.

The embrace you share under the moon lasts forever. Your body slots perfectly against Raihan’s larger frame. You feel so exhausted, yet so content, so secure, you never knew this state was possible.

“Y/N,” Raihan whispers quietly, fingers threading through your hair. You look up and his hands move to cradle your flushed cheeks, thumbs smoothing over the dampened, burning skin. His eyes search yours, his brows knitted, silently asking and searching for your answer.

When your lashes flutter shut and you tilt your head up, he leans down slowly, taking his time to press your lips together; to relish in suppleness, in the way they fit together perfectly, his slightly thicker than yours, but as gentle as ever. The kiss is slow and patient, easing your anxious heart and near on leaving you breathless. You were never good at the whole kissing thing, never knowing where to put your hands, when to breathe—do you breathe while kissing?

Embarrassed, you pull away, turning your face in an attempt of hiding the way the moon highlights your burning cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Did I go too fast?” You shake your head, leaning into his palm.

“I… don’t know how to do that kinda stuff, y’know? The other night… You and I, well…”

Raihan’s expression was unreadable for a moment before he slowly took your hand in his, staring down into your eyes.

“I can teach you if you want,” he whispers softly, squeezing your hand. “I know I don’t deserve it… but I don’t want to be just the best friend, Y/N. If you don’t want me, I’ll respect that, and I’ll walk away right now… but if you’ll have me then I guess I’m asking…”

“S-Stop being so… Sh-Sheesh… You’re so not that cocky little brat of a gym leader I know…” You peek up at him over your glasses and offer a sheepish grin. His eyes blink wide, almost like an excited puppy, and he tackles you into a bone-crushing hug.

You’re about to protest when suddenly his lips are on yours, and just like the other night, you’re melting into the warmth of the Dragon Tamer. Skilled hands find your hips and slowly guide you back into the tent. There’s a small ting, a low groan, and a muffled laugh when you step into the shelter. Raihan breaks the kiss to rub his injured head, laughing along with you.

Taking your hands, Raihan leads you back to the cot, slowly reclining you back onto the softer surface. He hovers above you, leaning on his arm, one knee between your thigh whilst the other rests against you. He searches your eyes for any sign of hesitation or reluctance but finds none. It’s then that he leans down and recaptures your lips once more, observing the way your eyes flutter shut and your cheeks instantly warm. With his right hand, he caresses your thigh, squeezing it, and earning a quiet gasp from you.

Raihan takes the opportunity to slowly lick into your mouth, his tongue sliding over and around yours, eliciting wet, obscene noises that make your face burn even hotter. He figures you must be nervous with the way you cling to him, your arms laced around his shoulders tightly, lips shyly parted. Though it’s when he sucks on your tongue that you find yourself whining.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your swelling lips. When your eyes open, you noticed how his are glazed over with a look you’ve never seen before – his eyes half lidded and seemingly…lustful. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. Can I take photos? Just for us, y’know?”

“H-Haa?! But--? It—Dammit, Raihan. If those photos leak—if even one soul sees—I will end yo—”

You’re cut off with another cheeky kiss, the younger boy laughing into your mouth. He pulls back and smiles at you once more before setting up his Rotom.

“Like hell I’d let anybody else see you like this, babe,” The Rotom flies into the air as Raihan shoots you an almost animalistic smirk. “You’re mine now, Princess. And only I’m gonna be usin’ those photos.”

Raihan finds himself kissing up your bare thighs after having slowly dragged your underwear off and away, desperate to have his head between your thighs again. You gasp when you feel his two fingers pry your lips apart, his tongue taking its time to roll over and around your clit. Your back arches up off the bed at the contact, thighs trembling either side of his head. Your hands scramble to find his hair, breath quickening as his tongue flicks and his lips suck at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Ra—Rai.. Shit—Ha, Raihan..” His name seems to be the only thing (other than profanities) that you seem to know. You buck your hips desperately into the other’s mouth, tugging on his hair and earning another low groan from the man.

“Now, now,” he mumbles against your heat, looking up at you from between your thighs. His gaze is lazy, seductive. He’s smirking at you, tongue slowly sliding along your clit, barely touching the wetness. “Be a good girl.” He instructs firmly, pushing your hips down.

You writhe beneath his strong hold as his mouth continues to abuse your sensitive regions, completely unrelenting in the way he sucks at your clit, teeth occasionally nibbling at the bud.  It’s then that you feel a familiar pressure building within your abdomen, curling like a coil that’s about to snap at any given moment. You try to warn Raihan, you do. You tug at his hair, choking out incoherent sobs of his name, trying to pull him off… but of course Raihan doesn’t give in. In fact, he pries his forefinger between your sodden, velvety walls and presses upwards, stroking along the upper roof of your sex.

That’s the final straw. It’s all too much to think about: his tongue, his teeth, his finger—

Before too long you’re coming with a loud cry, back arching up off the bed as he continues to thrust his finger inside of you, tongue mercilessly lapping at your throbbing clit. Your body convulses and shakes atop the cot, fingers tugging harshly at Raihan’s now matted black hair. You continue to cry his name as he licks you out, even replacing his finger with his tongue, groaning as he licks you clean.

You feebly push at his head, whimpering and twitching in the afterglow of your orgasm.

“Too… Too much—sensitive… No more, Rai.” He looks up at you from between your thighs, expression rather adorable. You pant through a smile, allowing a small laugh to pass. “How can you look so cute after doing something so lewd…?”

“Lewd? I don’t think making love is lewd!” He inches up your body, kissing over old marks that barely present themselves. “I’d do anything you asked me, babe.” You smile as he kisses you once again, but soon frown.

“But you haven’t…”

“It’s okay. I’m not really prepared, anyway. I don’t have any condoms.”

You nod slowly. You trace your fingers over his naked chest before looking back up to meet the gaze of the Dragon Tamer.

“Can I touch you?”

He blinks a few moments, seeming as If he has short circuited, but quickly nods. “Y-Yeah, yeah. Babe, that would be—shit, that’d be really good… D’you want me to show you?” At your nod, he takes your hand. “Do you have any oil around here? It’ll make it easier.”

You ponder over the question for a moment before reaching over into your bag and fishing out a small container of rose oil.

“Alright, sick. I’m gonna pour some in your hand, yeah? It’ll make it easier for you.” You nod, watching as he pours said oil into the palm of your hand. He observes your expression as he slowly shimmies himself out of his boxer shorts, snickering when your eyes widen. He kisses your forehead for a few lingering moments before taking your hand in his and guiding your hand to the base of his thick shaft. Raihan’s thick lashes fall shut once your soft hand touches his proud cock. He can’t stop the involuntary twitch of his hips.

You blink in disbelief, watching the way his face contorts as your hands slowly move along his pulsating cock. It’s quite hot, you note—the temperature of his… it makes you blush. Seeing him so pliant under your touch like this… it gives you a surge of courage – of boldness. You lean up and press soft kisses to the younger’s neck, following the twisting motion of his hand.

“Shit, Y/N,” he breathes, shakily. He thrusts into your hand when you near his tip. You notice the faint tremble of his hips. Your hand hesitantly moves to the other’s tip, squeezing the sensitive head, experimentally touching him. “F-Fucking—shit, Y/N. Keep that up and I’ll cum, babe.”

That’s the plan, dummy.

You snicker to yourself as his hand guides you up and down the entirety of his cock, twisting and squeezing in different positions, each stroke edging Raihan closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/N—Don’t stop. Fuck, please. ‘M gonna cum, baby. Fuck—just like that—” Raihan becomes increasingly vocal as your thumb swirls across the leaking slit of his dick, your free hand pumping the lubricated shaft of the other. “Y/N, fuck—coming!”

And with that final shout, creamy cum coils from the violently red slit of Raihan’s cock. He grits his teeth, body stiffening for a brief moment before he fucks your hand, head falling back as he rides the euphoria.

“You look cute like this,” Comes your sudden murmur, watching his hips buck into your hand before he slowly guides your hand to his own. He laces your fingers and smiles tiredly.

“You think?” he whispers, leaning down to nudge his nose against your temple. “Guess we’ll have to do it more often so you can see that cute expression of mine, huh~?”

Your face flushes ten times over at the comment, curling into his chest and hiding away (despite the uncomfortable stickiness now between you both). He chuckles loudly at your reaction, fingers tracing along your back as he kisses your head.

“So… this means we’re a couple now, yeah?” he asks after a few moments of silence. You’re slow in answering, but when you do, you look with a tired grin and nod. “Good. Because now I’m definitely never letting you go, babe.”

[hb-pickle]

Into the Unknown: Making Frozen 2 - Review

Finally finished watching all 6 episodes of the Frozen 2 Documentary! My consensus is drum roll please... it was not very good.

Things I liked first: I loved watching the team get emotional when they saw their projects coming together (finishing Into The Unknown, etc). 

Watching random guys rub rocks together for sound design was funny. 

I loved looking at the Disney offices and all the merch, posters, art, etc. 

The actors/workers were very charismatic and believable. They seemed to legit enjoy their work and were happy to help. 

- -

Criticism: 

The documentary promised to be a look into all the hard work, collaboration, blood, sweat and tears, it took to make Frozen 2, but it came off more as a look into the very final stages of Show Yourself and a few unfinished animation clips. So little of the actual movie making process was shown and it was extremely misleading and frustrating.

-

Songs:

Songs and the songwriting process were definitely the aspect of F2 Disney was most comfortable showing, but that’s saving very little because the attention per song was extremely restricted and lopsided. About 50% of the entire docu-series focuses on just Show Yourself while every other song gets about 20 to 1 minute(s) of screentime (in order from most to least discussion, it goes: Next Right Thing, Into The Unknown, Lost In The Woods, Some Things Never Change, When I’m Older, All Is Found, and Vuile isn’t even mentioned by name). And even when they did discuss these songs, they only showed the lyrics that got into the movie, no cut lyrics or alternatives were shown at all. So it was just long extended scenes of Jenn and the Lopez’ trying to decide whether they should or should not add parts to the song which we, as the viewer, already know were added. And again, they showed no alternatives, so it wasn’t a choice of A or B, it was A or maybe rewrite the middle-ish but no specifics. 

They didn't even discuss the public outtakes / deleted scenes they've already released / planned to release like "Get This Right", "Seek The Truth", "Unmeltable Me", etc (they did mention “See They Sky” but nothing else). 

The last thing I’d like to mention for this category is that they did discuss the intended emotions / themes of the songs they kept in. They talk about how Show Yourself was supposed to make you feel empowered and satisfyingly wrap up the story, how Next Right Thing was supposed to make you feel just as emotionally raw as Anna, etc. So I can give them credit for that. But again, these explanations became few and far between once they got into the “lesser” songs. Nor do they explain why certain songs were added to the story; for example When I’m Older’s entire existence was justified with “kids really liked it”. “Lost In The Woods” was an 80’s rock ballad because they kinda just wanted to make a 80’s song, etc.

-

Animation:

Again, just like the songs, Disney was very comfortable showing off the animation process, but only unfinished clips, models, skeletons, etc of shots that were actually used in the film and nothing else. But, I did have fun watching animators physically act out character movements, record them, and then animate them (ex: that poor girl who recorded like 5 shots of her own face singing, all super imposed on bobbing reindeer shaped bubbles for the Lost In The Woods scene lol).

The most new/deleted content they showed were storyboards and sketches of Show Yourself  where we got to see alt. backgrounds of Ahtohallan and young Iduna and and See the Sky which was a dance-off type thing between the Northuldra / Arendelle soldiers.

-

Story:

This, and every consecutive category, is where this documentary was severely lacking. They showed no alternative scenes or storylines like “Hard Nokks” or the secret library. Nor did they go into the intended messages/significance of the story elements they did use, like why they chose to trap the Enchanted Forest in mist, why they spared Arendelle, why Elsa left Arendelle, why they chose a dam for the physical boundary they needed to destroy (even though apparently it was loosely based on an IRL dam that hurt the IRL Sami people; I got this from outside resources), etc. 

They also don’t dive into any character motivations (outside of the context of Elsa in Show Yourself/Into The Unknown, Anna in Next Right Thing, and Kristoff in Lost In The Woods). 

They very explicitly refused to discuss any changes they made to the script. In episode 5 they spend a lot of time emphasizing the importance of audience feedback but refuse to show any actual feedback (they even talk about how they gave out questionnaires but don’t even show us a blank one). This was very blatant and annoying because they spent a lot of time looking DIRECTLY at the camera going on about how important feedback was, how being willing to change was important, how they DID change things, and how change impacted a lot of the movie (ex: cutting songs and simplifying things for children), but refused to show anything. The one (1) change they did show was the prologue, so we see young Anna and Elsa playing before we see Agnarr's flashback, but that was pretty much it. 

-

Design / Environments:

Character design and dress design was not discussed at all. They do show us a few seconds of fabric physics for Elsa’s spirit dress and show us how they designed Olaf when he was pretending to be Grand Pabbie (using his snowball feet as ears and ferns as a cape), but nothing else. You’d think that since Elsa and Anna both had like 5 costume changes each, they’d want to discuss that, but no. Nor do they even mention Iduna’s shawl / the unity snowflake which had a ton of significance in the movie. They also don’t discuss the designs of the spirits or their symbols (or even water animation for the Nokk’s body which would’ve been perfect in the animation portions). 

-

Research: 

The only research we see them doing is visiting IRL glaciers for Ahtohallan in episode 3. This was neat and all, but also very bittersweet because they really emphasized how spectacular and breathtaking Ahtohallan was going to be, but it was literally just an empty cave made of ice; and not even shiny ice (like Elsa’s castle) just dark, flat, and blue. Like I know creating environments is hard but Ahtohallan is very literally empty besides a few extremely narrow hallways and dark colorless abysses. Like it may have been hard to build in a computer but it was NOT creative nor something to boast about (especially compared to the concept art they showed). But this is all my opinion...

They do show a black sand beach which greatly inspired the black sea, but otherwise they don’t show the research it took to properly replicate the Enchanted Forest (like plant life and ecology) nor any of the locations Elsa and the gang briefly passed through on the way to the forest. 

Most egregiously of all they completely omit the Sami community and their contributions to the film. They don’t address them by name or even acknowledge the Northuldra are based on them. Nor do they mention the apparent collaboration they did with the Sami community to accurately replicate their culture. The closest they get to acknowledging them or their hand in the creation of F2 was that the subtitles described Vuilie was a "yoik". Which does not count, since no one even says it out loud. You could dismiss all my other complaints about the lack of content and deleted scenes, but this is just flat out disrespectful. 

-

Ending Note: 

To me, I just don't see the point of this. If this entire documentary was condensed into an hour long YouTube video and explicitly only about the songs/animation I would've been perfectly happy and would've given this an A! Maybe even more because the little parts about the sound design and interviews with the cast would've been little bonuses. But I can't because this is a 6 episode Disney+ only "documentary" on all of F2. 

Tl;Dr - I expected a lot more, but was severely disappointed. I wanted an inside sneak peak on the making of one of Disney’s most iconic and my personal favorite IP, but instead I got 240 minutes of Jennifer Lee and the Lopez’ trying to feel the vibe of Show Yourself and crying. Surely they could’ve cut some of that out to talk about literally anything else. Watching this just felt pointless and I was never engaged nor were my curiosities satisfied. 

-

Extra Note:

For about 10 minutes at the end of one episode (which may seem short but that’s like ¼ of an episode), the documentary takes a detour to talk about Ryder Buck. Ryder Buck was Chris Buck’s (one of the director) son who died shortly after F1 was released, and I mean no disrespect but the sequence dedicated to him had nothing to do with the film or documentary. One of the F2 character’s was named after Ryder, but that was the only connection (they don’t even mention if Ryder in Frozen was based personality-wise on IRL Ryder, just that they shared a name). The whole 10 minute sequence was literally just a charity event in Ryder’s name and Chris and his wife sitting on a mountain talking about how they miss him. Again, no disrespect and I’m sorry Ryder Buck died so young, but a documentary on Frozen 2 wasn’t an appropriate place or time to talk about him.

Crossing out this section because some people took this as an opportunity to attack Chris Buck and his son, which is completely unacceptable and disgusting.

[mcwriting]

London boy

Hi guys! I’m back with a lil quarantine pick me up! It’s been sooooo long so it felt good to write again. I’m almost done with this semester so I’m hoping I can do more writing soon. All this being said, make sure to check my note at the end about a possible part 2 and let me know what you think! Love y’all!

*Also PSA I’ve never been to London unless Heathrow airport counts so I tried to do my best research but sorry if things are wrong*

Fandom: Tom Holland

Ship: Tom Holland x y/n

Setting: Begins in Nashville, TN but mostly takes place in London

Word Count: 2299 (whew)

Warnings: Alcohol consumption? I can’t think of any others. It’s mostly fluff

Rating: Like a K or something

$

You were hanging out on Broadway St.

No, not the one in New York. The one in Nashville, Tennessee.

It was a place filled with great live music, dancing all night long, and lots and lots of alcohol. 

You and some friends had gone out to a particular bar that another friend’s band was playing at, all dressed up in ripped up jean shorts, riding boots, and a cute cowboy hat.

As you all waited for them to get on stage, you ordered a round to loosen up a bit, you getting some Jack Daniels on the rocks.

That local flavor would forever be your first choice, especially compared to the tequila shots some of the girls chose instead.

$

Tom Holland, Harrison Osterfield, and some of their buddies strolled down Broadway, too.

Tom’s newest project was set in the city and a long day of filming called for letting loose for the night and getting to know a little bit more of Nash culture.

They came upon one place where a band was playing a Bruce Springsteen song, so they headed in, beelining to the bar. 

As they waited for their own drinks, Tom turned his head to look around when he caught a glance of you, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. 

You were coolly half sitting-half leaning on a barstool, sipping your drink as you soaked in the music. Your friend’s band always sounded great, but you decided to scan the room to see how other people were reacting. 

You turned your head, the big curls in your hair flipping over your shoulder. As you looked straight down the bar you caught eyes with a brunette man laughing with his friends, face going slack as he stared back at you. 

You looked him up and down, not taking much time to study his face, then smiled and turned back to the band. 

Please come over here you thought, trying to not look again.

Tom turned to his group.

“Do you see that girl? That’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen!”

“Well then go on you div, make a conversation,” Harrison said as the others gassed Tom up, too.

The guys pushed him around a bit as he bounced up and down on his toes, trying to hype himself up.

A few moments later you saw a male figure approach from the corner of your eye. You had planned to flirt with him, but the second you turned to say something, you froze.

It was Tom. Holland.

You both stared at each other silently for a second, both surprised, until finally he spoke up, his accent clearly British among the southern Nashville drawls around you.

“Sorry to bother you, but I saw you across the bar and couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and it took a moment before you found words to reply.

“I- thank you. You’re Tom Holland, right?” you asked incredulously.

It was his turn to blush and look at the ground. He nodded his head, a cute smile lighting up his face.

“That’s me. Now would you mind the honor of teaching me how to dance like the tennesseans?”

It took no thought to take his hand and tear up the dance floor that night.

$

It had been almost 3 years since you’d met Tom that in Nash. A night of dancing and drinking had led to you going back to his hotel that night. 

Nothing had actually happened between you though, because you were both too drunk and sleepy to do anything but crash on top the bed.

It had, however, sparked the beginnings of an amazing romance, where in the present, you were strolling down Camden Market looking at art, clothing, and jewelry as you tried to decide where to grab food.

Hands held tightly together, you both decided to stop for a moment to look over the canal, but you instead focused your attention onto his face that glowed in the sunlight.

He turned to you and did the same, both of you grinning like kids when your eyes met. 

“Oh how I love that American smile of yours,” he breathed.

“I fancy you too, darling,” you returned, heart full. 

$

On your first trip to London, he’d taken you to Highgate, where some of his childhood friends lived. Of course you already knew Harrison, Tuwaine, and Tom’s brothers (considering most of them had been there the night you met), but you’d been nervous to make a good impression.

It wasn’t long until you were jumping into their conversation and joking too, as if you’d all been friends for years.

You and Tom had only been dating about 6 months by this point, and had somehow kept the relationship secret from the public, so it felt nice to be introduced as his girlfriend.

You’d gone into the kitchen to refresh your drink when Harrison followed behind. 

“You really love him, don’t you?” he asked out of nowhere, “at least, that’s what we all think.”

You paused to think.

I guess the rumors are true...

$

Another trip about a year into the relationship and you’d learned to love high tea, listening to stories from Tom’s days in acting and carpentry schools, and the West End.

It was hard to believe every time you went to a show that in days past, Tom had been on that stage, too. 

You’d also spent time at the pubs with him and the boys, sometimes watching rugby, other times playing pub quizzes. 

There were also times that you went out dancing. It was a whole different world from line dances and country music, but over time it felt just as natural.

$

In the present, your time around the market had been ended early as clouds darkened and turned to gloomy rain. 

It didn’t really bother you though, because as the cab took you through the city, you saw the lights glow and illuminate the glistening buildings you’d come to love.  

“I’m sorry we had to cut the day short, love,” Tom whispered, squeezing your hand with his. 

“Are you kidding?” you beamed, “I’ve had so much fun today! We got to explore the heart of the city, go shopping at the market, and eat great food. Plus, now we can go with everyone to that teahouse I love. What more could a girl ask for?” 

“God, I love you,” he grinned as you leaned on his shoulder to look back out the window, distracting yourself for the long ride back to his house.

$

About a year and a half of dating, and you’d come to visit Tom while he was filming a movie at the Warner Bros. studio in Watford. 

Since he was filming up north, you chose to rent a hotel in the heart of the city so Tom could stay closer to work (and therefore have more time with you).

Most of the nights he could, you’d go club in Brixton. Afternoons off were spent in Shoreditch trying restaurants and looking at art. You also got to see his buddies from Highgate again, joking and having fun just as before.

By now, your relationship was public and of course the paparazzi was often trying to photograph you, but you didn’t really mind it. It was nice getting to show the world just how in love you were with this boy.

$

For your two year anniversary, Tom had flown you out to the city for a romantic getaway, where instead of staying at his house like usual, he paid to have you stay in a royal suite at a 5 star hotel in the heart of London, overlooking the river. 

You spent the trip mostly to yourselves, not going out to the pubs at night like usual, instead choosing to have private dinners or go to nice restaurants. 

He took you shopping around Bond St, showering you with expensive things that you of course didn’t need (and had to buy a second suitcase to haul), but the gesture alone was the nicest thing a boyfriend had done for you.

Of course, you also visited with his family and had a nice time with all of them, but spending private time with Tom was the best of all.

The place you stayed made you feel like a queen (it was royal after all), and it fit the way he could never help but call you his Tennessee queen.

The lingerie he’d gotten you also came in handy, because when you emerged from the bathroom wearing only that, he would say in a husky voice, 

“Babe, don’t threaten me with a good time,” before you’d do exactly that.

$

In the present, you were back at Tom’s place, preparing for dinner with his family when he called you to the backyard.

The rain had let up, leaving a lovely sunset sky, which is what you were expecting him to talk about once you came to the back porch.

“Wow, that’s pretty,” you stated, snapping your hoop earring shut to complete your look for the night. 

Tom had said it would be a nice dinner, so you’d put on the soft pink dress he had bought earlier that day the second you said you loved it and some matching heels. You had also spent time curling your hair and doing some makeup, wanting to look and feel good.

“You look more beautiful than a thousand sunsets,” he whispered back, causing you to blush as pink as your dress. You gave him a soft kiss on the lips.

“What did you call me out here for? Shouldn’t we head out soon?”

“Right, yeah. I got distracted there for a second,” he chuckled before continuing, “Y/n, do you remember the night we met?”

“Of course. I’ll keep that day burned into my memory until the day I die.”

“Well, that night I told my mates that you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and it’s still true. I don’t regret a single thing about the past 3 years of loving you.”

Your heart began to pound and you tried to steady your breathing. Was this it? Was this what you thought it was?

God, I hope so a voice in your head was screaming.

He took your hands in his and squeezed them. 

“Y/n L/n, I love you so dearly. I’ve probably loved you since the night I took you back to my hotel and I woke up to find you laying atop my bed and just didn’t realize it then.”

He began to bend his knees and reached a hand into his pocket, butterflies now rising in your stomach like nothing before.

“I want to love you for the rest of my life. Y/n L/n, will you marry me?” His hands held open a box with the most perfect ring you’d ever seen.

Tears welled up in your eyes and a watery smile rose to your face. You were speechless, so at first all you could do was nod, then finally you exclaimed,

“YES!”

Both of your hands were shaking as he slipped the ring onto your left hand, and then he stood up, pressing you into a deep kiss. 

You were on cloud nine.

You heard shouts behind you, breaking the kiss to see Harrison and Tuwaine cheering and recording on their phones. 

“Wait a second, where’s Harry?”

Nearby, a bush rustled and out stepped the twin, camera in hand.

“You guys all really planned this for me?” you asked, elated.

“Anything for you, babe. I was worried that it would be ruined by the rain, but it looks like things worked out just right,” he answered.

You stared down at the ring, still not quite believing everything, but your gaze eventually fell down to your watch.

“Well, I hate to kill the mood, but I’m so hungry I don’t know what to do with myself, and it’s time to go anyways, so let’s get out of here!”

$

You rode in Tom’s car while the other boys piled into Harry’s. They arrived first and were waiting at the door when you arrived. 

“Alright, follow us, we have a private room,” Haz said, the three boys leading you and Tom that way. 

You had a feeling the dinner was an engagement celebration, but had no expectation of what happened next.

The doors opened to tons of people yelling “Congratulations!” while holding cute balloons and champagne glasses. You scanned the room and were happy to see Tom’s family and friends from London and home, including the one’s that had been there that night in Nashville.

The most surprising thing, however, was your family. You hadn’t seen them in almost a month due to work and travel, so immediately you ran into their arms.

“She said yes, by the way!” Tom exclaimed happily, causing another round of cheers from the crowd.

“I can’t believe you all came!” you said to everyone, especially towards your US friends. 

“Well it wouldn’t be a real engagement if we didn’t celebrate with something special,” one friend said. 

“What do you mean?” 

With that, she plopped a hat onto your head. You pulled it off, confused until you got a good look at it. It was the hat you were wearing the night you met Tom. 

“We were gonna bring the boots and booty shorts, too, but I think what you’ve got goin’ on is a little classier,” another friend piped up, garnering laughs from your friend group. 

You pressed the hat back over your head, not caring if it squished the curls you’d gotten to lay perfectly not too long before.

“Well, then. Let’s get this rodeo started!” you exclaimed, gathering yet another of many cheers you and Tom would receive that night and for years to come.

$

A/N: Omg guys. I did it. I wrote something new. I’m thinking about making this a two shot, where the second part is more from Tom’s perspective and explores his visits to the US and I’ll call it Nashville Girl. Idk if any good songs exist that would tie in but whatever. 

Anyways, love you all and thank you for your continued support! Please stay safe and STAY HOME!

[thisblogisalsoboundforglory]

WHAT I HAVE BEEN READING LATELY

Kage Baker’s Company Series

In the Garden of Iden

Sky Coyote

Mendoza in Hollywood

The Graveyard Game

The Life of the World to Come

The Children of the Company

The Machine's Child

The Sons of Heaven

The Empress of Mars

Not Less than Gods

Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea

Black Projects, White Knights: The Company Dossiers

Gods and Pawns

In the Company of Thieves

Ø  Science Fiction written by a woman with Asperger’s. Wildly uneven. Main protagonist is female, but there are lots of POV characters, male and female.

Ø  Big ideas.

Ø  Lots of adventure, some action.

Ø   Small doses of humor.

 Neil Gaiman

Good Omens (with Sir Terry Pratchett)

Neverwhere

Stardust

American Gods

Anansi Boys

The Graveyard Book

The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Ø  Neil’s books are a road trip with Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and a baggie full of sativa.

Ø  Ideas are incidental. The Milieu’s in charge.

Ø  Adventure happens whether you like it or not.

Ø   Cosmic humor. The joke’s on us.

 Connie Willis’s Oxford Time Travel Series

Firewatch

Doomsday Book

To Say Nothing of the Dog (and the novel that inspired it – Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat)

Blackout/All Clear

Assorted:

The Last of the Winnebagos

Ø  Connie loves her historical research. Blackout/All Clear actually lasts as long as the Blitz, but anything in the Oxford Time Travel series is worth reading. Doomsday Book reads like prophecy in retrospect.

Ø  One idea: Hi! This is the human condition! How fucking amazing is that?!?

Ø  Gut-punch adventure with extra consequences. Background action.

Ø   I’d have to say that Doomsday Book is the funniest book about the black death I’ve ever read, which isn’t saying much. To Say Nothing of the Dog is classic farce, though. Girl’s got range.

Neal Stephenson

Snow Crash (After the apocalypse, the world will be ruled by Home-Owners Associations. Be afraid.)

Cryptonomicon

Anathem

Seveneves

Ø  Neal writes big, undisciplined, unfocused books that keep unfolding in your mind for months after you’ve read them. He’s a very guy-type writer, in spite of a female protagonist or two. Seveneves, be warned, starts out brilliant and devolves into extreme meh.

Ø  Big. Fucking. Ideas.

Ø  Battles, crashes, fistfights, parachute jumps, nuclear powered motorcycles and extreme gardening action. Is there an MPAA acronym for that?

Ø   Humor dry enough to be garnished with two green olives on a stick.

  Christopher Moore

Pine Cove Series:

Practical Demonkeeping

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror (Okay, yeah, Christmas. But Christmas with zombies, so that’s all right.)

Fluke (Not strictly Pine Cove, but in the same universe. Ever wonder why whales sing? They’re ordering Pastrami sandwiches. I’m not kidding.)

Death Merchant Chronicles:

A Dirty Job

Secondhand Souls (Best literary dogs this side of Jack London)

Coyote Blue (Kind of an outlier. Overlapping characters)

Shakespeare Series:

Fool

The Serpent of Venice

Shakespeare for Squirrels

Assorted:

Island of the Sequined Love Nun (Cargo cults with Pine Cove crossovers. I have a theory that the characters in this book are direct descendants of certain characters in Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon.)

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal (So I have a favorite first-century wonder rabbi. Who doesn’t?)

Sacre Bleu

Noir

Ø  Not for the squeamish, the easily offended, or those who can’t lovingly embrace the fact that the human species is pretty much a bunch of idiots snatching at moments of grace.

Ø  No big ideas whatever. Barely any half-baked notions.

Ø  Enthusiastic geek adventure. Action as a last resort.

Ø   Nonstop funny from beginning to end.

 Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London Series

Rivers of London

Moon Over Soho

Whispers Under Ground

Broken Homes

Foxglove Summer

The Hanging Tree

The Furthest Station

Lies Sleeping

The October Man

False Value

Tales From the Folly

Ø  Lean, self-deprecating police procedurals disguised as fantasy novels. Excellent writing.

Ø  These will not expand your mind. They might expand your Latin vocabulary.

Ø  Crisply described action, judiciously used. Whodunnit adventure. It’s all about good storytelling.

Ø  Generous servings of sly humor. Aaronovitch is a geek culture blueblood who drops so many inside jokes, there are websites devoted to indexing them.

  John Scalzi

Old Man’s War Series:

Old Man’s War

Questions for a Soldier

The Ghost Brigades

The Sagan Diary

The Last Colony

Zoe’s Tale

After the Coup

The Human Division

The End of All Things

Ø  Star Trek with realpolitik instead of optimism.

Ø  The Big Idea is that there’s nothing new under the sun. Nor over it.

Ø  Action-adventure final frontier saga with high stakes.

Ø  It’s funny when the characters are being funny, and precisely to the same degree that the character is funny.

Assorted:

The Dispatcher

Murder by Other Means

Redshirts (Star Trek, sideways, with occasional optimism)

Ø  Scalzi abandons (or skewers) his space-opera tendencies with these three little gems of speculative fiction. Scalzi’s gift is patience. He lets the scenario unfold like a striptease.

Ø  What-if thought experiments that jolt the brain like espresso shots.

Ø  Action/misadventure as necessary to accomplish the psychological special effects.

Ø  Redshirts is satire, so the humor is built-in, but it’s buried in the mix.

  David Wong/Jason Pargin

John Dies at the End

This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don’t Touch It

What the Hell Did I Just Read?

Ø  Pargin clearly starts his novels with a handful of arresting scenes and images, then looses the characters on an unsuspecting world to wander wither they will.

Ø  Ideas aren’t as big or obvious as Heinlein, but they are there to challenge all your assumptions in the same way that Heinlein’s were.

Ø  Classic action/adventure for anyone raised on Scooby-Doo.

Ø  Occasional gusts of humor in a climate that’s predominantly tongue-in-cheek.

 Jodi Taylor’s Chronicles of St. Mary’s Series

Just One Damned Thing After Another

The Very First Damned Thing

A Symphony of Echoes

When a Child is Born*

A Second Chance

Roman Holiday*

A Trail Through Time

Christmas Present*

No Time Like the Past

What Could Possible Go Wrong?

Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings*

Lies, Damned Lies and History

The Great St Mary’s Day Out*

My Name is Markham*

And the Rest is History

A Perfect Storm*

Christmas Past*

An Argumentation of Historians

The Battersea Barricades*

The Steam Pump Jump*

And Now for Something Completely Different*

Hope for the Best

When Did You Last See Your Father?*

Why Is Nothing Ever Simple*

Plan For The Worst

The Ordeal of the Haunted Room

Ø  The * denotes a short story or novella. Okay, try to imagine Indiana Jones as a smartassed redheaded woman with a time machine and a merry band of full contact historians. I love history, and I especially love history narrated by a woman who can kick T. Rex ass.

Ø  The ideas are toys, not themes. Soapy in spots.

Ø  Action! Adventure! More action! More adventure! Tea break. Action again!

Ø  Big, squishy dollops of snort-worthy stuff.

 Laurie R. King’s Mary Russell Series

The Beekeeper's Apprentice

A Monstrous Regiment of Women

A Letter of Mary

The Moor

Jerusalem

Justice Hall

The Game

Locked Rooms

The Language of Bees

The God of the Hive

Beekeeping for Beginners

Pirate King

Garment of Shadows

Dreaming Spies

The Marriage of Mary Russell

The Murder of Mary Russell

Mary Russell's War And Other Stories of Suspense

Island of the Mad

Riviera Gold

The Art of Detection (Strictly speaking, this is in the action!lesbian Detective Kate Martinelli series, but it crosses over to the Sherlock Holmes genre. If you’ve ever wondered how Holmes would deal with the transgendered, this is the book.)

Ø  Sherlock Holmes retires to Sussex, keeps bees, marries a nice Jewish girl who is smarter than he is and less than half his age and he’s mentored since she was fifteen in an extremely problematic power dynamic relationship that should repulse me but doesn’t, somehow, because this is the best Sherlock Holmes pastiche out there. Mary should have been a rabbi, but it is 1920, so she learns martial arts and becomes an international detective instead. Guest appearances by Conan Doyle, Kimball O’Hara, T.E. Lawrence, Cole Porter, and the Oxford Comma.

Ø  Nothing mind-expanding here, unless the levels of meta present in a fictional world that is about how the fictional world might not be as fictional as you thought come as a surprise to anyone in the era of tie-in books, films, tv, interactive social media and RPGs.

Ø  If these two geniuses can’t catch the bad guys with their dazzling brilliance, they will happily kick some ass. Adventure takes center stage and the action sequences are especially creative.

Ø  Amusement is afoot.

 Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next Series

The Eyre Affair

Lost in a Good Book

The Well of Lost Plots

Something Rotten

First Among Sequels

One of Our Thursdays is Missing

The Woman Who Died a Lot

Ø  In a world where Librarians are revered and Shakespeare is more popular than the Beatles, someone has to facilitate the weekly anger-management sessions for the characters of Wuthering Heights, if only to keep them from killing each other before the novel actually ends. That someone is Thursday Next – Literature Cop.

Ø  Mind-bending enough to give Noam Chomsky material for another hundred years.

Ø  Adventure aplenty. Action? Even the punctuation will try to kill you.

Ø  This is a frolicsome look at humorous situations filled with funny people. Pretty much a full house in the laugh department.

 Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series/City Watch Arc

Guards! Guards!

Men at Arms

Feet of Clay

Jingo

The Fifth Elephant

Night Watch

Thud!

Snuff

Raising Steam

Ø  If this were a game of CLUE, the answer would be Niccolo Machiavelli in Narnia with a Monty Python. Everything you think you know about books with dragons and trolls and dwarves and wizards is expertly ripped to shreds and reassembled as social satire that can save your soul, even if it turns out you don’t really have one. Do not be fooled by the Tolkien chassis – there’s a Vonnegut-class engine at work.

Ø  Caution: Ideas in the Mirror Universe May be Larger Than They Appear

Ø  The City Watch arc has plenty of thrilling action sequences. Some other of the fifty-million Discworld novels have less. Every one of them is nonstop adventure. Most of the adventure, however, takes the form of characters desperately trying to avoid thrilling action sequences.

Ø  Funny? Even though I’ve read every book in the series at least ten times, I still have to make sure I have cold packs on hand in case I laugh so hard I rupture something.

[lonelypond]

Parent Trap, Chapter The First

NicoMaki, Love Live/Love Live Sunshine, 6k, 1/2

Summary: Dr. Nishikino Maki is a single mother, not in search of anything besides a few quiet moments. Yazawa Nico is a singer on the rise who did a favor for an old friend. Are they more connected than they realize?

Parent Trap, Chapter The First

Yazawa Nico was due at the airport at too early an hour. But Ayase Eli was too old a friend not to make time for. So when they were at lunch and Nico had cooed over the latest twin pictures, Eli had asked if Nico wanted children. Of course, Nico wanted children, but the life of the next JLO didn’t really leave any time for that. And then Eli had explained how she could bank some of Nico’s genetic material at her lab. And if Nico didn’t mind, it might help Eli with a project she’d been working on with a colleague.

It had taken about a month, with screening tests and two weeks on hormones before Nico could physically donate eggs. The retrieval procedure had taken less than a half an hour, and Nico had stopped into Eli’s office after hours a week later for an ultrasound and check up.

“Did you double check all your paperwork?” Eli asked as she put away the ultrasound equipment.

Nico pulled her sweatshirt down. She didn’t dress up for top secret doctor visits. She had sunglasses and a long coat for when she stepped out of Eli’s office. “Yeah, Nico read through it twice. So no one makes a baby with Nico without Nico’s permission right?”

“Right.” Eli’s reply was quick.

Nico had confidence in Eli, who had always been an honor student and someone with exact and precise ethical behavior. “Good.” Nico bounced up, “It’s nice to know Nico’s got a backup for the biological clock.”

Eli smiled, “Thanks for helping. The more chance I have to work with different cells, the more likely we are to eventually succeed.”

“Nico is a hero.”

“Nico is a good friend.”

“Eli!” Tojo Nozomi’s voice called from the hallway outside. “We’re going to be late to pick up Vik and Teddy.”

“I’ll be right there. I just have to finish up with Nico.”

“NICO!” The door slammed open and Nico was engulfed in a huge hug, “You haven’t been by in months. How are ya.”

“Nico can’t breathe. Eli, help.” Nico squeaked.

“Nozomi, put Nico down.”

Nozomi did, but then kept hold of Nico’s shoulder, her green eyes concerned, “Are you all right, is something wrong, is that why…”

Nico waved a hand, “Just a pre tour checkup. My regular doctor couldn’t fit me in. Eli did me a favor.”

“Eli is the best.”

“Yeah, Nico, anytime you need a quick checkup.” Eli’s voice wavered. Nozomi turned her attention to her wife, the terrible liar.

“Nico has to run.” Nico put her sunglasses on with a grand gesture, even though it was dark outside. Nico would always Nico. Nozomi was glad to see it.

“We’ll see you out, I’ll just leave the paperwork at the desk for my assistant to enter into the system tomorrow.” Eli held the door open.

They walked out, Eli dropping the folder in the inbox. Nozomi respected Eli’s commitment to having paper copies of everything. She’d been the most organized student council president ever and that had followed through to everything she did.

“Oh no.” Nozomi cried out.

Eli spun instantly, “Nontan?”

Nozomi flicked her own forehead, “I was so excited to see Nico-chi, I left my purse in the exam room. I’ll be right back. Just wait for me at the car.” She kissed Eli on the cheek.

“Okay.” Eli put an arm around Nico’s shoulders, “Sure I can’t convince you to have dinner with us and the twins. They miss you.”

“Next time Nico’s in town, I lost a packing day because Cocoa had a car crisis.”

“You really have to make time, Nico. We miss you.”

Their voices faded down the hall. Nozomi nodded and stepped to the desk, putting her purse out from behind her back to set next to the in tray. There was no name on the folder Eli had put down, just a number. Nozomi made a quick note of it as she opened to read. Nico and Eli were up to something and Nozomi had never been able to let that pass without “helping”. Seeing Nico’s first answer, a quick check….hmmm, Nozomi had a feeling that Nico’s status might change for the better with a different answer. And Eli always did the initial paperwork in pencil, that made some things easier.

Four Plus Years Later

Dr. Nishikino Maki was drowsy. Single parenting was exhausting. Even with a nanny and her parents’s help, the past year with Dia had been exhausting. Which is why her parents had shoved her out the door to go to the Ayase New Year’s Eve party. Which was loud, and bustling. Eli’s mom was babysitting the twins and Eli’s wife, Nozomi, was taking the opportunity to loudly announce as many details of every attendee’s life as she could.

“MAKI!” Nozomi swirled up, in a very pretty soft gray wrap dress, “It’s been too long.” Nozomi would have gone for a hug, but Maki had predicted her action and sidestepped. “How’s your little girl?”

“Sleeping, I hope.”

Nozomi tilted her head, green eyes staring at Maki with an odd look in them. She almost spoke, then shrugged, “Eli will be happy to see you. We have so many friends for you to meet. You haven’t even stopped by the office in 6 months. We got so used to seeing you when you were pregnant.”

Maki decided to change the conversation, “How are the twins?”

“Exhausting.” Nozomi’s laugh drew the attention of her wife, who hurried over.

“Did I miss a joke? Hi, Maki.” Eli slid her arm around Nozomi’s waist, “Nico’s going to sing in a minute.”

“Ooohh, you won’t want to miss this, Maki.”

“What?” Maki’s question was perfunctory. Nozomi’s suggestions were always problematic, one way or another, so Maki tended to armor up when Nozomi was in idea tossing mode.

“Nico Ni.” Eli was gleaming, “We had a band together in high school, then instead of college, she started touring and got signed by a major label right away. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her.”

Maki shrugged, “I don’t listen to contemporary music much.”

“Contemporary.” Nozomi drawled, “Non robots call it pop or punk or rock or country or hip hop or whatever genre you favor.”

“Nozomi, let’s not harass our guest.”

“But Elichi, that’s why I throw parties.”

Eli had her arm through Nozomi’s and was steering her away, She smiled apologetically at Maki, and then the lights dimmed and the sound system kicked in.

“Hello, Chicago, my hometown, Nico Ni here to make your heart throb for this heartthrob.”

Maki glanced at the stage. A tiny woman, long dark hair, neon pink over black the dominant theme of her costume, complete with some kind of sparkly animal ears. She looked like her music was going to be loud. Maki headed for the balcony.

###

Maki had found a bartender who mixed an excellent virgin bloody mary and was nursing her second while waiting for clouds to clear so she could see more constellations. WInter nights were the best, cold and clear.

“You avoiding the crowds too?” Maki heard the question as the door slid open.

“More avoiding the music.”

“Not a Nico Ni fan?”

Maki shrugged, honestly it wouldn’t have made a difference who it was, “It just seemed like it was going to be loud and…”

“Headache?”

“One year old.”

“Oh,” a quick pleasant laugh. “I haven’t had time...or the partner for that. They’re cute at that age.”

Maki shrugged again. Dia was cute, probably above average cute, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Or something Maki could announce like her birthweight or how many words she knew. “No partner.”

“Oh.” A nervous laugh, “Sorry…”

‘No. It’s exactly what I wanted.” Maki knew that should have sounded more convincing. Dia was, as far as her reading and research could attest, an near ideal daughter. Maki’s parents had finally shut up about her producing an heir, Rin and Hanayo’s baby had a playmate, Eli’s research had made it possible to get pregnant without anything gross or sticky involved, and now Maki was back at work and even out socializing. So all good, right? Maki sighed,

“Cookie?” Maki turned. A small, bright, crimson eyed woman in a slouched hat and an oversized coat was leaning next to her, offering what looked like a homemade cookie. Eli and Nozomi had hired caterers.

“You smuggled in food?”

“Only way to be sure there’s always some around.” A smile that stunned Maki with its cheerful incandescence, “Ni...No poison, I swear.”

Maki took the cookie, and an intriguing mix of cinnamon and stranger flavors melted on her tongue. “That’s different. I like it.”

“Chinese five spice and shortbread.”

Maki nodded, chewing happily. Not exactly dip in a virgin bloody mary food, but maybe time for a coffee palate cleanser. Maki glanced at her watch, another hour til midnight. The other woman was still looking at her, expectant.

“Are you a pastry chef?” Maki asked, maybe she could buy another cake for Dia’s birthday. Her parents would want pictures.

The other woman shook her head. “No, cooking is what I do for fun. Yazawa Nico.”

Maki took the offered hand. The grip was strong and surprisingly warm, “Nishinikino Maki.”

“Oh, like the hospital.” A stunning grin, “Eli works there. I used to stop by a lot.”

“You’re a friend of Eli’s?”

“High school.” Another grin, “We were in a band together, It was the worst, and Eli hates all the videos we made, but I found out I loved performing.” Nico swept her hands up, “Nico Nico Ni.”

Nico Ni. That’s what Eli meant. The singer. Who’d asked if Maki...Maki flushed, tensing, “You should cook more.”

“Okay. So not a fan.” Nico continued to gleam, “But once you actually hear Nico’s voice you’ll…”

“Did you come out here to harass me for not listening to your show?”

Nico snorted, “No, Ms. Colder Than The Air, I didn’t think anybody would be out here. Nico came out here to get away from her fans.”

“That worked.” Maki grimaced.

There was silence. Nico turned her attention to the sky. Orion was shining brightly on the horizon.

“Great night for stargazing.” Nico said softly.

“Getting clearer.”

“Yeah.”

“Does the one year old have a name?”

“Dia.”

“Pretty.”

Another shrug. Not a topic Maki was going to pick up. “You can see almost a dozen stars in the Pleiades cluster tonight. That’s rare for this close to the city.”

“Pleiades?”

“Can you find Orion?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the blurry group up and to the right.” Maki pointed.

“Oh yeah, cool.”

More silence, then Nico asked another question.

“You an astronomer?”

“That’d be nice.” Maki glanced to see Nico watching her, “Doctor. Medical doctor. ER doctor.”

“Adrenaline junkie.”

Maki shook her head, “Not really. I just like puzzles.” She almost hesitated, “And people who don’t linger.”

Now the silence was awkward. True as Maki’s statement was for some reason she didn’t know, the other woman seemed much farther away. And then Nico pushed off the railing, “Thanks for the astronomy lesson, Doc. Happy New Year.”

Maki nodded, “Same to you.”

Nico waved and went back to the party, Maki left behind in the now too cold air, mood deflated by the unpredictable encounter.

###

Maki had snuck out. She didn’t really want to miss Dia’s first birthday and the whole thought of a roomful of people kissing at midnight just made her queasy and sad. And Nozomi would, of course, make a big fuss about kissing her too and Maki was honestly just not in the mood. So at 11:55, she was turning the key in the door of the family mansion, and at midnight, she was kissing the only girl in her life on the cheek.

“Happy New Year, Dia. Happy birthday. Let’s have a fun year.”

It was strange for Maki to spend so much time with someone who didn’t talk back much, although Dia was very vocal, making funny little noises and a few words. Maki had been surprised at how much she’d cried the first time Dia reached out her little arms and said “Mama.” She could still feel how much her body had swelled with a new joy.

Dia’s eyes opened. They were a brilliant green, like gems. Maki wondered if the egg donor had eyes that color.

“Hi, Dia. Your Mama came home early for your birthday. I had the best cookie at the party. I wanted to have the baker make you a cake, but your Mama’s not great at talking to pretty people.” Maki sighed, sitting in the recliner next to Dia’s crib, “I hope you’re better with people than I am.”

Maki remembered all the questions Eli had asked her about what she was looking for in a donor. Mostly Maki had wanted healthy, but to give her sole child a chance at a better school and social life than she had, Maki figured she should choose an extrovert who got along well with others. So Eli added that to the parameters, along with athletic and musical, because Maki wanted her daughter to love music like she did. And here we were, three years later, with Test Case #1, the top secret Ayase-Nishikino experiment in two female parents reproducing. One of the parents was just an anonymous donor. Maki had been nervous about the science, but with her best friend Koizumi Hanayo and Hoshizora Rin wanting a child of their own after an adoption that fell through, they all decided to take the risk together. Eli and Nozomi had happily adopted American-Japanese twins, now 6 years old, but they wanted to help women who wanted families and couldn’t or wouldn’t adopt.

Dia made a crying noise, so Maki kept telling her about the party. Rin would say silly things and make faces at Tora, but Maki didn’t see why you couldn’t have mostly normal conversations with small children. Eventually Dia would learn all the words. It wasn’t really something Maki thought much about. Dia was there, so Maki talked to her. And then she’d read Dia her bedtime story. Princess Princess Ever After was a Maki favorite. And Dia would giggle when Maki said “Fine, Prince Butthead here can rescue himself” so that was always fun.

“Yeah, I think your Mama said something wrong,” Maki tossed her hair back, she should have put on pajama pants rather than this form fitting sheath dress but she wanted to kiss Dia at midnight. “She wasn’t a baker. She was a singer. Maybe we can listen to her songs tomorrow when we’re driving to meet Rin and Hanayo and Tora for your birthday party.”

Dia made a pleased noise so Maki decided that was enough of a plan and now it was time for bedtime stories and then getting out of her dress.

###

Maki had brought Dia over for dinner with the Koizumi-Hoshizora. Which meant pizza and a movie most of the time. Well, Hanayo had rice and Rin had ramen and Maki had pizza. Maki wondered what Dia’s favorite food would be. Tora already was showing a preference for things rice, Maki’s chef made an infant friendly rice pudding whenever Tora visited. Although, Hanayo was still glaring at Maki for explaining to Rin the dangers of arsenic in rice. So that was fun.

“So do you know Yazawa Nico?” Maki asked Rin casually as Dia and Tora race crawled around the living room.

“Yeah, Kayo-chin’s a big fan. Why?”

Maki decided not to go into the full story, “Just heard a couple of her songs. Dia seems to like them.”

“We should have a karaoke night.” Rin announced, “Invite Eli and Nozomi and everyone.”

“That might be fun. I don’t have a lot of nights free though.”

“Brunch karaoke.” RIn stated.

“Brunch karaoke?”

“Wouldn’t that make a great band name?”

“Mama?” Dia was pulling herself up on a table.

“What is it, Dia?

Dia motioned feeding herself, “Lunch.”

“Okay, Dia. We’ll see if Hanayo’s ready.”

“C’mon, Tora.” Rin scooped up her daughter and led the quest for her wife.

###

Dia had stacked all her blocks neatly in their bucket and was looking at Maki expectantly.

Maki grinned, “Thank you, Dia. Mama’s proud of how you decided to clean on your own.”

Dia nodded, suddenly shy and Maki laughed and picked up her daughter into a hug, spinning them around the room. “We’re going to fly.”

“MAMA!!!” Dia screamed.

Maki kept spinning and fell back onto the couch, “And that’s how you dance.”

“Dance.” Diane murmured.

“Dance and prance and…”

“Dance.” Dia shouted, standing next to Maki on the couch, bouncing “Dance Dance Dance.”

Maki had a hand out, hovering near her daughter’s waist, ensuring that Dia didn’t pitch forward to the floor. The first time that had happened had terrified Maki more than anything else in her life, even though she’d caught Dia at the last minute.

“C’mon, bun, let’s get you dinner. Then Mama is going out.” Rin had at some point said Dia was as “cute as a bunny” and Maki had turned it into a nickname.

“Pudding!”

“No, Dia, you can’t have pudding for dinner. Pudding is dessert.”

“No, Mama.” Dia glared at Maki, then wrapped her arms around Maki’s neck, “We go now.”

“Okay,” Maki swept up her daughter, “We go now.”

###

A month later, Rin had actually managed to corral most of their friends into a karaoke night. Hanayo had stayed home with Tora to watch a livestream of the stars of an anime in concert. Rin was driving so Maki was going to allow herself a sip or two of sake. She wasn’t sure if she was going to sing, but Rin would probably drag her into at least one duet.

It was a nice place. Sleek, polished wood, black-lit, private rooms with neon, huge couches, lots of space, and attentive but not intrusive waitstaff. It had an Asian influenced menu that Maki appreciated. Sushi was such a good snack for sitting around and watching Rin get sillier and sillier. She and Nozomi were in a battle for who could sing the craziest duet. Sonoda Umi, dojo owner and stunt choreographer, had actually joined them to sing “Say My Name.” Eli had practically stood on one of the table cheering while Umi’s wife, fashion designer Minami Kotori had giggled through the song.

And then the door opened, and two tiny women came in, a tray of drinks between them.

“Nico bought a round and a friend. What are we singing?”

“NICO!” Eli, who was definitely tipsy at this point, jumped down to pick up Nico in a hug, “You came.”

“Nico was in town. And it’s been too long since we’ve sung together.”

“We’re next. Me and Nico! Clear the floor.” Eli announced.

“Give me a minute, Eli. Let me introduce my friend. Everybody, Kira Tsubasa; Kira Tsubasa, everybody!”

“Hey! Can you sing?” Rin asked.

Kira did a double take, while Maki heard Nico whisper too loudly, “See, I told you, they don’t know anything about pop music. We’re good.”

Maki knew Nico hadn’t meant her to hear that and wasn’t specifically talking about her, but she still felt embarrassed and stupid. And then Rin called out her name.

“Maki Maki Maki. You said you’d sing “Telephone” with me.”

Yes, Maki had. But now she didn’t exactly want to. But Rin had made them practice, in front of Tora and Dia and it had been fun. Maybe if Maki didn’t look at anyone.

Rin had her wrist and was pulling her to the stage.

###

Well that was over and Maki had a genuine grin on her face. She hadn’t had the feel of performing for an audience since her last piano recital, too many years ago, and even though it was only karaoke, Maki could feel the group leaning forward on their seats, caught up in the song, laughing, watching, tapping along to the beat. Maki had even felt emboldened enough to catch Nico’s eye and wink before turning to Rin and high fiving at the end.

She slid back into the couch and Nico sat next to her, an unopened bottled sparkling water in hand. “You worked up a sweat.’

“Thanks!” Maki twisted off the cap, enjoying the sharpness of the lime twist flavor.

“Perform often?”

“Not since undergrad.”

“In a band?”

“Concert pianist.”

Nico nodded, sipping on her fruity oversized drink, “So Beyoncé or Gaga?”

Maki tossed her hair out of her eyes, running her fingers through it, feeling the sweat dampening the tips, “Why choose.”

That pleasant, inviting laugh, “Good point. Nico approves.”

Umi’s best friend, Kosaka Honoka, award winning pastry chef and owner of Homura, had the mic and was doing a stunning lowkey version of Miley Cyrus’s “Malibu”. Then Tsubasa jumped up and whispered something to Honoka who said sure and the next thing Maki knew the intro to the Hannah Montana theme song played, which got everybody in the room singing along.

And then Nico put her drink down, “Nico’s turn” and strode confidently to the front of the room, in her oversized black and gray sweatshirt, hood down, and thigh high black, rhinestone studded boots.

“For any Beyoncé fans.” And Nico ripped off a “Crazy In Love”, complete with Jay-Z’s rap verses, dueting with herself, and lighting up the entire room like a Lunar New Year fireworks show finale over Hong Kong Harbor.

Tsubasa raised a toast when Nico finished, “So very Nico to do a love song with yourself.”

“Only the best for Nico.” Nico grabbed a bottled water.

“Is that Fenty Puma?” Kotori asked, reaching forward to stroke the fabric.

“Yeah, saw it on the runway, fell in love, had to have it.”

That’s why it seemed familiar, Maki thought. She had two pieces from that collection, a black jumpsuit and kimono inspired track jacket she’d worn to some NWSL games. She and Rin both had Red Star season tickets, her spare usually taken by Umi or Honoka. She’d be able to take Dia to her first game soon.

“This is so much fun, Maki!” Rin slid in next to Maki, her face glowing. “Kayo-chin’s missing out.”

“I think she’s probably pretty happy with her concert.” Maki countered.

“Yeah,” RIn frowned, “you don’t think she thinks they’re prettier than me.”

“No, Rin.”

“Hmmmm…” Rin murmured doubtfully, leaning back, head forward. Then her phone went off.

Eli and Nozomi were at the mic, much too close to kissing for Maki to pay attention to them.

Rin groaned, bumping Maki’s shoulder. “Tora won’t settle down. I have to go home. Kayo-chin says Tora needs me to tell her a bedtime story.”

And I bet Hanayo wants someone to cuddle, Maki thought to herself.

Rin had already put down her drink and money for a tip when she froze, “But I’m your ride, Maki, what will you do?”

“Don’t worry about it. I can always call a car.”

“Someone need a ride?” Nico slid in on Maki’s other side.

“Yeah, I have to go home but I’m Maki’s ride.”

“If Maki doesn’t mind, Nico can drop her off whenever she’s ready.”

“Haven’t you been drinking?” Maki remembered the fruity drink.

Nico shook her head, “Nah, alcohol’s not really the healthiest and Nico’s got some shows coming up.”

“Maki?”

Maki glanced at Nico, who smiled and shrugged. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Maki.” RIn gave Maki a quick hug, “Say good night to Dia for me.”

“Will do. See you this weekend.”

RIn waved as she ran out the door.

“This weekend?”

“Sunday brunch.”

“Good friends huh?”

“Yeah,” Maki agreed, “We went to high school together.”

“Like me and Eli.”

“I guess.”

“How’d she meet her wife?”

“They’ve been perfect for each other since elementary school.” Maki snorted, “Some days it was a little...daunting, but Rin’s so cheerful.” Maki shrugged, “And here we are, both with one year olds.”

Nico didn’t reply and Maki glanced over. Nico seemed thoughtful, drumming her fingers against her thigh. Then she noticed Maki’s attention and did a hand gesture, “Nico Nico Ni. Want to do a duet?”

“Actually, I want to hear you and Eli.”

Nozomi caught the Eli reference or had been eavesdropping. Maki was pretty sure it was the second. Nozomi liked to know EVERYTHING that went on, whether or not it had any relevance or connection to her.

“Ooohh, Eli-chi, Maki wants to hear you and Nico.”

“Harasho!” Eli was up on the table again, “Bibi rides again. What do we do for the pretty ladies, my friend?”

Nico grabbed the mic and Eli, asking “Shall we keep the Gaga going? “Do What U Want?”

Nozomi took a bunch of singles from her purse, Umi groaned, Honoka giggled.

###

Maki had needed air and a fresh drink after the very physical Nico and Eli duet. She rolled an ice cold bottle of sparkling water against her cheek while waiting for the bartender to come back with Honoka’s beer.

“There you are?” And Nico was next to her, shouting to be heard in the crowd, “No duet huh?”

“Getting a little tired.”

“What?”

“Tired.” Maki shouted back, feeling her mood crash.

“Oh. Nico will give you that ride home, then.”

Maki nodded, and followed Nico back to the room. Honoka had pulled Umi and Kotori into a song, Tsubasa providing percussive accompaniment, and Nozomi was in Eli’s lap. Nico tapped Tsubasa on the shoulder and whispered something in her ear, Tsubasa giving her a thumb’s up and Maki waved goodbye to the group singing.

And then Nico was holding doors open, they were waiting for a valet, who appeared and handed Nico the keys to a sleek, red Porsche Boxter.

“They matched the color to Nico’s favorite lipstick.” Nico announced as she held Maki’s door open.

Maki didn’t know what to say and nodded as she slid into the seat.

“Address?”

“It’s along Lake Shore Drive, north of Evanston.”

“Good. She needs a long ride.”

Maki rolled the window down, her face was feeling hot, and her fingers easily found a twistable strand of hair.

Nico started the car and pulled out into traffic, “So you haven’t shown me any pictures of Dia. Rin showed me about 1000 pictures of Tora. Trying to get away from parenting for a night?”

Maki shrugged, “Babies are babies.”

Nico glanced at Maki. “But yours is the cutest, right?”

“Of course,” Maki relaxed a little. Driving with Lake Michigan on one side and the Chicago skyline on the other always soothed her nerves.

“I know a nice park for a picnic if you liked to bring Dia. Nico could make more of those cookies you had at the New Year’s party.”

“It’s a little cold for a picnic.”

Nico turned on the radio, “Do you mind?”

Maki shook her head.

“Have a favorite station?”

“I love listening to jazz and watching the city lights, especially in the rain.”

“Nico’s got jazz. Rain’ll have to wait for another night.” And Nico started fumbling with the radio dial. Maki reached out, her fingers covering Nico’s for a moment, and she tuned it to her favorite station.

“This is the best.”

“Nico will program it.”

Maki went back to staring out the window, at the darkness of the Lake as they sped up Lake Shore Drive.

“Maki?”

“Hmmmmm…”

“Do you not date?”

Suddenly Maki’s every nerve jangled and only the seatbelt kept her from catapulting forward, “I date...well, not right now, but I’ve dated...just women, but...and Dia’s not...but…” and Maki stalled, out of ideas and things to stumble over saying and mouth opening and closing and gasping for air and hands clenched and why did Rin have to go home early…

“Maki.” Nico’s voice was calm. “I’ve just been trying to ask you out and you don’t seem interested. So I will stop.”

There was silence. And then Maki said ‘Oh.”

“Nozomi told me you were going to be there tonight...and...you seemed really interesting...and Nico just wanted to hang out, maybe talk some. You’re very pretty.”

“Ummm…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

There was more silence and Nico humming along with the jazz.

“Dia likes cookies.” Maki started softly, her voice gaining confidence.”I told her about yours. She’s got this adorable coat that looks like a duck. A picnic might be fun, It’s not supposed to be too cold tomorrow.”

Nico handed Maki her phone, one hand still on the wheel, “Add yourself to Nico’s contacts and a whole bunch of gourmet, sure to be your daughter’s favorite cookies ever are coming into your life very soon.”

Maki laughed, “We’ll look forward to it.”

Nico sat up as she accelerated, still humming, Maki admiring the sharpness of her profile, Nico’s smile gleaming like a Venus near a crescent moon.

###

Maki’s phone went off as soon as she got inside the house. Text from Rin.

R: You didn’t tell me Nico was famous. Now Kayo-chin’s mad at us.

M: US?

R: US ʕง•ᴥ•ʔง

R: You know she loves A-Rise. And Tsubasa Kira’s their lead singer and she was there too. Kayo-chin’s thinks we’re idiots ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚.

R: Did you get home?

M: Yeah, Nico just dropped me off.

R: Ooohh, Kayo-chin’ll be less mad at us if you get Nico to give you some autigraphed swag or backstage passes

M: Hanayo shouldn’t be mad at you, Rin.

M: And I am not asking Nico that.

R: But she loves A-Rise.

M: Tell her I said to remind her she loves you.

R: It’s not that big a deal.

M: (¬_¬)

Maki shook her head. Rin had too little self esteem too often. She typed off a quick text to Hanayo.

M: We were having fun, not waiting in a fan line for you. Tell Rin you’re not mad.

No reply from either. Maki hoped they were having a conversation that would improve Rin’s mood. They had such a solid history and still hit bumps. Maki had never really made it past casual dating territory. The texts always trailed off and the follow up for a third or fourth date never happened. Maki would run into them at some charity event or the corridor of the hospital and hear muttered excuses about ‘busy.” As she started to frown, entering Dia’s room, her phone pinged again. A new number.

N: Hi, it’s Nico. Are you free tomorrow around 11 a.m.. Nico will pick you and Dia up ٩( ๑^ ꇴ^)۶

Maki closed Dia’s door and leaned against the hall wall, reading.

N: But Nico will need to borrow a car seat.

Maki smiled at the boldness, typing quickly.

M: Your car only has 2 seats. Convertibles are not child friendly.

N: My sister’s SUV is. Trust Nico. I practically raised my three siblings.

M: Did something happen to your parents?

N: My dad died before my brother was born.

M: Sorry.

N: Thanks. My mom coped really well, but Nico had to help out a lot.

Maki was an adult who voluntarily decided to raise a child. Having that responsibility as a teen…

M: Sounds tough.

N: They were good kids. Cocoa’s an elementary school teacher now.

M: What about the other two?

N: Cocoro runs my business and charity foundation, Cotaro just graduated with a degree in Fine Arts. He’s got a residency in Mexico studying sculpture.

N: Isn’t it late for you? ( ु⁎ᴗ_ᴗ⁎)ु.｡oO

M: I don’t sleep.

N: Does Dia?

M: Soundly. The nanny takes care of breakfast.

N: Oh.

M: I have a lot of overnight shifts.

N: That must be tiring.

M: Nah, world is usually quiet when I get home.

N: Quiet can be nice.

M: Yeah.

N: But Nico needs her beauty sleep. I have a date tomorrow.

M: Really?

N: (✿´ ꒳ ` )

M: Good night, Nico. I’ll see you tomorrow.

N: (｀∇´ゞ

Maki put her in her pocket and opened Dia’s door,

“Hi, bun. How was your night?”

Dia was, as she’d told Nico, soundly asleep, so Maki leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“We have a date tomorrow.” Maki whispered, surprised to hear it out loud.

She settled in the chair next to Dia’s crib. It was her favorite place to think. Would Dia like Nico? Maki liked Nico, would Dia be able to tell? Dia would get fussy when Maki was nervous so Maki was convinced that babies were occasionally portable extensions of parental emotions, like speakers. Maki closed her eyes, remembering Nico and Eli, mostly Nico, dancing around each other and the open part of the room, movements sure and sensual, so much good cheer in the glances and quick bumps they’d exchanged before they spun out to interact with everyone else in the room. And there was Nico prancing toward her, no attention for anything else in the room. It was a good memory.

###

Eli was sprawled across Nozomi, her blonde hair everywhere.They hadn’t had a night out together with friends and the twins away since before the holidays started. And Nico’s arrival had put Eli in a playful mood, one Nozomi was more than willing to indulge. Nozomi sat up, not disturbing Eli that much. Nico had also been in one of the least grumpy moods Nozomi had ever seen her out of public view, just enjoying the evening and the company, specifically Maki’s company. Nico was hot for a MILF. Nozomi giggled at the phrase. Nico would strangle her if she’d heard it. But of course, Nico wouldn’t be less interested because Maki had a child. Nico was the most family oriented person Nozomi had ever met. That was one of the strongest bonds between Nico and Eli, a joint understanding of how to be the best big sister. It was so cute. Nozomi couldn’t help leaning down to kiss Eli, who woke like Sleeping Beauty.

“Nontan?” Such long, delicate eyelashes.

“Just thinking how cute you and Nico were tonight.”

“Cute?” Eli’s eyebrow arched.

“Sexty cute.”

“Mmmm...better, but I’m sextier.” Eli nuzzled into Nozomi’s bosom.

“So much sextier…” Nozomi hugged her wife, “But isn’t it great how Nico and Maki hit it off.”

Nozomi could feel Eli shrug.

Nozomi continued. “Neither of them takes enough time for themselves.”

Since Nozomi was going to talk and not cuddle, Eli flopped on her back, staring at the ceiling. “So they probably won’t have time to date so you won’t have another couple’s romance to meddle in.”

“They look good together.”

“Okay. What’s the tl;dr?” Eli sighed, “I love Nico but I don’t want to discuss her in our bedroom. She’s got her own bed.”

“Sometimes Fate needs a push, especially if people are too busy to notice signs.” Nozomi seemed to be carrying on a conversation with herself, not altering its script whatever Eli replied.

“What signs?” Exasperated, Eli sat up, “What are you talking about, love?”

Nozomi shrugged, the roll of her bosom distracting Eli, “Nico wants a family, Maki has a family, maybe…” Nozomi giggled. It was a very specific giggle, one that Eli had learned to dread, because it meant Nozomi had “helped” Fate along somehow. And when Nico was involved, that usually meant that Eli was going to be shouted at in angry midget.

“What did you do?” Eli wrapped the sheet around herself.

Nozomi yawned dramatically, shaking her head, then lying down, head on pillow, turned away from Eli.

“I’ll find out, you know.”

A snore, totally faked.

“Zhizn’ ebet meya.” Eli muttered. Where would Nozomi have been able to give anything a push? Eli got out of bed, traded the sheet for Nozomi’s robe, and headed to the kitchen. She was going to need some tea.

A/N: Hi! I was in the mood for a Single Parent AU so here you are.

[crimefightingpigeons]

I’ve shared my head canon on how we go from Doomsday to Turn Left - your turn! What do you think happens??  - @loupettes

Welp i can confidently say it has been well over a week... but here is part 2 of my Dimension Cannon Rose story! Enjoy! 

part 1 A Brief Guide to Love and Defending the Universe 

2.

Once the realization of what was going on had sunk in, the real work began. Or at least the endless meetings did. Because even the immanent end of the world—no, wait, universe—no wait again, multiverse— was no match for a bloody meeting. But with everyone having their own opinion and no way of knowing who was right, things were getting out of hand.  

After extreme amounts of shouting, fighting, and overall chaos, though, a consensus was reached. They had determined the cause of this problem was happening in another world, so those people, that Torchwood, could deal with that. This Torchwood was going to put all its efforts into sealing off the trouble and keeping themselves safe. But Rose and Mickey knew better, and that night they went back to her flat to continue on.

“Can’t we just rebuild those jump devices?” Rose tried.

“I don’t know if those’d even work now with the void gone. ‘Sides everything from that got destroyed, would take us years to get it back to anything able to work,” Mickey refuted. Then trying himself, “what about time travel? What if we got somethin’ workin’ that could take us back to that day on the beach and at least warn the Doctor then?”

“We can’t cross our own timelines, Mickey, trust me, it’d only make things worse.”

After a night of going over and over through previously rejected and other seemingly impossible plans, the pair were ready to give in. But just in that moment, Rose got a call from Pete telling her to come over to the mansion with Mickey.

- - -

Pete Tyler, much to no one’s surprise, was not a stupid man. So when he noticed Rose’s change in attitude all those months ago, and saw piles of boxes in her old room through her accidentally cracked open door, and could see just how tired and worn down she (and later on Mickey) had become even through claims of doing nothing outside of work, he knew exactly what was going on. And he had decided to start a project of his own.

In the basement of the Tyler residence was every bit of research and equipment he had stored away and been working on from the dimension jumper project. And when Rose and Mickey saw it, their mouths properly gaped open.

“But I thought…” Mickey barely got out.

“That all this was lost? Being an ex-director of Torchwood has its perks, ya know,” Pete chuckled.

“But why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Rose asked, so completely stunned she wasn’t sure whether to be upset or not.

“I wanted to see if it would work… No use in gettin’ your hopes up if there wasn’t a reason,” he answered directly to Rose, then turning back to Mickey as well, “And then you lot just went off to Torchwood for help, as if that would do you any good! I always told you to come to me first, and I thought you’d have been smart enough to still do that. If you’d only given me another few days you’d never have had to go through all of those twats!”

“Wait so you’re saying it’s… operational?” Mickey walked around the console to investigate a bit further.

“Eh… more like pre-operational. I’ve gotten it to turn back on, but probably not much more. Mind you I haven’t exactly had anyone to test it out—” then turning back to Rose, because he knew exactly what she was about to say, “—and we’re not sending anyone through until we’re as sure as we can be its safe.”

After a brief pause of thought, Rose joined back in. “But without Torchwood, how’re we gonna do this. I mean, this is gonna need a lotta work, and we don’t exactly have the means to get it done all on our own.”

Pete smiled at his daughter. “You leave that to me. Have I mentioned the ex-director thing, yet? Got a handful of favors waitin’ for me all around the world. Figure it’s about time I cash ‘em in.”

- - -

The next year went by in a whirlwind.

Keeping his word, Pete had gathered enough resources by the very next day for the real real work to begin. Rose and Mickey continued going back and forth between work at the mansion and Torchwood with plans of phasing out the latter slowly, so to keep suspicions at bay. And Jake had eagerly joined as the official inside man on all upper level Torchwood dealings. It was exhausting, it was difficult, it was frustrating, it was impossible. But it had to be done.

Out of everyone, Rose was surely the most desperate to succeed. There wasn’t a single work session she missed or even a tiny aspect of the project she wasn’t actively involved in. Even when they were at a stand still, she would refuse to stop. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been home, couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent more than five minutes with Jackie or Tony, couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done anything but work. But none of that mattered. She had a multiverse to save… and a Doctor to get back to.

Half a year in and hundreds of destroyed testing fruits later, success had finally arrived: they were ready for the first stage of human testing on the newly named dimension cannon. Rose was of course the first to volunteer as guinea pig, but Pete and Mickey quickly nixed that. She had been the most brilliant one in the room these past months, and if anything happened to her there was a good chance the project wouldn’t make it to the next stage in time. They considered recruiting a Torchwood grunt, but that idea was pretty much chucked out the same moment it was spoken. In the end, Mickey volunteered to do the job.

Mickey stepped onto the platform, looking down at a solemn Rose. “See you in Hell,” he smiled and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Pete entered the coordinates into the console, the countdown started, the cannon powered up, the bright light filled the room, and with a loud boom, Mickey was gone.

And then he was back! Just a few feet away on the other side of the room.

“Miss me?” he smiled again.

Rose grinned back. Not only was Mickey alright, but the cannon worked! Sure it wasn’t enough to get them outside the basement, let alone the universe, but that wasn’t important right now. Rose’s mind was flooded with pure joy, and she let that feeling glow inside her for one beautiful moment before getting back to work.

With each week that passed by, the cannon was only becoming more successful. A few weeks after their first shift, they could transport themselves to the other side of the world. And a month after that, it could take them to another planet entirely. It was enough to make Rose cry, standing on a new planet once again. She took the few moments she had there to genuinely enjoy the ground beneath her feet. For all their progress, though, they knew it was the next part that would be the hardest. Jumping within your own universe was one thing, but actually getting to another… Again, they were at an impossible impasse. But they kept going.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and all they had to show for it was more scorched tester fruits. And now after so much failure, everyone was starting to get to the end of their ropes. The stars had been going out for some time now, and the world around them was just beginning to decay into madness. According to Jake, even Torchwood was out of real ideas. Rose, Mickey, and Pete knew time was running out sooner rather than later, and that they were everyone’s last hope. It had understandably turned stress levels to high and patience to zero. And that was before they even accounted for their extreme exhaustion.

Then one night, one beautiful night, something finally went right. Rose was the only one in the basement, just tinkering around. And then there was a warm little feeling in the back of her mind telling her to take a chance… so she did. She sent the fruit through the cannon and— it disappeared. But it wasn’t just gone, according to every piece of information the console was spitting out it was in another world! For a moment Rose could only stand there, mouth gaped open. She looked around, ready to celebrate with someone until she remembered she was all alone.

Then, her mind coming back to her, she frantically powered the cannon up again and brought it back. Rose hesitated for just a moment, then moved towards it. She held the pineapple in her hand. It hadn’t exploded or caught fire, its DNA was still perfectly in-tact. It had gone through the cannon and into another universe and then came back completely unscathed! And that was all the proof she needed.

Rose sped back over to the console and started inputting information. Every shift required someone standing by the console to activate the cannon to send the subject off and then reactivate it to bring them back. But Rose had a trick up her sleeve. Near the start of the project, she had secretly installed an automatic pilot protocol, meaning she could send herself off and then the console would automatically bring her back a few minutes later. She knew Pete and Mickey would be upset with her the moment they found out what she’d done, knew it probably wasn’t the smartest decision she’d ever make in her life, but she didn’t care. With one last flip of a switch, she ran over and hopped up onto the platform, closed her eyes, and within one deep breath, she felt the cannon working around her. There was brightness, loud banging, the world shifting all around her and then��

Everything was still. She felt a gentle breeze stroke against her cheek, heard something like squawking in the distance. Rose opened her eyes to a purple sky in a field of tall, fiery red grass. She smiled.

“Doctor, I’m comin’ to get you.”

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex​

*****

Chapter Two

The kitchen was teeming with heat when Isla walked in. Everyone’s eyes flickered towards her, leaving her feeling very much like a prized Miltank on show. Heat crept into her cheeks. She glanced around, trying to find somewhere to let her gaze settle. Skye and Blair were working through plates of pancakes. Kenneth leaned against the countertop sipping black coffee. Rhona had her sleeves rolled up and was tending to something on the stove. Anxiety spiked in her chest. Discounting Nana Morag, she was the last one up.

“Good morning!” Isla said, trying to inject cheer into her voice.

Rhona turned around to face her. “Good morning, chick!”

She was smiling. Good. At least Isla knew she hadn’t committed some unspeakable faux pas before it even turned ten in the morning.

“Have a seat,” Rhona continued. “Do you want tea? Breakfast? It’s just pancakes today, so I hope you like them.”

What kind of world did she live in where home-made pancakes were “just pancakes”? Rhona obviously didn’t get enough appreciation. “I love them! And tea would be grand, thank you.”

“Help yourself, there’s some in the pot.”

A fat teapot sat in the middle of the table with a brown tea cosy pulled around it. Fixed with a pair of floppy wings and a crocheted head, the Pokemon it was supposed to represent looked like a fatter, happier version of Rhona’s Ruchter. Isla sploshed milk into her tea from a jug that looked suspiciously like a Miltank and loaded it with sugar, the first sip sending a pleasant, energising warmth through her.

The tea worked its magic on Isla, but everyone else looked pale and withdrawn, like they’d woken up on low battery. Isla sipped her tea and battled between two impulses that both felt equally rude.

Eventually, she settled on, “Is there anything I can help you with today? Like around the croft or… or anything?”

Blair leant back into his chair and stretched. “It’s all done,” he said. Something in his back popped, the noise like a gun going off.

Isla blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. We start at six.”

“In the morning?”

Everyone stopped. Kenneth’s eyes found Isla’s over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I just didn’t… hear anything.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to help out with anything,” Rhona said kindly. “And we didn’t want to wake you either. Especially with last night’s storm. We’re used to it here, but it can be quite distracting for folks not local.”

Isla had almost forgotten about the storm. The mention sent the image of the child from last night flashing into her head like the sear of a lightbulb. Her fingers tightened around her mug of tea. “Yeah,” she heard her voice waver. “The thunder and lightning were something else.”

Rhona’s eyebrows creased. “Thunder and lightning?”

“Yeah,” Isla said. Then she saw everyone else’s expression. “You guys didn’t hear it? It was like… It was like the world was coming to an end out there.”

They all returned blank looks.

“Well, did you guys notice the power going off?” Isla tried. “About 3am, I think it was.”

“I was asleep,” Skye said, spearing her pancakes and oozing sauce all over the table.

“So was I,” Rhona said, and Kenneth nodded his agreement. Isla was beginning to wonder if that man ever spoke.

Everyone looked at Blair, who bristled under their stares.

“I don’t remember the power going off,” he said, swilling the liquid in his mug. It smelled bitter and strong. Black coffee. No wonder.

“Then you didn’t see the—” Isla stopped herself. What would they think if she told them what she saw? She wasn’t even sure she knew what it was. Something deep inside her told her to hang onto it. At least for now. At least until she could do some further research.

Luckily, her trailing off went unnoticed as Rhona put a plate of pancakes down in front of her. She busied herself adding sugar and a squeeze of lemon as conversation slowly resumed around the kitchen table.

“So what’s on your agenda today, Isla?” Rhona asked, sitting down heavily in the spare chair.

“I’d like to get started on my research,” Isla replied, her mouth full of soft, fluffy pancake. “I brought some books and copies of old script with me, so I’d like to start organising my thoughts and think about what I’d like to tackle first.”

The others nodded politely as Isla explained her plans. Kenneth was the first to leave, dumping his coffee mug in the sink and ducking outside. Isla saw him lumbering towards the field of Wooloo in the distance a few moments later. After that, the rest of the family moved off like falling dominoes, until it was only Rhona and Isla left at the table.

“You’ll need the Wi-Fi password,” Rhona said, tearing off a strip of paper. “You might have a couple of wee connection issues since you’re a bit far away from the router, but you can always come down and work in the living room if you need to. Here,” she handed Isla the paper with the code. “We’ll try keep out of your way. We’ll be out working on the croft for a bit. Skye’s got some work to do in her room, but she should give you peace. Oh, and help yourself to anything you like from the fridge. Lunch will be about 1 o’clock. I’ll shout you down or I can take something up to you if you like?”

“It’s okay, Rhona,” Isla interrupted gently. “You’re doing so much for me at as it is. I’ll come down for lunch. I’ll probably need the distraction,” she paused. “Thank you, Rhona. I mean it.”

“It’s okay, chick. We’re family. That’s what we do.”

With that, Rhona headed out, leaving Isla standing in the kitchen, fighting a lump the size of a walnut in her throat. A minute to compose herself and she turned with renewed determination towards the stairs.

Back in her room, with the door shut against the world, she let out a long, slow sigh. The bedroom wasn’t the best as far as study spaces went. It was pretty small for a start. And like everything else in the house, it was cluttered and claustrophobic. But it was welcomely cool after the humid heat of the kitchen and after taking ten minutes to straighten up her things and clear the desk of all the tat and mess, she was starting to see its potential as a working space.

Isla unearthed her laptop from under a pile of clothes and plugged it in. As it chuntered into life, she released Soba, who curled herself up into a tight ball on the rumpled bedclothes. The WiFi was a bit dodgy as Rhona had fretted, but it was serviceable. As long as it didn’t drop entirely whenever she’d have to have a video call with the university department, she’d be fine.  

For the first ten minutes, she picked between a handful of internet tabs tuned to information she’d found vaguely useful in the initial research stage. Now that she was supposed to actually make sense of it all and turn it into something halfway presentable, it was like her brain had stalled entirely.

No, she told herself. She wouldn’t be beaten. She clicked open a new Word document and started to type.

To Do For Thesis:

Get translations for Kildonian Chessmen texts

Interview locals about legends

Find, research, and visit rumoured Chessmen resting places

Research divide in Kildonian population (Vitalities?)

 She paused, then added in:

Find out what was in the garden on the night of the storm.

**

A knock at the bedroom door startled her. Soba’s ears pricked up as Isla dragged herself back to reality. What was the time? She glanced at the clock. Nearly midday. Almost three hours had gone by no quicker than a blink as she clicked through research articles and flicked through books.

Scrambling to her feet, she answered the door to Nana Morag’s lined face. She was smiling, in a sort of mischievous way, one side of the mouth curved more upwards than the other.

“Heard you had a little powercut last night,” she said, conspiringly.

“Yeah,” Isla rubbed the back of her neck. “I think it must have skipped the rest of the house though. Or… or maybe it was just my imagination.”

“You think so?”

“I mean, it could have been,” Isla said, half-wondering why she was trying to rationalise it. “I was pretty tired. My mind could have been playing tricks on me.”

“Hm,” Nana Morag didn’t sound convinced. She glanced back down the hallway, before taking a step closer. “Isla, have you heard of Basinish Island?” When Isla shook her head, Nana Morag’s whole face illuminated. “Basinish Island is a small, abandoned island off the coast of Port Glen. About three or four miles…. that direction,” she pointed over Isla’s shoulder, past the window and towards the tracing-paper grey sky. “Legend has it that you can walk there and back from Port Glen on days when the tide goes out. Of course, no-one ever tries. It’s very dangerous.”

“Okay,” Isla said, wondering exactly what Nana Morag was getting at. “What does this have to do with—”

“There’s rumours that Voltean – the Electric Vitality – lives out that way. Of course, it’s never been proven,” she said, in an off-hand way like she was telling Isla the brands of cereal in the cupboards. “But I thought you might like to read about them in this.”

Nana Morag pressed a thick hardback book into Isla’s hands.

“This is an old text,” Nana Morag continued. “There are some newer edits now, but I think you still might find it relevant. Especially for your research. It’s translated, so it might read a little funny. But there should be plenty there to keep you occupied.”

Isla looked through the book in awe. Pages of intricate illustrations and small, looped writing teased her from within. She could barely get her words out to thank Nana Morag. Soba purred and chirruped from the bed in appreciation.

“Nana Morag, thank you so much. I’ll take really good care of it. I promise.”

“Not to worry, Isla. You seem to have your head screwed on tight. If there’s anything in there you need some help with decoding, you let me know and I’ll try and help.”

“That would be wonderful. I was actually wondering if I could ask another favour of you,” Isla said, feeling opportunity shoulder its way in. “I have some old translations about the Kildonian Chessmen and I need some help translating them. Could you help?”

“I can do one better,” Nana Morag said. “Come along to my class this afternoon. I teach the young ones how to read and write the old language. I find there’s so much more meaning in having done the work myself. Don’t you agree?”

The expectation trickled down Isla’s back like a sliver of ice. Would she have the time to learn for something like that? Surely it would only take a couple of hours, tops, for someone to translate the documents rather than possible weeks to learn even the basics of an entire ancient language? It didn’t seem like a good trade off. But Nana Morag had already been so kind to her. And there was no telling how she’d react if she refused. Maybe if she showed willing now, Nana Morag would be more flexible later.

Isla clutched the book to her chest. “When does it start?”

“I’ll be leaving now,” Nana Morag said, her eyes gleaming.

“Alright,” Isla nodded. “I’m with you.”

**

Nana Morag lead Isla towards a small community centre, off a narrow lane from the high street. The whole area was residential, cluttered with redbrick terraces and full of people going around their daily business even with the biting wind and the overhanging threat of rain. Nana Morag was stopped nearly a dozen times by passers-by, each one making the same guarded enquiries about Isla, wondering who she “belonged to”. Isla couldn’t tell if they were pleased or not when Nana Morag explained they were family.

The classroom was perfect for children, bright, colourful, and visually appealing, but its cheery theme did little to soften the sharp edges of anxiety in Isla’s stomach. It spiked even more when she sat down, on a too-small chair that creaked every time she even considered moving.

Nana Morag didn’t call attention to Isla when the children came in for her class, which she was eternally grateful for. Along with the rest of the children, she was given an easy-reader book in Old Kildonian, a language heavy with vowels and punctuated with strange looping symbols. There was also a sheet of paper, typed in large print, with what looked like an alphabet and a few short words paired with an English equivalent. Isla stared at them until her eyes went blurry. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her mouth contort itself to make those noises. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The words were simple. Too simple. Words for “Mum”, “Dad”, “good”, “nice”, “friend”, and other twee phrases ran through her head. Not even a full sentence. Not even “Mum is nice”, “my friend is good”, just words, scattered over the page as if they were plucked from the ether. How would this help her? How could she translate complicated archaic documents with these basics?

The class hadn’t even started yet. Nana Morag was still talking to a parent while the children shouted and ran around the tables, obviously too overstimulated even before the lesson began. And Isla was spiralling. She could feel it percolating within her. As her breath raced out, she tried to clear her head.

This wouldn’t do. It couldn’t. Even if she attended one of these classes every day for a month, she’d be nowhere near ready to decode the Chessmen documents herself. She didn’t have that time to waste. The exhibition in Hydrogate opened in three weeks and she still had most of the region to see. Places to go. People to interview. Legends to find. She just couldn’t do it.

A blip pinged her phone, making her jump. While Nana Morag’s back was turned, still in conversation, Isla slid it out of her pocket and looked at it under the table.

Isla,

The Anthropology Department is concerned that you have not yet been in touch to update on your project. As such, we are writing to inform you that we have arranged a video conference with you at 1pm Johto Standard Time in two days’ time. Please follow the link below to attend your slot.

The department would like you to prepare a short presentation to highlight your progress as part of the video conference.

Please also remember you must submit proof of your passage to the Kildo region as evidence.

Regards,

           Prof F. S. Gardener

Isla could only stare numbly at the email for the first few minutes. Slowly, heat crept into her face. Anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. How dare they? How dare they talk to her like that? The condescending attitude dripped off the words like hot grease from a searing grill. They wanted a presentation? In two days? It couldn’t be done.

At least, not while she allowed her time to be wasted.

**

Nana Morag looked disappointed, but said she understood when Isla explained that something had come up that meant she had to leave early. It didn’t make her feel better.

Outside the community centre, she sat on the nearest bench and took large lungfuls of crisp, cool air until the anger and anxiety gurgling in her stomach finally ebbed away. She cast a guilty look back at the door. Hopefully Nana Morag would forgive her.

It would take nearly half an hour to walk back to the house. Plenty of time to think about what direction to take the presentation. Even as she thought about it, her mind unspooled ideas. She could look through the book Nana Morag gave her, cite the conversation they’d had about the Vitalities, maybe ask Rhona and the family for any other stories they had. She could do this. She could pull this together. She’d show that professor exactly what she was made of.

Just as she pushed herself to her feet, something thudded to the ground. Isla froze, her concentration shattered. Her hand sought the familiar Pokeball hanging at her waist and she rolled her fingertips across its keenly smoothed surface. Something crept into the corner of her peripheral vision. A dull, murky, red-brown shape, a rusted stain on the greenery encroaching the community centre. Her stomach tightened. Nausea crept up her throat and she had to fight a sudden, violent urge to vomit.

When the nausea passed, and the world faded back in, a noise trembled through the earth under her feet. A low rumbling whinny followed by the steady, echoing beat of hooves.

 Isla called Soba out. It was an unwelcome return to reality. She was in a new region with strange new Pokemon and she hadn’t even taken five minutes to look at the kinds of creatures that lived in the area. If there was something there that could hurt her, then she was playing a dangerous game. Could she even defend herself?

She should ignore it, she reasoned. Ignore it and head back to the croft. Wild Pokemon attacks on humans weren’t common, especially in fairly urban areas, but something still spurred her into action. Sweat stood out on her brow as she circled the Community Centre, Soba in pursuit.

There was nothing there. No people. No Pokemon. The only thing that stood out was a patch of disturbed grass by the window that looked into Nana Morag’s classroom. A line of hoofprints sunk into the long, leafy fronds, each one fringed with thin purple liquid. .

Soba coughed and retched.

“Easy, girl,” Isla returned Soba to her Pokeball. The last thing she needed was for her only Pokemon to become unwell. That would just be the rotten cherry on the top of the already disgusting cake.

She took one last cautionary glance around the area. Leaves trembled in the trees. Cars sloped down the road. Children played in a park down the street, their voices carrying over a thin, brisk wind.

When she looked down at the prints again, the strange liquid was gone.

**

Back at home, Isla shut herself back in the tiny room, opened her laptop, and focused. Hours fell away. Daylight morphed into darkness. All Isla knew was the tapping of keys and the pages of books stiff with bookmarks and post-it notes.

She was turning over into a new chapter – The Shifting Traditions – when her stomach gurgled, lifting her out of her study induced stupor. What time was it? It had gotten dark without her even noticing. She groped for the desk light and clicked it on, the room touched by a jaundiced yellow light.

The clock flashed back; 18:47.

She didn’t want to seem presumptuous. Running a croft with only a few family members must have been tough. She could imagine it was the kind of work that never had a clear end goal, that there was always something that needed done. And she’d only been here a full day. She didn’t know their routines yet. Maybe they were a late dinner type of family. And she definitely didn’t want to pressure anyone. But it was very late now. She hadn’t eaten any lunch. And there hadn’t been any noises in the house for hours.

Downstairs, every room was draped in darkness. Isla felt around for the light switches, but the unfamiliar walls wouldn’t give up their secrets, and she clattering through the house like a particularly ungraceful Hippopotas. It confirmed one thing. There was nobody home.

Panic rose in her chest as she picked her way towards the windows, hoping that she could let some light in via the curtains. I

With a bang, the door opened, bounced off the wall, and light spilled into the room. Rhona stood in the hallway, shelling herself from a puffy jacket.

“Rhona?” Isla squeaked.

“Oh, gosh! Isla!” Rhona’s hand flew to her chest, her skin translucent. “Chick, why were you standing there in the dark?”

“I couldn’t find the light switch,” she said lamely. “I’d been upstairs, and I got a bit worried I hadn’t heard anything down here for a while.”

“Oh, God. You didn’t get the message?”

“What message?”

“Kenneth sent Drambark to the house with it,” Rhona said, hanging up her coat.

Isla wasn’t sure exactly what a Drambark was, but she didn’t think now was the right time to ask. “I didn’t get anything, sorry. What’s happened?”

“It’s Nana Morag, chick. She came over very ill just before she finished her class. She was taken to hospital.”

“Hospital?!” Isla gasped.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, but she’s okay, she’s stable and responsive. They’re keeping her in overnight, but I think it’s just as a precaution.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“They don’t know yet. They were running tests when I left.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Isla stammered. “I should have stayed with her.”

The look in Rhona’s eyes became sharp and probing. “Yes, why did you leave? I thought you wanted to learn about the language.”

“I do, but…” Isla heaved a sigh. “I got an email from my course supervisor when I was in the class telling me I have to do a presentation for them. In two days. About the progress I’ve made in the project. And I haven’t… I haven’t had much progress yet because I’ve only just got here. So I panicked and came back here to start working on that immediately because… well, if I don’t jump through their hoops, they’ll pull approval on the project.”

Rhona nodded the whole time Isla spoke. “Och, chick, maybe it’s for the better that you didn’t stay.”

Isla frowned. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t just Nana Morag who became ill. Everyone attending that class did.”

[withabackpackandcamera]

March 26th, 2021

Day 3: The Long Reverse Hike at Haleakala National Park Sandwiched Between Sunrise and Sunset

Man do I dislike waking up in the wee hours of the morning before the sun is even close to rising… But it was something that I had to endure today in order to view one of the gems of Maui (a gem that supposedly only 50 private parties of people can enjoy a day (probably excluding tour company groups)): sunrise at the summit of Haleakala Crater.

Because sunrise was scheduled for 6:20am or so, we had set our alarms for 4:00am with the goal of leaving the AirBnB at 4:30am. We ended up getting out of there around 4:45amafter cleaning up and checking out. The drive out to Haleakala National Park was supposed to take about an hour given the dark, windy, switchback roads that we had to drive up but luckily, the drive was smooth and without issue, and we arrived at the national park gate entrance at around 5:45am. 

We thought we were good on time with that arrival time but little did we know that there was still quite a bit of a slow, windy drive left to get to the actual summit from the entrance gate. And that sunrise was quickly approaching with the sky slowly lighting up over us. Nervous that we might actually miss the sunrise, I charged up the mountain to the summit, zooming through curves while racing down the straight parts of the road. Eventually, I had to make a decision on where to view the sunrise since I was presented with two options along the route: the Visitors Center or Red Hill (or Pu'u'ula'ula). Not knowing which one provided the best vantage point and view of the sunrise (since I didn’t do my research ahead of time), I decided to drive up to the very top of the summit at Red Hill, located at 10,023 feet above sea level, to view the sunrise and got to the parking lot about ten minutes or so before the spectacle was scheduled to happen. 

I jumped out of the car after parking and ran up to a spot on the hill where I saw some others standing and planted my tripod on the ground and set up for the sunrise shot I was hoping to capture. The scene around us was beautiful. A red-colored rocky landscape with a road winding down the slopes in front of us. Haleakala Crater with its jagged rim backlit by the ever-brightening sky behind it underneath which sat a rug of clouds blanketing the ocean views beneath it. Soon enough, Cynthia and I and the rest of the crowd around us spotted the bright orange ball of a sun rising past the horizon of clouds and peeking at us from a distance. As the sun slowly rose in the sky, it created a gorgeous scene of warm lights and shadows that didn’t last as long as I wished it had. 

After enjoying the sunrise views from the summit, we quickly drove down to the Visitors Center below to enjoy what was left of sunrise. The view down there wasn’t great by the time we made it to the rim of the crater and before long, the sun was high in the sky and the sunrise event was over. It was time to pack up the camera and get ready for the long hike ahead. We headed back to the car to prepare for the Sliding Sands Trail we were going to hike today. We quickly ate some leftovers we had for breakfast and changed and packed everything we needed for the long day ahead of us. Once comfortable and ready to go, we started our hike around 7:30am. 

The Sliding Sands Trail, also known as Keonehe’ehe’e) is an 11 mile out-and-back hike that starts (instead of ends) at an altitude of 9,802 feet and descends into the Haleakala Crater to a nadir of 7,225 feet before you turn back around to hike back to where you started. Our goal for the day was to make it all the way to the bottom and complete the entire trail, which would eventually lead us to Mapalaoa Cabin, a rest cabin located about 2 miles past the slopes we were to hike down. 

Though the sun was out, the day started off a bit windy and cool. We slowly snaked our way down on the rusty red-brown, sandy and rocky path, taking time to appreciate the very unique and colorful scenery around us. We observed the beautiful and threatened species of Haleakala silverswords as we climbed down the slopes and saw, from a distance, the dark black cinder cones rising from the ground of the crater below. 

As we climbed further and further into the crater, the wind died down and the temperatures progressively warmed. Once we hit level ground, we walked another 1.7 miles on a sandy trail into the middle of the crater where we would be greeted by the Mapalaoa Cabin. By this time, we hadn’t run into too many people, just two other parties that had already made their way down to this area. And we were the third party as far as we knew. Because of all the beautiful scenes I had to stop at and photograph, it took us about 3h20m to get to Mapalaoa Cabin, and, by that point, Cynthia was spent and completely over it. I was hoping that we would have enough energy for both of us to hike a loop around the cinder cones in the crater back toward the slopes we descended earlier but because of the hotter weather conditions and how tired Cynthia was from the climb down (and because of the altitude we were hiking at), we decided to forego the loop and just do an out-and-back. 

We stuck around the cabin area for a bit and took our lunch/snack break there at a picnic table outside for about 40 minutes to rest our legs and our lungs before getting right back at it. Usually, the hike back to the beginning is downhill (usually down a mountain) and much easier than the hike in. However, this hike was completely reversed and the hardest part was definitely the hike back at altitude. So, step by step, Cynthia and I hiked back through the desert-like crater and up the side of the crater to where we started. And it was a long hike up, because of both my heavy camera bag and my weary legs. At some point on the ascent, I started feeling discomfort at the top of my right calf muscle that slowly got worse as I climbed. A calf strain at the worst possible time. But I trudged on at my own pace and Cynthia did the same at her own pace as well. We passed people but many parties passed us as well. But it was fine because hiking up slowly was the best thing we could do for ourselves to get back to the top and to avoid any altitude sickness that might hit us as a result of hiking uphill to 10,000 feet. We took frequent breaks, drank a lot of fluids, and ate a lot of snacks, which helped energize us on our slow march to the top. I personally made a ton of stops on the way up because by this point in the early afternoon, the sun’s position in the sky had changed for the better, and the colorful center of the crater was perfectly lit for photos. And I took a ton of them (and probably too many) on the way up!

Eventually, Cynthia and I made it back to the top! For a roundtrip total of 8h45m! What a champ Cynthia was! The hardest hike she’s ever done and she did it with only some exhaustion but otherwise crushed it! With our legs feeling like jelly, we took a little break and just sat in the warm car and chilled. After a few minutes, we moved the car to the summit parking lot where we hung out until sunset. Originally, we weren’t sure we were going to stick around for sunset due to our exhaustion but we ultimately decided that we might as well stay to see the sun’s descent. 

After finding some data in the area to use, I found that the best spot to view sunset at Haleakala was actually where we were situated. So we stuck around Red Hill and checked out the surrounding views of the crater and the observatory below. With an hour until sunset, I grabbed my photography equipment and scouted out a spot along the western side of the hill where others were starting to camp out and made myself comfortable. From my seat on the rocky volcanic ground, I could see not only the Maui landscape far below as the sun was setting on it but also the mountains in the distance and the blanket-like cloud cover all around. 

Shortly after setting up, Cynthia joined me for sunset and after waiting an hour, we enjoyed a beautiful view of the sun as it dipped below the blanket of clouds at 6:38pm. I stayed around in the cool evening weather taking photos until the colors of the sunset were essentially gone. Because it was going to take a little more than an hour to drive to West Maui, I didn’t stay to take photos for long and returned to the car to start our drive as the darkness began to fall.  We eventually made it to Ka’anapali Beach in West Maui where we picked up takeout dinner (Kalua Pork Tacos, Coconut Shrimp, and a Cheeseburger with Fries) from the very popular Leilani’s on the Beach restaurant to bring back to the Royal Lahaina Resort and Spa, our home for the next three days. 

After checking in to our resort, we moved up to our room and finished our dinner in the room after cleaning up and reorganizing ourselves. Because of how tired we were from the long day (and how sore my strained gastrocnemius was from the hike), we called it a night relatively early without doing much else after dinner. Now begins the chill part of the vacation! Looking forward to a chiller day tomorrow! 

5 Things I Learned/Observed Today:

1. Beware of how you time your drive up to Haleakala Summit for sunrise. There is a significant drive, around 20 minutes, that your GPS does not account for from the national park entrance to the summit itself. So plan accordingly or you’ll be late and miss the sunrise. 

2. Haleakala is a shield volcano that created about 75% of Maui. Crazy! 

3. The endangered Haleakala silverswords are pretty cool and pretty weird! Based on what I observed from the plants, it looks like the silversword has various stages of life that it evolves through. By looking around the crater landscape, you might be able to hypothesize the life cycle of the silversword and make a guess as to which form leads to which other form and how it all ties together. A fun biology thought experiment. Also, interestingly enough, the silversword has a dense covering of silvery hairs that help the plant to conserve moisture and protect the plant from high-elevation sun.

4. Even though sunrise is pretty cool to see at Haleakala summit, the beauty of the crater itself is difficult to appreciate at that time due to the harsh shadows created by the morning sun’s backlight. However, as the sun moves across the morning and afternoon sky, the lighting gets better and better. By the mid to late afternoon, you get a much better view of the beautifully colorful Haleakala Crater that is now well- and evenly-lit.  

5. The highest point on Maui, Haleakala Summit, was the perfect place to build an observatory because the area is situated above the clouds, leaving a clear and dry atmosphere, as well as minimal air and light pollution. The observatory’s position provides perfect conditions for viewing the stars and the heavens. Based on what I read, the site provides the fourth-best viewing conditions on the planet! 

[kmsherrard]

In praise of roller coaster rides

“...the thousand concurring accidents of such an audacious enterprise….”

-Herman Melville, Moby Dick

Despite what teachers of high school science classes solemnly intone, this business of doing science is the least straightforward endeavor that can possibly be imagined. This was brought home to me in a series of unfortunate events that unfolded this week.

At first, it seemed to be that rare triumph where my simple test of a straightforward prediction actually yielded a clear positive result, instead of the more typical back-to-the-drawing board head-scratcher. If this were a story, that the protagonist was a protein named Diaphanous could serve as a hint that the plot would not prove as solid as one might hope. (Like many genes first discovered in fruit flies, Diaphanous evokes the appearance of animals lacking a functional version of that protein).

The backstory: Lately, my research has been on how stress fibers remodel  to accommodate the movements of migrating cells. But as I work on cells in intact tissues, namely the rind of follicular cells that envelops the developing cluster of cells that give rise to a fruit fly egg, I like to consider the natural experiments that unfold in the course of normal development. For example, these follicle cells migrate for a time, going round and round like hamsters running on a wheel, but then they stop and do other things, like flatten out and secrete the eggshell. They still have stress fibers—these are long contractile bundles of a similar composition to muscle, that help attach the cells to the fibrous surface outside them. But these later-stage stress fibers are much stouter and of somewhat different composition.

I had already established that the stress fibers in the migrating cells depend on an unusual partner, amusingly called DAAM, to form. The more typical protein to help build stress fibers is DAAM’s cousin Diaphanous, but I’d done experiments depleting Diaphanous that clearly showed it was not needed in this case. When I depleted DAAM, though, the stress fibers got really wispy. Oddly enough, I’d noticed that in the much later stages, after the cells stopped migrating, had stress fibers unaffected by loss of DAAM.

So the experiment I wanted to do next was to deplete Diaphanous in the later stages. This was not completely straightforward to execute, though, because I had to avoid depleting it too early. I’d already seen that this caused cells to have trouble with their normal round of cell divisions. It’s a common problem in this sort of work that it can be harder to study later processes if you mess things up before they have begun to happen. The solution makes use of the dazzling array of tissue-specific drivers of gene expression that have been invented for fruit flies. They allow you to drive expression of a gene at specific times and places, targeting particular processes you want to study. To keep a gene from being expressed, you can use something called RNAi, which basically makes a cell chop up the instructions for making a protein sent from the DNA so that protein does not get produced.

In short, I needed a driver that acted late in the follicle cells but not early. Our lab did not have such a driver, since we study the earlier stages. But we’d read a paper with some very clever experiments that made use of just such a late driver, one called Cy2. We requested the fly stock from one of the paper’s authors and she promptly mailed it off to us. Fly researchers are awesomely generous. It’s a tradition that goes back to the earliest days of the field over a century ago to share reagents this way.

Chapter the First: Quarantine. The flies arrived and had to be put in quarantine, out of an abundance of caution concerning the possible introduction of mites into our hundreds of lab stocks. In practice, this consists of isolating the vials on the top of the lab refrigerator. All stocks that arrive from elsewhere must be taken through quarantine, save those from the renowned and very reliably mite-free Bloomington stock center. It meant a delay to the start of my planned experiment, until I could obtain 3rd instar larvae and wash them, a rather amusing exercise on which I have previously posted.

So there the flies sat, two healthy vials with clearly written labels: Cy2/(Cyo); Dr/TM6b. This cryptic shorthand conveyed that along with the driver I’d asked for, the flies conveniently included markers on another chromosome, in case I wanted to build more things into the stock. Annoyingly, they were all senescent adults and developing pupal cases—ideal for surviving the mailing process, but the worst possible stage of colony development for obtaining sufficient larvae for my purposes. I would have to wait several weeks for the new generation to produce larvae I could wash.

In pre-covid times, I could have done the cross right away with existing males, dissecting the offspring on a quarantine-use microscope belonging to a neighboring lab. Normally we share a lot of equipment freely in our department. But the physical distancing requirements have temporarily stopped that sort of thing. And we can’t risk getting mites onto the equipment we use for all our normal work.

To shorten the waiting time (a frequent concern of fruit fly researchers, especially I would think those of us who work on adult rather than embryonic or larval structures, meaning our crosses must extend to the full 10+ days of development time beyond any stock-building that precedes it), I planned to wash enough larvae to siphon off a number of males for the experimental cross. To that end, I also began “blowing up” the stocks I would obtain the females from; I could virgin them ahead of time and have them all ready to go as soon as their husbands emerged from their pupal cases.

When you’re waiting to wash a quarantine stock, impatient for the experiment to begin, they seem to take longer to develop, much like a watched pot. The stock contained the mutation Tubby, which makes for shorter flies but a longer developmental time, so that was part of it. Also room temperature (on top of the fridge) slows development compared to the flies’ optimal temperature of 25 C (that’s 77 to your Fahrenheiters...and to be honest, most of us American scientists are very compartmentalized in their understanding of Celsius; outside of the lab context we speak it no better than the average U.S. citizen). So far, then, the slowness makes sense both physical and psychological. But why the quarantined flies should always produce their burst of 3rd instar larvae on a weekend day, and on the one weekend day I don’t pop into the lab, is more puzzling. But it is the rule, I have found.

I wasn’t going to let it happen this time. I watched them like a hawk (a mosquito hawk?) and sure enough, it was a Sunday when all the larvae began to wander. Wandering larvae is the other, more romantic name for the 3rd instar of Drosophila melanogaster, because they have at last eaten their fill of the mushy rotten fruit they have been burrowing through, and there is nothing else for them to do but come out into the light and air and begin to claim their inheritance as winged creatures of the sky. First, though, they must choose a spot in which to prepare their new bodies. Here in that lab, they climb around on the clean walls of the vial, above the caramel-colored dollop of food, fat, juicy larvae as big as a good-sized grain of rice, big enough to grasp gently in forceps and take through the three ritual baths, soapy water, ethanol, and salty water, that remove any lurking mites or mite eggs from their surfaces. After being placed in a fresh vial and wicked dry with a twist of Kimwipe (lab Kleenex), they will crawl around a bit more, mingling with their certified-mite-free compatriots. In a few more hours they will settle down, stop moving, and let their skins harden into bark. Inside that bark, they pretty much dissolve themselves, save for a few set-aside clusters of cells. They go on to rebuild their bodies into the adult form, complete with intricate jointed legs and multitudinously-faceted eyes and iridescent, cellophane-like wings over the course of about a week (at room temperature).

I spent several hours washing more larvae than usual to establish a clean stock, wanting to have plenty of extra males to father the experimental crosses. If I’d had access to the quarantine microscope, I could have selected extra male larvae—you can already distinguish males and females at this stage-- but it would not really have saved time. I played the numbers game instead. It was a Sunday afternoon, quietest time of the week in lab, and very peaceful. I took my time and changed the bath solutions often to make sure there wasn’t too much soapy water in the ethanol or too much ethanol in the final rinse. I wanted this all to go smoothly with no delays.

I put the now-lawful vial in the 25C incubator to develop, after carefully copying the genotype from the original handwritten labels: Cy2/(Cyo); Dr/TM6b. Incidentally, there are lots of markers of chromosomes, many going back to the original mutations described by early fly workers such as Calvin Bridges and Alfred Sturtevant. They let you follow with visible traits the invisible genes that you wish to follow through the generations. Various labs have their favorite markers, but some such as Cyo (which makes for curly wings) are ubiquitous, and Dr and TM6b were familiar to me as well. Dr (short for Dropped, I don’t know why) makes the eyes very slitted, and TM6b is a whole set of markers that comprises what is called a balancer chromosome: a chromosome that has been scrambled and rearranged so that even though it still has all its genes, they are in the wrong places. This means that none of the usual recombination between sister chromosomes that occurs when egg and sperm form can happen. The advantage to the researcher is that this keeps genes segregated in predictable places. Otherwise, all those markers would not be reliable indicators letting you keep track of the genes you put in place from one generation to another. TM6b can actually include various different markers, but one of them is Tb, easy to recognize in both the shorter larvae and pupal cases and to some extent discernible in adults as well.

Chapter the Second: Cross Purposes. Fast forward two weeks (you can—I sadly could not—this being November of 2020, I would certainly have appreciated the distraction). So I waited, none too patiently, for the new adults to emerge. Meanwhile, I tended the stocks I would virgin for females: two different RNAi lines for Diaphanous and one, a control, for its cousin DAAM which I already knew was not required for the later-stage stress fibers. I built up a collection of ladies in waiting, captured shortly after their eclosion and isolated in vials away from all male contact, so I could be sure their offspring would be the genotype I wanted. [A note about the term ‘eclosion’: one might be tempted to call the emergence of the adults from their pupal cases ‘hatching’, but that term is reserved for the larvae coming out their eggshell. You only hatch once, even in the doubled lifestyle of these metamorphosing beasties.]

Finally the washed flies began to eclose. All my usable Cy2 flies were in that one vial. I briefly knocked them out with carbon dioxide gas, used a fine paintbrush to separate the males, and added 3 males each to the three bevvies of expectant females. There were still a few males left, enough to establish the new stock of Cy2 for future use.

At last, more than a month after conceiving it, I’d begun the experimental cross. It would be two more weeks before I had the flies to dissect and the beginnings of an answer. Fly work involves a lot of waiting, and to cope with that we tend to have a lot of irons in the fire. All that juggling can be rather distracting. Sometimes, depending on how other experiments have gone in the interim, I’ve unfortunately moved on from the original urgency of a question by the time the flies are ready to examine. It’s a hazard of the work.

Though I did not yet realize it, I’d made two mistakes. First, I should have looked a bit more carefully at those Cy flies. Second, I should have done the proper control. Sure, crossing them to the DAAM flies was a pretty good control, but there was an even stricter one, that tested whether the driver stock alone had any effect (it should not, but you like to be sure). I should have crossed the Cy2 flies to what we call wild-type, a stock called w1118 that has white eyes, incidentally [link] the first fly mutant ever identified and the foundation of fly genetics.

I hadn’t wanted to use up any more of my precious males, and figured I could always do that control later, if the experiment turned out promising. A lot of us cut corners that way, and it isn’t necessarily less efficient. But sometimes it snarls you up and wastes your time instead of saving it, and makes you go through all sorts of contortions trying to make sense of your data with less information than you should have had.

Chapter the Third: The Experiment. I waited out that two weeks, pursuing other work and trying not to pay too much attention to the news. I wore my mask and stayed in touch with my loved ones over zoom and the like. I hung up bird feeders to entertain my cats and my family alike. I went on long walks by the lake. Time passed. At last the grand day arrived: my experimental flies had begun to eclose. I gassed them and tapped them out of the CO2 pad. Now here was a wrinkle I’d shoved to the back of my mind: those extra markers that I didn’t need, the Dr and TM6b. In a clean experiment I’d have gotten rid of them, but that would have required another couple generations. I’d wanted a quick provisional answer, in order to decide whether it was worth the time and trouble to do the more careful version of the experiment. So: would I dissect the TM6b-carrying flies, or the Dr-carrying flies? It had to be one or the other. The balancer chromosome carries a number of mutations so it would be more likely to do something weird to the cells I was interested in. Not that that was very likely, but I might as well be careful. Dr it was then: that only affected the eyes, as far as I knew. What were the chances it would mess up my experiment on stress fibers in follicle cells?

But none of the flies had Dr eyes. That was odd. I looked closer. Half of them sure looked like Tb flies, shorter and a bit chubbier, though you never want to depend on your ability to discern that marker in adults. The others, the longer ones? They did have some oddly short hairs on their dorsal thorax (around the back of the lower neck, if you want to be anthropomorphic about it), much shorter than the clipped ones you see with the marker Stubble. It kind of reminded me of a marker I’d seen once or twice. Well, that must be what these were; maybe the label had been written wrong.

Impatient to get the experiment done, I swept the short-haired flies into a fresh vial with a bit of yeast. The yeast was to encourage egg production (they’re called fruit flies or vinegar flies, but it’s really the yeast on the rotting fruit that they’re after). I added a few males which were there for the same end. You could say the way to a fine set of ovaries is through both the heart and the stomach. Two more days to go before the dissection. For good measure I put some plain-vanilla w1118 flies on yeast to serve as extra controls.

On the appointed day, I got out my fiercely pointed #55 forceps and began the dissection. I nearly messed up by dissecting the early stages by habit—the technique to do so destroys most of the older egg chambers—but luckily remembered what I was about it time, and switched to the method to optimize acquisition of undamaged later stages. I fixed for 15 minutes in 4% paraformaldehyde, rinsed three times in phosphate-buffered saline solution with Triton-X detergent, and added a stain that would label the filamentous actin, the principle component of stress fibers among many other cellular structures. I put it in the lab fridge (the one where no food is allowed!) to stain overnight. The next morning, early, I came in and rinsed off the stain and made slides. Then I went to the womb-like room where one of my favorite workhouse microscope lives, the renowned Nikon 800 laser scanning confocal microscope. I did the necessary 2020 ritual wipe-down of all surfaces with 70% ethanol, and fired her up.

And oh, it was beautiful. I was so disciplined; I began with the controls to set up the correct laser intensity and gain at which to collect all the images, so the brighter ones would not be out of the range of measurable brightness and everything could be properly quantified. But it was already clear from the what I saw on the computer screen as I centered examples, focused, and took images that the experimental egg chambers had strongly reduced stress fibers. I took lots of pictures, happy that for once my experiment had gone as planned and given me a clear answer.

Also, can I just say how much I love the stain Oregon Green phalloidin? The name itself is lovely: as a native of the Pacific northwest I find it so evocative: the green of deep cushiony moss and ferns and forests of hemlock and douglas firs; and phalloidin itself is a stain derived from mushrooms with which those forests are rife. (Phalloidin, now there’s a scary toxin: it binds so tightly to filamentous actin that it stops your heart. Unlike a lot of other toxins, it doesn’t make you nauseated, so you absorb it until it’s too late for any antidote. But that’s why it’s such a good stain. You just have to wear gloves, or wash your hands after pipetting it. And we all wash our hands so often nowadays it makes no never mind.) There’s red phalloidin, and far-red phalloidin, and even ultraviolet phalloidin (but most microscopes don’t have the right filter sets to light it up very well): but green phalloidin is the king as far as I’m concerned. So bright, and a short enough wavelength (only 488 nanometers, vs. 566 or 647) that it shows up structures the more finely. You can definitely see the difference: it’s sharp as can be.

So, I had the preliminary results I had hoped for: the Diaphanous flies had reduced stress fibers. It doesn’t actually happen to me all that often, that I get a clear answer, either what I predicted or the opposite which is almost as good in science. At least that’s progress, an increase in understanding. No, usually I stumble over these head-scratchers of outcomes. Interesting results, but interesting in a complicated way that require a lot more work to make sense of, if you ever do. It’s partly down to most of my experiments involving imaging with a microscope: you get a lot of unexpected information that way, if you keep your eyes open. But it’s also that I seem to be attracted to the sort of problem that does not yield neat answers—the way some people are attracted to overly hairy guys on motorcycles who are a bit too into mild-altering substances and petty crime. I think I’m the one to straighten them out, but usually I’m the one who gets burned. But this time I had prevailed!

This was just a start; of course I needed to replicate, do some more dissections, get more numbers, reach levels of statistical unassailibility. In particular, I didn’t have as many clear examples of the DAAM control as I needed. Also, I’d do the proper control, and maybe even un-double-balance that Cy2 stock to get rid of the pesky extra markers.

Chapter the Fourth: The morning after. Yeah, and now I’d better take the time to figure out what is going on with that marker that is not Dr. Because, unlikely as it was, wouldn’t it be a shame if it were somehow affecting my results? Worst-case scenario—because that’s how we self-questioning scientists have to operate, ever since the dawn of time or at least the Enlightenment—worst-case scenario, then, is this marker, whatever it is, is the thing responsible for the reduction in stress fibers. Oh, but that’s very unlikely, I tell myself. Besides, the DAAM controls didn’t have reduced stress fibers.

I looked at the original handwritten label, still on the vial of flies on top of the fridge in quarantine. Maybe that D might actually be a P. What was Pr? I’d never heard of it.

I went to the master compendium of fruit fly genetics, FlyBase.org, and looked up Pr. Purple, an eye color gene on the first chromosome. I was looking for a gene on the third chromosome, so that couldn’t be it. I tried a different approach: I DuckDuckWent (DuckDuckGoed doesn’t sound right; if you haven’t heard of it, it’s a more private alternative to Google) images of Drosophila markers. There was that classic poster I’ve seen hanging in various labs, of the most common markers. And there was that marker I’d been reminded of, with the very short hairs. Sn it was called. Could that be my marker? It would have to be some pretty bad handwriting, to make an S look like a D; r to n is easier to imagine.

I went back to FlyBase and looked up Sn. It was the gene Singed. Like if you got to close to the outdoor fire pit on the patio (a way to safely hang out with your friends outdoors even during the Chicago winter), and singed your eyebrows most of the way off (and no, I haven’t done that yet). Also on the first chromosome, though. But look here, this is interesting: Singed is an actin-bundling protein. I read further down the page that summarized the work of dozens or hundreds of researchers over the decades. Yes, it was expressed in the ovaries, and yes, it was known to affect stress fibers. That would be worrying if it were my marker. Lucky it’s not.

I wasn’t getting anywhere. I tried yet another method, going to the webpage for the Bloomington stock center. It’s very well organized, and they have a page showing the details of all the balancer stocks they keep. There ought to be a clue here, for any marker that a researcher could assume another lab would recognize. I go down the list to the TM6b stocks, and find it. Pri, aka Pr, for Prickly. Causes short thoracic bristles. That’s my guy.

Back on FlyBase, I learn that Prickly is one of the classic mutants discovered in the early days of fly research. And this is weird: it has not been annotated. That is, nobody has figured out what gene it is a mutation of, let alone what biological processes it participates in or what tissues it’s expressed in (this matters because if it’s not active in the follicle cells, my experiment would still be valid). They could; it’s a straightforward enough task given that the whole genome is sequenced, but apparently it’s not one that anyone’s found worthwhile. So all we know is it makes very short, deformed bristles that look to me a lot like those of Sn.

Okay, now I am getting worried. What are the chances that this is NOT a protein that affects something like actin bundling and therefore messes up stress fibers? Maybe I had only seen what I wanted to see with the DAAM control. That’s a hazard of doing science, because it’s a hazard of being human. That’s why controls are so important. I consider my experiment in this new and harsher light. Maybe the Diaphanous results are just a phantom of wish fulfillment, summoned by this Prickly hitchhiker I’d never meant to take along for the ride.

I’d already begun the proper control that would answer this question, but meanwhile, while I wait for those flies to emerge, is there anything else I can do? Maybe I should dissect those formerly scorned Tubby flies; at least they lack Prickly. But according to the list at Bloomington, that particular stock has a number of other mutations on its TM6b chromosome, including one called Bri. Bri is a twin of Pri in more ways than one: it also causes very short bristles, and is also unannotated so we have no idea what protein it makes or when or where it acts in the body. Without asking the researchers who sent me the flies, I had no way of knowing if Bri was in there or not.

It would be a bit awkward quizzing them about their flies. We all tend to overdo the shorthand in labeling our stocks, and don’t always remember all the extra mutations lurking there. It’s tripped me up before, when I uncovered interacting mutations I hadn’t known to worry about until they unhinged my crosses. Don’t get me started on vermillian eye color: it’s a real bear. Either way, I’d have to check the controls and unbalance the stock to have a real answer, so probably better not to pester them.

I can’t resist having a quick peek at the TM6b flies though; I’ll be dissecting them tomorrow and should know by Sunday or Monday if the Diaphanous results are evaporating or not...that is, if Bri or something else is not further muddying the waters. A positive result would be definitive; a negative one will require further research. Well, either one will require further research, but one will be more cheerful and the other more like putting nails in a coffin of my hopes one more time. And that, my friends, is what it’s like to do science. (At least I get to see more Oregon green on the confocal, though).

Epilogue. What lessons can we draw from this (mis)adventure, this stomach-churning roller coaster ride of thrills and doubts that is my life in science?

1. Do the proper controls from the beginning. (Although that would have cut out the thrills as well as the doubts, so to be honest, I’m not totally on board with this one).

2. Take the time to look at the flies you are about to cross, and make sure they have the markers you expect. Harder, probably unrealistically hard, is to make sure they don’t have the markers you don’t expect. That would require a Rumsfeldian level of perceiving unknowns unknowns.

3. Remember the limitations of shorthand for conveying a genotype, which like the face we present to the world is invariably far more complex than there is room enough and time to write out.

4. Murphy’s law reigns supreme in this world of ours. What were the chances that the unwanted marker  I’d thought I could ignore for a first-pass experiment would turn out to be a different marker I’d never heard of that might  affect stress fibers in my cells? Still, it made for a good story, which I haven’t come across in all this interminable slog of an Autumn.

[red-pill-blue-pill]

Just to make you happy. Keanu Reeves.

A/N: This took me so long I’m so sorry. This is a request made by @i-ask-requests​ I really hope you enjoy it 💖. I hope it doesn’t feel rushed or anything cause I can feel it does. Also little sidenote: i’ve never been to New York i just researched a bit on google maps to get it as accurate as possible. 

Summary: She’s homeless and Keanu helps her out. 

Word count: 5341 (holy shit ??)

Warnings: swearing, violence.

She kicked an empty beer bottle as she exited the bar. The glass rattled on the cold concrete ground and the dainty sound echoed on the now empty street. She checked her watch as she walked away. 2:37 am. A sigh escaped her lips as she took a seat in a nearby bench. A few scraps and cuts decorated her face as a result of a small “disagreement” she just had back inside. She smiled satisfied as she reached into her pocket to pull out a leather wallet, opening it to count that night’s earnings. That asshole didn’t even notice. 

She put the wallet back in her pocket and blew her hot breath into the cold night air of New York as she sunk down on the bench. Her brain was going a hundred miles per hour trying to administer the one hundred dollars she had stolen. She had to spend the night somewhere, buy food and, since she didn't stay the night twice in the same place she needed to pay the small warehouse where she kept all her clothes. 

She had been wandering the streets for a couple of months now. Her job as a waitress didn’t provide an extraordinary income and the rent prices in New York had gone sky-high in the last few months, making it impossible for her to find a new appartment with an affordable rent price and a small deposit. She started renting rooms in hostels, the cheapest she could find and at the beginning it worked just fine. She managed to make ends meet at the end of the month and sometimes she even got some spare money to get herself a little treat. However the owner of her restaurant needed to reduce costs and that meant reducing staff. She was one of the first waitresses he fired. The compensation for loss of employment eventually faded away as she frantically looked for another job. Her lack of studies didn’t help and now she cursed her stupid young self for taking the decision of dropping out of high school. No one wanted to hire a former waitress apparently uneducated. 

When she had to leave the hostel she was completely desperate, she had to survive somehow and that was clear for her since day one. She was going to do anything she could to get enough money to survive. What was the easiest way? Stealing from men in bars. She was a beautiful woman and men bought her drinks willingly, all she had to do was some flirting and some touching here and there. Her skilled fingers slid on their pockets and fished their wallets without them noticing. It was risky and sometimes they got violent, resulting in fist fights and bottles flying. She was skilled in that too. Finally her teenage experiences came to some use; when she dropped out of school she worked as a waitress in her hometown. The bar was a dirty black hole filled with nasty men that always came in looking for trouble. She was the most vurnerable person and forcefully had to learn self defense to kick some ass a couple of times before clients finally realized she wasn’t the one to mess with.

And there she was, sitting on a dirty bench at almost 3 am under a night sky in which she couldn’t even make out a single star thanks to the streetlights that blinded her sight and made the black emptiness above her seem even darker. Her heels hurt her feet and she was certain she was going to catch a cold if she sat there any longer. She didn’t have a phone to look for hostels nearby, she didn’t need it, there wasn’t anyone she could call nor enough money to pay for ir. Luckily she knew the city by heart so she stood up and started walking through the streets like she had a small New York map loaded in her brain, not missing one turn, taking the fastest route.

When she got to the room she took her shoes off and threw herself on the bed, letting out a loud groan of relief. She grabbed paper and a pencil and counted the money once again. The numbers weren’t adding up, she was twenty dollars short if she counted on eating the next day. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she completely forgot to eat something for dinner. Thanks pal, that’ll make it easier. She had to get more money, she had to go to Manhattan and find some fancy bar, one filled with those rich men that smoked cigars, that drank whiskey on the rocks, that had thousands of dollars on their wallet and a gram of coke up their nose. Those were easy targets, often being too high to notice what was going on.

She laid her head back on the pillow and drifted into a deep sleep. She dreamt. She dreamt of a house, of enough money to pay for a mechanography course, she dreamt of a good payed job and the possibility of having a family.

The next day she had woken up early in the morning, ready to follow the plan she had traced. She had skipped breakfast and taken a bus to the warehouse. She had chosen her fanciest dress, her highest heels and her make up bag and put it all in her duffel bag. She had gone to the best hairdressing salon in New York. If you’re going to pretend to mingle with rich people you better look like you are one of them.

She was now sitting in one of Central Station benches, waiting for the clock to hit eight o’clock. She looked at the people that came and went and tried to figure out their lives. Was that short haired woman married? Was that young man in a rush because he forgot to walk the dog? Did that child have a good day at school? Every life had its little nuances that made it unique and in her eyes it was beautiful, even though hers wasn’t as good as she wanted it to be. 

The four-faced clock marked the time and she stood up, almost robotically, heading towards the restrooms. She closed herself in one of the stalls and changed all her clothes. She bumped her knees and elbows against the walls and cursed everytime. This was supposed to be like some kind of movie where the hot spy changes clothes agilely and comes out like a diva turning heads as she walks away. Instead she found herself mistaking the sleeve for the actual head hole, loosing balance as she struggled to put on her shoes and messily putting away her previous clothes on her duffel bag. 

She walked out smoothing the soft fabric of her dress and pulling out her small make up bag, She leaned over the countertop and aplied a thin layer of mascara, a subtle blush and a stunning red lipstick that matched her dress and heels. She took a step back and admired her reflection. She looked ravishing. There was no way a man could resist her. 

She walked to one of the fanciest bars in Manhattan. Jazz music was playing softly in the background and the dim purple and yellow lights made the big place somewhat cozier. The counter was almost empty and she took a seat on one of the leather stools. The bartender came and went as well as the waitresses. The round tables were spread in front of the small stage and were filled with men and women that chattered and smoked incessantly. She made a signal to the bartender and ordered a gintonic. Shortly after, a well dressed man approached her. She played it cool, seeming uninterested.

“I’ve never seen you around.” he spoke as he ordered a whiskey on the rocks.

Bingo.

“I don’t come around often.” she spoke with a sensual tone of voice as she looked at him through her lashes. 

“I believe you. I’m pretty sure I would remember someone this stunning.” 

God, he was so bad at flirting she almost had to supress a laugh.

“I’m Michael.” he said offering his hand.

She took it and shook it lightly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Alice.” Obviously she wasn’t going to give her real name, duh.

They talked for a good half an hour. She was running short on things to tell him about her fake past and he just kept asking and asking. She still had her first Gintonic in her hand while he was on his fifth whiskey on the rocks. He was going to pass out soon if he kept this rythm. His once “great” flirting skills turned into even more awful ones and she knew this was her cue. 

She leaned into him and put her hands on his chest, pressing lightly against his body. His breath hitched and a smile spread across his face when one of her hands slid to his bulge squeezing it lightly. 

“Why don’t you wait for me while I go freshen up. Then you can take me to your place.” she whispered in his ear, licking his earlobe.

What he didn’t notice was the other hand skillfully sliding in this jacket’s inner pocket and pulling out his fat wallet with the subtlety of a professional pickpocketer. 

He smiled as he watched her walk away to the restroom and turned to the bartender to pay their beverages. When he reached out to take his wallet his blood ran cold and he frantically patted all the pockets of his outfit. The gears in his head started turning and his face went red with rage. His long lengs strided along the bar to the ladies restroom. He slammed the door open to find it completely empty. 

“That filthy bitch!” he screamed as he ran to the street, her red dress nowhere to be seen.

She walked through the street, duffel bag in hand and a proud smile plastered on her face. Her heels clicked fast on the concrete as she went back to Central Station to change her clothes again. She hadn’t opened the wallet yet but the weight of it told her she had enough money for at least a couple of weeks. 

She sat on the bathroom stall and went through every single bill she could find. Two thousand and thirty five dollars. That was a whole lot of money. At least it was for her. Her smile grew even bigger and she decided it was time to give her stomach a little treat.

Her favourite New York restaurant wasn’t a fancy one, hell, it didn’t even have an actual “inside.” It was a small street food truck that sold kebab and turkish food. It had a little counter with stools you could sit on if you were lucky enough. She ordered her usual kebab plate and her mouth watered as they prepared the meal. Her stomach groaned reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything for a whole ass day, making her feel bad for forgetting about her wellbeing. 

The stars were aligned and a free stool was waiting for her. She quickly occupied it before digging into her food. The man sitting next to her chuckled as he watched her from the corner of his eye. He had never seen someone devour food the way she was doing it. She stopped and turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?” she said with her mouth still full.

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” he answered feeling bad with his own rudeness. He lowered his head and kept eating his food while she stared at him. 

He didn’t look like the type to have a lot of money; his brown boots were a dirty mess and his jeans were torn at the bottom. His unkept beard gave him a wild yet sexy touch and his shoulder length dark hair seemed as soft as silk. She was convinced his wallet wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, it would be pure greed.

“Now you’re staring.” he said turning to her once again, catching her eyes inspecting him. A cheeky grin was plastered on his face, in the end he didn’t feel that bad for laughing at her. 

She was younger than him, twenty years more or less. Her eyes still had that curiosity and wonder that contrasted with her tired face. She was beautiful.

Her cheeks turned red but she kept her tough side on the surface. “Now we’re even.” 

He chucked and offered his hand to her “I’m Keanu.” 

She took it and shook it firmly. “I’m Y/n.”

Silence settled between them as they kept eating. There hardly is something as hard to endure as solitude. It creeps into your life and, before you can even notice, it roots under your skin, sinking into the deepest parts of your mind. It was in moments like this that it seemed to dissapear, a wave of relief washing over them and leaving them at peace for a couple of minutes.

“I laughed at the way you were engulfing the food. You looked so happy.” he broke the silence before putting a spoon full of rice into his mouth.

“It’s been a long time since I had a meal this good.” she said sincerely and he raised an eyebrow.

“How come?” 

“It’s been a rough couple of months.” 

He stared at her, inviting her to tell him more about her life. She hesitated. He was a complete stranger why would he care? She hadn’t had a real human conection since she was fired and she could use some venting so she went ahead.

She told him everything and, to her surprise, he seemed genuinely interested in her rant about New York rent prices and how her boss was an asshole. His eyes watched her every movement, nodding his head ocassionally to let her know he was still listening. 

When she finished silence filled the air between the two of them. Y/n was scared he would report the police about her illegal... procedures. She would understand though, at the end of the day she was living outside society norms and rules. She was an outcast.

She had never thought it that way and it hurt to think of herself as that. Everyone wanted to be part of something, even she wanted to be part of something. But not a part of that society that had condemned her to a life of poverty and misdemeanour. It made her so fucking mad to think about how everything had turned out in the end.

He put his hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his palm radiated through her clothes into her skin. “What can I do for you?” 

His question took her aback. What was he willing to do for her? They didn’t know eachother at all. Okay, maybe he also felt that weird connection but it wasn’t that strong.  

A loud laugh came out her mouth and she quickly put her hand over to muffle the sound. “I’m sorry, it’s just, we don’t know eachother.”

“I’ll pay for your course." he smiled sweetly leaving her with mouth agape.

“You’re crazy. No way you’re doing that.”

“Yes, I am. And I’m also paying for an apartment until you finish and get a job.”

She laughed again finding it hard to believe. “No you’re not.”

“For the second time: yes, I am. You need it.”

“I don’t need anything from anyone.” her pride kicked back before she could even process what she was saying.

“I’m pretty sure you do. Look, don’t think of it like charity or something like that because it’s not. I want to help you before you get involved with the police.” 

“Why do you care that much?”

He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head to the side. “You told me your story and even though you try to laugh at yourself I can see you’re hurting. So I care. And I want to help you.” 

She didn’t know what to say so she just stared back at him. He completely got her all figured out and they had only been talking for an hour. What the actual fuck.

“So you’re going to take the money and shut up.” he spoke again smiling even bigger.

Her mind was racing. This was a huge opportunity to scape the hell hole she found herself in but she didn’t want to owe anything to no one. 

Finally her desperation won. “Okay, but you have to let me pay you back.”

-

She walked out of class. It had been a couple months since she started the mecanography course and she had never been happier. Sometimes Keanu would pick her up to grab a coffee and ask her how she was. Y/n would always insist in looking for a job and paying him back as soon as possible but it was like talking to a wall. He changed topic and pretended he didn’t hear a word she said. 

They became good friends, really good friends in fact. He was the only one she really had, the only one who worried about her, who knew her real story. Hell, he was supporting her financially. 

The age difference, big enough to notice it but small enough to confuse, made people turn their heads on the street trying to figure out whether he was her father or her boyfriend. At the beginning it made them both feel uncomfortable but now they laughed as they watched the faces laced with confusion. 

Sometimes she was confused herself. Her feelings were a complete mess. He would often come to her (his, really) place to have dinner, helping her cook and dancing around the kitchen to the bouncy music she usually listened to. In those moments she knew she couldn’t ask for anything else.

Then she felt stupid. He was a grown up man, with his life almost figured out and supporting her financially. She was still studying and was barely starting to live a normal life. He had much important things to do than to fall for a young needy girl with a dark past. 

He was also confused when he looked at her. She amazed him. How she always stayed positive, how confident of herself she was, how kind. One must think he liked her in spite of her past, but it was the other way around. He liked her because she had faced difficulties and she had been capable of overcoming them. Of course he helped her, he could see that potential from the moment he looked at her, but that didn’t diminish her endeavor. 

He loved spending time with her, it felt like they complimented eachother perfectly. They could be completely themselves around one another. There wasn’t secrets, lies or problems between them, they always talked everything through. Completely transparent.

He felt as if he had to protect her. Protect her from pain, from loneliness, from ending up living in the streets again. It was something he had never felt, an instictive response from his brain, and if he was being honest, he didn’t care where it came from, he was going to do it anyway. 

-

It was dark outside. Manhattan’s streets were eerily quiet that night. Noise and smoke came out the bars whose doors opened to let people take a breath of fresh air. She walked at a fast pace. Keanu had said to meet him two streets away and she was already late. Her heels clicked on the pavement and her hair swung from side to side in a steady rythm. She would lie if she said tonight’s look hadn’t been meticulously thought through. Her black jeans were combined with a silver sequin top that shimmered in the city night lights. A leather jacket was thrown over her shoulders and her silver heels added the final touch. Her make-up was natural, nothing he could notice even if he tried. She wanted to look as effortless as she could. 

A man walked past her, bumping her shoulder hard. He reeked of alcohol and she didn’t even bother saying something, it wasn’t the place or moment to get in trouble. She kept walking but the man stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at her back.

“Well look who’s back in the neighborhood!” he yelled at her and the blood ran cold in her veins. 

She stopped walking for a couple of seconds, resuming her fast pace trying to walk away as fast as possible. She knew who he was.

“Come back here, you bitch! I want my fucking wallet back!” he ran towards her, his long legs striding faster than hers, almost catching up with her a few seconds later.

Her heart was pounding in her head as she tried to run faster but her heels weren't make it easy. She was almost where Keanu told her to meet him but it seemed so far away. 

A big hand grabbed her shoulder, yanking her back harshly and making her loose her balance. In seconds she was laying on the floor while a huge body pinned her tiny one down with such force she though he was going to break her arms. A raging face looked down on her with a stare full of hatred and violence. She had never seen something like it.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” he snarled as his fist collided with her cheekbone. She screamed in pain and fear, knowing he was going to do whatever he wanted and no one would stop him. 

“You stole my fucking checkbook, my credit cards, my fucking money!” he hit her again and again, and her screams echoed in the street. 

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, you filthy whore!” he raised his hand again ready to punch her one more time and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see what was coming to her. But it never came. 

The weight over her body dissapeared and she opened her eyes.

The man was now with his back to the wall with a very angry Keanu keeping him pressed against it. His face was bloody as Keanu’s fist collided with it over and over again. 

She stood up and rushed to his side grabbing his shoulders. “Please, stop!” Y/n cried as his fist stopped beating the man’s face. 

She sighed in relief as Keanu towered over the beaten man, holding the neck of his shirt. “If you ever hit, touch or even look at her again I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you.” his tone was still laced with anger and she thought she was lucky to not be the one he was talking to. 

The man nodded and ran away as fast as he could. 

A cry erupted from her throat as she slowly realized what had just happened. She was almost killed, for god’s sake. It had been the scariest moment of her life. Not when she had to tell her mom she was dropping school, not when she got fired, not when she decided to trust Keanu. 

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against his chest. “It’s okay, honey. I promise.” he whispered soothingly. She was staining his tshirt and jacket, a mix of blood and salty tears but he didn’t care, he didn’t give a damn. 

He took her to the hospital to get her face checked out in case she needed stitches. They sent her home at 12 pm and they walked to her appartment since it was close to the ER.

Her face, now clean, looked so much better even though it was starting to swell and it hurt like a bitch. They walked in silence, their steps synchronized and slow, there was no rush. Neither of them really knew what to say.

“I’m sorry I ruined the night.” she said looking at her feet as she walked. “I guess past always comes to get you.” she laughed bitterly. She thought she had left everything behind but in the end you can’t erase a part of yourself. Her actions still had consequences and that night was the proof she needed.

“It wasn’t your fault. He was the one who beat your face up.” he mumbled still angry. 

“Yes it was. I stole his wallet the night we met, that’s why he-”

“I dont fucking care!” he suddenly screamed at her and she stopped in her tracks. “That fucking bastard had you pinned down on the street ready to beat you to death! Don’t you understand? If I hadn’t showed up he would’ve killed you!” he ran his hand through his hair as her eyes filled with tears at his sudden outburst.

She stared at her, anger now boiling inside of her. “Thank you for being my saviour once again, I’ll write it down in my ‘thing’s I owe Keanu’ notebook so you won’t need to remind me everything you do for me.” she spat, her words filled with hurt.

She started to walk away.

“You don’t understand shit.” he said and she turned around.

“What? What is it that I don’t understand?” Y/n yelled back at him. “That you’re always doing stuff for me? That you’re the only one I’ve got? That if you hadn’t been there tonight-” she choked on her tears at the single thought. “I already feel bad enough for not being able to return everything you do for me.” 

He looked at her. Her face was swollen and wet from the tears that fell uncontrollably. “I’d spend on you all the money I have if that meant you would be happy.” 

She stayed silent as more tears came down.

“When I saw him on top of you something in my mind clicked and I went into full ‘murder mode.’” he chuckled and she smiled slightly. “I felt pure fear when I saw you weren’t moving. The thought of losing you is terrifying.” he stated simply. So simply she actually needed a couple of seconds to register.

Keanu walked towards her and she hugged him tight, feeling his strong heartbeat pumping against her cheek. “I didn’t mean that notebook thing I said, I’m sorry.” she mumbled as she wiped her tear stained cheeks.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” he kissed and rested his chin on the top of her head. 

They stayed like that for a minute, just hearing their breathings and hugging eachother, trying to get as close to one another as they could. The cold wind blew past them making Y/n shiver and bury her face deeper into the embrace. 

“Let’s go, you’re getting cold.” he whispered and let go. 

They kept walking and she chuckled lightly.

“What?” he asked with an amused look on his face.

“I had carefully prepared this outfit and my make up to look amazingly casual so you would think I was effortlessly cute.” she gestured to her clothes. “And look how it turned out.” she let out a laugh, a sincere one. She didn’t know why but she just couldn’t stop it. Tears prickled in her eyes as she tried to stop her laughter.

Keanu had a confused look on his face but she was contagious and it didn’t take long for him to join her with his soft low laugh that made her crazy. 

By the time their fits of laughter had died down they had arrived to her building. She stopped with her keys dangling in her hand and turned to look at him. She wanted to invite him upstairs just as she had done for about a thousand times before, but this time it was different. All her courage was suddenly gone and she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. 

“I always think you’re cute.” he blurted out, leaving her with a confused expression. “What you said about your efforts to make me think you looked cute. I already think you are, even when you come out of class with your tired stare and shitty face.” he said laughing, earning a slap on his arm while her face grew redder by the nanosecond. 

“Shut up!” she laughed brushing it off. “Would you like to come upstairs? I could use some company tonight.” she mumbled and squinted her eyes waiting for a negative answer to come.

“Of course. I’ll feel better too if I keep an eye on you.” he smiled warmly and she turned to open the door.

-

“I know I tell you all the time but you did a great work decorating your place. It’s very you.” he sat down on the couch as she went to get some clothes for him to sleep on.

“Very me?” she asked from her room while she opened the closet.

“Yeah, there’s no doubt this is your place. Like, not a single piece of furniture in here is actually yours but you add those little details that end up owning the whole place. Just like you do in people's lives."

"That's so sweet. Does that mean I own your life now?" Y/n said as she came back into the living room with a big tshirt and some sweats big enough to fit him. 

“Pretty much.” He smiled as he took the clothes. 

He went into the bathroom to change while she redied her bed. It was pretty clear that they were going to sleep in the same bed and she wanted him to take the hint. The bed clothing was smoothed out and the extra cushions were lying on the floor. 

She thought about what he had just said. It's always nice for someone to tell you that you are a big part of their life but she didn't know she was so important. Butterflies flew around in her stomach making her feel silly for being so childish.

“That’s a lot of cushions.” he chucked from the doorway as he watched her. 

“Well, I like being comfortable.” she said sticking out her tongue “I’ll be right back.”

She closed the bathroom door behind her and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was all swollen up and purple and black-ish bruises were slowly forming. It still hurt like hell but there was nothing she could do. 

When she came back into her room he was lying on the bed with his back turned to her. His body was rising up and down slowly with his relaxed breathing. She had never seen him so at peace.

She carefully got on the bed trying not to disturb his apparent sleep. The bed shuffled and he turned to look at her. His arms sneaked around her waist and pulled her closer to him, careful not to squish her face against his chest. Her hand reached around him to draw patterns on his back. She felt complete ecstasy. The way his body heat radiated onto hers made her feel at ease, it was everything she ever wanted. 

“Thank you for everything you do for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Y/n mumbled against his chest, her cheeks burning at the oncoming confession. “I love you.” 

It didn’t hold any romantic meaning (okay, maybe a little bit), it was the truth, plain and simple. He was her best friend, her number one supporter. She couldn’t imagine her life without him and, of course, he couldn’t either. 

“Thank you for coming into my life. You make me so happy.” he kissed softly the top of her head and rested his chin on it. “I love you too, honey. So much.” he whispered.

Her whole body tingled at the sound of those words. She was happy. For the first time in months she was truly happy. 

Her mind travelled to the night she dreamt of living in a big house with her husband and her kids, having that normal life people had. It was only then when it hit her:

she didn’t want a “normal” life, she wanted hers. 

[whoperlokian-bendingismagic]

I got a new special interest over the spring/summer and NOW I have a mechanical keyboard that’s a lot of fun to type on (fun clicky clacky noises and wonderful action) so I’m going to dump below the break. It’s basically going to be a mountain bike buying guide. More below the break

I made the simultaneously awesome and foolhardy decision to get back into mountain biking this spring. I hadn’t done much of it since High School, but I did take my hybrid bike around a good trail in the foothills last autumn and thought that was a pretty good time. Then I managed to sneak in a 2020 vacation under the wire (came home less than a week before COVID restrictions hit my area) and on that vacation, I spent half a day riding a rental fat bike and that was easily the high point of my trip.

So I decided to get a true mountain bike, not just my hybrid bike that has a mountain bike-ish drive train and a tiny suspension fork. This would be all well and good except that in a global pandemic, all the gyms are closed and EVERYBODY WAS BUYING BICYCLES. So I delved way too deep into research and learned a TON about mountain bikes and haven’t stopped since. Here’s what I’ve learned from a wide variety of sources.

There’s a bunch of different classes of mountain bikes. In order of extremity, here’s the they:

- Sub-$1k mountain bikes: These are honestly pretty good all-rounder bikes if you don’t mind the weight. It’s nowhere near as fast as a road bike, but it’ll handle anything a commute can throw at it, has a wider gearing range than more expensive mountain bikes, and can still go out and hit some trails. Typically, fork travel is small (60-100mm) and the geometry is close to a cross-country bike below. These are always hardtail bikes (no rear suspension)

- Cross-Country (XC) mountain bikes: These are the sub $1k mountain bikes elevated to a higher level of performance. The geometry is designed to be capable (I’ll explain geometry in a bit), but efficient. It will climb hills well and descend trails okay. The gearing drivetrain is usually a 1x12 wide-ratio gearing system (again, more on that later). These bikes start as hardtails on the cheaper end of things ($1k-$3k), and then move into full-suspension at higher price ranges (up to eye-watering $10k builds). Fork travel is usually 100 mm suspension, rear wheel travel on full suspension bikes is about 60-100mm travel.

-Trail Bikes: These will range from ~$1,500 to the fucking sky. These bikes can come as full-suspension and hardtails, though hardtails are harder to find these days. The geometry is “slacker” which makes it a little less capable on the climbs, but faster on the downs than the XC bikes. Great for trail riding (obviously) and handling rougher terrain. Front suspension travel sits in the 120-140mm range, and rear suspension travel is between 100-140 mm. 

- Enduro (also called All-Mountain Bikes: These are not really beginner mountain bikes and are priced accordingly. There are very few hardtail options, though Commencal makes one. They climb (ish) since they are designed for the sport of Enduro Racing, which is made up of multiple stages primarily going downhill, and racers are required to pedal up to the beginning of each stage, though the climbing is not timed. These bikes can take a ton of punishment and are designed to handle really gnarly terrain with large rock drops and the like. Enduro bikes are also the bikes of choice for some of the insane european mass start races like Megavalanche and Hell Mountain, since both have climbing portions in addition to super-gnarly descents. Fork travel ranges from 140-170mm and rear suspension travel is ~120-150mm

- Downhill Bikes: These are for charging down the craziest terrain and hitting the biggest jumps. You can’t climb on one of these, the suspension is burly, the bikes are heavier, and the geometry is ridiculously slack. Again, these are not for beginners and I won’t be talking about them again. If you’re buying a downhill bike, you should already know what you’re looking for.

So those are the types. Understand what kind of riding you’ll be doing and how to get the most out of it with the right type of bike. I like heading out on trail rides with a combination of climbs and descents, and relatively difficult terrain, so I ended up getting a “down-country” or “trail-country” bike, a bike that takes the efficiency of XC bikes and the capability of Trail bikes in the same single package. I got a hardtail because I like the efficiency, and I’m a little weird. I’ve also managed to impress other riders that have forgotten how capable hardtails really are. 

Quick geometry guide: Geometry charts are intimidating, so I’m going to go over the high points. Generally speaking a “slack” geometry means one with angles further off of 90˚, which leads to a lower and longer bike.

- Head tube angle: This is a great indicator of how steep downhill the bike can go, and how rough the terrain can get under this bike. Steeper head tube angles (typically around 71˚ for XC bikes) are more nimble at turning, whereas slacker head tube angles (approaching 63˚ on downhill bikes) are more stable and with the front wheel further in front of you, makes those steep descents easier to stomach and handle

- Suspension fork travel: I discussed this a little bit above, but in essence, the more the fork can travel, the rougher the terrain it can handle at higher speeds. The same goes for the rear travel. Bigger number = bigger features.

- Reach: This is how far the handlebars are from the saddle, smaller reach means a shorter wheelbase, which is more nimble. Longer reach means a longer wheelbase, which is more stable. 

- Chainstay length: This is the length from your pedals to your rear axle. Again, shorter means more maneuverable, and longer means more stable. 

- Wheel diameter: This is actually a big decision: There’s two diameters on the market today: 27.5″ and 29″. 27.5″ diameter wheels are again, more nimble and playful, and people who like them praise the responsiveness of the wheels. 29″ (29er)wheels are faster overall, more efficient, offer more traction, and can roll  obstacles more easily. 27.5″ wheels can make up for some of this by becoming what’s called a “27.”+” bike. The tires get oversized, not to fat bike levels, but around 2.8-3.2″ in width, which increases comfort and traction, and gets close to a 29er in rollover capability.

- Standover Height: This is the vertical space between your crotch and the frame of the mountain bike when you’re off the saddle. Larger standover means that you have more space, which matters for riding actively (possibly the subject of a later post)

So now, I want to talk about the other things to consider when buying a mountain bike. Some of these are important, and some of them aren’t.

- Brand: Brand doesn’t matter THAT much, really, with a few key exceptions. All mountain bike manufacturers are making great bikes, and it’s hard to go wrong. Bicycling is the rare industry where huge corporations are making products with the same quality as the smaller boutique brands. Going with one of the big three manufacturers (Trek, Specialized, Giant/Liv) will get you as quality a bike as going with a more obscure manufacturer. Most brands have a patented, exclusive rear suspension design that each brand will maintain is better for pedaling efficiency and responsiveness to impacts, but again, most of the time you can’t go wrong. The one thing to keep in mind: The frame is the one part where you can’t upgrade or modify it without the bike becoming a whole new bike, so go with a frame geometry that works for you. Some brands are better at developing build kits that are cheaper but still good. Marin makes probably the best value full suspension bike I’ve ever seen, nobody else trying to make a full-suspension bike in the same price range comes close.

- Component brands likewise are pretty well-matched. Derailleurs and brakes are usually made either by Shimano or SRAM. People generally prefer Shimano’s brakes but both make good-quality derailleurs (with the exception of SRAM’s cheapest mountain bike set, the Eagle SX. I can say with personal experience that it is garbage. Bontrager said “Cheap, Light, Durable: pick two.” SRAM chose Cheap and Cheap Only.) Other components include tires, suspension shocks/forks, handlebars, grips, etc. It’s hard to go wrong in this day and age.

- Frame Material: If you’re on a budget, there is one frame material: Aluminum. Aluminum is great because it’s not that heavy, it’s strong, inexpensive, and can handle crashes pretty well. It’s also kind of corrosion resistant and will serve most people very well. Carbon Fiber is more expensive, but it’s lighter and makes pedaling more efficient than aluminum while also offering more comfort, carbon fiber manufacturing techniques have advanced tremendously. The frames can be more easily damaged in crashes and are more expensive to repair or replace. Steel is used rarely in mountain bikes because it’s heavier, but offers more comfort than Aluminum, and it’s more expensive than aluminum and only marginally cheaper than carbon fiber. Titanium is very expensive (more so even than carbon fiber), but is sought after for its light weight, insane durability, and excellent comfort.

- Full suspension vs. Hardtail: Hardtails are becoming ever rarer in the mountain bikes over $1k territory, though there are still excellent ones to be found. The advantages of hardtails is less maintenance (all the bearings, linkages and extra shock need additional maintenance), less weight (all those things listed above add weight), and more pedaling efficiency, since the rear triangle can’t squat through the suspension as you put weight on the pedals. There’s downsides, too though. Climbing over very bumpy terrain is easier with rear suspension, it gives better traction and keeps things smoother for the rider. Additionally, descending is less tiring because the riders’ legs don’t need to do as much work with a full-suspension bike. Full-suspension bikes are also more expensive than a hardtail at the same level of components. A mid-level component build hardtail with a carbon fiber frame might cost about $3k, and with all the same level of components, a full-suspension bike can easily cost $5k. Again, there’s more stuff going into the full-suspension bike that you have to pay for. There are $2,000 full-suspension mountain bikes out there. There might be cheaper options but you really shouldn’t buy one cheaper than $2k. 

Here’s some more terminology and some recent trends in mountain bike design that are good to know.

- Drivetrains on mountain bikes over $1k in price have a single chainring up front (a 1x or 1-by drivetrain), whereas the sub $1k bikes typically still use a 2x drivetrain, with two chainrings up front. Having ridden on a 1x drivetrain mountain bike for a while now, I can definitely say it’s perfect for mountain biking. The range is still really wide, with 12 gears giving between 460% to 520% range (depending on maker and price point). On trail rides, the relatively large gap between each gear isn’t a major issue, and the super low gears are great for winching up a steep hill, and the highest gears can still get you up to 30 mph. There’s other advantages, such as providing more wheel clearance for bigger wheels, simplicity in shifting, since there’s no front derailleur to worry about, and the spot where you could be shifting a front derailleur can instead by used for a dropper post remote lever.

- Dropper posts! Biking uphill and on flat terrain needs the good efficiency that a high saddle provides, but getting to bumpy trails and steep descents, the saddle needs to be down and out of the way so it doesn’t buck you over the handlebars. The quick-release seat clamp was developed to make adjusting the seat possible without needing to break out tools, but wasn’t very good at holding a seatpost as securely as a bolt seatpost clamp, and both require the rider to stop riding and adjust the height of the saddle. The dropper post was created by imagining the office chair’s vertical height adjustment and applying that to a bicycle seatpost. The end result is a variable-height saddle that often can be activated with a lever on the left side of the handlebar, and lets riders adjust the seat height on the fly. I cannot recommend them enough, they are a game-changer

- Clutch derailleurs: These are rear derailleurs that are more locked in position than traditional derailleurs. These run more quietly, reduce chainslap which can damage the paint on a bike’s chainstay, and also help prevent the chain from straight bouncing off the gears.

That’s all for now. If you made it down here, thanks for indulging me and my infodump son!

[sharinluna]

MLQC Translation Excerpt(End of Ch 17 ~ Beginning of Ch 18)

DO NOT COPY, QUOTE, REPOST OR REBLOG THIS ANYWHERE. Links are okay but I don’t want this post to spread too much in other communities or websites.

This is rather short, but I’m running out of time so:

This is not a full translation, only some parts. It’s more like a abbreviation/summary/paraphrasing of some parts of the story. Do not ask me to translate more or reveal more plots in the story.

The translation is based on KR version text. I’m not a professional translator and get things wrong. So do not regard this as the actual canon story.

I used Yōurán as the name of MC because that is the unofficial default MC’s name in CN version.

It’s strongly recommended that you read the previous translations if you want to understand what’s going on.

**********************

I turned on the TV, there was news about the flu as usual. But they said that the patients were getting better. They found a way to control the influenza and there were some breakthroughs in finding the cure. Due to this happy news, the festival that was cancelled was planned to open again.

I went to the window and could hear cheerful shouts. It seemed like the festival was about to start.

When I turned around. I found a white envelope on the table that was empty before.

Yōurán: Who’s there?!

I looked around carefully, but there was no one in the house but me.

I opened the letter. In black stationary were the words: <14:20, I will send my honest blessing among the crowds.> The letter was signed “Queen”

Yōurán: Queen…

That’s what the Black Swan called me. Did they send this letter?

Yōurán: Among the crowds…

I looked out the window again where there were laughter and cheers.

**********************

I arrived at the central square. The crowds cheered as the parade went on but I couldn’t join in the enthusiasm. Then I saw the woman that I had saved the other day from getting hit by a bus. She went up to the front of the stage to make a speech.

The Woman: I thank you all for coming. This festival was made possible by…

I didn’t know that the woman I saved was the chief organizer of this festival.

Yōurán: She seems well. I’m glad...

The Woman: …for the happiness of everyone in Loveland City. Our future will-

She stopped in the middle of her speech. One second, two seconds, three seconds… she didn’t continue. She hung her head low, so people couldn’t see her face.

Audience A: Why did she stop?

Audience B: Did the microphone go out?

She finally looked up. Her face was pale and twisted. The corners of her mouth twitched to form the most blood-curdling smile. A sharp shriek came from her mouth.

The Woman: Enjoy what little time is left… for the end of the world is near!!

The speaker erupted out a deafening noise that was enough to drive the audience to silence. The sense of foreboding washed over me.

Yōurán: Excuse me! Let me through!

I pushed through the crowds toward the stage. I had to put a stop to this.

The time on the clock reached 14:20.

The woman screamed and I froze in my tracks. Blood was pouring out of her eyes. What was more terrifying was that her mouth was still smiling in that eerie way. Like a marionette that lost its string, she crumbled to the floor. The confetti that had been pre-programmed to fall at the end of speech sprinkled down like colorful snow. The woman had stopped breathing.

The Crowd: She’s dead!

Panic shook the crowd and everyone ran this way and that, screaming in terror. I could only stare numbly at the stage.

??: Did you think that you could change the future?

A voice whispered in my ear.

Yōurán: Who is it?!

I looked around but no one was near. Everyone was trying to get far away from the dead woman.

??: You can never change what will happen.

Yōurán: Who the hell are you?!

There was no answer.

The woman on the stage lay dead. She may have escaped her demise for a while, but fate caught up to her. I thought I changed the future, but in the end, nothing changed and everything turned out the way it was destined to be.

Yōurán: This is all my fault…

**********************

A white beam of light came down and lifted me into the air. The sky and earth reversed and I fell down to an empty black space.

I walked toward the light I could see in the distance. I soon came across a mirror. I touched the glass surface, and it rippled like it was a lake and my reflection appeared.

My Shadow in the Mirror: We meet at last.

My appearance in the mirror spoke. Her voice was very soft.

Yōurán: Why did you try to see me?

My Shadow in the Mirror: It’s pretty tough for you, right? You feel helpless because you can’t change the foreseen future. You got betrayed and lost so many people…

Yōurán: How do you know all that?

My Shadow in the Mirror: Because I am you. I know what you think. I feel how you feel. But you can do nothing to change the future.

Yōurán: Is there something you know? Please tell me!

My Shadow in the Mirror: Soon, the human race will cease to exist. Everything you care about, everything you feel attached to, they will be gone.

She spoke very calmly as if she wasn’t talking about the end of the world.

My Shadow in the Mirror: But if you were to do one thing, everyone can be saved.

Yōurán: How do I do that?

My Shadow in the Mirror: …by sacrificing your life.

I took a step back.

Yōurán: This doesn’t make sense at all…

She stepped out of the mirror and grabbed me.

My Shadow in the Mirror: Did you think that peace would come on its own and a bright and happy future would happen without lifting a finger?

Yōurán: I don’t want to hear this anymore.

My Shadow in the Mirror: The world is facing calamity. Human civilization will be wiped out. Everyone will die, but death is not the end. It means a new beginning.

Yōurán: I cannot agree with that…

I struggled to get away from her but it was no use.

My Shadow in the Mirror: Remember, it takes all the running you can do, just to keep in the same place. And Queen is the last puzzle of evolution.

Yōurán: Queen…

My Shadow in the Mirror: You are Queen. And I am you. Queen’s duty and fate was in front of your eyes all the time.

I looked at my face. It was the same face but the eyes held no mercy.

My Shadow in the Mirror: There is little time left for humanity. Will you sacrifice yourself? Or will you sacrifice everyone else instead?

She disappeared into the darkness.

**********************

When I opened my eyes, I was standing alone on the street. No one could be seen. I was alone in the center of the city.

The virus was worse than ever. There were casualties now. Half the city was dying sick, the other half was cowering in fear. Death was waiting for everyone. All hope was gone and everyone was dreading the doomsday that would inevitably come.

I scrolled through my contacts. Most of them were unreachable to me.

Victor was still out there time travelling. He said that everything was fine in the future. That had to mean that the virus will be cured, that this was not the end of the world, that everyone is going to live.

What saved everyone from this catastrophe then? Was what she said true? Was I the key to stopping the world from dying?

**********************

I kept wondering about what she said. About what I must do as my duty and fate as Queen. I didn’t want to know if she was right or not.

Then I dreamed that I pushed her away and kept running into the unknown. The place arrived was empty and nothing was in there.

Was this the future that she talked about? The future with no life left on earth. If I refused her and neglected my duty and escaped my fate, would this come to reality?

I wanted to hide. I wanted to run away. People could call me a coward. I just couldn’t face this anymore.

Yōurán: Dad… please tell me what to do…

I thought of the last day I saw him before he died.

Yōurán: Dad… if I can never be brave like you… will you be disappointed in me?

Grandpa Chuck: No, child. Your father will respect your choice.

Yōurán: Grandpa Chuck? How did you come in here?

He sat down next to me and handed me a handkerchief.

Grandpa Chuck: You were lost in the other dimension for a long time. I was worried about you. Is something wrong?

Yōurán: I just missed my father so much… Grandpa, in your memory what was my father like?

Grandpa Chuck: Your father… wasn’t exactly a good father. He tried to make time for you, but he was just too busy. But he was a good man. Thanks to him, I found a reason to keep on living.

I smiled at him. I was proud of my dad. And I was sure he would give me courage to make the right choice.

*********************

Okay, that’s the end. I’ll do the rest of chapter 18 in another time.

MLQC in chapter 1: Run your media company while dating 4 gorgeous men!

MLQC in chapters 12~17: 4 gorgeous men leave you.

MLQC in chapter 18: Sacrifice yourself or everyone else will die.

Before I end this post I will include a short summary of Victor’s Rumors & Secrets.

Rumors & Secrets After Tomorrow

The story is from the perspective of a clown who hands out balloons to children in a theme park. He encounters a tall strange man(Victor) who wears old-fashioned clothes and buys things with credit cards. Who uses credit cards these days? And he still uses cell phones! Weren’t they all in museums? The clown suddenly thinks that the man is either a criminal or a time traveler but waves the thought away thinking that he’s been watching too many sci-fi movies.

He lends Victor his futuristic device and casually mentions the influenza incident ten years ago. According to him, the flu epidemic suddenly came and killed thousands of people including his brother. The doctors couldn’t find a remedy, but one specific day, for reasons unknown, everyone got cured miraculously.

Victor uses the device to research the name Yōurán(MC’s name) but finds nothing. He searches everywhere but finds no trace of her.

The virus vanished mysteriously. And Yōurán doesn’t exist in this world ten years later.

“Will you sacrifice yourself? Or will you sacrifice everyone else instead?”