#i bought another tablet for myself for christmas and this ones so i can go places do things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seeminglyseph · 3 years

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god how are there so many things. I got distracted because my computer is being a laggy pile of dicks, but knowing it’s because it’s a shit computer is a little comforting, lol I thought I was just exceptionally hard on computers. ‘12 tabs open in firefox AND spotify? you absolute madlad’ you know? So a decent computer is on the list sometime. I need to restart everything before I start drawing or like my computer goes ‘high resolution with four layers? I think it’s about time for the program to go non-responsive for 30 seconds and scare the shit out of you.’

budget rambling under cut, and then bitching about friend breakup

- Galaxy S6 LITE will cover my need for a portable drawing space so that’s plan one

- New desktop makes for maybe an easier work process. This one’s nebulous in the timeline, depends on when my office gets moved because then I’ll need a desk first.

- I want a long corner desk that like takes up a wall and a half so I can have other projects on the side without it creeping into my drawing space like I do right now. One I’ve been eyeballing at staples is about $400, which I hope I can save up for. Futon to have people over in the office but if it’s still covid for like another year or some bullshit it would be pointless to spend my money making guest spaces.

- I think I want a couple shelves to keep my trinkets and stuff on too ‘cause I got a lot of dumb figures and stuff just to put on my shelf and think ‘I almost have the whole batfamily, just need Jason and Duke.’ though I got a bootleg tim and he’s way way too tall so maybe one day they’ll put out a nice tim figure that’s not like $50.

- couches for the basement ‘cause we’re getting rid of the ones we have. My mom thinks we don’t need to replace them if we have a couple chairs but it’s on the same level of importance as the futon, like why make a guest space when I cannot have guests?

- definitely thinking of upgrading to csp EX if only because it turns out animating is kind of fun and csp PRO has limited frames. I really like csp as a program so I’d like to stick with it. Getting EX on the tablet though might be easier because it’s a monthly subscription rather than a lump sum. Which I know is worse in the long term but sometimes it’s just what’s manageable? I don’t want to go back to adobe, though I can install cs5 if I have to. bought that disk 10 years ago and I’m gonna transfer it through computers until it burns out. but this desktop is shit and would die anyway.

the main thing I gotta get a control on is impulse spending. I can talk til I’m blue in the face about what things I need to spend less money on, but the fact is I have to master that ADHD impulse thing. I think my mom has gotten past her opinion that she needs to take financial control away from me because I’m a financial danger to myself or whatever, it will definitely help if the state of crisis would actually be allowed to dissipate. I’ve been on edge since october 2019 and I just need to figure out some stability. also loved ones need to stop dying and maybe life can start feeling normal. it’s very weaselly of me to blame my spending on high stress, but medication dug me into a hole last year and stress made it worse... I’m not vomiting anymore (knock on wood)

my sister who earns almost $40/hr was talking to my mom like ‘you don’t need to worry about us, you keep all that money for yourself’ and I, on disability living below the poverty line, wanted to scream. I had to talk to my mom about how she and my sister are getting hardcore financial support from their friends and family I am not. And they’re both starting head and shoulders above me, so maybe when the family sends money for the family can I have some. And now I feel like a total heel because my sister so nobly declined. it was absurd enough on christmas when my parents and sister were talking about all the friends that were either mad they couldn’t snowbird, or who went snowbirding despite covid. 90% of my friends make minimum wage, and maybe don’t even know me that well. I thought I was best friends with someone and they turned out to hate me so I have no idea how much anyone cares about me now, you know? But I guess some people can hang out almost every weekend for years and share secrets and stories and memories and vacations and not actually care about the people around them. So who knows. I don’t want to... let that make me care less. Everyone is carrying something and I want to be as kind as I can. But I think I will not be kind to that person unless something monumental happens. there are moments where her actions leave me so scared I want to die, that no one, not even the people I thought were ‘my people’ will love me. I rationalize “I should have realised she stopped responding to me weeks ago, I should have noticed she didn’t want my life updates. I should have noticed that in the time it went from ‘I don’t want to move if my dad’s still in the hospital’ to ‘we’re pretty sure it’s gonna be okay.’ to ‘I don’t know what’s going on and I’m very scared’ to ‘If my dad dies I don’t know if I can move’ to ‘maybe I’m just overreacting it just was really bad for a bit there’ she didn’t say a word of comfort or a question. She didn’t respond to my questions about the house and was resistant to giving me information about the rooms I was going to live in.” but she’s 32. We’re both 32. this isn’t two 14 year-olds who don’t know how to act like people with undeveloped brains and no skills yet in emotional development. A 32 year-old woman who can’t so much as follow up with any of those statements from a close friend is the one in the wrong. If there was a concern there was plenty of time to state it, and when she did finally state it there was no need for it to be ‘if I may be candid no one here wants to put up with your emotional behaviour’

It’s not normal or healthy behaviour to treat people like she treated me. And yeah she’s got her own problems and maybe she’s just emotionally stunted and too much of a coward to actually face consequences, but that doesn’t make what she did okay. She never apologised, rather than try to make things better she multiple times made it worse and then she left me stranded. I’m not a freak here. I’m not a monster. She’s probably unhealthy, but she was in the wrong. there’s no universe where helping your parents move is more difficult to handle than watching your father die of ALS. Even if she outed me as an accident, she did nothing to fix it, nothing to warn me, and nothing in apology afterwards. everyone makes mistakes but if you just let them fester then they stop being accidents and start being willful negligence (speaking of if you’re going to road rage in your school bus you should actually do your safety checks, even if it’s “too cold” I mean you are transporting children and you have been in more accidents in the time I’ve known you than anyone else I have ever known. But I mean it’s not your fault work is so strict with you that you were on your final warning for reckless behaviour. I mean everyone’s struggling, that’s why it’s you especially who keeps ending up in the ditch needing a tow and brag about your aggressive driving habits.)

#my life

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bewareofchris · 5 years

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Public Relations 25/??

R atm | Alec Hardy/Dr. Bill Masters | Broadchurch, Masters of Sex | Strong language, eventual sexual situations

“The fact that Alec Hardy was not currently, had not ever, and did not want to date the American sex research did not seem very important at all to the town of Broadchurch. They did what they had always done with a little bit of juicy gossip: they made a spectacle of it.”

AO3 Link | From this part on, the posts should line up with the chapters posted on AO3. This “part” is 25 here but it will be Chapter 9 on AO3.

Betty had a peculiar way of simply existing in spaces that she hadn’t been present in a moment ago. Bill had only just looked down at the growing stack of papers awaiting his attention for a single moment. Just barely long enough to lift up the first resume on the massive stack of possible assistants before he dropped it again and fell back into his chair in defeat.

“Hard day?” Betty asked as if she’d been there since he walked in. As if she hadn’t just materialized there with a tablet resting in the crook of her arm as she eyed him with some dismay.

He gasped, “Betty!” Because she surprised him. But he just glared hatefully at the pile of resumes because there was no defense for his desperate disinterest in going through them. “I assume you’re here on official business.”

“Sure am,” she assured him, “but, in this case, I was sent by my real boss. My wife.” She nodded her head in that way that assumed he understood. And then she cleared her throat to go ahead with, “well, she’s decided that we’re inviting you to Christmas dinner. I don’t know what’s happening with your family, or if you’ve got someplace else you’d rather be. But if your only options are eating some uninspired ham steaks and pre packaged mashed potatoes with a couple of lesbians or sitting alone in your apartment waiting for a text from your overseas lover boy, well--”

“I don’t have a lover boy.”

“You can always eat the ham at our house and wait on the texts. And sing carols with us. We might even make a stocking for you.”

Bill had not even gone through the pretense of purchasing a Christmas tree for his poorly furnished little apartment. He hadn’t turned on the radio in his car in weeks for fear of having to listen to the same merry songs over and over again. Christmas had only ever been something that wound up his guts into a fist of apprehension. Libby had been filled from top to toes with warm memories of long holiday seasons with her family. She hummed carols as she hung stockings and she laid against his side daydreaming about little fat babies to make her Christmad dreams come true.

But Bill’s memory of Christmas was an echo of every other day. His Mother made some attempt, and they assembled for dinner like waiting for a bomb to explode. Father was unforgiving and Mother was skittish. The only presents Bill remembered receiving were black eyes and bruises.

And yet, every year, he’d been sent out into the world with this expectation that he must know how to choose a gift worth giving. He’d suffered through all the Christmas movies, he’d listened to all the chatter. He’d received more than his share of gifts from thankful families and co-workers and friends. And still, he stood in department stores like an idiot, hoping to be saved by someone who took pity on men who barely had an idea of what they were doing there.

“Oh,” he said when the silence had dragged too long and Betty’s amusement had started softening to real concern. “I--uh, that’s very thoughtful of you, Betty.”

“So I’ll tell her to expect you.” Betty wasn’t asking him. She wasn’t even letting him work out how to turn her down. No, she was looking at him the way she had when she handed him a coat and a plane ticket. There would be no arguing with her. “We shouldn’t disappoint Helen right now. She needs to be in top condition for conceiving.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Right. We can’t upset Helen.” He cleared his throat, “should I bring anything? What should I bring--I… Libby usually handled these things.”

“Baby steps, boss. Bring some wine and yourself. We’ll take care of the rest.” Then she smiled at him (or tried her best) and turned with a swish of her skirt. She pulled the door closed behind her and lingered for just a breath before she walked away.

His primary consolation was that, while this had been a stupid idea, at least it had not been his stupid idea. A lucky follow up was how the aisle was filled with other similarly lost looking individuals staring at a selection of brightly colored baby toys without any clue which would be the best gift. At least Hardy didn’t have to look like an idiot by himself.

All of the boxes seemed to offer some guidance as to the appropriateness to the age of the child. Fred was a baby, but his exact age was unknown. He was old enough to stand up on his own but he wasn’t old enough to talk. (And it had been a very long time since Daisy had learned to talk. So long ago now that he didn’t remember when it happened.) Still, that wasn’t as big a problem as the fact that he couldn’t begin to guess what sort of color, character or type Fred would prefer.

(He seemed to very much enjoy knocking over block towers. And sucking his thumb.)

Hardy had never bought a gift for another person’s child, but he also felt as if some consideration was meant to be given for what Miller would prefer.

Surely, nobody had ever gone wrong with buying brightly colored, age-appropriate cars for a child? That’s what he’d been telling himself when he picked the box up. He just had been failing to believe it for the past five minutes or so. Because there were also dinosaurs that roared and trains and blocks made noises when you stacked them. And electronic toys that promised to teach letters and numbers.

An educational gift seemed ideal, unless it implied that he didn’t feel like Miller was educating her child appropriately.

Hardy was still holding the cars in one hand as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He stared at his sparse contact list as he tried to work out who he could call for help. Miller was an obvious choice but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. (They hadn’t, after all, discussed anything at all about exchanging gifts or the impending holiday.) It was too early to call Bill (and he was useless anyway). Daisy would be at school. He sighed at himself, and the toys, and his phone, and the world, but he still tapped on Tess’ name.

She answered on the third ring, sounding almost amused enough to cover her confusion. “Should I feel special?”

“How should I know?” Hardy answered, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the flutter of his heart beat getting light and flighty. He cleared his throat, “I was calling for advice about a kid’s present.”

“Ok,” Tess said, “whose kid?”

“A co-worker’s.”

“A lady co-worker?”

“Tess,” Hardy said. He opened his eyes and dropped the box he’d been holding back on the shelf. “If you can’t help…”

“Calm down, Alec. Boy or girl? How old?”

The conversation was so polite it was almost professional. Tess directed him to fat little cars that made noises and came with track pieces. And when that gift had been secured, her voice was soft when she said, “this might be the most civil conversation we’ve had in years, Alec. It’s nice to hear you sound almost happy.”

Hardy was resting one arm against a shelf, frowning sideways at nothing at all, thinking terrible-and-unkind things about his wife. He could have said nothing at all, but he said, “I’ve been happy, Tess. You just don’t get to know about it.”

Her silence was shock.

“Thank you for your help,” he said when he couldn’t take the sound of her breathing one more second. He hung up before she recovered; his body felt flushed hot and he took a minute to steady himself before he trusted his feet to carry him.

Bill was making dinner, and Alec was staying up very-very late.

“What have you been eating?” was Alec’s voice wrapped up in a blanket on his bed. It was shadowed in the after-midnight dark; just now starting to get heavy with sleepiness. “Microwave food?”

“I haven’t had to cook for myself in a very long time. And besides,” he said, off to the side of the stove, where his phone was propped up on a glass container. “It’s oddly difficult to make enough food for just one person. I don’t even know how to shop. I bought six chicken breasts when I went to the store, what am I going to do with six chicken breasts?”

“Eat six meals?”

“The only food packaged with a single person in mind is microwave meals.”

Alec made a noise like a wheeze, a snort of disbelief, and disapproval and amusement all at once. His voice was stretching and settling into a new place as he said, “and you call yourself a doctor.”

“Yes yes.” Bill moved the pan off the hot burner and picked his phone up to take it off speakerphone. Their conversation was yawning itself to a close and there was something far more fulfilling about talking quietly into the phone. “You don’t have to stay up so late,” he said.

“I know I don’t,” Alec agreed. He was quiet, like thinking very carefully about what he wanted to say next.

“Betty said you were my lover boy,” he tried to make it sound like it had been funny. He tried to make it a tease, like it was every bit as silly of her to think such a thing as the people from Broadchurch had been to think they were a couple. It had been funny at the start, when they were building a friendship off appreciation for how silly it was.

But here they were, breathing into a phone call where neither of them wanted to talk first. Here they were with phones full of long text messages and half-whispered admissions. Here he was, with his heartbeat pounding in his chest, biting his lip, hoping and not hoping all at once for some kind of reaction that--

What?

What the hell did he want?

What the hell was he even doing?

Waiting on a man from Broadchurch to tell him that maybe Betty had a point. That maybe if you woke up looking for a message from the man, and fell asleep thinking about what you’d talk about tomorrow, and stole moments from your day to escape into the ease of another nonsense conversation with him.

Alec’s sigh was almost wounded. He said, “tell me something. Something that you couldn’t tell your wife.”

Bill was staring at his socked feet and his floor that desperately needed to be swept. He was churning over a thousand different things in his head, all the ugliest secrets he’d ever kept. He was wondering what sort of test this could possibly be, and how terrified he suddenly found himself to be. He said, “I never loved Libby. Before I met her, I… I was in love. I loved her and I thought, I thought she loved me but I wrote her a note asking her to marry me and…” His throat was squeezing his words out of shape, his face was filling up with heat. Bill pressed a hand across his mouth and then cleared his throat. “It didn’t work out. And I married Libby because I needed a wife and I thought I liked her well enough.”

The silence stretched, and the quiet moved through the phone. Alec must have been pushing himself up to sit on the bed. He said, “did you love Virginia?”

“Yes,” Bill whispered, “but I wasn’t kind to her.”

“I loved my wife,” Alec said, “and that wasn’t enough for her. I don’t want to not be enough for someone again.”

“I want to be happy with someone. I want to know that I’m loved, I want them to know that I love them,” Bill said, because he couldn’t say that he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this lonely little apartment. He didn’t want the office waiting for me at his job. He didn’t want any of the things he’d spent his whole life trying to get. Whatever they had meant to him before, whatever franticness had driven him to such heights all these years, it wasn’t in him anymore.

It was stupid, to be standing in his kitchen, hoping that a man an ocean away from him would understand.

Alec said, “don’t make it sound so impossible, Bill. You can have that if you work for it.”

Maybe it was how late it was where Alec was. Or maybe it was how lonely Bill felt just then, but those words sounded almost like a promise.

Then Alec said, “go to Betty’s for Christmas. It’ll be better than being alone. And go eat your dinner, the food’s got to be cold by now.”

“Yeah,” Bill agreed.

“Tomorrow, we’ve got to have an earlier call. It’s one in the morning.”

Bill snorted. “Sleep well, Alec.”

“Enjoy your dinner,” Alec said.

They were idiots on the phone, wasting seconds, waiting and waiting to see if they had to be the first one to hang up. Bill moved first, because just then he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear the sound of the call disconnecting from the other end. He stood in his kitchen, feeling like his skin had been peeled away from his flesh, with something like a flicker of hope resting firmly in his chest.

Hardy woke up like a man with a hangover. The night before had been no less full of rash decisions just because it lacked enough alcohol to justify them. His body felt no less abused. Exhaustion settled into his limbs like filling all his insides up with warm sand. The morning sun mocked him through the window as he lay on his back, searching for some sense of purpose big enough to drag him out of his bed.

Sitting no more than an arm’s distance away was the instrument of his own stupidity. (Just the memory of it made him press both his hands to his face with a groan that shook through his whole body.) The boldness of asking Bill for secrets he’d never shared with anyone else. The agony of laying in this very bed with both his hands wrapped around the phone, waiting for a response he had no right to expect.

But he’d gotten one.

Oh hell.

Staying beneath the blankets, far from the phone and all the damage it could inflict on his well-being, seemed like the only good, logical decision that could be made. A smart man would have walked away, but Hardy was a shaky, weak-hearted sort. He grabbed the phone almost as soon as he’d decided he shouldn’t, and there was a text waiting for him.

Bill had sent it before bed, and all it said was: Good morning, Alec.

The text could have said anything at all and Hardy would have smiled. It was a response made of reflex, a steadily growing expectation that was as essential to the mood of his morning as a good cup of tea. It held him over through the morning quiet as he went about the mundane activities of his life. Just when the softness of a good morning text was waning, Bill showed up with a complaint about his coffee, or his office, or the unnecessary (his words) amount of paperwork waiting for him.

With the way they were carrying on, late evening phone calls were going to become as much a part of his day as good morning texts. He was going to rearrange dinner and bedtime to make a space to answer the phone to the slowly brightening sound of Bill Masters fumbling his way into a conversation. It was a wonder how a man could dial a phone, and wait for it to ring and breathe hello across the ocean and still have no idea what you meant to say. But Hardy did understand why it didn’t matter to him if they talked about the mind-numbing nothings of a day, or exchanged dinner plans, or their least favorite holiday songs. Hardy would have had a conversation about anything at all--

His boldness was self-preservation because he knew. He’d been here before, spending all his time waiting on texts and phone calls. Falling asleep and waking up thinking about what he was going to say the next time. Taking showers without washing his hair, replaying all the words on repeat.

Hardy had to live withe answers he’d been given now. He had to accept life in the aftermath because Bill had barely taken a full minute to come up with an answer, almost exactly like a promise.

So he was an idiot, falling in love with a man he had no hope of being with, smiling at his phone as he typed out: Good morning, Bill.

Bill was wearing the lab coat because he’d convinced himself that he was going to do something like real work today. There was enough of it waiting to be attended to that he shouldn’t have had trouble finding something to throw himself into. He’d convinced himself that it would be better than sorting through resumes, but that had been well over a half an hour ago and all he’d managed to do was find himself staring at the nicely-made bad in the observation room.

His head was full of thoughts that he couldn’t quite hear. It was a peculiar feeling to be caught inside your own body, knowing something was going on, and being just out of earshot of your own emotions. (Or not. Maybe Bill felt plenty. It was the ideas he couldn’t get a grip on.)

“Bill.” Virginia was standing in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame and the other behind her back. Her voice was as soft as flower petals; her face as gentle as early-morning sunshine.

“Virginia.” He didn’t even have a pretense of being caught preparing because he hadn’t even made it as far as pulling a chair out. The most he’d done was turn on a light. They’d built this room to contain any noise and it covered the space around them cotton, sealing away all the world around them.

“I appreciate that you’ve gone out of your way to make my return as smooth as possible,” she said. “I just wonder if… How are you?”

Oh, he was thinking about a beautiful woman named Dody that had whispered his name from kiss-pinked lips like she loved him. He was wondering where she was, and why he hadn’t been enough for her.

Is that what he was wondering?

That’s what Alec had said. That he had loved his wife, and he hadn’t been enough for her. Bill had loved Dody like that, he had dreamed about the life they could have. Oh hell, he’d even imagined a lovely little house, and a little dog, and when they were ready, a child with the face of the woman he loved. He could imagine happiness in Dody’s image because it had felt possible.

Libby begged for children, and she’d gotten them in the end. Bill had never imagined a life full of children with Libby. He’d never dreamed of Christmas carols and little stockings by the fire. He couldn’t imagine kissing her in the morning with an arm wound around her back. He hadn’t even loved his children with any hope, because he had never felt that he could.

That was the sort of bastard his father had made him to be; the one that hadn’t even tried to love his own children. And for what reason? Because he hadn’t wanted them?

(But didn’t he? It had felt like heartbreak in that God-damn operating room, with the weight of his stillborn daughter in his hands. It had felt like his soul had been ripped. You couldn’t break a heart that couldn’t love. He had loved Catherine. He must have loved Johnny, and Jenny, and Howie.)

“Fine,” Bill said, “I’m doing well. Thank you.”

“Things don’t have to be strange between us,” Virginia said. “We’ve always been able to separate our work from other…distractions. I hope that we’re able to find that same balance again.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat, “right. Of course. I just--” he looked down at the tablet in his hand, and then at the door behind her. “I think I’m not feeling well, if you excuse me. I’m going to take some paperwork and go home.”

Virginia looked, if only for a moment, disappointed by him. As if she had expected something different.

Bill slid past her before he could get caught on wondering why she would look at him like that. He passed Betty in the hallway, and she didn’t even try to stop him. The most she did was frown back down the hall like she already knew what she’d find.

But it wasn’t Virginia’s fault that Bill didn’t know what the hell he wanted. It wasn’t her fault that he’d made this terrible situation. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted to be anywhere in the world but here.

Impulse stopped him at the last moment. And it felt very much like it had the night before. When he was asked for honesty and he had barely hesitated. It must have been all those thoughts of his, just slightly too far away to hear clearly. He called, “Betty?”

“Yeah?” Betty was torn between following him and continuing what she had been doing.

“I’m going home for the day,” was a coward’s way out. He didn’t look away from her trying to figure out what to say in response, so they were still staring at each other when he cleared his throat to add, “and I’d be very happy to accept your invitation.”

“What is that?” Miller had barely made it in the door. Her fingers were still reaching up to pull her scarf loose. Even poor Fred was still bundled so tightly in his winter wear that he couldn’t quite manage to lower his arms.

Hardy had left the gift sitting on the table by the stack of case files that they kept thinking they were going to get to. But the white-shocked-look on Miller’s face made him think that perhaps he should have tucked it out of sight until he’d had the chance to provide some lead-in to giving it to her. (Except that Hardy had never seen the sense in pretenses. People wasted altogether too much time on nonsense.) “It’s for Fred,” he said. And it sounded immediately stupid to him. “For Christmas. I wasn’t sure-- If it’s inappropriat--”

“Oh shut up,” Miller said. Her fingers were still curled into the scarf but she hadn’t managed to pull it loose yet. The words came as one gust of breath and she jerked to the side, spinning around so she wasn’t looking at him.

Fred looked back at his Mom and then up at Hardy. His overstuffed coat sleeves were keeping his arms straight out to the sides but he raised them vaguely toward him. “Off,” the boy said to him. (Or might have been up.)

Hardy could have taken the boy’s coat off but he couldn’t be sure that Miller was going to stay. As much trouble as he appeared to be in, it would just be made worse by removing the coat of a small child that most likely wouldn’t want it put back on. “Miller,” he said.

“Shut up,” Miller repeated but her voice was tight and wet. She turned back to look at him as she wiped at the tears gathering at the edges of her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

There he was, a fully grown man, ducking his head because the truth was that he didn’t know what he thought he was doing. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it? You’ve got a kid and we’re friends, and that means I buy him a present and--”

“Oh, shut up,” Miller shouted at him. She was scrubbing fresh tears from her eyes with greater aggravation. Poor Fred, who had really reached the end of his ability to be held prisoner in his coat, started crying at the sharpness in her voice. Miller pulled her own scarf off before she crouched down to release the boy and kiss his distressed little forehead.

“I can take it back,” Hardy offered.

“Don’t you dare,” Miller snapped. She dropped Fred’s coat on the back of his little couch and pulled her own coat off. “I don’t think Tom’s coming home for Christmas. He says that he needs space and he feels happier when he’s not around me. He says he didn’t want to leave Broadchurch and he doesn’t want to be punished because of me.”

Hardy was miserable with comfort, standing there without any ability to offer anything that might make the thick-wet pain in Miller’s voice even slightly more bearable.

“I didn’t do this, did I? I didn’t murder a boy. I didn’t make us pariahs in our own home. I didn’t-- I haven’t even put up a tree. Fred’s too young to care. I haven’t even thought about making dinner. I didn’t even wrap any gifts. I don’t… I didn’t think I could stand it.”

Hardy looked over at the little boy dragging his box of blocks off the bottom of a low shelf. “We could get a tree,” Hardy said. “I haven’t gotten one because-- What’s the point? Daisy’s visiting her Grandparents with her Mom. I won’t get to see her until New Years, if she agrees to see me at all. We could…” He shrugged, “we could eat. Let Fred open his gifts.”

Miller was shaking her head at him. “You’re a bastard,” she said. And then she cleared her throat again. “Look at me, I’m a mess. I’m going to make myself presentable. And then we’ll talk about trees and dinner and…” She moved like she was going toward the bathroom but she lurched back and dragged Hardy into a hug.

He was too shocked to do more than stand there, and it didn’t seem to matter if he reciprocated or not. She held on a matter of seconds and then let go to retreat to the bathroom. Hardy was left standing there, looking at the empty space where Miller had been until Fred climbed onto the back of the couch to grab his hand.

“Blocks,” the boy said to him.

They were building their sixth tower before Miller came back out, and when she did, her composure was a worn-thin cover barely hiding her pink-tipped nose. She didn’t bother to touch the case files, just came around the couch to sit on the floor with them. “If you were sincere, and you weren’t just offering because I was making a scene, we’d be very happy to have Christmas here with you.”

Hardy nodded, and Miller reached out to wrap an arm around Fred and drag him back up against her body. She kissed his fluffy hair as he wriggled to be free enough to kick over the block tower. “You’ll have to do the cooking if you want something edible,” Hardy said.

Miller snorted. “We’ll split it down the middle. Joe always made Christmas dinner.”

“We can buy premade,” Hardy suggested.

They were idiots, trying to find something like happiness, smiling at nothing.

Betty opened the door with a jerk that made the knob rattle. He’d expected some level of formal attire; most likely something very similar to what they frequently wore to work. But Betty was wearing a baggy T-shirt over a pair of leggings patterned with Christmas tree lights. Her hair was pulled away from her face by a wide-black headband and she smiled at him with fondness that had no name.

“Oh,” Bill said. He was wearing a tie and carrying a bottle of wine (as directed). “Did I come at the wrong time?”

“Is that the pizz--oh.” Helen was all smiles in baggy fleece pajamas zipped from her waist to her neck. She had a fist full of cash and an almost embarrassed smile. “Hello Dr. Masters.”

“Just Bill will do,” Betty said. She opened the door as wide as she could and motioned for him to step inside. “No, you came at the right time, boss. We just decided that we’d take it easy on you this year. We ordered pizza, we bought beer and we’re going to watch Christmas movies.”

“Betty.” He didn’t step inside because he was wearing a suit. He was wearing a tie. He was holding a bottle of wine that certainly cost more than all the pizza and beer combined. There was every indication available that he didn’t belong here. He’d misunderstood the invitation, and he wouldn’t fit. “I think it’s best if I just…”

“Look,” Betty said as she leaned against the door. “No offense to your fancy education and all, boss but I think you might be the least qualified person standing in this doorway to decide what is and isn’t in your own best interest. Now, I thought something like this would happen so I took the liberty of making sure we had some pajamas in your size.”

“No, really, I think…” He took a step back and Helen turned in an awkward circle on her heels to duck back through the doorway she’d come through.

Betty slid forward, so she close enough she could grab him by the hand if she wanted. She was leaning against the door jamb, giving him just enough space to make a run for it. “I’m offering you a night of pizza, beer, pajamas and no expectations. Nobody wants to be alone on Christmas, not even you. And besides,” was a light and happy tilt to her voice, “they’re great pajamas. You can send a selfie to your Scottish sweetheart.”

“He’s not…”

But Betty just hiked up an eyebrow at him, daring him to finish the sentence. She was daring him to call her a liar, and he just couldn’t find the words for it.

“Well,” he shifted on his feet, “I brought wine.”

Betty’s smile was beautiful, and it glowed like the sun. (And he thought, like an answer to all those things that he couldn’t quite figure out, that this is what love must look like. Love at it’s most sincere, and least selfish. Because Betty had nothing to gain from loving him, and still she dragged him into her home just so he wouldn’t be alone.)

Fred fell asleep first, face down in the left over bits of wrapping paper with his fingers curled around one of the noisy little cars Hardy had bought him. He was still wearing the pajamas he’d woken up in and the little white stars caught the twinkle of the Christmas tree lights.

“God, I wish I could fall asleep anywhere like that,” Miller said. She was curled up on the edge of the couch, sipping another mug of just enough eggnog to be an excuse for the alcohol she’d put in it. “Do you remember what it was like to be that unbothered by everything?”

Hardy snorted. “Does anyone?”

They’d had a slow-and-lazy day, drifting through every emotion a human could feel in a day. The morning had started later than he remembered any Christmas involving Daisy had. Fred had found the gifts by the tree, but he was happy enough to get something to eat before he tore into them. Miller had spent an hour in the bathroom crying her eyes out, and they’d put together race tracks and installed batteries until all the toys finally worked.

They’d eaten lunch while they watched kids cartoons off a laptop.

“You’re a pretty good guy, Alec Hardy,” Miller said because she’d had just enough alcohol to make her think the words were a good idea. “Still a shitface. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile--well, I saw you smile, but you didn’t smile at me. You were smiling at your phone.”

Alec was smiling at a stupid picture of Bill Masters wearing fluffy gray pajamas and an elf hat, squished between two smiling women on a small couch. He was smiling because Bill was smiling, even if it was twinged with embarrassment. “I smile,” he said, “when there’s something to be smiling about. What have I got to smile about? My heart is trying to kill me. I can’t drive. I can’t work. I can barely walk some days. And if I die before I solve Sandbrook, all I’ll ever be known for is fucking up an investigation that let a child murderer go free.”

Miller took another drink. She shrugged, “you were smiling at your phone. I saw you. I watched you play with Fred today. You’ve got things to smile about. We both have. Now, don’t start with all that depressing stuff. I’m trying to be a merry drunk.” Her smile was exhausted and her cheeks were pink.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine,” Miller answered with a smile.

@marvelmisha, @e3105eb, @may-darling, @bigleosis, @it-is-ineffable, @stardust-andwine, @echelongaga, @imnotokaywiththerunning, @heirofsarcasm, @thedoctorsblogger

#illogical husbands #alec hardy #bill masters #grouchy bastards in love #broadchurch #masters of sex

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skelffricat · 4 years

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Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’ve never owned an electric toothbrush. I’ve never had a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher. I like washing dishes. I never bought an iron. I don’t have a hairdryer. I find it strange that I get advertised these reusable alternatives for things that I never use anyway. Alternatives to cling film. I put another plate over the dish. Alternatives to cotton buds. I use my finger. (Ew, you may say, but surely a finger’s that size to fit in ears and nostrils? Or whatever orifice you please. Wash your hawnds.) Alternatives to cotton wool circles. What? I dont know why these thoughts have come into my head, when I want to write about my youngest child. Really, I’m meant to be working, but an annoying email from my dead daughter’s school sent me down a suicide rabbithole. Perhaps those other thoughts come about as my classic brain avoidance schemes. Like when you hoover instead of doing an essay. Positive procrastination, I used to call it. I wanted to visit some friends last night- a fun thing! but I was feeling all solitary and awkward. I cleaned the bathroom ceiling at first, instead! I had to really talk myself into going to see them. I was looking at my bed and it was saying, “Get into me! and read your book!”

Then I went, and I had a lovely time, of course. I still finished the book I was reading, when I got home at midnight, until three am, making myself ever so tired. I’ve stopped taking the tablets- beta blockers and mirtazapine (more by accident rather than design. They’re still up in the chemist waiting for me. I’m rather disorganised) and so sleep doesn’t come as readily. I have to take deep breaths for ages sometimes, to get over. And I awake in the night hearing things that aren’t there. I heard The Woodcarver calling me, one night, plain and loud as day. Another time, I heard my son knocking my door three times, sharply (or was it a burglar? I said that to someone and they laughed. Burglars don’t knock! Oh, hello there, wake up, I’m robbing you blind!) Bounced out of bed. Heart hammering. Called him. He was fast asleep. Was it her ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, really. Kind of wish I did. She’d be a mischievous one, no doubt. Is it always 5:57am, when I awake? The same time. Time to find your dead child.

I’m often in the house alone, now. They didn’t want to leave me alone, and there were so many people in the house, for ages. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. And I changed lovers... I changed to the one I’d been in love with for over a year, the one who seemed too young, the one who wasn’t interested. Suddenly he was interested. Well. It wasn’t sudden. It took a few weeks. Seven weeks? The seven week itch? It coincided with when the Scottish lover asked me to stop letting other people come to the house. He wanted me to himself. Which is kind of fair enough, though I knew it wouldn’t last anyway. (People coming to my house, I mean, not the relationship. I really enjoyed having a relationship with him. He is very sweet, funny, intelligent, and kind. The sex was great. He can cook wonderful food and play guitar well. I liked to sing with him. I am ashamed to say I was bothered by his being smaller than me, though. His face tended to itch me, too- he never quite grew a beard long enough to stop that. As he kept shaving it off, not because he couldn’t. That was the first time he kind of annoyed me, though.)

Lockdown doesn’t help, of course. We were all breaking rules in our grief. Covid is cancelled, my mother said. Masks off. Hugs all round. A friend told me you need extra oxytocin when you’re grieving. I was getting plenty of it. Good grief...

Now I am frequently alone, and as my new lover is very busy studying (or perhaps less interested in me again now that he has my attention back? Though his reticence in getting with me stemmed from his concerns about the uneven nature of our interest in each other...) I haven’t seen him all week. I feel myself becoming depressed, and withdrawn, and paranoid, yet I still don't feel particularly sad about my daughter’s death. Which is strange. Isn’t it? Here is the email I received from her school this morning (it had her name and class at the top of the email):

“Good morning

I hope this email finds you all well.

A number of years ago I signed the college up to the campaign against period poverty. I receive and distribute sanitary products to girls, primarily on free school meals, but any who are in need of the products and either can’t afford them or it is difficult to get them. The products are normally distributed by myself, during P.E and games, unfortunately this can’t happen at present.

These products are still available during the school closure. If you wish to avail of them, please contact our school info account (which is only read by one member of office staff) your request will be directed to me and I will contact you directly regarding collection.

These are difficult times for many at present and to quote my favourite supermarket, ‘every little helps’.

Kind regards...”

I was really with her until she quoted Tesco. And said they were her favourite!! Ugh! I mean, it really is a great idea. Though they really should check if the people they are writing about are still capable of bleeding. My heart bleeds....

I replied thus:

“Hello there.

Great idea, but as (my youngest daughter) has died, she won't be needing them any more. I hate Tesco- they ruin many little businesses.

Maybe take me off this mailing list?”

Then I attached one of her seven suicide notes: the one for school. Which I had previously not shown them. I only found it on Christmas Eve. Can I attach it, here? It has no names...

There we are. Is it wrong of me to find her notes amusing? She is so angry, people say. I wonder how much of it is literal, and how much of it is using the school as a big nameless scapegoat. She was funny in the rest of them, too, and very loving. I found them comforting, like a fucked up Christmas present.

Then I started reading articles about suicide, and they were about how we shouldn’t call the people who do it selfish, about how depressed they are, how they need pity, not anger. I’m tired of the pity (though I’m not the suicidal one). I’m not producing enough sadness from myself when people pity me, either. Where is my sadness? Am I too acceptant of it all? We are all going to die. Is suicide like a C-section? Is it cheating death, like I thought my Caesareans cheated birth? Is suicide self euthanasia? Why do I not miss my daughter more? Is it because she had already left? Was she released, happy, free as a bird, swooping away on an Awfully Big Adventure? Trapezing her way into the æther? I googled to see if I could find any positive reactions to suicide. Is this my nature, to try and find the good in everything? To try and make light of the horrific? Is everything a joke to me?

I found this blog post, from Andreas Moser.

I love it. Am I trying to take the blame away from myself? The NHS? The school? Should I be reeling and railing against the systems that let my daughter get into that state? Why am I instead trying to find ways to applaud her behaviour, accept it, even enjoy it?! When I read his words, “I admire their courage (because logical as it may be, it’s not easy) and the determination to make the ultimate decision in life oneself.” I felt a strange sensation of relief, that someone else could think those things. I had been thinking them, but trying not to, because it seemed like such an awful thing to think. But then I think, why does anyone else have to be to blame? It was her decision.

The book I was rereading is called Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. It’s my favourite book, I have decided, for now. Do favourites stay favourites? I was looking at my old Couchsurfing Profile today (because of Andreas’ blog- he, as a hippy hermit, is, of course, on Couchsurfing). One needs to update these every so often. Explain that you have watched another film in the last twenty years, that there is one less sofa in your living room, one less child on your earth. Even though no-one is allowed to move around, really. No visiting. No exploring. Perhaps she killed herself to escape the boredom.

In Life After Life, the main character, Ursula, lives again and again. (I forgot that to live again and again, she had to die again and again. It's a very sad and graphic book, spanning two wars- read it. It is, ultimately, uplifting.) I wanted to read it again to make my daughter live again, and again. We need to write her alive. Show her drawings and paintings. Listen to her songs (they're hilarious). Read her poems. Admire her photographs. Tell the stories of her antics.

I know that really she was actually depressed and withdrawn. I know it isn’t a glorious escape. That her wee head was broken, and that sometimes it’s just easier to say, it was unfixable, she was determined, this is what she wanted, than to contemplate it as my (or anyone else’s) failure to help her. I know that she used to be confident and gregarious. She would have danced in front of people, inspiring others. She was always upside-down, tumbling, twirling, cartwheeling. She had a dry, cheeky wit, and rather an amusing obsession with poo and wee. She was kind, and wise. She liked to bake vegan treats. She could draw, and paint, and sing so beautifully. She played the ukelele, but by then she was hiding away. She had started to write poems- songs? She wouldn’t show us them. We had to beg her to perform on the trapeze for her Granny’s eightieth, in July. She did so, beautifully, but you could tell she hated the attention. Four months later, she hanged herself on it.

Had we all withdrawn into ourselves, this 2020? Was there really nothing else to do? Yet I remember the start of Lockdown seeming idyllic. All that free time, all that sunshine. Was I just trying to convince myself, as usual? The only people we saw were the Woodcarver and the neighbours. She taught the wee boy next door to ride his unicycle. When she died, he brought in a picture he had drawn, of them on their unicycles, she as an angel above herself, a rainbow arcing over the three figures. His sadness affected me. I felt like I could only be sad through other people. Where is my sadness? Where is my grief? Good grief, bad grief, no grief? Alternatives to grief.

#teenagesuicide #goodgrief #badgrief

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

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We’ll Be Home For Christmas 2.2

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Two – Aboard This Tiny Ship – Part 2 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1

Author: Gumnut

14 - 18 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 2576

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

This section is a touch shorter than the last one, but the next section will be much bigger.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Scott was ready to chew an arm off just to entertain himself by the time Gordon announced they were approaching L’Esperance Rock just after lunch. He’d seen it enough from the air to know it meant they were around halfway home. The thought did give him some relief and he stood at the bow of the boat watching the islet come into view.

A grunt behind him had him turning to find Virgil making his way forward, coffee in one hand, abdomen in the other. He darted in to help his brother up the steps.

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. Just being useful.”

That earned him a stare and an arched eyebrow. “You’re bored shitless, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m okay.”

Virgil snorted. “I had a bet with John you’d last until tonight at least. You’ve shafted me fifty bucks, big brother.”

Scott grunted. “Well, that explains why he was so happy to steal my phone.”

“He stole your phone?” Brown eyes frowned up at him.

“Oh, yes. On Grandma’s orders apparently.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Heh, that’s between the two of you. I’m only the subject of the bet, not the umpire.”

“Null and void. He’s not getting a cent.”

Scott grinned as he held his brother’s elbow, surprised he hadn’t been shook off.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Virgil’s voice was wistful as they approached the railing. “Sometimes I think we get too busy or just take it all for granted. We do live in a stunning corner of the planet.”

“Dad always thought so. I wouldn’t have called him much of an environmentalist, but he knew what was important.”

“Hmm, I think you underestimate him. You were off the Island when Alan brought two rats home as pets.”

“He did what?!”

Another arched eyebrow. “Yes, he did, early on. Snuck them in. Dad went ballistic when he found out. The words he used had Grandma blushing. Let’s just say that Beau and Belle were deported rather abruptly and Alan now has an unofficial degree in environmental management.”

“Hmph, serves him right.”

Virgil smiled at him. “Sounds like you might be a bit of an environmentalist yourself.”

A tolerant glare at his brother. “I do what is necessary.”

Scott was surprised when Virgil’s response to that statement was a sigh. His brother’s expression was almost sad.

“What?”

“You need to relax.”

“I am relaxing.”

“No, you’re not. You’re wired tighter than Two’s primary generator. You need to find a way to wind down. We’re on vacation.”

“We’re on mandatory lockdown.”

“Grandma is right. We need a break. Preferably before we break something we can’t repair.”

“It’s not just about us!”

“Yes, it is! You need to let go! Focus on you for a change.”

“Dad-“

“Is not here! You have the right to a life, Scott. You have the right to look after yourself, to have a little fun, for god’s sake. When was the last time you read a fiction book? Flew a kite? Sat in front of the projector and binge watched an old television show?”

“There are more important things-“

“Importance is relative. It was you who blew my head off a matter of days ago about priorities, was it not? Our business forces us to prioritise according to lives at risk, I get it. I know it. I live it beside you. But you are my big brother, you are the leader of this team, your health affects our effectiveness. To put it harshly, some may die today, so many more can be saved in the future.” Virgil visibly swallowed. “I know International Rescue is important, but please, take the time, Scott. If you have to, do it for IR, do it for us or me or whatever gets you going, but most of all please do it for yourself.” Quietly. “I can’t lose you.”

What the hell? “You’re not going to lose me.”

“If you don’t look after yourself, we will!” He didn’t think it was physically possible for his brother to frown harder.

“If you don’t look after yourself, you’re going to blow your stitches.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you!”

“So, what are you thinking? Yell at me until I crack? I’m not finding this relaxing at all, Virg.”

“Well, it seems I need volume for you to actually hear me, because you certainly don’t listen otherwise.”

He couldn’t think of an immediate retort to that and to be honest he was worried Virgil was going hurt himself if he wasn’t careful, he appeared so uncharacteristically angry. “You’re that worried?”

“Of course, I’m fucking worried!”

Whoops, wrong thing to say.

“Virgil! Calm down. You’re the one who needs to relax.” He reached out and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Take a breath.”

To his surprise, Virgil was actually trembling a little. He was that passionate about this? He hadn’t been doing that badly, had he?

His brother did as requested and took a deep breath. “You are so hard to look after sometimes.” It was breathy and full of exhaled tension.

“You don’t have to look after me, Virg.”

“Somebody has to.” He looked up and brown eyes caught his. “Because you don’t.”

Ah, shit. A sigh and Scott gently drew his brother into a hug. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better.”

His brother didn’t answer, but he did lean in a little, one big hand reaching around Scott’s back and returning the embrace. “Please try.”

“Okay.”

Virgil pulled away slowly, not looking up at his brother, but focussing on the coffee he held in his other hand. He brought it to his lips and turned away slightly.

Scott stared at the back of his brother’s head and frowned.

The boat slowed as they approached the Rock. As jagged as its distant cousin, the Rock was like a miniature version of their home, the very top of a huge undersea volcano.

“Are we stopping here?”

Virgil’s question echoed his own thoughts. He thumbed his comms. “Gordon, are we stopping here?”

“Only for a moment. Just grabbing a sensor snapshot for Mel.”

Melissa Fisher, their closest neighbour. Blonde and sharp, she would remind him of Penny if it wasn’t for her obsession with all things Kermadec. That and the twigs in her hair. Even Dad had been a little wary of stepping on anything living when visiting Raoul Island. And visit they had. They needed to keep up relations and the woman was a mine of information when it came to ecological stabilisation and rehabilitation. Tracy Island had its issues when his father bought it and ever aware of the ecological importance of the area, once Brains had built the necessary infrastructure, his father had attempted to re-stabilise the ecosystem.

Melissa had been very helpful.

Gordon had taken to her immediately, jabbering in biology terms. For a bit there, Scott had wondered if the two of them might get involved with a different kind of biology, she was a little older than Gordon, only a year younger than Scott, but that might just float his brother’s boat. But apparently, they were too distracted by what they were discussing to notice each other.

Scott hadn’t seen her in years.

The boat came to a complete stop not far from the Rock and a moment later, Gordon appeared on the starboard side and threw out his sensor buoy.

Virgil was staring at him.

Scott blinked. “What is it?”

His brother didn’t answer immediately, those dark eyes assessing him a moment longer before sipping his coffee. But then a decision flickered across his expression and his hand reached out and gently took Scott’s arm. “Come with me.”

His brother turned slowly and led him off the bow. He negotiated the stairs and walked Scott back into the living area where Gordon was once again staring at holographic fish.

“Sit down and wait a moment.” His brother disappeared off into the depths of the living quarters.”

“Yes!”

Gordon’s jubilant yell made Scott jump. What?

His little brother was staring at a huge fish. A huge and weird looking fish. “What is that?”

“That, my wonderful big brother, is a sunfish or Mola mola, to be more specific.”

“And that is?”

Gordon glanced at him and frowned. “Heaviest bony fish on the planet. Came close to extinction twenty years ago. Saved by the World Council and its endangered species bill in 2039.” He turned back to the holographic display. “Though this one appears to have had some challenges.” Gordon’s fingers traced some gouges on the fish’s flank. “Old, but nasty.”

“Shark?”

His brother snorted. “No. That’s net scar. It’s been caught in a fishing net at some point. I can’t see any trace of the net, so this has to be one of the lucky ones.” The giant fish drifted lazily across the table as Gordon grabbed his tablet and stabbed his finger into it several times. “It must be well travelled. We are quite a distance from the fishing zones here.”

“I thought I told you to sit down.” Virgil edged carefully back into the room carrying his keyboard.

“And I thought you weren’t supposed to be lifting anything.” Scott hurried over and took the instrument from his brother’s hands.

“It’s not heavy.”

“So I have to look after myself, yet you don’t?”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped. “Okay, okay. Give me a second.” His brother grabbed a couple of cushions and shoved them together on a lounge chair to support his back and lowered himself into it. “Put it here.” He gestured across the arms of the chair and his lap.

Wary, Scott put the keyboard, that, yes, actually was quite heavy, down where his brother told him too. “Be careful.”

Virgil frowned up him with an expression that plainly said, ‘What am I? Stupid?’

“Well, you did carry the keyboard out here, did you not?”

His brother muttered something Scott couldn’t quite hear and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Now, you sit down and close your eyes.” A pause. “No, actually, lie down on the couch and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I ask.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but lay down. “You didn’t used to be this bossy.”

“You didn’t used to be this stubborn. Call it evolution in trying times.”

“Smart ass.”

“Shut up and close your eyes.”

Scott muttered under his breath, wriggled where he lay and did as his brother told him. Anything to stop the man from freaking out.

His brother began to play, the keys soft and blending with the water lapping against the hull. With his eyes closed, his mind focussed on the sounds around him. Gordon’s fingers on his tablet, heard just under the music. The distant calls of seabirds. Actually, it wasn’t much of a step from the sounds of home. Virgil playing his piano. Gordon sitting on the lounge playing with his tablet. The balcony doors open to the breeze, the distant sound of the waves on Tracy Island rock, the distant call of the bird colony on Mateo. John would be in his room reading. Alan would be playing a video game in the kitchen while Grandma attempted to make dinner. Brains, as always, would be in his lab.

Virgil playing the piano.

Waves against the rocks.

Birds calling...

Home.

-o-o-o-

Virgil kept playing ever so softly. Gordon had stopped working and was staring at the two of them, frowning.

Scott started snoring.

Gordon’s eyes widened and he mouthed words at Virgil. ‘How do you do that?’

Virgil just smiled and kept on playing, drifting into a long, gentle piece his mother had taught him long ago.

At some point he closed his eyes, too, and let himself go with the music, let his fingers do what the music asked.

He woke to find both Scott and John sitting opposite him.

“That was dirty pool, Virg.”

He blinked. Someone had taken the keyboard away and shoved a few extra pillows into the chair to support him. “You knew what I was doing. I’m just your excuse. How long did you last?”

It was John who spoke up. “About twenty minutes. It was enough. Gordon had to get the boat moving. He woke up the moment the engine started.”

“You, on the other hand, have been out for over two hours.” Scott was smug. “You missed the active volcano.”

Virgil turned to John. “Anything worth looking at?”

His younger brother shrugged. “Looked like an island to me. Bigger than the Rock. No activity at the moment.”

Virgil turned back to Scott. “Sounds like I didn’t miss anything. Where are we now?”

“Anchored at Macauley Island.” Gordon strode across the room. “Hey, Virg. Good to see you awake. You might like to see this.” His fish brother’s grin was highly suspicious.

It took both Scott and John to get him out of the chair. He should not sleep sitting up with abdominal incisions. Ow.

For a moment there he thought Scott was going to send him to bed or demand he take painkillers, but he didn’t. His brother didn’t say anything, and even if he did, a familiar roar distracted Virgil enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if his brother said anything anyway.

He pushed himself forward, leaving his helping hands behind and stepped out onto the deck.

His beautiful ‘bird was roaring in from the north. She moved so fast, he blinked and she was coming to a halt some distance away, VTOL firing her into a hover.

He just stared as she dropped her module.

He blinked as Gordon and Alan suddenly started the engine of an inflatable dingy and tore off towards the module sporting its proud number four.

“Thunderbird Two to Virgil.” Kayo’s voice startled him out of his stare. “So how did I do? Score out of ten.”

The door to the module lowered and Gordon leapt out of the little boat and jumped on board.

“Oh, ten, I guess.”

“Ten?!” Gordon’s outrage yelped across comms as the aquanaut turned in the distance and put both hands on his hips. “I knew he liked you more than me. I haven’t managed anything higher than an eight and I’ve been trying for years!”

Kayo didn’t answer as his ‘bird turned and took off for home, but Virgil grinned. “Keeps you on your toes, bro.”

“You suck.”

Their sister snorted across comms as Alan turned the dingy around and headed back. Gordon glared a glare that made it across the ocean despite the distance and stormed off into the module.

Virgil’s grin just got wider. “Why did he call for Four?”

“Something about helping Melissa. A sensor malfunction in the Macauley caldera.” A glance at Scott found him grinning, too. “You know he’s not going to let that go, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

“We’re stuck on a boat, captained by him, in the middle of the ocean and you want to set Gordon off?”

Virgil shrugged. “He’ll enjoy it.”

“We won’t.”

“We’ll live.”

“If I wake up with pink hair, you’re dead.”

“I love you, too.” Virgil was still grinning.

“You do know that you still have your comms on, don’t you?” His aquanaut brother’s voice was admittedly amused.

“Yes, Gordon, I do. Got some good ideas?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” And with that, Four’s rear thrusters fired and she shot out of the module and into the ocean.

“You got your uniform on?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Fly safe.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

End Day Two, Part Two

Day Two, Part Three

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy

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diaryformytravels · 5 years

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#16 Toronto (Day 1) [Christmas Day]

Hello to everyone, Jasper here! I have been tasked with the blog write for today as someone is unable to do so!!!

I awoke after a blissful sleep at 8:30am, after going to sleep the previous day at 8:30pm, before Morgs! I was then made aware that the she had not had a blissful sleep and had in fact woken up several times throughout the night, including 1am-2am, and from 5am onwards, unlucky, imagine being bad at sleeping haha, loser 😂

We received a text from Michelle saying she had gone out and bought fresh bagels with fresh ingredients to go on said bagels, so that was a lovely breakfast. But of course not to one (Max- the little bitch) was NOT impressed with how his bagels were prepared for him. Max likes cheese and fresh smoked salmon on his plain white bagel. Mum had presented him with this exactly, a plain bagel with cheese and smoked salmon, which he yelled and complained and stated he simply wasn't eating it, as the cheese was melted. Mum had put it in the grill to warm it up again (putting the salmon on after so the fish wasn't warm). He complained again and then some more and walked out in anger and frustration, mum then forced him to eat it, to which point he then asked after for his next to made the same way because he liked it. What an idiot.

Moving on... at 9:30 we dropped max off at his piano lesson, and dropped Mikko off at the gym, and Morgs, mum and myself went to the equivalent of Scuttis to get some food for Christmas lunch/dinner. Before this though we went and got morgs some drugs from the pharmacy. We got a whole assortment of food, from tiny baked potatoes, various mini-cakes, berries, sliced meats, and two chickens to roast. We then picked up the two Fins (Max and Mikko) and then drugged Morgs up, she then went and had a nap while the Fins went to Max’s hockey training. Mum and I listened to Les Mis while cooking the roast. On a side note, I made the stuffing and I had to physically place my hands inside of two chickens, and fill them. It was so traumatising, imagine if that poor bird was still alive, I would have killed it.

An hour later, the Fins returned and morgs awoke, and we started the presents! Lots of cool stuff was given, which is surprising as usually MMM’s gifts consist very odd and peculiar things that have no use at all. Morgs got some cool hats from London, Kate Spade jewellery. I got some cool Disney socks, and lots of quirky card games. And we both got matching Mickey/Minnie Mouse Christmas jumpers which are very cool, matching Disney plush toys, and we both got a pair of very nice ice skates (???? useful if we lived in a place with snow, but whatever!) Max got spoilt and mum opened a lot of Kate spade bags that she loved and were exactly what she wanted (Because she gave the role of her present buying to herself, Mikko was completely oblivious)

Morgs and I carried our presents downstairs, whilst mum cleaned up the wrapping paper, and the Fins played with their new street hockey sticks and hockey gear. But since it's raining, of course this was inside...

After we had a small break to wind down and then at around 4:00 we had Christmas dinner/lunch which seems like a weird time, but we are all jet lagged so it ended up working for all. Max didn't complain much during dinner which was pleasant and unexpected. He did try to eat all the skin off the chicken, but I wouldn't let him. Because it was mine. Although, after refusing gravy on his plate, he did cut up his chicken and ask if he could dip it in the gravy jug (??? what a weird thing to think of doing. No you may absolutely not do that you rotten child?)

We then had another little rest, morgs had a sauna with eucalyptus (it took me almost 5 minutes to figure out to spell eucalyptus) infused steam to help with her blocked nose, I had a shower and lord knows what MMM did. Now we’re in bed dreading tomorrow as Mikko and Max have decided were going to go ice skating on our new skates, even though morgs can barely function for more than hour, we have to go watch Max’s hockey game and then Michelle leaves us for 4 days to go back to London, which we’re not happy about.

Morgs is next to me with a wet face washer on her head, resting up, we've got some cold and flu tablets (night ones) for her to take so she can sleep through well. Mum has just texted and said morgs can stay home tomorrow, so I guess that means I'm about to have the worst day ever tomorrow!!!!

ps. I hope AM is recovering well from sending it last night, looked like you had a lit night and slapped everyone (is that how you use that word?)

Goodnight/Good morning

Lots of love unequivocally,

Jasper

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kenkamishiro · 5 years

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Ishida’s Q&A comments from YJ compilation, Part 8

Once again Ishida continuing to give answers that don’t actually answer the questions at all lol.

For anyone who doesn’t know about the relevant Questions to Ishida contest, please read here. You can start from Part 1 here.

The recent set of zakki:re and interview translations take a lot of time and effort, so if you enjoyed it please reblog or leave a like. Thank you!

2016

No. 1

Still 1 month left of this year! What’s something you still have left to do for 2015?

The storyboard.

Good luck.

No. 2

Sensei, please share with us a piece of news that was important to you in 2015!

I forget.

I wasn’t feeling so great in 2015.

No. 3

December 17 is Airplane Day! Now then, please share with us a memory you have that is related to airplanes!

I like the window seats.

Probably that time on the plane to head to the New Years party, when the staff was forced to stop because of me...

[T/N: Referring to his New Year’s party escapades in the volume 6 omake.]

No. 4-5

December 24 is Christmas Eve! Now then, please share with us a present that you want now as an adult!

I don’t need one since I’m an adult.

Even adults want presents too, you know!

No. 6-7

When you think of New Year’s Day...you think of New Year’s money!! Please share with us one way you spent the money you received from New Year’s when you were a child!

On games.

I was jealous of other people’s families since I didn’t have a lot of relatives.

No. 8

Sensei, please tell us your philosophy when it comes to food!

I think of meals as work.

I consider meals as work when I’m eating alone. When I go with people I eat whatever I like.

No. 9

January 28 is the birthday of the late Komatsu Sakyou! Now then, please share with us one of your favourite sci-fi works!

Gantz.

It’s not Star Wars...

No. 10

Please share with us one aspect or behaviour of the opposite sex that you unconsciously care about!

Their face.

How they use social media.

No. 11

Please share with us a Twitter account that you’re most interested in now!

Inagawa Junji-san’s for his ghost story tweets.

I find that accounts of artists are helpful for studying.

No. 12

Please share with us one of your favourite genres/videos that you end up watching on video streaming sites.

I got Netflix so I could watch Terrace House.

I still use it.

No. 13

If you were to ever film a Taiga drama who would you pick as the main character?

Siebold.

But why?

[T/N: A Taiga drama is a type of long-running TV drama period piece, often produced by NHK.]

No. 14

Graduation season is in full bloom! Now then, please share with us one of your favourite graduation songs!

“Lion” by Amano Tsuki.

Uh-huh, yup.

[T/N: "Lion” was one of the songs included in Ishida’s Spotify playlist.]

No. 15

Sensei, if you could decide the design of the 10,000 yen bill, who would it be a portrait of?

A cat.

A cat...?

No. 16

Today is Weekly Manga Day! Please tell us your number one favourite manga that is released weekly!!

I’m curious about what Ooima Yoshitoki-san will draw for her next manga.

Just how much do you care?

No. 17

Sensei, please share with us one thing that makes you go, “Man, I wanna go see this,” now?

Commentary on demonstration boards for shogi.

I went to one! Man, was it interesting.

No. 18

The final day of March is...Orchestra Day! Now then Sensei, please share with us a memory you have that’s related to musical instruments!

I bought a piano recently, and I’ve been playing it almost every day.

And I still play it.

No. 19

Entrance ceremony season has arrived! Now then, please tell us about a schoolteacher who’s left the biggest impression on you!

Some student hacked the school server and the teacher intercepted the culprit.

That’s the kind of school I attended.

No. 20

New dramas are starting one after another! Now then, please share with us a series that’s left the biggest impression on you among all the dramas that you’ve seen recently!

Right now I’m currently watching Mad Men.

I watched all of Mad Men. I can’t believe what happened at the end of “Meditations”...

[T/N: Not entirely sure what Ishida meant by that last line, but I think “Meditations” refers to the last episode of the second season, titled “Meditations in an Emergency”.]

No. 21

Sensei, please share with us one game that’s popular in your circle!

The staff and I often play Mafia a lot together.

Recently we’ve been playing table RPGs.

No. 22-23

Today is the day in which the elephant was first introduced to Japan! Now then, please share with us a person/thing/culture from overseas that you would like to come to Japan!

David Downton-san.

I don’t think that.

No. 24

It’s that time of year where it’s getting warmer even at night! Now then, please share with us something about hanging out at night that you still remember!

That time I went drinking at a bar in the outskirts of Tokyo with Takahashi Kunimitsu-kun.

I don’t want to go there again.

[T/N: Referring to that time in April 2016 where Ishida and Takahashi were at a bar and a middle-aged woman started hitting on Takahashi for 3 hours lol.]

No. 25

May 19 is Boxing Day! Now then Sensei, please share with us what you thought was the best match ever!

I like the match with David Haye.

Clearly it’s Darth Maul vs. Obi-Wan.

No. 26

Please share with us a story about a debacle that you or someone else caused at a drinking party!

The first time I met Nakayama Atsushi-sensei, I made so much of a fool of myself.

I was so piss-drunk that I fell asleep in the bathroom I think.

No. 27

When you think of June you think of June Bride! Now then Sensei, please share with us a story that you remember that has to do with weddings!

I drew the welcome board for my friend’s wedding.

That time I left early since I didn’t want to be late for my senpai’s wedding, but the flight ended up being delayed by over an hour...

No. 28

Sensei, please share with us one of your favourite literary works for children!

Ringing Bell by Yanase Takashi.

Stormy Night.

[T/N: Ringing Bell (Chirin no Suzu) was referenced in :re by Kaneki during Arima’s death scene. You can read about it here. Stormy Night also seems to have influenced :re.]

No. 29

June 16 is Wagashi Day! Now then Sensei, please share with us a confectionary that you like!

It’s not available in Fukuoka, but sweet mochi cake.

I want some now.

[T/N: Wagashi is traditional Japanese confectionaries.]

No. 30

June 23 is Olympics Day! Now then Sensei, please share with us a competition from the Olympics that you still remember to this day!

Uchimura Kouhei’s horizontal bar performance at the London Olympics.

I don’t really watch TV much, so questions like these are tough for me to answer.

No. 31

Please share with us your slogan for the latter half of 2016!

I won’t be late. I wasn’t able to keep that promise for the first half of the year.

Good luck with that.

No. 32

Sensei, please secretly tell us about one shop that you think is the King of Restaurants!

The Chinese restaurant by my previous workplace.

The stir-fried oyster with lettuce was perfection.

No. 33

Summer has arrived! Now then Sensei, what do you think of as “summer food”?

The spicy Mexican crispy noodle salad from Family Mart.

Ah that, that was so good. But I don’t see them sold anywhere now...

No. 34

If you could see exactly one historical event or incident live in person, what would you want to see?

I want to see Tezuka Osamu-sensei’s workplace.

The Perry Expedition.

[T/N: Tezuka is the “father of manga”, having drawn iconic manga like Astro Boy, Black Jack, and the currently airing anime Dororo.]

No. 35

When you think of summer, you think of the ocean! If you could raise just one sea creature as a pet what would you choose?

An octopus.

So I can eat it.

No. 36

Sensei, please share with us the most nerve-wracking moment you’ve ever experienced in your life!

That time when I had to address a speech to over a hundred people for the launch of the anime.

Finishing the manuscript before the deadline of the final chapter.

No. 37-38

Sensei, please share with us a word or phrase that’s been stuck in your head recently!

“Pandas exploding in the wild.”

It’s from group_inou.

No. 39

Sensei, please share with us a small luxury that you use in your everyday life!

On days I stay up all night I buy carbonated drinks.

Feels kinda pathetic huh.

No. 40

The disbanding of idol groups nationwide is hot news, but please tell us about an experience that you’re still reluctant to part ways with.

A little while ago, I bought a copy of Jump every week for several months.

It was so I could read Hunter x Hunter.

[T/N: Question is most likely talking about the disbanding of the top male idol group SMAP which was announced around this time of the year.]

No. 41

Sensei, what item makes you think, “whoever invented this is a genius”?

The PC.

Amazon.

No. 42

What was the most interesting reception you’ve received up until now that has made you the happiest?

I got a shikishi from the staff to commemorate 100 chapters of being serialized. Though no one from that time is left anymore...

I also got a shikishi from the current staff. I was happy.

No. 43

Sensei, please share with us a moment that’s made you feel the generation gap the most!

Encountering people who were born in the 2000′s.

Sha-Mail.

No. 44

It’s Reader Autumn! Please tell us what you consider as your bible!

Recently it’s “Speak Aloud and Rhyme”.

Now it’s “Drawing the Morphological Human Body with Boxes and Cylinders”.

No. 45

Sensei, please tell us about a manga/anime/novel that you’d like to see as a movie!

I’m looking forward to “Satoshi: A Move for Tomorrow” being released this fall.

I missed the chance to watch it.

No. 46

Sensei, what were you most enthusiastic about playing with when you were in school?

Smash Bros.

Games that are updated periodically.

No. 47

Sensei, please tell us about something that you’ve used for many years and have been unable to throw away!!

I throw things away when I need to.

My Cintiq 22HD (DTK-2000/K1) LCD tablet. The size and responsiveness of it matches it better than the latest model.

No. 48

Sensei, when was the moment you felt you became independent?

If I’m living.

What? Probably when I got my pay cheque.

No. 49

November 2 is Family Culture Day! Sensei, please tell us about a rule that’s only found in your household!

Playing no more than 1 hour of games a day.

That’s proper.

No. 50

Sensei, please share with us any furniture/interior work that you want to replace right now!

The bookshelf.

Same.

No. 51

Sensei, please share with us the first CD you’ve ever bought!

Morishita Reika’s “Your Wind is Blowing” (most likely).

Most likely, yeah.

No. 52

This year has had various movies become blockbuster hits, but in your opinion what work do you consider as a hit?

It’s actually a drama, but Game of Thrones.

I recommend it.

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#Tokyo Ghoul #zakki:re #Ishida Sui #Ishida Q&A #Translations #my translations #these series of questions were especially enjoyable #also lol the last one #the timing for it couldn't be worse huh

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unfliteredone · 4 years

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I think I want to make a 5 year plan or something like that. Maybe if I set real goals for myself I can make things happen. You think? Let’s give it a shot at least.

I’m only just writing this now. This is the first time I have ever written a real plan for myself. If we are being honest and blunt I really thought I would kill self by now. Yeah when I made it past high school it was a shock to me but now college. Yeah I’m a little impressed with myself. I suffer from a lot for trauma and mental illness. I have a lot of shit that goes on in my head and In my life and well shit was a mess. Throughout that all I succeeded. Now here I am. Standing at the doorway to the rest of my life and I am 100% about to go with it.

With my little sister about to enter high school in the fall I see her distancing herself from us to find herself. I think she will be busy and family time will be hard to come by. I am going to love this because the guilt will not be there to stay home or have to be around. Yes we will definitely still schedule time to be around each other and I think we’ll have a good time when that comes but I want to use these next 4/5 years to put in place something for myself. So here we go.

I feel like with this being a draft. I also also hate putting shit in stone I’m going to let myself come back and edit my plan as time goes on. Im hoping that Quarantine won’t go past the fall at least and will let me like stay on track with a plan of some sort.

Today’s Date is April 25 2020 11:25 pm when I write this.

Date of 1st Edit:

By December 2020 I want to have taken the GRE exam and hopefully done well enough. I’ll probably end up taking a second one in January 2021 just to make myself feel better.

One year From now (April 2021) I want to say I have. Traveled by myself at least once. Traveled with my friends at least once. Gotten another tattoo or 2. (covid pandemic permitting).

By June of 2021 I want to be done apply to my Grad school program(s) (so far I have one picked out but I’m going to look to apply to one may two others)

Current Grad school program(s)

- Master’s in Childhood education and Early Childhood education @ Queens college for no childhood education degree holders

(that’s me I have a bachelors in criminal justice. Yeah featuring that degree was a big mistake I’ll tell you and a huge waste of time).

By Fall of 2021 I want to be in my masters Program. I would also like to have paid off my credit card By this point. I would like to have bought myself a new laptop and an iPad with all it’s accessories. (Yes I think these will be very important for school)

By December 2021 I want to have a 3.5 GPA in school. I want to be working a relaxed full time job that allows me to go out on the weekends to see my friends. (I’m asking for a lot I know).

By June 2022 (I’m picking very odd months at this point). I want to have gained my motorcycle license and possibly a motorcycle. I want to also travel to Texas by myself by this point.

September 2022 I want to be entering my second year of grad school. (If I don’t do a dual program this would be my last year, the dual program adds just one extra semester) (don’t let that stop you from doing that!)

At this point I want to start looking for either my own place or a place to move if my family has not already moved by this point.

January 2023 I want to spend out of state. Possibly with friends but definitely not in New York.

April 2023 (Three years from today.) I want to have grown my beard. Been going to the gym semi constantly at this point. Saved at least 10,000 dollars. Paid off my car loan. Be more financially responsible.

August of 2023 I want to spend this entire month at the beach in some way. Just a thought.

September 2023 I would be entering the last semester in my dual program I think. (my 26th birthday ) I want to spend this birthday out of state somehow with friends.

December 2023 Graduate with my Master’s degree. Start planning to pay off student debt and grind hard to get a teaching job.

January 2024 take the next possible exam to get my teaching license or apply for my license (however it works)

April 2024 (4 years from now) look for apartments or places to put down payments to live forever possibly. Possibly look into buying secon car if the money is there.

Sept 2024 (Turning 27) get my 1st teaching job! I don’t care how I have to do it I want to be teaching by this point. I want to have a classroom or somethinf to call my own and be a full on teacher.

January 2025 I want to spend my 1st Christmas break as a teacher enjoying everything I have so far in life. I also want to be playing piano still and drums. I want to have invest money in drawing tablets or programs and cameras to take pictures. I want to make a little money on my artwork on the side if I can. It would also be nice to be in a relationship by this point in my life just saying.

April 2025 (Five years from now) I want to be in a good spot financially to have hopefully moved out by myself or something or that nature. I want to have traveled a lot and have gotten plenty of tattoos. I want to be going out and seeing my friends often enough. Overall I want to be happy.

So there it is my five year plan thus far. It is a work in progress it won’t be finished until April 2025. I have a long way to go. Hopefully I’m still doing this in five years.

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granddaughterogg · 6 years

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Azrael is a kinkster, yo. Azrael/Reader. Lemons ahead! Part 1

Chapter 1

Foreplay

Some people just burst with sexual energy. Their stare strikes sparks, their body language is hypnotising. You have serious trouble listening to what they say, because your mind is occupied with... very nonverbal things. You’ve met quite a few of such people lately. Azrael is not one of them. If you had to describe Azrael in one word, it would probably be: decent. Of course, the Archangel of Death possesses a lot more traits than this. He’s wise. He’s also candid, tactful and immensely empathetic. Yeah, he overflows with empathy. You’ve yet to see him lose his temper. Which is no small feat, considering how easy it would be to crack the shits in the company of your beloved Darksiders. Hell, there are moments when even you get a bit overwhelmed. They are four very distinctive personalities who bicker a lot.

There are days when Death is being more difficult than usual, War is pouting somewhere in the corner, Fury lashes out at everyone and Strife decides it’s the perfect time to tell a poop joke. You told him once what you think about poop jokes. Remains to be seen if the message has come through. On days like this you feel like pulling your hair out. Enter Azrael. Azrael the tactful, Azrael the charming. Azrael with this level, kind, yet irresistible voice of his. And magic happens. You suspect that the key to the angel’s success is that he respects everyone. He believes in equality. And his attitude comes through. He brings out the best in people. He and War are practically war buddies. Even though you find it impossible to imagine how their cooperation looked like. Death is actually fond of him; and people who Death’s fond of could be counted using fingers on a sawmiller’s hand. A very unlucky sawmiller’s hand. Fury loses her aggressive attitude when Azrael is around. Even Strife, who doesn’t like the guy that much – begrudgingly respects him. You feel that the angel should work in NATO. He could save humanity from many wars. That said, those are all not very sexy traits. You fail to imagine Azrael engaging in anything erotic. Of course, you’re a big girl now - and aware that it doesn’t take a testosterone-addled hunk to have an interesting sex life. Never the less, your angelic acquaintance always looks way too occupied with more important matters. Much more important. Speaking of looks. He isn’t classically attractive, but has a great profile. And beautiful hands. You always watch them eagerly whenever they emerge from all those fancy sleeves. Oops. Anyway, you two are now friends, right? It’s been a few months since War took you on a trip to Heaven. You’ve visited quite a few times since. Sometimes accompanied by one of the Horsemen, sometimes by all of them. The angel and the Darksiders had their own pressing matters to discuss, of course. But Azrael always made sure that you feel important and welcome. He would brew you great tea (seriously, you’ve never tasted better.) You two would talk at length; mostly about books. This guy is a crazy book magpie. He collects them all. Angel ones, human ones. he’s not too haughty to read the demonic ones either. If something has been written down, Azrael sooner or later will get his shapely, narrow hands on it. And then he’ll sniff it. He probably sniffs books.

I require pleasant company for the weekend. Would you care to come alone?

You got this mail on a Friday afternoon. Really terse, considering who the sender was. If, say, Strife wrote it – you’d suspect that someone clobbered his head with a thesaurus. But emails from Azrael were usually at least one page long. And he wasted entire paragraphs asking you about the weather, about how you were doing and so on. This message was almost...sloppy. Hectic. You pondered a little. Reminisced his subtle smile and those pretty hands, caressing some large-ass tome. Azrael probably obtained a first edition of Balzac or some such and he couldn’t wait to show it to you. Well, you were down with that.

Sure, I’ll come around. Just give me about two Earth hours, okay? I’ll pack the essentials and also change into something spiffy.

Excellent. I’ll open a portal next to your house. And yes, please do dress nicely. Although you always do.

Oh Azrael, you smooth-tongued lad. „Guys, I’m going to Heaven for the weekend” you proclaimed, standing in the doorway of your shared living room. (Yes, you and the Horsemen live together. You’ve bought a house. But it’s a different story for another time.) There were no objections to that. All Four had a day off from their murderous duties. They spent whole Friday lazing around on sofas, watching youtube or just dozing off. You’ve already learned that the Horsemen are like predators in that department. They don’t spend energy unless they have to. „So. You’re going now?” muttered War. He was lying on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other – the iron one – hanging limply. It already carved a trace on the wooden floor. „Well, yeah. Azrael invited me” you answered absentmindedly. „Now I need to do my hair...no, first I need a bath!” Death was resting on another sofa nearby. He raised his head a little and gave you an inquiring stare. It was short and piercing, like a tiny electric shock. „Loosen up, girl” chuckled Strife. He had both of his eyes closed. A PS4 pad and a half-eaten doughnut rested on his tight abdomen; remnants of impulsive decisions, defeated by idleness. Sometimes you wondered how is it even possible to eat so much junk and still look like Strife does. „Whatever you’ll do, he’s still gonna be the sharpest dresser.” „Yeah right, but I don’t mean just him, but all the other angels, too. I don’t want his colleagues from work to think that he’s friends with some uncivilised slob…” „Colleagues from work” said War slowly and pensively, as he often does. „That’s a flattering way to put it, when he rules them all with an iron fist. You know that, don’t you? No lesser angel will dare to offend you. And if one does… „...then we’ll come over and have a chat with them” finished Strife. „It’s been some time since I’ve plucked pigeons.” „Thanks, guys. I appreciate that” you said, genuinely grateful. „But I’ll feel so much better about myself if I doll up. You know how Azrael is...so posh and all.” „He’s hella boring though” said Strife. „What are even you gonna do with him for two days straight? Drink his wretched tea?” „That too, yes.” You smiled. „But I can feel it in my water that it’s about a book.” You’ve been already closing the bathroom door behind you, when Strife said in a hushed voice: „It’s always about some book. That guy’s a pervert.” „Stop it, Strife. ” That was War. ‘What? I call it like it is.” Fury said nothing, because she was fast asleep. She snored tiny cute snores. Death might be a big, intimidating mass of bone and sinew. But he can move like a soft pool of shadow if he chooses to. He did just that to get you at the very doorstep. Away from the others’ earshot. „So, when can we expect you to come back?” He was standing next to the coat stand. You had no idea how he managed to blend in with the wall. As usual. His voice was relaxed, but you could feel the tightness lacing the words. „Azrael’s gonna send me back on Sunday evening” you said, looking into this closed off, seemingly impassive face. You knew it so well. „Death. Are you worried about me? I’m going to Heaven. Heaven. What could possibly go wrong in there?” ‘I’m not worried” he said, observing some wall crack right to your head. „Azrael is my friend. I’d entrust him with my life. I’m just...ascertaining things.” You let out a deep sigh. You felt so sorry for this man, unable to spit out a simple „I’m gonna miss you” even if his life depended on it. But that’s what he was saying. With all his body language. His back bent slightly more, his hands hanging a little looser than usual. As if the sadness weighed on him. You embraced him - abruptly, before he had a chance to step back. You pressed your cheek to his hard, exposed torso, which (contrary to the folk stories that we humans sometimes tell each other) wasn’t cold at all. „I love you so much, you know?” you whispered into his left pectoral. That horrible scar has long disappeared without a trace. „I am going to be back home on Sunday evening. Even if Azrael conjures me a truck of books. I promise.” Death’s large hands embraced your shoulder blades. The Horseman closed his eyes and pulled you close. Very close. And then he let go. „I know. Have fun.”

Heaven! Are there even words in any human language that could describe its glory? I don’t think so. What if I tell you guys that everything is high-rise and steep and haughty in there? That everything is luxurious, but never vulgar – and constantly bathed in subtle golden light? Are you going to be satisfied then? Angels live above the clouds. Rainy day is just an expression for them. Wait. I’ve got it.Imagine an Apple store which has been designed by Michelangelo. That was Heaven. Azrael lived in a lavish apartment at the top of one of the White City’s spires. At least you guessed that there must be more rooms than just this huge one. In which you’ve spent so many evenings, chatting passionately about this and that. A spacious room with a decorative rib vault and a shit ton of books everywhere. Books upon books. Carved bookshelves crammed with tomes; some covered in wood, some in silk or even animal hide. A whole lot of regular cardboard covers, too. Azrael updated his collection on a regular basis. Many of those human books were gifts from you. There were also scrolls of parchment and papyrus stacked together and threatening to fall over. Heck, you’re sure that you’ve spotted a bunch of dusty clay tablets in a corner. Next Christmas this guy is getting a Kindle. You sat in two soft, obscenely comfortable armchairs, covered with slightly worn out periwinkle velvet. Soft music poured from somewhere – relaxed, jazzy downtempo. You had no idea where do they get these earthy tunes from in Heaven. For all that you knew, Azrael wasn’t familiar with spotify. You drank the tea. This time it was green jasmine. With a drop of acacia honey added for good measure. It tasted like the first day of spring. Azrael put the cup aside, rested a cheek on his hand and gave you a gentle smile. „What are you thinking about?” You smiled back at him. „I think that you look ravishing today. That colour” - he pointed at your peach dress - „really showcases the tone of your skin.” „Wow. Thanks” you said. Internally you were squeeing in delight like an excited teenager. Azrael could be so chivalrous. OK, you thought, that’s enough with this line of thinking. Get your shit together, woman, before you tip something over and embarrass yourself. „All right”, you said, putting your cup away; the fine china clinked on the marble tabletop. „Nice little chat that we’re having. Don’t keep me waiting though. Bring out the book! The angel tilted his silver head ever so slightly. His eyes glinted with amusement. „The book? I beg your pardon?” „Well, it is about a book, isn’t it? Like usual. Some rare first edition long out of print, which you really wanted to share with me...Right? Azrael?” His eyes were as milky and opalescent as a cloud. And as serene. You started to blush under this constant stare. „What?" you asked, annoyed a little. His narrow lips curled up in a cryptic smile. „Come on, it’s not funny.” „Indeed” he said slowly. „I’m afraid that I owe you an apology. I lied.” „You...did what?!... When? Also, is lying even legal for you?” „Just right now. I wasn’t thinking about your dress, even though it is quite lovely. I was thinking...” he reached out with his long, slender arm. His fingers stopped mid-air, a mere inch away from your face. „...that I would like to kiss you.” There was a pause. During which your whole world twirled around, stood on its head and fell back to normal. Normal enriched with new, exciting possibilities, that is. "Oh. Right. Sure! I mean, go on. I can’t see why not…” What started as a nervous chirp ended in a mumble. Azrael put two fingers on your lips. You parted it; it was quite instinctive, really. You wanted him to touch you where you were soft and moist. He did just that. For a briefest of moments. Than he took his hand away. „Come here” he said in a low voice. „Okay. You mean...me, there? Right, that makes sense. God!” you whined. „ I’m so akward.” „Let’s keep God out of this” Azrael said with such a face that it was practically a wink. But then again, you had yet to see the Angel of Death winking. You stood up, not quite sure where your legs are – and came over to him as he asked. Azrael sat back in his armchair and pat his lap in an encouraging manner. It was the most un-Azrael thing that you’ve ever witnessed him do. Up until today. When the count of surprises was really going to pile up. You were in such a daze that for a moment there you forgot how to sit on another person’s lap. Especially when said lap is completely covered with sophisticated, flowy, floor-length angel robes. „I said: come here” chuckled Azrael. „Do you mind if I?...” he gestured explanatorily. You nodded. Stupid redness burned your cheeks. Azrael put his hands around your waist, lifted you up and put on his knees as if you were a cat. The silk rustled. He smelled nice. Definitely non-angelic. Like...roses, maybe? You knew that scent, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. „What now?” you whispered, stricken with this dumb, embarrassing shyness which you haven’t felt in such a long time. Which you hoped to never feel again. It wasn’t like that with the Darksiders. Not at all. Sometimes they would scare you. Or dumbfound you. But none of them has ever made you feel so small. Not like this highly restrained, immaculately dressed, back-combed man does. A man with beautiful cheekbones. That much was evident now, when you sat so close. They really were top notch. „Can I?...” you breathed. He nodded smilingly. All this time he didn’t break eye contact. You touched his cheek. It was pleasantly cool and softer than yours could ever be. Also, his face was covered with delicate fuzz, as bright as frost. „Do you even shave, Azrael?” „That is one peculiar question to ask” he said, still smiling. „That is one peculiar question to ask” you repeated, leaning in desperately and closing your eyes. „Kiss me then.” He weaved fingers into your hair and pulled your head in so sharply that you trembled. And then he kissed you. He was gentle - at first. Tested your boundaries. But you had no patience for such subtlety anymore. You immersed both of your hands in angelic locks and moaned urgently, while you pressed your lips to his. Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice. He laughed breathlessly at such eagerness and went in with the tongue. And what a brilliant, flexible and knowing tongue he had. As expected of an angel. Time stretched like the most polite and accommodating of rubber bands, so a thousand years (or two minutes) later you were all taut as a bowstring. And rather wet. When it comes to the technique, his was definitely second to none. Azrael was the figure skating master of kissing. Those nimble lips of his were driving you crazy. He knew what he was doing to you. And he was savouring it. „Mmmm...mhm! Don’t stop!” you groaned when the angel finally broke contact. He let out a small chuckle - and suddenly bit your lip. „Azrael!” you cried out. He smirked so smugly you wouldn’t believe it if you didn’t see it. You had no idea that this noble face is even capable of such a dirty expression. „Stop...laughing...at me!” You were in a daze. You lunged forward and bit him back. Azrael cried out a little and touched his lip. It was bleeding. You have drawn angelic blood. It was as bright red as your own. That chilled you the fuck down. „Oh, shit. I’m sorry!” you called, terrified. „I’m so sorry! I got carried away. Carried away...with you.” Azrael wiped his lip and shot you an inscrutable stare. Only now have you noticed how wildly dilated his pupils are. The vivid blush that coloured his pale cheeks. He wasn’t toying with you. He went along for the ride. „I wasn’t laughing at you” he said. „How could I? I was laughing TO you. Because you’re just so ardent. Impulsive. You feel a physical sensation and you follow it with reckless abandon. I happen to think that it’s amazing.” You felt like an utter moron. Something incredible has just happened. You had this little moment of magic, Azrael and you. And you had to destroy it. You let your worst instincts take the wheel. Just because this man made you feel inferior. „I apologise for at” you said, gently touching his bitten lip. „I would never want to hurt you like that. I have no manners. Maybe I should just go.” „What?...” Those pearlescent eyes went wide with surprise. „What are you talking about, my dear? Please don’t. That…” - he touched his lip - ”is nothing. A trifle unworthy of my attention. At least when compared with what I intend to do to you.” „What?” Despite your desperate suggestion, you stayed still in his arms. Your heart was pounding. Your body ached for more pleasure. You didn’t want to go anywhere. And Azrael was holding you quite firmly. „I planned to be prudent and unhurried” he stated, shaking his head with a little rueful smile, as if admonishing himself. „But with you...such approach is pointless. You’re like a flame. You burn through my reason.” He put his fingers on your swollen, wanting lips again. You let him slide them in this time. Slide them deeper than neither prudence nor unhurriedness would suggest. You sucked on them and you looked him in the eye, feeling crazy fearless. Suddenly you didn’t care whether you come off as uncivilised anymore. „I am going to undress you and tie you up. And then maybe I will whip you” said Azrael, looking you in the face with a tender smile. „I haven’t decided on that last one yet.” Oh. Oh. You felt like an ice cube melting on fire. Does that metaphor even make sense? An urgent, eager flame licked your innards. „The question being of course: what do you say to that?” „Yes!’ you cried out. „Oh, please, do it! I’m in. Yes to all of the above.” He kissed you again – deep and hard. Unabashed. You didn’t even try to stifle the moan that rose in your throat. „I can see that we are on the same page here” he breathed into your lips. Then he pressed his to the skin at the nape of your neck. You inhaled sharply. „I am so glad that that is the case.” ‘Wait” you huffed, putting both hands on the embroidered front of his shirt. „Did you just say: undress, tie up and whip then?” „I said exactly that.” It was amazing how quickly Azrael could put on that official, venerable face of his. "And then I’m going to fuck you.” „Good! I was just about to ask that...” It was worth it. If only to see how this self-satisfied son of something holy loses his composure. And regains it in a split second. „And not even once” he added. „Not twice either. There is a probability that by Sunday morning you’ll start to cry and beg me to stop fucking you.” You threw him a breathless, shit eating grin. Your direct future looked positively – heavenly. “Wonderful. I can beg alright, if it turns you on.” „Very. You shall see for yourself.” There was something in his half-lidded stare that made your insides tingle.

#darksiders #darksiders azrael #azrael/reader #lemon #lemons?#i warned you #azrael is a kinkster #azrael x reader

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akysi · 6 years

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Always wanted to do one of these, and now I have. :D 8 years of improvement, wow! I’m also really bad at picking things so I don’t know if I picked the ones that best represent my progress, but eh. I did some edits, but the original base for this can still be found here. Extended thoughts about each year below, it’s a lot! Here’s to bigger and better things in 2019 (please ;_;)

2010: I started drawing digitally in 2006, though regrettably I didn’t save any of the art I did back then. 2010 was when I joined DeviantART, and thus when I started uploading art online. I had frequented DA well before that though (from about 2007 I think), and influence from the artists I followed are pretty evident. A few notable ones were ShaloneSK, Fourth-Star (now SeaSaltShrimp), and thazumi, all primarily dragon artists. Though none of my traditional art is showcased here, this was still a time when I did it often, usually via doodles in class when I was bored. The digital art you see here was made with my first tablet, a Wacom Graphire 3, and Photoshop Elements 3 that came with it. I had little knowledge of file quality, layering, colouring, and other mainstays in using Photoshop properly. Humble beginnings are these! My art education at this point was limited at best, but art was always something I did in my spare time. And like all of the art years leading up to 2010, I drew almost entirely dragons. Aside from practicing foxes for a story I had at the time, I wasn’t interested in drawing much else. I didn’t draw people at all until college, but we’ll get to that. 2011: Christmas 2010 / New Year’s 2011 marked the time I got Photoshop CS5, a version of PS I still use today. For a while I was obsessed with the idea of PS’s Pen Tool, as I saw it could give me much cleaner line art than what I could achieve on my own. I was finally able to test that when getting CS5, and while it worked well for the time, I soon learned the tenets of line weight and tapering, something I would have to practice myself. Up to this point all of my lines were either shaky or fabricated via the Pen Tool, and it shows. This was also a year of trying to mimic Fourth-Star’s dynamic perspective...without any knowledge of how it actually worked. Not a lot of improvement happened here outside of that. 2012: This was the year I bought my Bamboo Create tablet, something I still use with my laptop nowadays. I remember trying it out at my friend’s house before I bought my own, and really loving how I was able to do the line tapering without the pen tool. It still took a lot more practice, but looking back now it was easy to see I was on the way to making line art one of my art’s strongest qualities; something that stays true today. I find it ironic that line art used to be one of the weakest aspects of my digital art, but I suppose that speaks to how far I’ve come. I did more fanart this year, oddly enough. I’d always done it before but I guess I felt shy about sharing it. Notable fandoms were Danny Phantom and Sonic. I didn’t grow up with either, but ended up liking them both a lot, and would doodle them as much as my dragons. 2013: I graduated high school and started my first year of art college, specifically Art Fundamentals at Sheridan College. At this point, everyone I knew pointed to that school (and only that school) for anything related to what I wanted to do; if it wasn’t fine art, go to Sheridan. So I went into college with a bit of tunnel vision at first, but I knew from the start that I would be gunning for animation. Not to animate specifically, but to do character design / concept art for animation. I would learn later on what having this tunnel vision would mean for me, but we’ll get to that later too. This is about the point where more expansion of design and subject matter occurs, albeit slowly. The art featured here doesn’t include my schoolwork, but the much needed increase of anatomy, structure drawing and other college level art courses started me on a path to better things. I still had a long way to go though, and Fundies could only do so much. Unlike most people I actually got decent practice from it given my limited art background, but I still can’t say it was at peak efficiency. This was the first year I actually started drawing people, and it certainly didn’t come without its growing pains.

2014: Surprising no one, I didn’t get into Sheridan after my first year, though that didn’t stop me from being disappointed at the time. I took what was effectively the second year of Fundies, called Visual and Creative Arts (VCA). This was the year that sparked my interest in graphic / logo design, an interesting turn of events all things considered, and that would stick with me a lot more than I expected. This year also featured a few smatterings of character designs, or more specifically design sheets with multiple views, costumes, etc. Character design was a required segment of the animation portfolio, so this is likely what spurred my practice in it, aside from my pre-existing interest. That does not mean I knew how to rotate a character though, yikes! At this point I’d gotten pretty good at clean line art in Photoshop with my current tablet, as well as the merits of high quality imagery. There was a lot of purple in this year and 2015, though that’s nothing really new for me.

2015: This was easily the busiest (and most path altering) year. Second semester of VCA happened during this time, but also what would be new beginnings for me. If I didn’t get into Sheridan animation, I had a choice to make for a plan B: Either stay at Sheridan for VCA Year 3 and try again for animation, or try to get into animation at another school. My buddy Amelia then dropped Seneca’s name in one of my elective classes, and I had no idea how much of a fateful conversation that would be. She mentioned it was considered a second to or even better than Sheridan, and that at least provided a clearer answer for me. A lot of trepidation followed: I didn’t get into Sheridan animation for the third time, and thus applied to Seneca (and a few other places). I was pretty scared of being a first year again at a new school with new people, and while my art definitely reflected the time I spent at Sheridan, I had no confidence in it being good enough for a portfolio given my track record. But low and behold, I got in! I was on my way to a three year rollercoaster of all-nighters, amazing ride-or-die classmates, and relentless, rigorous training. The art from this year does reflect this, both in quantity and quality of uploads, though in more of a “transition period” kind of way. This was the year I really started to draw human characters, most notably with the creation of my first comic project: Starglass Zodiac. This was the first time I had a story idea with a primarily human cast, much less a comic idea, though the designs for them didn’t start appearing in my uploads until the following year. As you might expect I didn’t have a lot of confidence in drawing people. Ironically, my first year of animation taught me all the skills I initially needed for the portfolios!

2016: When I mentioned a path altering year for 2015, I was referring specifically to the path in my art education. 2016 was a path altering year for everything else, and a polarizing one at that. 2016 was a year that was kind to no one, and while the details of what happened to me are not really relevant to this post, there’s no denying what effect it had behind the scenes. This was the year that I fully realized I’d developed symptoms of depression, and with my increasing anxiety to match, this didn’t (and still doesn’t) go so well. I don’t think that’s really reflected in my art, however. Regardless of my mental state, the outside view of my art still features the colourful characters that they always had. By this point I was in my finishing first year / starting second year, and this was easily the best time for me. My time to shine, if you will, at least when it came to character design class. We had an overarching story project that was perfect for SGZ, so I used that time to develop the characters. The double-edged sword of troubled times is my escapism is cranked to 11, so this was probably the year that spurred the most story ideas out of me. This year (and part of the next) started both Id Pariah and Feather Knights. I got my iPad Pro for Christmas this year too, and that proved to be a game changer in the amount of art I could make. I was already used to the Cintiqs at my school, and I was lucky to finally have a screen tablet of my own. 2017: The end of my second year and the beginning of my third and final year of animation. Classes split, streams chosen and a world of missed opportunities began. I didn’t do a lot of art at the beginning of the year, aside from the beginning of my Feather Knights stuff. On top of that, my college had a 5-week long teacher’s strike that literally no one wanted to be a part of, effectively derailing all hope for a good semester. Attempting to do a short film project with this happening was a recipe for disaster. During this strike was the start of my first month long challenge though: Huevember. It was an uncertain time, and most of us were not compelled to get much school work done. Completing Huevember did feel like an accomplishment though, as I was actually able to keep up with it even when school started again. I’d say this art year focused a lot on colour for this reason. What art I was able to complete outside of my schoolwork saw a lot of expansion in that area. In all honesty 2016-2018 tends to blend together for me, for better or worse. 2018: My graduating year. The strike did its damage to my final semester too, but ultimately I survived. Despite completing 5 years of college, my path became the most unclear. Third year taught me a lot of things about myself and how I approach art, but most were not positive revelations. The expectations set out for me are ones that I cannot achieve. However, I have more time than ever to do art, making this year the most art I’ve made to date. I also participated in Inktober, which reminded me how far I’ve come as an artist, despite not doing traditional art for what felt like a century. My illustrative work for Inktober ended up being some of my best art this year, and the prompts made me get creative in more ways than one. The dark cloud hanging over my head has not disappeared since 2016 however, and the toll that has taken shows more everyday. As far as my art was concerned I did more of what I loved, mostly in the form of character sheets and designs. It’s all I can do, for now. 2019, I have one thing to say: Don’t you DARE.

#art #artists on tumblr #art improvement #Akysi #Art by Akysi #Katie MacKenzie #Katie MacKenzie Art #digital art #2010-2018 #my OCs

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powerdragonmoon · 7 years

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Bright Lights and Lit Candles

With the holiday season fast approaching the last place Nathanael thought he would end up is out on a shopping spree with Chloe Bourgeois.

This is my @mlsecretsanta gift for the ever lovely and super sweet @vanilla107, when I got my assignment I jumped for joy and then days later I received such a wonderful message from you and was immediately suspicious because of the timing of it all...i was like, “SHE KNOWS!!!” XD but now I’m so happy to call you a friend! I hope you had an amazing, happy, and merry Christmas and are enjoying this lovely holiday season!!!

(ao3 link)

Nathanael peeked out from under the massive pile of boxes and bags he had cradled in his arms. Each one was tied up in elaborate ribbon and tastefully wrapped in various shades of gold. Barely able to keep his balance, he entered the boutique, not surprised to find under the soft lighting that it was just as glamorous as all the other stores they had already visited.

Its interior was decorated in subtle, yet chic touches of the holiday season. White and gold accented the window displays while black and white striped wallpaper lined the walls. Clothing racks showcasing the latest fashion, straight off the runway, filled the store and Nathanael immediately could tell that they would be here for awhile.

As he had for most of this odd journey, Nathanael felt completely out of his element…Chloe however, seemed to be in her natural habitat.

Albeit, the whole afternoon still seemed to be some sort of unfathomable daydream. In a whirlwind of determination and stubbornness, Nathanael had been dragged along into Chloe’s white limo and lead across Avenue Montaigne. With a manicured hand clawed around his wrist, he had been lead through stores where price tags weren’t even on the clothes or items, it was just accepted that you would need the most platinum and elite of credit cards to even think about purchasing such things and if you had to ask for a price, then you couldn’t afford it.

And so Nathanael stood at the entranceway, buried under a mountain of Chloe’s earlier acquisitions as she moved through the store with the power and authority fit for some sort of overseas duchess or a famous movie starlet…

Or a queen.

Perhaps it was the warm lights or the fact that his vision was half-obscured by the items in his arms, but for a short moment, a flash of yellow and black brought a very sudden and unexplainable redness to his cheeks.

Blinking away the image of black and gold, Nathanael glanced around, wondering for not the first time how he had got himself into this situation.

School had just ended and he had been stuck pondering the sprinkling rain from the school doorway when Chloe Bourgeois had walked by, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards her private, white limo that gleamed under the gloomy Parisian rain.

“I—wait what?! CHLOE!”

“We’re going shopping!” was the only reply he got until they settled into the backseat of the limo. “Plus,” she had added, “you don’t want the rain to ruin your hair right?”

Nathanael had been too stunned to offer an answer at the time, equally shocked at the fact that he was now sitting beside Chloe in her limo and by the almost considerate gesture of being saved from the rain. He had in fact been a little more than just concerned about his hair getting wet on his walk home.

But most of all, he was most surprised that she was still holding his hand.

They both seemed to realize it at the same moment, their clammy hands releasing their hold on each other as they moved as far apart as the leather limo seats allowed them.

“Kurtzberg,” she spoke harshly, her eyes not meeting his as her voice dropped into a uncharacteristic whisper, mummering a fast few words that Nathanael hadn’t been able to hear.

“I’m sorry?”

Chloe brought a hand to her mouth, muttering something so quiet that Nathanael had to lean in closer in an attempt to catch it.

“Uh…?” was all he could answer with.

With a glare and deep breath of exasperation, she finally spoke up, perhaps much louder than anticipated as Nathanael jumped back at the sound, “I need your help!”

“Oh!” he responded, still terribly caught off guard, as silence filled the space between them.

Chloe pursed her lips, her eyebrows raising as if waiting for more of a eloquent reply.

And if an eloquent reply was what she was after, Nathanael was not the person to deliver.

“Uh, I…OK?”

She grimaced and he flinched. “OK?” she repeated, and in a fit of nerves all Nathanael could muster was a frantic nod.

Chloe let out a sigh, one that bordered between frustrated and relief. And then, with a quick, yet surprisingly polite, call towards her driver they were off, driving through the streets of Paris.

After another moment of silence, Nathanael recovered some hidden courage to finally voice his curiosity. “So…what do you need my help for?

With a haughty flip of her ponytail Chloe turned to face him, her previous hesitancy molding back into her signature Chloe Bourgeois-esque…haughtiness? Arrogance? Charm? Whatever it was, it was entirely Chloe and something Nathanael just couldn’t name, it was just something he knew at this point.

“I need help Christmas shopping…Daddy gave me money to buy presents for myself and I need someone to hold my bags.”

Nathanael’s mouth fell open. That something he couldn’t quite name, suddenly flashing clear in his mind.

Selfishness™.

“Yes, and since Sabrina was sick, I just saw you, all sad and pathetic, looking at the rain…and I thought perhaps I would do you a favour…”

Nathanael glanced down at the limo door to his side, contemplating the harm of jumping from a moving vehicle, but at the sudden blares of car horns as they passed through a busy intersection, he decided against the idea.

“OW!”

He turned back at the shout, staring in surprise as Chloe rubbed her arm.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

Still concerned, although a part of him wondered why, he continued, “W-what happened?”

“I umm..” Chloe bit her lip before replying glaring down at her bag, “I think I got stung by a bee or something.”

“Oh, ouch,” Nathanael replied awkwardly. “I’ve never been stung by a bee before…”

Chloe laughed dryly, “Well, then consider yourself lucky.”

“I’m usually not.” Nathanael smiled, shrugging slightly.

With a frown Chloe glanced his way, before pointing her chin up in the air. “Today you get to accompany me on a grand shopping extravaganza! I’d say you’re very lucky! Plus bee stings are the worst.” She glared down at her purse for a moment before meeting his eyes once more. “So you can count your lucky stars for that!”

Nathanael’s smile grew. He still wasn’t sure her definition of lucky quite fit his, but as he saw Chloe turn away, staring out her window with an expression he was completely caught off guard. Suddenly the need to jump out of the limo for freedom didn’t seem like the most logical answer.

Which is how he had found himself, hours later entering yet another posh store by Chloe’s side, when usually he would be home amd holed up in his room, sketching out comics on his tablet. He glanced out the windows to the darkening sky, the rain glistening off the streets and sighed.

But if anything Chloe’s Christmas Shopping Extravaganza had been quite the curious adventure. And as Nathanael reflected over the contents of her purchases, he couldn’t help but wonder see how clearly obvious it was that Chloe was not buying gifts for herself.

Thus far, Chloe had bought a pair of the latest noise-cancelling headphones, a special, limited edition Ladybug and Chat Noir figurine set, the most expensive pair of running shoes Nathanael had ever seen, a matching set of necklaces, each with its own jeweled flower pendant, and a pair of bright green rollerblades. He stared around the boutique and wondered if Chloe was going to be buying something bright, pink, and fashionable for a certain classmate of theirs.

“OK done!!”

“ARGH!” Nathanael jumped that the sudden sound, tripping over air and flailing as box after box fell from his hands.

“Oh wow, you are jumpy,” came Chloe’s reply as she bent over to collect some of the dropped bags, Nathanael reached out to help as well.

“Yeah, sorry,” he muttered, reaching to tuck his hair behind his hair reflexively. However with his hands full of bags, he instead settled for hiding behind his fringe with a shy smile.

Chloe glanced up at him with a frown. “Why are you sorry? I scared you…shouldn’t I be apologizing?”

“I—” Nathanael balked at the idea of her apologizing to him, “I’m…I don’t know…”

“Well, I’m sorry Nathanael,” she said.

“Oh,” was all he could offer as a reply.

Together, each laden with her many purchases, they walked out of the store, a store attendant running to open the door for them as they both had their hands full. The rain had stopped, and the late afternoon had morphed into early evening as the lights of the city lit up against the darkening sky.

This coupled with all the strings of Christmas lights across the buildings and the wet sheen left behind by the rain had the city aglow. Nathanael couldn’t help but notice the way it brought out the blue in Chloe’s eyes and he told himself it was the cold night air that had his cheeks burning.

He especially couldn’t help but notice it when she stopped and turned to face him head on. Almost tripping over himself, Nathanael came to a not-so-graceful stop, staring at her with wide eyes. She looked almost angry and Nathanael felt a rising fear build up within him to run lest he be victim to another one of her rampages.

But what he didn’t expect was her soft, almost self-conscious whisper.

“I mean it, you know. I am sorry.”

“Oh…I know…” Nathanael said back almost reflexively.

She shook her head, making him pause. “No, no, no, not about scaring you!” and she jumped at that as if surprising herself. “No, I mean yes about that…But…I mean…”

Nathanael’s eyes widened, not quite used to a stammering Chloe.

She met his eyes again and paused, so bright and blue, Nathanael wondered if he could ever capture such a colour on paper. Would it be better on his tablet? Perhaps paint on canvas, he supposed…the colour…it was something akin to fire in ice, something so cold, yet alive and burning.

It was all he could focus on as she took a deep breath before finally saying, “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being so mean to you.”

That caught his attention.

If it was possible Nathanael’s eyes may have widened even more.

“I’ve been really mean, and to you especially…well to like everyone really,” she shrugged, “…I have a lot of work to do, I think.” She glanced down to a puddle at their feet. “And I, well…thank you for helping me today…I didn’t really give you a choice, but I hope one day I can earn your forgiveness.”

Nathanael was in awe. They stood their for a few moments, him completely frozen in shock and Chloe shyly glancing back and forth between him and that random puddle.

Finally, with the Christmas lights around them glimmering off the soaked city and Chloe’s soft blonde hair, Nathanael’s limbs seemed to unthaw. With a shy hand he nudged Chloe softly with some of the bags in his hand. Her eyes locked back onto his immediately and he smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Chloe.”

She smiled, a wide and bright smile that lit up her face, her eyes crinkled and her cheeks flushed, surely from the cold weather as well. Nathanael couldn’t recall ever seeing her like this and together they shared twin, big smiles as the city bustle of shoppers walked past them and the lights twinkled off like stars above them.

“Happy Hanukkah, Nathanael.”

He blinked in surprise, once again caught off guard.

“Oh! I—thanks! How did you know?”

“What?” she offered back, mildly offended, “I know things!” It was a flash of the Chloe Nathanael was more familiar with. He laughed.

Blushing even more so, she continued, “Oh, well…I noticed you weren’t apart of the Secret Santa thing too…I asked Sabrina and she said it was because you didn’t celebrate Christmas?”

“Yeah, that’s right…you’re not apart of it either?”

She frowned, shoulders slumping. “No one asked me,” she said with a soft whisper.

“Oh…”

“I…I don’t,” she grimaced and Nathanael was taken aback by the slight sheen on her eyes. “I don’t think anyone likes me.”

“Ah…” Nathanael fumbled at words as he swore he saw a tear streak down her face. “I…”

“I’ve been so mean to you and everyone…and now even Sabrina doesn’t want to hang out with me!” she continued, not even trying to hold back the tears now.

On impulse Nathanael said the first thing to pop into his head, anything that would somehow help in this situation.

“I like you!”

“W-what?” Chloe glanced up, another tear falling and Nathanael wished his hands were free so he could at least offer her a tissue…or whip the tears away with his hand. She laughed, no sound of genuine humour filling the noise as she sniffled slightly. “No you don’t!”

“I…well…” Nathanael struggled, “I maybe…yeah.” Chloe let out a broken sob at that and he stepped forward, his hand bumping bags against her side, in what he hoped was a nice gesture. She glanced at him with watery eyes and he sputtered, “B-but, I…from what I’ve seen today…I can see y-you’ve grown Chloe!”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder. Nathanael blushed.

“Y-yeah, I mean…you kinda brought me here against my will,” she glared, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “But you’ve been nice…and I do appreciate your apology…and I know who these gifts are for…It’s a nice gesture. I think you’ll surprise a lot of people.”

“W-what?” she asked, suddenly indignant, “I…these—I told you! These are gifts for me!”

Nathanael smiled despite himself, lifting up and waving one of the many bags in his hand. “These rollerblades are for you?” he asked.

“I…I…” Chloe tried to answer. “Maybe I’ve suddenly taken up the sport! You don’t know me!”

He laughed at that, surprising himself and Chloe, who raised her eyebrows at him. “I guess you’re right…maybe I don’t” And she frowned at him. “But I think I would like to.”

Chloe stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

Nathanael smiled, not sure if he could ever remember seeing Chloe ever look so vulnerable. He remembered that mass text during Kim’s akumatization…when Sabrina had texted everyone a picture of Chloe covered in dirt and despair. But this was different. Rather than defensive and angry, she seemed open and in awe, frozen in shock.

But Nathanael had meant what he said, so he decided to take another step forward, both literally and figuratively. Walking down the street and glancing back at Chloe as he went.

“Do…do you have any plans for the break?” he asked, pausing and waiting for her.

Jolting forward, Chloe stumbled slightly as she caught up to him, the pair walking down the street side by side. She nodded.

Nathanael smiled waiting for her to further elaborate before deciding to fill the void between them, “I’m excited…I’m going to my dad in Johannesburg.”

A pause passed as they took their streets. “South Africa?” Chloe asked, her head tilting to the side causing her ponytail to swish in the evening breeze.

“Yeah, he moved there last year,” Nathanael nodded as they walked in no particular direction. “I got to visit him last year for Hanukkah…it was pretty great. It was warmer than I was used to…but with all the lights in the city at night, it still feels like the holidays.”

Nathanael paused, looking over at Chloe, who stared at him, her eyes, now dry, still glowed as overhead the sky darkened.

“Wow,” she whispered, and Nathanael couldn’t help but notice the smeared lip gloss on her lips.

“W-what?” he said, caught off guard once more.

She blinked, as if somehow brought out of a trance. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much,” Chloe said, still with that look of awe on her face.

Nathanael hesitated, another apology on the tip of his tongue before Chloe continued.

“You have a nice voice.”

“W-what!?” Nathanael shrieked slightly, flinching at the crack in his voice.

Chloe smiled, small, yet beautiful, and Nathanael couldn’t stop the blush from rising to his face. “What sort of things do you do for Hanukkah?” she asked, changing the subject, a relief for both of them.

“Oh, ah, well…My family usually comes over and we eat a lot of food and stuff.”

“Do you have lots of family?”

“Y-yeah, with my aunts…and all their kids, and my grandpa and my cousins and everyone…It’s a lot of people.”

Chloe smiled.

“We used to have a cabin in Switzerland.” She glanced up at the night sky. “We would go there a lot when I was younger, especially for Christmas. It was at this really nice ski resort…but none of us skied really…but my mom would make hot chocolate and we would watch movies or sit by the fire…”

Her smile fell and they both came to a stop.

“But now we stay here in Paris. Daddy has work so…” she shrugged, letting the sentence hang.

Nathanael tried to think of something to say, a little unsure of what he could offer, but before he could muster up the courage, Chloe looked past him, her eyes lighting up so suddenly that any words he had were fast forgotten, especially when she reached out to grab his hand and pulled him along towards another shop.

“Come on!” she called, her grip tight in his, ignoring the awkwardness of all the bags between them. “One more store and then I think we’re done!”

“Oh, alright,” Nathanael answered, “I guess I can handle one mo—”

He froze, looking up at the windows of the store as they made their way to the entrance. Paint, pens, easels, and canvases of all sizes were arranged in Christmas themed bunches of red and green along the storefront.

“Yeah, for a bit there, I kinda felt bad, thinking about how you probably don’t get Christmas presents? But then I read that you get eight days of presents?!?! So I stopped feeling so sad about it.” She shrugged as they entered the store. “But that just means, I need to get you eight times the presents!”

She waved at all the aisles, gesturing to the vast selection. Nathanael stood there frozen at the plethora of art supplies before him, thinking of his almost full sketchbook in his bag and slowly becoming overwhelmed at the possibilities before him.

“This…this is too much Chloe!” he gasped as she pushed him towards the first display.

“Nonsense,” she said, waving a hand in his direction. “Now come on! I have like five days of Hanukkah to catch up on!”

He followed her to the front counter where she quickly convinced the shop clerk to hold their bags for them. Once free of her earlier purchases, Chloe turned to Nathanael with an excited smile, one that was almost contagious and Nathanael felt himself smiling just as bright. She held out her hand to him and he didn’t hesitate to take it as she pulled him through the store, picking his brain about what sort of art supplies he liked and asking him all about his current and past projects.

Before they left the store, Nathanael insisted on buying Chloe a sketchbook of her own, with the promise of finding some time to sketch together in the future.

Five Years Later

“OK! I want to do it tonight!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think I go this,” she said, reaching for the lighter, to which he simply raised his eyebrows. “What?” she asked?

“I—nothing! Please, by all means! Go ahead!” he laughed waving for her to continue.

She glared, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile, before she bumped him with her hip as she walked up to the window. Outside, the evening sky darkened and while the lights of the city shone brightly. Inside their small apartment, Nathanael switched off the lights, the only source of light coming from the windows and their lamp on the other side of the room.

Standing by the coffee table they had set by the window, Chloe picked up the candles she had set out, placing 5 of them, one by one, into their proper place on the menorah. Once she was done she looked up to see Nathanael holding out another candle to her with a smile. She took it with a kiss.

Looking down at her hands, one holding the the shamash and the lighter, Chloe suddenly faced a predicament.

She didn’t want to ruin her manicure trying to light the lighter. And it was made even more difficult with just one hand.

“Uh…honey?” she asked, turning to Nathanael with an all too sweet smile.

“Yes, dear?” he answered back sarcastically, albeit with a smile of his own.

“Would you mind?” she said, passing him the lighter.

“Not at all.”

Nathanael took the lighter with a wink and Chloe held out the candle towards him. With another shared glance and a spark, Nathanael leaned forward, catching the wick with the flame of the lighter.

With the shamash lit, Chloe cradled the flame as she turned back to the unlit candles. Slowly and ever so gently, she brought the lit shamash towards the candle on the end of the menorah.

“Oh! Wait!” Nathanael said, a soft hand reached for hers, guiding her to the candle just off to the center of the menorah. “You start on this side…then move to the right.”

“Right,” Chloe repeated, tongue poking out of her mouth slighting as she focused on lighting each candle. Nathanael’s hand still held hers.

She could feel him move closer behind her as she lit the last candle, his other hand moving to her waist. He smelled like paint and coffee and she couldn’t help but lean back against him, smiling as he lightly squeezed her.

Once the last of the candles was lit, Nathanael helped her set the shamash into the center holder. Chloe worried for a moment as the candle wobbled in its spot, but Nathanael steadied it.

“Oh f—!” a car alarm outside went off, and Nathanael flinched, waving his hand in the air.

“What happened!” Chloe asked, turning to inspect his hand.

“Ahhhhh,” Nathanael ended off with a hiss, blowing air onto his hand. “Candle wax.”

“Are you OK?”

Nathanael smiled through his grimace. “Yeah it’s fine, a common Hanukkah hazard, I guess,” he laughed, bring his hand to his mouth.

Chloe reached for his wrist, bringing his hand towards her for further inspection. His fingers, already slightly calloused from his art classes, were long, his hand a bit bigger than her own, and on the tip of his pointer finger the skin was slightly red.

Licking her lips, Chloe glanced at Nathanael, bright blue eyes meeting bright blue eyes, eyes that shone brilliantly in the candlelight, twinkling almost green like the sea, a beautiful turquoise. Without hesitation, she brought his hand to her lips, kissing his slightly warm finger.

Nathanael’s eyes locked onto the motion, a flush rising to his cheeks and Chloe smirked before coyly swiping her tongue across his skin, finding victory in the bob of this Adam’s apple, the lights of the candles of the menorah sparkled against his red hair.

His hand returned to her waist, and she had no problem stepping forward until she was flush up against him, smiling despite herself.

“T-thanks,” he said, tripping over his words in a way that made her think back to years before, to first dates and holding hands for the first time.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered as their foreheads met, breaths mingling in the space between them. Her arms wrapped around his neck, while his other hand found her waist and they stood there in a silent dance.

“You know....” she finally spoke, grazing her nose against his, to which he hummed a happy reply. “Five years ago today was our first date.”

Nathanael leaned back, “What?”

“Yeah, exactly five years ago!”

With a crease in his forehead, Nathanael shook his head. “No…our first date was in the summer…four years ago…remember?”

She laughed, “But that’s cause it took you so long to finally ask me out! I think our first real date was that time I dragged you out to go Christmas shopping with me.”

Nathanael laughed, “I don’t think that counts, Chloe.”

Chloe leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling as he held her closer. “Well, regardless, I was an important day for me, I think.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt Nathanael’s lips on her forehead. “For me too,” he replied. She felt his hand leave her waist and then this thumb on her chin. She smiled, tilting to his touch until her lips met his.

His hand cradled her cheek as if she were something fragile and delicate, and her hand reached up to tangle in his hair to yank him closer to prove him wrong. She hummed as he sighed, her tongue running over his lower lip as her hand continued to play with his hair.

With both their eyes closed, she felt his hand on her lower back guide her in a turn, bending her slightly backwards. Chloe gasped in surprise, arching in his touch, totally trusting him as he leaned her back, exposing her neck to his lips.

He was so warm, and her skin was on fire, one that was sparked anew at his touch. Her hand in his hair tightened and he growled nipping at her skin before running this tongue up to just below her ear. She moaned as his lips wrapped around her earlobe, her head clouding even as he went back to peppering his lips along her neck.

After leaving behind a trail of kisses across her skin, he pulled her back up, standing them both up straight as they stared lovingly into each other’s eyes.

Chloe giggled, not even shy about the redness of her cheeks, or her neck for that matter, as she reached up to tuck his hair behind her ear. He smiled as he did the same for her. They wobbled for a moment, slightly tipsy from one another’s presence.

Their moment was interrupted when their bodies knocked against the table…the table on which the menorah had been placed.

“Oh!” they both shouted, turning to face the wobbling candles in fright.

A long second passed as the silver menorah swayed, trembling at their momentum before after a seemingly endless held breath, coming to a stop, not a single candle had fallen, each one miraculously still aflame.

Together they let out a collective sigh of relief, both amazed at their luck.

“Oh!” Chloe jumped in realization after a moment of shared silence. “You know what?”

“Hmmmm?” Nathanael asked, voice slightly dreamy.

Chloe untangled her hand from his soft, red hair, stifling a giggle at how messy it was after her ministrations. She stared down at her hand before glancing back up at Nathanael with wide eyes.

“I think I might’ve burned my hand too,” she said, holding back a smile.

Nathanael narrowed his eyes at her.

“Oh no!” he answered dramatically, taking her hands in his and quickly catching on to her ploy. “Are you alright?”

“Oh well, I don’t know,” Chloe laughed. “But I think a kiss would make it all better.” She blinked at him, biting her lips innocently. “Don’t you think?”

Nathanael smiled before stepping away, leaning down over the burning candles of the menorah and blowing them all out with one breath. He turned back to Chloe, taking her hand gently in his before nodding. “A kiss? That’s all you need?”

She nodded, shrugging a bit as she mulled it over. “A kiss, a hug, I’ll take whatever you have!” And she hummed as he bent over, taking her hand as if she were a queen and pressing his lips to her fingertips.

“Whatever?” he asked.

“Anything,” she confirmed, gasping as he turned her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

He wrapped her up in his arms once more, guiding her hands back to his shoulders as he kissed her temple. “You know you have all of me,” he whispered gently in her ear.

She shivered, both at the warm air on her skin and at the sentiment. “And you have all of me, Nathanael,” she answered with zero hesitation.

And as his lips recaptured hers, the unspoken words floated between them, words that hadn’t quite yet been said in full, but had been understood in different phrases and gesture of their own making. Each one translated into the same three words.

I love you.

#miraculous ladybug #mlsecretsanta2k17 #chlonath #chloe bourgeois #nathanael kurtzberg #vanilla107 #ml fanfic #!!!!!!!!!!#hope you enjoy dear!!!!#merry christmas and happy holidays to you!!!!!!#❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️#christmas fic #hanukkah fic #ahhhhhhhhh!!! finally get to post!!! yesssssss!!!!!#powder writes

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angelicsentinel · 7 years

Text

the case of valentine

the suffering of fools | the case of christmas

Shinichi’s curled up on the sofa with a sore throat, a stuffy head, and his tablet. A particularly virulent strain of the flu has his head pounding and his entire body aching, and no amount of medicine seems to cut through it.

He had the sniffles yesterday and hadn't thought anything of it, just that the dry heat was aggravating his sinuses.

This morning he was fine; enough for him to stop by the office and pick up a missing persons request from a worried mother who'd gone to him after the police told her there was nothing they could do for her daughter, seeing as how it she was an adult and had been missing for only twelve hours.

Supposedly.

Someone else had written her texts and a social media post; she'd been gone a lot longer.

He'd found her just in time, tied up and locked in a trunk and suffering from severe dehydration, the car having been abandoned off road in the middle of the Mojave.

He didn't get people sometimes, how they could do such things to each other. Not that he didn't understand why on an intellectual level, because he did, he knew well the things that motivated people to murder, it was just—Shinichi felt things, all right, and strongly. Helplessness. Anger. Jealousy. Fear. Hate. Pain. But he could never tie someone up, stuff a gag in their mouth, and leave them like that to die. It was more than attempted murder, it was cruel.

And it makes him wonder. Whoever had done it had been good at hiding the evidence. Shinichi had hated looking into her eyes, the eyes of her mother, and telling them he didn't know who had done it. There just wasn't enough evidence.

It doesn't mean he isn't going to try. Technically, he has no business investigating it. The LVPD aren't too thrilled with a upstart foreigner “playing” detective, but Shinichi is honestly not too thrilled with Major Crimes at the moment either.

Because there's a pattern. The UNLV student isn't the first woman to be stranded in the desert. And pattern almost always means serial killer. Two, maybe, he's not sure yet. An accomplice, someone to drive the other car. And he hates it because if they are a serial killer, he might have to wait until they strike again and that's almost unbearable.

Some detail he's missed...

He coughs hard, then finds out the antiemetic he took doesn't work as well as it should as the nausea overwhelms him and he retches into a bucket placed beside the couch for just that purpose.

Gross. So gross.

He falls back to the sofa. He doesn't have time to be sick. He needs to be on location or looking at the evidence or something. The Captain at least listens to him in the way that Inspector Megure always did, even if he technically shouldn't.

The door opens, and Kaito comes barrelling in to the sitting room. “Oh, Shinichi~” he says, singing the syllables of his name. He's dressed in a nice suit, and he's at least attempted to tame his hair. He has a large bouquet of roses with him. “I hope you're ready for—”

Shinichi blinks, feeling like he's forgotten something. He knows he has all the necessary clues, but he can't quite put it together. It's not the roses, Kaito brings him roses all the time. But he normally wears white tie to work, and he's in dressed down in black tie today.

He coughs again. “Kaito,” he croaks in response, sitting up—or trying to, his stomach hurts from all the vomiting he's been doing, and he falls back before he can quite manage it, dizzy.

“Shinichi?” he says again, this time questioning, and it's all Shinichi can do to raise his arm over the back of the couch in acknowledgement.

Kaito sets the roses down on a side table, and then leans over the back, examining him. Shinichi knows what he sees. Shinichi’s eyes are bloodshot, and his skin is translucent, almost, his hair almost as tangled as Kaito’s own. His shirt’s a mess; the buttons are mismatched from where he'd had to take it off at the physician's, leaving the collar to push into his chin, and his crumpled slacks bunch at the legs. He just hasn’t felt up to fixing it, not when he can barely move as it is.

“Well, you look awful,” Kaito declares.

“Thanks, I hadn't noticed,” Shinichi says, picking at his shirt. “You look good.” And he does in his tailored black suit, splash of red in cummerbund and tie.

Shinichi, in grimy clothes with greasy unwashed hair, feels like trash in comparison.

“You misunderstand me. As devilishly handsome as you are, you looked healthy this morning,” Kaito accuses, perching on the back of the sofa, trailing his bare foot across Shinichi's leg in a comforting touch.

“Yeah, it came on quickly. Flu,” Shinchi says, and then he sneezes into his handkerchief, and it rocks the whole couch.

Kaito watches as Shinichi curls into himself, shivering, and he procures a blanket, slides down next to him and wraps it around him with one hand, texting with the other.

Then he leans over and kisses the corner of his mouth, and Shinichi jerks back, pushing him away. “Don't do that! Do you want to get sick, stupid?”

“I've had my shot,” Kaito says, pouting.

“That doesn't mean anything! So have I,” Shinichi says. “I don't have time for this. I need to be out doing legwork, and you can't get sick either, with your schedule.”

“Case that bad?” Kaito asks.

“Worse,” Shinichi says, and Kaito finds his hand, lacing their fingers together. He runs his thumb over Shinichi's gold sapphire band.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly.

“It's nowhere near your fault. It’s just—people,” Shinichi says, bewildered. “I don't get it.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” Kaito asks.

“No, I've been too busy. Didn't think I could keep anything down,” Shinichi says.

“That won't do,” Kaito says, and he tucks the blanket around him, kissing him again on the cheek. Shinichi thinks about scolding him again, and then realizes that he'll regret it once he gets sick, and that will be punishment enough.

Kaito stands, heading to the kitchen, and Shinichi hears the sound of shifting rice and running water, and by the location of his soft steps, he's near the rice cooker.

Is Kaito making okayu? Shinichi really doesn't feel like having that either, he's not that sick. “I've been keeping myself hydrated!” he calls.

“Not good enough!” Kaito calls back cheerily.

Shinichi hears the sound of a microwave, and then the sound of popping corn. Though by the metallic echoes, it sounds like he's popping it in a stock pot.

After a few minutes, Shinichi looks over at the sound of footsteps to see Kaito carrying a big mixing bowl of popcorn back to the room on a tray with some hot yuzu honey tea, by the smell.

Kaito sets it on the coffee table, and Shinichi notes with some amusement it's the pair of mugs emblazoned with the caricatures of Sugarlock Holmes and Jam Moriartea. As their names suggest, Sugarlock is a deerstalker wearing sugar cube with a pipe, while Moriartea is a cup of jam tea with angry eyebrows.

Kaito takes the Moriartea mug for himself. Shinichi's sure that's why he bought the set of them, even though they were ostensibly a gift for Shinichi.

He's also found time to change into an old shirt of Shinichi's and some sweats. Shinichi squints, and he recognizes them as the clothes Kaito keeps squirreled away in the pantry. That was more impressive before Shinichi learned how he did it.

Shinichi keeps finding clothes everywhere. In the strangest of places. Nowhere is safe. Not even his office. Or the diner that has become their diner.

“So, what's on tonight?” Kaito asks as he sits beside Shinichi, handing him the other mug of tea and cuddling into his side, uncaring about Shinichi's germs. He places a piece of popcorn in Shinichi’s mouth. It's matcha popcorn drizzled with chocolate. Huh. That’s a bit ritzier than Kaito usually prepares his snack fare. Shinichi’s nauseated, but it tastes great.

Shinichi wonders what the occasion is as Kaito turns on the television.

“Some old film,” Shinichi says, gesturing an arm at the black and white screen. He doesn't recognize it. He wraps an arm around Kaito and pulls him closer. He sips from his mug. The hot tea feels wonderful to his irritated throat.

Kaito hmms, and feeds him another piece of popcorn.

Shinichi doesn't feel like watching anything, really, but Kaito seems determined to have a movie night, so who is Shinichi to argue?

Kaito pokes at Shinichi's stomach, making him squirm and shift. “What was that for?” Shinichi asks as Kaito snuggles closer to him.

“For getting you to share the blanket,” Kaito says, and sure enough, he's wrapped it farther around himself. He's plastered against Shinichi's side, his warmth seeping down to Shinichi's bones, and it's the first time he's felt anywhere close to good all day.

“You're going to regret getting close, you know,” Shinichi says as Kaito eats a piece with the same hand he's been using to feed Shinichi.

“Haven't yet~” Kaito says.

And okay, the implication makes Shinichi blush, but he looks away and says, “Sure, you say that now, but just wait.”

“Even if I do get sick, I know you'll be right here with me,” Kaito says, squeezing his hand.

Shinichi's heart melts. He groans.

“What?” Kaito says.

“You're so corny. How are you even real?” Shinichi asks, right hand covering his face as his fevered blush deepens. He can’t help it.

“Hey! I'm trying to have a heartfelt moment here!” Kaito says, pouting again.

Shinichi throws a piece of popcorn at him. “Like I said, corny,” Shinichi says.

“Oh, like you're any better,” Kaito says, picking it up and popping it into his mouth before flicking another piece at Shinichi.

He catches it with his mouth, and then stills, dizzy from the quick movement.

Kaito's phone dings. Shinichi glances over to see Kaito firing off a rapid series of texts with a lot of emojis.

“Aoko?” Shinichi asks.

Kaito shakes his head. “Miguel sent me a picture of them, don't they look adorable?”

Kaito’s jeweler friend and his wife are pressed together, the photo having been taken by a third party. They're both dressed to the nines. The caption underneath says, “Thank you for dinner <3”

“‘Thank you for dinner?’” Shinichi repeats, uncomprehending, then he jerks up, nearly spilling his hot tea all over himself. Sugarlock Holmes looks at him disapprovingly from his mug. Shinichi must be really out of it if he’s imagining the artwork on his cup judging him for how long it has taken him to figure it out. Kaito dressed outside of his work norms. The bouquet. The green tea and chocolate popcorn. The chocolate that Kaito had indirectly given him.

“It's Valentine's Day,” Shinichi says, and groans again, falling back against the couch, elbow over his eyes. “Those reservations were originally for us, weren’t they?”

“...Maybe?” Kaito says.

Shinichi raises his head and narrows his eyes. He’s acting cagey. “What else are you hiding?”

“Don’t look out front?” Kaito says, hands up.

So of course Shinichi sets his mug down and stands, wobbling, stalking over to the front door and throwing it open. A giant red bow sits on top of a gleaming black tourer. “You bought me a Benz,” Shinichi says in disbelief. “A 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SL. A gullwing.” He turns on his heel, rubbing at his temples. “Kaito. Stop buying me cars. The Phantom was enough.”

“It’s not American,” Kaito says, trying to defend himself. “And you bought me a giant stuffed bear!”

That’s his argument? “A bear is not even close to—” His head is spinning. He feels faint. “It’s not a competition.”

“You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” Kaito asks. His voice is flippant, but his brow is furrowed in worry, and he moves closer as if to catch him should he fall.

Shinichi steps out of his reach, lets out a jumbled vocalization of something, takes a deep breath, and then says, “...No. Do I even want to know how much it cost?” Low production numbers, sought out by a lot of collectors...Shinichi imagines it’s high.

Kaito shifts. “I had it checked before I let the money transfer. It’s authentic!” He looks a little pale, though. Anxious. Like he’s worried about Shinichi’s reaction.

It doesn’t answer Shinichi’s question, but he doesn’t want to think about it right now. “You don’t—” He takes another deep breath. “You don’t have to buy me, Kaito, or get me things out of obligation. I’m here to stay.”

“It's not obligation! You like classic cars, though. Old ones,” Kaito says, rambling. “And I—I just thought you might like it. And I like the way your eyes light up when you see them, and when we go driving together with the windows down, and how you talk about them. I can’t help you with your detective work, not really, not as I am now with people so aware of me, and in fact, I know my fame makes it worse, but I thought that this...this I could help with, you know? This I can do.”

Like the mansion and the premium office space and the Rolls-Royce weren’t enough, though Shinichi is sure Kaito bought him the Phantom solely because of the name. He knows that because Kaito also owns a Honda Shadow Phantom even though he prefers sports bikes over cruisers.

Shinichi takes a step forward, lets his head fall and thunk on Kaito’s shoulder. “Thank you. Idiot,” he mumbles, tired.

“Your idiot, though,” Kaito says, his arms coming up to embrace Shinichi.

“Yeah.” Shinichi says, closing the gap. A long pause, his head still down on Kaito’s shoulder. A fancy dinner to make up for forgetting about Christmas. “My idiot.” Something grand and over-the-top for Shinichi because Shinichi had gotten Kaito something of the like.

Well, Shinichi would just show him on White Day. Before that, though…

Shinichi pads over to the table at the entryway, pulling out a long, thin black box with a red ribbon.

“For, uh, today.”

“I thought you forgot?” Kaito asks.

“...No? I mean I forgot it was today, yeah, but I didn't forget forget. I had this made a while back,” Shinichi says. It isn't like there are set rules to this, or that either one of them is the “woman” in the relationship (they're both men, that's kind of the point), so he'd been planning all along to give him something today, their first true Valentine’s Day together. It’s nice that Kaito thinks the same, really, and isn’t insecure about it either.

Kaito takes it, unties the ribbon, pulls it open. “It's pretty,” he says, running his finger over it. It's a moonstone cabochon pendant, the stone cradled by a pair of silver doves in flight. It's not on a chain but on a thick leather cord, and the adularescence makes it gleam in the late afternoon light. “Thank you, Shinichi. It's nice.”

Shinichi scratches his cheek. “Sorry for ruining your dinner plans,” Shinichi says for lack of anything better.

“If you really want to apologize, you can get better quickly,” Kaito says. “Which means lots of rest, so move it,” he says, tugging at him. “Come on, back to the sofa. Your dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“You’re being dangerously domestic,” Shinichi muses as he lets Kaito manhandle him.

“Nope!” Kaito beams. “My motivation is entirely self-serving. I can't have my Valentine Shinichi cuddles if my Shinichi isn't here to cuddle, now can?” He tucks the blanket around him, retrieves Shinichi’s mug, tsks at the temperature, and goes to prepare him more tea.

But Shinichi is already feeling much better, smiling fondly at his back. Oh, he still needs to work on that case, his head still aches, the room’s still spinning, he’s still nauseous, and he’s sure even with his medicine it will be several days before he feels better, but it’s nice to have Kaito taking care of him like this. And when Kaito inevitably gets sick in a few days because he has no sense, Shinichi will gladly return the favor.

But for now, he lets Kaito fuss over him, and thinks about the marked changes since Kaito came back into his life—he’s fiercely glad that Kaito came back into his life at the bar that night. Shinichi doesn’t think he can imagine a life without him anymore.

“What are you smiling about?” Kaito asks him, handing him another steaming mug as he sits beside him.

“Nothing,” Shinichi says, raising the cup to his lips to hide it.

“Looks like a lot of nothing,” Kaito says, picking up the remote and going to a streaming service.

“Yeah,” Shinichi says, pressing a kiss to Kaito’s temple. “That’s one way to put it.”

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kunishirou · 7 years

Text

happy early xmas for me, since I really love WinterIron concept so much lately so why not?

Rating: General/Teen Characters: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Relationship(s): James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes/Tony Stark, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes & Steve Rogers Other Tags: Single parent!Bucky, kid!Steve, Family, pre-relationship, alternate universe - modern/no power, Christmas themed

・。・゜★・。・。☆・゜・。

“Stevie, take it easy, pal. We still have some time before dinner time. You can choose whichever slowly,” Bucky huffed, shaking his head as he looked at his little spitfire fondly, who seemed so unsure which toy he wanted to get. It had been a long while since they managed to shop together like this, especially as it was getting closer to Christmas holiday. Last year was a lonely one for both of them, as Bucky couldn’t go home from his tour and Steve stuck with his Poppa and Nana. It broke his heart so much when he tried to video call his family, only to see Steve wailed really hard for his Dadda until the boy fell asleep, still crying. But now he came home for real and could spend all time he had with his beloved son. Taking the little guy to the toys store to pick up what Steve wanted for his Christmas gift seemed like a great idea a few hours ago.

And it didn’t even take more than 30 minutes until Bucky completely lost him.

・。・゜★・。・。☆・゜・。

He knew he shouldn’t go to the store alone without any supervisions or guarding. Even Happy didn’t know that his employer just gone from the office, wearing the best civilian, cheap clothes he got and simply dashed into the said best toys shop in the city. Tony Stark probably could just get whatever he needed right now by ordering online. Heck, maybe even bought five the exact things. Maybe even the most expensive one in the world with just a single click from his tablet.

But no, Pepper would be so pissed if Tony tried to spoil her daughter, Gwen, by buying yet another expensive toy for the lovely baby girl’s Christmas present. But then again, Tony just wanted to be the coolest uncle ever (besides Rhodey, maybe, they could share the honorable title with him) for her. Also, again, Pepper would notice if Tony bought anything suspicious like the last time he bought the $300,000 Barbie doll for Gwen. Or that one time when he bought a dollhouse worth at least $250,000. Partially, it was his fault for just bought whatever caught his eyes in the first place.

It was just a present, Gwen shouldn’t care about how much they worth and simply played with the gifts!

Alas, the parents knew and Pepper banned him to buy anything online or way too expensive anymore. So here he was, at the suburban area that somehow had the best and apparently also the largest toy store in the whole city. Fair enough, since the said store was more like a renovated warehouse anyway. Thus, the adventure began from the time Tony entered the place, which rather packed with families right now because the Winter holiday was approaching fast.

Lucky for him, no one seemed to notice his face yet. So he could quietly slipped deeper into the store while looking around.

What he didn’t expect was that there was a little boy who was sleeping alone. On top of a big teddy bear’s belly. And no one else seemed to see it as a strange scene. Some questions had been inside Tony’s head already: who’s this boy? Why is he alone? How old is he, Jesus Christ, he’s so tiny and very skinny but adorable with those Captain America onesie getup hidden briefly under another layer of warm clothes awww - but where’s the parents? Tony didn’t hear any announcements or a voice of distress parents calling names for their child yet. But there was no way this boy was walking alone, right? Despite how much he didn’t want to get involved and only wanted to look for the presents, Tony could imagine how the parents would feel when they knew they just lost their kids inside the store. It wasn’t like the little boy was equipped with any kind of gadgets for the parents to call as well.

Groaning internally, Tony walked closer to the boy who started to stir awake. Let’s just hope he won’t cry or even wail enough for other people to accuse him as a kidnapper, geez.

“Heya, little dude. Sleep well? I assume you’re not walking around the shop alone, since you look really small and I don’t think any parents should allow you to do that yet.” Welp, that earned the man some sleepy glare, which should look a bit scary, but somehow made the boy looked even cuter. “Not that I think you’re small small, I mean uh - anyway, where’s you parents? Are you here with them, right? You got separated?”

And the little kid - Tony noticed how blue his eyes were - only stared at him, looking unconvinced. Slowly, the boy wiped his eyes with one hand before stepping down from the teddy bear. Blue eyes still looked up at Tony.

“...Dadda said not to talk to a stranger if I’m alone. And I don’t know you.” Oh good, the boy was speaking, yay. Tony was afraid what if the boy wasn’t old enough to even speak proper English yet, but it seemed he underestimated how fast children could grow nowadays. The man grinned, giving his best, mostly not - well, hopefully not that kind of awkward, smile and crouching down to the boy’s level.

“Your Dadda is a good man and you’re such a good kid for listening to him. So I suppose a proper introduction is in order, you know, so we can get to know to each other and we’re no longer strangers. Well, technically still strangers, but at least there’s a progress. So? I’m Tony, what’s your name, little guy?”

Another glare, before the boy said, “I’m not little, I’m 3,” well it’s still too little for Tony, but he won’t argue with that, “....’m Steve.”

Honestly, Tony’s heart melted a little when he saw how brave and yet still so shy this Steve boy acted towards the man. Now he really wanted to make sure the boy returned safely to his parents, almost instantly forgetting his own mission to the store. Well, it was a big store, he could still find something proper later on. Now, back to Steve.

“Oh, wow okay Steve, you’re a big boy then. My bad. Nice to meet you, glad we’re already on first name basis at our first meeting or we had to go through boring and awkward situation before getting where we are,” okay, no more rambling to the poor kid. Tony would just confuse him even more. “So, Steve, Stevie, can you tell me where the last time you see your Dadda? Or Momma? You go together with them, right?”

Tony swore the kid’s expression changed for a brief seconds there before he looked down at the floor, two small hands played with the hem of his sleeve. “Don’t have mommy. Only with Dadda,” Steve mumbled, which made a wonder, and another ton of questions but Tony kept them to himself.

“With your Dadda, then.” the man nodded, “What do you say if we go to the help center and wait for your Dadda there? I’m pretty sure it’ll be kinda pointless to search for him by ourselves in this big place, so we should go and make sure he can find you at one place. What do you say?”

“And how can I be sure that you won’t trick and kidnap me?” Wow, this kid was really perceptive and fully aware his situation could go wrong if he wasn’t careful to who he should trust. Tony absolutely underestimated this little guy so much. Quick, think of something.

“Because,” Tony shushed, looking around before beckoning the kid to come closer. He pulled his right sleeve a bit to reveal a rather gaudy toy watch with Iron Man design on it - courtesy of his lovely niece Gwen, and she insisted Tony to keep wearing it and somehow it became his habit now. Even if he had some proper watches collection. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually Iron Man, Cap. I know you’re actually Captain America, right? I can see through you with those kind of red-white-blue outfit you hid inside that jacket, you know.”

“You’re silly,” Steve giggled, and Tony grinned again.

“Oh, am I now? I’m hurt, Cap, I thought you’ll be less judgmental in person.” He faked a gasp, one hand clenching his chest before grinning again, “Us Avengers have to watch each other’s back, no? So why don’t you let me help you for this once? Pinky promise no funny business, I can swear it by my Arc Reactor. I’d say my heart, but I guess my Arc Reactor is one and another my second heart and even more important to keep me alive anyway, so there’s that.”

“You’re still silly, but alright, Mister Tony. My Dadda likes Iron Man too and I think I can trust you not going to do anything funny to me.”

“I probably already said this, but your Dadda is a good man with a good taste,” he laughed, “Now I can’t wait to see what your Dadda looks like, I have a hunch that me and your Dadda can get along just fine with our similarity, then.”

・。・゜★・。・。☆・゜・。

Turned out Steve’s father had a pair blue eyes as well. Very blue eyes and Tony was entrapped. He probably lost a few first words here and there, okay, maybe a lot of words when they finally met at the customer help desk. The very first part that he was aware was those gorgeous blue eyes and deep, raspy voice probably roughed up because he shouted too much for his son, and -

“Mr. Tony?”

Oh, oh. Shit. How long he had been staring, again? “Yes? Yeah, uhm, I’m still listening. Got a bit distracted a bit just now. Too much noises around here, don’t you think - what was it that you said again?”

Tony thought the man would be offended at least, but he just gave Tony an understanding smile. “I can sympathize. Not quite a fan of crowded places with too much noises myself, but I’m trying. What I wanted to say was thank you for finding and bringing Steve here for me.” Bucky smiled at the little boy, who curled himself up on Bucky’s arms and wrapped his tiny arms around the man’s neck, looking ready to sleep again. “I was panicking and probably running around the store just to find him until I got back my common sense and went to the customer desk before I started crying myself.”

Oh, dear God, those laughter. Tony was pretty sure that it should be so illegal to laugh or even chuckle so beautifully like that. The father himself in overall had been already illegal. Not only just because of those blue eyes, but that strong jaw, those impressive cheekbones that probably could cut, rather long hair that look quite silky that he tied into a messy bun that suited the man so much, how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed -

Wait, why was the father still laughing at him?

“Believe me, my hair usually ain’t as silky as you think. Maybe because I took the wrong shampoo rather than my usual one for a whole month and didn’t realize it. Who knows a baby shampoo can do such a thing.”

Tony smacked his face as hard as he could. “Oh, my God. Did I say it out loud in front of you? I said it out loud in front of you and your kid. Oh God. I swear I’m not a creep, I just have a tendency to say whatever came out in my mind and it’s not helping since I have a very big mouth - no other intention intended. I’m so sorry about this. I hope you won’t sue me. Please don’t sue me. I still have to attend the Christmas party with all my friends - which probably can be counted with one hand - and spend more time with my lovely little niece. What would she think if she knew his cool uncle just got into prison because he just accidentally compliments his sudden crush - I’m going to shut up now before you really want to sue me.”

To his surprise, the father didn’t seem to annoyed to the very least. He just simply...blushed and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “Uhm, thank you? I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that if you want. And no, I won’t sue you. You just saved my Stevie from getting lost too far. Besides, he said you’re, like, Iron Man?” he teased, starting to sound more confident, “No way I’m going to sue Iron Man who just saved my son, he’s way too cool for being taken into prison for that. And I’m a big fan of Iron Man myself. Isn’t that right, Stevie?” The said boy looked up at both Tony and Bucky, smiled sleepily and continued burying his face to the man’s shoulder.

Tony blinked stupidly, “Really?” he cleaned his throat before smirking at the man, “Really, now. Glad to hear that then, Steve’s father.”

“Bucky.”

“Bless you.”

“No, not that,” the man - Bucky - snorted. “That’s my name. Well, James, actually. But no one calls me that unless you’re my Ma.”

“Bucky, eh? Nice to meet you. I like the sound of it, suits you. I was gonna ask where you got ‘Bucky’ out of James, but I guess you got other people asking you that a lot and it seems like a question for a first date thing - I mean. Shi - shoot, sorry. No, not that I want to pressure you with such a thing. I just like talking whatever came out of my mind, again. This sounds awkward already, sorry about that.”

“No, that’s okay. Well, Mr. Iron Man,” Bucky bit his lower lip, considering, “I was hoping maybe you can join us for tonight’s dinner as a thank you, it’s the least I can do to repay you. Maybe by then we can get to know each other fairly well, don’t you think? Unless if you already had a plan.”

Again, Tony blinked, “Dinner? With you and Steve? You sure I won’t interrupting your family bonding time?”

“Absolutely sure. And I’m sure Steve will be so thrilled anyway. I can see he already likes you enough. He doesn’t trust people so easily like he does to you. Most of the time he will run away as fast as he can if he doesn’t feel safe around strangers, Stevie is intuitive like that.“

Tony was pretty sure his heart just swelled in pride. “S-Sure, yeah. I’d like that very much. So, like, numbers exchange? So you can send me your address and time? Promise I’ll be there on time.”

“Smooth, but alright,” Bucky chuckled, fishing out his phone to exchange his number with Tony.

“It’s a date, then,” Tony said casually when he pressed save button for Bucky’s number on his phone, but froze when he saw Bucky raised his eyebrow, realization of what he just said. “I mean, like, with family. So it’s a family date? Dinner? No? Alright, sorry, didn’t mean to say that.”

“Tony, calm down. You look like you’re about to burst into fire like that,” the brunet chuckled, shifting Steve on his arm. Cheeks flushed red a little. “It can be a family date if you want. We - well, I - I’d like to know more about you.”

“...really?”

Bucky nodded, and it was Tony’s turn to blush as he gave his charming smile.

“It’s a family date, then.”

#winteriron #drabble #hhhhHHHHHH self indulge fic once again because I need that once in a while #unbeta-d so all mistakes are mine

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johnsonjordan1994 · 4 years

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