#i know its been all low effort silly stuff lately but. Big things are coming 😈

[leather-field]

Me associating words and images (with pathologic) part 2

[love-takes-work]

Steven Universe: End of an Era: Outline & Review

I wrote this review in October but never got around to posting it here

Steven Universe: End of an Era is far more than an art book–it’s also a collection of behind-the-scenes material, stories about the experience of working on the show, planning documents and associated background info, and both older versions of developed concepts AND concepts that never made it into the show. It's a huge fusion of all those elements, and it's definitely an experience!

Some low-quality images are included with my review just to give you an idea of what’s there--it’s not a good substitute for getting your own copy, but here’s a tour!

Like the previous concept art book, Art and Origins, I'll be giving you a description of the structure and overview, while also collecting notable information for fans. Obviously just about everything is "notable" once again, but I'll aim for unique insight or perspective on the main source material, keeping the screaming about everything new to a minimum so you can also enjoy something for yourself if you pick it up. My low-quality photos should prevent people from feeling like I'm reproducing the book in any capacity. Please grab one while you can and have your own experience!

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

OVERVIEW

The book is titled "End of an Era" for a couple reasons--obviously because it is released after the show has wrapped, but also because Gem history recently ended its "Era 2" and began Era 3--an age of prosperity and peace. The author--the person in charge of adapting all of this information into this slick, readable package--is Chris McDonnell, whose work was previously applied on the Art and Origins book.

The foreword is by N.K. Jemisin, a well-known science fiction author who's a huge fan of the show (and wrote a really excellent series that also has a weird geological connection, by the way).

And the cover, like its predecessor, is shiny and decorated with a beach scene featuring minimalistic characters--this time it's the Gems at night in front of the Temple, and on the back cover is a big pink leg ship in a cross-legged pose.

The interior covers are decorated with tons of amazing sketches of Steven and Connie on the front, and a bunch of Gem sketches on the back. Every interior page that most would leave blank is highlighted with some kind of sketch art or character exercise--it's so much to look at, so much to absorb.

The book is dedicated "For Eddie."

Its organization is different from the previous book in that it shares applicable work in chunks associated with groups of episodes rather than pertaining to different aspects of building the show.

FOREWORD

N.K. Jemisin gives us such a great introduction to the book--apparently understanding very well that the audience of this book is full of animation enthusiasts and adult fans more than it is full of kids, and explaining that bewildering journey some adults had from blowing this show off as a silly kid thing to falling in love with it hard and fast.

The important thing, Jemisin says, is being able to trust a storyteller with your heart. And it was clear to her that Rebecca Sugar knew what she was talking about and was saying important things about identity and the radical power that comes with accepting it and demanding respect.

Important also is how we handle heroes and who gets to be one in fantasy. That's part of the reason Steven Universe speaks to so many--because we see ourselves here, and know stories can be about us. Acknowledging the power we all have to MAKE THINGS BETTER with what we fight for is so important--especially if we're going to speaking to the next generation about it.

Highlighting Rose Quartz as a "born leader" who failed and Steven as a relatable scamp who did what she couldn't, Jemisin asserts that we can save the world.

1. END OF AN ERA

We start with an appeal to the audience to think about identity and the formative parts of our childhood--and how different it is if who you are and who you become is restricted, mocked, erased, or Not Allowed. Most people, if not ALL people, can relate to this, but for those of us with a special relationship with Steven Universe because of queer identity, this hits hard.

But it doesn't have to be anything grand to be something we respect--this show's authenticity comes largely from how personal everything is, drawn from real-life experiences and incidental truths from each artist's perspective, leaning hard on childhood and formative experiences.

Rebecca Sugar offers some interview bits to discuss writing philosophy and why "writing female characters" was difficult for a nonbinary person who'd been socialized as a girl and a woman. Rebecca has spoken before about how frustrating it is that marketing for cartoons was SO gendered when she was growing up (and to some extent still is).

The Gems in the story are all "she/her," but on their planet they're defined by their work, not by emotion or relationships (unlike women in our society), so having them be socialized opposite to how she was and be able to claim those emotions through choice and NOT as just an expectation "as women" was revolutionary. Rebecca wants her show to tell all marginalized people that they don't deserve to be in the margins.

Weighing in on other aspects of the show were Ian Jones-Quartey, Joe Johnston, and Miki Brewster. Ian describes feeling like at first doing SU was a thrill ride that meant they'd finally get to do all the cool stuff, but it quickly became a responsibility that he took very seriously--the need to tell a good story now that he'd been given a megaphone.

Promotional art, planning documents, character sketches, and concept art from the lighthearted to the stone serious is included, along with some very cool (sort of famous) timeline charts that track major characters' developments. It's emphasized by Rebecca that the developmental materials ARE NOT CANON (and especially are not MORE canon) compared the final show.

There are concept sketches alongside final art for Aquamarine and Topaz in "Wanted" (with Topaz labeled "Imperial Topaz"), the Zircons in "The Trial," Blue and Yellow Diamond, and the Off Colors (including Pink Lars).

And there's also a spread of "the two sides of Steven's life: Gem Magic and Rock N Roll" featuring Sadie Killer and the Suspects (referred to as "Buck's band")--as well as a cool "Crew Cameos" key and some concepts for short-haired Connie.

And then there's some more "finished" art with stills alongside concepts, including some background art, revision, and really cool "fairytale" art from some of the shadowplay storytelling bits. We get "Lars of the Stars," "Jungle Moon," and "Can't Go Back."

2. THE BEGINNING OF THE END: A SINGLE PALE ROSE

In discussing the huge reveals and Gem mysteries in the show, the pacing is examined, and emphasis is put on the intended "slow burn." One of the most difficult things in the show was to strategize so that every piece that was needed to support another piece in the future was placed properly to seed what it was supposed to.

Some of the ideas they developed were more of a group effort and were fit together collaboratively (like Amethyst's being younger than the other Gems and Jasper being from Earth), while others were intended from the beginning based on Rebecca's vision (the fundamental idea of Pink Diamond's true identity, for instance, as well as Obsidian's design and sword and our Pearl not being Pink's first).

The writing process gets a great deep dive here, including fun tidbits like how the orb in the moon base was inserted by Joe Johnston and they literally had no idea what it was for when they wrote the episode. They repurposed it when they figured out what they needed.

Rebecca credits her detailed timelines for helping keep the order straight, and discusses how other artists are sometimes flabbergasted that a storyboard-driven show can have this much detail and continuity and yet not get wrecked by the free non-scripted boarding process. But Rebecca and the Crew valued that approach and loved the way fresh eyes would handle an idea, making it come back alive, entertaining, vivid.

Several Crew members weigh in on the writing process. Lauren Hecht refers to making lots of incorrect guesses despite being on the inside. Joe Johnston recalled getting briefed on his first day and getting so excited to start working on this massive project.

Miki Brewster remembered being told Rose Quartz is Pink Diamond and being shocked--and also confused about why Ruby and Sapphire would need to be married if they're already basically married. Drew Green talks about being brought in late and getting to watch unaired episodes and a rough of the movie while eating cereal.

Ian Jones-Quartey complains about Pink Diamond's real jester-like form being leaked to the internet through a Hot Topic shirt. Rebecca piggybacks on that and says it was upsetting that the wedding was leaked because of toy fair keychains featuring Ruby and Sapphire in wedding attire. They'd always be worried about leaks, and sometimes Rebecca struggled not to talk about the reality of Pink Diamond before the reveal because she knew it would make so much more sense once the truth was out. And everything associated with Rose makes more sense once you know she's Pink--especially what happened with Bismuth, considering what we know about how Pink Diamond has a habit of treating anyone who no longer serves her interests.

When it comes to visual cues, Rebecca also talks about intentional designs to create a feeling of unity between concepts, like the flower shapes on Pink Diamond's palanquin lining up with the poofs of Steven's hair and the star imagery of the series. Steven Sugar and Mary Nash discuss how the Human Zoo incorporated this imagery, trying to look like Homeworld with a Pink Diamond touch.

Steven Sugar, as a game nerd, liked to throw in video game references from old and modern stuff to feel like he's inserting what he's enjoying and who he is from moment to moment, while Mary Nash, who related to Sadie as a basement-dwelling young person with cult interests, liked to include stuff from MST3K and cult movies. Pearl's hand gestures get a spotlight too--her reflex to cover her mouth when Pink Diamond was being discussed was analyzed here.

A "Top Secret Visual Timeline" from 2016 is included which tells us some Diamond history. It has an earlier version of Pink Pearl's fate and does not include Spinel since the movie hadn't been greenlit. The timeline includes the birth of the Diamonds, the emergence and major story beats for each major character, and some philosophy of the driving force behind each.

We're told that Pink Diamond straightened up, behavior-wise, after she lost her first Pearl, and that Yellow and Blue wanted to give her a planet but White only agreed to it to prove she would fail at managing a colony. Pearl, meanwhile, is so confused to have a Diamond who keeps asking her what she thinks when she doesn't believe she should have opinions.

And when Pink moonlighted as Rose to start conflict, she found herself leading an army to fight Pink's troops--then Yellow's, and eventually Blue's too. Lapis is said to be waiting for the conflict to end on Earth so she can terraform, but she gets trapped instead.

Pearl's love story with Rose is described as "an endless honeymoon" where she's free to love her, while Rose's is more like "I'm now the head of the family and I'm going to give everyone what they never had, so everyone is super special!"

Jasper is described as "adopted" into Yellow's army as the only successful Beta Quartz. And White Diamond knew that Pink Diamond was not dead--she thought she was just running away from home like a brat and would eventually be back.

3. THE HEART OF THE CRYSTAL GEMS

Now we discuss Rose Quartz--the original Pink Diamond. How she was selfish and selfless, never enough and always too much, and how Greg was her first partner who "challenged her" to be an equal. Rebecca describes Rose as being delighted by the idea that both she and Greg reinvented themselves, but when that leads her to want to share her past, Greg isn't interested--he only wants to know who she is now, and doesn't consider the old her to be her.

Rebecca likes Carl Jung's concept of "enantiodromia," which is the idea that extremes lead to their extreme opposite. This is demonstrated in all of the Diamonds. This narrative is interspersed with drawings of Greg and Rose being cute.

But another "heart" of the Crystal Gems is its relationships--particularly, Garnet, the fairy tale romance embodied. More psychological theories are discussed with regard to differentiation in a relationship making the relationship stronger, and how they made sure that happened for Garnet during the appropriate arc. Rebecca has struggled with the idea that she, like Ruby, went straight from a "family" group to a living-with-others situation and never lived by herself. But she also learned that you can in fact develop as a person in the context of a relationship--you don't have to be alone to do it. Ruby learned that too, and chose on her own terms to be with Sapphire.

The wedding made so much sense to Rebecca and the crew that they couldn't imagine a wholesome couple like Ruby and Sapphire not having a wedding episode. They wanted it for years: The wedding concepts always included the tuxedo for Sapphire and the wedding dress for Ruby.

But pushback (often blamed on the conservative standards of the international market) led to negotiations trying to keep Ruby and Sapphire's relationship from being explicit. Rebecca and the Crew were very tired of this double standard, and they were especially irritated by attempts to claim a wedding wouldn't be well received by a core demographic or wouldn't make sense for Steven's character. But other shows had done weddings and Steven had been established to love weddings already.

Rebecca kept adding more elements to the wedding episode to answer all the concerns, but she didn't want to back down from explicit marriage between these characters. They deserved it. And the audience deserved to see this as wholesome, like any other cartoon wedding. Eventually they got their way and were allowed to have the wedding. But the ordered episodes were also coming to a close without promise of more, so Rebecca had to request more episodes to be able to wrap up the storyline!

And of course, there is Steven, the true heart of the team. A very interesting aside discusses Garnet's leadership and how the network pushed the Crewniverse to acknowledge Steven as the leader. This was successfully resisted throughout as well--because Garnet is the leader (unless she's incapacitated, of course). It's fantastic that this concept was preserved because too often a young male chosen one is elevated above people with more experience and knowledge because of that chosen one tradition, so it's really nice to have a show acknowledge that team leadership is more appropriate for an adult.

4. ERA 3

Beginning with a discussion of the Diamonds, this chapter deconstructs the dysfunctional "family" of the Diamonds (who are said to be based on tropes about evil stepmothers and stepsisters), with the thread of dysfunction originating with White Diamond.

Yellow is physical, Blue is emotional, White is judgmental, and Pink is impulsive. Some philosophy on why Pink is naturally manipulative and why she clashes so much with White is offered.

White believes her identity is to be imposed on all because she is the pinnacle of what should be--and therefore, she has the right to make decisions and statements about and on behalf of everyone. But her secret is that she can't do what the others do--act or feel or want. In trying to be everyone, she is no one.

And this becomes very important when she confronts Steven about his identity and turns out to be wrong. The triumph of Steven being totally, fully himself is a beautiful, simple revelation that's described as far more satisfying than the theories about Pink living inside him or Rose returning from his Gem.

Also discussed is Gem architecture. A lot went into this idea, and Steven Sugar weighs in to say he had to think of what it would mean for a world to have buildings but serve no human needs. That's why it's mostly focused on transport and storage. Even the broken planet is meant to indicate a place stripped for its resources, and everything serves a function that is meant to avoid looking like the human equivalents.

And there's another layer, too: a difference between Era 1 and Era 2. Era 2 became more functional to hide Era 1's broken bits, and older Homeworld buildings still have some "ornate and ancient" feel to them. And the fact that props, tools, and even walls and doors could be living was taken from a concept Rebecca thought was horrible from old Busby Berkeley movies, where people were inanimate objects and it was portrayed as lovely. Tom Herpich helped conceptualize these living objects.

Steven dealing with "princess tropes" is discussed here too. The Pebbles (worked on with Pendleton Ward) were sort of his Cinderella's mice, and all the locked-in-a-tower, having supportive tiny friends help you, getting princess clothes made, attending a ball, having to mind your manners stuff was intentionally related to fairy tales.

The point of doing that (besides fun) was to easily invoke the feeling that Steven was being made to be someone he's not, and that he was being treated like THIS is who he really is when it isn't. White Diamond as the "evil stepmother" is discussed with regard to her detailed features and massive scale. They generally didn't put fingernails and eyelashes on characters (especially not to indicate that they were women or girls!), but they decided White would get all of these feminine markers for tradition's sake.

Rebecca also invokes several other references that were included and describes the princess tropes as "chipping away at his integrity" setting him up for the final challenge with White.

There is again tons of concept art: Homeworld architecture, Pebbles, Diamond diagrams, background Jades and Lemon Jade Fusion, Comby, Diamond extraction chambers, and White Diamond.

5. CHANGE YOUR MIND

Now we finally begin to discuss Steven's identity. The "Perfect Steven," discussed in several interviews before this book's release, was an idea back in 2013; the "ultimate Steven," beefed up and shonen-looking, was far from perfect because OUR Steven is perfect, while this alpha hero Steven idea (used in Steven Universe Future) didn't belong being idolized in such a show.

They thought about having Steven fall apart into organic half and Gem half early in the show (during "Giant Woman" after a successful fusion and unfusion, even!), but they didn't try the concept until the last episode. They didn't want the "Pink" Steven to be portrayed as "better" even though he would be more powerful, so they decided he isn't whole without his organic self and he's just as much of a shell as the organic half. They absolutely did not want any ending that required Rose to be inside him or waiting to come back. But the debates were fierce--what DOES it mean to have Rose's Gem?

Ian Jones-Quartey brings in an anecdote about his own family to emphasize some of the immigrant themes that inspired aspects of the show. He had a brother who reinvented himself elsewhere away from family without resolving issues, and all the ramifications of that were explored in the show through Rose Quartz. (He is careful to say he doesn't think his immigrant experience is like being from another planet!) But he did say you can hurt your old family even if they were toxic or didn't know the real you, and you can hurt your new family by hiding your past. The Pizza family of course was also a more direct reference to Ian's Ghanaian family.

In talking about the new Fusions from this episode, Sunstone is largely described by Miki, who also got to board the Sunstone section. Sunstone was described as a cool 1990s character and the evolution just continued into making them a fourth-wall-breaking PSA dispenser. Obsidian is also discussed, with their sword being an early concept. Steven Sugar said they totally knew it would be forged in action. Obsidian being similar to the Temple design is of course another very early detail.

The story of how James Baxter got involved with one of the final scenes (Organic Steven and Pink Steven fusing in front of White Diamond) was shared. His family was fans of the show and Rebecca Sugar took the time to drive to a birthday party for his daughter and give her a drawing. He then owed her a favor, and this was it.

Concept art is again included, this time with sample boards, promo images, a Diamond fight concept, costume design changes for the Gems, new Fusions, the so-called "Mega Diamond" ship conglomerate, some scenes from the White Diamond confrontation, Pink Steven, multiple pages of James Baxter animation, corrupted Gems and their healed selves, and photos from the "Change Your Mind" premiere and some awards. The show has won one design-related Emmy, a Peabody Award, and a GLAAD award.

6. STEVEN UNIVERSE FUTURE

The book doesn't cover the movie because it got its own book, but dives right into Future. Ian Jones-Quartey emphasizes that the movie and Future are separate and different from the original show, which ENDED. After all, after that, Steven has a neck!

Some new names are invoked now: new writers Kate Tsang, Jack Pendarvis, and Taneka Stotts. They were excited to have Steven make HIS OWN mistakes instead of trying to clean up someone else's! Now, instead of doing the usual shonen anime thing and having the final battle be a big physical rumble, Steven has to make peace with himself and take an active role in coping with what all the fighting has done to him and what effect it's had on who he is (and who he wants to be). There is no sudden "I love myself!" answer, either. It's always a process.

Drew Green and Maya Petersen, who came on board as storyboarders officially in Future, also weighed in on writing for a "mature" show, how to deal with Steven being a "moral compass" while being sort of unreliable, and what they learned as Crew that they didn't know as fans. Drew didn't know Garnet never asks questions. Jack didn't realize the show never deviated from Steven's point of view. Taneka was nervous but excited to collaborate. Kate was worried about how established the show was and what to do as a new writer to contribute appropriately.

Maya was on the old Crew but not as a storyboarder, so felt like some of the "old" ideas ended up not being appropriate for the "new" Future in an embarrassing way--and dreaded the idea of dealing with Steven's emotional problems when they were similar to stuff she'd been through. She also was personally behind the idea of Steven wanting to dump his problems by becoming Stevonnie, and got to work with Etienne Guignard on inventing the Pearl creation backstory with Volleyball.

There's some discussion of "depression hobbies," stress, and the show's pacing. And they say Etienne was entertaining at pitches. There's even some discussion of how Greg is taken off a bit of a pedestal because his terrible restrictive life in the suburbs sounded wholesome to Steven and Greg presented it negatively.

And then there is some information about how the Crew felt behind the scenes due to fan reactions and negative press. Ian discusses feeling offended when the Black characters are described as bad examples, as if their cartoonized but realistic-in-context features are automatically caricatures.

Rebecca Sugar felt beaten down by some of these narratives and began to access mental health services, inspiring some of the content of "Mindful Education." A long reflection from Rebecca discusses people's infighting about her show and what she had a responsibility to show or not show in the story. She learned a lot about bullying from Cartoon Network's anti-bullying program and learned that bullies thrive on whatever attention you give them--unless it is made clear to them by a peer group that no one is impressed by their cruel actions. Also, not all negative feedback is bullying. Constructive criticism is different. Self-awareness can help you avoid internalizing what bullies might do or say to you.

Segueing from the discussion of how people are affected by and connect with the show, we then discuss how they chose as a team what should be covered as the show came to a close. They didn't have time to do quite a few stories they wanted time for, like a Rhodonite story, a Lars side story, and Diamond "prehistory" and religion; all of it was put aside for the main arc with Steven.

They thought people would find those stories about Homeworld and Off Color history very interesting, but so much of the show had been about Steven's Gem adventures, so keeping him mostly on Earth seemed appropriate. The acknowledgment of his battle damage, of his trauma, was necessary and real, and helpful in an important way to the core audience.

Oh, and there was some stuff about a cheeseburger tree. Don't ask.

In discussing the "reverse escapism" of the original show (Gem aliens are intrigued by everyday human culture, and realism is necessary), Rebecca says her views have changed on escapism and gets why some people want a soothing feel-better show. She acknowledged also that her own escapist dreams-come-true fulfilled in the show didn't feel like escapism because they were givens to the majority of mainstream culture, but were never guaranteed to marginalized people.

Rebecca ties in her several-times-told story about "Love Like You" and how the middle bit was when she didn't feel she was worth looking up to, and the realizations she had to tie the beginning to the end. Feeling like someone will like you less if they know you more is terrible. So sometimes a show like this can be helpful in telling people that they belong when their fantasies are things like "I want to be loved" and "I want to know I exist."

In Future, Steven has to connect to who he is and love that person--and understand that person enough to finally feel that even if he's not fixing their problems or saving their world right this second, Steven deserves his family's love and support, and they WANT to give it to him.

There's a huge amount of supplemental material in this section so there's no way I could name it all. The charts for Future's timeline are pretty straightforward, though a few episodes like "A Very Special Episode," "Why So Blue," "In Dreams," and "Bismuth Casual" aren't specifically represented and a couple are in a different order ("Prickly Pair" was conceived as happening after "Fragments" and "Homeworld Bound").

Steven feeling like a monster, having intrusive thoughts, having not forgiven the Diamonds, and getting help/moving on--it's all there.

We have keys, color scripts, and boards for the new opening and some various backgrounds and storyboard art from episodes. Model sheets for Shep, Nice Lapis and Mean Lapis, Jasper, Steven Tag Gems, Pink Steven Powers, Monster Steven. New house concepts, Era 3 Homeworld concept art for the Diamond environments, and background art for the Reef.

New Connie and Greg designs. Concepts for Mega Pearl, the Rose Quartzes, Bluebird, and Morganite (who didn't get used). And there are some photos from recording and the conference room. There are even some extras from "Crossover Nexus," the crossover with OK K.O.!--including an unused cut scene that included Ruby and Sapphire fighting. The rest of the book is a bunch of adorable Crewniverse art--extras, blog drawings, promos, and gifts to each other.

NOTABLE

1.

The first timeline chart in the book features a cool sketch of the original Off Colors, which at the time this planning document was drafted included unused Off Colors Flint and Chert.

We knew of their existence already because of an episode of the podcast, but these two unexpectedly appeared as incidental characters in the Steven Universe Future episode "Homeworld Bound," identified only in the credits. Sad to think that instead of banding with the Off Colors, these two were probably shattered for their crime (being Quartzes who don't want to fight) and that's why we see them being repaired in this episode. Later, there's some brainstorming for types of Off Colors and "a Ruby that wants to wear limb enhancers" is mentioned as well.

2. 

It looks like there was also originally more juice to the story of tracking down the events of the war culminating in Pink Diamond's assassination.

One of the timelines talks about Steven thinking it makes sense that Pearl can't talk about her involvement because she might have been a double agent, explaining why Rose Quartz always knew what Pink Diamond was doing. It seems like that bit was supposed to be included in Garnet's version of the story she believed in "Your Mother and Mine." Seems like they originally conceived Garnet's story to inspire the Off Colors to become pirates and freedom fighters, though in the show's canon this storytelling happened after Lars had already reinvented himself the way he did.

Sadie was also supposed to be sending letters to Lars via Steven, which is funny since the "Letters to Lars" episode is just a montage Steven letter. And of course it's specified that Steven was supposed to get Pink Diamond flashbacks by going to the Palace on Homeworld.

3. 

The second chart in the book makes references to Sadie's reinvention of herself as a parallel to Lars, Greg, and Pink Diamond all doing the same thing, and how positive it is to embrace such a thing--a version of yourself that YOU create.

I love that Yellow Diamond's arm ship arm-wrestling the Cluster was always part of the plan.

There's some more explicit direction to have Connie help Steven understand the Diamonds as "strict parents," and a lot more emphasis on everyone realizing Rose had been inspired by THEM rather than them all following her.

White Diamond is presented here as if she thinks of Pink Diamond as a "daughter" (whom she now understands she has "lost"). There are notes on how the Diamonds have a responsibility to their children and should attend to it before just continuing to make more.

4.

One of the concept art images for the Off Colors features Rhodonite crouching by Padparadscha saying "Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you." It's very interesting because she DOES seem to protect Padparadscha in the show, but doesn't seem confident about it in her final version, even though it does seem like she'd be "programmed" to guard aristocratic Gems because of her Ruby and Pearl makeup. Cool.

5.

A "Crew Cameos" spread was included, which is of great interest to some of us who loved seeing the Crew insert themselves into the show. Not every SU Crew person who's been represented in a crowd was there, but this crowd included Amish Kumar, Kat Morris, Amanda Winterstein, Angie Wang, Lamar Abrams, Emily Walus, Mary Nash, Joe Johnston, Christy Cohen, Danny Cragg, Hilary Florido, Danny Hynes, Matt Burnett, Ben Levin, Elle Michalka.

6.

The official national flower of South Korea, Hibiscus syriacus, is the name of Pink Diamond's flower.

7.

One of Steven Sugar's comments about the silhouette difference between humans and Gems points out that humans have ears. This seems to be pretty good confirmation that they are not supposed to have ears, despite that sometimes we'll see ears drawn on them in some frames.

8.

Rose Quartz/Pink Diamond is characterized in this book as "self-hating" in a really interesting way, saying that because she believed she was not capable of compassion, she practically worshiped those who demonstrated that ability and thought they were so much better than her--which is described as "intoxicating" and resulted in others being drawn to her. How interesting is that!

9.

Timelines reveal that early plans for Pink Diamond's first Pearl originally had her getting destroyed by Pink during  a game, and then her destruction was rewritten as a punishment from the Diamonds after Pink Pearl defended Pink Diamond to the other Diamonds. They went back to the idea of her getting hurt by Pink for the final version, though the cracked face and control by White Diamond was not on the agenda until they started writing "Change Your Mind."

10.

The approximate ages of the major characters, based on emergence, are revealed on these timelines. It begins with a cracked-planet-looking graphic depicting four tiny Diamonds emerging at 20,000 years ago. Some suspicious "blacked out" redacting surrounds a long timeline tail that goes back before that, which may mean there are secrets they still don't want to reveal. But the dates go like this:

20,000 years ago: The Diamonds emerge.

11,000 years ago: Pearl is custom-made for Pink Diamond.

8,000 years ago: Sapphire emerges (on Homeworld).

6,000 years ago: Ruby emerges (on a colony).

5,750 years ago: Garnet is formed.

5,600 years ago: Lapis is poofed and put in the mirror.

5,200 years ago: Jasper emerges (on Earth).

5,050 years ago: The Cluster is planted.

5,000 years ago: Amethyst emerges (on Earth).

4,500 years ago: The Crystal Gems found Amethyst.

3,000 years ago: Peridot emerges (on Homeworld).

40 years ago: Pearl found Lapis's mirror at the Galaxy Warp.

And of course we know 14 years ago Steven is born!

11.

Originally the Diamonds were based on a quartet of themes: Love, Fear, Pride, and Sorrow. It got too complicated to keep and it was abandoned, with Pink's identification of "love" being described as "particularly outdated."

12.

Notes on a sketch say that Pearl was inspired to become bold and unashamed because Pink's questions drove her to have opinions, and it's said that Rose "fell in love" with her boldness.

13.

Rebecca tells the story of driving off a ridge and getting stuck in the desert, comparing this to Ruby's tumble during her Wild West adventure and using it as inspiration. She's told this story before but here it is in print. She also included the story about using the flowers from a friend's wedding to put in Ruby's hair.

14.

Rebecca describes having to "fight" notes she was given when it had to do with Ruby and Sapphire's relationship. One she describes as NOT fighting was for a signing card depicting Ruby and Sapphire dancing. It was called "too romantic" and she decided not to worry about it since it wasn't the actual show content.

She was also scolded over her book The Answer because the powers that be expected her to downplay that relationship. She always argued that queer youth deserved these things.

15.

Tom Herpich describes being inspired to name Blue Diamond's comb "Comby" because he was watching the news about Comey getting fired from the FBI. It's also a mineral-related term and I always assumed that reference was intentional, but maybe it's not and this is the only intended significance to Comby's name?

16.

Rainbow Quartz 2.0's design is not discussed, though the other two new Fusions from "Change Your Mind" (Sunstone and Obsidian) were. RQ2 has some sketches included, but no accompanying narrative in the text.

17.

A sheet of corrupted Gems and their healed selves is offered, though it doesn't appear to be final. The obelisk in "Serious Steven" is labeled Albite. The unnamed Worm Monster, Desert Glass, and Watermelon Tourmaline are included. An unnamed birdlike Gem represents the Big Bird monster from "Giant Woman." The crab monster from "Arcade Mania" is labeled Blue Chalcedony. The Tongue Monster is drawn uncorrupted but not named. The Flower Monster from "Back to the Kindergarten" is labeled Grossular Diopside or Titanite. The invisible monster from "Island Adventure" is labeled Moonstone. The Lighthouse Gem is labeled White Topaz. A form for Larimar that was used in "Change Your Mind" but changed in Future is there. The Slinker is listed as Chrysocolla. And the Crab Monster is listed as Aventurine.

On the next page, this is changed to Bixbite (as it was in Steven Universe Future), and we then also have Lace Amethyst, Blue Lace Agate, Crazy Lace Agate (Fusion), Ocean Jasper, the Mother Centipeetle Nephrite (Facet 413 Cabochon 12) and three other Nephrites, Angel Aura Quartz, a hooded Jasper, Zebra Jasper, Biggs Jasper, Watermelon Tourmaline (labeled as Fusion of Gem * Onion--huh?), Snowflake Obsidian, "Little" Larimar, and Orange Spodumene (who was the Worm).

18.

The Rhodonite side story would have been about the love story of a Ruby and a Pearl working for Morganite. Images of Morganite and her servants, unfused, are in the book. We do not get this additional information, but Rebecca said in a panel shortly before the book's release that Rhodonite's story would have been about finding out that she had been Rejuvenated 17 times because her components kept falling in love and needing to be reset.

19.

Referring to the Diamonds on one of the charts, Steven's perspective is "I can't believe I helped these" and then there's a censor bar. Welp.

20.

Some included art by Hilary Florido features Kevin with a souped-up Koala Princess car and another where Kevin is staring at himself in the mirror in front of an altar to himself.

21.

Rebecca's sweater collection is included in the Crew art.

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

[susoftjockau]

Second Time of Consideration - SU Soft Jock Fic

Summary: After tutoring Steven Universe, Connie Maheswaran is brought to a familiar question.

Sequel to First Time of Consideration.

Created by @borkthemork.

—–

Suspicions were always a breakthrough to revelation; either by profound curiosity or persnickety cajolery, Connie always found a way to get the answer she craved when it came down to problems in her life. If there was a situational problem—such as with an algebraic equation (with its word sentences and its fetish for formula implementation) that needed more logical thinking than basic run-down memory—then she would zone out for a few minutes to test the pathways she had. Of course, she didn’t fully zone out, but her moments were full of focus, honed in on answering the small question like a dog to a bone.

When it came to Steven, it was a chase for answers that she never expected to be fully requited for. He wasn’t an enigma, per se, but he was definitely someone that she wanted to know more about. It all came down to a few questions, but the most important being: how far will they go as ‘friends’ now that she trusts him?

It’s a silly thought if she pondered about it too much, yet it made sense to her. There was a new feeling of relief ever since that night—nestled in the arms of a legitimate friend, warm to the touch from shared heat—and she couldn’t help but ponder over it again and again and again. Jeez, it made her feel like an infatuated YA protagonist from just thinking about it; it wasn’t like she was leaning towards him for romance like the schlock she’d find at the bottom of a dollar store bin, she just had to wipe her mind of that idea and just think about the main picture.

He’s now her friend. That was the start, but will it work out?

What was supposed to be expected from her?

—–

It was a beautiful evening, and Connie had a lot of thoughts to peruse over.

For one, she had to organize the upcoming tutoring sessions. Discussing with Steven’s dad over the phone had allowed her to get a better idea of what needed to be done; just the standard change in schedule, the shift in what should be focused on, and the typical thought process of what she was going to use to help him remember a formula or symbol. It wasn’t overwhelming. It’s enough for her to fiddle with her hair, frustration simmering low in her stomach, but it’s a tolerant feeling compared to other intense scenes from her life.

The second one is where the true introspection came about. Steven had asked her to come over to the café to talk about something—why he never asked about it through text was something she wanted to ask but it was too late now, she walked all the way here with her laptop bag and going back is just going to be a waste of time. Might as well get her favorite order for a day such as this.

An expresso.

Five creams. One sugar.

Enough to bring her through the day like always. Like any other day, actually. This is just the first time she’ll ever do this where her pupil invited her without the intention of tutoring. Huh.

First time for everything? She had no clue how to describe the feeling—she wanted it to go away.

“Oh, hey!” She looked up to see the boy in question. His smile gleamed, the sunlight hitting him in soft hues that made her nestle more at his expression. She had been used to seeing his chipper self like this for a few months now. It was relaxing to look at. “Sorry if I’m late.”

“It’s fine, you did mark the time as one p.m. after all, so you’re on the dot.”

“Oh,” he blushed before pulling back a chair. “Yeah, you’re just early.”

Connie couldn’t help her giggle.

He was in his typical clothes—the letterman, the cartoon shirt, the crisp yellow and blue—but the casual air around him was potent. There doesn’t seem to be a worry on his mind for today, an elation seeping through from how he tapped his fingers on the table and gosh, his smile just kept beaming at her like he was seeing the aurora borealis. What was he thinking about?

“Sooo, I want to talk to you about something.” He started.

“Don’t you want some food though?” She took a sip from her espresso. It wasn’t piping, thank the lord. “They have a special on pastries today, one of your favorites too.“

Steven went starry-eyed. “Mega-classic éclairs?”

“Three fifty-nine.”

“Aw, man.” He groaned, nestling his face onto the table. “I should’ve gotten my wallet.”

“Why didn’t you bring your wallet?” She asked. “It’s a long trip from Beach City to Ocean Town, did you have snacks in your car and you ran out?”

He gave her a nervous laugh. “You can say that; snacks sound great right now, though.” Suspicious, as always, but she couldn’t help but feel sympathy over it.

“Let me buy one for you.”

He stiffened. “No, I wouldn’t want you to go that far for me.”

“I’m just gonna buy an éclair.” And a hash brown to curb his hunger. And an additional salad. With a cup of warm cocoa. Now that she’s looking at him closer, he seemed to be shaking—hypoglycemia, perhaps?

“Really, I wouldn’t.”

“Steven,” her voice was stern, eyes piercing into him with intensity—the other staring back with pooling uncertainty. “I didn’t walk three miles to have you deny that you’re starving in a café. I have money, and I know you’re hungry, so let me treat you for one day.”

He just rubbed his neck. Looking back at the displays of food, Connie noticed him shift in his seat, until he gave her a quick nod and a small thank you under his breath. There it was, the go-to. She stood up, motioning him forward to come along; she needed to know what he wanted.

When they returned, their tables were decorated with food platters. One of them continued to sip on her coffee, and the other gorged on his egg salad and banana bread without a moment’s notice (his éclair and hot cocoa on stand-by in a napkin). She wondered if it was enough for him, from how his form twitched every so often, the sight of him plowing through like a lawnmower. “You need to be careful about this stuff, Steven.”

He looked up, his question muffled by the contents in his mouth.

“Uhm, Steven.”

He swallowed. “Sorry. Like what?”

“Your diet. There were no snacks in the drive here, were there? Did you eat lunch? Breakfast?” Worry was one of those vital things to feel about something like this. She doesn’t know how frequent his episodes were, but she knew the tell-tale signs of someone who’s health was weaker than the cafeteria awning.

“I had a protein shake for breakfast.”

“And what else?”

His stare became unfocused. “An orange.”

She brushed a hand through her hair, hoping the tension growing in her body would dissipate. He had to be joking; she knew the college diet was horrible—especially with the growing money problem—but she couldn’t stand the idea of him, in particular, doing that to himself.

Connie inhaled, focus boring at the weight in her bag. “I’m going to buy more food for take-out. We’ll split it—fifty-fifty.”

“But you already gave me so much,” he wiped a bit of egg salad from his lips, a frown now adorning them. “What about you get all of it?”

“Fifty-fifty.” She grimaced. This was getting a bit too much. She didn’t want to argue with him. “Okay, wait, what about sixty and forty?”

“That could work.” Steven fumbled with his fork. The prongs poked at the remains of his food, the éclair still uneaten. “But are you sure? I won’t be that hungry when I get back.”

“Just see it as a thank you from me.”

“A thank you?”

“For being my...friend.” Her throat was heavy, cotton-like, but she kept going. “You did so much for me, I have to show off my gratitude somehow.”

Connie hated sentimentality. There was something about it that brought submission or nakedness to these conversations that she didn’t enjoy by a long shot, but the way Steven beamed at her—even through his continued tremors and their small tension—made her relax more than she ever would’ve predicted. It was comforting. It didn’t accuse her of weakness; he understood, even if only a little.

“You deserve the best after all.” He told her, plopping the last of his banana bread into his mouth. “You’re amazing.”

Okay, this is getting too sentimental.

“All right!” She coughed, trying to ignore the heat from her cheeks. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Hm?”

“The thing you wanted to talk to me about. The reason why we’re both here.”

”Oh!” He took a swig from his cocoa. “Almost forgot about that. I wanted to know if you’re okay with going to a party with me and the girls.”

She tapped at her coffee. Why does this feel so familiar? Connie bit her lip. “What type of party?”

“Just a normal party. Natalie told me it’s near that huge park area with the big tree in the middle.” Oh no. “There’s gonna be a DJ, lots of music, food, games.” Oh God, no. “And the best part, a buttload of people to dance with!” How can he call it normal even after all that?! Is he out of his mind?

Connie swallowed, the lump in her throat remaining even after her best effort. “And...you want me to go?”

“Yeah!” Steven’s smile hurt her more and more—he really wanted her to go. “I mean, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but since we’re friends, I wanted to see if you’re comfortable with it now.”

Connie Maheswaran. What are you supposed to do? You can’t just say no.

“Connie?” She looked at him again. His features contorted in a frown, her heart sinking at the sight. “Is everything okay?”

”I’m fine. I’m just thinking.” Thinking lead to worries, and worries lead to anxieties. But she knew that she had to keep her cool, she didn’t want to be a mess over one of her first-established friends, she might as well be waving red flags that she can’t be his friend at all with the way she’s acting. “I’ll gladly go, it—it sounds like fun!”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She pushed down the protests in her head. If she was going to make the effort of being his friend, she would have to push some boundaries. “I want to go with you guys, just tell me the date and when you’re picking me up, then I’ll prepare.”

Even with the fear toiling in her gut, Steven’s flushed elation—his little squeal calmed by the munch of his éclair—made it sound worth it. It shouldn’t be that bad, right? It wouldn’t be like the previous times? Her doubts, turbulent and murky, kept themselves present even as discussion changed, leaving her to feel a sense of foreboding when the two of them departed moments later at the door: one holding a big takeout bag in their hand with sunshine radiating from his gait, the other trying to curb the idea of stress eating as she embarked on her miles-long walk back to her dorm.

[dragon-kazansky]

I do it for you - Chapter three

Chapter 3 - Determination

You kept on walking, no destination in mind. You didn't know this TARDIS, you didn't know where you would end up.

There was so much to think about. Your mind was racing.

You couldn't deny there was something, only slightly, familiar about being around that man, but when you tried to think of why, you didn't have any answers. This was obviously not a joke, so your past lay with this man, but it had really been taken from you.

You weren't even bothered about the fact your past had been taken from you, you were bothered by the affect this had on the two Timelords.

A door just ahead caught your attention. You're not sure why it stood out to you so much, you go over to it and open it slowly. You poke your head into see a nice looking bedroom. Its themed in your favourite colour, almost as if the TARDIS knew.

Was this the Master's doing, or did the TARDIS know you needed somewhere to go?

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you. It was nice and cosy in here. It felt far more comfortable and warm in here. There was a welcoming atmosphere in this room.

You knew he wasn't actually angry at you, you could tell. There was something telling you he was angry at himself. He should be angry at his own people, but you couldn't understand how you loved someone who would destroy an entire civilisation without a second thought.

Did he enjoy it? Did he honestly enjoy killing his own people?

A shiver ran down your spine and you decided to get cosy on the bed. It was calling for you to get in it.. As soon as you sat on it you felt the mattress sink below you. You smiled as you got comfortable in it. Even your bed on Earth wasn't this soft and comfortable. You let out a little giggle.

A low hum rang throughout the room. The TARDIS sounded pleased.

You smiled.

"Did you do this for me?" You asked, feelings little silly for talking to a machine. Then again, the Doctor talked to her.

It hummed again, but sounded a little negative this time.

"Did... did he do this for me?"

A positive hum.

You smiled softly as you let that sink in. You couldn't even remember him, but he was taking good care of you. It warmed your heart to know he was putting in the effort. You wondered if this is what your life was like before everything went downhill for him.

You grabbed one of the pillows and squished it against your chest, burying your nose in the end of it.

He was handsome, was for sure.

Though you imagined he probably didn't have that face back in those days. You were sure he was always handsome. If you loved him you wouldn't have cared what he looked like.

You smiled.

Back in the console room the Master was focused on flying his TARDIS. The Doctor had been trying to contact him for the past few minutes, he had hoped she would stop if he just don't pick up, but she clearly wanted to talk to him.

He answered her call.

"What?" He snapped.

"Sounds like it's going well."

"If by well you mean she's upset with me and has walked away, then yes, it's going well."

"What did you do?"

"I told her the truth." He replied, his tone more serious and less angry.

"What truth?"

"About Gallifrey and how I would do it all again if I had known this was going to happen. I punished them for the wrong thing." He hissed.

"Maybe not mention that again? Not exactly a great conversation starter. You need to woo her again."

"Woo her? Doctor, shut up."

"I'm serious. She doesn't remember anything. Maybe you can spark some memories by making the effort to date her all over again. She loved you before, she'll love you again. We don't even know of we'll find what we're after back at her home."

The Master fell silent.

"Just think about it. For both your sake."

The Doctor hung up.

The Master stood at the console silently. Maybe she had a point. He wasn't going to lose you again. He slowly cast his gaze in the direction you had gone. He was still utterly in love with you, it hurt.

The Master pushed away from the console and made his way out of the room, walking down the same hall you had gone down. The TARDIS was leading him straight to your bedroom door. The one place he wanted to be right now.

You were listening to some music as your lay in bed. You were bobbing your head softly to the music, smiling as you hummed the tune quietly. You hadn't noticed your door open and the Master poke his head in. You were lost in the  moment.

The Master closed the door behind him and watched you.

There were moments like this back then. The pair of you would lie down, usually outside, talking to each other for hours. It's how you both spent so much time getting to know each other in the early days.

He smiled softly at the sight.

The song you were listening to ended and you opened your eyes. You didn't notice him right away, but when you turned your head slightly, you sat up with a gasp.

"How long have you been there?"

"Not long."

You sat there not knowing what to say. The fam had told you he was dangerous, so his confession really shouldn't have been much of a surprise. You glanced up at him. He hadn't moved from the door.

"You can come over here.... if you'd like." You shuffled a little further up the bed, making room for him.

The Master took your offer and came over, sitting beside you, but leaving space between you.

"I'm sorry about my outburst." He said.

"I didn't take you as the apologising type." You muttered.

"I'll always apologise to you."

You smiled softly.

"I shouldn't have walked off like that. I don't know how to explain this to you, it's like... something is telling me how familiar all of this is. I feel like I know you, but I don't. I can sense we were very close. I wish they hadn't done that to you."

The Master's gaze was gentle on you.

"I shouldn't have left you."

"I don't hate you for it." You told him quietly.

"You don't even remember that day." He sighed.

"No, but I know right now I don't hate you, evening you did confess to killing our people." You smiled at him.

"Our people?" He smiled a little.

"Well, supposedly I'm one of you, so yes, our people." You chuckled. "I suppose we better get going. It's not exactly a long trip back home."

"From Gallifrey it is, but you're right. We should head back." He got off the bed and offered your his hand. You smiled warmly at him and took it, climbing off the bed with him and leaving the bedroom.

The TARDIS made a happy little noise.

You let go of his hand once you were back in the hall, but you remained close to his side as you made your way back to the console room. He seemed happy with that. Though he did miss the feeling of holding your hand. It had been far too long since he last did that.

He goes over to the console and focuses on landing the TARDIS af your address. On the screen you can see the Doctor was there, waiting. You wondered if she had been waiting long, but realised she didn't look upset about you both showing up late.

You followed the Master outside.

The Doctor sent him a small smile, but you didn't see it. He did.

"This is where you have been living?" He asked, looking up at the building.

"Yeah, though it doesn't nearly feel like home compared to the TARDIS. The room I had was really nice." You smiled up at him.

The Master felt glad you felt comfortable in his TARDIS now.

You walked over to your front door and opened it, smiling at the others and letting them in. The Master lingered behind the others, coming up beside you once they had entered your home. You smiled softly at him as you went inside. He followed you.

You both walked into the living room to see the Doctor being nosy. You chuckled as she leaned in really close to look at something on your shelf.

"So, how I'll you know when you've found what you're looking for?" You asked.

"It won't be anything too big. It will also probably have some symptoms old on it." The Doctor explained.

"Symbols?"

"Gallifreyen." The Master clarified. "It looks like this." He pulls out a pocket watch and holds it flat in his palm. On the top are strange, yet beautiful, symbols.

"I see. I don't recall seeing anything like that, but don't take my word for it."

The Doctor smiled at you and nodded.

"Alright, let's split up and search." She smiled at everyone.

You looked at the Master and gestured for him to follow you. You both went upstairs and into your bedroom. You walked over the wardrobe and opened it up.

"You can check over there, I'll see if I can find anything in any of these boxes. I have a lot of trinkets and stuff... this could take a while." You dragged a box out of the wardrobe and sat on the floor, opening it up to see what was inside.

"I don't care how long it takes, as long as we find it." The Master replied, taking things off the shelves and looking at them thoroughly.

You glanced at him.

It warmed your heart to know he would do anything for you. An excitement settled within you about finding your regeneration energy. If you just knew what you were looking for, you could have your memories back and everything would be OK.

Within the next couple of hours everything in your house had been examined, emptied and searched. Everyone met in your living room, looking rather defeated.

"Nothing." You muttered.

"I don't understand." The Doctor shook her head. "Maybe they didn't intend for you to get them back..."

"Don't say that." The Master gritted his teeth. "We have to look elsewhere."

"Where is there to look?" You asked.

"I dont know. Any where else important to you?" The Doctor asked.

"No." You shook your head. "Not really. Not any where I remember." You glanced at the Master. "Unless you know somewhere?"

"We spent a lot of time on Gallifrey. It would have been there if not here..." He ran a hand down his face. His shoulders were tense and you could tell he was getting worked up again.

"Apparently not." The Doctor muttered.

The Master lowered his hands and glared at her.

"I'm done here, let's go." He looked at you. There was a slight pleading look in his eyes. "We'll find it on our own, I promise, we'll find it." He offered you his hand.

The Doctor looked sad that he was pushing her away.

You glanced at the Doctor. She looked at you, silently asking what you were going to do. The Doctor was your friend and you trusted her. You really did, but your missing past is with the Master and he was so desperate to get you back.

You turned to the Master and looked at his extended hand. You smiled at him and took it. There was a moment where his eyes lit up with joy and the smallest of smiles appeared on his face. Holding his hand you turned to the Doctor.

"I'm going to stay with him. I want to find my memories and get my life back. I owe him that much." You offered her a smile.

The Doctor nodded and offered a small smile back. She watched with the fam as the Master took you back to his TARDIS, letting you in first. They remain watching as the TARDIS disappears.

Inside you look at the Master. He seems a little tense, but his expression is happier. You come to stand beside him.

"What are we going to do?" You ask softly.

The Doctor's words ring on his head.

Woo her.

He shakes his head a little, but you don’t question it. He looks up and smiles at you.

"We're going to see the universe. I hope that somewhere along the way we find what we're looking for, but in the meantime I'm going to show you everything you've missed. I'm going to show you what it's like to be a Timelord." He was grinning happily at you. "I'm going to make up for so much lost time with you."

You smiled at him.

"Show me some planets!"

He gave an excited giggle and pressed a few things on his console, the TARDIS following his command. An exciting thrill overcame you as you stood beside him, and it was then and there the thought came to you.

You would be glad to get to know him all over again.

The Master's hearts were racing. He would have you all to himself for a while. He wanted to ignore what the Doctor said, but he would take this time to show you so many wonders. You would get to know him all over again, but you would have to get used to who he really was.

He was the bringer of chaos and destruction. That wasn't going to change.

He glanced at you beside him and smiled softly.

This was going to be an adventure.

Tags:

@awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum  @sigynbandraoi-blog@procrastinatingmurder  @sitkafay @koschei-taylor @zelda2248 @aliisa-jones  @enchantersnight @imthedoctorlove @welcome-to-the-chaos-of-my-mind @diyosku @malkaviangirl @nerdonpluto @snake-cutie  @gracieteaqueen@twentysomethingloser92 @ettorah @aliisa-jones @pastlivesandsecrets  @dreamerkim @beawes0me  scarletraine @queerconfusionthings

[dumbladores]

You - Teaser

Summary:  Your brother and a girl with whom you’ve become friends with by sharing a home, are your flatmates. But since there was a room left, another person had joined in, and not just anyone, but the very Antoine Griezmann himself, who has decided to go back to university and check out the life he had missed while having a career. I intend to develop your relationship rather slowly (but not too slowly, don't be scared). I intend to have at least one little teasing per chapter, how many chapters there will be, I don't know, depends on your demand and how it develops on its own :)

I'll be posting one chapter at least every two weeks. Make sure you check out my Patreon, where you'll have access to more much sooner. I’m dedicating this to @xratedffbarbiex, who inspired that sudden urge to write, so please make sure to check out her Antoine-series as well.

English isn't my first language, so please have mercy with me.

Besides, I'm always happy about propositions or inspiration, so don't hesitate to contact me.

Cheers, guys, to the great community, we've got here!

Warnings: not yet

Part: 1/ ? Part 2 follows next week on my Patreon

Word count: 1756

One

Your brother and a girl with whom you’ve become friends with by sharing a home, were your flatmates. But since there was a room left, another person had joined in, and not just anyone, but the very Antoine Griezmann himself. Footballplayer since he was little, he had to give up his career due to an injury on his left knee. Since he had no family to look after, he had decided to go back to university, doing a little catching up on the life he had missed, as he had been a professional since a very young age.

You had been away when he was to have the “flat interview”, so you didn’t have any saying in the decision, it was anyway a two against one vote, since the others were absolutely enthusiastic about him. Of what you gathered from their statements, it was merely because it was, well, him. But they said he was nice, too. You rolled your eyes at that sentence. It was obvious the two had been taken by either his charm or his indeed very inviting physical features. Nevertheless the three of you made a pact to make every effort you could to make his life in (name of town) as normal as it could be and to trying to include him in as many common student activities there were. 

You often had friends over. Cynthia and you already knew a bunch of people since it was your third semester, and (name of your brother) also quickly took part in that circle of friends. 

It had been weeks since he moved in and yet it seemed he didn’t settle in easily. In videos you had seen of him, he seemed so playfully and easy to get along. But here he behaved rather shyly. He kept mostly to himself during the daytime, locking himself in his room. You only saw him once in a while in the kitchen and in the living room, where he watched football or basketball on a big flat screen he had bought to share with his flatmates, which made a big impression to the other two, but not so much on you. You weren’t to be bought so simply, especially not by someone who wasn’t paying much attention to other stuff you cared more about - for example looking someone in the eyes.

Of course, you had made a big deal out of that fact. You kept saying to Cynthia, what a prick you thought he was and how cocky he behaved. She just rolled her eyes and sayd you should give him some time.

In fact, your pride was a little tiny part of it. You couldn’t bare the thought he didn’t notice you, didn’t show interest in you. But you never in a thousand years would admit it. So you eagerly researched. You researched everthing about him. Where he was brought up, in which clubs he had played, you even watched interviews with him. He was Frances’ darling. Grizou, as they called him. A symbol, an idol for the country, who didn’t even trust in him when he had started his career. No club had wanted him, so he had to move to Spain when he was 14 years old. You couldn’t believe it. It sounded like he had a whole life behind him, now being only 29, he had experienced more than any other normal person at this age, And yet he hadn’t, as he was willing to go back to university to learn, what he had missed when he was out in this cruel world, that loves you at one moment and rejects you at the other. You watched some interviews with him. In most, in fact, he didn’t look the interviewer in the eyes. Most of them were filmed after a match, so you supposed, you couldn’t demand much of a player that just had run for one and a half hours. You certainly wouldn’t be able anymore to utter anything. In fact, you most certainly would be dead. But no, in other situations it was just the same. Also what he was saying didn’t have any profoundness or depth. Angrily you let go, coming to the conclusion there was nothing interesting in this guy, and particulary nothing interesting for you.

Weeks passed. He had invited your brother to play FIFA on his XBOX in his room, but never talked to you or Cynthia more than necessary. You hadn’t exchanged 10 sentences by the end of one month, and after a while you gave it up. He had a few pals from his classes that came over once in a while, and he even came home very late twice, so you guessed he took part in student social life by his own, being to partys and stuff, probably having made other interesting acquintances. You hadn’t made any effort to get him to notice you in any way, but you just stopped caring.

That’s why you missed that he indeed looked at you one or two times in the kitchen. That he started to look at you when you talked to Cynthia or your brother or other friends you had invited over. In fact, there were many movie nights you hosted since you had this big flat TV and other students couldn’t even afford a proper fridge. Antoine started to laugh at your jokes or when you were doing something silly to amuse the people. He, indeed, started watching you intensely. More intensely than the others.

You only came to notice his stare in exactly that moment you were telling a story a group of people in the kitchen at a movie night. You were preparing popcorn in the microwave and you just made a joke about how you had thought as a kid that popcorn didn’t have anything to do with actual corn and that you had made the discovery only recently, and it had been as if you had entered a whole new dimension in the matrix. You noticed his stare, Antoine was casually leaning at the kitchen counter, one hand in his sweatpants, the other on the beer bottle. Your  face instantly turned red, at least that was what you felt - your cheeks caught fire and there was nothing you could do about it. You tried to finish your point and rushed down the story, leaving the rest of the group a little confused by that abrupt ending.

While the others moved to the living room with the popcorn, you poured yourself a large glass of wine and took a deep sip. You had almost made a fool of yourself, just because this handsome and cocky footballplayer had watched you. You had to be more careful with your thoughts. Didn’t you use to say you had standarts? But did your guts have standarts? You knew, your mind wanted someone smart and classy and interesting. So why did your stomach drop like several floors down at the sight of his stare?

“So we’re here drinking on our own, are we?”

You shrinked at the smooth voice behind you and quickly turned, just to see that it belonged to the guy you were thinking of a second ago. As if he knew he had caught you thinking of him, you blushed again.

“Just making sure the wine’s okay”, you managed to answer and, in a manner you thought to be both ironic and casual, you took another sip from your glass.

“Hmm, may I?”, Griezmann said and reached out for your glass. He took a sip, pointed his lips in an hilarious way and swallowed. “Oh, not bad. Not bad at all. I presume it is dated by the time of Louis XIV himself, for it makes the sun shine on your face.”

You snorted with laughter. “Is this a quote from Shakespeare or something or did you just come up with that yourself?”

With a smirk on his perfect face, he handed you back your glass. “Which possibility would make you think higher of me? Probably the quote, as you’re constantly reading. And what’s your subject again? Philosophy?”

“It is”, you admitted. “But I embrace far more an original new thought, because it’s proof of creativity and independance of thought.”

“Really? I thought you dind’t like new things?”

You blinked. “How come you think that lowly of me?”, you asked and took another nervous sip out of your glass, while you intended it to look casually. He couldn’t be implying your aversion against the new TV or even himself? He couldn’t be that observing, could he? Or was it you that were so blind?

He grinned and watched you thoroughly. “I’m sorry. Maybe I drew the wrong conclusion.”

Now you were angry. Stupid boy, thought he could mock you, while in fact he was the ridicule.

“Maybe I’m just taking my time to judge”, you snapped. “And allowing myself to exclude new things from my life, if I regard them as being intrusive and un...conductive.” Without looking at him you walked past him into the living room, where the movie was already on. You squeezed yourself on the sofa next to Cynthia and tried to look at Orson Welles in “The third man”.

So it hadn’t just been you thinking low of Griezmann. It was him thinking low of you. And if he was thinking low of you, and you thinking low of him, that in fact made you a lot lower than him. A correct philosophical conclusion. 100 percent on that test, you congratulated yourself. But logic wasn’t helpful in that moment.

You looked at the entrance to the kitchen, where Griezmann stood leaning against the door frame, his eyes on the screen.

[angst-fairygodmother]

@ficsandcatsandficsandcats since this is a part 2 of your request I’m tagging you in it. I give up on trying to reblog it onto its original post; this blue hellsite wins. A/N: “*Cries in Douche Prince*” you say? Well, part two is more prince than douche I think, but we all know Valdo is a soft, goopy marshmallow deep, deeeeeeep down. Word Count: 1770

“We could egg the place?” Valdo suggested as he buttered a slice of toast.

“That would make it my problem too,” you rolled your eyes, pouring yourself a cup of tea.

“We could egg her car?” He reached around you to grab the milk, shoulder bumping yours jokingly.

“She doesn’t have a car. She takes the bus or carpools everywhere. Or gets me to drive.”

“I’ll hide in the bushes and egg her on her way to her next date with this guy.” He gestured at you with a jam-covered spoon as he spoke, grinning like it was the best idea he’d ever had.

“Why do you want to egg someone or something so badly?” you laughed.

“I don’t know. You see it in the movies and it just seems like the thing to do. I’ve always wanted to egg something in revenge. She doesn’t deserve something with effort to get back at her.”

You found yourself glancing up at the ceiling as if asking the universe what you had done to get saddled with such an idiot for a best friend, or worse to be cursed into falling in love with him.

“Fine, no eggs. What’s your idea then?”

“Suffer through the next seven months,” you said scrunching your face in annoyance. “Hope she breaks up with the guy or is willing to be the one to break lease to get away from me.”

“There’s no arguing you out of that is there?” He sighed, sagging against the counter as you shook your head stubbornly. “You deserve better you know.”

“She’s my friend. Things are just weird lately, it’s not…it doesn’t really…she doesn’t mean it.” You cringed at how much your tone sounded like you were trying to convince him, or yourself and even more at the knowing quirk of his eyebrow.

“Let me drive you to work?” he offered, pointedly changing the subject.

You smiled at him. “That’d be great.”

~

You stepped off the bus, feeling better about everything now that you had some distance and walked down the block toward your building. A pile of boxes on the porch made your heart lurch. Deciding to ignore them until you’d had a chance to talk with Karla (and not wanting to pry in case they weren’t your things), you tensed your shoulders and walked past.

When you reached the third floor, you frowned at your door. Something seemed off but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it, until you tried your key and found that it would not fit in the doorknob.

Your fist pounded on the cheerful blue polymer, fuming while you waited. When Karla opened the door, she took one look at your face and stepped out into the hall, arms crossed over her chest defensively.

“What the hell?” you snapped.

“I had the super change the locks,” she said with a shrug.

“Yeah, I got that. Why?”

“This living arrangement isn’t working. And you have like, a higher paying job or whatever so you can find a new place easier than I can. I told you last night that I was going to do it. I figured since you didn’t come back you didn’t care.”

“You can’t just kick me out of our shared apartment and have the locks changed while I’m at work!”

“Well I did. I’ll talk to the leasing company, totally take the blame, if you just…go.”

“You’re being completely unreasonable,” you sighed, all of the anger leaving you in a rush. “Look if you really don’t want to live together we can work something out but can you please let me back in until then?”

“Nope. The boxes downstairs are your clothing and stuff that you probably need sooner than later, and I mean if you want to come by with movers or whatever to get the rest of your stuff that’s cool, just let me know when.”

“Karla, come on.”

She shrugged again. “Sorry, Y/N.”

~

You thought the day could not leave you more shocked, until Valdo came walking around the corner.

“So that’s taking a bus huh?” he asked, shoving his sunglasses back up so they vanished into his messy curls. “Novel.”

“Who are you and what have done with Valdo Marx?” you teased as you carried over the first of your boxes to place in the trunk of your sedan.

“Don’t worry, I hated it and will not be doing that ever again,” he joked back, grabbing a second.

His smile dropped as he saw your lip wobble in barely-contained emotion. Quickly he wrapped you in a hug.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

You scoffed. “I just got kicked out of my apartment and will probably be sleeping in my car until I can find a new one. It doesn’t exactly feel like that right now.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. Just move in with me.” He waved it off like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?”

“It’s not perfect, I know, but it’s a sight better than being technically homeless.”

“You’re serious?” you stared at him incredulously.

He shrugged. “Yeah, why not. We’ll have to work out a schedule for who gets the bed and who gets the couch, but there are worse arrangements. It’ll be one big sleepover.” He grinned at you as he hefted another box.

“We’re not working out a couch sleeping schedule,” you said, stuffing the last box in and slamming your trunk shut.

“Fine, fine. I shall be a gentleman and let you have the bed.”

“I’m not kicking you out of bed either.” He smirked and waggled his eyebrows at you suggestively and you blushed at your accidental innuendo.

“Guest sleep on couches,” you explained. “This situation is why the term couch-surfing was invented.”

“We’ll fight it out later,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “It can be our first big roomie argument, which you definitely won’t win. For now, let’s get food.”

“Pizza?” you offered.

“Sounds good. You’re buying.”

You stuck your tongue out and shoved him teasingly. “Jerk.”

~

You felt yourself drifting off as you leaned against Valdo and he belted out all six parts of “Cell Block Tango” (or tried to anyway). You jerked back awake, again, and then heard the sound of a remote clacking onto the coffee table and silence fell over the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry Y/N, am I boring you?” he pouted.

You tried to assure him that of course not but the words blended into a huge yawn.

“I’m sorry Valdo, I know we said marathon and this is only the second movie but…”

“It’s been a long day? You’re a lightweight after two glasses of wine?” he rested his cheek on his fist on his folded knee. “You find me terribly dull?”

You stuck your tongue out at him impishly, mind sleep-fogged enough that you couldn’t formulate an appropriately cutting response, and fought back another yawn.

He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “Alright, to bed with you. We’ll resume right here in the morning.”

“If I’m going to sleep, you need to leave. Your bony ass is currently occupying half my bed.”

“Excuse me! I am sitting right where I’ll be sleeping and you are going up the hall to the proper one. And I am not bony! It’s called lithe.”

You scowled at him. And then your exhausted mind came up with an idea and you blurted it out before you could think it through.

“You have basically the biggest mattress in existence. There is no reason we can’t sleep together.”

“Watch those words angel,” he said, voice low but with surprising softness. “A less chivalrous man might take them the wrong way.”

“Or the right one,” you muttered, flushing and immediately grateful that he had (at least seemingly) not heard as he busied himself cleaning up from your movie night.

~

After a few minutes of awkward shuffling and blanket sharing negotiation, the pair of you finally settled into the bed together. You found yourself staring at his peacefully resting face in the darkness and had the overwhelming urge to reach out, to bury your fingers in his curls and kiss him and be held by him.

“Valdo?” you whispered, not wanting to wake him but equally unable to contain the feeling.

“Yes, Y/N?” he cracked an eye open with a raised eyebrow to look at you.

You took a deep breath. “Will…will you kiss me?”

You could have cut the silence that fell between you, suffocating and foreboding. Just when you were beginning to think you couldn’t take it anymore, he sighed.

“Y/N, you have no idea how much I want to say yes right now. But,” he reached out to stop you gently when you shifted closer, “it’s been a long day, and you’ve been through a lot and are emotionally vulnerable and I won’t…I can’t,” his voice broke on the word, “when I’m not absolutely sure, for both our sakes, that it’s not just a balm to soothe that ache.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at him, choking up at the gentle passion in his tone as he continued.

“And more than that, I have been drinking and you have had a few glasses and I can hardly think straight with you so close to me and you have always said that we shouldn’t do anything important impaired.”

“It figures,” you interrupted, sighing in mostly mock frustration. “You finally start listening to me at the most inopportune moment.”

“If you ask me that again tomorrow…” he did not want to admit how easily he would surrender to your every request.

“Will you at least hold me then? Please?”

He smiled and pulled you in, tangling around you as if you were built to fit together. The embrace was full of promise for long discussions and change and tenderness. You smiled softly as you buried your face in the hollow of his throat, falling asleep surrounded by his familiar smell and the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.

If in the morning, you woke up alone and walked out to find him folded awkwardly under a single thin blanket on the couch, in front of an email to an old friend in Transit Authority which contained a promise of an elaborate steak dinner in return for revocation and banning of your ex-roommate’s bus pass, it was a sight so oddly enduring that you would treasure forever. And if he secretly noticed you press ‘send’ before moving to the kitchen to prepare a pancake wake-up call and it warmed his heart, he would certainly never tell.

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 13 (now complete)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 6,375 for this chapter (59,473 total) (damn, i was really hoping to hit 60k)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"Do you need to do some laundry before bed?" Phil asks, stirring vegetables with the kind of dubious intensity that Dan recognises from setting one too many meals on fire himself. "Or is all your stuff dry-clean only?"

"Very funny," says Dan. He's keeping an eye on the rice, but it requires much less effort. "Yeah, I could do a load tomorrow."

Phil looks up from his skillet for the first time since he turned the heat on. "Tomorrow? Dan, you leave tomorrow."

"Not til like two," Dan says with a little shrug.

The way Phil is looking at him makes him laugh. He's never seen the man's eyes so wide and anxious, so like a deer in headlights. Dan gently nudges him away from the hob by the hip and takes over vegetable watch.

"Dan," Phil says again, "that's not very much time. You don't want to pack tonight?"

"It sounds like you probably want me to pack tonight, Phil," says Dan. "I'm good at throwing things together last minute, though. I'm not worried about being late."

"I'm worried about you being late," says Phil. "Wouldn't it be easier to pack tonight and just hang out tomorrow?"

Dan smirks and tosses the rice in with the vegetables and sauce, just to get it all stirred together. One of Phil's hands is settled on the small of his back as he needles Dan about this, and it all feels so disgustingly domestic that Dan almost can't handle it.

"Uh huh," he says, trying not to let the fondness seep too much into his tone. "So, what you're saying is, you want me to do my laundry tonight so you can keep me in bed all morning?"

"Yes, but also, I've got time anxiety," Phil chuckles. He presses a kiss to the back of Dan's neck, which makes him shiver.

"You've got anxiety about the concept of time? Honestly, same."

"Stupid," says Phil. He isn't trying to hide the fondness the way Dan is, the affection coming off him in waves as he presses himself into Dan's side, drops a kiss to Dan's shoulder. "That too, I suppose, but I mean about being late. I always have my stuff packed like, two days in advance."

"Absolutely cannot relate," Dan says, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. "But yeah. I can do a load so you're not anxious about my unpacked suitcase all night."

That's not something he would normally offer, because Dan is almost never actually late and he's just fine with his current method of timekeeping, thanks, but he'd rather keep Phil in the best possible mood. And, okay, maybe it does sound kind of nice to just have a lie-in without running around to try and grab all the things he's somehow strewn across the flat in these short days.

It's strange, actually. Dan has spent a lot of his adult life on other people's couches and in hotel rooms, and he's good at keeping his stuff compartmentalized because of that. Something about how comfortable he feels here has him treating it like it's his own home. He's absolutely certain that Phil doesn't mind, if he even notices - it's not exactly obvious that Dan's chargers and straighteners and toothbrush haven't found their way back to his bags when Phil's junk is strewn across every possible surface.

Dan bumps his hip into Phil's and turns off the hob. "You ready to eat?"

"Literally always," says Phil. His hand leaves Dan's back, and Dan feels a bit bereft for it.

Still, he supposes, joining Phil on the sofa to watch some MasterChef while Thor acts like he isn't quietly begging for scraps isn't the worst way to spend an evening. In fact, if that's the only way Dan wants to spend all his dinners from here on out, nobody has to know.

--

Dan takes a shower while Phil goes on a walk with the dog, and he spends more time zoning out than he does actually washing himself. His phone is blaring a playlist he doesn't even remember making, and while it has some real bangers on it, he keeps getting distracted trying to track down the memory of it in his brain. Then, of course, his mind just drifts from there.

He thinks about his family, about the emails he still hasn't checked, about Adrian spouting bullshit profoundness down a phone line. He thinks about Heatwave, and his role in the whole mess of it, and what Amy will say when he tells her that he doesn't want to be a part of it going forward. He thinks about London, about the way the city has felt like an eventuality before but not quite like this, about how Phil is really what makes it feel like a place Dan can settle down and build a life for himself.

Most of all, Dan thinks about how much it is going to suck to be away from Phil for however long they have to be.

Long distance relationships aren't exactly Dan's forte. Which, okay, to be fair, relationships generally are not exactly Dan's forte, but he understands how this part works. He understands sex and cuddling and kissing, even if it all feels like the dial has been turned up to eleven with Phil, but he's not a hundred percent sure how to keep this sort of energy when they're an entire ocean apart. Dan is kind of a jealous person with a yo-yo of self esteem, and Phil is a very handsome and charming man who surely has far better prospects than talking to Dan on Skype until he falls asleep.

And that thought process isn't one Dan really needs to go down, is it.

He decides to try and trace back an inside joke to its inception while he washes his hair, because surely that's a better use of his time than heading down a rabbit hole of insecurity. He's still pondering that when there's a knock at the bathroom door and it opens.

"Hey, Dan?" Phil's voice comes, just loud enough to be heard over the shower and the music. Dan's eyes are closed so he doesn't get any fucking shampoo in them, and he has no idea if Phil is looking at him through the glass screen or not. He makes a noise to indicate he's heard Phil and tilts his head forward to start rinsing his hair. "You want me to throw your clothes in for you now? I can leave you something of mine to wear."

"I'd take something of yours anyway," Dan says, dry. He keeps his eyes closed. If he doesn't look, then he can live in a world where his boyfriend is checking him out just for the hell of it. Dan doesn't mind being watched by the right eyes.

"Of course you would. Anything that can't go in the wash?"

Dan grins and shrugs, even though Phil might not be looking at him. "I mean, read the fucking labels, mate. But yeah, none of my dress shirts."

"Got it." There's a beat of relative silence for so long that Dan starts to wonder if Phil has managed to leave the room without making noise - not Phil's strong suit at the best of times - but then he speaks again, low and amused. "If I were a murderer, Dan, you'd be so dead right now. Why are you facing the tap, you absolute freak?"

Water goes up Dan's nose when he laughs, and he's sure the sound of him cough-laughing isn't exactly attractive. He turns around and cracks an eye open to check if Phil is laughing at him or not.

Phil is resting against the bathroom counter with his arms crossed and a smirk playing around his pretty lips. If Dan were not acutely aware of the injuries it would cause, he'd whinge until Phil joined him under the spray.

"I'm just having a face the tap kind of day," he informs Phil, making sure his hair is completely devoid of any shampoo that might sneak-attack his eyes and make him look even more hilariously incompetent than he already does. "You just gonna stand there and look at me?"

"Tempting," says Phil. He leans over and picks up the pile of clothes that Dan had discarded beside the bath mat. "But one of us needs to get this done."

"Oi, I said I'd do it."

The grin Phil sends his way makes Dan's knees feel a bit wobbly, like he's a teenager all over again. "I know. I didn't believe you."

Honestly, that's fair. Dan is better at putting things off than he is getting off his ass to do it right away. He pretends to be offended, anyway, because it's more fun than conceding defeat. "Excuse me? I'm a man of my word, Philip."

"I believe you'd do it eventually," says Phil. "But if I do it now, then you can be naked in my bed once you're done wasting all my hot water. See? I think ahead."

"Go away," Dan laughs.

"I'm doing a nice thing!" Phil protests, but he's laughing too. He lets his gaze drift over Dan's body again, unapologetic about checking him out in a way that makes Dan's heart beat a bit faster, and then he's gone. The door closes behind him, and Dan covers his face with both hands to hide his blush from the empty bathroom and Frank Ocean's crooning.

God, he's so far gone for this guy. It's genuinely fucking ridiculous.

He doesn't spend too much more time in the shower, because his boyfriend is waiting for him. And, fuck, that still feels so goddamn weird to think. Boyfriend. Dan has a boyfriend. It's actually surreal.

Dan dries himself off and wraps the towel around his hips, because Phil hasn't come back to give him pyjamas. He turns off his mystery playlist and pushes wet curls off his forehead before he leaves the fogged-up bathroom.

"He emerges," Phil jokes, barely looking up from his phone. "Clothes are in the dresser if you want to put them on."

"If I want to?" Dan repeats with a big grin. He likes looking at Phil's long legs spread over his colourful bedsheets, glasses perched on his nose and his hair sticking up a bit at the back. He looks comfortable and soft, and Dan truly considers throwing on something soft and curling up for another nap. Or sleep, at this point, if Phil lets him sleep through the night. But he's leaving so soon, he wants more than that. "Yeah. I don't really want to."

The way Phil's lips twitch make Dan feel certain that Phil didn't really want him to, either. He puts his phone aside and raises his eyebrows at Dan. "C'mere, then."

As tempting as it is to just collapse into Phil's lap right away, Dan is getting the hang of this 'sharing a small space with a dog' thing. He has to use treats and toys to lure Thor out of the room this time, gamely ignoring Phil's snickers at his attempts. Thor is so dubious at this point, not particularly enjoying being put away, but he eventually does follow Dan into the bathroom and curl up with his rope and a reproachful look at Dan. It's very distracting, but Dan manages to remember to grab a couple of condoms. The lube is still on one of the nightstands, on the side Dan has been trying pretty hard not to think of as his own.

"You know," Dan says as he hangs his towel on a hook, closes the bathroom door behind him. "When I get a place in London, it's going to have more than two rooms. So even if you do bring Thor over, we can shut a door without him getting mad at me."

"I think he'd get mad anyway," says Phil. He sounds distracted, looking Dan over again, and Dan preens a bit under the attention.

It's not that Dan doesn't know what he looks like. He's not going to win any awards for his face or body or whatever, but he's not exactly a bridge troll. He's seen himself on screen and heard enough people talk about him in complimentary ways that he knows, more or less, the way people tend to react when they look at him, but.

Just like everything else, it feels like so much more with Phil. Normally, Dan feels anywhere from gratified to indifferent by people finding him attractive, but when Phil looks at him like that, he just feels... wanted. In a really, really good way.

"Probably," Dan says, putting a hand on his hip. His pulse jumps at the way Phil's eyes track the movement, how they linger on Dan's dick. So what if he's getting a bit hard just from being looked at? Dan doesn't mind being watched by the right eyes, and Phil's are definitely the right eyes. He can't find it in himself to be embarrassed about it, not when Phil doesn't seem to find it funny in the slightest.

"Come here," Phil says again, more firmly.

Dan does as he's told, straddling Phil's thighs and grinning at him. He takes Phil's glasses off his face, puts them and the condoms on the nightstand for safekeeping. Phil blinks a bunch and grins back at him.

"You're wearing a lot of clothes," Dan notes, toying with the collar of Phil's shirt. He hasn't changed all day, and as much as Dan likes looking at him in this tacky print, he'd much prefer to see the pale skin and downy hair and shock of metal beneath it. "That's gonna be a problem."

"Oh, is it?" Phil teases, running his cool hands over Dan's thighs, his flank, his ass. It's like he can't decide where to settle them, not that Dan is complaining about the exploration.

"Yeah, but don't worry, I can fix it." Dan flicks the buttons of Phil's shirt open, pressing his lips to Phil's collarbone as soon as the bright fabric is out of the way. He feels Phil exhale as one of his hands tangles loosely in Dan's hair.

The texture of Phil's jeans feels weird against Dan's bare inner thighs. He leans forward a bit so less of his skin is touching denim before doing something he hasn't done since he was a literal teenager. He bites down rather gently on Phil's pale collarbone and soothes it with his tongue, giving Phil plenty of opportunity to protest before he goes in properly to leave a mark.

Dan finishes unbuttoning Phil's shirt while he sucks and nips at Phil's clavicle, and he lets his large hands map out the rest of Phil's torso while he darkens the bruise to his satisfaction.

Little sighs keep escaping Phil's lips as he runs his fingers through Dan's damp hair, and Dan is sure that he would have been tugged away by now if this wasn't good for Phil, too. Dan brushes his fingertips over Phil's ribs and bites down harder, just to see where the line is.

Phil's breath hitches. Otherwise, he doesn't really react.

"You're like a vampire," he comments, his voice low and dry and very, very attractive to Dan. "Do you bite all the boys?"

"Nah," Dan murmurs, nosing at the small, blossoming bruises. He likes the way they look, hopes that Phil will send him photos later with them on display. "Just you. Want you to think about me while I'm gone."

"Trust me," says Phil. "That was never going to be a problem. D'you like getting them, too, or do you just like giving them?"

What a perfect set up to a shitty joke. Dan's favourite. He grins wide and winks up at Phil, tweaking Phil's nipple ring as he does. "Oh, I'm versatile."

Even with his shirt pushed open, his cheeks pinked, his eyes dark and intense despite not being able to see much of anything, Phil manages to roll his eyes. "Yeah, alright. D'you want a hickey or not?"

"Yes, please," Dan says cheerfully. "Nowhere I might accidentally flash to a camera."

Phil hums and looks Dan over, thoughtful. Dan feels his dick twitch at the attention and resists the ridiculous urge to cover himself.

"Okay," says Phil, patting Dan's thighs decisively. "Lie down."

"Sounds good to me, my dude," says Dan. He laughs as he rolls off of Phil and onto his back, suddenly remembering something he'd said to Phil on what he now knows was their first date. "Never sit when you can lie down, am I right?"

"You are right," Phil says dryly. He shrugs off his shirt and lets it fall to the floor. "You are also very annoying."

"Is this because I dude-zoned you?"

Phil's lips twitch, and he smacks at the general direction of Dan's thigh. He misses, hits the mattress instead, and Dan can't hold back a snort. Phil's depth perception is shot without his glasses, and Dan is so endeared by his confused blinking.

"Where are you?" Phil murmurs, mostly to himself, and stretches his hand out to connect with Dan's hip. "Aha. There you are. Got you."

"I literally was not moving." This time, the slap does connect with Dan's thigh. He doesn't really mind, but he makes a big show of sulking about it anyway. "Ow, rude."

"As if that hurt," Phil says dismissively. He trails his hand over Dan's hip and lower stomach before he moves to settle between Dan's legs, as if he's using his palm to map out where he needs to be.

Okay, yeah, Dan can work with this. He wiggles to get more comfortable and arches a bit into Phil's touch.

This always makes Dan feel so vulnerable. He knows that Phil can't see him clearly, but that doesn't seem to matter to that sense of shame that Dan still hasn't managed to eradicate. Phil presses his lips to Dan's thigh and Dan spreads his legs wider in response, blushing furiously and thanking his lucky stars that Phil probably won't notice it.

Dan knows what he wants, and normally he'd have no trouble asking for it, but he's nervous. It's hard to focus completely on the wet suction of Phil's mouth on his inner thigh when all Dan can think about is how terrifying this is to him. He can't figure out the source of the anxiety at first, mind drifting down various paths the way it had in the shower, but he's jolted back into the present when the sharp edge of Phil's teeth press against his skin.

Suddenly, it's obvious. Of course this is nerve-wracking. Everything that he's felt with Phil has been more intense than anything he's felt before, from such simple things as holding hands to the feeling of Phil's cock in his mouth, and Dan already knows how much he likes being fucked. He's nervous about, like, blacking out or doing something else stupidly embarrassing like that.

Phil pulls back to look at the mark he's left on Dan's inner thigh as best as he can without perfect vision, and Dan tries his best to ignore whatever notions of shame and fear still try to make him feel like less for enjoying something like this.

"Hey," he says, reaching for the bottle of lube before he can lose his nerve. "While you're down there, might as well make yourself useful."

It takes a bit of squinting, but Phil snorts a laugh when he figures out what Dan is holding out to him. "I thought I was already being useful," Phil says, "but sure, whatever you say."

"Don't act like it's a hardship," Dan huffs. He shifts down a bit, getting his hips in a more comfortable position. He can see a red flush all over his chest, and he bets his face looks even worse. He needs to keep fighting back that embarrassment, that shame. That fear of it being so good he won't know how to act. He doesn't want to tell Phil everything, but he wants to somewhat explain himself in case Phil can tell he's acting weird. "Though, like, guess you should know that it's been a while."

"How long we talking?" Phil hums as he brushes his thumb over Dan's dick, teasing.

"Uh," says Dan. "Like, uni."

That makes Phil sit up a bit and furrow his brow in the general direction of Dan's face. "Dan, that's almost -"

"I know," Dan groans, covering his red face with both hands. "I know it's been almost ten fucking years, Phil, but I'm not going to fucking - break, or freak out, or whatever. I do fuck myself, okay, it's just been since uni that another person's done it for me."

"Okay," Phil says, his voice soft and soothing. He squeezes Dan's thighs and leans in to press a chaste kiss to the pudge of Dan's tummy.

"Okay?" Dan repeats, his heart beating way too fast to match Phil's serenity.

"Yeah, okay," says Phil. He smiles. "You say you're okay, I believe you. Just keep talking to me, okay? And you can change your mind whenever."

Dan swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. Fuck, he shouldn't be getting so emotional just because someone about to fuck him is treating him gently, but he might have more issues around this than he'd thought he did. He reaches down to tangle his fingers with Phil's, squeezing both of his hands.

"Oh, so now you want me to talk?" he teases.

His voice doesn't come out nearly as conversational as he wants it to, but Phil is kind enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, he just asks, "You want me to suck you off? Give you something else to focus on?"

"Are you that coordinated?" Dan asks, trying his best to get the light atmosphere back. He can't deal with the weight of emotion right this second, not when he's leaving so fucking soon. He's got enough emotions to deal with about that, he doesn't need to add more onto his plate. He isn't exactly 'good' with 'emotion'.

Thankfully, Phil laughs. He pinches Dan's thigh, close to where he'd left a bruise but not quite on it. "Hey, fuck you."

"That's what I'm saying," Dan laughs too, wiggling his hips. "Fuck me."

Phil still isn't looking directly at Dan's face, but his reassuring little grin still hits Dan as hard as it would have if they were staring into each other's eyes. He settles back down between Dan's spread legs and taps at Dan's thigh.

"Lift," he instructs, and Dan knows he's blushing even deeper as he hooks a leg over Phil's bare shoulder, making things a bit easier on both of them. God, but the vulnerability is so much worse like this. Dan likes being looked at by the right eyes, but the feeling of being on display like this makes him squirmy somewhere in his gut. Phil hums against Dan's thigh, presses soft kisses over it until the muscle relaxes. "Be easier if you put the condom on for me, yeah?"

All too happy to have something to focus on that isn't the feeling of Phil's fingers brushing over his balls, Dan does as he's told.

It's easier like this, it really is. Phil is working by touch more than sight, and that becomes doubly true when Dan's dick is in his mouth and he's got his pretty, unfocused eyes closed. Dan fights back the panic threatening to overtake him, because this is just Phil.

It's just Phil. And more than anyone else he's ever met, Dan thinks that he probably trusts this man the most. He tangles his fingers in Phil's soft bedding, breathing deeply and doing his best to relax when Phil goes ahead and rubs his fingers over Dan, presses a tiny bit inside him, makes a questioning sort of noise around Dan's cock.

"Yeah," Dan breathes, letting his own eyes fall closed so he can just think about how good this feels. "It's good, you can keep going."

And it is. It's really, really good. Dan already knows he likes this, knows that a finger inside him while a hot mouth is wrapped around his cock is one of the better things for him in bed, but Phil sure does turn this up to eleven, too.

Phil isn't even trying to get him off right now, is the thing. He's sucking Dan lazily, keeping his cock warm more than actually blowing him, and his finger - fingers, after a minute, and that slight stretch makes Dan bite back a truly mortifying noise - aren't seeking out Dan's prostate, but none of that makes this any less good for Dan.

He doesn't treat Dan like he's made of glass, and Dan appreciates that almost as much as he appreciates the steady thrum of pleasure coursing through him as Phil gets him ready. He had been a bit wary that admitting the length of time would make Phil gentle and nervous, as if Dan were a bloody virgin or something, but he should really stop projecting so many of his own anxieties on a man who is clearly more well-adjusted than Dan.

The only thing Phil does is slow down when Dan has been quiet for too long, make some prompting noises, pull off him to remind Dan to breathe with him. It's considerate in a way that doesn't make Dan feel embarrassed and smothered, and Dan could fucking kiss him for that. In fact, he will, as soon as Phil comes back into kissing distance. Dan could never articulate any of this to Phil, of course, but he can kiss him until he gets the general idea.

Dan babbles. Of course he does, he's been given explicit permission to do so. It's all a jumble of affirmations and curses, not exactly sensical, but he doesn't think Phil expects him to be talking in proper sentences right this second.

Eventually, though, Dan groans and reaches for Phil's hair, pulling him off. "Okay, okay, fuck. I'm good, need you now."

He opens his eyes and has to swallow another noise at how good Phil looks right now, all reddened mouth and darkened eyes. He surely can't see the way Dan is gawping at him, but the way he smirks makes Dan think that maybe he can sense it. "What exactly do you need?" Phil asks, playing dumb. Dan would kick him if he was physically able to.

"I'm going to kick you," Dan informs him.

"Wow, abuse of the boyfriend," says Phil. He nips at Dan's stomach and sits up with a little roll of his neck, stretching it. "I'm just asking for some clarity, Daniel, you already have me."

"You're terrible," says Dan. "This is terrible. If you don't have your dick inside me in the next ten seconds, you're sleeping on the sofa."

Phil's fake-innocent mask breaks as he giggles, tongue poking out from between his teeth. "This is my bed!" he protests.

Honestly, Dan doesn't care whose bed it is. This is a ridiculous argument to be having when Phil's got three of his fingers in Dan's ass.

"Ten," Dan threatens like he would with a small child, and Phil laughs even harder at him. Dan can feel giggles threatening to bubble up from his own chest, and he tries to hold back a very unsexy snort. "Shut up, oh my god, you're the absolute worst."

"I'm not the one whining about not getting my way," Phil points out.

"Hi, have we met? I'm Dan."

Phil rolls his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head. The loss of his fingers makes Dan whine involuntarily, and he whines even louder when Phil stands up.

Thankfully, Phil only stays off the bed long enough to shuck his jeans and pants off. Dan reaches for him, wraps a hand around Phil's cock and revels in the soft, surprised 'oh' of a noise that falls from Phil's lips. He's hard and heavy and Dan has to know if that Prince Albert will do anything for him when Phil is inside him. He gives Phil a couple strokes and tears open another condom. Maybe if Dan were a less lazy person, he'd take his own off now that it isn't needed, but - hey, it's already there, clean-up's going to be a lot easier. Whatever.

He doesn't think he can stay on his back. He isn't entirely convinced that he won't get teary if this feels at all like this 'making love' thing people keep talking about, first of all, but Dan also has far more practical excuses for rolling onto his front. His thighs are starting to cramp up, and the other people who live in this building would surely appreciate Dan's loud mouth being pressed into a pillow. Dan has so many things he could say to Phil if he asks about the change of position, but Phil doesn't ask.

A cool palm runs over Dan's lower back and rests on his hip, squeezing. Dan sighs and buries his nose further into the pillowcase. It smells like Phil's fruity shampoo, and that's comforting. This isn't as scary now that Dan remembers exactly how at ease Phil puts him, has been able to since they met.

Phil working mostly by touch gives Dan enough warning that he doesn't quite gasp when he feels the head of Phil's cock pressing against him, but he does groan into Phil's pillow.

He definitely forgot to warn Phil about his volume control issues. It would be fairly redundant to do it now, Dan thinks, because the barely-muffled sound he makes when Phil starts to sink into him is already the loudest one he's made in Phil's presence.

Phil pauses, squeezing Dan's hip again. "Hey. Good or bad?"

Dan turns his face just enough to laugh breathlessly, stretching his arms out to hold onto the pillow. "Uh, fucking incredible."

"Yeah," Phil agrees, voice so low that Dan can practically feel it vibrating down his spine. He rolls his hips carefully and makes a choked-off laugh of a noise when Dan outright moans, only able to hide the tail end of it in the pillow. "Christ. You weren't kidding, yeah? You really like this?"

Eyes closed, practically suffocating himself, Dan does his best to nod.

He does. He really likes this.

The thing is, he still isn't really sure that he's able to vocalize that, at least not right this second. Dan rocks his hips back instead of trying to articulate some kind of response, heat sparking through him at the motion. God, but it really has been a long time since Dan has gotten fucked. Phil lets his hips snap forward to meet Dan's little thrusts, and, yeah. Fuck.

Dan was right. This feels so much better than any other cock he's ever had, and it isn't because the ball of Phil's piercing keeps nudging against Dan's prostate just right or because he's thick enough to stretch Dan just the way he likes - or, okay, it isn't solely because of those things. They do help.

It's just because this is Phil rocking into him, pressing kisses over his shoulders, making little breathy noises whenever Dan clenches around him.

Honestly, Dan had no idea that liking someone so much and trusting them with his body would make sex this much better. Sure, yeah, it makes logical sense or whatever, but it isn't something he could have ever guessed he'd get to experience.

He’s still overthinking when a particularly hard thrust has him rushing to the edge faster than he has in a long time, making his entire mind short-circuit.

"Oh," he moans, curling his hands into fists in Phil’s pillow and nodding into the fabric. "Oh, fuck, s-sorry, close -"

Phil's laugh turns into a groan, and Dan thinks that's the hottest thing he's ever heard. "The fuck are you sorry for, Dan?" He slides one of his hands around to play with Dan's cock, tight enough that Dan doesn't even fucking care about the latex barrier keeping him from the texture of Phil's palm. Phil presses more of his weight onto Dan, kisses the side of his neck, murmurs directly into his ear. "I want you to come."

Yeah. Okay. Dan might be a bit suggestible. He bites down on Phil’s pillow as his orgasm hits, embarrassingly quickly. Maybe he does black out for a second, because he feels heat through his entire body one moment and absolutely boneless the next.

Phil is still kissing over his feverish skin when Dan comes back to himself, and the feeling of him grinding slow into Dan is hovering right on the knife edge of too-much.

"Fuck," Dan gasps, turning his head so he can breathe again. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he isn't sure that his arms will ever not be jelly again. He feels Phil stop moving, probably planning to pull out, and he whines a bit. "No, s'okay. You can finish, baby."

If Dan were more present, he might care that he's called someone baby unironically. As it is, he just wiggles back into Phil and revels in the moan he gets in response.

"You sure?" Phil checks, voice trembling the tiniest bit. It's like he's holding himself back. He doesn't have to do that, not with Dan.

"Very sure," says Dan. He closes his eyes, lets the too-much turn back into a low level thrum of pleasure. He's not nineteen anymore, he definitely can't go again tonight, but it still feels good to be making Phil feel good. He hums and reaches a hand back to hold onto Phil's, both of them pressed against Dan's hip. He feels loose-limbed, happy, and he doesn't second guess himself at all when he adds, "I like the way it feels. You can keep going."

"God," Phil breathes. He gives Dan a couple of slow, careful thrusts, testing the waters, but when Dan only makes a contented noise in response, Phil starts really fucking him again.

Dan holds tight to Phil's hand and lets Phil use him for his own end, murmuring absolute nonsense to help him along. Just, "Yeah, that's it, doesn't it feel good, you feel good", that sort of thing.

Still, Phil does get there before Dan stops enjoying the oversensitive feeling. His rhythm falters a couple of times and his blunt nails dig into Dan's skin, hopefully leaving more physical reminders of the best sex Dan's ever had, before he's groaning something that sounds like Dan's name and coming. Dan whimpers at the feeling of Phil losing control inside him.

They're both panting and sweaty and have gross condoms to dispose of, but when Phil pulls out of him and pulls him into a cuddle, Dan feels more at peace than he thinks he ever has in his goddamn life.

"I don't want to leave," Dan whispers into the quiet, because he isn't sure if he's told Phil as much.

"I don't want you to leave," Phil says, pressing a kiss to Dan's damp curls. His arms feel so steady around Dan, not at all jelly like Dan's are. "But you'll be back when you can, right? And I go to Florida every year with my family, I can totally road trip to you."

With any luck, that won't be necessary. Dan is too fucked-out and sleepy to turn this into a Conversation, though, so he just makes an affirmative sort of noise and nuzzles into Phil's chest.

They can clean up in a minute.

--

"Sorry, sorry, I know I was almost late, but I promise I have a good reason for it -"

"You can't be almost late," Phil says, rather patiently for the time of morning it is in London. He looks tired, glasses on and hair an absolute mess, but he'd woken up just because Dan had asked him to. Dan can see Thor's nose, resting on Phil's thigh, and everything inside him wants to crawl through the screen to join them both.

Dan settles in the hotel bed with his phone, grinning at how cute they both look even through shitty FaceTime quality. "Still, I'm sorry. I know it's early."

"Yeah," Phil says, unable to stop himself from yawning. He gives Dan a sheepish little smile. "But I wanted to see you. How's L.A. going? Has anyone tried to lick you yet?"

"For the last time, you're the only person who has multiple stories of strangers trying to lick you," says Dan. He winks. "Not that I blame them."

The grin Phil gives him makes his stomach swoop. Dan wonders if it's ever going to stop doing that.

"Shut up," Phil says, fond. He shifts around on his sofa, getting comfortable, and Thor gives him a disappointed sort of look for the temporary displacement. "Sorry, buddy. But I'm serious, Dan, what's up? You've been stupidly vague."

"Yeah, I guess I have," says Dan. He lifts a shoulder in a lazy sort of shrug and puts his hand in front of his mouth to try and hide the ridiculously happy grin on his face. "I've been talking to producers all day, and it's been a fucking nightmare. Just got back to the hotel, I really did think I'd be back earlier than this and I could try to be early for once, but."

Phil blinks at him. "I thought you were on vacation."

"Don't you think I'd go to your place if I were on vacation?" Dan laughs. "No, I - I didn't want to get your hopes up. But like, here's the thing. I've got news."

Even Thor seems to perk up. Dan grins at his screen, wishes he could watch Phil's eyes go from their carefully guarded neutrality into something that's softer, more hopeful. Just for Dan.

"You've got news," Phil repeats. He bites his lip. "What kind of news?"

Dan had this whole plan to drag it out, make it all dramatic, but now that he's faced with the cautious optimism in Phil's face, he can't bring himself to do it. He laughs, rolls onto his side to get more comfortable. "Well, you can tell your mum I'm coming round for Christmas, for one."

[pisati]

I’ll admit, it’s sometimes a little hard to know where I stand with you. I do take your reassurances at face value, of course, and I know I often need reminding. but I also try to remember that you’ve been through a hell of a lot emotionally. I only know what you’ve told me; I don’t have your lived experiences. there’s a lot that you’ve gone through that I don’t even know about, and you don’t have to tell me about it-- it’s enough to know it happened. I can’t expect you to be as open about emotion as I am, or even able to feel things like I do (and I’ve been pretty dulled myself). maybe I’ve been reading you wrong at times; it’s hard to, especially through text. but I can hear it in your voice sometimes, I think. something flat. could be exhaustion, could be everything. of course I forgive your lacking in reciprocal effort; I appreciate all that you do give me. I know you’re trying, and you’re trying because you want to, not because you think I expect you to. it’s not easy. but you know as well as I do that shrugging everything off and staying in the emotionless void isn’t healthy for you.

from what I can at least guess about you, you’re a genuinely kind and caring person who has had a lot of his emotional innocence, so to speak, torn from him. you’re right: your emotion isn’t worthless. but that’s something you have to internalize yourself. I’ve been in similar dark places, but I don’t think it’s near to the degree you have. not that pain is a competition; it’s not. I just know that I can’t fully understand the things you’ve been feeling, or... not feeling. regardless, I know you know it’s not healthy and you want to move forward from it, and I’m glad to be there for you while you work through it. that’s a kindness I think anyone dealing with trauma deserves. I also very much appreciate that we can have both silly and serious conversations; even just following my blog you already know more about me than a lot of my irl friends. you’ve become someone I also care very much about and I don’t like seeing you in pain-- though of course it’s not my place to do more than I can, or more than you want me to. I’d still like to be there for you regardless. 

---

anywho! travel plans. like I said, most of the issue is logistics. I’m looking at potential flights and I think a reasonable roundtrip is about 9 days; including 2 for travel, that’s a full week for adventuring. I’m flexible, of course, but I’m not the one with a job, lol. I don’t know what airlines would be best (though I did just find a flight on Icelandair, one 55m stop in Keflavik, July 10-19, for $1100 roundtrip), so if you wanna help out with searching you’re more than welcome to take a look yourself. I’d prefer shorter layovers if possible; none of those 27h total trips, lmao. nothing’s direct from Dulles unfortunately, but it is a major international hub, like JFK, so often I’ll be able to find flights to other major destinations from here. which is gr8, because it’s literally a 10-15 minute drive from my house. we have two other major airports here: Reagan national and BWI. personally I prefer Dulles because it’s closer, but if you can find a cheaper and/or direct flight out of the other ones, I’ll find a way to get there lol.

I’m going to be in PA for farm jam from, likely, July 3-7th. I’ll have to see how I feel about what day I’m coming home. I may or may not want to stay til the 8th. but anyway I don’t want to leave on an international flight *too* soon after I get home. I’ll have to drive 4 hours home after spending 4 days camping in the woods on a farm, unpack from camping, and then pack again, and I only have so much energy. I’ve done it before (got back from Iceland and drove to PA the next morning), but it’s not terribly fun. I think if I can make myself come home on the 7th, or at least early on the 8th, I can leave the 10th at the earliest. I’m going to look at July 10-19 as my reference, since that’s also one of the cheapest roundtrips that I can find (for some reason wednesdays are cheaper traveling days?), but those days might change a little. I’ll let you know if I decide on something for sure, but if you want to look up Airbnbs (or if you can find cheaper flights, lmao), you’re welcome to use the 10-19th as a general reference point as well.

I have no qualms about Airbnbs. it would be easier booking-wise to get the flight and hotel together, but I’m cool with having a little place out of the city for the week. the genuine experience, as you say, lol. the coast would be lovely, but I’ll take whatever you find that you like! I’ll leave that to your expertise. are we splitting the cost for that, or.. how do you want to do that? 

as far as itinerary, I’m down for everything. I got real excited about that owl sanctuary, lol. anything with animals is great with me. can we see highland cattle too?? I do know I’m gonna want to check out one or two of the record stores in Glasgow; I think that’s my new Travel Thing, lol. going to a city, checking out the record stores. gotta bring records home. that’s my kinda souvenir. everything else, I’m down for too! I love learning about history, seeing old churches and castles, historical sites, all that jazz. I love the sound of that island too! I totally get what you mean about not doing all the typically touristy stuff. I mean, I live just outside Washington DC. I know the tourist traps are a waste of time and money and they’re not the ~real experience~. I love the sound of not taking the beaten path, though. and how often do you have a personal local tour guide? lmao

the only worries I have, really, are my energy levels and my traveling anxiety. neither of those are your responsibility, but they do affect me literally every time I travel, even if I think they won’t.

the anxiety has its roots in my emetophobia, for sure. for some reason my brain feels like the worst thing that could possibly happen is me getting sick while I’m traveling, and then of course I get nervous about it, and what accompanies the nervousness? nausea. shit writes itself. I know it happens, I’m very conscious of it, but that doesn’t stop it. I’ll bring klonopin as a security blanket, likely won’t need it, but mostly what helps is just, like, making sure I eat something, lol. I don’t tend to eat much when I travel anyway, but not eating tends to make the problem worse and I need something in my stomach, obviously. being distracted helps too. something to focus on, someplace to go or see. I’ll let you know how I’m feeling, though, so don’t worry about needing to check in on me. I’m not a nervous wreck all the time.

then there’s the energy levels. I have no earthly way of knowing what they’re going to be like in July. right now I don’t have much energy to do much of anything, but sometimes, especially if I’m subconsciously nervous, I won’t have an off switch. and sometimes I say “not a lot of energy” but I push myself anyway and surprise myself. it’s incredibly hard to predict my day-to-day now, without the traveling nerves, and it’ll be almost impossible to predict from now if something in my medical future changes. so, basically, it’s something to keep in mind but nothing to control for.

I’m pretty low-energy in general, but I can walk a good bit, so don’t worry about pushing me! I’ll let you know what I can handle. it’s probably safe to put one big thing in a day, 2-3 tops if they don’t have much travel time between them. better to leave time open to fit in more things anyway than to over-book and not be able to get to them all. I never know what my sleep’s going to be like, but I can almost guarantee it’s going to be terrible. it usually is when I travel. this also isn’t your responsibility, so don’t let me wreck your sleep schedule for when you have to get back to work, lol. I’m fine staying up late by myself if I’ve got wifi or if I bring a book or something; I can’t expect you to have the same crazy erratic sleep schedule as traveling-me. I’ll let you know if something is or isn’t okay, what I’m up for, all that good stuff. so I’d say definitely plan in all the stuff you want to do plus a few record shops, but leave some wiggle room for late starts, fitting more things in, or the possibility that I might not be able to get to everything in a day. not saying I’ll be struggling that hard, but wiggle room is always good so no one is disappointed lol

anyways I have no worries that it’ll be a great trip 😊literally everything you mentioned sounds wonderful, and I’m already excited! I do worry slightly that we still barely know each other and have never spoken face to face, lol. but I’m sure that’ll happen in due time before July. it’s one thing to meet an internet stranger in your city, but in another country? as a solo female traveler that does make me nervous. I like to think I have a pretty decent sense of the kind of person you are, but you really never know. it’ll certainly help ease my mind to get to know you better over the course of the next few months.

also... I don’t want to alarm you and I’m probably not supposed to tell you at all, but I’d rather be upfront about it. the background check I’m currently undergoing for my [future] job requires me to inform them of every non-US citizen I have “close and continuing contact” with. you and I weren’t talking yet when I filled out the background check form, but I do have to keep them updated or risk losing my chance at the job. they won’t do anything with the information I give them; everyone has friends and family in other countries, and the US doesn’t have any beef with Scotland that I’m aware of, lol. but I will need to give them basic information, especially if I’m leaving the country to visit. I would have to do it even if I weren’t planning on visiting and we kept talking, but this seems like an appropriate time to bring it up, lol. this is standard procedure for federal background checks here; literally everyone trying to get a cleared job has to do it. the form itself is open-source, the PDF is the top result on google, and I can send it to you so you can see exactly what they ask me to provide, if you’d like. I’m not going to ask you for more information than what you’ve given me, and they do take “I don’t know” as an answer. if it’s not okay with you at all, though, then we’ve got some major problems.

soooooo with that out of the way, lmao

if I think of anything else I’m sure I’ll bring it up when I think of it. the only question I might have right now is what should I bring, besides the essentials? a book, maybe. a crochet thing? perhaps? laptop? (probably no on that one, though, right?) uhhhh power adapters? the electrical plugs are definitely different there, yeah? any american things I can pack into a suitcase that you’d like me to bring? lol

speaking of american things. I’ve already got a small list of little things I could pack into a box and ship out there and I think you’ll like them!! how do you feel about sweets? I’m not talking junk food per se, like all the ridiculous candies we have here. just sweet in general? and I know you said not spicy, but how about seasoning? what kinds of seasonings do you like and dislike?

I’ll start looking into flights more seriously soon, as long as you’re okay with the background thing. I can’t give you too many details about all that, mostly because I don’t have them, but we can absolutely talk about it if it’s a concern. 

so, yes. let me know when you have time to talk and we can start planning 💕

[snowblzr]

UPDATE: Paranatural

New comic! Today's News:

Hey all! Thanks for reading, as always. Life's been trying lately... my partner's father passed away after battling COVID-19, and we lost our beloved old cat last week, just a month after that. I'm a pretty private person, so stuff like that's against my instincts to share, but I wanted to be frank about where I'm coming from when I say please go tell someone you care about that you love them, and give any pets you have a hug. Little moments really matter, that's how I feel, and I'll be happy knowing I can spur even one on. That's all for now! I'll see you next week. Until then, stay safe and be well!

~

[Transcript]

Spender shot a glance down towards Isabel, subconsciously expecting her to share his giddy smile. This spooky hike was just the sort of fun activity he used to do with Doctor Burger and the gang when he was young, or, if they ended up fighting a deadly phantom in the woods after all, just the sort of thing he used to do with Agent Summers. Those memories were painful now, but he was glad to be sharing the spirit of their best days with the next generation of Mayview spectrals.

Isabel, however, was not smiling. Instead, she was all focus... pure determined effort. Whenever Spender overtook her, Isabel would scuttle up to stay beside him, looking a little more frustrated with her tiny legs each time. Spender was instantly reminded of the fighting stance she'd snapped into that afternoon. She's training right now, he realized. This isn't fun for her. It's just a test.

Spender felt silly, then more than a little bit ashamed. He should have noticed sooner. He'd brought her out here to relax... but his presence had poisoned that goal, at least the way he saw it.

When Ángel, Isabel's father, had cut ties with Master Guerra—no, perhaps even before then—the old ghost's hopes for him had fallen onto her and Spender both. 

For Spender, this was a gift. Attention, guidance, belief in his potential... these were things that he'd been missing since the Burgers disappeared; since wild, one-eyed Shrike had passed; since Agent Walker went full company man; since Agent Summers proved a fickle savior. 

But for Isabel it was a weight, that much at least was clear. Master Guerra, gruff as he was, had little praise to spare, and Spender's efforts always seemed to siphon it from hers. Of course she wasn't having fun, not with him here, not after she'd been challenged by those teens. Spender was the score to beat. Even without her grandpa watching, Isabel could still measure her worth against his protege.

"Isabel..."

She started when she heard her name, looking up at Spender as if expecting some critique.

Instead, what she saw was the beam of his flashlight squeezed upwards from its origin in one swift motion, condensed into a thinner, brighter line, and tapered to a sharp point with a pinch. Spender brandished the beam sword that he'd made with his light powers and did his best Darth Vader breath impression—which, with his voice, sounded much more like a printer out of ink.

"...I am your father," rumbled Spender, glowering nerdily. He grinned right after, awaiting Isabel's big impressed reaction.

She just looked confused. "My father can't do that," she said, then, "My father hates swords."

"O-oh?" Spender sagged, his attempt to break the tension fallen flat.

"Because they make the choice to kill for you. He says a weapon that does that is for the weak. He says a weapon's only worthy use is self-defense, and one you wield that way should make you bear the weight of that responsibility. That's why he fights with sticks."

"Is... that... so...?"

"He's wrong though 'cause swords are cool, and all weapons kill. Plus Grandpa can beat him without any."

"Dang. Your family's wack, kid." Jean had apparently been listening in. Isabel shot him a scowl, then snapped back to scan the darkness in a huff. Spender tugged at his collar, flashlight beam sword hanging limply in his hand. As much as he wanted to help her, he was just no good at this.

"...I wish I could do that."

Spender perked up, curious. He couldn't see Isabel's face; she was a few feet ahead of him now.

"Do what, Isabel?"

[rileywrites-parker]

Stupid Genetic Mutation

Prompt Request: ‘Can you do a Peter Parker x reader where the reader is Tony Stark’s daughter and she has powers or whatever, and they team up with Michelle and cool stuff. With fluff.’ Requested by @iamaquackson

Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Summary: While on a class trip, a masked figure attacks, leaving Spider-man and Michelle to swoop in and save the day; with a little help from daddy. (Stark) Reader is thrown into the mix when she follows the two outside in an attempt to offer help, forgetting that she’s far more fragile than she thinks. This is the first Reader is seeing of Michelle’s abilities. Reader’s feelings for Peter cause her to make some rash decisions. Peter’s feelings for reader get him in trouble with feisty Stark girl. Fluff included.

Peter and friends are now late into senior year.

Words: 3.6k Warnings: Violence?

The menacing figure in the exoskeleton suit released another chilling cackle, hovering far above the smoking debris that lined the street. He had come out of nowhere, swooping in, crouched low on a high-tech hover board, a trail of exhaust in its wake, to drop a series of explosives in front of the New York Hall of Science. The line of buses just outside the entrance now lay in disarray and various stages of destruction; one had even managed an impressive aerial display, turning completely end over end several times before crashing down on the steps leading into the Science Hall. Said buses had been emptied of Midtown Highs students only moments before; the drivers hadn’t been so lucky.

Inside of the hall, the touring group of Midtown students crouched low, taking cover where ever they could in response to the attack; panic in their eyes, distress in the voices that filled the air. A few students and chaperones had been loitering around the entrance, the shock of the blast shattering the glass of the windows and doors, littering the atrium with glittering shards, leaving the unfortunate few with glistening wounds on their exposed skin.

Three students had  managed to make their way into the bulk of the exhibits, finding their way through to the rear entrance of the building and escaping out onto the street.

Three students who now huddled behind a couple of dumpsters, one of which was now furiously ripping clothing from his body to get at the red and blue suit underneath.

“Michelle, please take her back inside, Mr. Stark will kill me if something happens to her,” half of his words coming out slightly muffled as he worked to pull his mask over his face. To say you were a little miffed with Peter for talking about you like you weren’t standing right in front of him was an understatement, even with the current state of events.

“Why don’t you take her back inside, boy wonder,” Michelle spat back quickly, sounding irritated for an entirely different reason.

Peter threw both hands in the air at her, “Michelle, please, enough with the macho thing.”

“Hey, you make it easy for me,” she retorted, swinging her bag from her shoulder, flipping it open and rummaging through its contents.

Peter’s shoulders slumped and he threw his head back dramatically, “Why did I agree to this again?”

“Because you need my help and I’m smarter than you are.” She continued to rummage; Peter growing more antsy: he began to bounce back and forth on both feet.

“You are not smarter.” He looked at you then to back him up, looking away again quickly upon noticing the scowl on your face, the hands on your hips ready for his next comment on your ability to make decisions for yourself. He turned back to Michelle instead.

“You’re going to have to pick up the pace a bit,” he was practically vibrating with urgency and nerves, “buses burning, not sure if people are on them, crazy guy flying around in the sky in a creepy mask, can’t wait, you know, emergency.”

Before she could respond Peter had already turned away, one hand in the air, web shooter poised and ready “[Y/N,] go inside and find Ned.”  You grabbed at his hand and tugged, demanding his attention.

“What part of emerg-”

“Hey now, wait there just a minute, jerk,” your brows were furrowed and lips set in a deep frown, your hand held firm on his, while your other hand worked to brush your wild and currently misbehaving hair from in front of your face, “don’t you think you’re being a little presumptuous? I can help.”

Peter let out an exasperated groan, “Look, I really don’t have time for this right now, [Y/N,]” he shook his hand, trying to free it from the hold you had on it, the rest of his body beginning to move in the direction of the thick smoke now billowing overhead, “please, just listen, just this once.”

Michelle shifted next to you; you had failed to notice the change in costume she had made as well, or even that her hand had grabbed onto your free one.

The shock of Michelle in costume had been enough for you to forget about your pride in favor of confusion. Michelle was now in an all-black get-up, her hands gloved, domino mask over her eyes, her signature bangs pulled back into a tight bun with the rest of her hair.

She looked a little silly, if you were being honest. It was clearly still Michelle standing in front of you, just in black cargo pants and a mask.

“Peter’s right, you’ve got to get better at this.” She began pushing you in the direction of the door you’d all come out of seconds before, “Speaking of this, what is this?” Why was Michelle helping Peter?

“Look, not all of us are sponsored by rich dudes, Stark.”

“Us?”

With what seemed like little to no effort, she had managed to shove you back through the door, ready to close it again. As she took a step back, you reached out for her hand, trying to pull her inside with you. This was ridiculous.

Outside you could hear the sound of the man on the glider ripping through the air, his laughter creeping into your ears; shock as his voice followed with, “I knew I’d find you here spider-ling, how’d you like the fireworks display?”

Michelle pushed at you again as you tried to make your way back outside, now frightened for Peter.

‘I knew I’d find you here?’

Despite how frustrating Peter could be, you loved him. It was because you loved him that you found him enormously irritating.

Irritating in that he most definitely was not aware that you loved him.

Was that machine gun fire? Surely that wasn’t machine gun fire.

“Yeah no, time to go.” Michelle pushed you to the ground, slamming the heavy door in your face as the distinct sound of gunfire coming to crescendo pierced your ears, the door denting in several places, one bullet whizzing over head as it came through the wall where you had been only seconds before. With wide eyes, you stared at the door, listening, hoping beyond hope that you weren’t going to hear the sound of Michelle’s body sliding down the other side of it.

When you didn’t, you released the breath you’d been holding and scrambled off of the floor, making a mad dash for the front of the building. Your heart was pounding now. You felt ridiculous for making a big deal about Peter’s words. Whoever this mad man was, was serious. Peter was strong. Peter was fast.

Peter was not bulletproof.  

Michelle was out there. What were they thinking?

Another series of explosions rang out from the street as you reached the atrium. Pushing through the panicked bodies of your peers as they all pushed further into the building, back in the direction you had come from. You frantically searched for Ned, scanning the room for his familiar shape. A group of disheveled and bloodied men and women in uniforms moved past you as well. You were relieved to see that the drivers had made it.

You were beyond relieved when you literally ran right into your friend, arms quickly wrapping around his form before gripping onto his shoulders.  You looked him up and down, “Ned, oh thank God, are you OK?”

He nodded his head, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” not making eye contact, too focused on the scene unfolding through the windows beyond the front desk; the smoke from the burning buses making it difficult to see, “are you OK?”

“Yes. Listen, Ned, Michelle is out there with Pe – Spider-man.” He whipped his head around quickly at that, fear in his eyes.

“What? Already?” Before you could question him, Michelle’s form came flying through the entrance, breaking free what little glass was left on the frame of the door, tumbling wildly, limbs flying, before sliding full on into the paneling of the front desk. She let out a groan before going limp.

To say you were in shock was an understatement. Ned, however, was immediately at her side, hands on her face, in her hair, calling out to her by name.

You needed your dad. You needed Iron Man. This was too much. Where was your phone?

“Who was your little friend, spider-ling? Not much to her, was there?” At the sound of the man’s voice, your attention was ripped away from your racing thoughts and back outside to Peter. Spider-man was running towards the building. He’d almost made it through to the doors before taking a hit.

You watched in horror as the figure in the exo-suit swooped down at break-neck speed to make contact with Peter’s body, armored fist slamming into his side, undoubtedly knocking more than just the air out of him. You watched as the man used the momentum to eject Peter’s body into the side of one of the buses, the sound of the impact echoing fully through your skull, the sight of the metal crumpling, giving way to Peter’s body sent a jolt through your heart; again when he pulled himself up from the ground, a little worse for wear, standing to face the menacing creature circling over-head.

Shaking his hands loose, he then took off at a run; he was favoring his right leg. You could see what looked like a gash across his thigh and as far as you could tell he was bleeding badly.

This was why your dad needed to let you finish your suit.

You felt sick.

If you lost him…

Peter needed help.

Your feet had carried you out the door of their own volition.

The sound of the glider tore overhead, ripping apart molecules with the heat of the exhaust; the air itself was screaming. On the ground, Peter crouched behind it, his entire form shaking with effort, feet firm and legs locked as he struggled to hold onto the webs he had attached to either arm of the man you now recognized as the Goblin. Rider and machine both screeching with exertion as they struggled, floating in place almost directly above your head.

You looked around for something to use, eyes settling on a particularly large chunk of what you assumed was metal from a bus. Now if you could just line it up with one of the thrusters, maybe…

When your eyes met with Peter’s, you watched as his whole form shook, violently flinching, the webs trembling, sending a wave of sensation along the tension of the line and up to the arms of the Goblin, who then turned his masked visage to see that Spider-man was now fixated on your presence.

A few things then happened seemingly all at once:

The Goblin’s laugh filled the already charged and menacing air, the sound of it mixing with Peter’s panicked voice and that of the air warping as the glider changed direction.

The barrels at its base now lined up with your chest.

“No, no, no, please…” Peter’s distraught and pleading voice reached your ears as he dropped the webs, aiming for you instead, legs pumping furiously as he ran towards you; a desperate attempt to pull you out of harm’s way.

Michelle was definitely smarter if he thought he was going to be faster than a bullet.

Or maybe that was just desperation.

Maybe it was something else.

You watched as the viscous fluid left his shooters, the ends of the webbing like fingers reaching.

In the distance, you could see the always impressive form of your dad racing towards the scene, the light of the sun glinting off of his suit, sights set on the Goblin, thrusters on full, blazing through the air.

If you lived, you were getting your suit.

You closed your eyes.

The sound of gunfire filled the air, followed by the shrill, pinging noise of metal meeting with metal in quick succession, the smell of plasma and gardenias filled your nose. The Goblin and his glider came hurtling down to the pavement. Peter’s body crashed into yours.

Michelle stood over you, still holding the thick metal door she had ripped from its hinges. You watched in awe as she threw it over her head at the Goblin, the sound of it colliding with his head almost comical.

Her and your dad then began laying into the crazed man, attacking him from all sides. The power behind Michelle’s hits almost matching that of your father’s simulated strength.

You weren’t entirely sure that you hadn’t taken a bullet.

Peter’s gloved hands grabbed at your cheeks, thumbs rubbing softly over your skin, trying to gain your attention. The warmth of his fingers coaxing you back to reality. “OK, yes, that’s it. Hey there, [Y/N.]”

“Hey,” you replied, giving him your best attempt at a smile. Was this shock? You weren’t sure.

“Are you hurt?” His fingers were now running down your neck and over your shoulders, light and gentle, the ticklish sensation causing a smattering of raised flesh across your body; the eyes behind the mask following their path, checking you over. You almost laughed at yourself.

“Sorry I called you a jerk, Pete,” you whispered. A hand found your cheek again, the other helping you to brush the hair from your face, taking care to tuck the wild pieces behind your ear. “You’re definitely not a jerk. Total opposite, actually.”

“Earth to Spider-man,” Michelle’s voice, a little rougher than usual broke over the sound of the fighting, her words cut off as she took a right hook across the face. Wiping her mouth quickly and spitting the blood that had rather offensively taken it upon itself to fill her mouth, she was back to it with a well-aimed kick.

You heard your dad’s voice then, “Hey, Underoos,” the metallic clang of his fist meeting with the material of the Goblin’s suit rang out, “what are you doing? Get her out of here, kid.”

“O-Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he offered his hands out to you, pulling you up from the ground with him, motioning for you to hop on his back. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders then, joining your hands together above his chest. It startled you when his hands reached back to grab onto your thighs, hoisting you up, fingers running down the length of them and under your knees before throwing an arm up into the air.

A fleet of armored vehicles began surrounding the scene from all sides. The cavalry had arrived.

“Hold on,” he said, taking aim at a lamp post. You tightened your hold on him, face close to his.

Then you were swinging through the air.

Admittedly not very high in the air, as this was down-town, and the objects with enough height to even attempt swinging from were few and far in between.

The sound of Peter laughing in spite of himself and the situation made it impossible for you to be uncomfortable, even with how close your rear end was to the ground. Or the cars. Or that tree. Or that guy on the bike.

It had been rather awkward when he’d asked you to reach for a cartridge of web fluid on his belt.

You swore you had felt his face heat up even through the mask, his ears burning a hole through the fabric when you’d fumbled around, fingertips inching down his abdomen. You may or may not have been purposely trying to bother him.

You know, for the neck thing.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself weaving between familiar skyscrapers, the ride coming to an abrupt halt as he landed on top of the building you lived in with your father and his fiancé. The arm that he had tucked under one of your knees untangling from you, coming up to rid himself of his mask. You let your legs down, taking a moment to admire the way his dampened curls settled around his ears.

You hesitated in releasing him from your arms, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades, bringing your body closer to his. His hands met with yours, fingers closing around fingers; you could feel his heart beating against your palms, could hear it beneath your ear.

It was a good sound.

“That was scary, Pete,” He hummed his assent, thumbs beginning to move over your knuckles, “That guy was insane. What was he even doing there?”

“Definitely insane,” he nodded his head. His mask slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground, “I pissed him off a while back and he kind of - has it out for me, I guess? Sounds like he’s figured out at least some part of who I am; he’s never attacked openly like that before.” You shook your head at his response, furrowed brows catching on the emblem he wore on his back.

You remembered his leg then, jumping back from him to get a better look at his wound. You pulled him down to the ground with you, urging him to be careful as he adjusted to sitting, tucking his right leg under the injured left.

He watched you as you looked it over, careful fingers working to peel away fabric to get a sense of how extensive it was. It was deep, crossing over from the top of his thigh and extending almost to the back of his knee. It was still bleeding. You looked up at him, worry etched on your features. “Peter we need to take of this.” He nodded his head in assent, eyes tight.

“I thought for sure I was going to watch you die,” he quietly admitted.

“I thought for a second that I was going to,” your tone matching his; his hand was now on top of yours, “but you know, I would’ve been able to help had I had a damn suit. I keep telling my d-”

“[Y/N],” he shook his head, clicking his tongue at you, “It would’ve been better had you just stayed inside.”

This again. You gave him a dirty look, pulling your hand out from under his, feeling a little guilty at the hurt expression that crossed his features.

“Whatever, Peter,” looking off over his shoulder, waiting for the silhouette of your dad to come flying onto the scene. Your eyes flicked back over to meet his brown ones, “it’s OK for Michelle, but not for me?”

“Michelle is different,” he was getting frustrated now, “she’s strong,” his voice taking on that tone that sometimes shocked you with it’s harshness, “and fast.”

Although, there wasn’t really anything about Peter that was truly harsh. Peter was good. Peter was goofy, but at the drop of a hat, Peter could also be serious.

“Jerk,” you pushed at his shoulder, his eyebrows rising and a smirk forming on his lips, “so you don’t think I’m capable of defending myself just because I don’t have some stupid genetic mutation or whatever?” You were being childish, you knew it, but that pride of yours, one of the many, sometimes very inconvenient, traits that you’d inherited from dear old dad wasn’t going to let you drop it.

“Didn’t you just apologize for calling me a Jerk?”

You weren’t sure if the dirty look you were giving him could get any dirtier. But you certainly gave it your all when he decided to laugh. You hated that it filled you with warmth.

“In fact, I’m pretty sure you said I was the opposite.”

He went to touch your face again, laughing as you tried swatting him away, giving in when he gave you a pout. You had a hard time not laughing with him as his thumbs pulled up on the corners of your lips. His pout then turning into an overly dramatic frown, brown eyes twinkling, and you were lost. You gave him a smile, shaking your head at him, and finally laughing when he threw a victorious fist in the air.

The two of you sat there quietly for a moment, his eyes on you, your eyes worrying over his leg again. At least now with him sitting still, the bleeding had finally stopped.

“Look,” his soft voice broke the silence, “it’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, you’re more than capable, I just don’t want to see you hurt. I can’t see you hurt.” You looked up at him and then pointedly back down at his leg.

“Yeah, I know, I’ll be fine; I’m di-” you tilted your head at him, daring him to finish his sentence. He threw back his head, sighing and letting out a groan, before leaning into it and lying flat on his back. His hands found his eyes, rubbing furiously at them before weaving into his hair.

“Why is it so difficult for me to talk to you?” He shouted out to no one in particular.

You let out a choked laugh, watching as he then began to talk to himself.

You impressed yourself by holding back your laughter. He was ridiculous.

He made your heart happy.

“I’m just going to tell her. This is ridiculous. Why is this so hard? It was easier fighting the vulture. But then there’s the whole dad thing…” he broke off from his rambling to look in your direction, grinning for a split second before returning his attention to the clouds, “OK, Peter, just get it out. Nothing could go wrong. What’s the worst that could happen? Really?…”

“Peter.”

“Yes?”

“Are you done?”

“I love you.”

Oh.

Sorry if there are typos. It’s 5 am, and my ass stayed up all night to get this down before it left my brain.

Update: Now with sleep on board, a lot of this has actually been re-worked, because it was kind of not good.

Part II coming soon.

@iamaquackson

[hopeless-knight]

Brothers meeting (Harry Potter OC fic)

[It's finally school vacaion for Hogwarts. It was good to finally take some rest from all the spellcasting, potion-brewing and broom-riding. I wasn't exactly doing something very invigorating though]

[Christopher]: Hmm... it... it should be this building

[I mutter to myself upon reaching an appartment building. He should be living here... my brother that is.]

[Our situation in the family is not the best. although nearly everyone is a wizard in my family, my brother, Adrian, didn't exactly have magic in his blood. He felt very disconnected from everyone in the family, One thing led to another and my father sent him to live with a friend of his that had the same condition as his. It's been a year since that happened]

[Christopher ]: the room is... nearly at the top of the building. well, only one way then

[i didn't keep contact with him unfortunately. School loaded me so much with work that i never found time to send a letterl. His surrogate father tended to send stuff to our father about him though. apparently, he took a real liking to writing and even sent some of his stories to us at home.]

[ Christopher ]: And here it is... hope he's here

[Taking a deep breath, i knock at the door, feeling dread and hope at the same time]

[???]: Who's there?

[the voice is slightly squeaky, even though there was a noticeablee effort to keep it at a low pitch. that's definitely him]

[ Christopher ]: It's your big brother! Chris!

[Adrian]: Ah... um, give me a moment, I need to find the key.

[i hear footsteps from inside the house. I was expecting a more lively reaction but... ah well. A few seconds later and the door is open]

[Adrian]: hello. Dad tol- I mean... Mr. Finnigan told me you would visit

[He stuttered. i don't know if this was just my nostalgia in effect but... he didn't seem to change much. he was wearing a a duster coat and a folded scarf around his neck. he always liked to dress fancy. his hair though was a blonde curly mess that probably didn't see a comb in quite a while. he was only one inch shorter than me but, aside from that, our faces were pretty similar.]

[Adrian]: Come in. I'll see if we have some tea to prepare.

[and as soon as he says that, he leaves, walking back into a door that probably led to the kitchen. I closed the door behind me and headed further into the living room. It was pretty simple stuff. A couch, a table at the center of the room and a small bookshelf cramped full of books that most of the decorative furniture was pointed at. As soon as i take a seat on the couch, Adrian comes back]

[Adrian]: There wasn't any tea but i'm preparing some hot cocoa. Oh and, Mr. Finnigan is working extra today, he won't be back until night

[I nod at him to show that i got the message. he sits down at the couch and says nothing...]

[... I know it's been only a few seconds but it feels a bit awkward... i should think of something to talk about]

[Christopher]: I heard about your writing!

[Saying that seemed to catch his attention, almost like a cat when a bell rings]

[Christopher]: Yeah! Finnigan sent a few of your stories to dad and he even let me read some of them.

[Adrian]: I see... and, what do you think of them?

[Christopher]: They're pretty fun to read! they're short and sweet! My favorite is the story about the alchemist.

[Adrian]: The... alchelmist?

[Christopher]: Yeah! the one of an alchemist that is trying to make a love potion for a princess but falls in love with the girl that sells the ingredient to him

[Adrian]: ah, that one. it's a bit of an old story, really.

[Christopher]: Still, its a good story. and it reminds me of good times! Remember when you and me would sneak into father's room to try and make potions?

[Adrian]: back when... they still didn't know about me?

[oh... i guess the wound is still fresh. I still remember when we found out. i got an invitation to Hogwarts and he didn't, dad pulled some strings to get him in and... when it was his turn with the sorting hat... ... I think one of the teachers had to go search for him after he stormed off]

[Chistopher]: um... yeah... Sorry about that.

[Adrian mumbles something that can't quite make out. I assume its him saying that it's alright... or, well, i hope it is.]

[Adrian]: Well, anyway... how are things back there?

[Adrian says more clearly this time, in his own attempt to change the subject]

[Christopher]: Well, it's... messy. I still have a few arguments with our father, about what i'm going to do once i'm done with education... Mom finally opened her herbology store! it's wild there. you feel like entering a jungle when you step into the store

[Adrian]: eheh. I wish i could see that. It would be fun

[Christopher]: Well... maybe i can bring you there on this vacation

[Adrian]: hmm... maybe

[he didn't sound as crestfallen as before. That's some progress!]

[Adrian]: Is... Is Goldeve still there?

[Oh yeah. Goldeve, our aunt. she lived with everyone to help at the house. She's a very "utilitarian" sort of person, so when she found aout about Adrian, she was rather... cold towards him. She started treating him like a toddler, and when he wasn't around, she would go on rants about what would they do with Adrian, saying that "He was gonna become a burden on the house sooner or later".  It was adrian listening to one of these rants of her that started the whole spiral which ended on him moving away]

[Christopher]: Yeah, she still lives with us

[Adrian]: I see...

[I can see that answer didn't make him too happy. Can't blame him really.]

[Adrian]: She doesn't really say anything about me, does she?

[Christopher]: No, not really.

[Adrian]: Alright.

[there's a moment of silence between us again. i better come up with something else to talk about]

[Christopher]: Well, how are things over here?

[Adrian]: They're quiet enough. Mr. Finnigan works through Morning so... usually he's here by the rest of the day, although, there's a shortage of workers there right now so...

[Adrian]:we tend to spend time reading or playing games together, like chess or cards.

[Christopher]: Mr. Finnigan sounds like a nice person

[Adrian]: He is.

[Adrian's voice sounded a little more cheery when he said that]

[Christopher]: What else do you two do together?

[Adrian]: Nothing much. like I said, it's pretty quiet here.

[Christopher]: Alright.

[Adrian]: ... You said Father keeps nagging you over what you're gonna do after you're done studying.

[Christopher]: yeah. He wants me to apply to be an Auror but i'm not really interested in that. Honestly, if he wanted me to do that he should have sent me to that other wizarding school... you know. the one where that one famous Quiditch player comes from... Viktor Krum.... ah, what's the name.

Adrian: Durmstrang?

[Christopher]: Yeah, that one. Thanks

[Adrian]: well, What do you wanna be then?

[Christopher]: An alchemist

[That perks up his attention again]

[Adrian]: really? Why?

[Christopher]: Well, We're already set up on the ingredients back home really, and i like to throw stuff on a cauldron and mix it. Besides, it... well...

[i was hesitant on finishing the sentence, but it was already too late to back out]

[Christopher]:... It reminds me of good times...

[he looked away again... i couldn't tell if he was upset or not.]

[Adrian]: ... well, what sort of potions are you going to sell then? Love potions?

[the joke wasn't even all that great, but i still couldn't help but laugh at. he had a smile on his face when he said that, i couldn't just ignore it]

[Christopher] Well maybe! I could be a cupid too for all you knew!

[We both ended up laughing at each other's bad jokes]

[Christopher]: Now, you know what i want to do and... this is probably gonna sound like a stupid question but... what about you? what do you wanna do?

[Adrian]: I want to be a writer. And, if that fails, a teacher.

[Christopher]: A teacher or a writer... Why not both?

[Adrian]: Both? I'm not a multitasker!

[Christopher]: But you don't need to! just teach as a job and write on your free-time. you like writing don't you? if you like writing, then it won't feel like work

[Adrian]: ... You make it sound like the perfect plan

[Christopher]: And what if it is?

[Adrian]: Hmm... maybe.

[a high-pitched sound comes out of the kitchen, startling me a bit]

[Adrian]: oh, the water's boiling. just, wait a moment, i'll be back in a minute

[And after saying that, he leaves. there's a minute of silence, until...]

[Adrian]: Aaargh!!

[Almost on reflex, i stand up and rush to the kitchen as well]

[Christopher]: Are you alright?!

[Adrian]: yeah yeah, i just... burned myself.

[Adrian is holding his left hand up. By the looks of it, the side of his hand seemed burned. there were already a blister or two formed there. I had my wand with me and really, i could fix that pretty quickly but... he got upset just by me just mentioning the time he still lived with us. should I?]

[...]

[No. he can deal with it. while i stand there, he quickly fills a bowl with water and sticks his hand in there.]

[Adrian]: I'm sorry for asking but... could you finish the brewing? you know how to do it, right?

[Christopher]: Yeah i do.

[while he treats the accident that just happened, i finish preparing the cups of hot cocoa he was making. we come back tot he living room, i had to carry both mugs since he was still with his hand on the water bowl.]

[Adrian]:... I must look pretty silly now

[Christopher]: Well... i'm not even sure of how you burned yourself

[Adrian]: Uh... I... I kinda forgot that the kettle was... still quite hot

[Christopher]: It just got out of the fire!

[Adrian]: Well it's not fair, i was in a rush.

[he did say that louder than the usual but.... at the same time it sounded more cheery too.]

[Christopher]: heheh. if you say so.

======

[we ended up chatting for a good chunk of the day, he even showed me the other stories that Mr. Finnigan didn't send to us. After that, we read some books together, until finally it was time to take my leave. i was about to go through the door when]

[Adrian]: Hey!

[Christopher]: Yes?

[Adrian]: hmm... send a letter one of these days. i always leave my bedroom window open. Your owl wouldn't have difficulties entering, and i know how to take care of an owl.

[Christopher]: Alright. I promise i'll send you something!

[Adrian smiles and i smile back at him. after that, i close the door and make my way out of the building... funny. i thought that going to talk with him would be a tiresome experience but... i guess i was wrong about that.]

[sanguinesprout]

Therapy/Counselling Diary #11 Final (Plus some tiddly bits of trying oh yeahhh!! ^^)

My hands are so frozen ahhhh it’s so cold uuugh @A@ *sits on hands for 5 hours and loses all feeling in them* wow so heartless my hands are oof-

Hmm... alrighty, this week’s appointment was my laaaast. Feels... idk man. On one hand I feel like some pressure has been lifted but I actually was kinda getting used to going, was getting a little comfy even lol and on the other hand I feel like some more pressure just came and took its place. It feels weird, like everything just shifted into how it was before I went, except now I have the power of... knowledge..?! And a smidgen more bravery I guess... I hope... don’t wimp out already! O^O It’s all on me now!! I have to take the wheel and steer it to victory! *crashes straight into ditch* 

Welp on the day I actually ended up going 1 hour early by accident because I assumed it’d be the same time as the other days but it was 1 hour later than those lolol, it was no big deal, just shopped around a lil with my sis and mum and then went back, aaand on time (unlike what it would’ve been if my app really was 1 hour earlier lol what a relief) hoh!

She came and got me, greeted me and we went up to the room talking about the weather or something small as usual. I didn’t pull out those sheets from last week yet, I was a lil hesitant since I think she was going through some of the other stuff on her desk and I kinda thought maybe I’d filled in some of it wrong or badly, but there’s no such thing..! I actually did all those sheets the same day I wrote the previous post hehe, or well, at least 80% of them and then finished em off the day before the app, yay! No leaving till the very last-ish! :D

She told me similar stuff to last time about how far I’d come since she first met me, she told me I was like a deer in headlights or something along those lines, timid and unsure and so on, but now was able to express myself better and even got better at stuff like making eye contact more. It was nice to receive the praise she gave and to be assured that I had actually improved some ^^ I know my family has been noticing my efforts and the general mood at home has been a little more chipper, it’s feels so much nicer and motivating c:

We went and looked at this goal sheet she filled in for me near the beginning where my goals were things like ‘to be myself around others’ and I rescored them all lower than they were originally, I didn’t lie and make out like I magically improved, I just went with what I felt and it was right and anyways it was definitely better than previous. This sheet is probably just for her record but showed me I had gotten much closer to my goals and could probably reach them so long as I continue trying.

She asked me again what I am planning to do once I am left to my own devices and we discussed the volunteering/getting work experience stuff again and she tried recommending me this site which could possibly be helpful but tbh it really didn’t seem that great and even she kind struggled to navigate to relevant stuff on it. Her field is not in employment and volunteering and stuff though so although the resource wasn’t the best, it was nice to know a little more at least. I was kinda dying a little inside and this took up a big chunk of the session, she advised me to contact this volunteer organisation and set up an appointment, I feel kinda idk iffy about it, I don’t want to avoid but I feel like maybe I’ll check around for other stuff first. I mean she can’t check on me no mores, but I shouldn’t chicken out or forget this advice because it is important.

I uh, I plucked up the courage and whipped out those sheets I did from last week and I read over them to her and she agreed on a lot of the stuff I wrote (things like how am I different, how did I achieve this behaviour/feeling etc.) and I accidentally left one of the things blank but she helped me fill it in and add to a few that I got a lil confused on lol. I was told to keep these sheets for my own reference. There was a sheet on relapse and relapse prevention I filled in also, reading this in future can probably help me clear my head and get back on track along with the other stuff I guess, though I hope I won’t veer off track in the first place you know ^^”

There was this bit where she thanked me, i can’t remember the exact reason or wording but it was probably for attending and for trying and for opening up to her and I also thanked her back and I kept wondering should I offer her a hug or something but I didn’t wanna be awks or overstep any boundaries. She offered me a handshake with both her hands around mine and said something like ‘this is how we do it here’ or something to do with being professional and then I super felt like I shouldn’t bring up the hug thing cause it’ll be too much lol .__. but who knows... Idk I wimped out on it, but it was something silly I guess, though because I didn’t try, I won’t know how it would’ve gone and it’s too late now, oh welp. Anyways she sees and helps so many people, the time period with each person is short, it’s no biggie, no need to get overly personal and attached I guess. I’m just glad that I got across that I was thankful and super appreciative of her help and that’s enough.

Instead in my efforts to sort of redeem my courage, I thought I’d ask her why she became a mental health nurse even though I was afraid that I might sound nosey, but I was genuinely curious and was assuming it would be something nice and motivational and so I went ahead and asked. She explained her mother was also one and she was always around and felt she wanted to help people too and so she did or something along those lines. I kind of knew it would be something like this, but it is nice to hear and heartwarming all the same. Conversation goes two ways of course too, it was good practice to try and ask things about others. 

There was a time in the past where I wanted to be a counsellor (or special learning tutor), my motivation was to help people like myself, so they wouldn’t have to struggle or feel the way I do. As you can tell, I didn’t get there, but it’s okay, because goals change and motivations change, there still some time to go and aim for new and maybe some other past goals too!

I met back up with my sis and mum and I was a lil sulky cause I didn’t get to go to this shop I was planning to go to lol but I was dying of hunger so going home and eating before I passed out was the ideal option anyways. I actually went back out again with my sister some time later that day and went to the shop I wanted to go and some others and went to the supermarket too ^^ 

Oh, this was after I went to my regular docs app where the doc was super super nice as always and he prescribed a super low low dosage of an anti-depressant as advised by the neurology specialist I saw last time. I’ve only taken it a few days so I am unsure about it’s effect or well, it’s probably too early to say much about it, but I think it does help somewhat? I feel less pained in my head when I wake up, though this could also be because I’ve been drinking water when I awaken too, you know, dehydration causes headaches. I feel pretty foggy rn though @^@ Probably just my oversleeping though. I’m glad I take it at night so even if it does make me feel sleepy, it doesn’t matter lol. Haha oh yeah, that new habit app I have been kinda using, I keep forgetting to check it and tick off the things I’ve done lol >_<”

Whoa my memory is so bad, idk if I should write some more of this week’s stuff of to leave it to next week, or will I have forgotten it then hmm... I’ll just write it briefly I guess. There were lots of times where I had things I needed to sort out but kinda just delayed them but the past few days I just went ahead and emailed and phoned and live chatted and got them almost all sorted out. I got a lil confused at times, but just tried my best with writing and asking things and it went fine. If you don’t try you don’t know, nothing ventured nothing gained! Oh and I baked a bit more stuff too! Omnomnom! :3

There’s still a lot of things I have to sort out and I’m feeling all sorts of stressed and frustrated about it, but I’ll get there, I can do it! Calmly collect your thoughts but don’t overthink, just go go go! No matter what the outcome is, you tried and you learned something new! Okay, Imma go do the stuff!

Have a great evening! Try your best! Oh, and awkward hugs for everybody haha! C:

[dippedanddripped]

“You want the truth? It’s hopeless. It’s completely hopeless.” That’s what Patagonia founder and chairman Yvon Chouinard told the L.A. Times about the plight of the earth amid climate change. In 1994. Regardless, Chouinard and his company have spent decades—and millions of dollars—fighting for environmental causes around the world while investing in more sustainable business practices. What’s more, Patagonia has embraced and promoted the B Corporation movement, while Choui­nard led such efforts as 1% for the Planet, a collective of companies that pledged to donate 1% of sales to environmental groups and has raised more than $225 million since 2002. Meanwhile, over the past 46 years, Patagonia has become a billion-dollar global brand, making it the ultimate do-good-and-do-well company.

But Chouinard remains unsatisfied. The 81-year-old is more focused than ever on demonstrating, by Patagonia’s example, the lengths a company can go to protect the planet. During a break from fishing near his Wyoming home, Chouinard is both passionate and wry in discussing his business philosophy, what we get wrong about sustainability, why he’s so excited about regenerative agriculture, and Patagonia’s rising political machine.

Fast Company: How do we cope with the idea that to be in business means we are polluters and hurting the planet?

Yvon Chouinard: Everything man does creates more harm than good. We have to accept that fact and not delude ourselves into thinking something is sustainable. Then you can try to achieve a situation where you’re causing the least amount of harm possible. That’s the spin we put on it. It’s a never-ending summit. You’re just climbing forever. You’ll never get to the top, but it’s the journey.

FC: About eight months ago, you wrote a new mission statement for the company: “Patagonia is in business to save our home planet.” What impact has that had so far?

YC: It’s affected every single person’s job. Some more than others, but it’s got everybody thinking. We’ve made a commitment to be fossil-fuel-free by 2025. We’re invested in companies that are working on growing synthetic fibers, stuff made from plants rather than petroleum. We’re not just cleaning up our act in our own buildings and stuff; we’re going around to our suppliers and convincing them to use cleaner energy. Then we’re continuing to work on saving large areas of the planet that capture a lot of carbon. I’m personally working on a new state park down at the tip of South America, about 800,000 acres of peat bogs and swamps and 200,000 acres of sea, that sequesters more carbon than almost anywhere in the world.

FC: Ten years ago, you started getting into the food space, launching Patagonia Provisions and working on regenerative agriculture. Now you’ve been bringing those regenerative principles to your cotton supply chain. Did you always see that as the ultimate path?

YC: This is all pretty new. Scientists are just discovering how important agriculture is to climate change, both negatively and positively. [Environmentalist and entrepreneur] Paul Hawken has a book that lists 100 things that we can do to combat climate change [Drawdown: The Most Comprehensive Plan Ever Proposed to Reverse Global Warming]. Out of those 100, the most important that applied to us was agriculture, so we’re doubling down on regenerative organic agriculture. We’re working on a new certification that goes beyond organic. We’ve been using organically grown cotton for years, but all it does is cause a little bit less harm. So we decided to start growing it regeneratively and organically. We started with 150 farmers in India, small-scale farmers. We talked them into growing cotton with a minimum amount of tilling. Even with cotton now, we’re sequestering carbon. This is a big deal. Regenerative agriculture can’t be done on a large scale. It just can’t. These people are getting rid of their bugs by squashing them with their fingers. They’re stringing up lights to attract the insects at night and using natural methods. Then they’re using cover crops—chickpeas and turmeric, for which there is a big demand. And they’re using compost. We’re paying them an extra 10%, so [between that and the cover-crop revenue] they’ve almost doubled their income. Next year, we’ve got 580 small farmers who will grow cotton this way.

FC: What do you think of Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk pursuing interplanetary travel and Mars and moon colonies because they don’t seem to believe that we can save our home planet?

YC: [Laughs] I think it’s pretty silly. And not just silly, but it’s really a shame. The monies that are going to space exploration should be used to save our own planet right now. We’re in a triage situation. Things are so grim. It’s World War III. I lived through World War II, and I remember what the country had to do to mobilize. You couldn’t buy sugar. You couldn’t buy meat. Being French Canadians, we were lucky in that we got horsemeat. [Laughs] That’s what has to happen with this global warming business. Here we’re just wasting this money going to Mars. I want to start doing some T-shirts that just have a rainbow trout on it, the T-shirt, and it says, there’s no rainbow trout on Mars, or screw Mars. We gotta do that.

FC: You’ve been pretty clear about your pessimism around the fate of the planet while remaining committed to trying to fix it. When we spoke back in 2017, you said something to the effect of “What’s the alternative, just sitting on my ass?” To what do you attribute your ability not to be nihilistic and to keep working toward that never-ending summit?

YC: The solution to depression is action, and I’ve got a clear idea what I need to do. A lot of people want to do something about global warming, but they don’t know where to start. It’s a lack of introspection and imagination. A guy in our fabric lab went to one of our suppliers in Japan and he said, “Hey, I see you’re buying your energy from coal-fired power plants. Why don’t you switch over to green power?” This is a giant Japanese factory. He said, “I hadn’t thought about that.” They looked into it, switched over to green energy, and it only cost them $7,000 more a year. So there you go. The guy never thought about it, but it sounded like a good idea. There is a lot of that low-hanging fruit around.

FC: What role has your Buddhism played in finding that approach?

YC: You can approach Zen in different ways. One way is you can sit there and contemplate your navel all day long. I just approached it through action, whether it’s sport or business.

FC: In the face of news like the Amazon rain forest burning or the current administration’s efforts to open up logging in Alaska, how do you stay motivated? Is it simply more action?

YC: Yeah, it is. We came out with a film that’s against offshore, penned fish farms and hatcheries, Artifishal. It has had a huge effect, particularly in Europe. Because of that film, a lot of the schoolchildren in Sweden are no longer fed farmed salmon. I just heard yesterday that Denmark is going to stop licensing any more offshore fish farms. Francis Mallmann, the chef, the barbecue king in Argentina, has taken salmon out of 19 of his restaurants worldwide. You see little victories like that, and it all adds up.

FC: That’s where your motivation comes from?

YC: Yes. It’s not like we’re sitting here all depressed. [Laughs] And Trump, we’re doing a big backsliding with this whole Trump administration, but they’ll be gone in another year or so. I’m convinced of that. Then we can get rid of all the stuff that he did, start over again.

FC: The Business Roundtable recently issued a statement expanding its definition of the purpose of a corporation from solely making money for shareholders to seeking to benefit all stakeholders, including employees, communities, and the environment. What did you think when you heard that?

YC: It’s a good first step. The ones that actually do it are going to be pretty pleasantly surprised that it leads to good business. The consumer, especially with consumer products, is expecting that from companies, and if you’re not doing it, you’re going to lose out.

FC: You’ve said in the past that you could convince anyone one-on-one that chasing growth for growth’s sake is bad and that embracing the ideals of sustainability, or responsibility, only makes you more profitable. If you were in that Business Roundtable, what would you say to the CEOs of JPMorgan Chase or Apple?

YC: If I had enough time, I would just give them example after example of how doing the right thing ended up making us more money. And the additional motivation was just believing in karma. It comes back every single time.

FC: Patagonia is a private company. Would it help your argument to more regularly disclose financials?

YC: It probably would. [Laughs] But I don’t know. Let’s say you’re a gasoline company, selling gas at the pump. There’s a gas station on every corner, basically. Would you go out of your way to go to the one that was a member of 1% for the Planet, and on your receipt it said, “Thank you for spending $40 on gasoline. Forty cents of that is going to go to planting trees, saving the planet”? I mean, be very specific about where it’s going to go.

FC: Probably, yes.

YC: Gasoline is gasoline, right? You can’t sell your gasoline on [the idea] that yours is superior to someone else’s.

FC: Though they try, but yeah.

YC: We all know it’s the same stuff. [Laughs] Yet they spend millions in advertising themselves. For what? It’s ridiculous. It’s not based on anything tangible. But this would be a great marketing ploy.

FC: In the past, you consulted with folks at large companies, such as Walmart, and came away not so convinced of their actual ability to pursue sustainability. If we’re looking to create a better version of capitalism, what do you think should be done with publicly traded companies?

YC: You’ve got to reinvent capitalism altogether. It leads to a whole bunch of poor people and a few extremely rich people. Ultimately, capitalism is going to lose its customers. There won’t be anybody to buy the product because everybody is going to be so poor. The whole thing is going to crash before the next election, probably. We’re going to get another huge recession, and everybody’s going to lose out on their stocks. There we go again. It’s a system that’s got to change. The whole stock thing is dependent on growth. Look at Amazon. Amazon doesn’t make a profit. They don’t pay any taxes. Nothing. But they’re growing like crazy. It’s all growth, growth, growth—and that’s what’s destroying the planet. I’m dealing with that myself. We’re a billion-dollar company, over a billion, and I don’t want a billion-dollar company. The day they announced it to me, I hung my head and said, “Oh God, I knew it would come to this.” I’m trying to figure out how to make Patagonia act like a small company again.

FC: How do you stop growth?

YC: There is a book from the Henokiens, an organization of companies that have been in business for 200 years minimum. Of course there are hardly any American companies; they are either Japanese or European. How are they able to stay in business for 200 years? Well, they couldn’t grow 15% a year for 200 years, let me tell you that. [Laughs] They were able to diversify, and they’re not the same company as when they started. Some of them started out as a blacksmith’s shop, like I did. But they have purposely held back on growth for the sake of longevity.

FC: What do you make of proposals like the Green New Deal? Is that encouraging?

YC: It is, absolutely. I’m an avowed socialist. I’m proud of it. That was a dirty word just a few years ago until Bernie Sanders brought it up. It was equated with communism and that whole thing. Yet the countries around the world that are most squared away are all socialistic countries like those in Scandinavia. I’m not talking about Venezuela, which is a disaster. That’s not a socialistic country. That’s a . . . I don’t know what.

FC: What role can businesses like Patagonia play in advocating for that national mobilization effort to save the planet and change how we work in the process?

YC: We’re keeping quiet in the primary election, but for the national presidential election, we’re going to be very, very active. We’re going to spend a lot of money and basically say, vote the climate deniers out. Anyone who is a climate denier or even on the fence, vote them out because they are evil. They are out to destroy our planet, and we’re not going to stand for it. We got involved in the last election and we helped elect a couple of senators in Montana and Nevada. I had no idea how much power we really have.

FC: That was the first time Patagonia pushed for and supported individual candidates. What were the lessons out of that experience?

YC: They were going to be close races, and I’ve heard from them both that we made the difference. When we have that amount of power, let’s use it. Because the opposition is using it. You’ve got the Koch family and the fossil-fuel companies: They’re going to be influencing the elections. We’ve got to do the same thing.

FC: You mentioned Artifishal. Even with Patagonia’s smaller, shorter films—I liked [surfer] Dave Rastovich’s Saving Martha, on Tasmanian fish farms—there’s an aspect of fun with them, whether it’s surfing or climbing, combined with activism for the causes you believe in. Over the last number of years, you’ve invested more in that kind of storytelling to get these issues across to people in a way that’s engaging. I don’t want to call it marketing, but has this become a much bigger part of the company?

YC: Well, that’s for sure. We’ve got a propaganda machine going. After we were involved in this film 180 Degrees South [a 2010 documentary retracing Chouinard’s 1968 journey from Ventura, California, to Patagonia, Chile] and then DamNation [Patagonia’s 2014 movie about the damage dams can do], we realized the power that we have in film. I had no idea. With DamNation, we got the whole Obama administration to rethink hydropower. They no longer considered it green energy. Now it’s back, of course, with Trump, but that was it; they said hydropower is not green energy, and that was as a result of our film. We recognize that people make decisions based on emotion, and the best way to elicit emotion is through film. It’s not through books or catalogs or speeches. So we’re in the film business. We’re working on 10 films at a time these days. Some of them don’t make a cent. But that’s not the purpose.

FC: A lot of people look at you as an inspirational figure, but who inspires you? Who is Yvon Chouinard’s Yvon Chouinard?

YC: [Laughs] Well, I think . . . I don’t know. There are a few people around the world who are doing really great stuff. Huey Johnson, who has a nonprofit in Marin County, in San Francisco, has been around a long time. He started Conservation International, the Nature Conservancy, the Trust for Public Land, and he’s got an organization called Resource Renewal Institute. The guy never gives up. He is an optimist. I’m a pessimist. He’s been an inspiration. [Environmentalist] David Brower. [Oceanographer] Sylvia Earle. Jane Goodall is trying to save her chimpanzees, and they’re on their way out. It’s like Friends of the Polar Bear. Forget about trying to save the polar bear; you gotta save the planet to save the polar bear. That’s depressing stuff, but they hang in there. Goodall is on the road 360-something days a year. It kills me to spend just a few days. I just got back from Labrador and oh my God, I mean . . .

FC: That’s far from Wyoming.

YC: Getting back from Labrador to Jackson Hole was an effort. I ran from one end of the Boston airport to the other, because my plane from Halifax was late. I passed 36 gates, and they weren’t in a row. They were in different terminals. I practically had a heart attack. [Laughs] And get this: I get to the gate, and they’ve shut it down. The plane is ready to take off. There’s a guy there who says, “Hey, I know who you are. I told them to keep the gate open for just a couple minutes more. I knew you were gonna be coming.” And they did, and they got me on. The guy says, “Hey, I’m a cinematographer. I know all about all the films you make. Keep up the good work.” And he walked away. I thought, Jesus, this guy is an angel. [Laughs] That’s the karmic kickback I’m talking about.

THE SECRET TO FIGHTING CLIMATE CHANGE

Patagonia is helping to lead the shift to regenerative agriculture, which sequesters carbon rather than producing it. Here’s how it works.

1. Create healthy soil

During photosynthesis, plants use solar energy to extract carbohydrate molecules, or sugar, from carbon dioxide. Those carbon-based sugars are extruded from the plant’s roots, feeding bacteria and fungi into the nearby soil. Those microorganisms turn soil minerals into nutrients that feed plants and fight disease.

2. Avoid pesticides

To keep the soil as healthy as possible, growers eschew chemicals (akin to organic farming), relying instead on natural methods—from hanging lights at night to physically removing and killing insects by hand.

3. Plant cover crops

In between seasons of growing cash crops such as cotton, farmers cultivate cover crops such as turmeric and chickpeas, which make the soil hardier by protecting it against nutrient loss and erosion, as well as helping to control pests. The farmers then have an additional crop to sell to supplement their income.

4. Use low-till farming

Tilling churns and disturbs roots—where most plants store a significant amount of their carbon—and other rich organic matter in the soil, making it less robust and productive. Even worse, it releases carbon into the atmosphere. By contrast, low- or no-till growing lets the carbon remain sequestered in the soil. Even when the roots decay, the CO2 emissions take a long time to reach the earth’s surface and atmosphere.

[puckish-saint]

yooo glad to hear you're feelin' better and ready to accept requests again ^-^ So could I request how Sombra, Reaper, and Widowmaker would do if a young child was brought into Talon, either because they have exceptional combat or tech related skills Talon wants to exploit or they're being held there as a long term hostage to ensure someone's cooperation? Like how would they interact with the kid, if at all? (sorry if the asks a bit long ;-;)

An agent picks the child up fromkindergarten, but it’s Widowmaker who sits in the back of the car,a small handgun cradled in her hands that the girl eyes bothfrightened and awed.

“Do you work for my mama?” she asksas she fastens her seatbelt as if she’s being picked up by randommen in black suits every day. The words stranger danger evidentlymean nothing to her.

“It is more accurate to say that yourmother works for us.” Widowmaker says. At least now she will, sheadds silently. The agent lets the autopilot drive and while the carpulls out of the school’s parking lot together with half a dozen ofother parents with their children, he turns around and waves hisphone.

“Lets take a photo so your mommywon’t worry, alright?” he suggests and whatever else the childmay be, camera shy she is not. She makes faces at the camera, makesthe agent snap picture after picture, usually with Widowmakersomewhere in the background although at least once she sits on herlap and pretends to brush her hair.

“You could braid it,” the girl saysand Widowmaker, whose patience for people who are not targets or herhandlers runs low at the best of times, yanks her hair out of thechild’s grasp.

“I don’t want to braid it.” shesays and hopes that is the last of it.

Amélie and Gérard thought abouthaving kids but never acted on the impulse. Her career was tootime-consuming, his work too dangerous to make child rearing arealistic option. And though she used to make the occasionalappearance before young ballet students her contact with children hasbeen minimal. Thus she had no idea about young children’s lack oflong-term memory.

“You could braid it.” the child,Widowmaker doesn’t bother to memorise her name, says. It’s been alittle over two weeks and the times the girl suggested braiding herhair ranks in the dozen. It’s hard to believe she really doesn’tremember, but that’s how she asks, with the same enthusiasm as ifshe just figured out the potential of tying hair together inappealing patterns.

Once again she pulls her hair out ofreach and hopes the child’s lips wobbling won’t mean it will cryand make a scene.

“I already told you, I do not want tobraid it.”

As if she hasn’t heard the childcontinues, merrily ignoring her lunch that might keep her mouth shutfor a few minutes.

“It’d look really nice with bows init. Down here,” she holds the tips of her hair. “And here, here,here, here,-”“Yes, I get it.” Widowmaker glares at Reaperwho hasn’t laughed but is also very pointedly not laughing. Insteadof helping her deal with this persistent little menace he puts aglass of orange juice in front of the same and goes back to readingthrough the mission data for his next op. It’s his first contactwith the child, not living on base as she does, so he couldn’tpossibly know how annoying the little pest is. She’s supposed tostay in her room at all times, but instead of having her food broughtto her she gets to sit at the kitchen table and count the long longlist of hair accessories she owns.

“And a tie that has three bobbles onit, and another tie that has one big bobble on it, and a clip thatlooks like a fish.”

She stops to breathe and Reaper, thebastard, uses that pause to ask, innocent as can be: “Oh? Whatcolour is the fish?”

“Don’t encourage her.” Widowmakerhisses, but it’s too late, and for the next twenty minutes she hasto listen to the painfully dull conversation only a five year old canlead, about what colour her fish is and the many many differentcolours in which fishes come. Reaper nods and contributes to theconversation, because he gets to leave and kill things soon, whileshe’s stuck here, having to listen to this nonsense all day, everyday. Whatever project Talon needs that child’s mother for, sheprays it ends soon and they can all rid themselves of her.

While Reaper is off somewherereenacting slasher films, Widowmaker gets her first reprieve from thechild that insists on following her around wherever she goes.

“They called me in to work on the newsoftware,” Sombra says, patting the child on the head in a gestureas condescending as it is inattentive. “Heard you have a fan.”

“I’m the fan.” The child saysproudly and receives another pat for it. Widowmaker groans and wishesTalon had a job, any job for her to escape this little monster.

“You will not be so smug once she’sfollowed you around for an entire day wherever you go,” she saysand emphasises, with a glare at the child, “Wherever you go.”

All she gets for her efforts is a widesmile, but at least Sombra provides a little distraction and givesher the first time in weeks off to herself. She’s looking forwardto living up to her name again, to being called her name again,unlike the child who somehow figured out she used to be called Amélieand wouldn’t use anything else to address her. She’s not Amélie,especially not to a snotty brat who has more hairclips than brains.

Sombra, meanwhile, explains what Talonis all about.

“Can’t believe you don’t knowyet. They didn’t even make you take the entrance test?”

“What entrance test?”

While Sombra boots up the computersshe’ll be working on, an internal network not connected to thelarger one that practically runs the base, she lists all the things aprospective agent of a super secret organisation needs to do to provethey’re worthy of being accepted.

“Well, first they have to prove theycan find their way anywhere-”“I can do that.”

“Can you? Well, you’d have to beable to find, say, the officer’s lounge just by askingpeople.”Again the child she confirms that she’s able to dothat. Sombra hums thoughtfully.

“Well, next agents have to prove theyare strong. Someone your size must be able to carry something theweight of … say a sixpack of coke? I think there is some in theofficer’s lounge, but of course, you’d have to find your waythere, and then you might not even be able to lift it-”“I cando it! I’ll prove it, look!”

And off she goes, intent to prove thatshe has the makings of a Talon agent. Sombra sits down at herworkstation and kicks back, laughing at Widowmaker and the troublesshe had with the kid. Amateur.

A sixpack of coke, warm slippers andsilky brushed hair later, Sombra’s genuinely beginning tocontemplate getting Talon to expand into child labour. Nothingsinister or backbreaking, of course, she’s not a monster. But thelittle goblins make for good entertainment if one knows how tomanipulate them.

“... nine apathetic, sympathetic,diabetic old men on-” The kid gasps for air and Sombra shakes herhead and clicks her tongue, as if she’s disappointed and not on theverge of hysterical laughter.

“You’ll have to do better thanthat. A real secret agent can do the whole thing in a single breath.”she says and sends the child off into another attempt to pass hermade up test, allowing her to work quietly and with a steady supplyof soft drinks.

Gabe takes the child away from herhours later when he returns from his mission, undoubtedly to get herto fetch his own slippers. Maybe the newspaper. Could she teach hertricks if she got treats from somewhere?

She shouts the suggestion after Gabewho gives her the finger, probably in no small part because she keepscalling him Gabe.

She keeps working and doesn’t thinkmuch of the child until much later that night when she wanders intothe kitchen to find Widowmaker, enjoying her first yoghurt in weekswithout having to yank her hair back from curious fingers.

“Hey, you see the goblin?”

Sombra falls silent when Widowmakerholds up her finger and shakes her head.

“I just forgot about it, what reasoncould you possibly have to remind me of its existence?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I wanna see how much gross stuff Ican make it eat.”Widowmaker sighs and rubs her temples, wavingin the general direction of the door.

“The bosses foisted the thing onReaper last I knew. When he complains remind him he encouraged it.”

Sombra makes it her business to knowthings, it’s her trade, her passion, her overarching goal in lifeto know more than anyone else. That’s why she knows Reaper’s realname, and Amélie Lacroix’ birthday, and that Gérard Lacroix wasinfertile but never told his wife. She even has a copy of theadoption papers that were found in his desk after his death, halffilled out and hidden underneath case reports classifiedintelligence. She understands Widowmaker’s distaste for children,something she doesn’t share with the woman she used to be. And sheunderstands, or thought she understood, what Gabriel Reyes is allabout. A family lost or never had didn’t feature in the equation.If he wanted one or not, he’s lying in a bed half his size readinga silly story to help a young child fall asleep in a room that’snot hers, cared for by people who are not her family. Sombra watchesunseen as the child curls up closer against his side like it’s themost natural thing, like the monster seeping dark tendrils when hedoesn’t pay attention is supposed to be there.

“Is Mama fine?” The child asks whenGabriel pauses to turn the page. It must have been on her mind forsome time, but she wouldn’t have asked Widowmaker who’s annoyedwith her, or Sombra who messed with her. She waited for the ghosthaunting this place to come home and read her a bedtime story.

“She’s fine,” Gabriel says andnot even the hoarse rasp of his voice bothers her. “Her work isdangerous, but we’re looking out for her. And for you, so no badguys can get to you.”

Even Sombra almost believes they’renot the bad guys the child needs protecting from. She slips awayquietly, suddenly no longer interested in messing with the kid.Gabriel’s voice, picking up the story from where he left of,follows her long after its physical echo has faded.

[junker-town]

VAR can screw up soccer games almost as well as humans now

Welcome to soccer, the sport where man and machine find themselves deadlocked in battle to prove who or what is the bigger agent of chaos.

Hello! Welcome to another episode of Tactically Naive, SB Nation’s long-running situation comedy about Soccer City, and the lives and loves of the Socceristas who live there.

No, I don’t want no subs

So, how super was your Sunday? Maybe you got out and about: ran some errands, saw some friends, took a bit of time to relax. That sounds pretty super to TN.

Or maybe you were seduced by the siren song of English football, and decided to spend all afternoon sat in a dingy cellar bar watching the guaranteed goalfest of Manchester United against Liverpool, followed by the certain thriller of Chelsea against Manchester City. Because that’s what TN did. And that’s why TN sent the following telegram as the end of extra time at Wembley approached:

THREE AND A HALF HOURS OF FOOTBALL STOP NO GOALS STOP SPIRITS LOW STOP PLEASE GOD LET IT STOP

For once, our telegrams were answered. Not in the form of a goal, oh no. Nothing so boring. Nothing so mundane. Instead, we got Kepa Arrizabalaga refusing to accept his substitution by manager Maurizio Sarri, which was in many ways far better than a late winner. We got something fun to watch and we got penalties. Result.

It was a deliciously discombobulating moment. Most of the unexpected things that happen on a football pitch are, however delightful in themselves, contained within the boundaries of the possible. Eden Hazard suddenly cutting inside, beating three, and whipping the ball into the top corner is thrilling. Maybe even surprising. But not weird.

A goalkeeper telling his manager where he can stick his substitution, however. That’s the good stuff. Of course, since the event, both the player and manager have made efforts to present what happened as a misunderstanding. The cramp had vanished! Willy Caballero was no longer required! Maybe this is even true.

It doesn’t matter. Once the weirdness begins to flow, any reasonable explanation can only ever seem feeble and faintly inappropriate. Compromise simply will not do. As the world watched and giggled, each antagonist had exactly one moment to take ownership of the situation, to emerge as the hero of the situation. And they both bottled it.

Sarri went first, almost literally. As Arrizabalaga wagged his finger, as the fourth official looked around blankly, and as Gianfranco Zola pottered about trying to calm things down, something snapped in Chelsea’s manager. He unzipped his top and he marched out of his technical area and he got to the doors of the tunnel … and then he turned around and came back again.

Had he carried on through those doors, out into the north London air, he would have won an important victory. Sure, he’d have lost his job, and Chelsea would likely have lost the shootout, but he’d have won something much more important: his freedom.

With one eloquent, utterly relatable gesture — this lot are unmanageable, I’m done — he’d have neatly extricated himself from the whole toxic morass of Chelsea, of the Premier League, of modern football as a whole. But instead he turned back: into the indignity, into the mess.

Would it have been the right thing to do? In the professional sense, no. But it would have been heroically incorrect, and gorgeous in its humanity, and TN would have stood up and applauded.

Anyway, Sarri stayed. So did Arrizabalaga, legs apparently uncramped and neck thoroughly brassed. You knew the moment was coming, of course. He’s going to win this. And sure enough, along it came. Sergio Agüero’s penalty was weak and poorly directed, and Arrizabalaga dived the right way, and got his hand to it, and … in it went anyway.

Had Arrizabalaga kept this out, and had Chelsea gone on to win, he’d have emerged bathed in the glorious light of righteousness. Perhaps he’d have been magnanimous towards his broken, defeated manager; perhaps he’d have gone full I’m Your Manager Now, You Are Substituted, I Am Substituting You. Either way, he’d have been fine. Nothing covers up insubordination like silverware.

Instead, we have this muddled compromise, where both parties are diminished by their double failures. The failure to do the sensible thing, and then the failure to go big enough with the silly thing. One looks like a brat, the other a lame duck. And Chelsea look ridiculous, though that was probably happening anyway. Hey, at least they didn’t lose 6-0 again. That’s progress, right?

Rise of the robots

As football moves steadily into its VAR-tian future, it is perhaps time to take stock, and admit that the sceptics have been proved both right and spectacularly wrong. Some predicted momentum-sapping delays, and they were correct. Others wondered if slow-motion might colour decisions, and that seems to have been a fair point as well.

And some predicted a world without controversial decisions to talk about, and oh, how magnificently incorrect they were.

Because VAR had itself quite the weekend. In Spain, we discovered that replays are no impediment to Real Madrid getting their way against all reasonable interpretations of reality. In fairness to Casemiro, we don’t know if he was suddenly taken by one of those weird cold shudders that everybody gets from time to time. Or a really big sneeze. Or perhaps he saw a rare butterfly on the ground in front of him, and took the only course of action.

Doesn’t much look like he was fouled, though. Bit odd that he got the penalty.

Casemiro there #LaLiga #LevRma #RealMadrid #Levante #Casemiro #VAR pic.twitter.com/yS86AZjaG7

— TeleshkronjaPost (@teleshkronja) February 24, 2019

Elsewhere, over in Italy, Fiorentina and Internazionale played out a 101-minute six-goal slugfest that featured more replays than it did actual football. Almost. But though it was slow, VAR was just about on the right side of every decision, until the very end. With Inter teetering on the edge of a valuable away win, the referee awarded a penalty to Fiorentina.

It looked very soft. It was very soft. VAR asked him to check again. So he did.

And he did.

And he did ... for almost five whole minutes. Then, to almost universal bafflement and scorn, he stuck with his original decision. Up stepped Jordan Veretout. In went the ball. Off went everybody’s heads.

It appears that far from taking football into a brave new land of sanitised correctness, VAR and its attendant processes have created new opportunities for people to make mistakes, irritate the wider world, and give Real Madrid points they don’t really deserve. This is, of course, the entire point of football, and TN would like to formally congratulate our new robot overlords for getting the hang of things so quickly.

[adiseaselikeyouspreads]

They start meeting just about every day after school, at Regan’s house. The first few times, it’s a lot of demonstrations and a lot of Jason getting knocked on his back. He’s sorer than he’s been since he finished his physical education requirements.

It’s still worth it, though. Both for knowing he’ll have a better chance of defending himself, and for when he successfully gets out of Regan’s grip and feels a swell of pride, earns a big grin.

“You’re a quick learner,” Regan compliments, when Jason manages to successfully counter a grapple. Jason’s top is drenched with sweat and Regan barely looks tired, so that’s still a problem, but Jason can already feel himself getting stronger.

“Or you’re a good teacher,” Jason counters, using his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead.

“Let’s go with both, then we can both feel good.”

Jason laughs a little. Over the course of the last week, he’s gotten increasingly comfortable with Regan. It’d been awkward to be around him without his binder on at first, but Regan hadn’t even seemed to note it. And it’s easy to get comfortable with someone who unquestioningly backs off when you call uncle in a sparring match.

“How long did it take you to get good at this?” Jason asks, going to get a sip of water.

“Well, I’ve been in sports on and off since I was pretty young.”

“So I’m as good as you were when you were eight?” He guesses.

“Pff. More like eleven.”

“That’s sooo much better.”

“Hey, if you keep up the good work, you’ll close the gap eventually.”

“Eventually,” Jason sighs. “Guess we should get back to work, then.”

The next day, he feels a bit like his arms are about to fall off. Lugging his backpack around all day is hellish. At least it’s a satisfying sort of burn. The kind he knows means he worked hard.

Still, he can’t help but be relieved that there’s no film club today. He gets picked up and dropped off at home and gets to flop down on the couch and just breathe. It’s a recovery day, so he’s going to do approximately nothing but watch T.V. Maybe study a little, if the news doesn’t stop popping on talking about the Camera Killer’s most recent video.

At least, that’d been the plan. His dad starts to fumble around in the kitchen, walks into the living room, back into the kitchen, then back out, juggling a number of files, floorplans, a thermos, his wallet, and his cellphone.  

“You alright there?” Jason asks, watching his dad struggle to sort through a couple papers.

“Yeah, just-” He checks his phone, quickly, then pulls some money out of his wallet and holds it out to Jason. “Some problem came up at the house I’m working on and I need to go check it out. Ask my contractor how it is going to affect the budget. I didn’t get to go grocery shopping, so just run down to the 7/11 and grab something. I’ll bring you late dinner when I get this worked out.”

“I…” Jason stares at the money, then looks up at his dad nervously.

His dad is confused for a second, and then the gears start turning. “Hey,” he says, sympathetically, “it’s only a fifteen minute walk there and back. I’ve got my phone on me, you’ve been doing your self defense stuff. Just make sure to go while it’s still light out.”

“Right…” Even though he takes the money, he doesn’t look too pleased about it.

“I’ll probably be home around eight,” his dad informs him before rushing out.

Jason puts it off for as long as he can, before he actually has to start worrying about the sun going down. Before he steps out the door, he messages Regan.

Jason: walking down to 7/11. let’s hope I don’t have to use my new skillset. :^/

Regan: you got this jj

Jason smiles a little at the nickname, wondering if he could make an equivalent for Regan. R.A.? No. That’s what you call the dorm advisor in college.

Regan: remember if a big guy comes at you, use his weight against him

Jason: what do I do if a small guy comes at me?

Regan: tell him you know dmitri and he’ll have to stop. short guy code

Regan: fr tho momentum is ur friend

Regan: hmm. maybe i should draft dmitri for short guy sparring practice

Jason: I feel like he would bite me.

Regan: he would definitely bite you

Jason: how would I explain that to my parents?

Regan: tell them ur new gf is kinky

Jason: I’m pretty sure that’s how you get grounded.

Talking with him is making this walk a lot less nerve-wracking. Constant communication, focusing on anything but his paranoia.

Regan: wat are you buying?

Jason: chips, probably. or ice cream.

Regan: bro

Jason: what?

Regan: bro youre trashing ur body

Jason: omfg. what healthy thing could i buy from 7/11!!

Regan: multigrain bar or some nuts

Jason: what swamp did your tastebuds crawl out of?

Jason: creature from the black legume.

Regan: dont diss legumes dude

Jason: I’m buying a slushie out of spite.

He walks into the store, hearing the jingle of the bell overhead. He’s got just enough to buy himself a slushie, a bag of chips, and a candy bar.

Jason: mission success- bought junk food without dying.

Regan: 🎉

Jason: now for the encore.

Jason steps out of the 7/11 and starts the short journey home. Drinking from his slushie makes texting a little harder, but he’s so got this.

Jason: so what’re you up to?

Regan: just got home from riley’s

Regan: gonna make myself a salad like a responsible teen

Jason: meanwhile I’ve got chocolate.

Regan: i should make a chocolate vinaigrette

Jason: you cook?

Regan: hell yeah dude

Regan: i dont know how to make a chocolate vinaigrette tho

Regan: that was a joke  

Regan: i guess i could look it up

Regan: i make a mean half moon pie i should make some for you sometime

Jason: I don’t know what that is but it has pie in it so I’m in.

He takes another big slurp of his drink and grins around his straw when Regan starts to ramble about how to make this dessert.

Then something is wrapped around his throat. A presence suddenly behind him, a taut rope wrapped around his neck, strong arms pulling back. Everything falls out of his hands when he yelps in surprise.

He wasn’t paying attention.

His mind races. Choking. How to- he tries to tuck his chin, but the rope is under it, that doesn’t help, this isn’t a choke hold.

The rope is digging in and up, any time he tries to get solid footing, another yank almost makes his feet almost leave the ground. He flails, elbows, grabs at the unknown assailant’s face. The more effort he exerts, the more his lungs scream in protest.

Unfortunately, he can’t do the same; his voice coming out rasped and restricted.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. None of Regan’s lessons prepared him for this.

He tries to dig his fingers under the rope, shift his weight to ease the pressure, throw off the attacker’s center of balance, but none of it works. His vision slowly gets dark around the edges. His brain is still on full panic, heart hammering rapidly. But his consciousness goes soft and for the second time in very few days, he blacks out.

Waking up this time isn’t like last time. It isn’t a slow climb out of a muddled state. It’s sharp, disorienting; he was in one place but now he’s in another.

And this place is very dark and this time there’s no Sidney kicking walls or silly harmless clocks.

There’s just frigid cold. Pale light coming in through high windows, casting long shadows. He can barely look around. He’s strapped to a chair. With mild horror, he realises it’s a dentist’s chair. Modified, his legs and arms bound. The bindings are tight. No silly amatuer stuff, no pulling at the right angle to get out. Fear seizes him. His stomach is doing flips.

He’s alone, for quite some time. He doesn’t know how long. The light outside is fading fast. He dropped his cellphone. What if the killer has it? What if he texts his friends, parents? No one will even know he’s missing. Not until tomorrow.

A door creaks from somewhere and he tries to twist and look, but his mobility is a little limited right now. There’s a sound of rolling wheels, along with heavy, booted footsteps.

“Hey,” Jason croaks, before he can even consider if it’s a good idea to speak.

“Mr. Joon-ho, you’re awake,” comes a low southern drawl from somewhere behind him. “I hope you had a nice nap, because we are going to be very busy.” The voice slowly rounds round until Jason can see its owner. It’s deep and rich, the kind of voice that would be soothing, if not for the fact that it is coming from behind what is clearly a mask of cured human skin.

The rest of his clothes look too normal. Jean jacket, plaid shirt...hunting gloves. He’s pushing a cart with what can only be described as an array of sharp tools on it.

That comes to a stop a good five feet away, but the man paces closer.

Jason can see his chapped lips and dark eyes through the rough cuts in the mask, hear his heavy, unfiltered breathing, imagining the humidity inside the mask; he feels nauseous, wants to cry.

“Let me out of here,” he demands, tries to sound insistent, but he knows how scared he sounds. He gets a laugh in return. A short one, a facsimile of politeness, like he’s chuckling at a dear friend’s witty joke.

“Bless your heart,” the killer says, and Jason’s skin itches. “Can’t do that, little buddy. You see, you’re a delicacy.” He plants a hand on Jason’s arm. “Surviving five murder attempts? That’s some kinda record. I’d love to let you marinate for a bit longer. Seen how you’ve been strengthening up. Would taste a lot better with some meat on you.”

His other gloved hand pats Jason’s face and Jason’s brain goes haywire as he realizes who this is. He jerks and tries to curl in on himself, but he can’t. He can’t protect his squishy middle bits from what this fucker is no doubt about to do to them.

“But let’s face it. You’re just a pit stop on my cross country tour. Can’t wait around any longer.” The Cannibal withdraws both his hands and taps his chin. “In fact-” And he’s moving back to that cart.

“Help!” Jason shouts, as loud as he can, jerking against his restraints. The sounds bounce uselessly off the walls.  

“Hey now,” the Cannibal says, turning around, walking back towards him with some nondescript item in his hand. Jason can only see the handle. “None of that. There’s no one out here, anyways. And you should save your voice. There will be plenty of time for screaming later.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says, throat tight. Before he knows what happens, he feels a burst of pain. The Cannibal just punched him in the face with a meaty fist. His head is spinning.

“Watch your language,” the Cannibal comments, even voice turning acidic for just a second. Jason laughs as he feels the blood flow from his nose, tastes it on his lips. This guy’s about to carve him up like a Christmas ham and he doesn’t want to hear him swear. Incredible.

The object shifts from one of the Cannibal’s hands to the other and Jason can see, now, through skewed glasses, that it’s a potato peeler. Just a run of the mill potato peeler. His stomach sinks.

“Any gourmet worth his salt is always going to sample his ingredients,” the Cannibal jokes as he seems to test the sturdiness of the peeler against his glove.

“Why do you do this?” Jason asks.

The peeler halts. “I already told you you’re a delicacy. A rare treat.”

“No, why do you do this?! This sh- stuff, why do you-”

“Well aren’t you precious?” The Cannibal asks. “You still believe in motives.” He presses the peeler to the side of Jason’s face. When Jason tries to turn his head, the other hand comes to hold him still. “I do it because I want to, and because no one can stop me.”

The peeler doesn’t rake down fast. It digs in, and carves, slicing off a strip on his right cheek in a slow, agonizing pull. It hurts, sears, like the world’s worst rugburn.

He can’t help that it pulls chokes and sobs from him even when he grits his teeth.

The Cannibal releases his face and takes the strip of skin between two fingers. Jason can feel his pulse pounding in his cheek, can feel the fresh blood.

Without preamble, the Cannibal lifts the sliver to the hole in his mask and pops it in his mouth, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just tear it off of someone. Jason gags.

“Sorry to say, squirt, but I’ve had better,” he jokes, wiping the peeler off on a handkerchief he draws out of his pocket. “I can work with you, though.”

The Cannibal returns to his cart.

“Please don’t do this,” Jason begs.

“I worked up quite an appetite bringing you all the way here,” he answers nonchalantly, while examining knives, like he’s trying to decide which one will do the best job.

There’s a very loud sound from outside the room.

Like the sound of a door being kicked in.

The Cannibal tilts his head, like one would when confused. His hand slides to a particularly large knife and he takes it up, walking towards the door.

“Stay right there, peaches,” he hisses, sounding less like his fake-polite persona and more like an angry serial killer.

He opens the door and peeks his head out. Almost immediately, there’s a gunshot. He hears the Cannibal grunt and stumble back, but not fall.

Another slamming sound, probably someone kicking the door the rest of the way open, then a second gunshot. This time, there is a solid thump as the Cannibal hits the floor. A third gunshot comes anyways, and then there’s quiet. If Jason strains his ears, he can hear the mechanical rasp of the Plague Doctor, breathing heavily.

Jason closes his eyes, tears welling up. He doesn’t want to be relieved. He doesn’t want to be relieved that they’re here, but he is.

“Are you in here?” They ask, after a moment.

“What took you so long?” Jason responds, voice shaking.

“This is a big place.” They walk over, footsteps more hurried than usual. It’s the tall one. When they see him, they stop. Jason wonders if it’s really that bad, or if all the blood is misleading. Instead of commenting, they use their free hand to undo Jason’s bindings. He can’t help but note that they’re holding Christian’s gun. He doesn’t want to think about it.

When he’s free, he rubs his wrists and sits up, slinging his legs off the side of the chair.

“Do you need me to call 911?” Funny. It’s the first time they’ve asked.

“Do I need stitches?” Jason returns.

“Probably.”

He sighs, and pushes himself to his feet, despite the tremors in his legs. “Alright.”

The Plague Doctor returns to the body of the Cannibal, crumpled in the corner, and searches him. He doesn’t have a phone of his own on him, but he does have Jason’s. So they hand the phone to him and he gets to dial the number himself.

“911 operator, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s Jason Joon-ho. I was kidnapped by the Cannibal. The Plague Doctor saved me, but I’m hurt. I’m currently in…”

“In Warehouse number fifteen,” the Plague Doctor informs him.

“Warehouse fifteen,” he repeats.

The Plague Doctor turns to go.

“That’s not your gun,” Jason finds himself saying, before he can stop himself. The Plague Doctor looks at Jason, then at their hand.

“Better in my hands than in one of theirs,” they state.

“Better in no one’s. Better if you leave it here.” Jason stays firm.

They test the weight of the gun, like they’re still unfamiliar with it.

“Hopefully we’ll reach the point where I can give it up, soon,” they say, lowering their arm. That gives Jason pause.

“How do you sleep at night, after doing shit like this?” He asks.

“With all my windows locked.” They leave.

The police and paramedics come and his brain sets on autopilot. He barely thinks. Even when his dad gathers him up in a tight hug and apologizes.

Getting home feels weirder than after the previous attacks. He goes to bed without eating. No appetite. And as he lies there, he thinks about how every other time, there’d been some sliver of a chance, some way he could’ve hoped to have gotten out. But this time, he really would’ve died without the Plague Doctor.