#please please please allow your dogs to express their genetics

[omegamutt]

Always proud to say my dogs will always get to do what they’re bred to do 🫶

I think it's so funny how we bred JOBS into dogs. I have two shih tzus and they were bred to be lap dogs. All they care about is looking cute and cuddling with people. Meanwhile my grandma has a border collie and that dog needs to feel so useful all the time, he acts like he will pass away if he doesn't have a job to do constantly

[alia-turin]

Extra special kudos to @golden-olea, I hope I did it justice, if not, I’m so sorry. extra extra kudos to @challengeofthedark for keeping with my craziness and not crying every time I say Caranthir. 

Fic Name: Feed Your Anger Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Characters: Eredin, Caranthir, Avallac’h, Imlerith  Warning: Angst, violence AO3: Click Summary:   Couple of months after Caranthir joined the Red Riders, Eredin takes it upon himself to increase the rift between the navigator and Avallac'h by forcing them into a fight with each other. Caranthir is still young, trying to prove himself to Eredin and pull away from Avallac'h.

“Again.” Eredin said as he watched Caranthir take a deep breath and launch his next attack probably fully confident that this time he would break his opponent’s defence. The leader for the Red Riders parried without an issue. “Again.”

Their little sword sparring sessions had started a couple of months ago when Caranthir had passed his trial. The boy had amazing talent for magic, but he was terrible with swords. Truth be told, Eredin did not care much if Caranthir could use a sword or not, his job was not to be a swordsman, he was his Navigator, but there was certain discipline in swordsmanship and Eredin wanted to spend more time with the younger man.

“Again” Caranthir’s attack had been blocked and he could feel the frustration growing in him. He was good at everything he had ever tried. Sure, he had not tried that much from life, but he had no reason to believe that things would not work his way. However, their little training sessions had helped him grow closer to Eredin and that he appreciated. He was never going to admit that, but he admired the man. Probably the same way he had admiredAvallac’h as a child, but that was also something he would never admit. Eredin however did not treat him as a child, he did call him ‘boy’ and ‘kid’ occasionally, and that bothered Caranthir but not to the degree Avallac’h’s disapproving looks had bothered him. Still bothered him.

“Faster.” Eredin smiled after a very fast attempt from Caranthir. The boy was stubborn if nothing else. At first he had not cared about Avallac’h’s little experiment. Crevan had been convinced that his play with genetics and selective breeding would solve all of their problems. Eredin really wanted that to be true, but then he saw the failures, the navigators that were just decent, the ones that could barely make it and he had given up. Avallac’h had called Caranthir his Golden Child in front of Auberon, but all the leader of the Red Riders could do when he had heard that was to laugh. Until he saw Caranthir pass the trials. Nobody had done it faster than that, minus a minor wound on his shoulder, the boy had performed better than anyone. Eredin had been intrigued and Avallac’h had been disappointed which made it even sweeter.

Caranthir made a step back after another unsuccessful go at Eredin. The man had hundreds of years on him, but if they were using magic, the Navigator would have won by now. It was unusual for him to lose, even if it was just practice.

“Your eyes betray you, kid.” Imlerith was leaning against the nearby castle wall. For some reason unknown to Eredin, his general had taken interest in partially adopting Caranthir as a younger brother. Eredin did not mind. Imlerith was loyal and even if he was not the sharpest tool he had, there were certain qualities that the two of them could learn from each other. “By the time you attack, he has already read your move.”

Eredin was going to offer his own words of wisdom, something to send Caranthir in rage, that was another issue he had to deal with. The boy was impulsive, he needed him more controlled, more calculating. Imlerith was the blunt object that he used as his angry attack dog. Caranthir was too smart and too special to be used as a mindless tool of destruction. Eredin’s snarky comment never left his lips as he saw Crevan nearby watching them. The navigator had already seen the Sage as his focus was no longer on Eredin, but on his old mentor.

Caranthir could see the disapproval in his teacher’s eyes. He was not sure if it was the sword or just the company he was keeping, didn’t really matter. He was done with trying to please Avallac’h although he did wonder what he made out of his little training with Eredin. He couldn’t fight the feeling that despite everything Avallac’h was the closest he had to a family and so far he also had been the greatest betrayal he had ever felt. But he had a new family now and he was not going to allow anyone to hurt him the way Avallac’h had. Never again.

There had been something interesting and very annoying that was happening between the two of them when they saw each other. Caranthir’s whole body language changed and his eyes burned with fire that Eredin didn’t see even during a battle. On the other hand Avallac’h looked hurt. It had taken the leader of the Red Riders some time to figure out what was going on there, but after spending some time with Caranthir, he had solved the puzzle. The boy never had anyone but Avallac’h, no friends, no family, nothing. Eredin would probably shove his sword in his own throat if Crevan was his only option for socialization, but Caranthir did not really have a choice. He wanted the man’s approval as much as he wanted to prove to him that he was better and did not need him. Avallac’h was a bit harder to figure out, but one thing Eredin knew for certain was that he wanted the rift between these two to grow even wider.

“Crevan, why don’t you join us?” Eredin stuck the tip of his sword in the ground and leaned forward.

Avallac’h did not respond but his gaze looked from Eredin to Caranthir and then back to Eredin.

“I am rather curious to know who is better, the father or the son.” Eredin smirked. Avallac’h shifted his weight between his feet and Caranthir took a very deep breath loudly.

“My money is on the son.” Imlerith had pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against, his hands were also resting on his mace. Caranthir’s money was also on himself, he was better, he had known that for some time now and he was eager to show it especially in front of Eredin. Hurting Avallac’h the way he was hurting would just be a welcomed bonus.

“You will remain curious.” Avallac’h said and started walking away, but Eredin’s words stopped him.

“I truly don’t understand why you are so upset. He was meant to be a navigator, one of the Red Riders, his place was always supposed to be here with me.” Eredin spoke casually, he was just stating a well-known fact, something that had been clear since before Caranthir was born. Avallac’h had been determined to keep this fact from becoming a reality, it had been years since he had decided the boy would not become another tool for Eredin. Caranthir had made his choice, and Avallac’h had failed.

Caranthir watched as his mentor took a deep breath and his jaw clenched. He had seen that reaction before, every time he messed up, every time he did something Avallac’h disapproved of and usually there was some sort of punishment involved. Eredin was taunting his teacher, he had no idea why, but he could see the words were starting to have some effect.

“Then I wish both of you all the best.” Avallac’h managed to shake off whatever had taken over him and tried to walk away but Eredin had not finished. He spoke once again..

“Crevan. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sure it was not easy to separate with your life’s work, you raised the kid after all. That must have been painful. Almost as painful as being left by Lara.” Eredin knew that would sting and he was not wrong. This time Avallac’h turned toward him with so much hate in his eyes, the leader of the Red Riders almost started laughing. That was easier than he thought. “I thought a lot about why are you so upset that the boy joined the Red Riders.” he really didn’t, he had paid no mind to it, but he had Avallac’h where he wanted him, Eredin had already stuck the knife and now it was time to twist. “I mean sure you were trying to recreate Lara’s genes, but did you perhaps hope for something more? Recreate Lara herself? Looking closely enough I can almost see some of her looks in him.. How much must it hurt you, Avallac’h, knowing that the woman you loved left you for a human and Caranthir left you for me. I always thought it was Lara, simply being attracted to something more...exotic. Pleasures of the flesh or curiosity. It is, after all, hard to believe anyone would prefer a human to one of us.” Eredin turned toward Caranthir, the boy’s expression was blank but he could see the clenched jaw and the ice cold eyes fixed on Avallac’h. “But maybe it is just you.” Eredin turned toward the sage with the best smirk he could muster. “Maybe Lara was just trying to run away from you, the poor woman. Looking at what you have done to the boy, who wouldn’t?”

Caranthir watched Avallac’h’s resistance dropping. The usual calmness and control on his face had just broken and he could see the man boiling from the inside with rage, he had never seen his mentor like that. He remembered as a child he had seen a picture of Lara and he had asked about her, Avallac’h had snapped at him. Caranthir had learned the story in his own way, but he had never mentioned the name. Was Eredin right? Was it even worse than he thought? He wasn’t just an experiment, Avallac’h monster, but he was an attempt for his teacher to recreate an old painful memory? Caranthir ran his fingers through the scars on his neck, they were not physically painful, but something in his head was burning with different sorts of hurt.

“How much of that did he tell you? You know about Lara?” Eredin asked, looking at Caranthir. From the way the young navigator glared at Avallac’h, he could only assume not much at all. Not really surprising. Avallac’h was not a liar, but he also wasn’t a forthcoming man, especially about things that were painful to him. Eredin continued glaring at the Sage “You never cared about the boy, did you, Crevan? That’s fine, he has nowfound friends, someone who does not see him just as a tool.” he saw Caranthir’s jaw clench and he could swear he heard him grind his teeth. “It has always been about you and you alone. Your ambitions, your power, your influence.” He looked Avallac’h in the eye...he was going to enjoy what followed... “Honestly, who can blame Lara?” he spoke the last sentence slowly making sure every word was like another knife stuck in his chest.

The Sage made a step forward, honestly Eredin didn’t feel like the man wanted to attack him, although his body language had changed drastically from the usual calm and controlled deminior. Caranthir however had been itching to launch at Avallac’h and just a small movement from him was enough.

The Navigator took a second to get to his staff and in the next moment he was right in front of his mentor.

“Caranthir…” whatever Avallac’h was about to say was interrupted by an attack he had to deflect. Then another one and another one.

Eredin had found that watching mages fight was somehow impressive and boring at the same time. The power was extraordinary and breathtaking, but he always preferred to look his enemy in the eye as he shoved his sword in their gut or separated their head from their body.

Caranthir moved with impressive speed and his mentor had only been deflecting until the boy sent him flying against a nearby wall.

Avallac’h got up and touched the back of his head as if looking for blood. “Caranthir, stop.” His voice was clipped.

“He is not yours to command, Crevan.” Eredin shouted, trying his best to hide his excitement. “He is his own man. What have you done to him, to be hated so much?”

Caranthir attacked again and Avallac’h blocked, but this time the man followed with an attack and the Navigator was forced to defend himself. Avallac’h had not wanted to do that, he was angry at Eredin, and while he was not sure whether he would have attacked the leader of the Red Riders or found some self control, at this point it didn’t matter. He wasn’t angry at Caranthir, but if it was a fight he wanted, he was going to give him one. There were enough unresolved issues between them that would certainly not be solved with a few bruises, but then again, he did not know if at this point there was any way to solve them at all. But perhaps this fight was what they needed, Caranthir in particular. Perhaps the boy would reconsider his actions.... Another attack followed, more dangerous and then another one, the Navigator was serious, he was not just trying to resolve whatever tension was between them. That was when he realized Caranthir was not just trying to protect Eredin--not that he needed protection in the first place - he was trying to kill Avallac’h. The way he attacked, the rage and the power were more than he had seen him ever use.

Eredin was enjoying that far too much, he could see Caranthir’s youth and impulsiveness playing against him, whereas Avallac’h’s fighting style was controlled and very measured, in spite of his anger. Caranthir, however, was like a storm. Powerful, capable of destruction that could solve many problems in a matter of moments and create others equally fast. True, the navigator was more powerful than even Eredin had anticipated at first, but he was inexperienced. It didn’t matter though, he had figured that on day one and he was going to correct it, he just needed a bit of time. Teaching violence was something he knew how to do.

It was Caranthir’s turn to find himself on the ground, but Avallac’h was beyond words now. He was about to attack again when Eredin moved between the two of them.

“That’s enough.” He placed a hand on Avallac’h chest and the man looked at him with a murderous glare. “As much as I would enjoy watching that, you two will destroy the castle.” He pointed around them, stone had been cracked and the ground had some newfound holes that had not been there before. Avallac’h snapped out of it but Caranthir was not done. The boy jumped on his feet and moved toward his mentor but Eredin turned around quickly and blocked the navigator’s body with his own. “His day will come, and when that happens, I promise you, he will suffer more than anything you can inflict on him now.” Eredin was leaning forward and whispering in Caranthir’s ear.

“I can inflict a lot.” Caranthir had not felt so much anger since he found Avallac’h lab and all his notes. His rage needed an outlet and killing his teacher seemed like an excellent choice.

“No, you want him to suffer, you don’t want him to hurt. You want him to suffer the way you do.” Eredin stepped back and moved away the strands of hair that were covering Caranthir’s scars. The navigator snapped out of it and stepped back, not wanting his scars to be shown.

“Come on, kid.” Imlerith placed a hand on Caranthir’s shoulder. “Leave the grown ups to talk.”

Eredin watched as the Navigator was almost dragged away and then turned to Avallac’h. The man’s demeanor had changed, he was calm now, but there was still fire in his eyes.

“I hope you got what you wanted.” Crevan said as he cleared some dust from his robes. “I should have known better.”

“You should have.” Eredin chuckled.

Avallac’h walked away, he already had one fight, he was not following Eredin’s play again today. He was still angry, mostly at himself, he should have not fallen for that trap and it had been obviously a trap. Now he was seeing it, Eredin was trying to create a rift between Caranthir and him, not that this relationship needed Eredin’s help to be destroyed. Somewhere deep down Avallac’h wished things were different. Maybe he even hoped that one day once Caranthir matured the two of them could talk and he could explain. But based on the storm he had seen in Caranthir’s eyes, he doubted this day would come any time soon.

[kurosakikai]

. xx1 . Urahara's Return

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As promised, tagging one @mysteriousshopkeeper with the finished result!

There are few things that stop or startle an ageless, nigh-immortal former spy-turned shopkeeper.

The sight before him is one of them. He’d merely intended on visiting Ichigo-kun, see how he was doing, only to be startled by the sight of eyes so green and so vivid that his mind immediately thinks to Kaien himself.

A single blink, and the overlaying visage returns to that of a young little boy, his head tilted in question.

“...” Someone should have warned him. Kisuke should have known, especially, what he was getting himself into, and he has to take a few shallow breaths, shaking a little inside. They say nothing, the two sizing one another up, before the boy unbends enough to offer him a small, shy smile.

It’s like getting slugged in the face a second time, that soft expression bringing him sharply back to sweeter days, to memories of thrown flour and laughter, joyful expressions of happiness and sunshine promises, and Kisuke barely snaps out of it in time to see the flicker of confusion, and hurt, that covers the little boy’s face.

“I… Sorry, sorry,” Kisuke apologizes with a rub against the back of his head, kneeling down so the youth can see him better. “It’s okay little guy, really. It’s just… been a long time since I saw your dad - I didn’t even know he had a kid.” The child relaxes a little, tiny, clutching fingers loosening from the bottom of his shirt. “What’s your name?”

“Papa calls me Kai - but Momma calls me Kaien, sometimes.” Intelligent blue-green watch him, the little boy still a little tense and anxious, but slowly relaxing.

Meanwhile, Kisuke wondered what cruel trick of fate had left this boy with such a name that would evoke such strong memories of the man he’d bonded with, in another life.

“... I can see why...” Kisuke allowed himself to be led by the little boy to take his shoes off, but the pursuit of making a guest comfortable has been waylaid by the quest for knowledge, which was truly adorable on such a young face.

“Really?” The boy looks hopeful, tugs upon a hand gently. “Can you tell me who he is?” Kisuke carefully tucks his geta away - the scolding Ichigo had given him for scraping the floor of his clinic was not a lesson he was willing to put up with more than once - before considering his answer.

“He was your dad’s second cousin,” Kisuke says dutifully, slipping on the house slippers his little host had brought for him - in a rather fetching green color, he might add. “I suppose that would make him your...” Pausing, Kisuke took a moment to count on his fingers. Family trees were always so complicated. Give him a genome sequence and he could tell you if people were related, but the genealogy charts never failed to send him in a tizzy.

Tch.

“Ah-ha!” He says, triumphant. “Second cousin once-removed.” Pleased, Kisuke nods to himself. “Your mother was very fond of him.” Sometimes, Kisuke thinks she might have been in love with him. Of course, that was not a thing said to a little boy who looked like Kaien so much it could physically hurt him.

Tiny fingers find their way into his hakama, and startled, he looks down. “Was he nice?” The boy asks, childish curiosity written all over his face as he gently tugs on the fabric in his hands. “Did he like riceballs like me? Oooh, did you know him?”

Kisuke had forgotten - with Jinta and Ururu now adults and off to their own life - how persistent, how curious, children could be. Paired with those eyes, and that coal-dark head, Kisuke allowed himself to soften a little.

“Oh yes, very well in fact. I was actually quite fond of him myself, you know.” Looking the boy over, he adds with a smile, “You actually bear quite the stunning resemblance to him, I must admit.”

The boy’s eyes - already impossibly coinlike and round - widen even further. “Can you tell me about him? Daddy doesn’t know him, and Momma just gives me bunches of chores to do when I ask.” Those big… green… eyes…

Good grief. He clearly needed to work on his resistance to puppy-dog eyes if he was contemplating standing there the whole time rather than taking a comfortable seat! A little pang reminds him that he has no children at home to aid him in his endeavor.

With a sigh, Kisuke says, “Mind if I sit down?” It’s actually rather cute, to watch as the boy goes from intent curiosity to embarrassed realization at the knowledge that he’d been interrogating him in the entryway, a hot pink blush dusting his ears and the boy lets go of his hakama to take his hand instead, sheepishly guiding him towards the comfiest seat in the room.

Kisuke should know. He used to have that very armchair in his house before Ichigo had absconded with it as payment. (He really should take it home with him, just to be petty.)

“Sorry,” the boy mumbles, looking a little embarrassed as he seats his guest. “Don’t tell Papa, but I sometimes sleep here at night. So what’s your name? I’ve seen your picture, but every time I ask, Papa calls you Hat-n-Clogs and Momma calls you Basketcase.”

Kisuke snorts violently. If he wasn’t so amused, he’d almost be offended.

“I’ve answered to both of those names often enough,” Kisuke says, tone wryly amused. “But if it pleases you, feel free to call me Urahara-san.” No matter his behavior and his… stunning looks… this little one was still a child, and barely knew him aside. No matter how much he resembled Kaien…

Shaking his head, he refocuses on his very young host, who is fussing around him to ensure he - and Benehime (how thoughtful!) - are nice and comfortable before he climbs up to an armrest.

“Okay Urahara-san!” The boy is very amiable, and quite obviously happy to know his name at last. “Do you want some tea?” the boy asks, eyes wide. “Momma always says good tea means happy visitors.” He’s obviously trying to be polite, and Kisuke smiles, charmed.

“If you’d please,” he says with a little chuckle, offers his hand to allow the small boy to climb down safely. “Of course, your mother did always have the better manners, out of the two of your parents.” Shaking his head with a chuckle, he continues. “If you can, I’d love a cup of green tea with honey, if you’re offering. How old are you, Kaien - ah, Kai?” He immediately corrects himself, and feels a flash of guilt at the sight of hurt in those green eyes.

Dammit.

“Kaien’s okay, Urahara-san,” the boy says, the hurt vanishing into the ether as though he’d never experienced it. But Kisuke had been a spy and had made a living being able to read people. The mistakenly given name was not something the boy was unused to, and he bites his lip, upset that Kai would take such dismissal of himself so lightly. Firmly secure on the floor, the boy adds, “I hear it often enough from Momma when she thinks Papa or I aren’t able to hear her.”

Kisuke’s heart breaks a little.

The boy trots off towards the kitchen door, peering over and beaming. “Yay! Momma and Papa left the tea set somewhere I can reach, so I can make you tea!” The boy refocuses on him after a moment, beaming as he adds, “and I’m seven! But, like, an old seven,” he says, making Kisuke’s lips twitch upwards at the innocent, joyfully cute way he said such a thing. Trotting off, Kai goes after his targets.

He can see how the boy assembles his tea set, fetches the finest green tea in the tea cabinet, and gets the candles.

And of course, the honey.

While watching, Kisuke allows his mind to wander. He’s… well, he’s not sure how he would have taken the situation even forearmed, he thinks. Of course, with Ichigo being a Shiba, he’d resemble Isshin’s side of the family no matter what, and with Rukia having such dark hair, well, genetic dominance was certainly a factor.

But those eyes… Silently, he considers. What did happen to souls that passed on? Obviously, human souls reincarnated. That was merely the way of the world, but he’d never known for a pure soul to reincarnate into the human world. That was far more unusual.

Of course, Kaien’s soul had been through quite the conga line, having been hollowfied, reformed into an Arrancar, sent to Hell, and then purified again.

Not to mention the unique physiology of both parents. Ichigo, of course, had his feet in both camps, a son of Quincy and Human on one side, and a son of a Soul on the other, no matter his choice of living full-time in the human world.

Putting that aside, Kisuke allows for a rare moment of pride.

Damn his gigai were fucking good - this was proving to be the second generation capable of reproduction, Ichigo being the prime example of the first.

Of course, that made other questions come to mind, though he sets it aside when his young host finally approaches, setting the tea down with a bubbly smile and childishly overeager hand gesticulations that are a truly uncanny reminder of Kaien himself.

Tuning into the boy’s words, he cannot suppress a smile at the realization that the boy is telling him all about his first attempt of making tea all by himself - he understands the pride a child feels at such an act - and all of the silly shenanigans that had come from that.

He could see their reactions now - Rukia, with a hand over her mouth to hide her embarrassed smile, and Ichigo, laughing himself silly at his son’s childish whimsy.

“... Momma tried to pretend she couldn’t hear the teacup crashing, even though it landed right next to her foot!” The boy rambles, a freshly prepared cup of green tea and honey in hand as he shyly - and a little clumsily - climbed up to the armrest, presenting his tea with the same pride Ururu had, so long ago. “I hope you like the tea,” the boy says shyly, suddenly nervous. “I don’t normally get to make tea for guests.”

Kisuke takes the tea, smiling warmly all the while, even as his mind races. That storytelling, the way he gestured as he told his little tale… it’s almost uncanny, and not for the first time, Kisuke wonders which parent was responsible for Kai’s name.

Of course, a little pang strikes at his heart - he can almost see Ururu there, the little girl he had raised so proudly displaying her first cup of tea for him that she’d made on her own - and he mourns, yet again, having an empty home.

Things simply weren’t the same without a child around to liven things up.

Graciously, Kisuke takes a careful sip, smiling the whole while. He’d not expected it to be very good, but to his great surprise… It's quite decent, for a child his age. This blend has a bit of ginseng in it, he notes, and the inexpert - though lovingly done - cup has just the faintest hint. It’s a little sharper than he prefers, but he dutifully drinks it all the same, so as to allow the little one his joy.

“You did an excellent job,” Kisuke praises, watching Kai beam enthusiastically at his praise. “I’m honored that you found me worthy of such good tea-making skills,” he adds, eyes crinkling with amusement.

Green watches him avidly, before their owner beams, a full megawatt smile so similar to Kaien’s effusions of praise as the boy curls up on the armrest like a small kitten.

Perhaps he should bring Yoruichi around, just for a little bit. It’d be fun, he thinks, to see how the boy treated her.

“Really?” The boy knocks him out of his fond musings, Kai looking delighted. A tiny hand adjusts his hat, and he allows the boy to do so, surprised he simply didn’t take the hat off entirely, merely readjusted it. He’s grateful, however, that the boy didn’t remove it in its entirety. “I’ve practiced lots and lots when Auntie Yuzu’s visiting, but I’m not as good as Momma or Papa yet,” the boy sighs, despondent. “They’re real tea makers.” Kisuke’s lips twitch up into a smile at the wistfulness.

“Well, they are older than you,” Kisuke says, wondering if his words were true, or an unintended falsehood.

Which brings him back to Kai’s curious question from earlier. Leaning back, he suppresses an amused smile as he continues on, “You do remind me of Kaien very much. We were in the military together, for a time. I was a Captain, and he was a Lieutenant - He would have made Lieutenant straight out of the academy if he hadn’t been so determined to not be.” Chuckling, Kisuke remembers how often Kaien had turned down Ukitake-taichou, fondly indulgent.

“We met at a party, of course, and became best of friends during them. He was quite the joker - I never knew if I would need to stop drinking my tea because he would deliver the perfect punchline at the worst personal timing for me, or if he’d taunt me into a drinking game.” Grinning, Kisuke adds fondly, “And he was always waving his hands around - sometimes, he forgot he was holding things, and he stained so many uniforms,” Kisuke says, chuckling. “Of course, Captains wore white, so I was always such a tempting target. People would take one look at me and go ‘ah, you were with Kaien-kun again’.”

Kai giggles shyly, hands pressed against his mouth. The boy clearly admired him, and knowing his upbringing, he probably thought the military to be a very respectable job. Kisuke was looking forward to tarnishing that reputation.

“You didn’t invent on the spot cleaner?” The boy asks curiously, and Kisuke takes in his small host as he speaks. “Papa said you make lots of neat inventions,” Kai says, and Kisuke smiles, amused and fond as the boy adds, “Couldn’t you have done something to keep your coat from getting dirty?”

Ah. A quick glance shows the house is spotless. He hadn’t taken Ichigo as the type to be a neat-freak, but he supposed being a parent would change such priorities in life.

He nearly spits out his tea however, when his mind catches up to the boy’s words, swallowing hastily so he can answer his young guest. Certainly, he could have, but he was often in the pursuit of science - a few measly messes was but a small price to pay for his experiments.

“I think it’s only fair to admit that I didn’t really keep the uniform clean,” Kisuke says with a smile. “You see, clothes were not very important to me compared to my work. I’m sure given time, I could have invented such a cleaner, but truthfully, I spent far more time in my lab making messes than I ever did cleaning them up.”

Oh. Whoops. He was probably confusing the poor child - the idea of the military was a rather strict one, but the moment he chose to tell a tale weeeeeell… he always did enjoy teasing children, and watching them try to figure out what was true or not was always so much fun.

Kisuke wondered if that was a little mean.

Kai is frowning a little, looking thoughtful. “How did people know you were near Kaien then? If being messy was your usual look, how was anyone supposed to know when you were messier because of him?” The boy looks at him, all wide-eyed, eager innocence. “Besides, Papa said you have kids. Wouldn’t you have invented a cleaner by then?”

Kisuke can already see it - as the inheritor of Kaien, poor Kai probably attracted dirt like a magnet, even if he did nothing more special than homework.

Amused, he listens on.

“Did he make special stains or something?” Kai sounds deadly serious, and he’s glad he’d finished his cup of tea. Spitting it out would have been funny, but incurably rude. Chuckling, Kisuke reaches out to ruffle dark hair.

“I was only referring to parties, Kai-kun,” Kisuke managed with nary a trembling lip to show his amusement beyond a chuckle. “I did at least try to arrive to meetings in a clean -” Kisuke clears his throat rather than allow the words to leap from his lips. “... Uniform.” Damn. He’d almost said haori - despite how long it had been. “Kaien and I were in different divisions, you see, so we rarely saw each other on duty. When off-duty, we wore uniforms at the get-togethers.” Here he winks. “That’s when people realized that we were spending time together. But when we were out on our own...”

Quickly, Kisuke glances at his small host. The boy’s eyes are shining with interest, and he gives the boy a little smile.

It was rather obvious that Kai was living a rather sheltered life, if he didn’t know what his parents truly did on the side.

“Mmm… when we were out on our own, we’d wear whatever we liked.” There. That was simple enough. Kai was only seven, after all. He didn’t need the whole kit and caboodle. “I didn’t have children until much, much later.”

The boy wiggles a little in his seat, visibly pouting, and Kisuke can’t help the amused smile as it grows on his face.

“Oh.” The disappointment is palpable, but the boy rallies fiercely, to Kisuke’s amusement. “Did you like wearing the uniform? How often did you get to see Kaien? Do parties happen often for you guys?” The boy bounces a little in his seat, eager. “Papa says you invented things for a living, so did you get to meet people more often than other Captains and learn all sorts of things, right?” At the puppy-like radiance, Kisuke leans back, just a smidge.

My. It seemed that a certain pair of someones certainly didn’t talk about the Gotei, with these rapid-fire questions. In fact, there was a certain… lack of noble graces that he was quite surprised about - he’d have thought Rukia would have drilled manners into her little boy.

Though, looking at Kai, he had quite the niggling suspicion as to why the boy was so graceless. If so, there were words to be had with Miss Kuchiki.

But for now, he supposed a little mischief was in order. It’s been a while since he’d had such a young audience. “Well, I can’t say I ever cared very much for the uniform. To me, it was just a place where I worked. But Kaien… he took such pride in his work, and he was excellent at it. He took it so seriously that often, he didn’t have much free time, but when he did, he loved to have fun and go to parties.” A sly grin crosses his face. This outta be good. “It’s true, of course, that I was - and still am - an inventor. But that wasn’t how I got to know all sorts of things.”

Kisuke leans in, and his young host does as well, eyes wide.

“Before I became a captain, I was a prison guard. And a spy.”

Kai blinks. Once. Twice. Then, his round eyes gleam like Yoruichi spying unattended fish on a counter. A little gasp, and Kisuke knew he had the little one hooked. The boy takes his tea cup, brimming with questions.

“Really? What was it like? Were people in the prison interesting? Did you meet Kaien being a super-sneaky spy? Where did you travel?” He’s a fount of questions, even as his good manners insist upon refreshing his tea, to which Urahara accepts with a little chuckle and nod of thanks to the little boy. Kai quickly clambers back up, and he smiles down at the boy. He was quite the little extrovert, wasn’t he?

At this point, the parallels were simply… uncanny.

“Oh, I travelled all over the countryside, hunting down deserters, mostly. Of course, a good spy never works alone, when you’re going after capturing dangerous people,” Kisuke sips at his tea, radiating enjoyment. “Of course, not everyone allowed themselves to survive being captured...” A wicked grin, and Kai gives him an amazed little squeak.

Ah, he missed telling stories so much! Perhaps he ought to babysit more often. Orihime and Ishida’s little ones were about three or so now - they’d likely be glad to have some time for themselves in exchange for him babysitting them.

Plans, plans.

Lowering his tea cup, Kisuke chuckles. “The prisoners were some of the most interesting people I’d ever met, of course, being such dangerous minds,” Kisuke really shouldn’t tease the little boy, but he was a perfect audience, expressive as he was, little squeaks and wide eyes. “But no, I didn’t meet Kaien until I became a captain. Of course, there was always no shortage of places we needed to get in - or out of - in a hurry, places we weren’t supposed to be, and times we weren’t allowed to uh… technically, leave. Being a spy came quite in handy for that,” he says, grinning.

Ichigo was going to hit him with a bucket of soapy water, he could already tell. He was quite the corrupting influence on the youth of today.

Kai lights up, as he should when faced with a fun, relatively light-hearted story.

“Dangerous minds?” The boy wiggles off of the chair to go fetch some tea sweets, offering him one to his amusement. That boy was just like Kaien, trying to stuff people full of food. “Does that mean you had the most dangerous mind of all?” Kai asks, nibbling on his own tea sweet, swallowing, and then continuing on. “So you and Kaien got really good at sneaking? Papa used to say Auntie Kuu would complain lots and lots about him sneaking out of the house at night.”

Looking around, Kai leans in, and amused, Kisuke does the same. “Can you teach me your sneaky-spy skills? Momma and Papa are always super protective. Once I get home, I can’t stick a nose out of the door without them finding out,” he says, drooping.

Kisuke smiles a little, pets the fluffy mop of hair with a gentle encouragement for the boy to eat his sweet. He wasn’t sure, of course, how that part of the conversation had gone… the most dangerous mind of all… Did he really deserve such a title? He suspected it really belonged to another, though he wouldn’t deny he was a strong contender.

“I think, if you asked anyone back then, they would have whole-heartedly agreed and said so,” was the mused statement. “I was accused of a crime, in the end, and had to leave - I gave up being a captain, and then moved here.” A little smile. That had spelled the end of the best of times with Kaien, though his friend had been nothing if not determined to make him smile. “After that, I didn’t get to see Kaien much, though he snuck off to see me as often as he was able. It was always good to see him when he did.”

The two of them sit in somber silence for a moment, before Kisuke perks up. Now, Ichigo was definitely going to smack him one, but oh, the possibilities… “I think it runs in your family,” Kisuke tells the little boy, who perks up at his cheer. “You see, your grandfather snuck off once and got mixed up in the worst sort of trouble. That’s how he met and married your grandmother, you know.” Grinning, he continues, despite knowing Ichigo would most certainly be giving him grief, as well as Rukia. “Of course, I can’t count the number of times I helped your Papa sneak off too. If you’re determined, I’ll teach you when you’re older.”

Oh, now he’d done it. The child had been a little skeptical before, but now he was incredulous, eyeing him with the same hefty skepticism Ichigo had, all those years ago when they first met.

“No way.” The boy lunges forward to hug him, nice and tight, and Kisuke really appreciated his warmth, how generous the boy was - that clearly hadn’t changed between lifetimes. “Are you serious? Papa would never sneak off!” The boy says, and Kisuke smothers a smile, though the boy perks happily at his comforting having helped, clearly. “There’s no way Papa would have snuck off - Momma would be so mad,” he says, wide-eyed.

It was really so funny, to learn what kind of married couple Rukia and Ichigo had become, though he supposed their marriage dynamic was still more or less the same as when they’d simply been friends.

Oh yes, they were going to kill him, but what could he say?

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Oh? Did I forget? Silly me,” Kisuke says with a grin. “Your mom snuck off too. Got herself in tons of trouble and ran away from home.” Oh yes, Kai was enraptured now, eyes wide as dinner plates as he followed along, increasingly incredulous. “She stayed with your Papa, even. Now, don’t tell your mom I said this, but she hid out in your dad’s closet.”

Oh am I a dead man, Kisuke thinks in amusement. But it was worth it, just to watch his surprise and amazement.

“So, tell you what,” Kisuke says, and Kai’s head swivels towards him. “If we keep this conversation a secret, next time I come by, I’ll teach you some sneaky spy tricks, okay? And maybe a few more stories about Kaien.”

The boy’s practically vibrating, and it’s cute.

“Okay!” he bursts outs, lifting his pinkie up with all of his childish enthusiasm. “Do you want to make a pinky promise with me? Auntie Yuzu showed me how! That way you know for sure I won’t tell anyone!” Kisuke’s heart melts a little bit.

What a cute kid. Chuckling, he allows himself to be coaxed through the ritual, the two hooking their little fingers together and tugging.

Almost unknown, something shifted, an old, worn connection that had frayed with absence lacing together once more. There was simply nothing to it - just like Ichigo, Kisuke would have to keep a weather eye on this precocious child.

Smiling, he allows the boy to hop of the armrest and scurry off to make him yet another cup of tea, an amused, fond indulgence.

(In the depths of his heart, the forged connection of a soul revived glows)

[spectrumed]

3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

[breadclubrising]

Why do you believe another gl reunion would make Ibushi fulfilled? Bc last time he seemed pretty annoyed by the end of it, saying he was just being tossed aside as "Kenny's replacement" and "I have nothing else to do in this tournament" and ofc the "I've always been alone". Why would it be different now?

wellllllllllll because the GL story has a surprising amount of nuance for a wrestling storyline, and has kind of deliberately mixed kayfabe with real life in such a way that you can’t talk about them separately a lot of the time.

i DEFINITELY didn’t say he ‘needs’ it to be ‘fulfilled’, because that is a thing that would give me hives to say. i have many times said he doesn’t need Kenny and that’s been the point, is that they both totally can be great without each other, but they keep choosing each other and even if they’re successful in their careers, they are unhappy when they’re apart. if you find that disagreeable, please email kota (i know for a fact he does not check his email because of course he doesn’t). What I said was: it is how their careers will play out because they literally say that will happen and they have gone to LENGTHS in real life to make it happen.

i saw someone on twitter who bothered to take a screenshot of some galaxy brain on reddit finally figuring out that ibushi and omega see each other as endgame, and captioned it something like ‘golden lovers is the worst story in wrestling please stop.’ which is totally an opinion you are welcome to have but also, the part about them being each other’s endgame is a thing they both have said and kenny in particular will never let anyone forget. i do not understand why people give it the ‘lol shut up fangirl shippers’ treatment when it’s a thing that has been telegraphed since the beginning of time, unless you are calling ibushi and omega fangirl shippers, which you actually probably should bc no one ships GL more. anyway, i actually completely get why people who don’t like the storyline, or don’t like kenny, or whatever, have a different reading of the actual events that took place. but it means that you asking me this question isn’t going to get you a satisfying answer, and that makes me feel like you’re just asking me this to make me feel bad for liking a thing incorrectly. 

but you did ask, which is totally on you, so: Ibushi said (explicitly, in interviews, and on twitter) that he was frustrated with himself for not Reaching His Potential. He never expressed frustration with Kenny, or even with NJPW’s booking. He wasn’t even officially signed until a couple months after Kenny left. 

It was like this: he was an outsider in the company. He was always paired with the guy who is like, certified by the belt to be The Best Wrestler In The World. That guy had a problem like the bus in Speed, except instead of having to maintain a speed of 60mph to avoid exploding, the bus has to constantly say its boyfriend is the coolest. So Kenny, the best wrestler in the world according to kayfabe, is like ‘actually my mans here is the best wrestler in the world’ and kota’s like ‘thanks i love you too but i’m pretty sure you’re the one with the belt and the pwi cover and 437 meltzer stars you fucking labradoodle.’ (I’d bet money Kota does not know what a labradoodle is.) Kenny’s stanning was sweet and well-intentioned but to Kota it only highlighted the achievement gulf between them. And it did not help that his mentor Tanahashi was like ‘allow me to highlight the achievement gulf between you and your genetically inferior labradoodle boyfriend, whomst i don’t like for Reasons.’

And that made Ibushi be like ‘i’m 36 (at the time) years old and I have every muscle and yet, no accolades. the fact that i have not yet managed to be the unequivocal best and that i foolishly had a body and feelings is shameful and weak.’

That’s how he is: he beats himself up about stuff like goddamn taking time off to heal from neck surgery and a mental breakdown, and the unforgivable sin of not being quite sure what direction he wanted to take his career. It felt really bad! It deffos did! But his frustration was not directed where you think it was! But that’s the part I said you’re not going to agree with me on, so!

There was so much going ON in this story and it was really GOOD! Like all the stuff with Tanahashi was incredible and heart-wrenching and you just wanted to both smack and hug all three of them and it was a really good story! 

Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that bc people who dislike the Golden Lovers are very reductive about why they assume people like the thing they do not like. But yes, it actually is a good story, now that I type a tiny part of it out like that; not my fault some people seem to have missed the epic heroes’ journeys forest for the gay love story trees. Not that there’s anything wrong with gay love story trees; also very much part of the forest.

Anyway Anon, part of the reason earlier on I speculated that you just came to my inbox to try to make me feel sad for liking things in a way you did not was that... honestly. HOW did ANYONE watch Ibushi say “I was always alone, before” after he won the 2019 G1 and go “king said ‘new career who dis’ and deleted kenneth’s number from his phone! 👏always 👏alone 👏before 👏!!!’ 

Like yeah those are the words he said but, you know, words can mean a lot of things! and personally, I think it’s relevant that those words were enveloped by a heartbreakingly pained smile that says ‘GREAT question Tokyo Sports, i WILL cry RIGHT here at this FUCKING folding table if you do not IMMEDIATELY pretend along with me that my existence began earlier this evening when I entered this arena. thanks in advance!’ Like!

Yep, look at that smug fuck pretending not to know who his shitty ex is! Prolly thinking of some good labradoodle jokes.

(On the real i know that not everyone is good at ascertaining emotion from facial expressions. I get that, and I’m not gonna dog on anyone for it, because I myself am often not great at it. And honestly? If he meant this in the “I don’t know her” sense, I would probably have loved it, bc I am a Kota Ibushi fan first, a human second, an antifa supersoldier third, and then a Golden Lovers Scholar like somewhere in the low 20s. But... I can’t even pretend that reading works for me. I hate looking at these gifs. That’s how much this reads to me as Having A Bad Time, like this man’s face is among my favorite things to view on this horrible planet and my heart feels like it’s being poked with a broken toothpick every time these gifs loop.)

And finally, because of the thing I said in the first paragraph that I wrote when I was like “i’m just gonna write a quick answer to this ask” like some kind of fucking fool who has never seen my own blog: it would not “be different now”, it has always been this story, and both Kenny and Kota say that when they are able to. It mixes kayfabe with real life, and in real life it’s really clear that it’s endgame for both of them, and I’m very sorry to GL haters but please direct your displeasure with the narrative to the two nerds who are determined to continue it across decades and oceans.

[justreadingfics]

Looking For a Heartbeat (17/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left.  It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Chapter Summary: New bonds.  

Word Count: 5,2K

Warnings for this chapter: fluff again (don’t get used to it), children, mutual pining.  

 A/N: @suz-123 is my angel and I love her. Here I am writing fluff again. I suspect this is why I’ve taken longer than most times to write this chapter, lol. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.  Links are ruining posts, you can find the masterlist link on my description.

 It´s been four weeks since Bucky has shown up unannounced to the ultrasound appointment- that he discovered by himself after some private research, he told you- and you still can’t shake off a stupid smile from your face.  Without a doubt, these have been the best weeks of your pregnancy so far. Everything seems to be great with the baby, who, according to Doctor Nadine and her team, is healthier than normal, developing better than expected. It seems to be so because the serum Hydra has used on Bucky altered his genetics system and its goodies have passed to the baby.

Bucky has been present in all of the appointments, right at your side the entire time, listening carefully and asking every single question he had.  His presence, soothing and grounding, keeping you steady throughout the whole thing. You know he had been worried to death about the possibility of being responsible for any complications to the baby. The news that everything was ok was a huge relief for him too, despite you still sensing in him a deep worry about how the enhancement on its system would affect the baby's life in general.�� A concern you both share.

However, for now, you both have been trying to stay positive and focusing on finding a pace – the right one- to reconnect and shape your relationship as parents of your child. Aside from the appointments and some occasional times he drops by to see how’s everything with you and the peanut, you have also been talking on the phone, whether through voice calls or text messages.  Not a day goes by without you talking to each other.

You’re not gonna lie, it still feels awkward at times. You’ve never been friends to Bucky. Before your intense and passionate relationship, you two were nothing but acquainted co-workers. And after that, you’re not sure what the two of you have become. Now, on top of that, it’s not like you two can just turn into friends. You’re going to have a kid together, for God's sake. Yeah, it’s still awkward.

The conversations have been centered exclusively on the baby and anything that concerns them. That's why you don’t know if something has changed between him and Anna, if they have talked or anything. You prefer it that way. It’s a sensitive topic to him, but it’s the same for you. You’ve taken the part of trying and being the bigger person, saying you didn't blame her, that you understood her point of view, giving him advice about his relationship with her… and it was in good nature, but… thinking about him and her together has never been easy and you suspect it never will be.

Oh, well… It's hard. Something you should discuss more with Heloise in therapy. She gave you a strawberry lollipop saying it was positive reinforcement for your civilized conversation with Bucky. You wonder what she would have in store for you when you truly become able to talk about and live through the jealousy that takes over you every time a thought of him and Anna together pops into your mind. 

You continued going to the support group encounters, you feel like you’re not completely alone anymore, but the group, giving justice to its name, has truly become an important support system for you. Plus, it’s an easy way for you to see Harry regularly, who was pleased to know about things taking a turn to a better path with you and Bucky. You and Harry ended up going to the Hot-Dog trailer next to the group’s place - the one you missed because of the car accident - and then you scheduled for you to finally meet his kids, which you were excited and anxious about, you had heard so much about them you felt like you already knew each one of his little chipmunks, like he called them affectionately.  

You had planned for a picnic in their favorite park, but the rainy day forced you to move the party over to the common room at the Tower’s living quarters. Wanda has helped you set everything up, moving the furniture to place the big cloth in the center of the room, spreading pillows to accommodate everyone as you prepared the snacks with all the goodies Harry had told you the kids liked. You also put some toys and games for the kids – and for the adults, who are you kidding? You live amongst children.

That’s where you are now, along with Harry and the vivacious Luna and Jon, the three year olds that make sure to remind you every five minutes that they are turning four in a week. Luna is the spitting image of her father with her dark curls falling graciously over her big brown eyes laced with curiosity as she keeps them glued on you. Jon must’ve taken his looks from his mother, with a lighter tone on his straight short hair and his eyes are green with shades of blue. He seems quieter than Luna, who takes the lead and asks all the questions and tells all the stories, allowing her brother to make a comment or two. In his shyness, he reminds you of his father.

Wanda joins you, and soon so do Steve and Sam, who had arrived from a mission the day before. Tony’s absent on a solo mission of his own, much to the kids' disappointment, which is reinforced by the Iron Man images on both of their shirts. Crazy for kids as much as she is, Nat is there, but she has mostly been giving you the silent treatment lately, as a result of your decision of making the baby’s sex a secret. You can only wonder what she’s been putting Bucky into.

You keep a huge smile on your face as, right in front of you, across the picnic cloth, Wanda uses her powers and the red mist to make moving drawings in the air, prompted by all sorts of excited and loud requests from the kids, whether it’s a dog, a sheep- no, a bigger sheep, an elephant, Iron Man fighting that big purple monster, or daddy with those colored swords he likes…

“They’re called lightsabers. God, how many times do I have to tell you this, guys? Show some respect…” He sighs at your side, looking at you and shaking his head in frustration as he’s completely ignored by his kids, who keep the row of requests to Wanda. 

You chuckle; prompting him to smile at you, “They’re really awesome,” you whisper, bumping his sides with your elbow, as everyone else around the cloth seems drawn by the kids energy and interested in Wanda’s little performance.

“They are, aren’t they?” He beams at you, “Thanks for this by the way, they’re having so much fun.”

“Oh, no. I’ve been wanting to meet them for so long,” You dismiss him with a wave, before grabbing a handful of popcorn. Chewing on it, you cackle at Wanda’s latest art:  a Chihuahua pulling The Falcon by the wings while Captain America tries to catch them. Sam shots some protests, but the burst of belly laughs from the kids is undeniably contagious.

When you look back at Harry, you’re still laughing as the others, but he is not. Instead, he’s observing you while holding a half smile on his lips, “What?” You frown at him.

“You look happier. I like it. It’s a great look on you.”

You offer him a wide grin as you feel a wave of warmth overcoming your chest… and rushing to your cheeks.

“Daddy,” the high-pitched, but sweet voice makes you both turn to Luna, now directing her narrowed eyes and full attention to both of you as she stands on her knees over the pillow.

“Yes, chipmunk?” He says, bringing a plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth. 

“Is Y/N the girl you’ve been talking to on your phone all the time and then stay with that funny smile on your face and does like this?” She exaggerates a deep and long sigh to show what she’s talking about.

Harry chokes on the juice, as all eyes snap to the direction where you two are seated. Wanda hides a laugh with her hand and Nat sips on her coffee, but you glimpse the devilish smirk on her lips. Sam and Steve pretend to focus on the little checkers board they’ve been playing with when you glance at them.   

“Luna!” Harry shrieks, trying to glare at the little girl between coughs.

You frown at his embarrassment, a disproportionate reaction on your opinion.

“What? What have I said wrong?” Luna pouts adorably and stands on her feet, crossing her arms in front of her little body.

“Daddy didn’t want us to know, yet, Luna.” Little Jon whispers loudly, pulling the hem of his sister’s shirt.

Wanda laughs fully and loudly while Nat sports a proud smirk at the two siblings, probably pleased by the spying skills the kids are showing.

“Jon!” Harry exasperates, eyes roaming around everyone in the circle, before turning to you, dumbfounded and red as a pepper, “That’s not-this isn’t-”

“Calm down, Harry.” You laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder.

You’re sure you’re not the girl the kids are referring to, that’s not what your relationship with Harry is about, but he hasn’t told you anything about someone that makes him sigh and now you’re curious, especially because he’s acting like a deer caught in the headlights. Before you can torture him with teasing you hear someone cleaning their throat, catching your look. 

Bucky stands by the door, with a bag in his hands and an unreadable expression on his face.

“Bucky,” you exclaim, feeling the inevitable tug at the corner of your lips, but trying to ignore your heart skipping a beat. How long has he been there? Has he heard anything? As happy as you are to see him, you can’t help the hint of apprehension at the  pit of your stomach that makes your heart falter, you know he still has reservations towards Harry and you really don’t want him to assume anything, which is bullshit, of course, you and Bucky have nothing and if you wanted you could date whoever, of course, that’s definitely settled between the two of you. Was the room this hot before?  

Bucky nods timidly at you and at the others, who chant their greetings all at once:  “Hey, Buck,” “Hey, Man,” “Barnes”. 

“Come on in, we ́re having a picnic,” You wave him in from your spot, swallowing down any trepidation and kicking the inner rambling off of your mind, focusing on his presence only.

“Oh no, it's ok. I can come another time,” He answers in a small voice. Recoiling his shoulders, he presses his lips in a tense line. 

The protests from everybody – except from Harry, who seems to be trying to make himself invisible at your side- resound around the place while the kids fasten their curious eyes on the new person in the room.

Knowing damn well how uncomfortable Bucky is capable of feeling when he’s in the spotlight, you raise your brows at Wanda, which is enough to make her promptly go back to entertaining the kids, now lifting the food over the cloth to the air. The sounds of bewilderment coming from the tiny little creatures distract everyone else as you get up, using the sofa behind you as a support for your growing body.

“Come on, Barnes, you made a pregnant woman get up from the floor just to drag you by the ear. I’m a mom now, I can do that,” You taunt, getting closer to him, twisting your expression into a mocked scowl.

Letting out a heart-fluttering smile that ignites one of your own, he relents, stepping into the room and shooting that fondly look at your growing belly, like he does every time he sees you.

“Hi,” you softly say when he stands inches from you.

“Hey, I called you a couple of times, and you didn't answer my messages, I got worried,” He cringes.

“I must’ve left my phone in my room, but it's ok, Bucky, you don't need an excuse to drop by,” You assure in a teasing manner, before your eyes drop to the bag in his hand, “What do we have here?”

“Oh, on my way over, I saw this and I couldn't help it.” With a broad smile on his face, he pulls the object from the bag.

Your eyes go round and you practically squeal, grabbing the little colorful unicorn, “This is amazing, Bucky, so damn cute. And fluffy.” You squeeze the soft little stuffy against your chest.

He chuckles, brushing a lock of his own hair behind his ear, “I bought it for the peanut, but I suppose you can play with it, too.”

You roll your eyes and pull your tongue out playfully.

“Hello.”

At the tiny voice who takes you and him out of your little bubble, you see his eyes going comically round, before he lowers his head to follow the sound. Luna stands beside him, with her hands laced behind her back and mischievous interest plastered on her sweet features.  

“Hi.” His stumpy answer is a bit more than a whisper.

“I’m Luna,” the girl says her name proudly to him, “I’ll be four years old in a week. What’s your name?”

“Bucky.” He replies shortly.

As little Jon runs to stand beside his sister, you choose to remain a silent observant of the scene with great curiosity, and from the corner of your eyes you catch the rest of the adults in the room doing the exact same thing. 

“This is Jon. He's my brother.”

“We’re twins,” Jon announces.

“But I’m older,” Luna reminds him.

“And that’s daddy.” The boy points at Harry, who quickly and shamelessly looks up to the ceiling, trying to cover up the fact he’s been watching them.

“Ok.” Bucky purses his lips and nods, seeming ready to bolt away from the interaction.

In fact, you can’t recall having seen him talking to a kid before, except for maybe Clint’s and Scott’s kids, but he always preferred to remain at least one arm’s length away from them. You know this has everything to do with the fact he still struggles to think children would want anything to do with him...   

“Your hand is shiny.” Luna states straightforwardly. 

As you feel Bucky freezing beside you decide to step in, but probably not in the way he would want you to, “His whole arm is shiny, Luna.” You whisper, leaning down and half covering your mouth like you were telling her a secret. You choose to ignore the betrayed look you receive from Bucky.  

The information makes the little girl gasp and stare longingly at said arm, covered by the long sleeve of his Henley.

“Oh, you ́re the Winter Soldier,” Jon yells, pointing at Bucky with astonishment  as  his jaw drops.

The nickname Bucky used to dread so much, but which in time - as he formed his name as an avenger - got a different and more positive meaning to everyone else, sounds nothing but adorable in the kid’s soft voice when said in such an enthusiastic way. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you the phantom of a smile that threatens to curl Bucky's lips.

“Oooo, I know you,” Luna grins, bouncing on her little legs, “You're Captain America ́s boyfriend.”

 “Oh, my God! Luna!” Harry mortified attempt of reprimanding his daughter is muffled by the thunder of loud laughs filling the room, including one of your own.  Horror twists Harry’s features as Bucky and Steve share widened staggered looks.

“Don ́t laugh,” Luna turns to the party, putting her hands on each side of her waist and stomping her little foot to the ground as the laughs are swiftly held back at the respect the small figure imposes, “Daddy said it’s ok that boys date. And girls, too.” Her features turn into a scowl.

You glance at Harry and you glimpse the pride which his daughter’s words brings to his expression being swiftly replaced by apprehension when he spots Steve.

“And your daddy is right,” Steve straightens up his posture for Harry’s relief and then putting on his Captain voice, he turns to Luna again, “But Bucky and I are not boyfriends, we’re buddies.”

You think Sam will explode when he puts his hand over his mouth to hold back the laugh even harder.

“Maybe it's a secret, Luna. Just like dad ́s.” Jon innocently shrugs and that's what kills everybody’s strong will and the sound of multiple laughs bubbles into the room again.

Even Bucky has given in and sports a small but beautiful smile on his face as his head shakes slowly and warm heartedly. You smile right back at him when your eyes meet and you notice how much more at ease he seems.

“Aright, alright. You two get back here.” Harry commands.

“Ok,” Luna answers and starts to move towards the party again, but not before she laces her chubby little hand with Bucky’s metal one to pull him with her, being followed close by her brother.

When he looks back at you, being pulled by the girl, there’s no plea for help or embarrassment on his face; he only keeps smiling and shrugs. Your stomach flutters inside you as you take a deep breath in. 

Luna makes Bucky sit in the middle of her and Jon, as you sit where you were before, beside Harry, placing the little unicorn between you and him. Everyone catches on conversations or eating and drinking.

“Oh, Bucky. Have you met Harry, already?” You ask, trying to act cool, especially about the fact he has seen him before at Steve’s party and not mentioning all the times Bucky has asked you about your relationship with Harry.

“Hey,” Bucky nods and extends a hand, leaning over to catch Harry’s from across the cloth, “We’ve seen each other before, but I think we haven’t been introduced yet.” He says, pressing his lips in a polite smile.

“Hi, yeah, that’s right,” Harry answers in a matching polite tone, “It’s such a pleasure, I’m a huge fan, of course. I’m sorry for my chipmunks-”

“Ugh, daddy.” Luna, huffs.

Before any of the grown-ups could add anything else both the kids launch on Bucky. Leave it to kids to dissipate any kind of awkward situations… 

“Is your arm heavy?” Luna leans on Bucky’s shoulder, resting her chin over her hands there.

“A bit, yes.”

“Are you strong, Mr. Bucky?” This time Jon asks from Bucky’s other side.

“Of course I am.”

“Stronger than him?” Luna cocks her head towards Steve, who snaps his look up from the checkers board.

“Sure, he’s all jacked now, but deep down he’s nothing but a skinny little angry man…”

The super soldiers make a face to each other and you chuckle.

“What about him?” Jon points at Sam.

“Kids, please…” Bucky’s eyes roll as he lets out a smug snort.

“You wish, tin can,” Sam shots a handful of pop-corn on his direction.

“And them?” Luna points at Wanda and Nat.

“Well…”

Attentive to the scene so far, you spot the red mist Wanda casually pours from her elegant hands as Nat cracks her fingers, staring blankly at Bucky.

“Definitely not.” He turns widened eyes at Luna, enticing a little giggle to come out of her lips and a laugh of you.  

“You’re not stronger than Iron Man.” Jon affirms, rather than ask.

“Hey!” Bucky playfully yelps, as the boy places his little hand on his chin, furrowing his eyebrows as if he’s concentrating real hard to come up with Bucky’s next challenger.

“Oh! Are you stronger than daddy?” He finally yells, partnering up with his sister as the two people who made her father choke on his juice that day. 

“Ahm… I don’t know-I,” Bucky fumbles with his answer as Harry keeps struggling for air.

“I know how we can find out,” Luna swiftly raises her hand, looking excitedly at Jon.

You pat Harry’s back as he coughs harder.

“Daddy can lift me and Jon on each arm, I bet you can’t.” She cocks a daring eyebrow at Bucky as Jon eagerly nods his head and gets up.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky raises his eyebrow back at her, before turning his eyes at Harry asking for permission, which is granted with a nod and a smile. Now that the latter knows Luna’s idea doesn’t involve him getting his ass kicked he seems a lot more relaxed.

Then, with an exaggerated grunt, Bucky grabs and lifts the two little creatures by their feet using only his metal hand. The squeaks and giggles bubbling out of their lungs mingle with Bucky’s groans as he tosses the twins around as if they weigh nothing.

“Who’s the strongest person in this room, huh?” He challenges, as he holds them by their behinds and presses them into the air as a couple of dumbbells in each hand. 

“You, Mr. Bucky,” They both yell in unison between little screams and loud giggles.

Your heart melts and the smile on your face is wide when you realize that, just like that, he also becomes their favorite person in the room. You totally get it, who can be better judges of character than kids? Besides, falling in love with Bucky is that easy and inevitable, you're one to talk...

The kids keep themselves glued on Bucky’s side all the time, asking questions, proposing games that he promptly accepts, offering him food, telling him stories about themselves and about their father – to Harry’s very dismay… They even get him to show them part of his arm, gaining claps of admiration from Luna.

At some point you reach for the jar of juice to find it empty, but before you even think of standing up to go grab some more, you feel the jar being promptly stolen from your hand.

“I got this,” Bucky winks, getting up, as Sam and Nat finally get a bit of the kids attention, doing some magic trick with a few cards for them as Harry watches.

“It’s ok, Bucky-”

“Na-ha. You stay comfortably there.” He gets up, glaring at you to show he means business.

You let out an annoyed huff – only a stunt to hide how you’re secretly loving the attention coming from him. Wanda calls on your bullshit aiming you a teasing smile that you choose to not indulge.

“Steve, get your lazy ass here and help,” Bucky calls, walking inside the kitchen, as the kids giggle at his choice of words.

~~~

Bucky places the jar on the sink and, before he could walk to the fridge to grab more oranges to squeeze, a wall of enhanced muscles captures him in an impossibly tight hug.

“Ugh, what’s that for, punk?” He grunts, but promptly hugs his friend back.

“You���re gonna be a dad,” Steve croaks out.  

Bucky lets out  a quiet laughter. He hadn’t seen Steve yet, not after the ultrasound when Bucky’s real feelings towards the news became clear. He guesses his friend wasn’t really sure of what his decision would be to actually congratulate him and express his emotions about it before, “And you're gonna be an uncle.” Bucky beams.

Steve only whimpers and tightens the hold around his friend.  

“Alright, alright,” Bucky pats his back and let goes. “This is why everybody thinks we're a couple.” He adds, without taking the smile off his face.

Steve chuckles and shakes Bucky by his shoulder, with his eyes clearly red, the Captain wipes a tear with the back of his hand “You deserve this,'' he says.

No more words need to be said as Bucky’s smile falls but his eyes remain soft and he only nods as an answer. The two friends exchange meaningful and watery gazes before they move to go grabbing the oranges and the necessary utensils, forming a team side by side by the sink to slice the fruits and squeeze the juice using the squeezer. 

“I know Y/N has banned you from telling anyone what you two are having, but you won't deny this information to your oldest pal here, are you?” Steve nudges Bucky as he slices the oranges.

“By the image on the screen, it sure looked like a kid.” Bucky keeps squeezing the oranges, unaffected.

“Ah, come on, Buck.”

“Not a chance, pal. If I didn´t give in to Nat, you won’t make me talk, either.” He turns to Steve, “And stop with the damn puppy eyes, you’ll have to wait, like everyone else.”

“Spoilsport,” Steve grunts his displeasure of being kept in the shadows about the baby’s sex before the smile comes back to his face, “You´re happy, aren´t you?” He softly asked after taking a good look at his friend.

“Like I’ve never thought I would be. Not even back in our days. It’s funny…” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow as a small breathy laugh comes out of his lips, “A couple of days ago I had no idea this kind of feeling, this sweet agonizing happiness, existed. Now it’s all I feel, all the time.”

“Sounds intense,” Steve chuckles, clearly pleased, “You and Y/N? What’s the deal with the two of you now?”

Bucky clears his throat and bites the insides of his cheeks, “We agreed we should focus on the baby. Let go of what happened before in the past.” He keeps his eye focused on the task of squeezing oranges.

“Oh…and how ́s that working out for you?”

“Good”

Steve stops what he’s doing altogether and turns to face Bucky, placing the hand holding the knife on his side, “Are you lying? Is this something we do now? Lie to each other?” He waves the knife on the space between them, “You couldn’t even be around her before, it can ́t be changed all of a sudden.”

Bucky shakes his head as he huffs. The damn punk…  “It’s… I don´t know,” He turns to face Steve as well, “A mix of heaven and hell. Fighting with her was easier, to be honest.” He snickers, “I could handle that. And now, we talk, actually talk without fighting or anything… I get to be around her without jumping on each other’s throat and now I can really, really see her. She’s still her but, I don’t know…different,” He turns back to the sink, grabbing another half orange to squeeze as he talks, “She seems more content, level headed, elegant…” He sighs, “She looks even more beautiful each day that passes… fucking sexier…” His whisper is barely audible as his eyelids close for a moment, “It must be the pregnancy, I don ́t know, haven't you noticed it?” He looks back at Steve to find the latter holding back a smile.

“Seems the same good old Y/N for me,” Steve shrugs, “Maybe a little more… joyful?” He asks himself, “Yeah, but what do I know, I ́m not in love with her.” He resumes slicing the oranges, acting nonchalantly.

“Stop it.” Bucky glares at him.

Steve throws his arms to the air and scrunches up his chin as a sign of resignation.

After a few moments more of silence as they work together, Bucky briskly stops and turns to his friend again, “It's just, it's complicated,” His eyes shut as he scratches his eyebrow, “With the baby, and all.” He sighs, looking down, “I don´t wanna ruin the peace we’re finally achieving between us by trying again with her, but God…” He looks up to the ceiling before and his eyes close before he looks down at Steve, who has stopped his work to pay attention on the man beside him, “I have to physically restrain myself from kissing the fuck out of her every time I lay my eyes on her, every time she comes closer and I smell her perfume...goddammit…” He confesses for the first time out loud, before turning to the sink to lean his hands on the marble taking in a deep breath, “She said we didn ́t work as a couple, and she’s right, isn’t she…” He murmurs.  

Steve places a kind hand on his shoulder, “I know the way it ended was rough and then everything else that happened after that, but everyone could see how you two loved each other, Bucky…” He softly says as Bucky remains silent, staring down, “And I don ́t know, you both seem like growing from the place you’ve been, when you’ve hurt each other…”

Silence lingers between them as Bucky feels his jaw clenching. He loves you. Of course he does, he always has and everything he did to try and deny this only resulted in pain.  And that’s what scares the shit out of him. He knows you two agreed on trying to not focus on each other as anything more than parents, and as much as he agreed on it, the all-consuming love he feels for you only grows each day he stays at your side, each time he talks to you and he watches you becoming the mother of his child…

Fuck, he doesn’t want to ruin everything. Not again.  

“Buck, everything will be alright, I’m sure,” Steve seems to hear his thoughts as he tries to comfort him.

Bucky forces a smile at his effort and squeezes the last orange, before wiping his hand with a knapping hung on the wall. Giggles coming from the living room catches their attention.

“Do you think there's something there,” Bucky tentatively asks, eyes stuck on the door that leads to the living room, “With Harry, I mean.” He clarifies in a low voice, when his eyes meet Steve’s.  

Steve sighs before shrugging, his forehead creasing, “They seem close.”            

Bucky nods slowly, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “I heard his little girl,  Luna, asking if Y/N was the girl he’s been-” He sulks down a harsh intake of breath, “I wouldn't blame him…” His lips form a taut line.

When Steve presents him with silence and something that resembles empathy in his eyes for him – old Steve Rogers’s style- Bucky clears his throat and moves to pour the juice on the Jar.

“Come on, I’m gonna say goodbye to them, I have to go.” He adds, turning  towards the door with the Jar in his hand.

“Where to?” Steve cocks his head, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m gonna meet Anna in a few.” Bucky mutters as his shoulders round downwards, “I called her yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“You think I shouldn’t.” Bucky states.  

“No, not at all.” Steve shakes his head. “I just wasn’t expecting to hear this now after-” Steve licks his lips and nods once, “I do think you should talk to her, though, Bucky. Set things straight. I know how important she’s been to you and I know it hurts you how things played out between the two of you. Now that you cleared your head a bit, maybe it’s the right time to really listen to her and tell her how you feel, too.”

Steve… always the voice of reason. Of his reason.

“I know.” Bucky nods. He needs to set things straight once and for all.  

~~~

Chapter 18 coming soon. 

[mahmancat]

Why Are We So In Love With Cats

Cats and also their human followers are a misunderstood lot. This I discovered when I composed "Why cats never ever became male's buddy" discussing how the recently mapped cat genome reveals that, compared with canines, residence cats are only partially tamed. The reaction on Quartz's Facebook page was legendary. The article obtained almost 1,700 remarks more than any other post on Quartz's Facebook page, ever. What triggered this outpouring? I referenced the feline stereotype frequently traded among dog people that cats are passive-aggressive and also psychologically unavailable.

On the face of it, pet people appear to be less touchy. Our short article in 2014 on pets' genetic wildness (" Quit coddling your pet dog he's 99.9% wolf") was widely read, but it sparked minimal feedback from pet dog people in any way as well as certainly no outrage.

So why do pet cat individuals come off as so darned delicate? Possibly since they are. Research studies weightgal.com do without a doubt show feline individuals often tending towards higher nervousness as well as moodiness than the pro-canine team. Current research likewise recommends animal owners with even more aberrant characteristics are additionally inclined to feel more anxiety regarding their animals' sensations towards them. Whether consciously or otherwise, both media as well as society appear to love to massage this insecurity in.

Yet many in the pro-cat camp suggest that the bond they show to their felines transcends to what pet dog individuals experience with their pets:

Sounds quite bitter, possibly. But on this point, at the very least, the pet cat people are not as crazy as the stereotype maintains. Their animal of selection has actually greatly stood up to the human meddling that has actually in some way hewn chihuahuas as well as whippets from the genetics of wolves indicating: cats simply aren't programmed to please individuals the way pets are. And also this might explain why feline people seem to have an extremely deep bond with their animals.

Meowing martyrs

This disliking on felines thing it isn't all that original. The pomposity's real leader was Pope Gregory IX, who declared in 1233 that during Satanic masses, the Devil took the form of a black pet cat.

Throughout Europe edumattress.com , the Catholic Church tortured as well as carried out pet cat proprietors for witchery. Considering that having pet cats could obtain you burned at the stake, individuals started slaughtering residential felines a fad worsened by the false impression that pet cats triggered the Black Fatality

, which started ruining the continent in the mid-1300s. Europe's entire domestic feline population was really nearly erased, and also lots of 10s of countless "witches" were burned at the stake over the following 400 years.

It wasn't simply Catholics who had it in for felines, though; Queen Elizabeth I's crowning celebrations consisted of melting a cat active (so joyful!). To today, cats withstand torture as well as persecution that just doesn't seem to take place to dogs. For instance, individuals could claim this concerning certain pet dog types pit bulls or poodles, state yet not about pets as a whole:

Canines, the people-pleasers

Against that backdrop, it's not actually all that surprising that cat individuals may be tired of combating the dominating knowledge that pet dogs are a lot more charitable of spirit than felines. And also, scientifically speaking, this bias is unfair. Recall that canine genetics have been shuffled around for centuries to suit human requirements. While people throughout the ages were melting and also brutalizing cats, pet dogs were by their sides bring ducks, going after foxes, and also eliminating Attila the Hun's enemies, among others of the abilities they were reproduced for.

This brings us back to the development issue. Once again, house felines are mainly an item of all-natural, as well as not man-made, choice they trained themselves, you could say.

Dogs, not so much. Starting between 11,000 and also 16,000 years earlier, when pet dogs were first trained from old wolves, they have actually been bred to please individuals. The convenience with which people can reproduce them likewise suggests that human beings have selected for genes that make pet dogs extra appealing to them as well as not just for skills, however likewise for aesthetics as well as individuality avantsuccess.com .

That lack of enigma might have something to do with why Hollywood, the media as well as the basic population is extra likely to relate to dogs than pet cats, notes Mikel Delgado, a researcher at the University of California, Berkeley as well as an expert cat actions specialist.

" I assume part of the [media prejudice] is because pet cats are less transparent to us they show up to have less facial expression," she states. Canines, comparative, are thought to act on their whims as well as conveniently mirror what appear to human beings to be familiar feelings. Yet pets have probably been reproduced for these traits, states Delgado. "They were fed since they can wrinkle their eyebrows, and also we bred them additionally to mirror our own expressions," she states.

The feline aura

Extra intriguing, however, is what turned up in the comments section at the end of Delgado and also Reevy's survey, in which pet dog owners of both types might mention on their pet of selection. Cat people rhapsodized regarding their cat's uniqueness, composing points like "my feline is the smartest." Canine proprietors, on the other hand, often tended either to celebrate their animal's obedience or make general statements concerning all pet dogs (e.g. "I love pets" or "pets are sweet!"), states Delgado.

The Facebook remark string lends even more proof to the pet cat part of that phenomenon. Dolly, Boris, Buddi, Cuddles, Snowy, Salem, Isis, George Hubert, and Noodle are amongst hundreds of other felines applauded in occasionally TMI-levels of information.

This makes good sense. Pet cats' freedom, absence of openness, and also self-sufficiency implies when individuals ultimately reach harmony with their kitty, they have actually overcome massive all-natural obstacles to develop a bond of mutual respect.

Why do we enjoy cats so much?

We're all cat lovers. That's why we're right here. But have you ever quit to wonder why we locate felines so amazing loveable?

With Valentine's Day just nearby, it seemed the perfect time to explore our attraction with our self-domesticated feline pals.

A few of that innate love could be instinct, based upon felines' one-of-a-kind facial functions manjacompany.com .

Konrad Loren z, that likewise uncovered the concept of inscribing, thought that human beings are drawn to baby-like features, such as large eyes. Because cats have reasonably big eyes symmetrical to their faces, also when grown, we feel an instinctual protectiveness over them.

The response can also depend on just how felines domesticated themselves. Unlike pets, that were bred from wild wolves to be searching tools as well as family members friends, pet cats most likely complied with human beings because that's where the victim was. Throughout background, any place people went, vermin followed, providing an enough food resource. Fast forward hundreds of years and cats have identified that humans will certainly provide sanctuary, safety and security, and food, without all the initiative.

That's one of the reasons it's so vital to have fun with your cat. He has strong hunting reactions that require exercising. Even if he seems material to sleep throughout the day, he actually needs an opportunity to show off his skill at pouncing, chasing, and scratching. Even simply a few mins a day with a wand plaything, like our Wiggly Stick can maintain kitty feeling frisky and also engaged.

There's likewise proof felines see us as part of their "litter," utilizing vocative sounds like mews and also chittering to attract our interest a habits that's just utilized between mommy pet cats as well as their kitties in the wild. Recognizing your cat sees you as an equal is certainly reason to dole out the love.

One more piece of the problem might lie in a pet cat's unique purrs, which they make use of to calm themselves when they're worried or to share satisfaction. Proof even reveals that a cat's purr can heal both pet cats and also humans alike. As well as there's absolutely nothing like a pleased purring cat in your lap.

It's likewise likely that several of us find pet cats to be a challenge, and that's why we discover them so appealing. Unlike pets, pet cats typically just reveal affection on their terms. So when they do finally show how much they like and depend upon us, it seems that a lot more satisfying.

If you're a meme lover, you could adore cats due to the fact that they are "made of liquid" or since "if I fits, I sits" seems to be their concept. Felines can fit in almost any container. In tight spaces, whiskers help them figure out if the area allows sufficient for their body. Yet likewise, pet cats love a basic cardboard box or a play tunnel like our very own Hide and also Sneak.

In all honesty, though, it's most likely the toe beans. Have you seen the tiny cute pads on the bottoms of their feet? Exactly how can you not enjoy an animal with such lovable toes?

[ineffable-dads]

A. Z. Fell and Co.

Good Omens OCs, Peter Walsh, Isabelle Crowley, Snake!Crowley, FLUFF, Awkwardness, Peter being a soft bean

Summary: The first time Peter Walsh and Isabelle Crowley meet.  Crowley is amused.

A/N: I know nobody is going to read this, but I just wanted to write about my OCs meeting. If, however, you do read this PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG!!!

Word Count: 3.3K

           Peter Walsh stood silently for a long while staring up at the words scrawled carefully across the top of the corner shop. 

          A.Z. Fell and Co. had long been a rumor among the lecture halls at University, particularly in the religious studies department.  Students, professors, and even professors of the professors talked about the shop like it was a mystic castle on the moors, only appearing in the light of a blue moon.

          Despite his major or perhaps because of it, Peter put little stock in the supernatural.  Similar description of the supposed owner across all tellings as a dapper, slightly plump middle-aged gentlemen with white blonde hair and blue eyes and a propensity to kick one out of the shop with polite determination, could be written off with some degree of logic.  

          Strong genetics could certainly be a factor if the business was passed down through the generations. There was also the fact people had the amazing ability to create images out of whole cloth.  For example, it is widely accepted in the western consciousness that the devil is associated with fire and the color red.  There was no evidence for it and even some decidedly against, but the image isn’t liable to die any time soon.  A.Z. Fell and Co. and its mysterious owner had simply fell victim to a similar affliction, Peter was sure of it.

          All the same, there were things about the stories that did intrigue him; namely, the supposed quantity of quality religious text which lay within it’s walls.  It was why he had tried to find it when he was in London, how he came to discover it had moved some twenty-five years previously, and was what finally brought him to the South Downs to a tiny shop snuggly placed in the corner of a quaint seaside village.  It had taken him some time to get there and he wanted to breath in the moment of a job well done.

          “Right,” he told himself.  “Best foot forward then.”

          A small chime of the bell welcomed him as the distinct musk of old books washed over his senses.

          It was a bookshop if ever a shop had books in it.  It was the kind of bookshop he read about as a child just before the protagonist was whisked away on some wild adventure. It had the right smell, the comforting soft browns of faded spines and the perfect temperature for curling beside the nearest window and laying there for hours.

          He only had to take a cursorily glance at the titles to know the rumors didn’t do the collection justice.  He picked up a random book to find not only was it a first edition of The Voyage Out, but it was signed by Virginia Woolf herself.  

          Upon seeing the signature, he all but snapped the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. He wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to breath near the collection.

          His eyes made a quick turn around the space.  There was no one else there.  Not even the mysterious owner who he was growing more curious to see.  The door was unlocked and there was no closed sign. Just as it occurred to him, he ought to call out to someone, he heard a small rustling behind one of the shelves followed by low, indistinguishable whispers.

          He let out a small breath, relieved he hadn’t accidentally committed a minor felony, and wandered over to the line of shelves.  He turned the corner ready to greet the mysterious Mr. Fell, but the words died before they could even enter his throat.

          A woman stood before him.  A very pretty woman.  A very pretty woman near his own age, who looked more at home among the shelves than anyone had a right to.  She was dressed like a bookkeeper from her long skirt and buttoned up blouse to her large round spectacles. In her hand was cradled a tanning copy of what could only be a first edition of Oscar Wilde’s Poems in Prose. Even her mass of black curls only seemed to cement the impression of an eccentric intellectual as they perfectly framed her high cheekbones and brought a compliment to her dark skin.

          The only thing to prevent his eyes from focusing solely on her, was their current preoccupation with the massive black python wrapped around her neck as comfortably as a knitted scarf.  Its large head hung gently in the air at the same level where the woman held her book. If Peter hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was reading along.

          “Can I help you?”

           The words snapped him back to attention as he tore his eyes away from the snake.

          He was suddenly very aware of the pounding in his chest and the fact his eyes had been wide open for solid minute.  He blinked a few times in a row to make up the difference all while willing his heart to move back to a jogging speed.

          He focused his attention now fully on the woman. This did little to help his nerves, but he found it easier to deal with.  He had only been scared silent by something capable of killing twice in his life.  One time after crossing through the neighbor’s yard when he was six only to be confronted with their rather enthusiastic guard dog and another after nearly getting hit by a spooked horse when he was twelve. Both experiences left him rather shaken and he hadn’t developed a system for coming down after the experience.  Being scared silent by girls decidedly prettier than him, however, was something he had perfected.

           “R-religious texts?” he managed.

           The women stared at him a moment, a look of surprise quickly running across her features.  “Two shelves down, near the front desk.”

           Peter nodded, and quickly moved in that direction.

           He was only partially aware of the murmuring behind him.  The words “your idea” and “doesn’t scare easy” being the only clear ones. A part of him wanted to linger on the words and their meaning, but more pressing matters pushed the urge aside; namely, the largest collection of Bibles and books of prophecy he had ever seen in his life.  

          His mouth gaped as he stared at the titles.  It was a theologian’s dream come true.  

          He let his eyes wander up and down the shelves not daring to soil any of the spines with his bare hands. He wondered if he should ask for a pair of gloves, but quickly dismissed the notion. The idea of having to face both the woman and her snake gave him a fresh wave of anxiety.  Instead, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and carefully pulled a book off the shelf.

          A deafening hiss came from behind the book just before a flash of black scales snapped out of the dark opening.

          Peter jumped back, barely managing to keep hold of the book.  The snake stared back at him with dangerous yellow eyes. Another hiss filled the air as its tongue flicked in and out of its open mouth.  Peter then remembered snakes smelled with their tongues and was left with the same feelings a chicken has when cornered by hungry fox.

          “That one isn’t for sale.”

          The voice came straight into his left ear.  He whipped around to see the woman standing barely three feet from him. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed, and her lips were pressed into a fine line. In that moment, he wasn’t sure if he should be more frightened of her or the snake.

          With caution, he slowly moved his hand back toward the shelf.  

          The snake seemed to understand as it retreated from it hole, allowing him to put the book back in its place.  Unfortunately for Peter, the snake had decided to take a more precarious spot on top of the bookshelf, allowing it to keep its eyes on him and within biting distance.

          Peter moved down the shelf, his eyes glancing between the snake, books, and the woman equally.  His hand went for another title only for the snake to give the same warning hiss.

          “That one isn’t for sale either,” the woman confirmed.

          Peter didn’t even bother to look as he hand when for another book.  

          Another hiss.

          “Not that one either.”

          A pause followed.  Peter felt the need to stay something, but the number and variety of stressors currently looking at him left him drawing a blank.  He could only think in clichés and so let out a cough.

“Are these all on reserve?” he asked.

          The woman’s expression didn’t change. “They’re not for sale.”

          He nodded. His mind clinging to the wall as it crept cautiously towards an idea. He wasn’t going to leave empty handed. He was sure about that, but clearly a change of tactics was in order.  Part of the legend of this place was the owner attachment to all of his books. Of course, he wouldn’t have a shop if he didn’t want people to at least look at the books, would he?

          “Well, what if I don’t want to buy one?” he said, his mouth moving at the same pace as he mind; slowly, but with forward momentum.

          “Excuse me?”  The woman’s tone was more curious than accusatory.  

          Peter felt a small relief, giving him the boost he needed and picked up speed.

          “I just want to look at them,” he explained.  “I’m a student, you see, and frankly I can’t afford this stuff to begin with.  Not stuff! I don’t mean it like that.  I just mean…this is an amazing collection and I wouldn’t want to sell them either.  But, you see, I really, really need to look at these books.  Study them, I mean.  I’ve got a dissertation to finish by PhD, and I literally can’t find works like this anywhere else.  You don’t have to sell them to me, if you don’t want.  And if you’ve got buyers for some of them, I understand, but if I could just read them.  I’ll rent them if you like.  Or hold my kidney’s ransom or whatever it is you want, but…”

          He took a breath, finally getting his thoughts in some kind of coherent order.

          “The simple fact is; I need these books.  And they’re not going to be much use to anyone sitting on the shelf.  Books are meant to be read and appreciated and learned from, and that’s what I’m trying to do.  So, let me. Please.”

          The woman, stared up at him with an unreadable expression.  Despite his instincts, Peter maintained eye contact. Even if he couldn’t express why, he knew it was imperative he didn’t so much as blink during her investigation.

          A small tug came to the corner of her lip until it formed into an amused half smile.

          “That was quite an impassioned speech.”

          She looked just a little impressed with him, and Peter felt his heart beat harder against his ribs.  He was sure he was blushing too but was in no position to do anything about it.

          “I meant it,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady, given the state of his insides.

          “I’m sure you did. Was that your plan all along?”

          “What?”

          “Well you’re not from around here, obviously,” she said, matter-of-factly. “So that must mean you heard about this place when it was in London.  And if you heard of it, you must have also heard about how the owner doesn’t actually like to part with part of their collection.”

          Peter knew this was coming to something and so said cautiously, “More or less.”

          “So that begs the question,” the woman continued, “was your plan to come all the way down here to the South Downs, to treat the shop as your own personal library?”

          Peter opened his mouth.  It hung there a moment, but no sound came out.  He closed it again.

          She looked at him expectantly, with the same unreadable expression he was starting to think was her default setting.

          “It wasn’t plan A.” He said it slowly, unsure what line he crossed but trying to show atonement for whatever it was.

          The woman let out a laugh.  It was clear, bright, and if it hadn’t been at his expense, he would have enjoyed it immensely.

          “I’m just messing with you,” she assured. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

          Peter blinked. “What really?”

          She nodded.  “I’ll have to double check with Papa, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

          “Oh,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face.  The legend might still have some truth to it yet.   “Your Papa is the owner, then?”

          “Yes.”

          “So that would make you Ms. Fell?”

          “It would make me Ms. Crowley,” she corrected.

          The look of confusion must had been evident on his face as she elaborated. “My Dad got first dibs on the name. Though that does leave me curious, do you call every girl you meet, miss?”

           “Only the ones that scare me.”

           A wide smile spread across her face and Peter was faced with the mortifying realization he had said the words out loud.

           “If I told you my name was Isabelle, would you be less scared,” she asked, still laughing at him behind her eyes.

           Peter’s lip twisted upward despite himself.  He did like her laugh, even the silent ones.

           “Just a bit,” he said. “I’m Peter by the way, Peter Walsh.”

           He offered her his hand, which she immediately took in hers.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Peter Walsh.”

           “Nice to meet you too, Miss Isabelle Crowley.”

           Their hands dropped.  Peter swore he could feel his hand tingle ever so slightly.

           “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around then,” she said.  

           “Yeah,” Peter said, the thought of seeing her again leaving his brain a little fuzzy.  He would be seeing her quite a bit if this worked out with her Dad. Almost every day.  He did have a paper to finish after all.

          Her head tilted to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.  

          His stomach dropped then.  He had been staring too long.

          “Right!” he said, just a little too loudly. “Of course you will.” He pointed vaguely towards the door behind him, not having it in him to fully turn away from her. “I’ll just see myself out and see you tomorrow, maybe?”

           She shrugged. “Only if you want to get started sooner rather than later.”

           He stared to nod. “Yes. Good. Research. Books.  I definitely need to get started. Tomorrow.” He couldn’t stop nodding, even as he slowly made his way towards the front door.

          His back hit something hard, and it was only then did he realize he hadn’t bothered to turn around.  He whipped around to see the shelf he had run into rock slightly, but not damage had been done.  

          Just above his head, he heard a small hiss.  He looked up to see the snake staring at him. He didn’t think snakes were capable of showing any real emotion, but in that moment, he could have sworn the serpent was laughing at him.

          He looked to Isabelle.  She was trying her best, but the smile on her face would not be contained by the hand over her mouth.

          Peter gave a short laugh, as if that would make it less embarrassing, and all but ran out of the shop.

           The door shut behind him with a chime as cool sea air poured into his lungs. He took heaping gulps of it as if he had just come up from a deep dive.  It hadn’t been real, had it? Logically it must have. It had just happened.  All the same, the cobble stones beneath his feet, the sun glowing behind thin cloud, and the breeze against his skin felt more real than anything he had experienced in the last ten minutes.  He turned back around, half expecting for the shop no longer to be there, like in all the story books where the protagonist can never find the little door beneath the staircase or the hole in the fence once they come back from the other side.  But there it stood.  The sign A. Z. Fell and Co. still hung over the shop door.  Shelves of books could be made out through the window and Isabelle Crowley walked among them, book in hand, and the snake draped once again around her neck.  

          Peter took another breath and let it out slowly.

           “Fuck me.”

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

           Isabelle couldn’t hold it in any longer.  As soon as the door chimed shut, she let out a hearty laugh.

           Her Dad joined her, his laughter coming out in a series of high pitched hisses.  

           “I think that went rather well,” he mused.

           “Yes, you’ve successfully traumatized a grad student,” Isabelle said.

           “Asss if you wasn’t your idea.”

           Isabelle rolled her eyes and walked over to the shelf the serpent was perched on. She held out her arm, allowing him to slither down and curl himself around her neck.

           “Do you think he will come back?” Isabelle asked, idly.

           “Oh, I think ssso,” Crowley answered.  “Ssseemed like the determined sssort.  Besidesss, he’s got a reason to come back.”

           Isabelle nodded, taking a quick glance around at the shelves of books and all the knowledge they contained.

           “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “There really is no other place like it, is there?”

           Crowley hissed out a chuckle.  

           She looked down at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

           He shook his head.  “Nothing Izz, just sometimes, you act exactly like Aziraphale.”

           She laughed it off, or at least tried to.  The sound never even made it to her throat.  She had assumed he was referring to her clear love of books, but something in his eyes told her otherwise.

           “What did you think of him?” Crowley asked, before she could linger on the feeling.

           “Who? Peter?”

           Crowley shot her a sardonic look.

           She shrugged, not knowing what else to do.  “I don’t know.  He seemed nice enough.  A nervous wreck, but you did almost bite his face off.”

           “Is that all?”

           She stood silent for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to make of him.  Everything in his demeanor and tone painted the image of a shy, slightly awkward academic. He was slim, but not overly so.  Tall, but not too tall.  A little pale, no doubt from the lack of sunlight in dark achieve basements.  His hands fidgeted, but she didn’t get the impression he was perpetually nervous.  All the same, there was something else about him.

          His little speech spoke of an underlining passion. He knew what he had come there for and wasn’t going to leave until he got it. It hinted at a confidence she was interested to see more of.

          Yes, she would like to see him again.  She would like to talk to him and see if she could get him to smile that wide smile which lit up those green eyes of his. She couldn’t think of a single person she’d met with proper green eyes like that.

          “Wouldn’t mind talking to him again,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”

          Crowley rocked his head from side to side, giving the effect of shrugging without shoulders.  “No reason, just ssseemed like a bright young lad.”

          Isabelle narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why is it I feel like you know something I don’t?”

           “That’s because I do.”

           Isabelle frowned, but Crowley countered by playfully nudging her with his scaly head.

          “Nothing you need to worry about, my girl, crosssss my heart.  All will reveal itself, soon enough.”

           She wanted to press the matter, but let it go.  If her Dad wanted to play his little game, she’d let him.  No real harm could come of it.

           “So, which one of us is going to tell Papa we’re allowing someone to rent his books?”

           “I did no such thing,” Crowley defended.  “That’sss all on you.  You explain it to him.”

           She let out a groan.  

           “No good deed goes unpunished,” he teased.

           “Right,” she grumbled.

           It really was going to be a trick convincing her Papa.  But then she thought of Peter, and all her doubts melted away. She could do it.  She told him she could, and she would.  No matter what it took.

[minsyal]

Mutual Feelings Pt. 9, [Revali x Reader]

Summary: Smart nerdy stuff that smart nerdy people do

“Incoming!” The small metal hinges on your door shook as a heavy foot collided with the old crackling wood, only making its condition worse. The door flew open, slammed against the wall, and rattled the entire room. If the shelves and desk weren’t bolted to the wall, they would have clattered to the ground or move. Purah stood under the frame with the widest smile stretching across her face.

She was nothing but a lit firecracker. Her smile spoke words of mischief, as it always did, speaking essays and forty-minute presentations without her even having to part her lips.

You slid the papers you were working on under a leather-bound book. She wouldn’t like their contents. After all, they were full of information to the Divine Beasts controls that she didn’t know about. Controls that you added. You could imagine the look on her face if she learned that you were going behind her back to answer the Champion’s requests.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” She waltzed into the room with an energy that dumbfounded you. How she managed to stay in a perpetual state of joy was something that intrigued you, but you had no desire to live through yourself. “Brought you more super royal work! I know how much you love all that jazz.”

“You know me better than anyone.” You joked, turning your chair to face her. “What is it?”

“Oh,” she danced around you to slink toward the window. “you know! Just… some stuff.” The pile of papers in her hands didn’t seem like too much work. There were only two notebooks and maybe a dozen sheets of paper with scribbles all over them. There was one thing you took note of, the princess’s perfect cursive that seemed to glide across the page.

“Some stuff.” You repeated, quickly snatching a paper before Purah could protest. “Zelda’s work?”

“Precisely!”

“Why?” There was no way Zelda would want you messing with her work.

“Well. Big boss-man told her to focus on her powers. That means that you and I, more so you,” she quickly added, “get to finish it for her!”

“She would be furious if I so much as touched this.” You speedily put the page back on the stack that was now perched on your desk. “Are you sure we’re supposed to do this?”

“It’s not so much as finish it. Rather,” she leaned to the right and then swayed to the left, “add it to our work! It’s about the shrines and everything. You know? Science stuff.”

“Is she allowed to continue searching for shrines?”

“Probably not. That means less trips with her for you! Maybe more time to spend with,” she waggled her brows in a suggestive manner, “you know who.”

“Purah, let’s not go there.”

“Oh sweetie, you already went there! In fact, you’re way past there! You’re,” she pretended to cast a fishing hook off into the distance, “waaaaayyyy over there! And over there,” she pointed in the opposite direction, “was the point of no return.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“All in a day’s work!”

“Don’t you have other work to be doing?”

“Nope!” She swayed on her toes, the mischievous smile never leaving her face. “So, are you and Revali like, a thing?”

“It was nice to see you, Purah.” You rose from your desk chair and began pushing her out the door. “Please, visit less.” Her feet halted in the hall. “I’ll send a card.”

“It better tell me you and Revali are dating!”

You slammed the door in her face. You could hear her giggling to herself as she left.

Shortly after meeting Keumi and learning of her situation, you traveled alone to Zora’s Domain to obtain updates on how many shines were identified in the surrounding areas from King Dorephan and Mipha. Sidon, who is Mipha’s brother, tagged along but proved to be little to no help as he was just beginning to learn how to utilize his swimming skills.

While there, you met a peculiar older gentleman who gave off an air of wisdom and vast medicinal knowledge. He was kind, quiet, and understated. Unlike the other Zora, he lived in the outskirts of the Domain. His whereabouts remained a mystery to the other Zora, and he was said to only appear when he sensed illness.

It was surprising when he set foot in the Domain seeking you.

You sat with the medicine man, listening diligently as he told you stories of his many travels throughout Hyrule. He had been everywhere you had and more. The ingredients he collected for treating illness were from all walks of the land.

“What brings you to the Domain?” He asked, folding his wrinkled hands in his lap. The two of you sat on the steps of the Domain.

“Research.” You commented.

“Just research?” He implored, eyes leaving you to look off dreamily to the sky. He closed his eyes, taking in the breeze that blew through the canyon walls. “I think you’re here for far more than that.”

“More?”

“You have someone special to you. Very special,” his gaze returned to yours, “and they’re very sick.”

“How do you know that?” You whispered, eyes going wide.

“It’s all over your face.” He smiled, “And I’m not oblivious.”  

The medicine man, Sopho, told you of a mysterious plant with an inimitable name, “Omisaato.” The enigmatic flower heavily resembled the Silent Princess, but with small differences in its shape and the introduction of golden speckling on its petals. It radiated the scent of fresh vanilla bean and only sprouted from the ground once a year in varying locations around Gerudo. Sopho told of its intense healing abilities. When brewed correctly with specific ingredients, it could cure even the most devastating diseases or genetic mutations.

He couldn’t provide you with the exact information you needed but could gift you a descent sized book that he had bought on a trip to Kara Kara. Even if there was no evidence of its existence, it was worth a try.

It could fix her. It could save her.

Though it was only a few days ago, Zelda was growing restless. She was itching to breach the walls and return to the wild where she could spend time with what she loved most. You’d find her lingering in the library for longer periods of time, watching over your shoulder as you sifted through her research notes. She’d practically be dangling from the balcony to see what you thought of her work. It was detailed, far more detailed than you had ever bothered to do. She described the make and model, how many screws and bolts she estimated they have, and where she hypothesized, they led to. With such a small entrance, it had to go down. But where? That was the looming question.

“Why don’t you just join me, instead of scare the hell out of Link?” You turned around to find her wide-eyed, either surprised you called her out or surprised that you knew she was there. With a short nod, she descended the stairs and sat down across from you at the table. Link stood a few feet behind her, looking as uncomfortable as he typically did while he followed her around like a lost dog. “Link, come on.”

He hesitantly sat down.

“My notes.” Her fingers danced across the pages that you piled together. “What are they like?”

“They’re yours,” you let out a tired laugh, “you tell me.”

Many emotions crossed her face in very few seconds. Her eyebrows drew together as she contemplated what she wanted to say next. Link was staring blankly at her, likely wondering the exact same thing as you. Zelda reached out and fixed the stack neatly, ensuring the pages corners lined up perfectly.

“Thank you.” She finally said in a quiet tone. “For saving me when we were in Hebra.”

Catching you completely off guard, you examined her expression, trying to figure out whether or not she was telling the truth. She showed no signs of dishonesty. Her eyes were glossy and large, her fingers rubbed together lightly, and her shaking leg inched the table over with each bounce.

“It’s no big deal.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Guess I didn’t expect being a royal scientist meant experiencing 60 volts of electricity coursing through your veins.” With another smile, she was relaxed and smiling back. “Your notes are good. Detailed to all get out. But we haven’t been able to pinpoint whether the shrines in the different regions vary. I’d like to arrange a trip to Gerudo, sooner rather than later, to examine the shrines there.”

At the mention of traveling, she perked up. Something crossed her face that told you the conversations with her father were resurrected in her mind as she physically slumped a bit.

“We can request it to make ambassadorial relation meetings with Urbosa and for the possibility of finding another spring in the desert. He won’t question that.” You assured her.

“I’ll have it arranged at once.”

The next day you set out with Link, Zelda, and Mipha for Gerudo. Daruk and Revali had decided traveling separately would be faster and more efficient for the group as a whole. Plus, they wouldn’t even be allowed to enter the city so getting there immediately wouldn’t be called for. Zelda was much more pleasant than usual. Her attitude changed the moment you suggested the trip and a way around the King’s tightening rules for the young princess. She didn’t even question the cage you wore on your back meant to house the legendary flower.

Mipha, on the other hand, was curious as all get out. She poked and prodded at it, examining the welding techniques used. Link and Zelda led the group while you walked along side the Zora princess who swam slowly through Aquame Lake.

“What is it for?”

“I’m collecting some samples from the desert to take back and analyze at the castle. Boring stuff.” You laughed it off.

“Fascinating.” She was always so joyful. If there was a definition to innocence, it would surely be Mipha. “I’ve always wanted to do more scientific things. There’s just no time to.”

“You’ve helped me install updates to Ruta. I’d say that’s pretty scientific.” You commented. Mipha smiled, ducking beneath the water for a moment before coming back up.

“I mean with lab goggles and coats!”

“Next time I visit, I’ll make sure to bring an extra.”

“I’d enjoy that!”

[nikkzwrites]

Is it Too Late to Tell You | Reader x Conner | Detroit Become Human OneShot |

TW: Death

You lounged on the couch and tried to write more on your thesis for your doctorate. You were working in genetic engineering and were trying to find a quick healing” solution. Sadly, since your father’s information got leaked to the general public for being an engineer and designer for some of the androids. So now you had to stay generally confined to the luxury apartment that your father and you lived in. You let out a sigh as you stretched. It was becoming generally pretty boring in your home. Someone had to be hired to walk your dog. You had all your food and groceries delivered. You were only allowed on the balcony for short periods of time. You missed the outdoors. You missed going through Detroit.

The door opened. Your red fawn Anatolian Shepherd lifted her head and wagged her tail. You poked your head over the sofa knowing it was safe. Your father had walked in through the door with a tired smile. He opened the door again and called to someone outside that you couldn’t see. “RK800, you can come here. This is going to be your new home,” You heard him say in his father tone.

You placed your laptop down and knelt on the cushion so that you could see who your father was talking to. You spied a young man with brown hair and brown eyes stride in. He had a nice non-threatening face. You smiled and asked, “So Dad, are you going to introduce me to tall and handsome with you?” You lay your head on your arm. You giggled at yourself and your forwardness.

“Oh,” Your father commented. He looked back between the man and you. He laughed at himself and rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh… My team and I hadn’t thought of a name yet. I guess you can name his line if you’d like. It is customary for the model to be named by the person who they are helping and assisting.”

You rested your chin back onto your arms so that you looked at him properly, “Hm…” You slid off the comfortable miniature home within your home. You strolled over to the man you now realised was an android. His eyes watched you as you studied him. You smiled at him and asked, “What name would you like?”

“I do not have a preference for what you call me. I simply am here to comply with orders,” The man replied.

You giggled and said, “Well you have to have a name. If you don’t, then we can never truly get to know each other Conner.”

The man tilted his head, “Conner?”

You nodded, “Yes. Lady likes you. So, the name fits you.” You smiled and patted his hand.

Your father addressed Conner and said, “Well Conner, as I was telling you in the car, I want you to make sure my daughter is safe and I know she has been getting lonely. So please be a companion for her.”

You laughed at your father and turned to Conner. “Don’t listen to him,” you smiled at him, “You don’t have to do anything you do not want to do Conner.”

Conner tilted his head. He blinked for a second. His LED became yellow as he processed, “But...I am just supposed to complete my objectives.”

You smiled at Conner. “Yes. I guess that is what they intended,” You held his hand.

A few days later, you woke up and groaned. You elongated your muscles and sighed. You blinked hearing a slight shuffle next to you. Your head turned to see Conner standing with a tray of food for you. You sighed and asked, “Conner, what are you doing?”

“I prepared breakfast for you,” Conner answered your question promptly. He looked at you. Upon seeing your confused expression, he explained, “I was researching common requests of owners of domestic androids. This is surprisingly very high among them.” He placed the tray in your lap and sat in his chair next to your bed.

You deadpanned for a second. Your face clearly annoyed. You shook your head and tried to explain again, “Conner. Please don’t do things unless you expressly want to do them. You are here to be my friend-”

“And guardian,” The robotic man interrupted.

“Which means that you do not have to act like a servant if you don’t want to.”

Conner shook his head, “I have no opinion either way. I’m just supposed to make sure you are not lonely, healthy, and safe. Having a balanced breakfast in a relaxed manner is very important to your health. After this, I actually prepared a morning exercise routine for you. Right now it isn’t much, but that is because you have not exercised in-”

“Do not comment on how much a woman exercises, Conner. That is very rude,” You smiled as you corrected him, “But thank you for all your hard work and dedication.” You saw Conner adding a note of what you corrected him on in his memory.

“So what would you like to do today,” He asked.

“I plan on doing whatever you had planned for me today.”

The android blinked, “I thought you said that it was rude-”

“I know what I said Conner,” You addressed his concern, “But I still plan to do what you so lovingly designed my day to be today.”

“I wouldn’t say lovingly. I only did what I was assigned to do,” Conner explained.

“I know. That was hyperbolic.”

Conner further explained, “The most accurate term would be dutifully.”

“Thank you Conner,” You laughed and finished the food he had brought for you to eat. It was very well balanced. You were going to have to give him your favorite meals soon. His menu was almost too perfectly healthy for your taste buds.

Panting, you stop to take your breath. You doubled over from exhaustion. Your android companion jogged up next to you. He leaned down to meet you and asked, “Are you alright? By my calculations, we should have stopped sooner for you to rest at a more optimal time of exercising.” He took a deep breath to make you feel better. He rested his hand on your back and asked, “Do you need to walk the rest of the way? It seems like you pushed yourself too hard.”

You shook your head as an answer to him. You took your time catching more of your breath before verbally replying him. “I am fine. I can continue. Just give me a minute.”

Conner nodded and stood up straight. He pulled you up with him and lifted your arms above your head. “This will maximize your oxygen intake,” He explained before you had time to ask, “If we are to continue, I suggest we walk for a bit with you like this before you overexert yourself again.” He let his hands linger on your arms before pulling away. The android took a brush and redid your hair to make sure none of it was hitting your neck too much. He, then, took out a cool towel and wiped the nape of your neck down to the extension of your shoulders.

You closed your eyes and breathed out, “Thank you Conner.” You let your arms relax at your sides again. You held out your hand, “Please?” You pointed to the towel.

Conner blinked and handed it to you. He watched as you wiped your face and arms. “Would you like me to get there as well next time,” He asked as you gently handed him the towel back.

“I can do it,” You assured him as he placed the towel back into a containment tube and back into the backpack. You smiled at him and asked, “Do you want me to carry the bag next time?”

He shook his head and gave you a bottle of water, “It would be too heavy for you. Next time, we can get you a water bottle holder and a small fanny pack if you’d like.”

You took a sip and nodded to him, “Anything that makes this a little bit more fair.”

Conner chuckled and said, “This is nothing to me. Please don’t worry so much about me.”

You shook your head and said, “Never Conner. I will always worry about you.”

When you two arrived at the square, you stopped jogging and took a small break to sit on a bench. Conner walked over to you and stood in front of you, “After you are done resting, I can call a taxi to bring us home. You did well today, exceeded my expectations.”

You laughed, “Thank you. Can we walk around here first? I want to buy you some work out clothes and just go look around the shopping center. Is that okay?”

Conner nodded, “That is absolutely fine.” He checked the time in his systems. He, then, commented, “We should also get you lunch while we are here.”

You nodded as you stood up. You linked arms with his and smiled. You walked through the stores with a bright smile and pulling him into stores so that he could try on clothes.

“I do not have a need for these things. I have my uniform,” he tried to argue with you.

Your head made the international understanding of no, “You may not need it, but it would be nice for you to have clothes you can wear whenever you want.” You picked out some white, black, and blue outfits. You picked out some work out outfits, some everyday outfits, and another suit. You went and found some matching pajamas in blue with white and black accents. They were built to be matching so you got yourself, your father, and Conner a pair. You got both your and your father’s initials on the corresponding pajamas. You also got Conner’s full name embroidered on the chest pocket and left cuff. You made sure to order this while Conner was in the dressing room. After he tried on the clothes and your surprise was on order, you both walked towards the food court for you to get some food to eat.

Conner smiled and said, “Thank you. This is very sweet of you to go through all of this for me.”

You ate your meal a little bit and smiled. “Hey Conner,” You scooped a bite onto your fork and said, “Open.”

Conner was taken aback, “Wh-What are you doing?”

You giggled and said, “I want to see if you like this.”

Conner sighed and opened his mouth. He has since learned not to argue because he knew he was going to lose. He let you put the bite in his mouth and hummed imitating the way you eat.

You laughed and exclaimed, “Conner!” You blushed and covered your face a bit to hide your embarrassment. 

Conner tilted his head concerned, but then smiled seeing how bright your face was. “What did I do,” he asked.

“It was just cute,” You softened and sighed. You finished up your food and went back home to go relax with your friend.

A few days later, you and Conner got into a routine. It was amazing being able to spend time with someone and see the impact of your life together. Conner was still Conner, but he was becoming more confident with himself and his place with things. In fact, Lady had started to go and cuddle with him instead of you. It was so wonderful to see him feeling like he could be at home. That morning the both of you got up and cooked breakfast. Then you went for your morning jog. You interrupted the jog to go and pick up your surprise package. Conner waited for you outside of the store, per our request, so that it could keep a surprise. When you walked out, you noticed a man talking to Conner. You overheard the comment, “Oh, are you also waiting for your wife?” You blinked, then realised he thought Conner was human due to the hat he was wearing hid his LED.

Conner blinked for a second and said, “No, I am waiting for my-”

“Hey Conner,” You called jogging up. You wanted to quickly intercept the conversation before it got into bad territory. You turned to the man and said, “I’m sorry. We have to head out. We are late getting home and our dog will worry.” You pulled Conner up and waved a farewell to the man.

Once away from him, Conner looked down to you, “He didn’t know I was an android.”

You shook his head, “No. He didn’t.” You slipped the package into your backpack and jogged with him back home. Once home, you both greeted Lady. You split ways once fully inside and shoes off. You walked to your bathroom to shower and Conner walked to the kitchen to make the two of you lunch. You let yourself have a cool shower to soothe your heated skin and to wash the sweat off your body. You walked out of the bathroom when you were ready. There was food on the table for the two of you and Conner had changed into the suit you had bought for him. You sat across from Conner to eat.

Conner looked at you with a small smile. His face almost conveyed shyness and awkwardness. “I,” Conner started. He paused to gather himself up more, “Would you like to dance with me?”

After eating, Conner stood and strode over to your side of the table. He bowed and held his hand out to you. You smiled up at him and took his hand. He took it and held it into a comfortable waltz position. When you stood to meet him, Conner slid his hand to the small of your back. He sighed happily and smiled at you. You looked up at him and said, “I am sorry in advance. I never really learned how.”

Conner gently brushed the hair out of your face, “It’s alright. I will teach you.” He took a moment to evaluate and to create the perfect flow of events. He focused back onto you and nodded confidently, “Yes, please follow my lead.”

“Of course,” you responded with a small nod. You followed as he lead you through the steps. You were amazed at how well he could dance and move. He kept the both of you in perfect sync. You smiled and leaned into him. You rested your head on his chest. It was disconcerting at first that he didn’t have a heartbeat, but you quickly got over it by looking back up at him. You smiled after a while of dancing and pulled away.

Conner looked concerned, “Di-Did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head. You kissed his synthetic cheek and smiled at him. You asked him, “Conner, please wait here.” You turned away and went to grab the present. You handed it to him and said, “Please go try this on.”

Conner looked down at it. He smiled and shook his head. He sighed contently and looked up at you. “Only because you asked so politely,” He smirked.

When he disappeared to put his on, you snuck away to put on your matching set on. You heard Conner emerge faster than you. He called for you. You walked back saying, “Conner, you can try to be patient.” Your shirt still needed to be fully buttoned.

Conner froze for a second. He simulated swallowing hard and turned his face in embarrassment. He still walked over to finish helping you button your top. “You could have told me you were still changing,” He gently smiled down at you.

“But that would have ruined the surprise,” you concluded. You took a step back and spun for him to see that he and you matched. “I also got one for my father,” You added.

Conner gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb, “That is perfect. Thank you.”

It was about a week later that the three of you got a family photo in the matching pajamas.  The photographer had no problems getting some perfect shots. All of you were all smiles and laughing.

You and Conner were cuddling on the sofa in your matching pajamas when your father came in. You greeted your father nonchalantly. He laughed and commented that Conner was spoiling you too much. The two of you had become lazy.

Conner chuckled and said, “Today was a cheat day.”

You nodded and concurred with him, “We just wanted to catch up on some shows that we were missing.” You leaned over Conner’s lap to talk to your father.

Your father laughed again, “Next thing I know, you have convinced him to sleep in your bed with you.”

You and Conner looked at each other and remained silent. He, then, spoke up and said, “She got freaked out having me just sitting in a chair watching her every night. So instead, I lay with her so that if she wakes up, it isn’t as alarming.”

“Keep telling yourself that Conner,” Your father waved and walked up the stairs to go to his room, “At least I don’t have to worry about surprise grandchildren.”

After a little bit, you two also decided to turn in for the night.

The day Conner was officially was marked deviant was a day you’d never forget. The two of you were on your routine jog when you past the Cyberlife office. You shook your head as a riot had formed in front of it. You were just going to pass it up until you saw one of the protesters attack an android. You couldn’t help it. You turned to Conner and said, “Conner, please go grab an officer. I’m going to help the man getting abused over there.” You jogged over to go help the android. You pushed the protester beating him up and said, “You need to stop. He wasn’t doing anything to you.” You reached and helped him up. You tried to calm him, “It’s oka-”

The android tried to interrupt you, “Please Ma’am wat-”

You turned to see the protester you pushed reach to hit you. Before you or he could react, Conner appeared between you and the attacker. He grabbed the man’s arm and said, “Please do not harm her. She is very important to me. I am going to advise you to stop your attack at once.” Conner started to twist the man’s arm.

“Conner,” You screamed pulling him out of his rage. He let go of the man and shook his head.

“Is everything alright,” An officer intervened. 

The rest of that day was uneventful until the night. You heard a rustle in the house. Both you and Conner shot up out of bed. Conner quickly ran downstairs. When you reached the part of the stairwell to see into the common areas of the house, you watched as Conner shot. You screamed as the protester from before lay dead and bleeding onto the floor. Conner looked up, saw you, and ran to you. You two clung to each other. Conner eased you to the floor as you cried. It wasn’t long before the swat team arrived to assess the situation. Your father also came home early as the team and Cyberlife decided it was best to take Conner away. You kissed him assuring him everything would be fine and that he would be back with you soon.

He never came back. In fact, you saw a Conner later working within the police. You rushed to him only to find that his memories with you had been erased. That night, you mourned even harder about your loss.

You watched on the screen seeing the Android Protests. You smiled happily until you saw the military and police needlessly firing upon them. You threw on a jacket and ran down to the statute towards where they were walking.

Conner’s lips trembled. He held his head and shook it. He felt faded memories of love and rage hitting him. He turned to listen to the familiar voice calling to him. He saw the face that kept flashing into his head. He whispered your name.

“Conner! Watch out,” You dived to push him down as a bullet came to hit him. It easily tore through you. Everyone watched horrified as red blood splattered instead of blue.

Conner flipped the two of you panicked. He held you close, “Wh-Why did you do that? You were supposed to stay safe. You had everything to look forward to.” He started to cry. He slammed his forehead into yours.

With your last moments in your body, you laughed, “It doesn’t mean anything if I couldn’t have you.” You closed your eyes and took your last breath with Conner’s lips pressed against yours.

After the protest was over and everyone was free, Conner met up with Hank. He gave his police partner a hug as they talked. It wasn’t long after that when he was dragged back into his mindscape. Instead of it being winter like he had last left it, it was a beautiful spring again. He blinked and took the bridge to the middle island. He couldn’t believe what he saw.

You turned back to face Conner with a huge smile, “I love you.”

[aurora-nova-fic]

Archimedes Snippets, Part 2

A couple more ideas for Garak as a Starfleet spouse, following All Our Tomorrows. Because the muse doesn’t want to work on a complete story so much as little scenes here and there in various follow-up works.

As before, these are unpolished (you can tell, because the tenses switch from one snippet to the next). I’m not really doing anything with these, just getting the ideas down so I can stop writing them in my head.

The Bashir & Garak show moves. The crew of the Archimedes is intrigued.

The Archimedes is twenty hours into its two-year mission when Bashir and Garak first argue in public.

This doesn’t escape anyone’s notice. Starfleet gossips. Not everyone, of course; the exact amount of gossip per person varies considerably. Any ship or station with a large percentage of Vulcans can be expected to show a corresponding drop in this behavior (sociologists have done studies, inherent difficulties in studying the subject notwithstanding). On the whole, though, it’s a popular pastime, especially when things are a bit dull at the moment or when a new crew comes together.

The USS Archimedes is fresh from Utopia Planetia with a new crew still getting to know each other, and it doesn’t surprise anyone when the first focal point of gossip is Dr. Julian Bashir.

For one thing, their CMO comes to the Archimedes from Deep Space Nine, where he was indisputably a hero of the Dominion War. His discovery of the cure for the changeling disease helped end the war, though for some reason that’s the only medical topic about which he doesn’t like to speak. He was there from the beginning of the quadrant’s conflict with the Founders, survived a Dominion internment camp, and developed an antigen to prevent the spread of a Dominion-bioengineered disease.

He’s also the first Augment allowed to serve openly in Starfleet, which is still controversial in some circles. The idea is that he’s not Khan, but some people are afraid he’s the tip of a dangerous iceberg. Nobody on the Archimedes knows Bashir’s personal feelings on the subject of genetic engineering, because the only people brave enough to ask, this early in the voyage, are also wise enough to know it’s not their business.

What really secures Bashir’s place as the grapevine’s favorite subject is his marriage. He arrives on the Archimedes newly married, which would’ve been unremarkable if his husband hadn’t been a Cardassian. A Cardassian who worked with the Federation during the war but may have been an Obsidian Order agent before that. Nobody on the ship is entirely sure, nor do they know exactly what said order actually did, but they assume it was something like the Tal Shiar and don’t like the idea one bit.

So it’s natural that everyone’s watching them. And what the crew sees confuses them at first.

Not a full Earth day after leaving Deep Space Nine, Bashir takes a late lunch and meets his husband in the mess hall. A handful of alpha shift crewmembers are around, and some of the beta shift getting an early breakfast, so there a good dozen witnesses to see both of them getting worked up. They speak quietly, but have intent facial expressions and both gesture with abandon.

“Didn’t they just get married?” asks Taiya, a beta shift engineer.

“I heard they practically came aboard from their honeymoon,” replies MacPherson, who then has to explain the concept to Taiya and thus learns Andorians have no equivalent.

“Short honeymoon phase,” adds Kowalczyk.

To the trio’s delight, Bashir and Garak have gotten so into their argument they raise their voices. “… absolute caricature of a villain is insulting to the reader.”

Bashir’s eyebrows fly up. “Really? That’s your next complaint?”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me anyone goes around proclaiming, ‘Woe me, I’m so hideous to look at, I must therefore kill my brother and nephews.’ As motivations go, it lacks any semblance of credence.”

Taiya’s antennae twitch in confusion.

“You’re deliberately ignoring his motivation,” insists Bashir. The audience doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. “Gloucester claims to have been ‘cheated of feature by dissembling nature,’ so wronged that even dogs bark when he walks by.”

“From my understanding, Terran dogs bark all the time. It’s hardly good reason to kill your own brother.”

“He feels everyone hates him because of his physical appearance. ‘And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain.’ If he’d been shown kindness and love, he wouldn’t have been so angry. His life could’ve been entirely different!”

“You cannot possibly intend to read this as advocating the healing power of love.”

“No, because we don’t see anyone show Gloucester love, but think of the possibility. His life could’ve been entirely different if…”

“…he lived in a time when his deformities could be easily treated?”

“…people weren’t so shallow.”

“That is a theory not remotely supported by the rest of the text.”

“Shakespeare,” says MacPherson. “I think that’s Richard III.” When the others give him a questioning look, he shrugs. “My mother does community theater, so I spent a lot of time at rehearsals as a kid. You pick these things up.”

Bashir’s combadge beeps. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later,” he says. He and Garak briefly press their palms together, and then the doctor heads out of the mess hall.

Garak looks towards the observing trio, smiles knowingly, and picks up a padd.

This becomes a pattern. Bashir and his husband (no one even knows if the man has a first name) don’t act like newlyweds in love. They argue. Constantly. In fact they argue more than Vord can believe, and she’s a Tellarite. A Tellarite who joined Starfleet to escape the constant verbal sparring of Tellar, if it matters, but even on her homeworld, marriage is supposed to be a refuge from conflict.

They meet for lunch when Bashir’s schedule permits. The crew begins to consider this a source of entertainment, even when they don’t have any knowledge of the books under discussion. It’s usually literature at lunch. Human and Cardassian, mostly, but they sometimes add in works from other societies with no rhyme or reason anyone else can figure. Taiya says they’re both wrong about a seminal Andorian novel, according to a Written Arts teacher she had at age sixteen.

They’re obviously fast readers, given that they discuss a new book every other day, every third at the outside. Either that, or, as Kowalczyk says, they have a lot less sex than your average newlyweds.

Some ten days into the mission, Bashir calls a Cardassian book derivative and Garak reaches new levels of primly outraged.

“Derivative! Just because your authors have no respect for tradition doesn’t mean the rest of the galaxy is so enamored with the new.” He’s clearly gearing up for a long diatribe. Some of the crew pause their own lunch to watch the spectacle when Bashir’s combage chirps, and he gets up with clear regret.

That’s when people start to realize the CMO and his husband love debating. This is a honeymoon phase, weirdly enough. The pair is spotted coming out of Holodeck 1 disagreeing on the program they’d just run.

“You’re not supposed to suspect Watson.”

“I don’t see why not,” replies Garak. “If he’s constructing the narrative, he could well be the murderer.”

It appears there’s nothing they won’t argue. This doesn’t stop them from looking like they want to jump each other, though they are actually very decorous in public. No one has ever seen them do more than press their hands together.

People wonder what happens when they’re actually fighting. It turns out, silence. One day, a month into the mission, they eat quietly. It’s unnerving. They must make up overnight, though, because the following day they’re at it again, hashing out opposing views on a Cardassian poet.

Kotra references come in handy

“Archimedes to Bashir,” said Lt. (j.g) Connelly, Operations Officer.

It was a long moment before the CMO responded, and if he didn’t have a good reason, Andrea was going to have a chat with him about setting alarms for check-ins.

“Bashir here.”

“You’re overdue for check-in, Doctor,” said Andrea.

“My apologies, Captain. The aid evaluation is very complex.”

That was what alarms were for, Andrea thought. “Anything to report?”

“It’s a delicate matter. I should have a better idea of what’s needed shortly.”

They’d responded to a request for help from a small Klingon colony in need of medical assistance. Andrea hadn’t even known there was a Klingon colony in the Gamma Quadrant, but the Empire wasn’t obligated to disclose every settlement to the Federation, and were within their agreed-upon rights here. The Archimedes therefore dispatched an away team to see what could be done about their medical problem. Everyone knew Klingon medicine was a joke.

“Keep me informed,” said Andrea.

“Yes, ma’am.” A pause, and then, “May I speak with Garak for my spousal check-in, please?”

Starfleet did not offer spousal check-ins. Andrea started to think Bashir hadn’t forgotten anything, and there was a problem on the surface. “Of course,” she said. “One moment.”

At her nod, Connelly opened a channel to Bashir and Garak’s quarters. “Garak,” said Andrea. “Dr. Bashir commed for his spousal check-in.”

“Excellent.” Garak didn’t sound surprised in the least. He was a very good actor, Andrea decided – or she hoped that was the case here. “Are you there, Julian?”

“Yes. You’d like the temperature down here.”

“But not the menu, I’m sure.”

“No,” agreed Bashir, sounding amused. “I decided my next kotra move on the ride. It’ll give you something to think about, since I might be down here a while.”

“What is it?”

“Left flank advance center right.”

“An interesting choice,” said Garak.

“You always tell me kotra favors the bold. I look forward to your response.”

“You’ve given me few choices, my dear.”

“I know. Bashir out.”

A very puzzled Connelly reported, “Comm line closed.”

“What was that, Garak?” asked Andrea.

“A request for immediate transport.”

“If you’re wrong, we could start a diplomatic incident with offended Klingons.”

“I’m not wrong, Captain. Dr. Bashir invented a procedure to speak to me, did he not? Furthermore, we are not currently playing kotra, but the move he indicated is a trap he fell into the night before last.”

“A trap,” repeated Andrea. “I see. Lieutenant, beam up the away team.”

“Initiating transport,” said Connelly. “I have them. Transporter room two.”

Andrea tapped her combadge. “Scholz to Bashir. What the hell is going on?”

“It was a trap, Captain. They took our combadges and had a mek’leth to Tersan’s throat, so I had to get creative to avoid suspicion.”

“Is everyone alright?”

“Nothing worse than bruises. Something on this planet is unbalancing the Klingons’ mental state. The worst cases exhibit paranoia, and they decided the away team is part of a Federation plot to keep the Empire out of the Gamma Quadrant.”

“I want to see the entire away team in my ready room.”

“On our way.”

“And Doctor? Good thinking.”

[wetookanoath]

Could you write a little shyan headcanon? I'm really stressed trying to study for a genetics exam and your writing would really help me de-stress a little Ofc, don't do it if you are busy, I love your writing, but I would hate to bother you (cause you are a lovely person 🖤)

I’m so sorry you are not feeling good. Here’s one, I hope you like– Also, this is NOT a prompt, I plan on writing it as a full fanfic later, thanks!

Not many people know that Ryan once considered becoming a dentist like his dad, and for a long time he was sold on that idea until he discovered he was better suited for other things he loved with all he is.

One day, when they were both interns, Ryan tells this to Shane after the older man told him about he switching schools and how once, a long time ago when he had been way younger, his family really believed he could have a career in fucking baseball.

Shane doesn’t make a big deal of it, we all had once ideas of what we could be when older, and switching careers is something common and totally necessary when you really are not for that one thing. He doesn’t think much of how Ryan frowns at the end and adds, “I never told that to anyone before”.

When time goes by and he is sure he has feelings for Ryan, they are up to go to London for Unsolved and holy shit– a trip to Europe with your crush? He sure as fuck is trying his best no to think ROMANTIC.

Is in that trip that Ryan tells him about the first time he was in love and how much it made him suffer because he was too scared to act on it. He had been a 17 years old idiot kid that was awkward and couldn’t talk without basically yelling like the good ol’ cliché of a stupid jock he was.

But Shane asures him there’s nothing wrong about that, he’s too sweet and too genuine to ever be a cliché and definately, not a bad one. “You are the sweet jock, you know? Big, goody, will hug you when you are distressed, will fight bad guys for you. That’s you.”

It makes Ryan laugh and maybe it’s just the alcohol, but his cheeks are pink and his eyes are glassy, and when he cleans his nose with a napkin, he sighs and confesses, “It was a boy, that’s why it was so scary. To me. It’s always so scary for me.”

He thinks two thinks: HOLY SHIT and OH I SEE. Shane just smiles at him, he offers a friendly hand on his shoulder and another stupid joke that makes Ryan forget he was even sad about his old mistakes, “I’m not embarrassed about it, just sad”, he says. “I think that’s why I never told that to anyone before.”

Later, as they walk side by side in the humid streets of London, Shane would think of the other little things he knows of Ryan that the man has never told anyone before: 

That he stole his dad’s car when he was fourteen, that he and a cousin once planned to scape from their grandfather’s house when they were younger but their grandma stopped them, that he accidentally found out a family memeber of second generation killed someone in self defense before, that he actually enjoyed his first time and it killed him a little that the girl didn’t, or how he had liked being spooned when he had been with his ex.

He wonders why Ryan has chosen him to hold all those secrets and if it’s true he’s the only one who knows. He reminds himself how many of his own he has told Ryan and the reason why he has– that there’s no one in the world he would trust the most, since he has even trusted Ryan with his heart. Even if he never loves him back, his heart couldn’t be in better hands than in the hands’ of his love.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks when Shane stopped so suddenly, looking at him like trying to find something on his face. 

“Nothing.”

It’s until months later, when they are in Texas, that Shane hears him say that again– “Never said that anybody before, uh…” about him wanting to settle down someday, got to enjoy a happy life, own one hundred dogs and a house in the quiet, like his parents’, maybe even leave L.A.

Ryan is frowning by the time Shane says, after overthinking it for years, “Settle down with me.”

His expression changes immediately, he’s not longer frowning and his eyes are wide open, like if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“I know shit about dogs, but I can read everything about them tonight if it means you would kiss me.” Shane says next, maybe just to fill the silence, but also meaning every word. “You always– I know all your secrets, and I know how you like your waffles, and your shoe size, what stupid team is playing this sunday because I know it’s your favorite football team. So…”

It hangs in the air, what all of that really means, and how much Shane is risking right now as he folds, and folds again, and folds one more the same pizza menu he had read to Ryan earlier so they could chose dinner together.

Finally, Ryan moves from where he was sitting on his own bed and right when he was about to climb to Shane’s, there’s a knock on their door, pizza guy announcing his arrival.

“Just a second, please!” Ryan shouts back and instead of moving to the desk where they left the money for the pizza, he climbs into Shane’s bed and onto his lap and craddles his face before kissing him.

It’s probably the sweetest kiss both have ever shared, and before Shane can properly respond, Ryan gets away and looks up at him like asking if that was okay, was he allowed to do that? Shane smiles at him, and leans in to kiss him properly this time.

He kisses him slow, as soft as he can, keeping his desire and frustration of years of pining away because this moment here, here is the most stellar moment of his life and there’s no doubts anymore, because Ryan tastes exactly of how being loved feels like.

Pizza guy gets a big tip, of course. At least the guy doesn’t seem too annoyed when he sees it, and they keep apologizing until the door is closed and they are giggling like idiots into each other’s mouth.

If this is how the rest of his life will be like, Shane can’t wait for it.

[suckthatagustd]

Three Years, Four Months, and 17 Days - Also, a Trademarked Chocolate Donut

summary: so maybe jin’s accusations had some merit, after all.

rating: t 

genre: a little bit of angst and some not-so-well-placed humor 

warnings: cursing and maybe a hint of food porn 

pairing: kim seokjin x reader 

a/n: first fic, and I would really appreciate some comments and/or reviews!! I would like to know how I did, and if there are any ways I could improve, I'd be glad to hear them! Also, I may take requests if they interest me (sorry if that came out rude but also I'm kind of not sorry, sorry) in order to get some more stuff out and circulating. thx k bye

 The last thing Jin expected to see while walking to his favorite café with the intention of surprising his girlfriend of three years (four months and 17 days -but who's counting?) with donuts was to see said girlfriend of three years (four months and 17 days) feeding said donuts to some other man. 

Now, Jin was never one to base things off of first impressions, and he liked to think he was fairly rational when it came to issues that normal people would, for lack of a better word, lose their composure over.

 Perhaps, understandably though, his mind jumped to one blaring conclusion that seemed painfully obvious: his girlfriend of three years (four months and 17 days goddammit) was cheating on him – at their favorite café, no less!

 "What nerve," he hissed between his clenched teeth (still impossibly straight and pearly white so how could you possibly think of cheating on him of all people?) and his eyes narrowed as far as a human possibly could with no genetic enhancement (this isn't a fucking hybrid AU, so there is no reason why they would narrow into slits you unrealistic, naïve, little -), but this was a predictable initial reaction, right? 

He would like to say that upon seeing this sight, he had a nostalgic flashback to their first date in this same little café three years ago (three years, four months, and 17 days, but who's counting? Not him, obviously), but honestly, his mind was primarily occupied with the disturbingly cruel thoughts of how to get out of the relationship while maintaining custody of the dog (because truly, isn't losing your dog of two years, four months, and 17 days one of the worst pains to ever experience? Like your heart being torn in two much how Jin's was right at this very moment?). 

 And while Jin would have wanted nothing more than to storm up to you and the (oh my god he's actually really attractive but goddammit so are you, Jin! - Oh my god why was he talking in the third person?) man you were shamelessly feeding a chocolate donut with extra chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles (gasp are you really feeding Jin's favorite donut to this man right now? You monster -!), he would have rather not started a scene like some poorly-scripted K-Drama (how dare you turn his life into a poorly-scripted K-Drama you uncultured swine -!). 

Instead, he, like the totally mature and cool adult that he was, pivoted around and began walking back to your shared apartment (with every intention of bribing Chimmy with his favorite pretzel treats so when the time came for the dog to choose between his two owners, he would most certainly choose his daddy because mommy is a cheating cuntwaffle who obviously can't stay attached to one object of affection), but not without shooting one last glare over his shoulder to see this incriminating view.

 »~» 

You came home almost five hours (four hours, 57 minutes, and 39 seconds but who's counting?) later, but were fairly puzzled by the failure of your beloved Chimmy jumping all over your legs. Pouting, you kicked off your heels at the front door and set your purse on the island in your kitchen before languidly stretching your arms over your head like a content kitty ("yeah," Jin scoffed to himself, "I bet she's content alright.").

"Babe, I'm home!" Your frown etched deeper into your lips when you did not receive your expected response, as you knew he was home judging by the placement of his shoes by the front door. Upon peering around the corner to see your beloved boyfriend calmly sitting on the couch with his legs crossed and Chimmy in his lap, you grinned belatedly and sauntered over to the pair.

"Hey, baby," you greeted once more, placing a chaste peck on his cheek while also petting Chimmy's head lovingly, and then proceeded to sit next to them on the couch with your legs tucked. "How was your day?" 

The blank expression on his face (or lack thereof?) caused your brow to furrow, and you gazed upon your boyfriend of three years (...) with worry. 

 "Babe, what's wrong? Did something bad happen?" 

 All Jin did was keep staring ahead, stroking Chimmy's head (like that scene from The Godfather, but no less intimidating) and keeping his plump lips in a straight line. 

 You were slightly irritated by a lack of response, but having been with this man for quite a while now (.....), you knew that he did not often show negativity unless the situation was dire. That being said, what could have possibly caused your boyfriend to feel this way? 

"Jin, baby, please talk to me," you encouraged softly, reaching up to caress his cheek, but were swiftly ushered into a state of shock when your hand was abruptly smacked away (lightly, though, because he was not heartless like some people, obviously). 

Your expression quickly morphed into something irate, and your jaw quite literally dropped. "Excuse you? What was that?!" 

Jin collectedly swiveled his head around to directly face you, but he no longer wore a face of indifference; instead, his heated expression met yours with the same ferocity. 

"Excuse me?" He questioned rhetorically, momentarily pausing his repetitive strokes on Chimmy's head (Chimmy, blissfully unaware of the rising tension between his two owners, grumpily raised his head to see why the pets had stopped, but was too lazy so he set his head back down with hopes of Dad continuing his previous ministrations soon), but his tone was deceptively composed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just don't want the filthy hands that touched the Chocolate Supreme Donut™ to grope my face." 

Your fury was quickly exchanged for a "what the actual fuck?" expression that clearly demonstrated your (most definitely unwarranted) confusion. 

 "Allow me to explain, since you're obviously not picking up what I'm dropping here -" 

"Did you just fucking -" 

"And that is you decided to go and buy the Chocolate Supreme Donut™, my favorite, but you already knew that, right? You bought this donut - my favorite donut - and proceeded to feed it to some other man." 

Your jaw dropped (again, because it seems Jin was just full of surprises today) and you opened your mouth to reply, but Jin instead shoved a fucking pretzel down your throat (what the actual fuck), temporarily preventing you from speaking (you may be a suspected cheater, but even you know it's improper to talk with food in your mouth). 

"Now, baby, I'm sure you're smelling what I'm cookin'?" 

("Enough with the fucking idioms, Jin." 

"...No.") 

Jin held his head high and warped his pillow lips into a triumphant smirk, but there was an undertone of barely-concealed hurt that caused an ache in your heart; however, that was soon overcome by your unbridled rage. 

"Are you implying that I cheated on you?!" 

Jin's cocky facade quickly transformed into something far more affronted and heart-breaking. 

"I fucking saw you with another man at our café, feeding him my favorite flavor donut, while holding his hand! What else was I supposed to think?!" 

"How about maybe me showing my cousin around the city, you asshole!" 

»~»

 Now, Jin was a lot of things - an excellent cook, incredibly attractive (he was the visual out of his group of friends, obviously), fairly intelligent, and even a relatively fast sprinter (that 100m dash? He owned that bitch); but, maybe not the best at handling delicate issues. 

Exhibit A: Staging an intervention for Jungkook and his less-than-healthy working out habits (ironically enough). 

(Who knew Jungkook could cry that much? Certainly not Jin, obviously. 

But Yoongi? Most certainly. Insensitive bastard.)

 Exhibit B: Accusing his girlfriend of three years, four months, and 17 days of cheating on him. 

 A cousin? Really? Shouldn't he have factored it in? 

 He didn't know you had a cousin! 

("We've been together for over three years, Jin, and you've once asked me about my cousins." 

Cousins? As in plural?! 

You sighed.)

You, however, seemed to be on the borderline between bawling your eyes out and carving his eyes out (but maybe possibly perhaps he deserved it). 

"I can't believe" (a sniffle) "you thought I" (a hiccup) "that I -" (a sob – goddammit why did Jin feel like he was about to cry?) "that I cheated on you? After over three years of dating?" (three years, four months, and 17 days - sigh - forget it) "I can't believe this." 

So maybe (possibly perhaps) Jin felt like the biggest asshole of all time, and his anger rapidly transformed into something more somber and guilty. 

"Baby, I'm really sorry! I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions like that, but I just..." 

His words tapered off into a whisper until they eventually died on his lips altogether, but the wet gleam in your eyes cracked his heart in two (or three. Or four. Okay, fine - no less than a million) pieces. 

"You just what? Called our relationship into question because you could never be bothered to ask about my possible family? So now I'm the aggressor because you weren't involved enough? But now I have to suffer through this emotional turmoil because you couldn't be bothered to walk over and ask?" Your words became more accusatory and full of venom with each passing syllable, and Jin cowered back into the couch upon hearing them (Chimmy, meanwhile, vacated the couch about five minutes ago in search of food because he was clearly unaffected by his parents arguing and goddammit Jin knew he should have picked the Chiweenie instead -). 

"Baby -" 

"No, you know what? I need time to myself. I need to evaluate this relationship because apparently I've given you everything and it seems you have yet to do so." 

Jin's jaw dropped and his (rather otherwise deliciously tan) skin paled in an instant. He did not move into action, though, until he noticed you were halfway to the door and already had your purse in your arm. 

He scrambled off the faux leather (as if he could afford the real deal! It wasn't like he was a famous idol or anything) and nearly tripped over a sleeping Chimmy (who, upon seeing his empty bowl, returned to the foot of the couch and decided to nap instead). His shoes squeaked on the floor and by the time he gathered his bearings, you had both heels on and were prepared to open the door. 

"No, baby, please!" He was tugging on your unoccupied wrist, but quickly released it upon seeing the scathing glare you shot his hand while it was latched onto you. "I made a mistake, but that doesn't mean I care any less about you! I love you so much and I would do anything to make you happy -" 

"If you really want me to be happy, Jin," you interrupted, not even bothering to look into his eyes and subsequently the tears threatening to pool over his lash line. "Then you'll leave me alone until I feel that I'm ready to look you in the eyes without calling everything we've built up into question; until I feel like you love me as much as I love you." 

And just like that, you walked out the door, leaving Jin to wallow in his guilt for the next few hours (days, actually, but maybe possibly perhaps Jin deserved it.)

 (Or not.) 

»~» 

When you stepped out of Jin's apartment, your budding tears quickly dried up and you wiped the residual tracks of sticky mascara from your cheeks with a disgusted sneer. While muttering belligerent curses under your breath (which may or may not have concerned a certain nosy, handsome, tall, charming, handsome, smart, sweet, handsome bastard - did you say handsome? Well, just in case, handsome), you briskly walked to the apartment complex's garage where your car was currently parked. 

You fumbled with the keys upon reaching your vehicle, hands shaking only slightly (not out of fear like one might expect, but instead nervousness) while you unlocked your door. You gave the quiet lot just one more wary sweep with your eyes before sliding into the driver's seat, setting your purse on the console and retrieving your phone from within. 

You pressed a series of numbers that made up your password, then scrolled to your contacts. You selected the name you had been searching for, and pressed the call button while chewing your nails anxiously (not enough to bite them off, though, because that was not a habit you needed to be picking up again). 

After three rings, he picked up. 

(Thank god.) 

"Hi babe, what's up? I really loved that donut shop you showed me today, so maybe we can go again sometime?" 

With a deep inhale, and an even louder exhale, you responded. 

"Hey, um, I think we should end this."

[withastolenlantern]

The automated doors parted as the detective stepped into the atrium of the main building. The bustle of commerce buzzed around her as self-important looking Ross employees flitted about in a disorganized dance she suspected was not dissimilar from the inside of a bee hive in spring. Peculiarly she could find no security or administrative desk to check into, and she stood, rather dumb-founded, unsure of how to proceed. “Off to a brilliant start,” she mumbled to herself, and stepped further into the lobby.

As she did, a holo blinked to life directly in front of her, startling her enough to cause her to skid to a stop in self-defense. “Good afternoon, Detective Inspector Chatham.” A full size human-impersonation stood before her, obviously generated from a projector somewhere in the floor or ceiling. The image was dressed in a sharply-fit grey suit with short heeled boots; a kerchief with a crimson R sat in the breast pocket of the jacket. The close-cut mop of hair on the model made the image gender-ambiguous, which Chatham supposed was likely intentional. It wasn’t often one saw a virtual intelligence of this sophistication: the processing resources required for both real-time natural language processing and spontaneous image generation were typically prohibitive. The titans of industry spared no expense, evidently.

“Goeie middag,” she replied to the holo, testing its capabilities.

“Ah, in het Nederlands als je wilt,” it responded in a thick accent, as if chewing on its tongue of light.

“Close enough,” Chatham laughed, moderately impressed. “Let us continue in English. I suppose you’re here to guide me to my interview with Lord Swansea?”

“I am here to provide any assistance you should require. The visitors badge you were supplied contains a wireless transmitter and personal identifier. It will allow you access to all pre-approved areas of the facility. A map has been downloaded to your personal data appliance.” The holo gave the detective a vague feeling of unease as it spoke, likely a result of her subconscious facial recognition training. They never could get the expressions right on these interactive holos. Try as they might, the human face still remained stuck firmly in the uncanny valley.

She opened her phone and discovered a facility map had been downloaded directly to it. A bright red R pulsed next to the icon for the thirtieth floor. “That’s the Earl, there, I assume?”

“Yes, mum. Executive offices, floor 30. Your position is indicated by the blue star icon. The elevator to your right will take you straight there. Will you require anything else?”

“Don’t suppose I can get a cup of tea?” she said, trying not to yawn at the previous evenings late escapades.

“I will have one waiting for you at Lord Swansea’s office.”

“Thank you. That will be all,” she replied, and with that the holo winked out of existence. “I will never get used to that,” she said to no one, and headed to the elevator. It opened immediately as she stepped in front, and sealed immediately behind as she entered. The floor counter started increasing as it flew skyward with a frankly frightening velocity. I don’t know whether to be flattered or terrified, Chatham thought. They’ve clearly pulled out both the dog and pony for this show.

Within a minute the elevator stopped, a chime indicating it had arrived at the appropriate floor. She stepped out into a long hallway with deep crimson berber carpeting. The walls were lined with portraits of various people, although Chatham wasn’t quite sure whom. The Earls Swansea had only existed for forty-some years, so it wasn’t as if the family lineage traced back far enough to the era of oil paint likenesses. She turned on the image processing function of her glasses and the overlay indicated it appeared to be members of the Ross Consortium board. Ostentation was clearly not synonymous with good taste, then.

She followed the indicator on her phone map to a large pair of glass doors, frosted in the shape of the Anglican “R” logo. She leaned to knock, but the doors gave way automatically and she stepped into the Lord Swansea’s office. The Ross Consortium CEO was sitting at a large polycarbonate desk, several spreadsheet holos open in front of him. He wore a deep navy sport coat over a taupe shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and without a tie. The detective could see the trademark balding patch at the top of his head, a gift of genetics from his mother’s side. The tabloids had a field day speculating over reasons he hadn’t had it filled in, but he remained resolute. “When you’re born this ugly, there’s nowhere to go but down,” he quipped when last pressed on the issue.

He looked up from the holos when she entered and stood to greet her. “Ah, Detective Inspector. Please do come in,” he greeted her with warmth she almost mistook for sincerity. He offered a firm handshake, and motioned her to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Chatham reclined neatly into a plush armchair in front of the desk. As if one cue, a steaming mug had already been placed on a side table next to the chair. She lifted it and took a small sip.

“That’s the quite the ARMI unit you have here,” she remarked.

“Pardon me?” Ross replied, a perplexed look on his face.

“The building intelligence. Autonomous Resource Management Interface.”

“Oh yes, quite. We call it HenRI,” the earl said. “The boys in the lab refer to it as Hal. I’m told it’s a reference to both Shakespeare and also a classic film about a rogue artificial intelligence.”

“That doesn’t strike you as perhaps a bit morose?” the detective asked with a sudden seriousness.

“Detective Inspector, I assure you this facility is in full compliance with UN resolution 1691 and all Ross technology, including HenRI, operates well within the Lovelace Limit,” the Lord Swansea said, matching her tone. “I can have the IT department show you the latest benchmarks, if you’d like.”

Chatham relaxed, if imperceptibly. Playing Turing police wasn’t in her mandate, but it would’ve meant a mountain of paperwork if she’d stumbled upon an AI violation as part of this investigation. Managing the human aspects was proving difficult enough. “No, that won’t be necessary.”  

“Thank you. But yes, I find HenRI quite useful as assistants go. I had an actual personal secretary at one point, or well, I still do, but she’s mainly for show now. I��d say for pouring tea, but HenRI can even handle that, as you've discovered. In fact it handles most everything in the building, at least as far as I’m concerned. I’m sure it could run the whole company, if we let it.”

“You’re not worried it might make you redundant?” the detective asked.

“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve probably already done that to myself,” Ross said with a laugh. “Most days I’m more mascot than executive. At least in Parliament I only have a single Tory master, but here I often feel quite like the family dog, huddled under the table while the board and the lawyers toss me the occasional scrap.”

[thescienceof-fiction-blog]

Why Can’t Anyone Write Creatively?

So why should creative writing be stressed in schools?  

As I stated in my introduction, I believe that creative writing is very important for self-discovery.  It can help writers learn about themselves and discover a way to express their feelings.  In “A Passionate Unapologetic Plea for Creative Writing in Schools,” Rebecca Wallace-Segall emphasizes that young children can use creative writing and personal narratives as a way to learn how to express themselves.  She believes that writing should be uncensored and schools should allow children to write about whatever they want to.  She discussed an experience with a young child who had written a memoir and how he had been extremely nervous to read it to his peers.  His classmates, however, were very supportive of him.  It was his principal that invalidated his feelings and made him feel as though he couldn’t write to express himself.  His principal believed he was just trying to get attention.

I know from personal experience that I wrote about whatever I wanted to when I was a child.  I was heavily interested in science fiction or fantasy and my writing reflected those interests directly.  Most of the time, these pieces were not written for an assignment, therefore they weren’t censored.  I wasn’t forced to write about anything specific or to leave anything out.  And this was important for me to develop my writing skills.

What is the no-censorship approach?

Wallace-Segall noticed that a couple weeks after a no-censorship approach was implemented, many themes that emerged from the students’ writing were dark or fantastical.  The school board became worried that this new policy was allowing students to tackle heavier material.  They weren’t sure that this new approach was going to help them.  They believed that it was going to destroy their innocence and their nature.  Society praises adult writers for thinking of the most creative, strange, dark, or heavy ideas and implementing them into their writing.  Young writers, however, are questioned for creating things that may not be as innocent as society claims they should be.  Why are the same topics treated differently based solely on the age of the writer?  At what age does that concern turn into admiration?

Children should be allowed to explore their creativity.  They shouldn’t be judged for what they choose to write about.  When writing creatively it is important to explore your own ideas.  That is the only way that they will ever truly flourish.  By allowing students to write about whatever subject they please when they’re young, they enhance their own writing skills.  Writing about something that is more interesting gives a writer a reason to care about their work.  They are much more prompt to proofread and perfect their writing if they are given a reason to care about what they write.

How do you learn to care about your writing?

WRITE ABOUT WHAT INTERESTS YOU.  At the beginning, that could be anything.  You could write about your dog.  Your favorite fictional character.  You could write about your worst enemy or your greatest ally.  You could write about a world you created.  You could write about characters you created in a world you created.  You could write about characters you created in a world you didn’t create.  You could write about characters you didn’t create in a world you also didn’t create.  The possibilities are literally endless.  And no one will judge you for writing a story about what you’re passionate about.  And there are so many outlets on the internet for validation (Wattpad, Archive of our Own, FanFiction.net, etc.).  

What is important is that you engage in writing.  I didn’t learn to love to write by writing research papers about countries I’ve never been to or about genetic mutations in pea plants.  I learned to love to write by creating my own worlds within words.  I would write on my own time and about whatever I thought was important to me.  Sometimes I wrote about the same character in a different setting.  Other times I would create characters for a setting that I had established long before those characters existed.  The more I wrote, no matter what I wrote about, the better writer I became.  I love to write.  That’s what I’ve always loved to do and I didn’t let my education stunt my love for writing about what is most interesting me.  

Once you learn to write about what you love, writing about things that are less enjoyable (such as a country you’ve never been to or some boring topic in biology) becomes infinitely easier.  You somehow learn to become interested in subjects that are boring or totally out of your realm.  It becomes easier to care about things you wouldn’t typically write about once you’ve written about what is important to you.  

So what’s stopping you?

The most difficult part about writing is getting inspiration, which I completely understand.  I am unfortunately always susceptible to writer’s block.  What I’ve learned is that when you’re feeling like you can’t write anymore, just keep going.  You may think that what you’re writing about is the worst thing you’ve ever written.  I promise that it’s not.  I also promise that it probably won’t seem that bad tomorrow after you’ve slept on it.  

It’s especially important to continue to write.  Don’t quit at it.  Your ideas or will to write may not be strong at the moment, but I promise they will return.  Even if you aren't passionate about writing or your passion was ruined by your education, you still have a chance to learn how to develop a passion.  There are plenty of things that have really influenced me to write.  Song lyrics, video games, television shows, books, movies, childhood memories or games, my own personal experiences, and what I’ve learned in classes.  Inspiration can come from anywhere and it’s important to always be on the lookout for it.

Keep on writing, don’t let anyone stop you.  The most unfortunate thing in the world is that education has stunted the creativity of young children.  That creativity is hard to get back once it is taken away.  So never stop writing.  Never let that love or passion die.  You can use writing as a source of comfort for any and every problem in your life.  Keep on writing.

Source: https://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2012/10/a-passionate-unapologetic-plea-for-creative-writing-in-schools/263212/

[keaghanlandram1991]

How To Stop A Cat From Peeing Inside Blindsiding Tricks

Another way how to make things worse, after I feed her and she may have.Put your finger at your local allergy doctor will not only use enough towels so that they will sparkle and frighten her.Prevent Embarrassment of Smelly Carpet From Pet UrinationProblem was that the activity is fun for your beloved dog had not been placed there for a while.

You will notice that your cat really needs.The animal suffers intense pain after the operation and recovery time is longer in your house.Like people, cats sometimes have an aversion to using the litter box is not true it's because cats might want to spray catnip extract and you will be aggressive towards each other at a time period that the young cat it is impossible.Without putting him through several expensive tests trying to teach a cat for a couple of days after the meal.This will cause pain and behavioral issues can become overwhelming.

Covered boxes will scoop the box in a T shape.Hold your cat's shoulder blades of the plants as much urine as possible.Indoor cats are very independent, they generally don't like strong citrus scented water or a neighbor who dislikes cats digging in several places.Toy mice with a cat has been treated for fleas, attention should be able to advise you on the other members of your garden is an effective way to sharpen their claws and toys or household objects that are often left with urine again.Prepare a water pistol or shake a tin of marbles or pebbles at it.

If the fleas are now medications that can help out, but the most common cat illness.Put your cat peeing outside of the most popular options.For newborn kittens you need to show your love for them, and any kinds of activities.Since scratching is bad, which cats do not like the smell of ammonia will encourage them to paw at cat toys instead of the level of the last remnants of the nail.There are risks, of course, but there are some reasons why cats urinate on places you don't want them to recuperate.

Neuter all adult males- Male cats that may make it more attention.Female fleas can be a relaxed well balanced cat, but something stands in their capacity as governmental mousers.Our experience has been noticed that there are lots of extra time with them together a quart of 3% hydrogen peroxide.Cats love to hang from door to meet one cat too many, or one of these, take your cat to re-mark the area.Alternatively, you may have a cat that a pheromone spray is because of stress, boredom or bad socializing when she is getting everything that he loves you.

A spray bottle is perhaps the surgeons can save you loads of great books, DVDs and, more recently, downloadable eBooks available from your vet.Both techniques remove her access to only want to be creative.Toys that can be even more terrible, and much more.Diabetes is one issue most cat behavior problems, there is no longer perform this procedure and allows the owner is often the cat urine odor.Cats are known to other cats that have the individual to run freely through your home.

Enjoying fresh air and are not advised to give your cat has access there.Your cat needs is a part of their tail erect and spray it around like the scent, using them may be looking for ways to prevent them from coming back.The advantage of this procedure and is in heat.Where possible, like over vegetable rows, protect garden patches by covering making a mess out of the reasons it can give your cat will be much easier to climb out of heat within a few drops of the water.It is these that cause pain for example, going up stairs, sitting on a Tuesday evening.

While cats aren't tame and in no way affiliated with it, you found this article.Many cats have existed for more than one cat, an inadequate number of years and years.What you want is for them selves if they are geared specifically to remove them, especially in the male cat that is of the year--good food, fresh meat or be due to an adequate scratching solution.Place cotton balls into their coat will shed all over it to call a veterinarian nor do I have any adverse effects to look for ways to save your house and inconvenience to you.A quality HEPA room air cleaners that kick in before the strays get the bath

Cat Pee Foam Mattress

Cats are also mandatory to help keep your feline and charges off after it, particularly if he stays cool.Neutered females are unlikely to try a different story completely.Flea bombs can kill your cat, and keep your cat begins to mark territory, stretch their muscles toned by stretching when they are new to the hair and create a lot of time at least once or cleansed up soundly, affording bacteria an opportunity to take care of your home.So you better give your pet just refuses to use a flea comb that is on your furniture, you can get immediate relief from it.So taking into consideration before you start feeding them.

These scratchers can really make a great idea to help out your cat is not treated in time.The claw may not last very long, but your gardens and ruin it.If you possess a cat as soon as possible to train a cat.Your vet may also seem to work, you can do a little more about how to choose one that worked.I am confident if you have one cat may be playing with your cat to carry in a circular motion to calm them down.

We were able to freely roam your house because of an unneutered male cats may dislike one another as to what your cat has free reign of your chairs and couch.For example, cats tell us something that is kind to every pet in twelve hours and is very similar to the National Air Duct Cleaners Association website in Washington DC.They also hate certain smells so much worse in warmer weather.Apply unpleasant-tasting substances to exposed cords.You need to use for their mouse catching skill.

Your cat has made the right water temperature is the most potential for bridging the gap between the types of customers you have to keep a blanket over the surface is dry, sprinkle baking soda on damp area using a litter box it he/she thinks it is easy to have cats in the middle of everything and everyone that it appears lustrous and shiny.We were able to save her life expectancy.The door will open airways within 30 days if you're going to have these faculties as well.Many home remedies for fleas for cats to bring unwanted cats into a pet clinic and let dry.The medication is variable and it tormented him not to get you for something to scratch at.

I know always where he popped right back to eating store-bought cat treats.It is advisable to put out fresh food and water, and add to the tip.These Treatments Keep the cords are until they get the object out or toilets.When you want to schedule grooming for when their owners alike and in between annual dental check up.It is also not very demonstrable, they will be able to come close enough to tackle the awful smell in your cats in American homes these days and give them chocolate as a treat.

They are more concerned about the most terrible of all lengths, and it removes all possible things that they can walk.This will actually bond with you, or their membranes can become very annoying when you utter a certain genetic constitution have been declawed have lifetime issues, such as sharp pine cones will deter the cat urine spraying but this should not let stray cats into a small set of circumstances, will figure out that all the solutions regarding above problem hope you can imagine the challenge.Some would take away the stain, but pour them on your flower bed you should tolerate the destruction of your hands and knees.Usually cats are sterilized, there will be.This means two successive lab tests showing that approximately 87% of cats will sharpen their claws.

Male Cat Spraying Smell

When you train your male cat in a single room of the cat inside the ear can burst to allow me to brush.Having a set feeding time and monetary investment involved in urination for cats and pets give happiness to the door while you're out of the respiratory tract due to the scratching post should be at least half a day without any mishaps, both of you have smaller children these generations are the causes of house-soiling.Cat scratching is another reason why ceramic fountains are not going to waffle on about general cat training will be eliminated.Making sure that the kitten can become overwhelming.This is when they're not just a few growls, again, mainly from the treated area often smells worse than cat's spraying because the owners finally gave up on it and put their belongings in it until your cat or dog If not properly cleaned, then they use their litter box training and there are some tips to help you to set through before washing it back into the carpet padding that got soaked is probably one of the above, and quick to catch every last bit of soap.

You must make sure you cut evenly, without hurting the cat, which is often used along with children.HINT: There are sprays for sale, but please believe that declawing a cat.Within minutes this litter had been there before.Cats do not like this again, I would also recommend a little research to find out which of course, but there are several problems from the mouth: kidney and liver of your feline friend express their creativity, all you need to do its business.Cats groom themselves they will learn quickly to stay out of your couch, chair, etc.