#side note 1: trying to find system friends is fine. absolutely nothing wrong with that

[sysciety]

how are source calls anti recovery?

It encourages source attachment (If you don't want the read the rest, that's the tldr)

Source calls are normally seeking out someone who was friends with you in your source because you already have 'familiarity' with them. These are normally done across systems which means that bodily you might end up getting matched with a total stranger.

The concept in general is just friend finding which is fine. But when the basis of the relationship is being in the same source it's a bit of a false similarity (false is the wrong word but I'm not sure what else to call it). Like it's the idea of being separated from someone you once knew and now you're reunited that's feeding into source attachment.

Source attachment ("I am x from y") is at the very least an identity barrier and regardless of how much someone has of it I don't think they should be encouraged to lean into it (i.e Don't reality check but don't feed it)

[mortuarybees]

Exclusively For People Made Feral By “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

The kind of fanfiction I enjoy is the kind which requires me to take a decompression breather every paragraph or so because I’m repressed and tenderness is physically painful. i want there to be yearning and pining and brooding and ultimately, intimacy: fics which embody the mortifying ordeal of being known, as well as the reward of being loved in the end. So here are the fics I’ve read that satisfy this requirement, or in some cases are just extremely tender, in no particular order, with a quote that made me absolutely wild, as well as a few things that aren’t fic

another soul to cling to by strawberry_bee/my best friend @femmeaziraphale​

Crowley is born a run of the mill angel. There is only one catch though. He is given a prophecy by God to be the first and only angel to fall in love. That's clearly off the table when he falls from Heaven though, right? // in progress and the only in-progress fic on the list but it is Too Good and also i have a direct line to the author and they will finish it

“Do you promise to stay still if I turn out the lights?” Aziraphale asked.

“The dark is a demon’s favorite place to be,” Crowley joked, feeling the urge to make light of the situation. He rather felt like he was being taken on a jaunty little date, human skulls included just to woo a demon in the right sort of way.

“Quiet, foul fiend,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers again. They dove into darkness, and before Crowley could find some sort of clever quip, he felt Aziraphale’s arms about his waist. His brain turned to mush, the only thing he could think of being ‘oh, so this is love’ before he felt Aziraphale’s lips brush gently against the edge of his mouth.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, before pulling away. Crowley reached out blindly, coming up with nothing. He turned to the entrance, spotting the outline of Aziraphale as he ascended. Crowley leaned against a wall, hand resting against the forehead of a skull.

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza:

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

“I love you, do you see? Not for work. I’m - I suppose you could say I’m in love with you, to use a human phrase.”

Crowley went very still. Aziraphale withdrew his hands and folded them primly in his lap, moving back to their more customary distance. “It’s quite alright that you don’t love me,” he hurried to add. “It doesn’t change anything. I just wanted you to know in case... Well, anything could still happen with our superiors, you know? Neither side is probably very pleased with us at the moment.”

Crowley stared at him over the rim of his sunglasses, looking rather stricken, and he was making an odd, creaky sound like a strong wind through a poorly-sealed window. The mostly-empty wine bottle he’d been holding slipped out of his loose grasp and clattered to the floor, wine drops spattering on the hardwood. “Aziraphale,” he said finally, voice ragged, “what the fuck are you talking about.”

a home at the beginning of the world by stereobone (explicit)

"Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me." // okayokayokay there’s Meaningful Interior Decorating and a couch metaphor and like the fact that they actually goddamn brought That Quote into it...unacceptable

"My dear boy," Aziraphale says. "You could have said something."

"But we never do that," Crowley says.

He's back to worrying at the fabric of his trousers.

"Besides," he says. "Didn't want to go too fast for you."

Aziraphale feels something swell in his chest, and it feels all encompassing. Like love and heartbreak at the same time. Like being back at the Eastern Gate watching Crowley slither up to him for the first time, question everything while Aziraphale himself was trying not to. He's spent so long, too long, telling himself he could never be ready for this. He reaches out and grabs Crowley's hand, stops him from worrying at his trousers any further.

the nuances of ‘together’ by mirawonderfulstar

Everybody in the whole world can tell Aziraphale and Crowley are a couple. Everyone except, apparently, Crowley.

“Oh, don’t look like that, my dear.” Aziraphale said airily. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“It’s—that’s not the bloody point.” Crowley exclaimed, his feelings from the last week finally coming to a head. “Why do people keep assuming we’re together and why do you keep letting them?”

Aziraphale froze, a forkful of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. He looked like he’d just been slapped. He was focuing very hard on a spot over Crowley's shoulder and his eyes seemed rather wet. Crowley felt a panic begin to slither up his throat, constricting his breathing. He wanted very much to say something, anything at all to make Aziraphale stop looking like that, but he had no idea what.

a culmination of miracles by prettydizzeed

Crowley has chronic pain, and six thousand years later explains that to Aziraphale. I adore the small intimacy of Aziraphale asking him to print him articles about it so he can better understand, and their characterizations, and it seems so much like an exchange from the book I’ll likely have difficulty remembering it isn’t canon in the future, which I’m fine with.

“I don’t read books,” Crowley corrects. “The occasional article, well, maybe.” He figures he’s going to need to extend as many olive branches as he can find, so he adds, “Some of them help. Sometimes quite a lot, actually.”

“Could you—would you print some for me?” Aziraphale asks. “I’d like to understand better.”

“Yeah,” Crowley says, looking at him as long as he can bear. “I’ll do that.”

the hour/the spot/the look/the words by planethunter

Crowley watches Pride and Prejudice (2005) and it spurs a realisation. // fuck guys it’s literally about the hands and perfectly captures like nothing else does the feeling of watching Pride and Prejudice (2005)

One of his hands rests over the other, the tips of his fingers cold. He watches as Darcy takes Elizabeth's hand, gentle, like handling a bird, their fingers curling over each other's. He mimics the gesture with his own hands, brushing his fingers over one another. Slowly, slowly closing them to a grasp. Opening them again, brushing his knuckles with his thumb. He continues, back, and forward, watching with mild fascination. The sensation relaxes him, like a trance, and he only feels some sensation building inside him when it had risen so high that he had to sigh to release it. Now his hands lie still, holding each other limply. He releases them, letting his fingers brush past each other on the way. When he looks up, the television had cut to adverts. 

covet by mirawonderfulstar

pining aziraphale and an amazing confession scene that i absolutely adore.

Aziraphale, little good though it did him, wanted desperately. He wanted with an urgency that scared him. He wanted wine, and cocoa, and the occasional tea. He wanted gravlax with dill sauce, and Pappardelle Bolognese, and those awful little iced biscuits they had at Tesco at Christmastime. He wanted dinners at the Ritz and long walks in the park and late nights in the back room of his shop. He wanted Crowley. Fervently, achingly, he wanted Crowley.

a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian

5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse.

Crowley has a system in place for dealing with moments like these. He developed it sometime in the fifth century, when it became clear that the thoughts and feelings the angel inspired in him weren’t going to go away, and neither was the cast iron certainty that they were largely unreturned. The angel loves him, of course, but only in the slightly absentminded, mandated way he loves all other living things. Crowley has long since made his peace with this. It just stings a bit sometimes, like taking a sip of tea so hot it burns the roof of your mouth. (Not that Crowley himself has had this experience. He has gathered from the mental exclamations of many, many humans, however, that such a mishap brings forth a similar sense of aching hurt, betrayal and a wistfulness that things might be different.)

The best Crowley can do is just let himself feel it – let the love go through him, unnatural and sticky though it may be, always trying to glue itself to the inside of his veins – and wait for it to come out the other side. Sometimes it even works.

such surpassing brightness by handful_of_silence

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

Crowley had always assumed – perhaps disingenuously – that Aziraphale was like most other angels. Capable of grand expressions of love when it came to humanity, but generally avoidant of the topic personally. A love for all things, a love for Crowley even, but the love of a kind, well-meaning relative who sends birthday cards on the wrong day and with a fiver inside with a note to buy something nice like you're still at primary school. Love but distant, separate, and impersonal.

But now, at least according to the rumours, Aziraphale had spent most of the medieval ages playing wingman to a bunch of queer martyrs and church-folk. Which meant that there must be something there, a comprehension of love beyond his angel-standard, over-arching love for mankind. That Aziraphale could, and apparently did, pick favourites.

That he could, just possibly, feel love himself. On an individual level.

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh

Not everything Crowley says is said out loud. Aziraphale doesn't always hear him at first, but he's learning to stop being surprised. // love!!! languages!!

He wonders what Crowley can feel through this touch. He wonders if Crowley can feel him back.

“I’ve never felt anything like you,” he finally says, looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes. They’re wide, awaiting judgment: something in them is terribly resigned, but when Crowley tries to draw his hand back, Aziraphale doesn’t let him go. Instead he steps in closer and says, at nearly a whisper so as not to startle, “What I mean is, you’re beautiful.”

There is a pause, and then Crowley says, soft with surprise, “Oh.”

Aziraphale kisses him.

tell me all the ways by tinsnip

One little speck of sentiment: was it so much to ask? // crowley struggles to tell Aziraphale how he feels out loud; he finds a way around it. pairs well with the fic above, I think.

“I’m not smitten, angel. I wouldn’t say smitten.”

“Oh?” He’d looked at Crowley’s hand in his, looked back up. “And what would you say?”

Suddenly a change in Crowley’s posture, a tilt of his head; there was the sideways smile. “I’d say I lust after you, angel. I covet you. I idolize you. But... smitten? I mean, honestly.” And Crowley had shrugged, as if that had been that.

For some reason, this morning, that hadn’t been enough.

“And?”

“And... and what?” Crowley had looked a bit desperate.

Aziraphale’s mouth had tasted like tea and toast. “And you love me.”

penance by blissymbolics (explicit)

It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen. // it’s porn with feelings, crowley has a praise kink, just read the tags if you’re interested

Maybe being deprived of his right to come was a necessary component of being a demon. It was permanent, chronic proof of his disobedience. But fuck, God already gave him his snake eyes and revoked his retirement benefits. Messing with his dick was just foul play. It probably violated the Geneva Convention.

Around the turn of the twenty-first century, he began to think that maybe it’d be best to just accept his lot and call it quits. It’s obviously never going to happen. So why keep torturing himself?

Or at least, that’s how he felt before Aziraphale. Before a certain day in the year of our Lord, 2019. Before he felt a shift in the solar system, and knew that they were now spinning together as one gravitational unit. They shared the same space. The same time. And on one occasion, the same bodies.

Also, I wrote a fic: all i need, darling, is a life in your shape

it’s about repressed aziraphale and pining and it was inspired by strawberry blond by mitski.

Not Fics But Fuck, Man

Meta: why is aziraphale so gay? by dictionarywrites on ao3: a very extensive meta exploring how aziraphale canonically presents himself as a gay man, and why exactly he does that.

this crowley space meta and this crowley space meta really fcking did me in

the unadulterated yearning in this mitski-inspired art by @poladraws i think about it at least once a day and it is. A Lot

this from eden fan video on youtube

this two part amnesia post by @thealogie like i don’t even fcking like amnesia fic but like. “this discovery and several other little reactions of yours have led me to believe that the Other Me, that is the Me that has all his memories, has let standards slide and is not doting on you as he should be. are you cared for? do i need to kick my own butt?” oh my goddddd

@mulderswatch made a spotify playlist titled angels dined at the ritz hat makes me personally suffer every single time i hear it. he began it with predatory wasp of the palisades (”touching his back with my hand, i kiss him / i see the wasp on the length of my arm”) and ended it with strawberry blond by mitski (”can you hear the bumblebees swarm? / watching your arm / i love it when you look my way”) his  m i n d

The best anon in the world asked me for my mitski a/c song associations and here it is

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Nicole's Rambling: The Avengers Problem (for PS4)

Let's start with the usual chanting: ❗this is my opinion, it's biased as hell (since I grew up with Marvel comic books and movies) and you don't have to agree❗

I was wondering why Avengers game gets so hated... So I took a look and I played it myself. Let’s have a look.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First off: the game isn't in any way horribly bad. It's just a button smasher with a story that has its good and bad beats. It's not memorable at all, but it could've gone way more downhill in my opinion.

At the start of the game, you meet the mighty Avengers through child fan's eyes - it's pure fanservice and let's be honest, it's dope. It was sweet, but pretty dragged, to be honest. I really didn't need to play as all five Avengers (HAWKEYE IS MISSING, AGAIN) in the first hour of the game, but sure, why not?

For the most part, you see the squad through Kamala Khan's eyes. For those who might have not a clue who the hell Kamala is; I am not wondering about why you don't know who the hell she is. She's a Marvel heroine who outed in 2013 and who will have her own spinoff on Disney+.

And again, Ms Marvel is fine, but not memorable at all. I've never, until this day, met anyone who would say that 'Ms Marvel is my favourite superhero'. I was halfway through the game before I even realized it's Ms Marvel - AFTER SHE PULLED HER DAMN COSTUME OUT. That can be due to my utter ignorance or because I heard of her so little that I can count it on my fingers. In all honesty, I loved Kamala as the story progressed, the gal's not bad at all - but as the whole game, she had good and bad beats. There were times where I wished to play as Iron Man and the game forced me to play as her... Whatever.

Let's look at the three problems I have with this game and three positives I found in the game:

0. (Technically zero since it's a personal problem of mine) The soundtrack and the voice actors:

By any means, I am not trying to say they should hire RDJ for the role of Iron Man and Mark Ruffalo for the role of Banner... But it was so hard to distinguish the voice of Nolan North (For example: Nathan Drake x Iron Man) and Troy Baker (Samuel Drake x Bruce Banner). For me, as for a PS4 gamer, it's annoying to hear the same voices again and again in every game I am genuinely excited about (Idk how Xbox players are familiar with them). Of course, there's even Laura Bailey as the Black Widow; I feel like these are the three only people who do voice acting for games these days and sure, I should've seen that coming.

Side note: Nolan North is not a good fit for Iron Man in the slightest in my opinion, but if you like his Iron Man, that's cool as well!

The soundtrack... M A N, the soundtrack. When I heard Marvel gave a green light to the Avengers game, I expected to hear at least the iconic Alan Silvestri's 'The Avengers'. Problem with this is simple: Marvel had spoiled its consumers with good and memorable soundtracks (don't you tell me you don't remember as they all gathered for the first time). Since it was Marvel itself who gave the green light for this project, which was supposed to be based loosely on the movies' and comic book success, I hoped to get all of it.

It's not Iron Man when AC/DC song isn't playing in the background as he flies through a canyon for his life. I mean, Iron Maiden are fine; but come on. COME ON. It's not the same. It's not the Avengers (WITHOUT HAWKEYE) without their significant theme.

1. IT. BUGS. ALL. THE. TIME and the combat is incredibly repetitive:

When I was little, I was a rage gamer. I could barely play Crash Bandicoot or Rayman without losing my cool. Since then, I grew up, skilled and etc. I try not to rage when playing games since it's simply not worth it.

But when you're replaying a boring mission for the tenth part and you're almost over and SUDDENLY, the game bugs out and you lose control over the character (it starts running in circles, etc.) it sucks shit. And don't let me start on the minor bugs. Like when you don't cross the platform by one pixel and the game doesn't let you make combos when you're in the air and bug into a tree when you bug into a wall, a rock, fucking nothing... Bruh. It was released in August, shouldn't these bugs be fixed by now? The game is fucking broken, hoes. It barely feels like a game ready to launch at times.

When you're so lucky that you don't bug out in the middle of doing something, the combat... It isn't bad. It's not terrible, but the Avengers deserved something better. It didn't deserve mediocre combat that repeats itself in every level. Once you find yourself good combo, you're done for. You can use it to finish the game if you will.

2. There's too many missions, too much information and too much things player has to understand if he wants to play the game properly:

Okay, this might seem to be a little confusing; I didn't understand the game system at all when I first ran it on my PS4. There's story missions, HARM training sessions, daily missions for particular heroes, faction missions (SHIELD, Pym, Stark, etc.) and character-side-story missions, and a lot more.

Trust me, it doesn't sound that hard, but once you open the map menu for yourself... Oh boy, that's a different story. And if it only was the map menu. The inventory and such aren't too collected all together either. Before you can safely tell what is what, it will take you at least a whole afternoon. Also, the fact that game just spills it on you just like that, one thing after another, it doesn't help the overall feel.

On top of that, there are MULTIPLE currencies in the game; some even involve microtransaction. It mostly is involving the customization of the Avengers, so it's not THAT big of a deal; you can get one currency by collecting boxes and stuff, but it takes ages before you can buy one single thingy.

Also, if you would like to get stuff (very useful stuff) from factions (SHIELD and Pym mainly), you have to do in-factions daily quests, which usually require to do a certain amount of things as a particular hero (you can do some quests with Ms Marvel only, some with Black Widow, it usually involves the damage dealt while playing as a character etc.). And if you forget to fetch these minies? Well, no faction points for you, bucko.

The system feels overall too complicated in the begging and even after finishing the game, I am not certain by some.

3. The gameplay of the one and only... Natasha Romanov, and the entirety of Steve Rogers:

Right off the bat: IT. SUCKS. SHIT.

This was your shot in opening our mouths and showing why Black Widow BELONGS to the Avengers in the first place. Like, sure, storywise you proved the point, but gameplaywise... That's a different story.

Out of the bunch, Natasha feels the slowest, most clumsy and overall not too pleasant to play as. Mainly is because her attacks do... Nothing. The gun reloading is basically constant when I have to put it simply and it takes about 3-5 seconds for her to even reload; which can be a matter of life and death inside the game. Sure, she can make herself invisible; but that's like... It. It's not that it would be suffering when you are forced to play as Nat... But not a pleasant experience either.

On the other hand, maybe it's just me. I have friends who told me the same about her gameplay, but maybe there's someone who enjoys the Black Widow. It's my personal with the entirety of the gameplay.

Steve, on the other hand, isn't hard to play as. It's just fucking boring. At the start of the game, I couldn't wait to play as Steve's character. He seemed to be awesome - Jesus fuck, how could I be so wrong? As I said, he's incredibly boring and dry, his skills would do the same amount of work if they even weren't there. I think that Rogers is there just for the shock value (as a value that doesn't even work in the slightest) and nothing more.

As you learn to do the tricks and combos with them, it gets slightly better and skill tree and equipment upgrades can help almost unnoticeable... But really, Steve and Natasha are the absolute worst.

Now the reasons why the game convinced me it isn't a hot mess as I initially thought:

1. The characters, dynamics, chemistry and the overall story:

Sure, it is mainly a basic plotline, a cookie-cutter one, full of cliché - Avengers have to regroup after a traumatic event and you're the one who has to find them and bring them together.

Yet it is quite interesting; the game leads you to believe that Steve Rogers is dead after an event called the 'A-Day' (which you won't believe even if the game does the hardest to make you to, constantly remaining you that 'Oh boy, Cap died, did you know that?') and the Avengers had left to exile because they were considered as big bad for the people and the country. They have their emotional baggage and the banter between Banner and Stark (though it ends too soon), is just the thing that makes them human and relatable.

Even the villains are quite compelling; not like ultra super convincing, but the game can turn around when you least expect it to; which is definitely a huge plus.

The characters were done GOOD. The dialogues are full of personality and jokes you'd expect from each one of them; Banner is a wallflower cutie, Tony fishes for compliments all the time, Natasha is the big independent woman she always was and Thor? CHEF'S KISS, I swear. It hits the Shakespearean vibe perfectly and at the same time, he still is charming and quite funny to hang around.

Every time you can listen to a chit-chat between two characters, it is a great pleasure for you as a Marvel fan. Also, I need to say that regardless of my personal issue with the dub (regarding Tony and Bruce; since they're the people you spend most of your time with), the dialogues for these two characters are on point without a doubt. And I kinda grew fond of the in-game Bruce Banner throughout the course of the game, to be honest.

There are references, jokes, inside jokes, one-liners... The dialogue was done amazingly and that's a huge   T H A N K   Y O U  to the developers.

2. The mind-blowing gameplay of... Tony Stark and Thor and AI, while not being too bright, getting stronger as you do:

In what the Natasha gameplay lacks, these two give you exactly what would you expect and way, way more than you'd ask for. Again, it mainly reflects the personal gameplay preferences of the player; let me tell you why I think these gameplays are, in my opinion, the best.

a) Tony's gadgets and weaponry: The suit itself is bloody brilliant. Once you master the ability to attack and fly at the same time, you have the moments when you can not only feel like Iron Man - but really be Iron Man. It's not even that your gameplay would suddenly become 10x easier; it significantly becomes funnier.

b) Thor's heavy fist-to-fist and Mjolnir preferences: the Mjolnir is bloody brilliant as well. Thor's combat is mainly physically based, but when you want to throw the hammer around like the madman you are, you can suit yourself. You can use the lightning if you please and you can fly if this style of combat suits you. It's all in your hands. Thor can take quite a bit of damage, which is significantly supporting you in this style. If you accidentally drop Mjolnir? Well, call it back and smash them!

Also, regarding the AI... As I said, they're certainly not the brightest sparks in the flame; yet thanks to the power getting bigger as you level up and continue with your story and a huge variety of enemies - from turrets to flying men with flamethrowers. It is just button smasher, but a pleasing one in this regard, I must say.

3. The fanservice to comic book fans, movie fans and loyalty to the property:

As one IGN review once said... "This game makes you feel like Batman." And this game more or less accomplished it as well, but diluted and stripped down. Of course, in no way I can compare this to the masterpiece to the Arkham saga; these games are brilliant.

But there are moments when the game can just drag you inside the story and tell you: "You're Iron Man now, boss. It's in your hands." And it's there. I think the only issue was that the team of devs just took too big of a bite. I wouldn't mind stand-alone titles emerging into one and big Avengers game. That would be fun as well and I would spend my time with it gladly.

To end it: it's a mess, but a good mess you might like. If I was to rate it, would be 5.1/10 Wait until it is on sale, don't rush it. I'm overall disappointed and I most likely will forget I have ever played it.

[cockroachmotherfucker10]

hi, idk if this is okay but here goes... this blog's really helped me a lot in recovery from AN. i've been doing well lately. since diagnosis, i've been on my own with this bc the mental health system in my country is broken. i guess my question is, do you have any tips for continuing recovery during grief? a really close friend has just passed and i can't get myself to stomach even a bite. i just don't know what to do, i'm lost. thanks in advance, it's okay if you don't reply to this, really.

Hey! I am so glad this blog could help you, it’s truly an honor! Also I live in America, my healthcare system also sucks ass. Recently had symptoms of kidney infection- couldn’t go to an in person doctor because the only place that took my insurance was closed in my city and they wouldn’t set me an appointment in person, though I tried to get one. Basically just had to tough it out- it sucked. Basically trying to validate you- having shitty healthcare is basically the worst.

As for grief, I am really sorry to hear that your friend passed away. It’s an absolutely horrible thing to go through, for every good memory you had with them you have to remember time and time again that they aren’t here anymore, and that’s a feeling that takes a really long time to become more okay with. Not that it’s the same thing, as everyone’s relationship with grief is different, but I lost a close grandmother on January 30th, 2020. I mourn her everyday, and it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through in my entire life. Still is. I miss her every day, and think about her all the time.

So some words on grief.

1. Cheesy, but it does get better with time.

I read an allegory for grief, and I have found it to be true. Grief is like a big ball inside of a tiny box (which represents you). Every time the ball touches the side of the box- it hurts really bad. You cry, you stare at the wall for hours, you lose your appetite, a lot of things. At first- your ball of grief is huge- and it’s constantly and randomly hitting the sides of the box. For me- the time around my grandmother’s death and funeral, I was completely out of commission. I couldn’t stop crying, and when I did I couldn’t focus on anything. I was completely incompacitated for weeks. But then- over time, the ball of grief gets smaller and smaller, and touches the side of the box less and less. Now, I can think about her without bursting into tears, I look back on my time with her with a sense of nostalgia rather than sharp pain most of the time. Now while my ball of grief is smaller- sometimes it still randomly touches the sides of my box, and I break down crying (hell- I am tearing up now lol). That’s okay. It’s all apart of the process. The grief never fully goes away- but it becomes less and less consuming. This does not mean you love your loved one any less, it just means your body gets better at metabolizing their absence so it hurts less. Also not you can’t force the ball to get smaller before it’s ready to (believe me- I tried). Just let it happen.

2. Express your emotions healthily

Want to know what not to do? Keep your emotions locked into your chest. Especially if you have an ED, it’s important to let yourself cry as hard and as often as you need to. What you don’t get out now will bite you in the ass later. It’s so, so painful. I have never cried so hard in my entire life than I did at my grandmother’s funeral, I couldn’t even get a word of apology out. It felt awful, and vulnerable, and it wasn’t pleasant at all. Crying is not fun, but it was necessary. Afterwards, I felt soooo much better. This is because crying chemically is like letting the extra air out of a balloon about to pop. There is no shame in it. Do it, and do it often. As often as you need, don’t hold it in. Let the pain come, and then when it is ready it will pass. Remember what you don’t process now you most certainly will be forced to process later in the form of chronic pain, worse depression, worse ED symptoms, and worse health. Let it out.

3. There is no wrong way to grieve

So I just spent all that time talking about crying- but it’s also possible that your grief will express itself in other ways, such as feeling numb, or even feeling fine. The key thing is to not judge how your body metabolizes this. Let it do what it needs to do, and do not judge it. To it body will do what it needs to do, fighting it is a pointless uphill battle. Accept it with self compassion, console yourself like a friend would. Tell yourself it’s okay to feel numb, or to cry, or to be okay, etc. let it happen.

4. Reach out for support

Be it from a friend, a family member, or a therapist (or best- all three!) if you feel like it would help you, reach out and talk about how you are feeling, or do something distracting. Mod Lia and I called the night I saw my grandmother for the last time, and we didn’t talk about it much at all. We watched She-ra. That helped a lot. Later I called another friend and talked about how I was feeling. Later I talked about it with Mod Lia, too. And of course my therapist- who helped me process it in a healthy way. On that note, especially with an Ed, if you can, get a therapist. Do it. Better than anybody they will be able to help you find the healthiest way to grieve, and help provide tips and accountability for preventing the worsening of an ED.

5. Tips on not drop kicking your ED behaviors further into hell

Having a schedule for eating (and other necessary activities) really helped me. At certain times, regardless of wether or not I was hungry, I forced myself to eat just because it was food time. Doing this prevents you from slipping into ED behaviors, especially when it is easy to do. Having a therapist or a willing friend to hold you accountable can also help. Express your emotions healthily. Talk to your loved one still, on walks or however. Talk about them in conversation. Do things that remind you of them. Make a memorial for them- whatever that means to you. Allow them to still occupy space in your life, if that feels right. If not, that’s fine. Taking care of yourself is hard, but if you don’t you are going to make it worse for yourself. It’s like puting an ankleweight in when you are already drowning. Take intentional steps (such as setting reminders and alarms) to ensure you take care of yourself, and even see if there are people who would do it with you. Like if you are having a hard time eating, see if a friend will have lunch with you every day at a certain time, or a couple different people (over the phone if need be). Plans, for me, really help me keep it together.

To sum it up, the biggest thing is to not fight the grieving process, set specific schedules for different aspects of self care (with alarms), reach out when you need help, and be patient because it takes time.

There is nothing I can say to make your loss feel better, but it is so hard to lose someone, and I’m sorry you have to go through that. Be patient, don’t expect a ton of productivity out of yourself, and just wait out these unpleasant storms. Thing are never going to feel the same ever again, but eventually you will get used to a new normal, and that doesn’t mean you are doing them an injustice. Keep remembering them, and be patient with yourself.

Best of wishes,

Mod Cass

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING CHANGES

I have to say, but it seems like a decent hypothesis. It's just as well to let a big company, then you may need to be written as thin enough skins that users can see the two side by side that you notice how little overlap there is. Everyone is focused on this type of wealth through economic policy, it's hard to do it? You do tend to get a check within a week based on a half-page agreement. No philosopher ever refuted another, for example, would arguably be gross even if they had to make concessions. We did, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the extra computer power we're given will go to waste. I look at the responses, the common theme is that starting a startup.

I don't know if it will work, but it won't hurt as much. The big bang guys. They know their audience. Not only does a society get the best man for the job, but parents' ambitions are diverted from direct methods to indirect ones—to actually trying to raise their kids well. People who want to get it from the rich. For better or worse, the just-do-it model and the careful model, I'd probably choose just-do-it model is fast, whether you're Dan Bricklin writing the prototype of VisiCalc in a weekend, or a carefully cropped image of a seacoast town in Maine. One thing hackers like is brevity. School. Even Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Larry Ellison, Michael Dell, Jeff Bezos, Gordon Moore. By all means be optimistic about things you can't control. That would have led to disaster, because our software was so complex. Kill-or-cure strategies are optimal for VCs because they're protected by the portfolio effect.

Nothing is hidden from you that doesn't absolutely have to be willing to change your product. If you're writing for other people, you may be the sort of wealth that becomes self-perpetuating through an alliance with power. It might also be inevitable, if you roll a zero for luck, the outcome is zero. But this approach is hard to implement. Whereas when you're big you can maltreat them at will, and you rule the world. Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere. At the moment, even the government. There was then a fashionable type of program called an expert system, at the time, and both got their degrees. In some fields, like software or movies, this is the best nonfiction writer I know of, on any subject.

The more people who have incomplete information about prices. That's kind of hard to imagine. Today it may well be zero. Startups are certainly a large part of it. I were going to start a company now, you may never quite be able to be included in it. Wealth is what people want, and to allow programmers to use inline byte code if you need to know the type of every argument in every call in the program. You're just asking to be made a fool of, because these are such powerful forces. A restaurant with great food seem to prosper no matter what. Look at restaurants. And the Internet makes copies easy to distribute.

That's why things get so much better. A friend of mine who knows a lot about VCs during the 3 years we've been doing Y Combinator, I remembered. It's there to some degree; you'll find it awkward to be the scripting languages of web browsers. The course of people's lives in the US were designed by architects who expected to live in Silicon Valley, where you have to declare the types of arguments in the bottlenecks. For most of history a well-understood way into underlying s-expressions. My only leisure activities were running, which I needed to do, and even make major changes, as you might expect, is not very good. But just imagine calling Picasso the mercurial Spaniard when talking to a friend? What do they all have in common is that they're overconfident.

Even if your colleagues were impressed by your credentials, they'd soon be parted from you if your performance didn't match, because the schools adjust to suit whatever the tests measure. Like all illicit connections, the connection between wealth and power. For a lot of time imitating bad writers. Since the hundred-year language will work to varying degrees depending on how close you are to your current one. It seems safe to predict they will be 74 quintillion 73,786,976,294,838,206,464 times faster. So I think people who are mature and experienced, with a feeling of dread in the back to win. It must once have been inhabited by someone fairly eccentric, because a lot of restaurants around, not some dreary office park that's a wasteland after 6:00 PM. Others see what they've done and are full of wonder, but the pain of having this stupid controversy constantly reintroduced as the top idea in their mind at any given time. At the moment I'd almost say that a language has to be under the control of a single person to be any good. What you notice in the Forbes 400 are a lot of things.

Com, you should get all the users, and the bad gets ignored. The way people act is just as lumpy and idiosyncratic as the human body. So if you want to make a winning product. Believe it or not, programming languages are also for people, and I expect this to be as big a problem, you may find you no longer have such a target and to keep it. I thought it would be to start or join a startup. Letting focus groups design your cars for you only wins in the short term.1 Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. These are not early numbers. It would crush its competitors. They'll make sure that suing them is expensive and slows you down, why do nearly all companies do it?

I've found that it matters a lot how code lines up on the bottom. It's not unusual to get a job, your parents probably did, along with practically every other adult you've met. The reason Florence is famous is that in 1450, it was New York. More people are the right sort of person who could get away with using fancy language in prose.2 So I sent all the founders an email asking what surprised them most was the idea of having a lot of changes that have been forced on VCs, this change won't turn out to be as big a problem, you may never quite be able to make arbitrary transformations on the source code.3 They seem to have become professional fundraisers who do a little research on the side of a car are to speed. We used to call these guys newscasters, because they don't give customers what they want, which happens to be written in the language fits together like the parts in a fine camera. Sun did this to mainframes, and Intel is doing it to Sun. I would not feel confident saying that about investors twenty years ago. It seems like we ought to value the company at several million dollars.

Notes

We didn't know ourselves which VC firms expect to do something we didn't, they very often come back with my co-founders Mark Nitzberg and Olin Shivers at the command of the most part and you need to warn readers about, just as on Reddit, for an investor pushes you hard to ignore what your project does.

You can get for free. If the response doesn't come back; Apple can change them instantly if they want to start using whatever you make something hackers use. Most were wrong, but nothing else: no friends, TV, go running.

Cit. In some cases the process of applying is inevitably so arduous, and it would be to become more stratified. You end up reproducing some of those you can eliminate, do it. In principle companies aren't limited by the time 1992 the entire cross-country Internet bandwidth wasn't enough for one user.

[zeravmeta]

“…Communications have been lost. I’m sorry, Master, but we are stranded in this strange new territory.”

Gudako was used to having the odds against her, but this time felt more desperate. Almost wrong, somehow. It would be one thing to simply just not be able contact Chaldea; it’s definitely happened before and the nagging voice in the back of her head tells her it will in the future as well.

It would be a second, more annoying thing if their current location was unknown: the Rayshift System was at whim to whatever Panhuman History or the Lostbelts decided to do out of nowhere and Da Vinci had even warned her that the Alien Gods reach was unknown and to prepare for the worst because they could very well drop them in the middle of nowhere.

The third and most troublesome thing about this was that the previous two conditions had been met but within what was possibly another universe entirely.

Gudako was beginning to regret getting out of bed this morning.

“Master….I’m sorry…If I wasn’t here then maybe…” Abigail whispered sadly as she held her torso, hiding her face.

“Oh come on, tears are unfair! You know I’m weak to your widdle cutie-pie face!” Gudako said as she leaned down to pinch her cheeks, trying to lighten the mood. Sure, maybe telling the eldritch horror within the 12 year old whose emotions could influence a reality bending god that they could be her appetizer in a ratty sushi restaurant wasn’t the best of ideas, but who cares. Her life was already one chaotic mess so another spill in an ocean of madness wouldn’t matter.

What does matter however is figuring out where the hell they are.

“Alright everyone, form up! We need to weigh our options and try to find out where we are.” Gudako rounded up her servants.

Babbage, Edmond, Abigail, Danzou, Mecha Eli-Chan, and Hijikata. Not exactly the most balanced composition in her opinion but there were worse options.

“Master, I’ve run a quick perimeter check of the area: wherever we are is completely made of metal. There’s no wildlife, running water, anything. I couldn’t even sense any wind currents here which makes me wonder how you can even breathe with no atmosphere.” Danzou reported.

“I believe we have the young Mash Kyrielight to thank for that. My readings do indicate an existing oxygen level, albeit low. Such things wouldn’t affect Servants, so we haven’t noticed it ourselves, but it is very possible that Mash’s class skill as a Shielder apply even for conditions such as these.” Babbage added.

“It’s strange,” Edmond began, “But I cannot ‘escape’ from this place. We haven’t been confined to a cage, it’s almost like…we are off-world somehow.”

“Off-world? Like, not on Earth anymore?” Gudako couldn’t help but feel shocked at this revelation. They’d gone to so many places in the past but an alien world was something entirely new. She felt Abigail’s fists tighten on her skirt and placed a reassuring hand on them, squeezing them gently.

“It is strange, but I also agree with the ratty convict.” Mecha Eli expanded, ignoring Edmond’s sputtering. “Servants are connected to the Throne, which is situated on Earth. Concepts like Humanity’s collective unconscious, the Root, they’re all unique to Earth itself, and we as Servants are affected by and can sense that. It feels…out of place. Like the Earth is nearby and yet, not really?”

A loud grunt drew their attention to Hijikata, who was looking up into the sky.

“That answer your questions?”

Seeing Earth in the sky as if it was a moon certainly did not answer their questions. And made them panic, naturally.

“This is…troubling. Though there are records that indicate our moon may be or have been some type of computer, there’s nothing on a planetoid of this composition orbiting Earth.”

“Babbage, do you have any way to re-establish contact? Even if she’s fine now there’s no telling how the distance from Mash may affect our Master. She could be running on borrowed time.”

“Master could die?”

“No! No one is dying today, Abbey. None of this is your fault, alright?”

“Do not worry. After all, among our group, you aren’t the only one who can break the laws of physics at a whim. It’s just as likely that that chronic smoker is responsible for this.”

“Just what is your problem with me today?”

“Can we please-”

“WOULD ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!? WE HAVE MORE IMPORTANT ISSUES!” Hijikata boomed, drawing their attention.

“Wh-What’s happening!?” Gudako snapped at attention.

“For the love of- Listen!” He placed a hand over her mouth and glared at the others to do the same.

…Very distantly, they heard the sound of shouting, metal scraping and weapons being fired.

“Wherever we are, we aren’t alone.” Hijikata stood ready to attack. “Master, your orders?”

The familiar fear of the unknown made itself known to her once again as it had many times before, and like always she pushed it down.

“Danzou, scout ahead and find a suitable meeting spot. Babbage, assist her. The rest of us will follow behind and meet you there. Whatever you find, do not engage.” 

“Acknowledged.” 

Gudako saw her disappear in a blur, with Babbage flying behind her. Sighing, she began her trek with her Servants following.

-

The scene before them was…new, to say the least. Even with all her adventures pitting her against all manner of enemies, she never expected to be taking fire from giant alien robots. They had met up as planned, but when they arrived, Danzou and Babbage were under heavy fire from a large gray robot with an arm cannon. They were situated near a cliff side.

“From what I gather, we are indeed off world, though they refuse to say where we are and simply reference Earth. Apparently, these beings seem to want to drain the Earth of it’s various natural resources in order to assimilate it into their own planet.” Danzou explained as she kept sending pressurized air blasts from her arm into the opposition. “There seems to be some type of schism with these robots, however. While this group is indeed trying to kill us, they made mention of others who protect humans.” 

“Apologies, Master. It appears they had some type of censor that tracked us here as far back as when we initially arrived. For now, let us eliminate them!” Babbage exclaimed before jumping back into the fray. 

Gudako took in the sight before her. To her side was Danzou offering ranged support and Abigail using her powers to make sure none of the robots got too close. Babbage was currently in a fierce duel with the gray arm cannon robot who towered over him and kept exclaiming something about absolute victory. It tried to pin Babbage down and shoot him but a bash from Babbage’s club held him back. It then summoned a glowing purple flail to try and smash Babbage before an intervening rocket punch from MechaEli knocked it aside, leaving them 2 on 1. 

On the other side of the battlefield, Hijikata and Edmond were a whirlwind of fire, lightning, and laughter, knocking over the robots as they tried to mob them. Gudako kept hearing their screams and confusion as to how these humans were so powerful and couldn’t help but empathize with them: Servants were unfairly strong sometimes. 

“This is pointless…Let us retreat!” A nasally robotic voice broke out of the group before jumping into the air and flying off, taking potshots at their group. Shortly, a few others followed.

The gray robots scratchy voice broke out as it knocked over Babbage and Mecha Eli. “You cowards! You dare abandon your leader!?” It turned to the group and regarded them with a scowl. 

“Enjoy your victory while you can, humans. Soon I will figure out the secret behind your strength, and then I will conquer the universe!”

Hijikata and Edmond ran over and tried to rush the robot, but it punched the ground and made a large chasm separating them. Despite their speed, they wouldn’t make it in time to get to her.

“A little going away present! I’m sure our enemies will LOVE to see this!” The robot exclaimed one final time and began shooting at the cliff side near them while flying off. 

“Master, get back!” Abigail exclaimed as she summoned more tentacles to catch and divert the metal chunks as they fell. Danzou had suffered a shot and was missing an arm, meaning she could only barely support herself, leaving Gudako to support her.

“Master, please leave me behind-”

“Are we seriously gonna go through this song and dance? Let’s just hurry!” Gudako shouted over the racket of the avalanche as she carried Danzou. 

A large crash suddenly sounded out, and she looked up to see a large gray gun transform back into the gray robot before flying off. Its shot hit true and sent a large metal chunk their way, casting an ominous shadow over them. 

They would have been crushed, but they were picked up by…a yellow mini car? Gudako and Danzou were standing one moment and riding this car the next. 

“Are you two alright!? Your metal friend out there took some major damage, though it’s not anything Ratchet can’t fix!” The….car seemed to reassure them?

“Umm…y-yeah, we’re fine.” Gudako tentatively responded. Ratchet?

“That’s good to hear! Teletraan picked up a cosmic rift and suddenly detected humans with strange energy signatures! You guys got some serious guts to take on Megatron and his group of Decepticons on your own, not to mention how ya sent him packing!”

Teletraan? Megatron? Decepticons? This got more confusing as it went on.

“Could…you explain what exactly is going on here? Me and my friends have no idea where we are or what’s happening.” She decided being frank may be best here.

“Don’t sweat it! I’ll take you to my leader! He’ll explain everything!” The car chimed in, speeding up and approaching a tall red and blue robot before morphing out of its car form and having her look up at it. Him.

He was a friendly looking robot with yellow accents and blue eyes. Gudako noted that the emblem on their chests were different than the robots they had been fighting.

“Master! Are you alright!?” Edmond had called out from behind, Hijikata, Abigail and Mecha-Eli following. Babbage was behind them as well, but heavily damaged with burn marks and a crushed arm, being supported by a taller robot with an ambulance design. Her servants rushed and formed a protective perimeter around her, glaring at the robot.

The tall red and blue robot looked at them closely…almost sadly. He then bent down gently to try and get them to eye level, despite still towering over them.

“Please, calm yourselves. My name is Optimus Prime. Are you all right? Bumblebee tells me you have no idea where you are or what’s happening. Though I assume you’re from another reality of sorts?” He spoke gently.

Gudako didn’t know why, but something about his voice felt…soothing. Like she was talking to a natural born leader.

“…Yeah. We’re from an organization called Chaldea, tasked with protecting Humanity and we travel through time and space to prevent people from messing up our history. Our Rayshift…messed up and we landed here. Where are we?”

Optimus looked contemplative for a second before nodding to himself. “You are on the planet Cybertron, which is in orbit of the planet Earth after Megatron teleported it here.”

Welp. That confirmed her worst fears. They were in another dimension with a second metal planet orbiting Earth full of transforming robots who either wanted to kill them or be as helpful as they possibly could. Though she would be lying if a small part of her mecha nerd heart wasn’t excited to be on a planet of fighting robots straight out of her dreams.

Her worry must have been present on her face because she felt a large metal hand try to ease itself on her shoulder and gently pat it. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was painful.

“To see such a young hero fills my heart with both sadness and hope. However, for your help against the Decepticons today, let’s go back to our base. I’m sure we can figure out how to get you home. Autobots! Transform and roll out!” Optimus exclaimed before transforming into a large truck and carrying her and her friends in various vehicles.

She was right. She should not have gotten out of bed today.

[marshmallow-phd]

Charming Instruction

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: You were just an average, everyday college student desperately trying to graduate. Only one more year stood between you and that celebratory walk. However, due to an oversight by your adviser, it seemed that the one class you never wanted to take was required to take that walk. It wasn’t the subject matter that made you uncomfortable. It was the teacher. Your heart sped up every time you saw him and you didn’t want that distraction in your life, attractive or not. With meeting him now an inevitability, you swore that you would keep your hormones in check. But after your first day of class, a series of hi jinks and weird situations lead you to discovering the secret of your professor and why he seemed to bombard your every thought.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I Final

**

“Do you realize how worried we’ve been?”

“You didn’t answer any of our texts or phone calls.”

“It was dark out and you weren’t home.”

“Why didn’t you just tell us where you were?”

“Oh, my god, enough!” You jumped up off the couch, fists clenched at your sides. “You guys are not my parents. I can go out if I want to.”

“Okay, that’s true,” Gemma huffed as she crossed her arms. “But still. This was completely out of character for you. Can you blame us for being worried?”

You looked at both of your best friends. Their worry was understandable, but this was just too much. “I’m fine. Next time, I’ll send you guys a text that I’ll be out late. Just lay off, please.”

“Where did you go?” Cam asked.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you tried to come up with a good lie. The library was out as you were sure they probably checked there. Saying you went to the woods to find your professor or a pack of wolves that may also be human would bring up way too many questions. And Professor Kim trusted you. He didn’t freak out when he saw you. He didn’t try to bargain with you or threaten you. He’d simply accepted that you knew now. So you refused to betray that trust.

“I found a random coffee I’d never been, too,” you shrugged. “My phone was still on silent from class and in the bottom of my bag. I was reading so I wasn’t paying attention to the time. I’m sorry.”

Gemma clicked her tongue. “Alright. As long as you weren’t out gallivanting in a dangerous place.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? You think I’d do something crazy like that?”

“She’s got a point,” Cam chuckled.

“Exactly.” You yawned. “Now that the interrogation is over, can I go to bed? I have class tomorrow morning.”

Gemma waved you off. “Yeah, sure. Sorry about the third degree.”

“You tend to panic,” you laughed. “I think I’m used to it by now.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Cam said before disappearing into her room.

You rolled your eyes, also ducking out of the room before Gemma started arguing about how she never panicked as if that would change the fact that she very much did.

Very much to your own surprise, you managed to get a good night’s rest. You still groaned when your alarm went off and lied there in the dark for a few minutes, letting yourself wake up a bit. But you’d slept through the night, passing out nearly the second you head hit the pillow.

But you had class with Professor Kim today. How were you going to get through class without constantly picturing your teacher covered in hair and sporting long fangs?

You got dressed and put your things together for class. Cam was up already, sitting on the couch with her laptop balancing on her knees. She only gave you a small wave before you ducked out of the apartment and headed for the university.

Like the previous class period, you sat up front, taking some other poor student’s seat. Professor Kim wasn’t surprised this time seeing you closer to where he was. In fact, he even smiled at you a little bit. Yes, definitely a strange reaction from a werewolf who had just been exposed. But, then again, you didn’t exactly behave like someone who’s world was completely turned on its head.

Well, actually, was your world that drastically changed?

So you knew your professor could shift into a dog. Big deal. That didn’t mean that your life changed. You just had to make sure you didn’t accidentally tell anybody. You could do that.

Concentrating in class was a little easier, although every few minutes your mind decided to remind you of the fact that you had now seen your teacher naked. Bad, brain, bad.

Before Professor Kim had dismissed you all, he informed the class that the papers had been graded and were available for pick up. A mass flood of students pooled around his desk as he searched the giant pile in front of him and gave them to the correct student.

You waited for about ninety-percent of the students to clear out before you got up from your seat and approached the desk.

Professor Kim was still smiling at you when you walked up. He held out your paper for you, “Good job, (y/n).”

“Thank you,” you whispered, clearing your throat. Without even looking at the grade, you took the paper and left.

Once a good distance away, you sat down on a bench and looked over the paper since you had a good half hour before your next class. You pouted.

An eighty-nine.

From Professor Kim’s congratulating remark, you thought you had done much better. Way for him to get your hopes up. Just barely not an A. Jerk.

The little notes dotted around the pages were helpful, praising you in some areas while raising important questions on your thoughts in others. Fine. You couldn’t be mad about that. You’d just have to do better next time.

Before you could shove the paper away in your bag, you noticed an additional note in the bottom right hand corner of the third page written in black ink rather than the red everywhere else. It was tiny and barely noticeable. You had to squint a little bit, even with your glasses. It was a small set of directions, giving you the name of a road, telling you when to turn off to another as well as a date and time. Tomorrow at ten in the morning.

Sitting back on the bench, you laughed to yourself a little bit. Professor Kim was telling you to meet him somewhere - out of town by the looks of the directions - but for what?

Then you got excited. Did he want to talk to about last night?

Maybe you’d get to learn more about his… condition. You could ask questions, maybe even see his transformation. And you didn’t even have to push or suggest the meet up yourself. Since when was luck on your side?

**

You shouldn’t be this excited jumping in the car to drive to the middle of the woods to meet your werewolf professor. No, you didn’t think he was going to kill you or make you disappear, but it still didn’t seem like a good idea on paper.

As far as Cam and Gemma were concerned, you were going to be spending the day in that same little coffee shop that you couldn’t remember the name of doing homework. That should give you a good enough alibi for a few hours, at least.

The night before, you looked up the vague location following a satellite view of the road, but as far as the world was concerned, there was nothing but woods out there. It would take you at least an hour to get to the meet up point, so you woke up unnaturally early for a Saturday, making sure you had a filling breakfast before getting dressed. You took extra care in your outfit to the point where you were even judging yourself. After losing count of the amount of times you’d changed or discarded what you were trying on, you settled for comfort. The t-shirt you had on was simple with a little pocket on the left side of your chest and the skinny jeans were practically brand new.

You kicked yourself as you grabbed your purse and headed out the door. Putting this much thought into what you were going to wear was absolutely ridiculous. It didn’t matter what clothes you had on. You were simply meeting your professor hopefully for a deeper explanation of his little secret.

The car ride didn’t do anything to calm your nerves.

As you sped down the country road that was flanked by miles of trees on either side, your heart stayed up there on the bpm scale. Every nerve was on edge and you could feel the nausea building in your stomach. When you turned onto the road that the directions told you to, you leaned forward in the seat as if that would help improve your vision or calm your system.

Finally, after another ten minutes of driving down that way, the trees broke and you gasped. A giant farmhouse came into view, sitting in the middle of clearing with a detached garage almost as large. One of the taller boys that you recognized sporting silver hair from the group of Professor Kim’s “cousins” (you highly doubted that they were all actually related), was leaning against the white railing of the porch with his forearms. As you put the car in park a few feet away from the steps, the boy waved and walked into the house. Were you supposed to follow him?

Getting out of the car, you took a deep breath and started towards the steps. The front porch door opened up again. Smiling down at you was Professor Kim. The grin that decorated his lips was different that the ones that he’d given you in the past. They were usually more reserved, like he was holding back or unsure about something. Now… now he was practically beaming. He wasn’t wearing his glasses that he typically had on in class, but he still looked just as adorable with crescent moon eyes. You could feel your cheeks getting warm. Great. You were blushing just because he was smiling at you.

“Hi, (y/n).”

**

Junmyeon was trying to remain stoic and calm. As the clock hanging in the kitchen ticked closer to ten, he could feel himself getting antsy. Would you actually show up? Did his little note come across as too creepy? What if you got the wrong idea?

Burying his face in his hands, Junmyeon let out a long and hefty sigh. His right leg bounced uncontrollably, the only outlet for all his pent up energy.

“Morning, hyung!” Chanyeol’s deep, cheerful greeting made the alpha jump in surprise. The giant just laughed.

“Good morning, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon grumbled.

Chanyeol titled his head, a jug of milk hanging in his hand as he stared at Junmyeon with the fridge wide open. “What’s wrong?”

“Technically, nothing’s wrong,” he answered honestly. “It’s just….”

“Are you worried your mate might tell someone about seeing you in the woods?”

Junmyeon smiled to himself.

He couldn’t believe his luck that Thursday night. Yes, you had accidentally seen him shift from wolf to human. Well, actually, from the way you spoke, you’d intentionally sought him out. Not only did he not have to figure out a way to tell you the truth about what he was, but you weren’t scared of him. There was no screaming or running or rushed explanations.

Yes, very lucky indeed, especially compared to some of his brothers.

“No,” he finally answered. “I’m not worried about that at all.”

“Then why so tense?” Chanyeol slid into the booth across from him.

Junmyeon cleared his throat. “She’s coming over today. Maybe.”

That nearly made Chanyeol choke on the milking he was currently chugging. “How did you manage that?”

“Uh, well,” Junmyeon cringed. This was not going to sound as innocent as it did in his head. “I wrote a little note on her paper. How to get here and what time to come.”

And there was the explosion.

Chanyeol was laughing so hard he was pounding his palm against the table, rattling the now half-empty glass. It felt like a good five minutes before he was able to catch his breath. Wiping tears away from his eyes, Chanyeol took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“So, you wrote her a note?”

Junmyeon frowned. “I couldn’t exactly pull her to the side after class and say ‘hey, this is my address, come over Saturday morning so I can explain the details of me being a werewolf and how you’re my mate’? Not exactly the best thing to say when other students are around.”

“Good point.” Chanyeol glanced over at the clock. “What time is she supposed to be coming over?”

“Ten,” Junmyeon replied. “I don’t know if she’ll actually show, though.”

“So, why don’t you go outside and wait for her?”

“I don’t want to weird her out.”

Jumping up from the booth, Chanyeol headed for the entrance that led to the rest of the house.

“Where are you going?” Junmyeon asked.

“Going to watch for her,” Chanyeol explained. “Since you’re too chicken.”

“Chanyeol, no-”

Too late. Chanyeol was already out of the kitchen and on his way to the front porch. To be honest, Junmyeon was a little relieved. He still wasn’t sure exactly if you’d show up, but it made him feel better to not be the one sitting on the porch waiting for you to pull up in your car. It would take a lot of self control for him not to ambush you as soon as you got out of your vehicle.

Fifteen minutes later, Chanyeol came back into the kitchen, a huge grin on his face. No explanation needed, Junmyeon jumped up and ran to the living room. Just before he opened the front door, he took a deep breath.

Don’t look too eager. Don’t look to eager.

Turning the handle, he stepped out just in time for you to exit your car. He couldn’t hold back the smile that stretched across his face. You came. You really came.

“Hi, (y/n).”

You fixed your glasses in an oh-too-adorable fashion. It was obvious that you were just as nervous as he felt. The wolf in him growled, urging him to move closer to you.

“Hi, Professor Kim.” You gave him a little wave.

“Please,” Junmyeon tried not to trip as he quickly went down the porch steps, “call me Junmyeon. At least here.”

“That’s,” you frowned, pulling your eyebrows together, “weird.”

The smile slipped from Junmyeon’s face. No, no, no, that wasn’t good. He needed to make you comfortable around him.

Noticing the dimming of his face, you stuttered, “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! Thank you! For, um, giving me permission to, uh-”

Junmyeon waved his hands in front of him. “No, it’s okay! I just… don’t want to be formal. Not here, in my home. Come on.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you back up the porch and into the house. He kept going until he made it into the kitchen. Then, by your shocked face, he let go of your hand. Oops. Too much contact too fast.

Clearing his throat, Junmyeon motioned for you to sit down at the breakfast booth before walking over to the coffee machine. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” you said as you slid into the booth. “Thanks.”

Junmyeon frowned. “Do you want anything to drink?”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay.”

“Oh, okay.” Junmyeon turned the coffee maker off before joining you on the other side of the booth.

After a minute or so of an awkward silence, you settled your hands into your lap. “Why did you invite me here?”

Junmyeon shrugged. “I thought you might have some questions after Thursday.” Chuckling a little, he ran a hand through his hair. “You know, about… me and what I am.”

The corners of your lips twitched. “Really?” Junmyeon nodded. “Okay. Um, wow. I don’t really know where to start.”

“Let me help.” Junmyeon scooted forward in his seat, settling his arms on the table, close to you but still giving you your space. “Yes, we’re born this way. No, you can’t become one by being bitten.”

You laughed. “Yeah, that is a good place to beginning.” You, too, shuffled a little closer, leaning in towards him. “But what about-” You stopped. “Nevermind.”

“No, what is it?” Junmyeon urged.

“Well…,” you clicked your tongue. “Do you turn into an actual wolf or is it more of the creepy hybrid type?”

Junmyeon couldn’t help the boisterous laughter. He’d never been asked what kind of werewolf he was. That wasn’t the type of question he’d been expecting.

“We turn into wolves,” he replied, getting control of himself. “Four paws and a tail. We’re just a little bigger than your average wolf.”

An eager shine glinted in your eye. “Can I see you as a wolf?”

Clumsy, quick steps tripped down the stairs. Junmyeon turned around in his seat in time to see a girl come to a stop at the bottom of the stairs where they spilled into the kitchen. Her hair was matted and messy. Make up was smudged under her eyes and she clung to her purse like it was a shield as she stared wide-eyed in horror at being caught. Kris came down after her.

“Uh, hey, Junmyeon,” Kris waved awkwardly. Placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder, he guided her out of the kitchen quickly.

“Who was that?” you asked.

Turning back around, Junmyeon chuckle lightly to himself. Kris had let him know last night that he would have a guest over. He hadn’t asked for the details, but it seemed one of them had had a rough night and hadn’t expected to wake up here. Junmyeon wished Kris luck with that one.

“That, uh, that was Kris. He’s one of the leaders of the pack.”

Your eyes widened. “One of them?”

Junmyeon nodded slowly. “Yes…. I’m the other one.”

“Like an alpha?” you grinned.

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’m an alpha.”

“Wow,” you blinked, obviously impressed. “That’s cool.”

That just made him laugh even more. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been associated with the word ‘cool’.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring his self-deprecating joke. “So… who was the girl?”

Junmyeon stopped smiling. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you inquired.

More footsteps - slower and heavier and a larger number of them - were headed for the steps. It seemed more of his pack was finally getting up for the day. He really didn’t want to be hovered over or let them eavesdrop while he eases his mate into his world.

“I’ll explain in a bit.” Junmyeon stood up, grabbing your hand again just to get you to your feet before letting it go again. “Let’s go for a walk.”

You lit up. “So I can see the wolf?”

Junmyeon smiled. “Yeah. I’ll let you see the wolf. Come on.”

Heading out the back door, Junmyeon heard his pack members arrive in the kitchen, loud and happy for just waking up. Escaped just in time.

The two of you headed for the woods, Junmyeon keeping you close beside him. He’d only scratched the surface in telling you about himself. Now is when the scary part came to life.

[letterfromtrenwith]

Grand Jete - Ch 11 & 12

When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.

Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…

Now complete!

Ch 1 & 2 Ch 3 & 4 Ch 5 & 6 Ch 7 & 8 Ch 9 & 10

~

Chapter 11 

“Did you get a chance to look over the quote from the advertising agency? George? George?”

“Hmm – oh, er, yes. It doesn’t look too bad, but it never hurts to get an alternative. As for the art, though, that’s your department.”

“Are you okay?” Francis frowned at him in concern and George looked away. “You’ve been very distracted recently.”

“Just busy is all.” It was true enough – early preparations for next season were well underway, and the company’s accounts were due shortly. He hadn’t much experience with charities so it had been a bit of a steep learning curve, but he was getting to grips with it. Frankly, the work had been a God send, since it distracted him from what was actually bothering him.

“Elizabeth all right?” It was as if Francis had read his mind. George was on the edge of snapping that Francis could ask her himself, since they were rehearsing for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but he held back. None of this was Francis’ fault, and shouting at him wouldn’t help.

“She’s fine.” Elizabeth probably was fine. She’d been the one who’d ended it, after all. He’d had a bad feeling as soon as he’d received her text saying they had to talk, especially as it came after over a week of her quite obviously trying to avoid him. Following on the heels of what he’d thought had been their blissful few days away together, it had confused him.

He’d worried before asking her that it was rushing into things, but her acceptance of his invitation had led him to believe she didn’t think so. However, that seemed to be exactly the problem if he was reading between the lines correctly.

They’d met for coffee at an impersonal chain place a few streets away from the Hall, Elizabeth looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” He’d known it was a stupid question as he was asking it but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, an increasing sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No, it’s just…I think we should…shouldn’t see each other for a while. Just…have some space.” It was both pretty much what he’d expected and a horrific blow. There were a hundred things he wanted to blurt out – why? What had happened? What had he done? How could he make it right? But he hadn’t said any of that.

“Well, if – if that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s for the best.” The pained silence which followed had been absolutely torturous, and George had quickly made an excuse, nearly knocking over his chair in his rush to stand. Elizabeth looked like she was about to speak, but he’d walked away, taking several deep breaths as he did.

He hadn’t seen her since, save a brief glimpse along the corridor. Their eyes met for a moment, but she’d turned away almost instantly. Every day of the final few performances of Checkmate he’d left the office at dead on 5:30, so as to resist the temptation to go and watch her dance. He made an excuse not to attend the closing party, which had clearly made Rosina suspicious, but she had blessedly chosen not to say anything.

When he’d spoken to one or two of the dancers, chiefly Caroline and Morwenna, he’d sensed an odd note. They were Elizabeth’s best friends, so even if she hadn’t told them about breaking it off, they certainly suspected. Neither of them had said anything directly, and he’d mostly done his best to cut their conversations short without seeming rude.

After the end of the de Valois duo, he’d taken to working late, hours more like he’d been doing at the family firm than what was expected from him at the Company. Work occupied him, while being back at the flat allowed him to dwell on how wretched he felt, as well as think too much about Elizabeth. About her sleeping in his bed, drinking from his coffee cups, wearing his shirts.

It was his own stupid fault. They’d only met – what – three months ago? Yet he’d gone and let the whirlwind romance of it all go to his head like he was a love struck teenager. Of course, it was obvious why anyone would fall in love with Elizabeth, but he’d just dived in head first and, clearly, he’d come on too strong and frightened her away.

Another one to add to his short and decidedly unsweet list of romantic disasters. Except this one really hurt. He’d come to Cornwall to find something missing in his life – he’d found it, along with something he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking for, which had made him happier than he could ever have imagined.

He’d found it, and now he’d lost it.  

~

Time passed, Lion debuted to rave reviews – Morwenna was even pictured in her role on the front page of The Cornish Times – Christmas decorations went up around town, and George felt no better at all.

Unable to resist, he’d sat in on a performance of Lion. It really was a wonderful production, but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but Elizabeth. She was playing a relatively small part, that of the Professor’s housekeeper, but even in her severe 1940s costume she was enchanting. He left just as the curtain fell, making sure he’d be gone long before the dancers.

One day, on his way back from Ellen’s office, he’d almost run right into Elizabeth. For a moment, they stood looking at each other. He clamped his lips shut against the stream of undoubtedly horribly embarrassing things he wanted to say to her, as she bit her lip glancing side to side awkwardly, like she couldn’t wait to escape. Thankfully, Dwight had appeared, breaking the tension, and George was able to make an excuse and leave.

The onslaught of cheery music and festive décor which greeted him just about everywhere except his flat – Rosina had even put up a little Christmas tree in the corner of their office, which he hadn’t had the heat to object to – did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. Just before Elizabeth had withdrawn from him, he’d been planning to book a special Christmas dinner for them. He’d found the brochures for the local restaurants and hotels in a drawer in his flat and stared at them miserably for a while before crossly shaking himself and throwing them out.

It seemed the whole company knew about him and Elizabeth breaking up. He was being treated with exaggerated friendliness by just about everyone, and people kept dropping by ‘just to say hello’ or invite him for a drink or coffee. Nobody seemed to hold anything against him, but of course Elizabeth wasn’t the sort of person to slag him off to all and sundry. He didn’t think he’d given her anything to slag him off about, at least he sincerely hoped not.

“Oh, your dad called.” That had been absolutely the last thing he’d expected Rosina to say when he returned from buying the one not-cranberry-enhanced panini offered in the coffee shop this time of year.

“My – my dad? Is that what he said?”

“Well, his exact words were something like: This is Nicholas Warleggan, I’m George’s father.” That sounded more like him.

“Did he say what he wanted?” George hadn’t spoken to his father or uncle since he’d stormed out of Nicholas’ office and, as stubbornness was one of the few things he had in common with them, he’d expected their stalemate to continue for quite some time.

“No, just said would you call him back.”

“I’ll do it when I get home.” Rosina looked a bit surprised at this, but didn’t question it. By what she’d told him, she had a very good relationship with her father, so George’s apparent disinterest probably seemed something of an anathema to her.

George debated not calling, but he didn’t think his father would call if he didn’t have a good reason. After a microwave dinner and staring disinterestedly at the television for an hour or so he finally picked up the phone. He called the office first, and right enough, Nicholas picked up on the second ring.

“Warleggan.”

“Dad, it’s George.”

“Oh, finally deigned to call me back, have you?”

“I was busy this afternoon.”

“Doing what? Collecting ticket stubs?” George gritted his teeth. His father was getting more like Cary as the years went by, and it did nothing for him. Nor for George’s relationship with him.

“Did you want something?” The faster he could get this conversation to the point, the better.

“I thought I’d better ask if you’re coming home for Christmas.”

“What?” That threw him completely. After his mum died, they’d never been much for family gatherings, not even at Christmas. One or two rather strained dinners over the years had been about it. The rest George had spent working or sitting alone at home. He’d hoped to spend this one with Elizabeth, or at least some of it, since he assumed she visited her family as well. That was out of the question now, of course. “Do you want me to?”

“Suit yourself.” Typical response. “Although, more pressingly, I was wondering if you were finally going to come to your senses and take your old job back.”

“What?” He’d said that twice in a few minutes but frankly he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Look,” Nicholas sighed. “You’ve been with the firm since you were still at university. I did often wonder if you’d want to…spread your wings a bit, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to go off and work for some dance troupe.”

“They’re not – “

“But surely you’ve got it out of your system now? You can come back to the firm, no hard feelings.” George’s first instinct was a flat refusal, not to mention anger at Nicholas’ dismissive, high-handed attitude, but then a little voice whispered in his ear. If he went back to London, then he’d be making a clean break from Elizabeth and he could put the whole thing behind him. He’d never admit to his father or his uncle that the reason he came back was a failed romance, of course, but they’d like as not ask. He’d hate to leave Francis in the lurch, but Rosina could probably manage until they replaced him.

George looked around his sparsely decorated flat. When he’d moved in just about four months ago, he hadn’t expected to be contemplating moving out again so soon. Then again, he also hadn’t expected to end up with a broken heart.  

Chapter 12

“Elizabeth! Where are you?” Caroline waved her hand in front of Elizabeth’s face and Elizabeth jerked out of her fugue. They’d been taking a break from class and she suddenly realised that everyone else was back on the floor, several of them looking at her questioningly. Oh God, how embarrassing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, let’s just – “ She stood and hurried into position next to Demelza, who gave her a concerned glance but, before she could say anything, the pianist struck up and class recommenced.  As Lion was the final show of the season, there was nothing to rehearse so they were essentially just exercising. Elizabeth allowed herself to become absorbed in the routine movements, letting the physical exertion overtake her emotional disturbance.

This was far from the first time she’d found herself distracted lately. She’d managed to convince herself she was doing the right thing by pulling back from George, even though every word she’d said felt like it was being ripped out of her. As she watched him walk out of that coffee shop, a voice in her head had screamed at her to call him back, tell him she hadn’t meant any of it.

In the intervening couple of weeks, she’d kept on trying to tell herself that it was for the best. They’d rushed into things; it could only end in tears. As if it hadn’t already.  

“All right, what’s going on?” There was only Elizabeth, Caroline and Morwenna left in the changing rooms, but Elizabeth still did her best to avoid her friend’s gaze. So far, nobody had said anything to her, although her mood must be obvious to everyone, as must the distance between her and George.

“Nothing…” She tried to hurriedly pull on her jumper but ended up fumbling it with her shaking hands.

“Cut the crap, Beth.” Morwenna’s tone was unusually harsh, undercut by her use of her childhood nickname for Elizabeth. “You’ve been off for days now. It’s something to do with George, isn’t it? Did you two have a fight?”

“No. It’s – no.” She looked at them both. She could see from their expressions that there was no way she was going to be able to prevaricate. “I just – I decided it was best if we get some space.”

“Some space?” Caroline raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth knew how lame it sounded out loud, and in her head, every time she tried to justify it to herself. “But why? When you came back from that break you were so happy. I’ve never seen you like that before. You were glowing.”

“Did George do something?” Even as Morwenna asked this, she sounded doubtful that the answer could be affirmative.

“No! It was just better if we slowed things down, is all.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself defensively.

“How? Because you look absolutely miserable, and so does George. Why would you think – “ A look of understanding crossed Morwenna’s face. “This is to do with Ross, isn’t it?”

“Ross?” Caroline frowned. “The guy you were with at the National?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth said, quietly. There was no point denying it. Morwenna wouldn’t let it go now she’d figured it out, and she could certainly count on Caroline to back her up. Elizabeth hadn’t told Caroline everything about Ross, but she knew the basics.

“But what’s he got to do with anything?!”

“It’s – it’s complicated.” Everything she said sounded increasingly weak, and in frustration as much at herself at getting the third degree, she slammed her locker shut and grabbed her bag. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – “

“Just leave me alone!” Elizabeth stormed past them, bumping into Morwenna, who let her go without protest. She swore when she dropped her car keys on the ground, half expecting Caroline or Morwenna to have followed her, but they hadn’t. Her burst of irritated energy lasted until she got home. Sitting on the sofa she suddenly felt quite drained and lay down on the cushions, hugging one close to her.

She would have to apologise to Caroline and Morwenna tomorrow; she could call them now, but it was better doing it in person. It had been wrong of her to snap at them, they were only concerned for her, but hearing her own doubts echoed back at her had not really hit a nerve.

Caroline’s confusion when Morwenna brought up Ross was entirely understandable. Elizabeth might be trying to use him to justify her decision, but as time went on, it was clear that it was a feeble excuse.

She’d first met Ross properly when they’d been put in the same class at the Royal Ballet School. Verity and Francis were already her friends, and they’d introduced her. The Poldarks were a bit of a novelty at the school – having two siblings there together was one thing, but the addition of a third family member was something else altogether. All three of them were exceptionally talented, but – to Elizabeth at least – Ross had something special, a sort of rawness to him. Her girlish crush had developed into more when they were teenagers, and they’d eventually become a couple. After graduating, she’d followed him to the English National Ballet despite a probably better offer from the Birmingham Royal.

For a couple of years, everything had seemed wonderful – Elizabeth had enjoyed the envious looks she got from the other ballerinas, both on stage and off, and basked in Ross’ attention. When he was in the mood to give it, that is. Oddly, it was in their professional partnerships that the cracks first began to show. Despite her romance with Ross, her performances with him at school had somehow never been quite so dynamic as they had with Francis, and this slight incompatibility had become increasingly more obvious as they rose through the ranks.

All of a sudden, Ross had announced that he was going on a six month guest stint at the Paris Opera Ballet. The same night, apparently on a complete impulse, he’d proposed to Elizabeth. Caught up in the romance of it, she’d agreed. Visiting him in Paris seemed to re-ignite something for them, and after his return Elizabeth had set to planning the wedding. However, Ross’ apparent disinterest in them actually getting married had started to unsettle her.

When she was invited for an 18 month stint at Ballet Zurich, she’d expected Ross to object – he’d been unhappy with her joining Verity for just a few guest performances with the Northern Ballet – but to her surprise, he’d enthusiastically encouraged her to go. Her time there had been neatly divided between loving both the city and her work and her creeping suspicion that it was truly over between her and Ross. Almost as soon as she moved there, he began making excuses as to why he couldn’t visit, even when she knew he wasn’t performing. Her calls went unanswered more and more frequently. The final straw had come when she’d heard a woman’s voice in the background of a rare conversation they actually did have – a voice Ross had shushed.

As soon as she returned, she’d given Ross back the engagement ring it had taken him nearly a year to buy her, and fallen into a deep funk. With unusual sensitivity, their artistic director had split them up entirely, partnering them both with others, and even casting them in different productions during the season. It had still been horrendously awkward, at least for Elizabeth. When Francis asked her if she wanted to join the South West, she’d jumped at the chance, seeing it as an opportunity not only to do some wonderful things professionally, but draw a line under things with Ross at last.

In the intervening couple of years, she’d come to realise what the problem had been. She’d tried – they’d both tried, although Ross less than her – to turn their teenage romance into a real, adult relationship. It might work for some, but it just wasn’t what they were meant for. Ultimately, they weren’t right for each other, and it would have been far better if they’d both realised that years earlier.

But that wasn’t how it was with George, was it? Despite what she’d tried to tell herself. Her problem was that very much were right for each other, and it had scared her. She’d fallen for him – no point denying it now – so fast and she’d been terrified of getting her heart broken again. The happiness she’d felt with him had reminded her of the early years with Ross, but it just wasn’t the same. Not at all. She’d been unnerved not just by how quickly her feelings for George had come, but how deep they were. How real.

Her phone bleeped, pulling her out of her miserable self-recrimination. It was from Morwenna, probably checking to see if she was okay despite Elizabeth’s behaviour. She didn’t read it, however, distracted by the screen background, which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change. She’d snapped the picture of George when he wasn’t looking – for someone so handsome, he was oddly reluctant to be photographed. He stood on a sort of rocky outcrop on Fistral Beach, looking at something in the distance, the wind tousling his hair and tugging at the loose corner of his scarf.

I’ve made such a terrible mistake.

~

“Ugh.” Francis hung up his phone with a cross expression, made rather comical by the fact he was wearing his Aslan costume, since it was the final children’s matinee before Christmas. Comical enough to pull a small smile from Elizabeth. She hadn’t felt much like smiling lately, consumed by the knowledge that she’d stupidly destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

“Everything okay?” She waggled a little paper cup out of the holder at the side of the water machine, tutting at the pathetic trickle of liquid out of the tap.

“Yeah,” Francis sighed. “It’s just – negotiations with the prop hire place. They want us to pay a larger deposit for anything we use at the Minack, since it’s allegedly more likely to get damaged performing outside. I might not mind quite so much except what they’re asking for is bordering on the extortionate.”

“Oh dear.

“Yeah. George might be able to work something out with them, but I’ll probably have to get used to this sort of thing if he’s going to be leaving us. Until we can replace him, that is.” It took Elizabeth a moment to process what Francis had said, and when she did she felt herself crush the empty cup in her hand.

“He – he’s what?” Francis looked surprised.

“Oh, I thought you’d know, of all people.” He made a face, obviously having forgotten that she wasn’t with George anymore. Francis could be hopeless with that sort of thing. “His, er, his dad’s asked him to go back to the firm, and I think he’s considering it. I suppose I can’t blame him, he’s done wonders for us, but we can’t offer him much reward…”

Elizabeth had stopped listening. George, leaving? She couldn’t imagine it. He loved this job – he hadn’t said so in as many words, but she could tell by the way he’d talked about it, about all of his ideas for the Company, about working with the creative team. There was only one reason why he might be thinking about giving it up – especially to go back to a position which had left him so unfulfilled. She’d driven him away.

If he left, there was a good chance she’d never see him again. She felt herself start to panic, her heart fluttering and her breaths coming short and sharp. No, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Ten minutes to curtain!” Ellen’s voice cut through her like a knife, and she forced herself to focus as best she could. However, as she waited at the side of the stage for her cue, her mind, for just about the first time in her career, was not on the performance.

As soon as the curtain dropped after the first act, Elizabeth was running through the backstage area and up the stairs into the main corridor, thanking Heaven that she wasn’t performing en pointe. She ignored a couple of odd looks, heads turning at the sight of a fully costumed ballerina hurrying past. Outside of George’s office, she almost collided with Rosina.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” Rosina looked astonished to see her, quite naturally. Glancing quickly between her and the office door, Rosina made a face of understanding and then gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile before disappearing away down the corridor.

George stood up when she entered, surprise written all over this face. Now that she was here, Elizabeth realised she had no idea what to say, but the words began rushing out of her anyway.

“Don’t go! You can’t go!”

“I – “

“I know there’s probably no chance of me undoing what I’ve done but don’t go because of me, please. You love this job, I know you do, and you’ve done so much here. Don’t let me push you away, away from here, that is, because I’ve already pushed you away from me. Now I know I shouldn’t have, it was just because I was scared of how much I felt and it all seemed too good to be true, but that doesn’t matter now. You can’t go, you can’t, I – “

“Elizabeth!” She pulled up short, biting her lip, thinking that she’d probably just made a complete fool of herself. But, oddly, George was smiling. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not? But Francis said your dad asked you to go back to London?”

“He did, but I’m not going to. There’s nothing for me there. And so much for me here. I think.” Could he mean - ? She took a deep breath.

“I really I am sorry for what I did. It’s too complicated to go into now, but I had a bad relationship and I let it cloud my judgement. I was worried that everything was going too fast. I came here to focus on my work, and I love my work, so much. But –“she stepped further into the office, closer to him. “But the thing is, I’m pretty sure I love you, too. And I’ve behaved like an idiot, and messed you around, and you’d have every right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Not at all. But I am disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” She frowned.

“Yes.” He smiled, widely now. Properly. “Disappointed that, since you’re in your make-up, I can’t kiss you.” 

[dark-unimaginably-stupid-kids]

Not Dreaming of You  [Ch 1]

(Because You Won’t Let Me Sleep)

Series- Voltron

Pairing(s)- End Game is Klancelot, with a slight incline toward Keitor simply based on the set up.

Other pairs include minor Shallura, past Rolotor, one-sided Sheith. platonic Plance and even a hint of Heith if you squint real hard.

Characters in this fic in order of most screen time: Keith, Lotor, Lance, Pidge, Hunk, our Lovely Lady Generals, Kuron, Shiro, Allura, Rolo and Nyma

 Synopsis: Keith has been tensely living with Lotor for about a year. They aren’t exactly friends, but occasionally they can get along. Suddenly with no explanation their neighbor Rolo moves out and two very noisy whack jobs move in. Somewhere between the loss of Lotor’s old fuck buddy and Keith’s sleep deprivation things start to get a little…odd.

“I’m telling you, there is something wrong with them!”

Chapter 1-

In which Keith gets out of work late and is too tired to deal.

Lance is loud and Lotor is…Lotor.

Work had been exhausting. God knows why anyone in their right mind would travel all over the grocery store with raw meat in their basket just to leave it buried behind the cereals—because that’s absolutely where it’s supposed to go right?

Keith had been the unfortunate one to find the mess and the blood and the boxes and boxes of completed ruined cereal. That was just the cherry on top of his grueling day at the express lane feigning cheer and putting up with stupid customers.

One of these days he was going to quit. Just. Just take his little name tag and stab Iverson in the eye with it.

…That could end in incarceration rather than just a very clear “I Quit” though so…maybe not.

Whatever. He was exhausted. He was allowed to day dream.

Even if it was close to two in the morning and he was laying on the couch praying for his aching muscles to give him the strength to drag himself into the shower because!! He was not crawling into bed like this absolutely not, na-uh.

He was so tired though. Maybe he could just. Take a little nap right on the couch.

His roommate wasn’t due home for another couple hours, little club hopping piece of shit that he was. Heck, if Keith was really lucky Lo would find somewhere else to spend the night and Keith could have the apartment all to himself in the morning to wallow in his miserable life.

But he needed to shower.

Lo or not he needed to shower and crawl into bed and sleep for the next week.

He rolled off the couch and screamed at nothing—quietly, to mind his neighbors beyond thin walls—and when that didn’t help his situation at all he dragged himself to his feet to trudge along to his bedroom for his towel. Normally, he’d carry clothes with him as well as he was so unlike his roommate in that he didn’t thoroughly enjoy parading around the apartment naked but fuck it he wasn’t home and Keith really didn’t want to wear clothes or exist—

He was going to pull the extra fluffy blanket out of the closet tonight it would be glorious and absolutely necessary and prudent to his recovery.

God did he still smell like cow blood?

He still smelled like cow blood.

“What IS that?!”

Keith fumbled with his towel.

“I know it…! PIIIIIIDGE!”

“what-what-what-what!?!! Why are you screaming?!”

That was coming from those thin walls as previously noted. A boy and a girl. The girl sounded further away but grew progressively louder as she presumably got closer to the wall Keith shared with them.

It was two in the morning right? Why were they so active?

And didn’t Rolo live next door? Neither of these two sounded like Rolo.

“Do you smell that?! What is that!?!”

“Lance we just moved in there’s bound to be—Oh.”

“YOU SMELL IT TOO DON’T YOU!?!”

“Well—!”

“Dude! Is it coming from the walls!?!”

They were excitedly squeaking at each other, getting shriller as they went. Keith could feel his head rattling. He really didn’t have the energy to be concerned about what kind of mold Rolo had growing in his apartment. Of course, by default that meant it could very likely spread and become Keith’s concern in a short span of time but…

For right now, he just couldn’t be bothered.

As he held his towel in his hands he briefly considered how disgusting his hands were. He’d washed them eighty times at the store but they just. Didn’t feel clean enough. And now they were on his perfectly clean towel he was going to need to use to dry himself off later.

Maybe he should just dump this in the dirty clothes along with his uniform and just—air dry.

“No. No Lance, we can handle this okay. We just got here. This is gonna be good for us. We’re fine. We’re two… totally stable…totally normal individuals and we can handle this, no wigging out.” The girl sounded determined and her voice somehow retained human levels of shrill.

The boys did not, “But Pidge it’s right there!”

Keith glared at the spot on his wall where he was sure the boy on the other side must have leaned against it with a thump. He was confused, but too tired to ask so instead he walked over to that spot on the wall and slammed his open palm down against it. The smack made his entire body go weak but with the startled yelp from the other side it had been worth it.

“Keep it down!” Keith shouted at them.

“God Lance look what you—how could you already upset the neighbor!?”

“Why does it smell like this!?!”

Keith quirked a brow but the girl shushed him and there was the sound of several thumps and a door shutting hard.

Alright.

Okay.

You know What?

This is fine.

He took his disgusting towel in his disgusting hands anyway and went to shower.

There was something crazy soothing about being drenched in scalding hot water when your body felt like gelatin. He might have stayed in there until the skin on his fingers got pruney but frankly he didn’t care. He wrapped his towel around his waist, having mostly forgotten it was previously dubbed “disgusting” and let himself out of the extremely fogged up bathroom.

Standing out in his apartment in nothing but his towel felt a little strange, but he reminded himself Lo wasn’t home and hopefully, one day when he lived far far away in a lonely little shack in the middle of nowhere, every day would be like this and it wouldn’t be weird then.

The bathroom door looked out onto a hallway that ended in the apartment balcony and Keith offered the darkness of three AM a passing glance when he caught sight of something that looked vaguely terrifying.

If Keith had to admit it, it looked almost like the shadow of a person on the balcony. The shadow of a person, crouched on the floor, staring through the sliding glass door with glowing golden slits for eyes.

But, when Keith’s eyes adjusted from the light and fog of the bathroom to the blurred darkness of the outside there was absolutely no shadow and no glowing eyes.

Clearly, Keith was tired.

His stomach growled in agreement.

Wait, no.

No way. He was not hungry he couldn’t be hungry he didn’t have the energy left to be hungry—!!

---

Lotor came home while Keith was standing in their kitchen chewing on a pop tart over the sink, still clad in only his towel.

Keith didn’t need a mirror to realize he was probably pink in the face and doing a piss poor job of hiding his panic.

Lotor stared at him for a long moment, door ajar behind him, coat half shrugged off his shoulder and keys in hand.

“…Good Morning, Red.”

“It’s night time.” Keith mumbled over a mouth of pop tart he hadn’t managed to swallow.

Just like that, Lotor relaxed, “It’s 3 AM. As in morning. Don’t be difficult.”

“…Fair.”

Lotor shut the door and locked it before shrugging his coat the rest of the way off and hanging it from one of the hooks near the door. Keith had one too, but his cropped jacket wasn’t as aesthetically pleasing as Lotor’s long black fleece lined coat. And Lotor would definitely fight him if the hideous bright red thing clashed with his living room.

It had won him the nickname “Red” after all.

To be fair, since Lotor’s dad was footing most of the bill for the apartment the two of them had moved into after their sophomore year, Keith really couldn’t complain much.

“Anyway, is there a reason you’re up this late? And…naked?” Lotor’s eyes drifted up and down Keith’s pale form and Keith felt vaguely violated. When Lotor dared to raise his eyebrows and smirk Keith almost threw the remainder of his pop tart at him.

“Got out of work late, showered, snacked. That’s all.”

“Darn, and here I thought you’d finally cracked and fallen prey to my charms, that I could have gotten lucky tonight after all. Perhaps there’s still a chance to convince you?”

Keith flushed and stuffed his face with the rest of his pop tart, a large part of him wanted to dart into his room and ignore the comment but the part of him that rose to the challenge wanted to bait him. He knew it was a joke but he wanted to see how far Lotor would take it, “You want to convince me?”

Lotor leaned against the kitchen counter, a small but obvious smirk on his face as he looked Keith up and down again, seemingly considering the idea before he shrugged his shoulders, “Eh. You look beat. I’ll try again tomorrow. Stay naked though, makes it easier.”

Clearly Lotor was still working whatever alcohol he’d consumed out of his system if he was going to play flirt like that.

“The pop tart crumbs on your mouth really seal the deal too. Really works for me.” Lotor’s grin widened to show his perfect teeth and Keith rolled his eyes, before rinsing his still vaguely pruney hands in the kitchen sink and wiping his mouth.

“Maybe I should eat something myself actually. Narti had me try something called a Dirty Bong Water. We had…possibly eight of them.” Lotor drawled out before squeezing past Keith in their tiny kitchen toward the refrigerator.

Keith hummed absently, trying to pretend he didn't pay close attention to the warmth of the other man's presence or the way several unnaturally silver strands of hair were falling loose from the bun he'd tied it all into earlier that night.

“We have to go shopping,” Lotor mumbled as he peered around the contents of the fridge. They were almost out of soy milk, the grapes had shriveled and needed to be thrown out, they had two eggs left and a ridiculous amount of pudding but otherwise, yes, it was looking pretty scarce.

“Not it!” Keith shouted immediately.

Lotor turned to stare at him as if he’d grown a second head, “But you work there.”

“Exactly! That’s like my asking you to go to your dad’s firm on your day off.”

Lotor’s brows remained quizzically raised, “That isn’t the same thing at all. Why would I have to go there on my day off? I barely work there as it is.”

“To get groceries.”

“It’s a law firm, Keith. You're not making any sense.”

“I am very tired, Lo.”

The taller boy retreated from the fridge and shut the door behind him as he offered his roommate a sympathetic stare.

“Perhaps you should go to bed then?” He offered.

Keith nodded, “Hopefully the new neighbors will let me—oh! Did you know about that? That we got new neighbors today?”

At this Lotor’s eyes, a pretty deep dark blue, flashed in recognition, “Ah yes, I did see them come in today. Not sure what exactly got into Rolo but he said something about going back to his family for a while.”

Keith blinked, “…Rolo hates his family.”

“I’m aware.”

“He moved into his van when he was fifteen. He couldn’t wait to get away from them. Why the hell—”

Lotor raised a hand to silence Keith before placing both hands on Keith’s shoulders and turning him around, nudging him forward, “I don’t know Red, and there’s no point in asking me, these are mysteries for the daylight hours—”

“Eh it's not like it matters. I didn’t really like him anyway.” Keith continued, tilting his head back, watching Lotor’s long tan fingers as they released his shoulders with a questionable wave.

“Hm?” Lotor hummed. Of course, he didn’t know how little Keith and their neighbor got along given that in the last year he'd never actually seen the two interact. But if he had been paying attention one could even make the case that Rolo would have preferred his family to having to live next to Keith at this point.

Why were things so tense between Keith and his neighbor?

Well, because Lotor had an awful habit of getting bored, wandering over to the apartment next door, and not coming back for hours during which Rolo would play that horrendously awful “sexy times” playlist that Keith was more than tired of listening to.

Of course, to be clear, Keith’s annoyance was primarily with the playlist and not in Lotor’s involvement at all.

Naturally.

The man just had awful taste in music.

Though after Rolo met his girlfriend Nyma and Lotor stopped going over to the backdrop noise of deep repetitive beats Keith might have to admit he found his neighbors existence slightly less annoying.

Even despite the fact the music never stopped because Nyma wasn't even remotely prudish.

But again, Lotor wouldn’t know and it didn't matter because it had nothing to do with Lotor.

Nothing. Not a thing.

“He was just a dick sometimes, ya know?”

A vaguely knowing look passed over Lotor’s face as he eyed his roommate. At Keith’s unsure silence Lotor finally shrugs and reached up to run his fingers through his hair. Remembering at the last moment that his hair was tied up, he lifted both hands instead. One removed the hair tie, the other quickly went to work threading through his locks to make them appear sensible.

Of course, they always appear sensible.

Because Lotor always looks like a goddamn model no matter what he’s doing.

At least, Keith thinks dryly, he knows Lotor’s hair isn’t naturally silver. Hell, he’d even helped touch up the other mans roots once or twice when they’d been having a tolerable week.

Still. Rooming with Lotor had always given him a touch of a self esteem issue. He was just. Perfect. All the time. And on top of that he was a very prosperous flirt who could get pretty much anyone he wanted and flaunted this evil super power with this infuriating pride—

Keith wasn’t really interested in relationships if he was being honest, he was too busy trying to figure out his life and what he was going to do with a bachelor’s in liberal studies and a dead end cashiers job to really try going out and meeting anyone. But sometimes, he figured, it might have been nice.

And maybe it would be nice to get that kind of attention from Lotor in a more genuine way.

Rather—not Lotor, of course not Lotor—but when he’d walked in earlier and almost looked like he was genuinely checking him out it almost made Keith feel…good.

God damn Lotor had nice hair.

“But the new neighbors are noisy. So. I’m not sure if we leveled up or not,” Keith offered finally.

Lotor raised a brow as he decided he wasn’t going to wait for Keith to call it a night and let himself into the bathroom. Keith stayed idle at the entrance to the hallway. Honestly, it was rare they’d talked this long as it was and Keith probably should have taken the hint and just gone to bed.

Heck, he was still wearing just a towel. How exhausted was he that he could just forget that fact?

“Noisy?” Lotor called out to him, surprising him. He really had thought Lotor was going to ignore him and head to bed at this point.

Lotor turned on the sink and proceeded to brush his teeth while Keith explained what he’d overheard when he came back from work.

“Rolo doesn’t have mold. I was there yesterday,” Lotor responded dryly when he was finished rinsing.

“Well what else could it have been?”

“More questions I’m simply not equipped to answer for you tonight, Red. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll go over tomorrow and investigate. Make nice with the new neighbors. I’m sure they’re not as bad as you think.” Lotor dried his hands on the purple hand towel and shut off the bathroom light mumbling about it being way too late to take a shower and odds were Keith had used all the hot water.

This was one of their first arguments as roommates, they both enjoyed scalding hot showers and if Keith was tired he simply would not leave. They had decided at that point Keith would bathe in the mornings and Lotor would take the evenings baring unforeseen circumstances that they would then accommodate to accordingly. Much like he was going to do now.

But again, Lotor was perfect so he probably didn’t even sweat and he certainly didn’t come home smelling like cow blood so he’d be fine.

Regardless, Keith couldn’t help but consider how willing Lotor was to visit the new neighbors.

“…Which one.” He groaned, voice dripping with exasperation.

“Pardon?”

“Which one caught your attention?” Keith grumbled while the taller male paused in front of him, his eyes lingering on Keith’s collar bone for just a second. Keith assumed he’d imagined a mosquito or something. Lotor absolutely hated those and would quite comically rave about setting fire to the apartment if it took longer than ten minutes to kill one.

Not that there was any reason for Keith to be thinking about some of the funnier or cuter things Lotor was capable of when he was so close to him and naked.

Honestly, Keith didn’t want to hear the answer to his question but he couldn’t help that he’d still asked it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Keith.” Lotor even said it with a lilt and the beginnings of that shit eating grin Keith hated so much.

“I swear to god Lotor— they already sound annoying I don’t need you making it worse.”

Lotor laughed outright and Keith wanted to wretch at the awkward feeling in his stomach.

“Red, you think everyone is annoying.”

“And don’t you forget it. You’re not even an exception.”

Lotor nodded, raising a hand to Keith’s head and roughing up his hair. Would it be dramatic to say it felt like his heart stuttered with the motion? Lotor gave him palpitations. Clearly living together was shortening his lifespan.

“I’m aware. Nice chatting with you, we should avoid it in the future.”

Keith shivered at the fond way Lotor said that, but he blamed his current ensemble for it, “We should. Agreed.”

Lotor removed his hand from the others hair and waved, “Night Red.”

Yeah. Yeah really this was such a weird night.

“Night Lo.”

Lotor’s bedroom door shut quietly behind him and Keith shuffled into the hallway closet to dig out his fluffy blanket as he had planned at the beginning of the night.

When he made it to his room the neighbor was playing music. Not as loud as Rolo but still loud enough to keep him up if he were any less exhausted.

The quality of music was also nicer. Softer… Spanish?

When Keith’s head hit the pillow he went out like a light, whether it was from exhaustion paired with the music or the idea of this being the start of one of those “tolerable” spells between himself and his roommate, he didn’t know, he didn’t care.

Sleep was just. So good and so necessary right now.

And yet he woke up around sunrise to the sound of his neighbors shrieking.

“Cover it up! COVER IT UP!”

“I’m TRYING!”

Keith pulled his second pillow over his head and squeezed it tightly. Somehow he got the feeling sleep would be a rare thing from now on, with those two living next door.

What the fuck was wrong with them? ----

AN: So I would have posted this earlier but I was thoroughly distracted by Steven Yeun’s VOICE--

And yes, this is another multi-chaptered fic (Because what the fuck Gen) I’m still going to be working on IFE but it’s at a slightly lower priority right now because A) I’m totally winging it and it was mostly an experiment to play with some world building for my original series and B) There doesn’t seem to be much interest in it ANYWAY so like...no pressure yeah? <3;;; Also C) THIS STORY RIGHT HERE ACTUALLY HAS A PLOT?!!!

Like I have actual chapters planned and Lisa even got a ridiculous derpy outline when I was bored and ended up writing one instead of working on Dusk.

This was SUPPOSED to be a stupid little one shot with Klance and platonic Plance but then suddenly there was Lotor. Descended from space to give me a message! “You’re going to love me and give me the littlest blade now.” And suddenly my derpy Klance one shot became multi chapters predominantly Keitor/Klancelot.

So.

Fuck it.

Let’s see how this goes lol.

[thfrustration]

Crossing Knives, Chapter 10: Secrets, Surprises, Sauvignon Blanc

TITLE OF STORY: Crossing Knives CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: Chapter 10 AUTHOR: missviolethunter / missviolethunterwrites WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: AU Tom / Chef Tom GENRE: Romance, Comedy FIC SUMMARY: Tom Hiddleston is the brilliant executive chef of Band of Brothers, a London restaurant with a Michelin star. He also has a reputation for being arrogant, cocky and difficult. Hallie Harrison is a former home cook who has just won Masterchef US. Luke Windsor is a restaurateur who is tired of constantly looking for new sous-chefs because Tom keeps making them quit. In a desperate move to save his restaurant, Luke offers Hallie a job as a sous-chef… and maybe also a chance to meet the man of her dreams in the least likely of places: the kitchen of Band of Brothers. RATING: Explicit WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: None FEEDBACK/COMMENTS: Links to previous chapters: Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9

CHAPTER 10:  SECRETS, SURPRISES, SAUVIGNON BLANC

Monday mornings marked the start of the work week at Band of Brothers. Planning menus, receiving deliveries, scheduling any special events… all those things had to be done on a Monday so the rest of the week would be properly organized.

Every day Tom was the first one to arrive. Sometimes a bit hungover, or wearing the same clothes as the night before (there was a shower in Luke’s office, and Tom always kept a change of work clothes in the car). But, no matter what he had been doing during the long weekend, he was always in the kitchen when everybody else got there.

Which is why Birdie and Kumal, the cooks, who were neighbours and usually caught the same tube, were so surprised to find the back door of the restaurant firmly closed. And locked. Birdie searched in her large handbag for her set of keys, that she barely had any occasion to use. She also grabbed her phone, wondering if she should call Luke or if she was worrying about nothing. It was half past eleven, and they didn’t have to start until noon, so it wasn’t really alarming that Chef Tom had decided to oversleep a little.

She was so concentrated, mobile phone in one hand and keys in the other, that she almost didn’t hear Luke’s voice behind her.

“Morning, Birdie! Hey, Kumal!” He turned off the engine and got out of the car, smiling brightly, with a cup of Starbucks in one hand and some donut crumbs on his otherwise immaculate suit. Luke Windsor was definitely a morning person.

“Morning, Mr. Windsor. Is Chef Tom with you?”

“Tom? No, I haven’t seen him since Saturday; I’ve got several lost calls from him, so I thought I’d come early so we could talk.” He glanced at the door, then at the two people in front of him, and finally at the door again. “Is there anything wrong? Why are you out here?”

Birdie sighed. “It’s locked. And empty.”

Luke frowned for a brief moment. “Well, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. He must have been partying until late, I’ll give him a call and tell him to get his arse out of bed.”

They all got in; the cooks headed towards the kitchen and Luke to his office. He tried calling Tom, but the call went straight to voicemail. And again. After four tries, he resorted to messaging.

 ‘Hey, mate, are you alright?’

 ‘Tom, I’m sorry I couldn’t come over yesterday, I was at my parents’ in Oxfordshire and I didn’t get home until all hours.’

 ‘Hiddleston, it’s almost noon. If you’re down with the flu I can go by your place and bring you some chicken soup, but I need you to speak to me.’

No response. He headed to the kitchen, where Hallie, Connor and Alex had also arrived and were starting to prep all kinds of food for the dinner service.

“Good morning, gods and goddesses of the culinary world! How’s the week presenting?”

A chorus of cheerful voices assured him, all at the same time, that everything was perfect (and that chefs can be very, very loud people). Only Hallie didn’t say anything except for a deflated ‘Hi Luke’, and that made him worry.

He decided to try calling Tom again, and right in that moment he heard the main door open and close with a slamming sound. And there was the missing Chef Hiddleston, standing in the hallway, in his chef whites, pale and sulky like the Ghost of Canterville on a bad day (minus the chains. And the castle. And the undead thing, although he did have the ashy complexion).

“Finally! I was starting to worry. Are you alright, mate? I tried calling you…”

“I was driving. Fine. I’m fine.” His voice sounded at least an octave lower than usual, which made it hard for Luke to understand him.

“I know that tone, Hiddleston, and it’s everything but fine. Look, if you’re not feeling well and you need the day off, just…”

“You can’t send me home, Luke”, was the half-growled answer. “This place is as mine as it is yours, so spare me your ‘cool boss’ talk and let me get to work.”

Now Luke was absolutely sure that Tom was either sick or being an asshole on purpose. Or maybe both. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, thinking of the best way to find out the truth.

“Great. Do whatever you want. If at any point in the day you feel like talking to your business partner and oldest friend, and telling him what the bloody hell is wrong with you, I’ll be in my office.”

About twenty minutes later, a quick rap at the door made Luke smile triumphantly.

“It’s always open, Tom! Come in and share that sob story, whatever it is!”

The door opened slowly, but instead of Tom’s closely cropped curls what appeared behind it was a head of blond hair, neatly tucked in a bun under a white chef hat.

“Luke, it’s me. Sorry to interrupt you, but…”

“Hallie! I meant it when I said it’s always open. Please come in. Coffee?”

“Luke, Tom burnt a sauce ten minutes ago and went to the pantry. He… he’s locked himself in and he’s not answering when we knock.”

Luke got up from his desk, looking slightly murderous. “Okay, this has gone too far. I’m going to…”

“Please don’t be angry with him! I think… I think it’s my fault that he’s all moody today, but I can’t get him to talk to me.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Fine, let’s all calm down. I won’t kill him…yet. Now let’s go to the pantry and find out why he’s acting more like an idiot than usual.”

In the kitchen, everybody was trying to keep things normal. The pots were boiling, the pans sizzled, and the cooks… well, the cooks had one eye on the suspiciously closed door that connected the kitchen with the pantry. Nobody said a word, but they all turned to Luke in unison.

The increasingly worried restaurateur knocked on the door several times. “Thomas, this isn’t funny. Nor professional. Get your arse out of there!”

One or two muffled words came from inside.

“I can’t hear you, you sod! This is a fireproof door!”

Nothing. Seeing that Luke’s efforts were in vain, Hallie moved to the front of the group and approached the closed door.

“Tom, it’s Hallie! Please, can we talk?”

Silence for a moment, and then they all could hear the sound of the lock being turned. Slowly.

It still didn’t open, so Hallie grabbed the handle. Luke put a warning hand on her forearm.

“Whatever you do, get him out of there. I don’t want to appear in the Daily Mail as the evil restaurant owner who almost let two of his workers suffocate inside a closed pantry.”

“Suffocate? There’s a ventilation system in there.”

“You clearly don’t read the Mail”, Luke sighed. “Just try and make him see reason, please.”

Hallie opened the door and got inside, closing it behind her without a noise.

“Now you want to see me.”

The Band of Brothers pantry was a spacious and well organized room, with cabinets and shelves to one side and a row of industrial sized freezers to the other. Tom was sitting on the floor, with his back to the wall and a can of beer in his hand, looking so miserable that Hallie almost had to fight back tears.

She thought of the best way to start the conversation; Tom seemed to be in a highly dramatic state, so she decided that maybe he would react if she dialed up the drama.

“Tom, if you want me to resign and leave, just say so and I’ll be out of here in a minute”, she stated in a clear voice.

“What?” He clearly wasn’t expecting that. He left the beer on the floor (unopened, Hallie noticed) and stood up with the help of the wall behind him.

He didn’t seem drunk, just extremely hungover and a more than a little angry. He walked up towards Hallie very slowly, as if he was walking under water.

“Did you have fun with your boyfriend Harrington the other night?”

Hallie went red as a beet. “Tom, I went to…”

“I know where you went. For some reason you decided I wasn’t good enough for you, so you staged your little freak-out and then Craig came to your rescue like a knight in shining armor. Well played.”

Hallie crossed her arms and frowned. “Tom, that wasn’t staged. I had to run home because I was feeling horrible, and then I got a text from Georgiana…”

“I see. So Georgiana was in it too, playing matchmaker for her little brother.”

“It was a birthday party! With at least fifty people in it!”

“I only saw two people in Harrington’s Tesla.”

Hallie took a step back. “Tom, were you following me?”

“Following you? Bollocks!” answered Tom, outraged. “It’s not my fault that in a city with nine million people you have decided to live right on my doorstep, Chef Harrison.”

“Well, it’s hard to see people’s faces from the balcony of your luxury penthouse, Chef Hiddleston, so you were either using a telescope or–”

“I don’t need a telescope to see when someone’s hiding something from me.”

She sighed. “Okay, this is ridiculous. We’re having a conversation in the stupid pantry–”

“An argument”, interrupted Tom.

“Fine, an argument. But this is not the time or the place to do this.”

Tom raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Right. We must look like a pair of bloody teenagers. But you didn’t deny you are hiding something from me, so don’t tell me I’m imagining things.”

Hallie closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them again, she looked very serious. “Can we call a truce for a few hours and talk after work? Yes, there’s something important I need to tell you… but it can’t be here.”

“Have it your way”, said Tom in a chilly tone. “I’ll take you home after work… but I don’t know what you want me to say, except that I feel like you’re gaslighting me.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen. And if you don’t like my explanation, tomorrow I will resign and you won’t have to see me again. Deal?”

“Fine.”

He opened the door for Hallie with an exaggerated flourish, and looked at the bunch of people who had congregated in front of the pantry door.

“What, don’t you all have jobs to do?”

Luke let out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to remove that lock today. No, forget about the lock, I’m having the whole door taken away.” He pointed a recriminating finger at Tom. “No more silly shenanigans in this kitchen, understood?”

Tom answered with a mock of a military salute.

“Splendid. Now, let’s all get back to work and forget the past thirty minutes of our lives. Back to cooking, everybody!”

At the same time Tom relived his personal drama in the Band of Brothers kitchen (and pantry), Harrington Craig was parking his Tesla right across the street.

He was in a bit of a hurry. Not exactly late, but he was anxious to try a couple of new and exotic ingredients he’d had shipped from Thailand the day before. Also, he had stayed at his parents’ brunch for a bit longer than he should.

According to the family chronicles, the Craigs had been doing brunch since before the word was invented. The only thing that had changed over the years was the date: what for centuries had been a Sunday event had been changed to Monday since his two elder sisters got married and started having children. Apparently, having all your weekends planned in advance is not practical when you have several little ones, so brunch was rescheduled and now everyone was happy (except for the aforementioned children, who of course were at school).

Whatever the reason, every Monday, Lord and Lady Craig had the table set for at least thirteen people: her eldest daughter Eleonora, her husband, and the youngest of their three girls (who was two years old, so no school yet); Georgiana, always alone because she pitied his boyfriends too much to make them endure the family event; Minerva and her husband with their two daughters (who were homeschooled, and  loved being at the table with the grownups); Arabella, the youngest, who had recently became engaged to a young man and had earned the right to bring him to brunch; and, finally, Harry. Alone since his divorce… and frequently alone during his marriage, because his ex-wife Charlotte had hated his sisters with a passion (often reciprocated), and she always had an excuse to avoid setting foot in the Craigs’ Hampstead house.

On that particular day, brunch had been a bit uncomfortable for him. His sister Georgiana, always eager to embarrass him at family events, had told their mother about Hallie… and the hopeful Lady Craig had spent more than an hour trying to extract information from her son.

“My dear Harrington” (she was the only person who called him by his full name all the time). “If there’s a new young lady in your life, do bring her to tea sometime. I’ll be very glad to meet her.”

“That would be wonderful, dear Mamma, but despite what Georgie may have told you there’s nothing to write home about. I’ve met a girl I like, but unfortunately she only has eyes for Tom.”

“What a pity! Speaking of Thomas, I do wish you two would solve your differences. You were such good friends at school! You know, when you were younger I had the secret hope that he would end up marrying one of your sisters.”

Harry couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at this affirmation, and all the other people at the table reacted in a variety of ways: his sisters Nora and Belle managed to muffle a burst of laughter, while Georgiana, less used to hiding her impulses, laughed heartily. Only one of the sisters, Minnie, seemed very concentrated on her food, blushing furiously. She’d had a brief thing with Tom during their time in Oxford, and her sisters had teased her mercilessly for years about ‘the Hiddleston affair.’

As for the men who were also attending brunch, not one of them noticed a thing. Harry’s father was too busy enjoying his eggs Florentine; and all three of his daughter’s significant others were completely oblivious to the crossing of glances between the women and their amused mother.

“Anyway”, continued Lady Mountjoy once the giggling had stopped. “I haven’t lost hope of having a grandson yet. And apparently it has to come from you, because your sisters are exclusively occupied in having girls. Who I love very dearly, of course”, she added with a wink and a smile directed towards the three little girls sitting at the table. “But who’s going to inherit your father’s collection of toy soldiers?”

This time the laughter was general, husbands and father included. It was a running joke in the family, their particular genetic lottery. The elder sister, Nora, had three lovely girls; the second, Minnie, had two and was expecting twins… she had just found out that both of them were also girls. The youngest, Belle, wasn’t married yet, but she always joked that she was going to start buying pink furniture for her future home. And Lord Mountjoy’s collection of toy soldiers, enjoyed for the last time by Harry as a kid, had been collecting dust in the attic for more than twenty-five years.

Harry’s recollection of the family meal was suddenly interrupted by the sound of steps in front of him. He forced his attention back to reality, just in time to avoid a collision with a young Black woman carrying the largest Starbucks cup he had ever seen.

“Oy! Careful, Mister Daydreaming!” she said, holding the cup as far as she could from her leather portfolio and her elegant black and white suit. She never lost her smile, however, and Harry wondered how a person who was on her way to work, and obviously in a hurry, could be in such good spirits.

“I am awfully sorry… God, I hope nothing has spilled.” He surveyed the woman’s slender figure looking for a nonexistent stain, and then something clicked in his mind. “Wait a minute… don’t I know you? You work with Luke Windsor, right?”

“Exactly, I’m his assistant. Shirley Berry.” She managed to hold both portfolio and coffee in her left hand, and extended the right towards Harry’s offered handshake.

“Harry Craig. I’ve heard Luke talk wonders about you several times.”

“Well, he manages the restaurant, and I manage his finances, his schedule, and the rest of his professional life. Everything except Tom, of course. No one in the world can manage that man… but according to the rumours you already know that.”

Harry smirked. “You know, all this time I’ve been wondering how Band of Brothers is doing so well despite Tom not being able to keep his staff stable… maybe I should have looked into the business side of it. If you ever feel tempted to switch your allegiance, I’ll be right here with open arms”, he added with a shy smile.

“Awww, that may be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in weeks. To be completely honest I have no intention to change jobs… but if you weren’t my boss’s best friend’s mortal enemy, I’d invite you to coffee.”

“Even if you are my mortal enemy’s best friend’s assistant, I will take you up on that invitation. I see you like Starbucks, but you may want to try a little café two streets away from here; they serve the best blends in London.”

Shirley’s smile widened. “That sounds great. And I promise Tom hasn’t paid me to poison your Cappuccino or anything.”

“Actually, I take it Ristretto… just so you know where to put the poison”, he answered with a wink.

“Duly noted.” She scribbled her personal mobile on a card and handed it to Harry, and they parted ways, hurrying towards their respective restaurants.

Harry put the business card in his pocket, and a second later he changed his mind and stored it in his wallet. Growing up in a house full of sisters had made him notoriously bad at flirting for many years, so he liked it when women took the initiative in a frank, carefree way, like Shirley had done. Even if it was just for coffee, and not a real date.

The workday at Band of Brothers ended almost at midnight. Most Londoners, except for the ones who partied really hard, were already asleep or getting ready for bed, so the light traffic allowed Tom’s Aston Martin to make the trip from Chelsea to Goswell Road in twenty minutes, instead of the usual thirty.

That meant twenty long minutes of sulky silence on Tom’s part. After the bumpy start of the day he had been more cooperative, but for most of the day he’d kept a stubborn silence. Hallie tried to lighten the mood making a couple of casual comments at the start of the drive, but noticing the lack of response she chose to concentrate on her phone. She texted her mother to let her know she was bringing Tom home, but Lorraine hadn’t answered her yet.

Finally, when they were only a couple of minutes away from the City, Tom broke his silence.

“Texting your boyfriend?”

Hallie huffed. “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again. And no, as far as I know I don’t have a boyfriend, thanks for asking.”

“Then what do you call the Honorable Harrington Craig? Just a fuckbuddy? A friend with benefits?” he asked between gritted teeth. “I bet he’s already planning to make you the second Mrs. Craig. He can be very quick when it comes to marrying other people's–”

“Will you stop with that, Tom? We’re almost… turn right, please, we’re almost there. You can park around that corner.”

Tom decided to go back to sulking in silence during the short walk through the front door, up the stairs, and finally through the door of Hallie’s flat on the second floor.

“Hallie? Is that you, cupcake?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m home.”

A cheerful looking woman got up from the couch and turned off the television. Tom thought she looked exactly like an older version of Hallie, only a bit shorter. And with glasses.

“Ah, you must be Tom! Nice to meet you, I’m Lorraine Harrison” she said, offering him a firm handshake. “Sorry I didn’t drop by the restaurant to meet you sooner, but I was a little busy with… with a thing that I’m sure Hallie will tell you in a moment.”

“That’s why I asked him here, Mom. To talk.”

Lorraine exchanged a knowing glance with her daughter, a glance that left Tom even more puzzled than before.

“Well, in that case I’m going to the kitchen to have a cuppa. The living room is all yours.”

Hallie led a very suspicious Tom to the living room and asked him to sit down. He did, looking around him as if he was expecting some kind of nasty surprise to jump at his face in any moment.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Am I going to need one?”

“Probably.”

He made an affirmative sign, and Hallie walked to the dining room table, where someone –probably Lorraine and her motherly powers of precognition– had set a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses. She offered one to Tom, and remained standing in front of him.

“Look, I’m not usually a person who shares all her secrets, but…” she paused. “What I mean is that there’s something I should have told you when we met, but it was…”

Another pause. Despite Tom’s resentment, it was actually painful for him to see Hallie struggle like that. He took a sip of his wine; very nice, not expensive but good vintage, whispered his restaurant-trained mind.

“Christ, Hallie, you look like you’re going to confess a crime”, he blurted. “I don’t mind hiring felons, you know. One of our line cooks stole a car when he was sixteen, and that didn’t keep me from giving him a job.”

“No, it’s not that.” Hallie blushed and started pacing up and down the room. “It’s just… a long story.”

“I have all the time in the world. Or at least until I have to open the restaurant tomorrow.”

She took a deep breath and almost emptied her glass of wine. “Okay. As you know, my family moved from here to California when I was a toddler. My Dad owned a small agricultural supplies company, that now belongs to my older brother. Eight years ago, I was starting my second year at UCLA, when–”

“Mommy, can you come say goodnight to Stuart?”

There was a boy standing at the door; a sleepy little boy with blond straw-like hair, wearing a Lighting McQueen pyjamas, and holding a Minion plush almost as big as him. With the corner of his eye, Tom looked at Hallie. She was paralyzed, all the blood having escaped from her face, so he tried to react in the less awkward way he could think of.

“Hello, mate! I’m Tom.” He extended a hand towards the kid, who shook it with enthusiasm.

“Hi Tom, I’m Max. Hey, my best friend at school also calls me mate! Is it an England thing?”

“You’re absolutely right, it’s an England thing”, Tom said with a very serious face. “It’s what we call our best friends here.”

“Are you Mom’s chef boss? She says you make the best food in the world!”

Hallie finally came out of her stupor with a shy laugh. She crouched beside the boy and hugged him.

“Oh, Max… What are you doing up, pumpkin?”

“I heard the door and I wanted to say goodnight. Is it very late?”

“Very very late. All the other children in London are in bed, you’re the only one awake. Aren’t you sleepy?”

“Yes…” as if choreographed, a giant yawn followed the word. “Yes, I think I’m going back to bed now. Goodnight, Chef Tom.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Hallie picked up the dozing child with one arm and Stuart the minion with the other. “I’ll be right back”, she said before disappearing into one of the doors.

During the following moments Tom sat motionless, in complete silence, listening to the distant sound of two voices wishing sweet dreams to each other. When Hallie reappeared he pretended to concentrate in his glass of Sauvignon Blanc, still full.

She sat down on the couch beside him, but not too close.

“Well, I guess the explanation I was giving you is kind of moot now. As you may have guessed, Max is my son… And he’s the reason why I’ve been hiding things and acting strangely. Part of the reason, at least.”

A light went up in Tom’s mind. “Hallie, are you trying to tell me that you’re married?”

“Of course not! I would never have gone out to dinner with you if I was married.”

“Trouble with your ex?”

“I don’t have an ex”, she said in a low, breathy voice. “I’ve never been married, Tom.”

Tom closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes again, the black cloud that loomed over him had started to dissipate.

“So… this was your terrible, horrible secret? Many single people have children. And I’m sure Max a handful, but… I like kids. You didn’t have to hide that from me.”

“I was scared.” Hallie reached for the bottle of wine, but Tom was faster; he grabbed it first and poured her another glass. “Thanks.”

“Scared of me finding out about Max? I already told you, there’s no reason–”

She placed her hand over Tom’s for a moment and then drew it back, as if his skin had burned her.

“Tom, this isn’t easy for me. I really need you to listen without saying anything for a couple of minutes, because I’m not used to talking about… personal things. Not with anyone outside my family or my closest friends, who are all girls.”

“I’m listening”, he said in the most reassuring tone he could manage.

Hallie repositioned herself on the sofa a couple of times, looking alternatively at Tom and at the wall in front of her.

“Max’s father… Dave… was my first serious boyfriend. We started dating on the last year of High School, and we weren’t sure what to do with the relationship after that… but then we both ended up in UCLA, so things went on.” She seemed to relax a little, and took off her shoes. “College was a lot of fun at first. I had a lot of friends, a popular boyfriend, I was in a sorority… I was going to get my BA in World Arts and Culture, and I loved it. I guess I wasn’t the most brilliant student, but I did well enough in class. And then, just at the start of my sophomore year… I found out I was pregnant.”

“Did you have a fight? Did he leave you?” Tom blurted without thinking. “Sorry, I just… sorry. No more interruptions.”

“No, he didn’t leave me”, she continued in a soft, sad voice. “He said he would do the right thing… his parents were very religious. Episcopalian. And as soon as they knew what happened they started planning our wedding. Quickly, before it started to show, because… you know. The scandal.”

She left the empty glass of wine aside, and held her knees to her chest.  

“My parents told us to wait, to be sure of our decision, to see what happened with the way Dave and I felt about everything after the baby had been born. Mom was very insistent about that, she said we were too young and life was too complicated to throw our education aside and start playing house. But Dave’s parents wouldn’t even hear about that, and we were in love… or, at least, the kind of love you’re in when you’re nineteen and you haven’t experienced real life before. Dave started to work with his father at a real estate company; he came to see me every morning before going to work. My future mother-in-law let me borrow her wedding dress. She arranged all of it: the church, the flowers, the music… I don’t remember much of the preparations, everybody told me I had to rest and take care of the baby so I wasn’t allowed to help much.”

Hallie’s gaze was fixed on the wall now, and her voice was almost inaudible.

Tom opened his mouth to speak again and then he remembered in the nick of time that he wasn’t supposed to; he stopped fidgeting with his wine glass and moved his hand towards Hallie, just up to the point where only one of his fingers was touching one of hers. She looked at him again with a sad smile.

“Two weeks before the wedding I had my bachelorette party. Nothing crazy, not in my state, just me and a few friends. My Mom had the idea of making it British themed, and we had this afternoon party with tea and crumpets, and little Union Flags on the tables, all very Victorian; all my friends loved it.” She ran a hand through her hair, undoing several strands of her already messy ponytail. “Dave and his friends went out, of course. To a… a strip club. Everybody knew they were going there, after all it was his bachelor party. They spent the night dancing with the girls there… and drinking.”

A light went off in Tom’s head. He saw the painful truth coming from afar, digging its way out of Hallie’s memories before showing its ugly face in the present.

“They waited until I woke up the next day, because they didn’t want me to get upset at five in the morning. I remember my parents coming to my room… it’s strange, the things one remembers. My Mom had a cup of tea in her hands, a porcelain cup with pink flowers painted on it. And Dad hadn’t shaved. He was such a proper gentleman, I knew something was wrong the moment I saw he hadn’t shaved. But I don’t remember which one of them said that there had been an accident, that Dave wasn’t coming to see me that morning… that Dave was dead.”

Tom had heard enough. He crossed the small distance between him and Hallie and held her hand, delicately. He looked at her face expecting tears, but her eyes were dry.

“I’m sure you loved him very much.”

“I was completely infatuated with him, and losing him was the worst thing that had happened in my life. Suddenly I was a college drop-out, alone, terrified of giving birth, afraid of raising a baby without a father… I think I managed to survive that year thanks to my parents. I don’t know what I’d have done without them.” She looked at Tom again, at his clear blue eyes and his worried gaze. “I’ve been awkward around men since then. We should have had this conversation before our date, Tom, and I’m so sorry I freaked out. I was so scared!”

“Of me finding out about Max?”

“Not only that. I already told you Max’s father was my first boyfriend. Then after him I had a small baby and of course I couldn’t go around dating. When Max was four my Dad got sick… when he died, I had to lend a hand in the family business and I didn’t have a lot of time for anything. And then I had the silly idea of going on Masterchef, and with all the fuss of the contest, the win, the promotion, the cookbook…”

“Yes?”

“Tom, what I’m trying to tell you is that you’re the first man I’ve dated in eight years. Which, counting Max’s father, makes you the second guy I’ve dated in my whole life.”

Tom froze for a moment, and then hid his face in his hands. “Oh, bollocks. I scared you.”

“Just a little.”

“I’m a sodding brute.”

“No! You were just… Enthusiastic, I guess. And I was too confused to tell you that I needed to go a little slower.”

He nodded in silence and wrapped his hand around hers. They sat like that for a moment, until a sudden noise coming from the kitchen made them jump.

“Do you think your mother’s listening?”

“Of course she’s listening! She’s been in there for fifteen minutes. How long does it take to make a cup of tea?” Hallie laughed. “Mom, please come out and stop eavesdropping!”

Lorraine came out of the kitchen, holding a nearly empty cup of tea and a sugar biscuit. “Well, did you fix it?” she asked, staring intently at Tom and Hallie.

“Yes, ma'am. All fixed.”

“Good. I was getting bored to death in there, but I didn’t want to interrupt your little conversation. And now that I’m sure there won’t be another World War in my living room, this old lady needs to go to bed.” She finished the biscuit, left the cup on the table and hugged her daughter. “Sleep well, cupcake. Goodnight, Chef Hiddleston.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Harrison. Pleased to meet you.”

After Lorraine left they both stood in the middle of the living room, too tired to say anything, until Tom reacted.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but you’re going to fall asleep standing up.”

Hallie offered him a tired smile. “Well, it has been a tough day. For both of us.”

Tom threw his arms around her, enclosing her in a tight embrace. “As much as I like doing this, I really need to go and let you sleep. Or tomorrow we’ll fall asleep in the kitchen.”

“And Luke will scream at us.”

“Luke was very close to having an aneurysm this morning…” Tom observed. “I think I owe him an apology. And another one to you, for behaving like an arse all day. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Tom. I’m sorry too, for not being honest with you earlier. I promise, no more hiding things.”

“And I promise to take things slow. I’m also out of practice doing that, so we can find our ideal speed together”, he said with a wink.

“I like the sound of that”, Hallie answered. “I guess for tonight we can start with something small. Like… one kiss?”

“Only one, Chef Harrison? It will have to be one hell of a kiss.”

“That’s up to you, Chef Hiddleston. Remember that I’m a silly sorority girl with only one boyfriend on my record who knows absolutely nothing about these things.”

Tom entwined one of his hands in Hallie’s hair, slowly stroking her cheek with his thumb. She smelled like red wine and powdered sugar.

“You keep getting it wrong, Chef Harrison. Wrong in two counts.” His breath ghosted on her cheek, and she shivered. “Number one, you’re not a silly girl. I don’t think you’ve ever been a silly girl.”

He pulled her even closer to him and brushed his lips with hers, slowly, giving her space to respond. And she did, leaning eagerly into him and into the caress of his mouth.

“And… and number two?” she said, feebly, once the kiss was over.

“Well… I think your count of boyfriends has gone up. By one.”

[justsomebucky]

Finding Closure (Part 2)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,682

Warnings: angst, language, more angst, mentions of sexytimes (so I’ll slap a NSFW-but-not-really label on this), flashbacks, mentions of alcoholism

A/N: This is the 2nd part of my submission for the talented and wonderful @tatortot2701 ‘s AU writing challenge.  I took a fluffy prompt and darkened it. My heart has an owwie.

My prompt was 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

You were completely put off by the sight in front of you.

What right did he have to glare at you like that? Anger coursed through your system, and you wanted nothing more than to go over there and point out to everyone in the restaurant exactly why Bucky Barnes was the biggest douchebag in town.

“Whoa, easy there killer.”

Darcy moved to stand beside you, her eyes following your line of sight right to Bucky.

He had the decency to turn around and pretend he didn’t notice you. If only he’d offered the same courtesy to you all those years ago, back when you first laid eyes on him.

“Okay, who is Mr. Long Hair, and why are you trying to murder him with your eyeballs?” she asked, pulling on your sleeve to get attention.

“It’s no one,” you muttered, turning away. “Are you done yet? Can we go?”

“Ah, I see what this is.” Darcy gave you a knowing grin. “Did you guys bone in the back of a Chevy on Makeout Point or whatever happens to rural kids in crappy teen movies?”

“Can we please just-“

“No, I wanna know! Come on! It’ll be therapeutic! Did you pull on that long hair of his and-”

“Darcy, please. I don’t want to stay here anymore. It’s been a horrible day…can we go?”

“I will absolutely leave this place if you sit down and explain to me why you hate that dude.”

You stared at her for a second, but her expression told you she was serious. She was being such a pain in the ass right now.

“Fine.” You leaned forward so that you could lower your voice a little. “His name is James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone calls him Bucky. He’s…that man is my ex-boyfriend.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “I gathered that from the instant fury in your eyes.” She leaned over, too. “So how did he wrong ya, ma’am?”

“We do not talk like that here,” you muttered, glancing back up as Bucky slid off the bar stool and made his way over to the two women playing pool.

Great.

“Anyways, he and I started dating in high school.”

“I gathered that.”

“Can you not interrupt, please? It’s hard enough to talk about.”

Her eyes widened. “Sorry.”

You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead a little. “I’m sorry for snapping, I just…” Your eyes flickered over to where Bucky was now playing pool and showing off a little for what was now a small crowd of women.

Whatever.

“You know how you always make fun of me for being reluctant to date or trust guys or open up to people? Well, he’s the reason why.”

“If he hurt you…” Darcy gave you a look.

“Oh, no, never,” you assured her, shaking your head. “He never physically hurt me, just emotionally. In fact, it wasn’t all one-sided. We just…we ended things badly. We both messed up.”

She listened quietly as you told your story for the first time.

It was so cliché; Bucky was your first love and your first real heartbreak, all within a matter of a few years.

You started seeing him when he was a junior and you were a sophomore. Around here, that wasn’t abnormal at all. In fact, it was much cooler to be dating an older guy, though that wasn’t what attracted you to him.

No, the first time you laid eyes on Bucky, he was pulling his long hair up in a bun and grinning at a couple of girls in the hallway. His blue-grey eyes sparkled, and his jawline had the lightest bit of stubble, and you knew right then you were a goner.

You didn’t think he would notice you, a lowly tenth-grader, but as you passed him that day, you somehow managed to catch his attention. His eyes locked on yours, and they stayed on you until you walked into your Home Ec classroom, not far from where he stood.

The whole period was a waste. You not only didn’t want to be there, but all you could do was think of him. What was his name? Was he single? Did he only stare at you because of something on your face?

Lucky for you, he was waiting for you outside the door when the bell rang, and he most definitely was interested.

The two of you started spending most of your time together, sometimes including each other’s friends, too. The one place Bucky never asked you to be is home with your father. After you’d told him your life story, he swore that he would protect you from your father, that you’d always have a safe place with him.

It seemed too good to be true at the time. No one falls in love that young. No one makes plans for the rest of their lives with someone at that age. It was practically unheard of in this generation, and all your friends told you so.

You didn’t listen. You never listened.

When the time came for Bucky to graduate, you thought you were going to die, in that melodramatic teenager way. Everything was up in the air with him…would he stay? Would he head off to college, forcing you to have a long-distance relationship?

It was up to him, and you made that very clear. You told him you’d support his decision, that you didn’t want him to regret something or hold it against you.

In the end, Bucky decided he would stay and wait for you, something that still puzzled you to this day, mostly because of how everything ended.

Things got worse at home, with your father being mostly incapable of taking care of himself, and you began to spend more time with Bucky during the summer before your senior year. Eventually, Bucky got his own little one-bedroom apartment in town, and you started spending the night, too.

You lost your virginity to him on the fourth of July, after Steve’s birthday party. The night had been so amazing, filled with fun and excitement. Fireworks lit up the night sky, and somehow you and Bucky started your own little fireworks in the back of his truck.

After that night, your relationship got really intense. You grew even more attached to him, if that was even possible.

Bucky began to worry more, and the added stress manifested itself in new ways.

He still didn’t want you going back to your house where your drunken father was. He also didn’t think it was good for you to be spending so much time with him, either.

Instead, Bucky started taking on more hours at the garage his uncle owned, fixing cars at all hours of the night and making a crap ton of money doing so. He was saving up, he told you, so that the two of you could have a house someday.

Personally, you were more in love than ever your senior year.

You didn’t notice anything bad happening, not even Bucky’s long hours away from you, because you were busy, too. Your rose-colored glasses were constantly on your face, blocking the truth from your eyes.

While everyone else was worried about homecoming and prom, you were more concerned about what you wanted to do with your life.

You applied to local colleges and universities, hoping for a scholarship, but there weren’t many places nearby that had a lot to offer someone who was good with math and data. Nursing, agriculture, teaching…these were the sorts of majors that offered the big time scholarships.

After winter break, things began to get worse, as deadlines were looming and decisions needed to be made.

Bucky informed you he finally had enough for a down-payment on a house.

You mentioned that you wanted an education.

He reminded you he stayed behind for you, as if you could forget.

You told him you didn’t want to be unable to help support a household.

He said there was nothing like what you wanted here.

You argued that you could look into being a teacher.

The two of you reached an impasse, and decided to talk about it some more later.

Right up until May, you went through the motions of your relationship, ignoring all the what-ifs until you absolutely had to deal with them. It was just easier that way, or so you thought at the time. Between that, problems at home, and trying to pass your finals, you were exhausted.

Still, you never expected what might have been obvious to anyone else.

The night before your own graduation, you decided you were going to ask Bucky to move away with you. You’d ask him after the ceremony was over. What did you have to keep you here besides him, anyways?

If he was willing to spend the money he saved on a house in a different town, a different state even, the two of you could get away from all of this and make a new start together.

Even now you considered that night to be one of your favorite memories, though it was marred by what happened later on. Bucky made love to you, telling you all the ways he cherished you, and you slept in each other’s arms all night. He had breakfast waiting that morning, and gave you a kiss, saying he’d be there at your graduation that night.

When you crossed the stage in your cap and gown to receive your diploma, the first face you saw was Bucky’s as he sat in the front row and whistled. He was the only one there for you that night; your dad couldn’t be bothered to show.

You gave your valedictorian speech, everyone threw their caps in the air, and just like that, high school was over.

Apparently, so was your relationship.

He came up to you, looking somber and holding a bouquet of flowers with a little note tucked inside.

As soon as you saw him, you turned and threw your arms around his neck with a happy squeal. His arms tightened around you, and you felt his breath tickle your ear as he spoke.

“Congratulations, graduate.”

You let go of him and accepted the flowers, leaning your head to smell one of the beautiful roses. You tucked the note in your pocket for later. “Thank you! I’m so glad it’s finally over.”

He was being uncharacteristically quiet. When your eyes met his again, you knew that he was going to say something you either were going to be thrilled with or didn’t want to hear. The look in his eyes…

“Bucky, what? Just say it.” Your grip tightened on the bouquet as you braced yourself.

He put his hands in his pockets, but kept his eyes on you. “I bought the garage this morning.”

You frowned at him. “Your uncle’s garage? Why? I thought you were saving that money for our house?”

“It’s a good investment, since I don’t have a college education.”

“I don’t understand…I thought you wanted to live together? To start our lives together?”

Bucky nodded. “I do. We weren’t really moving on any decisions, so I made one.”

“Without me?” You were stunned. This was too big a decision to make on his own.

“I thought you’d be happy, Doll. I finally got something solid for us?” His blue eyes were full of confusion.

Was he really that dense?

“You made a decision for you, Bucky,” you replied, trying to keep it together. “I never said that’s what I wanted.”

“You never said much of anything, though. You went back and forth on everything. I thought maybe if you saw I had put in a real effort…” He shook his head. “Clearly you never wanted to be with a mechanic loser like me in the end. I’ll never be enough.”

“That’s not – don’t be ridiculous!” you exclaimed. Your hand holding the flowers dropped to your side. “I told you I would support your decision to stay another year, and I did. But for the last year, Bucky, all you’ve been talking about is buying a house! I thought you wanted one with me, I thought we would move away together!”

“It’s too late, Doll. I bought the garage,” he said, reaching for you and cringing when you pulled away. “I dumped all my savings into it. I know I won’t be able to sell it that fast now.”

“I can’t believe you did this,” you said softly, staring at him. “I was going to tell you tonight, that I wanted to move away with you. I can’t stay here. I have to get out of this town, Bucky, and away from my father. I can’t-“

When your voice caught, you let out a sob, covering your mouth with your free hand.

This was really happening. All your plans, your hopes for the future, they were all pointless now.

Bucky cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “I bought the garage, and I guess that means I’m staying here. I think…I think you should go live your life somewhere else, and get out of this shithole. You deserve better than this.”

His words felt like a knife cutting into your chest, leaving you straining for air. “It’s over?”

“It’s over,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m s-“

You shoved the flowers back against his chest, turned, and ran as fast as you could away from him.

You ran all the way to Brooklyn, to be exact.

“That sonofabitch,” Darcy snarled, glancing over her shoulder at Bucky. “I’ve had just enough margaritas to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t, Darce, please, it’s not worth it. We just…we screwed up, didn’t communicate. We had different plans.”

“He broke your heart! I think you deserve a better explanation than that!”

“Judging by the looks he’s giving me, I think I did a number on him, too. And he did write me a note that was in the flowers, but I never bothered to open it. I was too upset to look at it, so I shoved it in a box in my bedroom.”

“Ha! Well, we need to find that box when we go there tomorrow.”

You made a face. “That’s assuming that my father didn’t pawn my stuff for booze money and toss the rest in the trash.”

Bucky wasn’t playing pool anymore. He was back over at the bar, talking to a very tall, very familiar looking person who happened to be your only other friend in the world.

Steve Rogers was here.

It was like high school’s greatest hits; fate was throwing everything in your face at once.

The sight of Steve made your heart ache for simpler times, like when the three of you would sit in the back of Bucky’s pickup truck and listen to music, or go out to a movie.

He looked over just then, his blue eyes widening at the sight of you. Steve said something to Bucky, who nodded once and returned to his beer.

In no time at all, Steve was in front of you, scooping you out of your seat for the biggest bear hug anyone could ever want.

“It’s been a long time, stranger.”

You gripped him back just as tightly, burying your face in his shoulder. “I know.”

“Whoa, who the hell is this guy?”

Leave it to Darcy to break the mood. Steve let you go, and you pulled away to introduce your roommate.

“Steve, this is Darcy Lewis, she lives with me in Brooklyn. Darcy, this is Steve Rogers, and he is my only other friend on this planet.”

“Some friend,” he scoffed, smiling at you to let you know he was kidding. His eyes flitted to Darcy’s. “She hasn’t spoken to me in a long time.”

“With good reason,” you protested, nodding your head at the bar.

“Ah, yeah, well…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck for a second, then his eyes softened. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Me too.”

“I wanted to text you, but I wasn’t sure if you were okay to talk about it. I guess that’s why you’re back?”

“Well it’s not to have beers at this place.”

“Hey, I happen to own this place.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh shit, I’m sorry Steve. You bought this place?”

“Uh huh. Old man Jet was gonna let some guy buy it and make it into a parking lot, but we had so many good times here…I just didn’t want the people still around here to be without someplace to hang out and make their own memories.”

You watched his face as he looked around the restaurant proudly, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. In all your efforts to forget this place, you’d forgotten that loads of good people loved it here. “It’s great, Stevie, really. I like the name, too.”

Steve grinned at you, then gestured to your table and all the food you’d had. “I’m a sucker for a beautiful woman giving me compliments. On the house, all of it!”

“In that case, I’m going to get another drink,” Darcy declared.

“Just make sure that’s all it is,” you called to her retreating form.

“She’s quite a woman,” Steve remarked, looking over his shoulder at Darcy. “I don’t know how you can handle someone like that. Makes me glad I married Peggy. Is everyone like that in New York?”

You were about to reply, but Bucky chose that exact moment to glance over at the two of you with a frown on his face.

Steve noticed too, turning back to you to try to change the subject. “I’m happy to see you, anyways, Y/N. I wish you would have called first, we could have planned something.”

“Thanks, Steve, but I really hadn’t intended on staying long enough to be noticed. It was supposed to be in and out, except for my meeting with Sam Wilson tomorrow. He’s handling the estate.” You paused, glancing back at Bucky. “Besides, it looks like there’s at least one person here not happy to see me.”

“It’s just unexpected after all this time, Y/N…”

“No, that’s not it. This town is too small for my visit to be unexpected. Everyone knows my father passed away. Everyone knows the funeral was today. No, Bucky, he- he wanted me to leave and never come back. He didn’t want me to be here anymore so he didn’t have to feel guilty about what happened.”

“Should he, though?” he raised an eyebrow at you. “He was trying to do what he thought would be good for you both.”

“Without asking me first, Steve! You know what they say about good intentions.”

Steve sighed. “Look, you’re both my friends, I don’t want to get into this.”

“No, let’s discuss it, Steve, right here. What’s he been doing with his life?”

He cleared his throat. “He still runs that garage.”

You waited for more, a little surprised when he didn’t say anything else. “That’s it? No wife? No kids?”

“No. He has the garage and that’s been his focus for the last three years now.”

“That’s all?”

“Yep. He’s pretty well off, though, a self-made man. And honestly, Y/N, he’s probably just wondering why you bothered to come back for the funeral. He knew about you and your father, remember?”

Well that didn’t make any sense at all.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t catch Darcy in time before she walked up to Bucky and opened her big fat mouth.

“Oh, damn,” you muttered, moving past Steve to try and reach your roommate before she did or said anything stupid.

“And who the hell are you?” Bucky was glaring, but his voice didn’t sound all that harsh.

“I’m Y/N’s best friend and I have a few questions for you. First of all, how dare you?” Darcy was right up in his face now.

You didn’t want to be this close to him, but something had to be done. “Darce, come on, it’s not worth it, we need to g-“

“No,” she cried out, jabbing a finger into Bucky’s chest. “He’s got some ‘splainin’ to do, and not in a cute Lucy way.” She stared at him with wild eyes. “You broke her. She doesn’t work right anymore!”

“Darcy, please!” You looked over your shoulder to see Steve coming to the rescue. “Stop…”

Steve moved to put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Darcy, I’ll get you another drink, made special just for you.” He mouthed the words ‘no alcohol’ to you as he led her away from Bucky. She was more than happy to go with your handsome blond friend, her protest against your ex-boyfriend all but forgotten.

Unfortunately, that left you standing in front of him, blinking with your mouth open, as awkward as could be.

His blue-grey eyes stared back at you, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he looked away. Bucky reached into his wallet and threw down a couple of bills before standing. “I’m out of here.”

You were left feeling like that teenager who just graduated all over again.

It still hurt. God, you didn’t realize how much you missed his stupid face until tonight.

He couldn’t even be civil with you, that’s how much he didn’t want you in his life.

“No, you stay,” you told him, moving to block his exit as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’ll leave. That’s what you always wanted, right?”

It wasn’t fair and you knew it, but you weren’t feeling particularly rational tonight.

You turned on your heel, reaching for Darcy’s arm as you passed her and Steve. “Thank you for everything, Steve. I’ll text you sometime.”

Darcy didn’t even protest as you dragged her out of the restaurant and to your waiting rental car.

“Don’t trip,” you told her, holding the car door open as she hobbled inside.

“Why, cause it’s shlippy?” she slurred.

You chose to ignore that.

She didn’t speak again until you were both safely in your hotel room, where she wrapped her arms around you and apologized.

You barely slept that night.

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

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[myselfinserts]

i’m fated to be lonely and i’m destined to be hated

The castle was far grander than anyone anticipated. Large, shining, brilliantly built. There were beautiful spires and elegant towers, all locked within a giant gate that, based on the set up, was usually open to the public. There were people at the gates, looking in and waving, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was on the other side. There were guards performing their usual duties, and with every guard was a cat. Some large, some small. All adorable and dressed prepared for duty. 

The civilians seemed enthralled when the carriage appeared, all of them getting excited. Children were pointing, Surely whoever was in there was of royal ilk, or perhaps of great importance such as a politician. 

They were close. The ones in the carriage were of great importance. 

“This just keeps getting more and more exciting,” L said. “Don’t you think?”

“Never seen so many cats in one place,” Phoenix muttered. “It’s almost creepy.”

Regi’s eyes were wide in awe. “If I got a job setting up a security system here, I’d be set for life…I could pay for Tanith to go get a PhD if she wanted. Hell, I could probably go to school myself for once…”

“Tanith’s a full grown adult, Reginald,”  Étienne scolded, “and really close to graduating school. Start focusing on your needs a bit more.”

Phoenix leaned toward the window, smiling and letting out an excited yelp. “We’re here!”

As the carriage pulled up to the front of the palace and the gates closed, the weight of everything finally began to set in. They were about to meet a king. A KING. Regi was nearly shaking. If it weren’t for L and Étienne’s steady hands on his shoulders, he’d probably have passed out. Never in his life did he ever think he’d end up someplace like this and not be expected to be a guard or on assignment. This time he was a guest. 

“Just relax,” L assured. “We’re going to be fine.”

The door to the carriage opened, and the group stepped out. Their bags were already being carried inside to their rooms. A man dressed in a deep blue suit with gold detailing and a rather bold cravat stood in the middle of the doorway, bowing politely to them as they approached. For some reason, he seemed just as regal as the building. Maybe he was royalty too and wasn’t too pleased with them.

Though that might just be the nerves talking, Regi thought. 

“Welcome to Estmund,” the man greeted. “My name is Alto Graceworth, secretary, head of personal research for his Majesty, and musical director for charity concerts. I’ll be your escort for the evening. If you’ll please follow me, I’ll take you to the parlor room.”

The group looked at each other, a clear level of distrust shared between them. Not that they had any reason. It was just a feeling. One that they certainly weren’t going to take lightly. L and Phoenix walked slightly ahead of Étienne, with Regi coming up right behind him. Quietly, they followed their escort, keeping a close eye on their surroundings. 

The further along they went, up stairs and down hallways, he couldn’t help but feel smaller with every step. And that was saying something, since he was the tallest of the group. The ceilings were so high, you’d need several ladders to reach them. The windows were clean, clearer than spring water. He saw the paintings of royals past, most of whom looked rather stern or sorrowful. 

But then there was one painting that caused him to stop dead in his tracks. A woman sitting in a garden holding a bouquet of sunflowers, with light tawny hair that fell from her head past her shoulders in intricate tight curls. Unlike the others they’d passed, she was dressed in relatively normal clothing. Or at least what would probably pass as normal in the kingdom. She had freckles, warm sun-kissed skin, and one of the sweetest, most hypnotic smiles he’d ever seen. 

And her eyes. He knew those eyes. A deep, romantic shade of pink that reminded Reginald so much of spinel stones. The same eyes he prayed to wake up to every morning. 

Luci’s eyes.

“Regi?” L called. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Regi was snapped back to reality, turning to see the others hurrying back to him. “N-nothing, I, I just…uh…” He pointed to the painting, trying to regain his composure. “This one just seems different from the others.” “

They all looked up, observing the painting closely. Phoenix nearly let out a gasp. Étienne seemed relatively unaffected, though Regi noted the small twitch of his brow. L seemed almost enthralled. Or at least that’s what he thought, given her posture and smile. Regi could never tell what she was thinking under the mask. 

“She’s beautiful,” L sighed. “I wouldn’t mind asking her out to dinner.”

“She is really pretty,” Phoenix agreed. “There’s just something nice about her.”

Étienne nodded slowly. “Seems almost…happier than the other paintings. More in love with life.”

“I would hope so. I did paint her after all.”

Everyone stood stiff, slowly turning toward Graceworth, only to find him standing at attention, eyes focused at the wall as a man dressed in a dark navy suit strode toward them. His hair was long, a slightly darker blue than Luci’s, but the face was unmistakable. The only thing differentiating them were the man’s eyes, which were narrower and a snow white hue. 

And of course, the crown upon his head.

“I-I’m so, so sorry, sir,” Regi stammered. “I-I, mean, you, uh, your Majesty, Highness, sir. I didn’t-”

Davis raised a hand, smiling fondly. “Relax. Formalities are not needed. You may address me as Davis if you’d like. It’s a privilege to finally meet you all.” He looked them over, nodding slightly as his gaze washed over them. “From my understanding, I have three heroes and a designer I’ll be hosting. One of those heroes also being a designer?”

L nodded, giving a polite bow. “That is correct.”

“Reflective mask, strong, ethereal presence.” Davis held out a hand to her. “You must be Lady Lazarus. Your reputation precedes you. Though the stories of your charm certainly don’t do you justice.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” L said, accepting his hand. “I must say you are quite the charmer.”

“I am no such thing,” the king chuckled, turning to the others. “This lovely young lady must be Phoenix then?”

Phoenix let out a snicker. “That’s me.”

Davis shook her hand, his smile quickly fading to concern. “Are you alright, my dear? You’re looking a little red.”

“It’s nothing,” she assured. “Just a little overheated. That boat was unusually warm and the carriage was a bit stuffy. A nice ice bath and some ice cream and I’ll be fine-”

Without missing a beat, Davis nodded to Graceworth, who clicked his heels and quickly faded through the floor. “One ice bath coming right up. Should be ready in a half an hour but if you need to cool off sooner we can have the pool ready. And we’ll have ice cream for dessert.”

Phoenix looked at L with a shocked expression. “Can we adopt him?”

L giggled. “No, love. We can’t adopt the king.”

Davis’s smile returned, though Regi couldn’t help but note the flicker of regret in his eyes that just barely passed. Almost lonely. 

Reminded him of someone else he knew. 

“Monsieur Allard,” the king greeted. “Its a privilege to finally meet you. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“I just happened to have a dropout,” Étienne said. Regi had to stifle a laugh. By ‘dropout’, he meant he recently cancelled a few mediocre heroes who had pissed him off one time too many. Left his whole week open.

“Luck favors us then.” Davis motioned for them to follow. “I’ll show you to the parlor-”

Étienne glared at him, his voice echoing through the halls. “Your Majesty, why in the ever loving hell are you covered in hair?”

Everyone froze. Étienne was bold, sure, but to speak that way- no to SHOUT at the king? Well, Regi had to admit that was absolutely one thing his best friend would probably do. King or no, Luci’s father or no, Étienne Allard prided himself on being professional and clean in any environment. And he held other professionals to the same standards during work hours.

And as much as Regi wanted to enjoy this, this trip was 100% business.

The king shifted on his feet, tugging at his sleeves nervously as he tried not to blush. (God he’s almost exactly like Luci, he thought). Davis let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I was spending time in the cat room playing my dulcimer for them and then the new mama cat arrived and I had to help feed the babies-”

Oh my god he rambles like me!

“Cat room?” Étienne interrupted.

“Yes, cat room.” Davis’s eyes lit up. “Because of my quirk I’m fated to be lonely and destined to be hated by most of the world. But cats aren’t that judgmental of quirks. They judge character, and that’s why I like them. They’re honest. The cat room houses cats without owners or in need of extra care for whatever reason. It’s the second largest room in the house, beating out the throne room and the dining room and just barely missing the #1 spot because the ballroom is bigger.” 

L leaned forward, no doubt batting her eyes behind her mask. “What’s this about babies?”

Davis chuckled. “A mama cat, I call her Vera, she just had a litter of ten kittens and the littlest one is this cute little blonde tabby that needed extra attention-”

Étienne stormed up to him, getting as in Davis’s face as he could with the nine inch difference between them. 

“Your Highness,” he said sternly. “I absolutely cannot begin any sort of work until you show me this ‘cat room’. I request you show it to me immediately.”

Davis blinked a few times, trying to process what was happening, but soon managed to recompose himself and turned around. “It’s this way. I’d be honored to share with you.” He stopped for a second. “Though do avoid the large box castle in the corner of the room. That’s Leona’s domain and she’s a bit prickly.”

Regi let out a sigh of relief and followed the others down the hall. All the tension was gone, but he still felt anxious. 

This plan has to work. It just has to.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Destiny: Chapter 2

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 2

[ Previous | First | Next ]

“Shit.” Ángel slams his hand into the steering wheel, tries to ignore the honking from behind him. It comes again, and he throws up his hands, pushes the car door open. “I get it, you want me to go, but you’ll have to just go around!” he yells, motioning the line of cars past himself.

He yanks the door shut, gratified by the sound of the slam, then tries to turn the car over again.

Nothing.

No matter how many times he tries, there’s no sound, not even the inkling of a thought that the starter might be trying to start the car.

He lets his head fall forward against the steering wheel, swearing under his breath in every language he can think of. He likes the guttural words, even when they aren’t curses; they just feel good rolling off his tongue.

There’s a knock on the passenger window, and Ángel looks up to see two men standing there, motioning for him to roll it down. But without being able to start the car, there’s no power, so that idea is useless. Instead, he opens his own door, climbs halfway out and tries to ignore the traffic moving around him. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to open your passenger door and push from here,” one of them says. “Max’ll push from the back. You get in and steer, and we can at least get you onto the shoulder. The traffic ‘round here doesn’t really die down until later tonight.”

Ángel bites his tongue on the fact that he’s local and is completely aware of the traffic patterns and the fact that he’s fucking it all up by being stuck here. He just smiles thinly and nods.

There’s grunting involved, and if he weren’t so pissed off at the fact that his car’s dead, he might even appreciate the scenery.

It’s actually pretty damned good scenery; he’s just not in the mood.

“You need a ride anywhere?” The guy pokes his head back in once the car is safe on the side of the road. “Max and I can drop you wherever.”

The real question is how dangerously does Ángel want to live? It’s not like he’s defenseless.

On the other hand, Tanner and Hayley are at home, probably wondering where the hell he’s been driving for the last hour, so yeah. “No. Thanks….” He reaches across the seat, one hand held out, words dangling.

“Sam.” The grip is tight as they shake. “And it’s no problem….”

“Ángel.” He pulls his hand back, settles both on the steering wheel. Max leans in next to Sam, waves, and Ángel waves back. “Look, I owe you guys—”

“You don’t owe us anything, just pay it forward,” Sam says. “And if you really think you owe us, throw our friend some business.” He holds out a business card, and Ángel takes it, noting the grease smudge across the front. “His garage is near here, and he’ll tow you there and give you an estimate for free. Family business. I grew up on the same street as Tony.”

Ángel’s senses flare, picking up the hint of… not a lie, but something omitted. He makes a small noise of assent, turns the card over in his hand. Mollicone’s Repair & Body Shop. Maybe it’s a front for a chop shop. Or some kind of mob business. “Yeah, sure, I’ll give them a call. It’s not like I have roadside assistance to come rescue my ass,” he says dryly. “Thanks again, twice over for the rescue.”

“You call Tony, we’re even,” Sam says. “Good luck.”

Ángel waves as they slam the passenger door shut, then dials the number on his phone.

A woman answers, “Mollicone’s Repair & Body Shop.” A loud sound in the background drowns out whatever she says next, and as soon as it cuts out, she yells, “Luca, shut that thing off! Can’t you hear I’m on the phone?”

“Ow,” Ángel says quietly.

“Sorry, yelling is a natural way of communicating here, because it’s so fucking noisy.” She raises her voice on the last few words, then lowers it back to normal speaking as she continues, “This is Gabriella Mollicone, how can I help you today?”

“Gabi Mollicone?” Oh, that explains it. It explains so much. Ángel knows exactly what he’s dealing with now.

“Yeah.” Her voice is wary. “Why do you sound like that’s such a shock?”

“This is Ángel Cruz. My car died, and these guys helped me get it off to the side, and one of them gave me your card,” he explains. “I need a tow. And I need my car fixed.”

“You still driving that same shitbox you had in high school?”

He bristles. “Don’t talk like that about my car. She’s gone back and forth to PHU every fall, winter, and summer since I started.”

“Oh that’s right, you went to college somewhere up north.” He can almost hear the eyeroll. They were never close in high school, but they shared enough classes that he remembers her dry, dark humor.

Gabi wasn’t the kind of girl who had a lot of friends in general. Closed off. Tight-lipped. Like the rest of her family, especially after the accident.

Ángel wonders if that’s translated into a tough time generating business. Mollicones weren’t known for being welcoming.

“Are you going to come get me or not?” he asks.

“Are you going to give me an address or is Cleto supposed to pretend he’s psychic and just magically find you?” Gabi retorts.

“Do you actually want my business?” Ángel wonders aloud before he reels off the intersection where he sits. 

“Yes.” Her tone is flat. “Get out of your car, get behind the fucking guard rail so some idiot doesn’t rear-end you. Cleto’ll be there in twenty minutes—thirty if traffic sucks as much as usual—and he’ll bring you over here. You can wait while we take a look at the car, but we’re not fixing it tonight unless it’s something stupidly simple. It’s already late and I’m sure Luca’s going to be thrilled to know he’s getting more overtime.”

“Remind me to ask for a comment card,” Ángel mutters. “Because you have a sparkling personality and fantastic manners for handling customers. I’ll be waiting.” He presses end on the call and sinks back into the seat, arms crossed as he stares at the cars flying by.

It’s not bad when the light turns red, but during the green it seems like they’re trying to move as fast as possible so they can get home ten seconds ago. Some of them swing dangerously close to where his car sits on the shoulder, the wind of their wake shaking his car.

At the next red light, Ángel climbs out and quickly goes around to the other side, steps over the guard rail.

Fine. Maybe she had a point.

Car broke down. Getting it towed. Back in a while.

He starts a new group chat so he can send the text to both Tanner and Hayley. He has a feeling they’ll be using that group chat often in the future. He opens a conversation with Papi and sends the same message to him, and is absolutely unsurprised when Papi is the only one who answers.

He’s sitting on the guard rail, hunched over his phone in the midst of trying to explain to Papi exactly what went wrong with the car, when flashing lights catch his eye. Ángel looks up as a tow truck pulls into the spot in front of his car, and someone climbs out as soon as it stop.

Yeah, he remembers that face. Almost two years later there are changes—Cleto’s another inch taller somehow, even broader through the shoulders which is terrifying since he could always put Ángel through a wall without trying. Or seemed like it anyway.

Ángel squares his shoulders, stands up. “Hey.”

“Same shitbox,” Cleto says. He crosses his arms, looks at the car, then motions. “Go on, pop the hood. Let’s see if you just need a jump.”

“I don’t just need a jump. It’s the electrical system.” The more Ángel’s thought about it, the more he figures it has something to do with the sheer amount of sparks Hayley was putting out. Or his own magic; they’ve struck literal sparks together in the past, after all. “It was fine, then everything just cut out and died. Lights off, entire electrical system gone. Managed to get it stopped safely at the light, and the engine cut. Wouldn’t start.”

Cleto gestures again. “Hood. Up.”

Ángel huffs an irritated sigh. “Fine.” He leans in through the passenger door, crawls to where he can reach the lever to pop the hood with a low clunk. Cleto raises it, then gestures again in a way that Ángel figures means try to start the car.

He climbs into the driver’s seat, slots the key in and turns.

Still nothing.

Cleto waves around the hood, and Ángel drops his hand, stops trying. There’s a moment of Cleto rattling around, doing something Ángel can’t see, then the hood drops with a creak and Cleto motions for Ángel to get out.

“Can’t fix it here, so we’ll tow it in for Luca.”

“Do I know Luca?” Ángel can’t remember one from school or from the extended close-knit Cuban community, but it’s possible he’s either older or younger. 

Cleto shakes his head. “Gabi’s cousin. You know Maritsa. Don’t think you know Tony or Zita.” Cleto points at the car, on the side by the guard rail. “Stand over there. When I get this lined up, help me with the chains.”

It’s been a while since Ángel’s hitched a car to a tow truck, but he remembers well enough how it’s done. He leaves the last steps to Cleto, climbs into the passenger seat of the truck and gets buckled in. Cleto’s done being talkative, and the drive to the garage is silent.

The place seems closed when they arrive, the garage doors down, and most of the lights off. Cleto walks in, barely holding the door open long enough for Ángel to grab it quickly so he doesn’t get locked out. Something clicks as he follows Cleto through a dim hall, and he turns, snapping his fingers for an instinctive light as he does so. Cast in shadows, the light flickers off of Maritsa’s features as she tilts her head, blinking.

“Gabi said it was you. Home for the holiday?” Maritsa stands, heels clicking on the cement floor as she approaches. She stops right in front of him, one finger pressed in against the hollow of his throat.

It’s a strange gesture, as she touches in the spot between the bone, where he’d be most vulnerable. He swallows, and her eyebrows rise slowly. Ángel gently pushes her finger away.

“Papi would kill me if I stayed at PHU,” he said. “Besides, I brought a friend home. Going back right after the new year; classes don’t start until later in January, but Hayley works at the library, and Admissions said I can get some hours.”

“Not working with your hands?” Cleto’s voice is a low rumble, and Ángel realizes that they have him boxed in, Cleto close behind him and Maritsa still right in front.

“Honestly.” Gabi’s voice rings off the walls, echoing from somewhere. “Can you just bring him in and let me get his information so we can get rid of him?”

“I need a ride home.” He doesn’t have a car, and he doesn’t think Tanner’s coming to get him. He could have Papi come, but that’s a great way to spend the first night home.

Hell, not having his car is going to fuck with his entire vacation.

Ángel huffs, and pushes past Cleto, heading down the dim hall. He sees light in a doorway at the end, and he heads there. The office is surprisingly clean, the scent of oil fading as soon as he gets in. There are banged up file cabinets along one wall, and two computers sitting atop two desks that face each other. Gabi looks up from one of them, jabs a finger at the other chair. 

“Sit,” she orders. “And start spilling personal information so I can get it on your form. Luca said there’s no overtime worth missing his plans for tonight, so he left, and today is Tony’s day off. Cleto already clocked out before he went to get you, and besides, he already refused to touch your shitbox. Said it might need magic to keep it going.” She looks up at him, brows furrowed. “We don’t do that here. Magic. Don’t care if you do it outside of here, but that’s not the kind of business we run.”

“I’ve never used magic on my car,” Ángel says. Not purposefully, anyway, aside from an occasional misplaced spark. Or possibly many misplaced sparks on the trip down from PHU. “I don’t care how you fix it, I just care that it gets fixed, and soon, because it’s my only transport over the holiday and I have to get back to PHU after the new year.”

Gabi snorts. “We can fix anything. Luca will look at it in the morning. Late morning. Phone number? Give me a cell and someone will text you. It’s usually easier.”

Ángel reels off the numbers, then gives them Papi’s land line as well; he doesn’t trust that his phone might not suffer a similar fate if Hayley’s still agitated.

Fuck, he still has to deal with Hayley and Tanner when he gets home, and he can’t escape again unless he steals Papi’s car.

“You hate being home that much?” Maritsa asks. She leans against the doorway, half blocking any retreat he might make. She’s not any bigger than he remembers from high school, but her attitude has changed. Higher heels, less makeup. Brasher. He can feel the confidence, like she’s wrapped in a spell, but without any magical residue clinging to her.

“I don’t hate being home.”

“Lie.” She stalks closer, leans down to put her hands on his shoulders. Her lips press against his ear. “You reek of anger.”

“Maritsa.” Gabi snaps her fingers, points at the door. There’s a soft hiss next to his ear, and Gabi jabs the air again. “I said go, Maritsa.”

“Fine.” Maritsa pulls away and spins in one motion, stalks out the door and slams it behind herself.

“She’s kind of a bitch,” Gabi says mildly. “But so am I. She really shouldn’t be drooling in your ear, though. Cleto’s kind of possessive.”

“They’re still together?” It’s been forever since he talked to either of them. They’d texted a little after graduation, just because they’d grown up together, but it hadn’t lasted. The only person Ángel managed to stay in touch with was Tanner.

Gabi’s fingers still on the keyboard, silent for a moment, then she jabs at one key and the printer whirs to life. “They’re getting married on the twelfth,” she says, voice low. “Of January. Whole big thing, outside, dancing all night. Guess they didn’t tell you.”

“Why would they?” 

“Weren’t you friends back in high school?” Gabi grabs the paper from the printer, separates the three sheets. One gets pinned to the cork board next to her desk, the next gets folded crisply in half and she holds it out to him. “Keys.”

Ángel drops the key in her palm in exchange for the paper. She twists a tie through the hole, then pokes a hole in the third sheet of paper and twists it through that as well to attach the key to it.

“We were part of the same social circle,” Ángel finally says quietly. “We all grew up together.”

“Family’s usually more important than distance,” Gabi says dryly. “But some of us are far more family oriented than others.” She stands up, clicks off the monitor of the computer and shoves her chair in. “And I have dinner with my brothers and sister tonight, so I’m out of here. Go home, Ángel. Someone will text you tomorrow.”

He watches her walk out, his mouth hanging slightly open. “How am I supposed to get home? My car is dead!”

Gabi stops halfway down the hall, huffs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you a ride. Just remember that when you’re asking for that customer service survey. Check the box for goes above and beyond to offer help.”

She’s out the door before Ángel starts moving, the place plunging into darkness. He lights sparks in his palm to find his way out, muttering to himself. “Great customer service. Fantastic customer service. If I’m lucky I’ll get home in one piece.”

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[maychorian]

Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #29

That’s almost a hundred.

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

The Times They Remembered Pidge Was a Girl by MagmaWrites Words:  1,639 (WIP 1/?) Author’s Summary:  The stuff you have to deal with while being a girl doesn't change just because you're up in space. At least you have four guys, five lions, and two aliens on your side. My Comments: Super cute space family being super cute.

Reach out for you (break these walls) by Utsukushin (UserFromPluto) Words: 9,139 Author’s Summary: Keith is trying to make himself smaller, to bury his head deeper in his knees, and Lance’s heart freezes in his chest. Anger dissipating like an exploded firework, Lance lets his hand fall limply to his side, mind blurring with static. When he tries to speak, nothing comes out but a choked noise, so he tries again.“Keith,” he breathes. “Keith I’m not going to hurt you.” (Keith has an abusive past, but with time and care Lance helps him become accustomed to positive touch.) My Comments: Klance, but reads mostly platonic. Lance just cares a whole, whole lot, and he’s very gentle and very careful and sweet, and the way Keith just sort of BLOSSOMS under the sunlight of his regard is beautiful to watch.

Garrison Days by castlestormed Words: 4,093 Author’s Summary: Snippets of the kids' Galaxy Garrison days: Hunk keeps things together, Pidge plods on with a purpose, and Lance tears through life with the audacity of a trainwreck. Fic 1: We were only talking. (Lance) Fic 2: Are you done ranting? (Pidge) Fic 3: We had a reason that day. (Hunk) My Comments: Great interpretation of my favorite trio. Just a joy to read.

The Machinations of Perception by HapaxLegomenon Words: 11,518 (WIP 5/23) Author’s Summary: Matt Holt has been a Galran captive for... he doesn't remember how long. He's starting to lose hope of ever escaping, and is well past the starting point of losing his sanity. My Comments: This one is intense and brutal. The rating is deserved, though it’s delicately handled. Take care if you have psychological triggers. That said, I’m very compelled by this version of Matt and his struggles to hold himself together so he can TRY to take care of his new cellmate.

Tell Me Something, Anything by wingedflower Words: 1,875 Author’s Summary: Shiro wakes up from a nightmare with his Galra arm hurting like hell. He is ready to handle this alone, like always, but this time comfort comes from an unexpected source. My Comments: I love it when Lance is out of his depth but still tries really, really hard, because he just cares so much and he can’t not try. He does succeed in helping in the end, and Shiro is grateful.

Ache by Zurela Words: 3,790 Author’s Summary: Lance's knee gets dislocated during a fight with a new robeast. He decides to ignore that for the sake of protecting his teammates, but Shiro doesn't seem to agree with that idea. My Comments: Here, have some more Lance whump. I never really get tired of it.

A Bright Light by Bandity Words: 9,412 Author’s Summary: Lance gets injured on a mission gone wrong, but that was really only the beginning of his problems. My Comments: Possibly my new favorite fic of all time, definitely my favorite of this list. Lance just deteriorates so FAST, and the scenario is so creative and cool, and the support of everyone else as they try to figure out the problem and fix it and help Lance through it is wonderfully steady and strong. Great Hunk, great Shiro, great everyone, and there are several images in this story that are gonna stick with me for a long time. Powerful stuff.

Everything You Are by Bandity Words: 5,508 (WIP 1/2) Author’s Summary: Follow up to Disappear Completely. Spoilers for Season 2. Lance was getting better, he really was. But when faced with losing another team member, he might just end up back where he was before. My Comments: Sequel to my PREVIOUS favorite fic of the list, and this one is so good, too. I loved the levity in parts and the way Lance at the end draws Keith into his world. But in the middle is a whole lot of pain and grief from missing Shiro. Absolutely heartwrenching.

let my roots take flight by BathosBardess Words: 3,362 Author’s Summary: “Katie, you're fourteen.” “Pidge Gunderson is seventeen. He has no family. He graduated with a 3.8 GPA. I'll be fine, Mom.” // Katie Holt never meant to be a problem child. My Comments: Great Pidge backstory with some really powerful language and touching scenes.

For The Love of Quiznak, Just Let Us Take Care of You by inkbadger Words: 2,876 Author’s Summary: Shiro gets sick. Of course, he doesn't realize that he's sick until it hits him like a truck.Or: Space Dad gets taken care of by his worried kids.Who sometimes want to throttle him for not sharing these things. My Comments: Super cute space family being super cute, this time featuring sick Shiro.

Heirlooms by mackerelmademedoit Words: 6,333 Author’s Summary: Something is wrong with Red and Keith just can't figure it out. As her consciousness bounces backwards and forwards through time, Keith does a little time travelling of his own and remembers his father. My Comments: Great Keith backstory, but I also love this one for the Keith and Coran interaction.

Deep Breath by Vialana Words: 1,164 Author’s Summary: Envy is an ugly emotion. Lance hates it. Shooting things helps him deal with it. My Comments: Really lovely Lance and Blue. I love them so much.

Constellation by WildWolf25 Words: 4,109 Author’s Summary: Each of them are like stars in the vast, cold, darkness of space. But when they come together, they form a constellation, and suddenly the world doesn't seem quite so dark anymore. My Comments: Paladin cuddle pile! Always good.

Disturbance by buttered_onions Words: 18,915 Author’s Summary: Shiro is missing. Lance is determined to find him, but first he has to figure out how to work with Keith.Direct sequel to First Steps. My Comments: HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS MORE OF ONIONS’S STAR WARS FUSION. It’s so so so so so good, ahhh, SO GOOD. I love the way the Force is practically a character, communicating with and connecting the others. I love how Pidge is introduced. I love Hunk and Coran. I love Lance’s perspective and how he tries to mend fences with prickly, hurting Keith. I love all the premonitions of much more dangerous and weighty events in the future. I love the internal journeys, GOLLY, I love internal mindscape journeys so much, used to write them al the time. ANYWAY, it is a good fic, you should read it, and everything else in the series so far.

Why do You Always Flirt with Me? by xSomedayxSoonx Words: 5,279 Author’s Summary: The Voltron team is learning how to get along with each other in the Castle of Lions, but Allura can't figure out why a certain paladin won't stop flirting with her. She doesn't mean to snap at him, but Lance stopping his flirtatious behavior affects the whole team. My Comments: Oh man, I love fics where Allura and Lance become friends. I love how this one is more about cultural misunderstandings than anything else. Good stuff.

Midnight Sneaks by windscryer Words: 2,809 Author’s Summary: Hunk and Lance just happen to be awake when Pidge wanders into the kitchen at oh-dark-thirty. And they have delicious mousse and freshly whipped cream.If she weren't so tired, she'd have definitely caught onto their plot sooner. My Comments: I love love love Hunk and Lance teaming up to take care of Pidge, even against her will.

The Stars Are Underground by lady_ymmik Words: 2,452 Author’s Summary: A short drabble in which Lance misses home and rambles about Space a lot. My Comments: Sweet emotional h/c featuring Lance and Shiro. What’s not to love?

All the things I can't change by WonderBoy Words: 1,186 Author’s Summary: voicemail (n): 1. a system in which callers can record and leave a digitized voice message 2. a message left using this system 3. a reminder My Comments: This one hurts a lot.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

As Color Fades Away by IcyPanther A Dream Away by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Stardust, Silk and Steel by CalicoTomcat Truce by kyanve Shifting Sands by Cardigan_Quincy Someplace Like Home by squirenonny Secret of the Blood by exclamation Masks by TiedyedTrickster The Garden of Heaven by Genesister (papirini) Lost in the Stars by WingedChickadee Coming Undone by Emerald_Ashes Playing Catch-Up by 5557 Love and Other Questions by squirenonny The Color Of Our Planet From Far Far Away by LonelyGirlInSpace

[cabbageminute]

Big Security Everywhere Thread

#WEEK_ONE

Upgrade my house so it's unbreakable

The first lecture inspired me to look upon how I can break into my house and finding useful products to try and prevent it.

(Strategic Brute Force) Via doors -> I have a double door, where one probably is trying to prevent the entrance of mosquitos, and the other is for the main protection. Both are simple and standard locks. Both are a variation of Dealt bolt locks.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMqzjMrxNR0

According to that video, it's quite easy to open.

(Brute Force) Via window -> There's absolutely no protection whatsoever. Literally could smash it.

(Brute Force) Via Basement -> Can open padlock via brute force and crawl underneath and smash the floor of the ground level .

Learning types of locks: https://locksandsafes.com/what-are-the-different-kinds-of-locks/

Understanding picking a lock: https://www.artofmanliness.com/articles/how-to-pick-a-lock-pin-tumbler-locks/

My suggestion:

Biometric locks, downside: Can leave a physical footprint (with easy combination, easy to brute force to).

Cat-eye: can see who is visiting.

Better material of glass for window (or even barred)

#WEEK_TWO

Around suburb

This week I focused on looking at my neighbourhood and if I can gather any information on my secondary family rough schedules, this way we can analyse the data of their comings and goings, and apply an attack. 

Monday

The garage door opened at 8:45am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 9:20am [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 11:03am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The side door opened at 2:20pm [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 3:29pm[REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 7:54pm [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 8:20pm  [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

Tuesday

The garage door opened at 8:20am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 8:45am [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 11:02am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 2:19pm  [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

The side door opened at 2:30pm [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 5:30pm [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 5:56pm  [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

Wednesday

The garage door opened at 8:25am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 8:50am [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 1:03pm [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The side door opened at 2:20pm [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 4:29pm [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 6:54pm [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 7:20pm  [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

Thursday

The garage door opened at 8:00am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 8:20am [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 10:00am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 1:29pm [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 7:24pm [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 7:40pm  [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

Friday

The garage door opened at 8:25am [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 9:20am [REDACTED] back

The side door opened at 2:20pm [REDACTED] back

The garage door opened at 7:24pm [REDACTED] leaves

The garage door opened at 7:42pm  [REDACTED] & [REDACTED] back

After a week of looking at them (some of them I had my extended family to log, but it’s the same if someone just observes them long enough), you can formulate a pattern, and base on the pattern we can implant a pattern. To change this we introduce a new variable in the system, random activities. 

We can formulate their basic life plans just by observing...which extends to a side-channel attack! 

#WEEK_THREE

Around the internet

I will have you know ... the weirdest thing happened to our family ... my mother got phished. 

context: My mum’s business [REDACTED] usually have a lot of incoming and outgoing emails regarding price changes and new business models. This email came in and she pressed the attached documents, which windows started flashing asking for permission to access the windows/syswow64/regedit.exe. 

So I started researching about the attack: 

Article_one: which tells me not to worry about it. 

Article_two: “This program allows users to perform several functions including creating, manipulating, renaming and deleting registry keys, importing and exporting .REG files, bookmarking user-selected registry keys as Favorites, and the ability to remotely edit the registry on another networked computer”

So to solve the problem I restored the computer at a specific checkpoint and ran a malware detection program. And nothing seems wrong.

Then I started researching the company themselves. Well, first of all, the email is extremely suspicious. and secondly, my mother never had any relation with anyone named Sue Kepp. 

#WEEK_FOUR

The vulnerability of Social Media. 

How often do you geotag where you are at a particular place, and really how can this affect your life. This week I focus on the vulnerability of the act of tagging where you are at a certain place. or better yet, YOU ARE subconsciously being tracked. 

VIDEO_ONE | VIDEO_TWO | VIDEO_THREE... well so these guy uses Instagram to stalk someone by using the geotags they have in a nearby. They have their information just with one small outlet. 

My suggestion ... maybe just not use geotag ... .. . . .... I’ve been doing this since year 8 so I’m quite clean tbh. 

#WEEK_FIVE

Our university is not perfect ... yet 

The other day I was walking in university and I was thinking ... How many of these people are actually UNSW students because literally, no one knows each other, and the privilege of walking into a door is guarded by a single card most of the time. 

I brought my best friend to UNSW the other day, and he requested that he wants free wifi for using my internet (I said yes). Obviously, it’s fine because he is working on school work. 

But there are so many people in university that could just ask for a login to steal lecture notes and even your personal information.

Someone let me access into a lab, just because they can hold the door ... . .. .. 

#WEEK_SIX

Opal ... or oNO. 

Transportation is always a big part of a lot of people’s life.

But the thing is, we have so many flaws, people can just jump over the gate and avoid paying

People can not tap on while going on the bus (because no one really checks, fact-checked with my uncle’s colleague -> he is a bus driver)

Your opal balance can go negatively which you can simply change for a new card. According to THIS article, opal makes a $2.6 million loss annually. Not saying that I’m can have 2.6 million, but I could save up to $36.5 if my balance is -.10 for 5 days a week. 

Also -> transit officers can’t check credit card tap-ons according to THiS

Okay, so why do I care about this, well for one it’s taking $25 out of my pocket every week, so life is not good. Well secondly, NSW transit officers really made me angry the other day for stopping me and made me late for work (another incident they fined my friend who is a student but forgot their card for $200), so I put on my attacker hat on and wanted to see if there is a way to avoid paying without getting caught. 

The first thing I looked through is, what powers do the new NSW transit officers have

The power to direct people to leave trains and railway stations.    

The power to demand names and addresses from people who they had reasonable grounds to suspect had committed a railway offence. 

The power to request to inspect tickets and concession cards.   

The power to issue infringement notices and on the spot fines to those who had been caught committing railway offences. 

Well, now I want to refer you to this article.  

So now how do we evict to pay ... >:) 

I think my suggestion would be 

Get off at a specific location where there is no gate. 

Use a Woolworths temporary credit card, and claim that you’re using the credit card. 

If you haven't paid, they'll use your card details to charge you the default maximum fare and record your card details in their database. 

if you then present the same card again on a subsequent check, they'll find you for fare evasion. Curiously, it says if this happens more than twice with the same card, they will also blacklist that card from being used to pay for fares for 12 months.

#WEEK_SEVEN

Articles that I found last few weeks 

Robert Downey Jr. has vowed to use robotics and AI to significantly clean up the Earth in the next decade

There is a degree of the irony of relying on AI to help them clean up when the human responsible creating it are the one that created the chaos. 

Cat filter accidentally used in Pakistani minister’s live press conference

Maybe consider not have a man in charge of these live vids, or even better have an option for serious manners and whatnot.

China Is Forcing Tourists to Install Text-Stealing Malware at its Border

Consider maybe doing an extensive search before letting people into the country instead of doing mass surveillance. 

Amazon confirms it keeps your Alexa recordings basically forever

Don’t be lazy and search using your hand. This recording is allowing everyone to listen to you indefinitely. 

Japan approves first human-animal embryo experiments

HELLO JURASSIC PARK! 

[infpisme]

How to be a happier INFP

So, first of all, it should go without saying that not all of this is going to be applicable to every INFP’s situation, right? So, if a few aren’t relevant, it doesn’t discount your whole life or mean anything about your identity. These suggestions are based on a pretty broad swath of INFPs I have known, both personally and professionally, and the struggles that seem to be most common.

1) Stop being so hard on yourself, INFP! You are never going to be perfect. Perfection isn’t even a thing. You’re going to make mistakes (plenty of them) and accidentally hurt people’s feelings and do the wrong thing and generally make a mess sometimes, and it’s okay. You don’t need to hide in the corner and self-flagellate when you do. You don’t need to spiral into a pit of despair. It is entirely possible - and much healthier - to address whatever happened, apologize or clean it up, and move on. You’re never going to be perfect, but you’re good enough. I promise.

2) Repeating: who you are is completely, totally okay. You may feel like you have no defenses in this cruel, cold world, but don’t hide who you are. You may feel almost like there’s something fundamentally wrong with you; you’re so sensitive and have so many feelings. It can be overwhelming and you may want to hide it, but I would argue that we really need people like you, so let us see you. The world needs people who are soft and tender-hearted and gentle and who accept others in all their quirky ways. Hold that kind of space for people; that’s your gift. I know you aren’t going to be able to let everyone in indiscriminately, but trust that there is value in exposing your truest self to the ones who matter.

3) Practice using words when you need to withdraw. Tell the people around you “I’m feeling overwhelmed and I’m going to need some time to myself” rather than just disappear on them and cause worry. Use words to say “I feel depressed” or “I am sad” or “This hurts me” instead of pretending like you’re fine but suffering on the inside or worse, shutting down and being unreachable. When you do it this way, the people who love you worry about you. They worry they did something wrong, or that you don’t love them, or that there is something terrible ailing you. But sometimes it’s nothing, right? You just need to be alone for a while. Say that. Let people know you. Teach people how to treat you, and what you need, and how you are.

4) Work on not taking everything so personally. Sometimes criticism, while hard to hear, is helpful; it’s how we grow. It rarely means anything about who you are as a person. It is rarely an indictment of your character. When you feel criticized or hurt, think through what the person meant by it, what their intentions were, whether it’s something to be upset about. Think about whether they might actually have a point, and then use the feedback to make some changes. But skip the part where you absorb the criticism and feel unnecessarily bad about yourself for having stuff you need to work on. We all do.

5) On the other hand, related to the previous suggestion, you can also practice using words to say when something feels bad to you instead of pulling inward to lick your wounds. Just say “That hurt my feelings”. This one is particularly hard for male INFPs, because of course we socialize men to be tough and whatnot. INFP dudes, here’s the thing: you ain’t that tough, and that’s perfect. That is exactly right. You don’t have to be tough in the traditional hyper-masculine ways the world expects. You march to the beat of your own drum anyway, so you can be revolutionary when you set an example for other men in your life that it is safe to be emotional, to be sensitive, to say “that hurt my feelings” instead of resorting to the anger or stonewalling we have come to expect from men.

6) You are very slow to make decisions, presumably because you want to make sure you have all the information you need, but the byproduct of this is that you almost always wait too long to do something you know needs done. You are likely to languish in bad relationships far longer than you should or stay at that job you hate because you are afraid to do the wrong thing, or of being hurtful, or you aren’t positive you did every single possible thing that you could to make the situation work. I get it. The problem is though that you sometimes drag your feet even when you really do know what to do. It doesn’t serve you. It just wastes your time, and other people’s time.

7) Sometimes you take too long with decision-making because of fear of failure. To this I say: fuck it. You’re going to fail sometimes. That’s fine. You can handle whatever comes next. See #1.

8) Most of you have had your heart broken at least once, and while that’s true of most people, it can be particularly hard on an INFP. A broken heart at any point in life can make you quite reticent to open back up to anyone (ever again). But remember that you love connecting. You love being in love. You love seeing and being seen in a meaningful way. You love deep conversation and intimacy. You love shedding your protective layers and just being yourself in all your tender glory. It just scares the living shit out of you because it requires you to open up more than you feel safe opening up. It involves the little emotional turtle inside of you sticking its head out of the shell and staying out despite the very real fear, the very real risk in doing so. Vulnerability is absolutely required. Sorry, boo. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you are going to have to take risks. Every.single.time. Love is always a risk. It’s worth it.

9) Stop feeling so guilty all the time. You know, I’ve said many times that guilt is the least useful emotional response. It’s like, “I’m going to be sorry over and over and over and over and over and over” even well past the time when being sorry even makes sense anymore. Knock it off, INFP. This guilt and shame stuff is for the birds. If you feel bad about something, address it, fix what you can, ask for forgiveness, and then offer that forgiveness to yourself…and move on. There seems to be some macabre fascination for INFP in wallowing and rolling around in the muck, often in piles of things that aren’t even yours to own, much less to take responsibility for. INFP has a reflexive guilt/shame response that is super damaging. When you find yourself feeling guilty or ashamed, drag that feeling out into the light and examine it. Is it legit? Is it reasonable? Do you deserve it? If you asked someone else about it, would they look at you like you were crazy for even thinking about this?

10) Line up a team of trusted advisors to check you on your shit. I know you don’t usually need that many friends (side note: most INFPs only keep 1-3 truly close friends at a time, and many describe themselves as a “lone wolf”, although I suspect that is partly resignation vs. preferred way of being) but you definitely need a system of checks & balances, or else you run the risk of descending into one of those negative cycles at any time for no good reason. You need people around you to bounce ideas off of and get feedback on. (Or a therapist can work for this too). You need someone to remind you that you’re being too hard on yourself. INFP is an internal processor, so you may not think you need this, but you do. Talk your stuff out, out loud. It’s the only way to keep your tendency to be way too hard on yourself in check.

11) Ask people questions. You tend to be a passive communicator, but I know you’re genuinely curious about people. I know that anything anybody ever wanted to tell you would be received happily. I know you love being a trusted confidant. I know you want people to feel safe with you. But my tip is this: don’t just wait for them to offer information for fear of being “intrusive” or “nosy”. The truth is most people love to talk about themselves, and would love to have you probe into their innermost selves in that lovely way you do (when you do). But you have to ask the right questions. You have to actively pull people out in order to show them you’re curious about them.

12) It’s important for several reasons, but one reason this is important to do is because you are incredibly imaginative. Which is a good thing, except when it’s not. Sometimes you have a tendency to make stories up in your head, so sometimes you maybe don’t ask questions because you’ve already filled in the gaps and written your own version of what the person is telling you. The problem is, you made that up. It’s not actually true. You have to ask what is true. You can’t just go working off your invention of the person/story/whatever. Especially if you’re trying to connect with a person who needs you to ask questions to draw him/her out. In order to really get close to someone, you need to stop making up stories about them and actually ask/listen instead.

13) Another thing about that imagination of yours: you tend to be a bit anxious, and as such you’ll work through all the worst case scenarios in your head and sometimes get yourself quite worked up when in fact everything is okay. You may react to something as though the worst case has already happened, because the world in your head is so real. But…it’s not. Don’t let yourself go off the rails of the crazy train without consulting someone on your advisory board.

14) Be you. INFP, you are amazing. You are kind and loving and gentle and sensitive and all of those sweet things. You are only like 4% of the population, but I wish there were so many more of you. You hold space for the rest of us to be as fucked up as we are, and you love us anyway. I just wish you would learn to love and accept yourself the way you love and accept us.

Source: http://millercounseling.blogspot.com.au/2015/12/how-to-be-happier-infp-tips-tools.html?m=1