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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years

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the year i turned twenty i stopped waiting for someone to save my life and started eating more vegetables

in the winter of 2018 i got a root canal done on the molar in the upper left-hand corner of my mouth. it had been on the verge of death for a while now; two years prior to that a visiting government-sponsored school dentist had taken a look at it, frowned, and then spent the next two hours wheedling all the rot out of that tiny black hole with a drill. unfortunately the solution he imposed was both extremely painful and temporary, and so two years after the initial incident i found myself once again at the dentist's (this time at a clinic; school dentists don't like to deal with the extra-gritty stuff and are not paid enough to do so). they stuck a needle in my gum, numbed three-quarters of my mouth, then drilled a hole through the center of my tooth and ripped the withering shred of nerve-tissue right out of it.

my dentist helpfully explained all of the above to me during our consultation session in the same office in which he would rip the top half of my tooth off a week later. he was a balding, smiling man whose speech did not, unlike many medical professionals i had met over the years, have an edge of condescension to it. i liked him. i would have liked him more were he not planning to essentially castrated my tooth.

several weeks later i went to another dentist who specialized in helping people in post-root canal limbo, and she stuck a shiny metal crown on what was left of my molar. we then scheduled a series of check-ups to ensure that the crown had not flown off its liege while i attacked an ice cube or something similarly bad for my teeth and mental health, which stretched on for so long that she became, more or less, my primary dental care physician. at first the check-ups were a month apart. then two. time passed. her hair grew longer and our conversations less awkward; she was beautiful and snarky and looked like she would shoot god without hesitation if he stepped into range of her gun. she wore her hair short, red tinged with gold, in a pixie-cut that fell over half of one eye. for a while i thought i was in love with her.

'do you floss?' she asked me on my second check-up.

'no,' i said.

'well.' she broke off a length of dental floss and began to wind it around her fingers. it looked like a death threat and she looked ready to kill, though her eyes were smiling. 'you should.'

for the first year after having an utterly destroyed tooth brought back from the brink of death via a grisly temporary solution that would, at best, buy me one or two decades of peace, i didn't. i didn't floss because when she did it for me in her tiny examination room my gums bled so much it took hours for me to wash the bitter taste of iron out of my mouth. blood is a nice concept and a nicer motif in writing. but it smells awful, and it's worst on the tongue. so i didn't floss my teeth, and i went through life with the kind of casual detached disinterest with which i had approached most things up until then. at my next check-up she asked once again if i had been flossing and i lied that i had. after poking and prodding around in my mouth for a few minutes and taking a scan for good measure she gave me a look and said dryly, 'you haven't been flossing at all, have you.'

disappointing your parents, your favorite high school english teacher, or even your best friend is nothing compared to the sheer embarrassment that comes from knowing your beautiful dentist asked you to do the bare minimum, and you failed to deliver. her voice was arid but we had known each other for long enough by then for me to detect a thin undercurrent of disappointment. i had done it. i had lost the support of the only person in my life who could be counted on to support me. because i paid her for her services. and she was also very funny in a quiet sarcastic way. and she was beautiful.

having had my ego wounded beyond description i resolved to floss from then on and succeeded in dragging my poor aching gums past the bleeding stage to a point where they were merely post-workout sore. then i lost interest and forgot about the white, sterile-smelling clinic that was a fifteen minutes' drive from my house and the little pack of dental floss on the bathroom counter faded into obscurity. two weeks before my next appointment in 2020, an alarm on my phone went off to inform me of the approaching day of judgment. i panicked.

'have you been flossing?' my dentist asked as i lay back in the faded green chair and she put on a pair of new gloves.

'yeah,' i said.

five minutes later, she removed her army of dentistry equipment from my mouth with a satisfied hum. 'i see that you have.' her eyes were smiling. 'your teeth look fine. i'll just clean them a little for you.'

i celebrated impressing my favorite dentistry professional in singapore by forgetting to floss for the next two months. soon after that i got on a plane to america, and then two more for good measure in case i hadn't grown sick of sitting and burning in my own skin already, and then twelve weeks of insanity ensued, the details of which we are surely all acquainted with by now. late nights, walks in the forest, afternoons spent in the sun. mismatched footsteps and strange acquaintances. an elaborate circus act staffed entirely by misguided but well-meaning teenagers. a ring of fire.

two weeks ago i bought a box of dental floss for ninety-nine cents. i think this might be what the anthropologists call 'adulthood'. i was at target with a friend and we were getting toothpaste, which we had both nearly run out of, when i saw the little flat box of dental floss hanging from a hook on the wall. my teeth weren't particularly disgusting (they haven't been, not since i learned how to brush them properly), but they weren't beautiful. it had been a while since i had been on my own mind. for the last three months, others' pain had been my main priority, and now that we had eliminated most of them from the picture, i found myself with more time in the mornings to stare at myself in the mirror and wonder how, exactly, i was doing.

how are you doing? i asked. and the answer was i felt like shit.

while i've stayed in dormitories before for extended periods of time i always got out of doing laundry by either submitting my dirty clothes to an on-campus service which disappeared them into a hole in the fabric of reality and returned them to you a day later, cleaned and folded outside your room so the first time i did laundry by myself in america, a week after arriving on campus, i felt invincible. buying an iced chai from the cafe on a thursday morning and then settling down to work on my laptop until my first class started at noon, i felt like a character in a career advisory ad, like someone who knew where they were going and how they were going to get there. standing in front of the bathroom mirror of my summer dorm, winding a strand of dental floss around my fingers, i felt like i had aged fifteen years in the span of just one, and that just this once, it was for the better.

according to my adult friends, no one ever fully feels or recognizes that they are an adult. adulthood is an ideal that all grown children strive towards the way body-builders aim for more and more muscle mass until there's nothing left of them but a pair of well-toned biceps. there are several industry-approved ways to be an adult, but there are no suggested ways to feel like one. this is part of the gaping maw of inadequacy our generation has fallen into. this afternoon i melted butter in a pan and beat two eggs, milk, salt, and garlic powder together in a bowl. pouring the egg mixture into the pan i began to scrape the edges frantically towards the center with a spatula. the whole process took no longer than two or three minutes. by the end of it my hand was shaking.

according to my adult friends you just wake up one day and start looking for ways to re-organize your pantry and that's when you realize: i'm getting old, aren't i? and i'm getting old, aren't i? twenty's just the start of what a friend recently told me her parents refer to as 'the decade of pain'. but the beginning of something is included in the timeline of its accomplishments, too, and it takes more blind faith to start something than we give ourselves credit for. i have never used a saucepan up until today. in my younger years i often boiled broccoli or cauliflower in a small pot over an electric stove. but the butter, the eggs, the smell of fat sizzling on a pan- this is new to me. this entire life is new to me.

leaving the familiar warmth of your family home, it suddenly occurs to you how fragile life is. how everything your mother has done for you until now has kept you on the path forward, and now you have been given the keys to the basement you have to remember to buy laundry detergent before you run out. it all comes together like this: the humming laundry machines, the hand towels, the fridge full of fruit and cheese. it keeps you alive.

and it's awful. our generation doesn't know what self-care is because we're too busy trying to care for a world which tries, time and again, to kick us off the carousel of life and move on without its ephemeral teenage charges. we are bad at this 'living' thing because we often forget that we are alive at all. look out the window and the world's burning. look into the kitchen, and- quiet. this past year has done nothing to improve the paintings on the wall. we've all known hopelessness. we've all known what it's like to wake up and feel nothing at all.

and yet my flatmate has a new york times cooking subscription that she says we're welcome to borrow if we want to look up a recipe for something like paella, brownies, whatever. the other day she made shrimp scampi and when she knocked on my door and said 'i made food, if you'd like some' i remember thinking living with other people was worth it if you could sit around a table and twirl pasta noodles around your fork in silence. tomorrow i think i'll go to target again and see if i can find more acai. i miss it. i miss singapore's overpriced acai places and their stupid too-high chairs.

and i am living life clumsily, but who cares? a life is a life; all you have to do is live it. the rest can come later, after the dust has settled on the windowsill.

06.09.21

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

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Whats your favorite song at the moment

Hey Nonny!

Ooof Too many, hahhaha! Because I don’t leave home anymore, I’m not looking constantly for new music to add to my Playlist, so mostly it’s stuff that I come across on Tumblr and is living rent-free in my head on repeat, or me digging on my harddrives for a nostalgia kick.... currently, these are the top 5 cycling in my head, no particular order:

(EDIT IT’S NOW TEN. I COULDN’T CHOOSE. LISTEN TO THEM ALL. THEY’RE ALL AMAZING)

(EDIT 2 SORRY IT’S NOW 15!! NONNY I’M SO SORRY. I know no one cares, but I LOVE sharing my Music with people)

(EDIT 3 *SIGH* Now 20. :| HELP. Stopping before I get carried away. No one ever likes my music so I love when people ask me for my songs with genuine interest)

Nathan Evans - The Wellerman (220 Kid X Billen Ted Remix) (flashing images CW in video!) – Got into the original of this one during the sea shanty trend, and then this dance remix came out... those of you who know me well, know that I am HOOKED on remixes, especially dance remixes. So I was so happy about this official one.

The Kiffness - Ievan Polkka ft. Bilal Göregen (Club Remix) – This one I got into because I think, again, the original with the blind man was trending, and then I found this remix artist on YouTube from his remix of The Wellerman, and his is SOOOO good!! I loved this song back in the early noughts when it was popular as “Leek Spin”. But then these young folks had to go and make it amazing again!!

ZHU, partywithray - Came For The Low – (LOTS OF FLASHING LIGHTS IN VIDEO CW!) Thank Falcon And the Winter Soldier for this one! It took me a WEEK to find out what song they’re playing in the club in Episode 3 when Zemo’s dancing, and YAY I found this finally (not the one hour one, sadly, still trying to find the song D+ Marvel used for that one). I LOVE IT. LISTEN TO IT. SO good if you like heavy club beats

Sim Gretina - A Friend Like Me (Electro Swing Remix) – This is SATISFYING. I LOVE IT. Found it years ago after that homemade Aladdin carpet video was going viral, and every time it comes up on my playlist, I replay it like 6 times.

Linkin Park - Numb (80′s Remix) – That tumblr meme song that went around years ago? HERE YOU ARE!!! :D This is TOO SHORT and it’s also on repeat when I listen to it. Y’all, this is what depression feels like when you’re trying to pretend to be happy all the time LOL. It’s a whole MOOD. This one is great to blast in the car and have people confused at you singing at the top of your lungs. Like, “I AM NUMB AND AN EDGELORD BUT READY TO PARTY!!!”.

One Ton - Supersexworld – Okay, this is an OLLLLLLDDD one by a one-hit wonder Canadian band that I stumbled upon recently when I was going through my hard drives to find new stuff to put onto my iPhone. I was OBSESSED with this song when it first came out, forgot about it, and NOW... SHIT I can’t STOP. This one is BLARING when I hear it, and am so happy I found it again. It’s simple, amazing, and AWESOME. LISTEN TO IT. You will love it. Please. It’s got one verse and one chorus over and over, and it’s catchy as hell. It’s on my personal Johnlock playlist :D

Deorro - Rise and Shine – GUYS. This song. Also on my personal Johnlock Playlist, this one is SOMETHING. First heard it in my BodyPump class, I NEEDED it. It’s SO GOOD. Jazzy Club Music??? YES PLEASE! Video is all kinds of amazing? YES PLEASE. PLEASE listen to this. I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

Bloodhound Gang - The Bad Touch (Eiffel 65 Remix) – Is this song a decade old? YES. Has it been on my iPod since it first came out? FUCK YES. Y’all, Eiffel 65 is SO underrated for their remixes. This is one of their best remixes, and it’s the PERFECT walking song. YES I look like an idiot walking to it, but I love it SO MUCH. It’s better than the original, imho.

Gotye feat. Kimbra - Somebody That I Used To Know (Bastian Van Shield Remix) – LOL I KNOW: sacrilege to remix Gotye, but Y’ALL. This is the DEFINITIVE remix of one of his best songs. Six minutes of pure club beats, and just... ANOTHER perfect walking song that you need to SCREAM at the top of your lungs. Also on my personal Playlist, John POV, that I will share eventually.... it makes sense in the song order on the list, I promise LOL)

Tee Lopes - Marble Zone '12 – Tee Lopes is the official composer for Sonic Mania, hired because of all his AMAZING Classic Sonic remixes he did as a hobby on his YouTube channel. This one has a Tango flavour, and it’s SO good and not long enough. There’s an extended version here. Also love his Flying Battery and Ice Cap remixes. If you love video game music remixes like I do, check out his YT channel. There’s a TONNE there and it’s GREAT music to write to.

Aaron Smith - Dancin’ (KRONO Remix) – I dunno where I first heard this one, but I LOVE it. It’s like trancey club music. It’s beautiful, and WORTH a listen.

Pet Shop Boys - I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind Of Thing [Extended Nude Mix] – Ooooof this one has been on my faves for a LONG time. Originally heard this on the PSB’s album Disco 2, back when their remixes were this good and long and clubby. I miss these so much. If you want a good club beat to thump your car, this is it my friends.

Informätik - A Matter of Time – FUCK ME I love this song. This is the song that made me want to start a Johnlock playlist. I talk more in length about it on this post here, but yeah, I still just.. MM. It’s just so beautiful and is what got me into EBM music in the first place. I listened to this and a lot of their music quite often in college when I was pining over people. Always the pining and never the requited, LOL. I just really love it.

Pride and Fall - Paragon – GUYS. This one is SO good. Trancey EBM and just, UGHGGHHGHGHHHG It gives me so many feels. I’ve loved this song for SO many years, and just, still has to be on every iPod I own. It’s beautiful, and the lyrics are beautiful and I wish I was as beautiful as this song, LOL. Please listen and enjoy. Best bit is a 3:11 :D <3

Rammstein - Mein Teil (Pet Shop Boys Remix) – GUYS. This is one of the greatest collabs of all time. I love both Rammstein AND Pet Shop Boys, and was SO EXCITED when they remixed this song for the single. This is the better of the two remixes PSB did for them, and YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO IT. PURE CLUB BLISS. This is the PSB in their remixing best!!!! <3 Plus, it’s SUPER WEIRD to hear these angry Germans backing a club beat, I LOVE IT. Also, it’s literally a song about a true story of literally eating a dick, so.... *shrugs*

Pet Shop Boys - Love Etc. (PSB Mix) – Y’ALL. This is 6 minutes of LITERAL dance music BLISS. A fantastic remix of one of my fave songs from the PSB, which is essentially shitting on the materialism of relationships. And I love this one, it’s a great work out and car song. Honestly PLEASE listen to it.

Apoptygma Berzerk - Kathy’s Song (Beborn Beton Remix) – GUYYYYYYYYYsSSSS I love this song so much. The original is much slower, and I discovered Beborn Beton FROM this song (another great artist, check them out). This song is just, a great dance song, and just makes me scream out when I hear it. Full volume, beautiful song, beautiful lyrics. It’s my Android!lock headcanon song, but it is also on my JL Personal Playlist, LOL.

Darude vs. Robert Miles - Children of the Sandstorm – One of the BEST MASHUPS in the world, and I am CERTAIN it is an official one; I was obsessed with mashups when I was in college so I have a TONNE of them, but this one has always been a fave, and I still jam to it over a decade later. Seriously, these songs SEAMLESSLY blend together, it’s fantastic. Classic club and trance? HELLS YES.

Eminem - Nobody Listen to Techno (Deep Dish Mix) – Another nostalgia hit for me. Is it pointless? Not if I enjoy it!! I LOVE this song. Deep Dish mixes were THE JAM in my college years, and like, this is just 9 minutes of PURE techno with some of his song “Without Me” sampled throughout. I LOVE IT. SO MUCH. This is a banger, and just, if you need music to listen to while driving or writing, this is one for you!!

Rammstein feat. Sharleen Spiteri - Stirb Nicht Vor Mir (Don't Die Before I Do) – And to bring the mood WAYYY down, did you know Rammstein did a love song? A beautiful, moves-me-to-tears love song? Because I did and it’s one of my FAVE songs by them. It’s SO beautiful, and the Till’s harsh voice WORKS for it. It’s gentle and soothing. It’s a German/English duet, and it makes me nearly cry EVERY TIME. Because I imagine John and Sherlock and then I die inside LOL. It’s so beautiful and I listen to this one years after it was released. Look up the translation, it is so beautiful.

AND if you guys happen to like any of these songs, copy the youtube video link and use this :)

Most of these that aren’t silly are on my Johnlock playlist, so do give the latter songs a listen! <3 I’m sorry for adding more than five... I just really love sharing things with you guys I like because I’m so lonely, LOL.

If any of y’all are playing these and trying to pick me up, *finger guns* Let’s go get cake and jam :D

AHH I like when I get asks like this! Sorry I took so long Nonny, but I just kept ADDING to it, as you can see. Had to stop because I could keep going.

#steph replies #my playlist #fave songs #music #happy posts #chatting with nonnies #Anonymous #i want more asks like this hee hee #ask me anything

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

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The Other You - 2

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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His body heavy, eyes drooping closed, Adrien released his transformation and flopped on his bed face down. Who in the world thought that him running a fashion empire after spending all day teaching the principles of physics to teenagers was a good idea? Add in Chat Noir’s obligatory patrols, and you've got yourself a sleep-deprived, confused, and stressed disaster of a man. Yet, despite his exhaustion, Adrien’s lips stretched in a smile as soon as his head collided with a pillow.

“I’m so tempted to just sleep,” he whispered into the silence of his bedroom. “There’s always morning for changing clothes and grooming.”

“Do whatever you want,” Plagg puffed. “But I need disinfection. Seriously, you two need to get a room and preferably a kwami-free one. I didn’t sign up for this uncivilized, touchy-feely stuff. Can’t you just reveal identities and free me from being an involuntary participant in your grossly romantic endeavours?”

“If it were up to me, I would've done that a long time ago,” Adrien murmured. His shoes and clothes already on the floor, he crawled under the comforter, yawning. “But, you know just as well as I do that it isn't up to me, and Ladybug might actually be right about it being dangerous.”

“Hawkmoth hasn’t been active for years,” Plagg whined, finishing wiping himself with a sanitizing towelette and immediately heading straight for his stash of Camembert. “He’s probably dead already. Why do you still need to keep these masks on?”

“Hawkmoth not being active for a while isn’t proof that we’ll never see him again,” Adrien replied, wrapping himself around his pillow. “What if he’s just waiting for us to put our guard down to strike?”

“He isn’t that smart.”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Adrien yawned again. “The man kept us on our toes for a decade. But even if, presumably, he’s out for good, this isn't the time to start a relationship still.”

“Why not?”

“Plagg, please,” Adrien mumbled, his eyes closed as he snuggled the pillow closer. “You know as well as I do that Ladybug is going through a rough period right now. Her job now demands all of her time and attention thanks to that jerk-boss that ditched them. Her relationship with her roommate—her best friend may I add—seems to worsen every time I hear about it. And have you even seen her? She’s lost weight and looks pale and tired all the time.” Adrien paused, opening his eyes. His chest tightened as he looked into the darkness of his bedroom. “Right now, Ladybug needs a friend who’ll support her, not another relationship to work on. And since I can’t help her with her civilian life, I’d be damned if I added to her problems.”

Adrien rolled over and pulled his comforter over his head. Ladybug needed a friend right now, not a boyfriend, and he loved her too much to add a romantic relationship to her already nearly unbearable pile. So until she got her promotion, he’d support her as a friend and would remain close for whenever she needed him. Once she reached her goal, though, that would change because then, Ladybug would actually have time and strength for a relationship with him. Otherwise, Adrien was afraid he was risking ruining everything before it even started. He’d already waited for her for years, he could certainly wait a little longer.

“Whatever you say, lover boy,” Plagg murmured and started to settle in his little bed, turning and twisting until he found the perfect position. “Goodnight, kid.”

“Goodnight, Plagg,” Adrien replied, his thoughts racing back to his Lady and the effortless friendship they’d developed that tiptoed dangerously on the border of romance. It would come eventually. Adrien knew that, and when it did, he'd make his Lady the happiest girl in all of France. He'd never take her for granted. He'd always—

“Wipe that dopey smile off your face,” Plagg suddenly grumbled. “It’s creepy to grin like an idiot in the dark.”

“How do you even see what I am doing from your wastebasket all the way over there?”

“I don’t need to see it. I can feel it. Now, stop it and go to bed. You have tons of work tomorrow and just a few hours left to sleep.”

“Don’t remind me.” Adrien groaned, flopping on his back. “I should’ve sold my shares and been done with it.”

“Then why did you listen to that dude from your work? You should try it, Adrien,” Plagg mocked. “See for yourself before deciding on what to do: continue teaching or follow in your father’s footsteps. Nonsense, I tell you. You should’ve sold and invested in Camembert production, something useful for once.”

“Max isn't a dude,” Adrien chuckled. “He's a friend, and he has a point. I've spent my life hating the fashion industry only because of my father and his crazy obsession with his work. Maybe—”

“He kicked you out of the house because you followed your passion instead of whatever he wanted you to do.”

“He didn’t kick me out. I left.”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, this fashion nonsense ruined your life. Why would you want to ‘try it out’?”

“My life isn’t ruined. And I think it’s smart to make sure I really do hate heading a fashion empire instead of simply projecting my failed relationship with my father on the whole industry.”

“A load of BS if you ask me.”

“What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s just for a few months. If I don’t like it by the end of the summer, I’m selling.”

“It’s May now—”

“Almost June.”

“Still May, meaning that there are more than a few months until the end of the summer. And good luck enjoying each and every one of them with Marinette around. She gave you quite a welcome today, didn’t she?”

Adrien froze, all sleep vanishing at once, events of the past that changed his life forever flashing in front of his eyes.

***

On the day of their high school graduation, Marinette confessed. She blushed and stuttered and was absolutely adorable, expressing in the most beautiful and sincere of ways just how much he meant to her. When she finished speaking, with a trembling, hopeful smile on her lips, she raised her eyes, full of fear and anxiety, to look at him, but stunned, Adrien couldn't reply for the longest time.

He loved Marinette. He truly did, but only as a dear, close friend. He hated to reject her feelings, but even if Adrien wanted to give Marinette his heart, he couldn't. It had belonged to Ladybug ever since the day they’d met.

Speechless, all Adrien was able to do was look back at Marinette with eyes full of regret and apology. She didn’t need words to understand his answer. Whispering something he didn’t quite catch, Marinette escaped before Adrien could do as little as to say how sorry he was.

He’d never forgiven himself for breaking her heart, and if only he had been more careful, Adrien was certain they would’ve gotten through that incident without losing their friendship. Unfortunately, Adrien wasn’t so lucky. A few days later, he learned that Marinette had been pre-approved for an internship at his father's company. He lost his sleep over it because, living his whole life in the shadow of Gabriel Agreste, Adrien knew quite well what working for his father entailed and what it did to people as nice as Marinette. Sure, from the sidelines, being an employee at the hottest fashion house around seemed glamorous and exciting. In reality, there were only two options: you either allow this work to squash you and have a nervous breakdown before your first year was up, or you become just like his father—a cold, emotionless, heartless workaholic. There were no in-betweens or exceptions as far as Adrien was aware.

He couldn't let any of those happen to Marinette. Not when he wouldn’t be there to protect her. Not when, following a massive argument with his father over his plans for the future less than a week ago, Adrien was about to walk out of there himself. As of that moment, Adrien was supposed to move out of his childhood home by the end of the month if he wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a teacher. Otherwise, he’d have to cater to his father’s every whim indefinitely. The choice was clear, and seeing as he was escaping that hell of a company himself, Adrien couldn't silently stand on the sidelines and watch Marinette try to get on board. Not when, unlike him, she didn't know the reality of working for his father. Sadly enough, considering the timing, Adrien doubted that based on his words alone, Marinette would ditch her lifelong dream of working for Gabriel in favour of any other fashion houses that were sure to welcome her with open arms as soon as they saw her portfolio.

That's why he'd done it. That's why Adrien stole her file from his father's office.

He only wanted to protect her. He never meant any harm. He planned to sneak her portfolio to a few of his acquaintances in the other fashion houses that would be a much better fit for Marinette than his father's company ever could.

Perhaps, he could've chosen a better way to go about that, but at that moment, this was all that Adrien could come up with. Better timing also would’ve been nice. With his rejection of her confession, the moment to mess around with Marinette’s passions was as wrong as could be. Still, Adrien was confident his plan would work. The next day, he had a photoshoot for a fashion house that was on top of his list of better options for Marinette, so he stashed a copy of her portfolio in his bag and didn’t think twice about it.

Big mistake.

An hour before he was supposed to leave for the said photoshoot, Alya and Nino dragged him out of the house, picked up Marinette on their way and headed to their favourite cafe for some celebration he couldn’t even remember now. Despite the slight awkwardness between Marinette and him, their hang out turned out to be quite enjoyable. So pleasant, in fact, that Adrien let his guard down and made the second biggest mistake of his life—he’d allowed Alya to rummage around in his bag for mints while he visited the men's room before departing for his photoshoot.

Huge… colossal mistake.

Adrien stopped short of reaching the table on his way back. His friends stared at him in shock; his gaze focused on Marinette.

“Is this the reason no one could find my application when I called them three days ago?” She whispered, looking him straight in the eyes as she clutched her portfolio in her hands. “And the day after that? And yesterday? Today as well? They couldn’t find my portfolio because you took it?”

His body and mind paralyzed, Adrien stood frozen in place. He hadn't expected Marinette to find out. He hadn't the slightest idea of what to do or say.

Hastily, Marinette gathered her things and headed for the door only to halt her steps in front of him a moment later.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I can understand and accept you not returning my feelings; no one can control their heart. But this?” Her voice cracked as tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her face. “Why would you be so cruel? What did I do to you to deserve this?”

Stunned, Adrien helplessly watched Marinette for a few moments, his dumbfounded silence only fueling her already rushed assumption about the situation. When his speech had returned, he’d scrambled to explain.

“You can’t work for my father.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh. And why?”

“It’s a bad idea. You don’t know what working for him can do to you. Marinette, I’ve been there. I’ve seen things… terrible things that happen to people because they can’t handle the workload and demands. I don’t want you there. I don’t want you—”

Marinette raised her hand and spat, “Stop it. I don’t care what you’ve seen there. Those people aren't me. This is not yourdecision to make, Adrien. It’s my life. My decisions. And if it would be a mistake, I want to be the one making it!”

“But—”

“Save it. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong. Friends support each other, not—” She swallowed, looking away, and quietly added, “If my feelings are so much of an inconvenience to you that you didn’t even want me working at your father’s company, you should’ve said so. I would have stayed away on my own. You didn’t have to do this.”

With those words, she walked away. Alya and Nino followed.

“I can’t believe you,” Alya had snarled. Nino kept looking down as he followed his girlfriend.

They’d kicked him out of their private chat room that same day. Adrien's multiple calls, emails and texts over the next few weeks to the three had gone unanswered. His hope for a chance to explain had been slowly dying, and in the end, it was Chloe—the only friend who remained by his side—who’d convinced him to give up. His heart was breaking, but Chloe was likely right; if none of his friends had responded by then, they’d probably blocked him. Adrien had some pride left, and he wasn’t going to impose himself on anyone in person if they wouldn't speak to him over the phone. There was only so much he could do trying to fix that mess; and he’d done more than enough. By the end of the month, Adrien moved out of the mansion, changed his contacts, and tried to start a new life, leaving everyone behind.

With his move, his relationship with his father had taken a sharp turn for the worse, the two of them becoming as good as strangers. Thankfully, Adrien had enough work and savings to support himself. Soon, he’d found new friends in university, and life seemed to be regaining at least some sense of normalcy. He regretted neither leaving his father nor trying to stop Marinette from entering Gabriel. Quite the opposite, Adrien would've never forgiven himself if he hadn't tried to save her from the claws of the monster called Gabriel Agreste.

Years passed. Adrien graduated and began working as a physics teacher at a local high school, ending his modelling career as soon as he’d signed his teaching contract.

He never heard much from Gabriel until the day his lawyer called from a hospital. A few murmured words of apology from his father in his final moments couldn’t fix anything, but in his heart, Adrien still mourned. He still cared because no matter how estranged they'd grown, Gabriel was still his father and there had been times when Adrien had been happy with him. He wished it could've been different. He wished they could've had a better relationship, but it was a little too late to change anything when his father was taking his final breaths. A failure on both sides. Adrien mourned that as well.

***

Adrien shifted in his bed. He had never asked to inherit anything. He didn’t need this company. It ruined a good part of his life, and for that, he hated it. Being cut off by his former friends, he didn’t know Marinette had been working there, sending all of his sacrifices to hell. But, boy, was he right. That gorgeous woman that snuck into his father’s office today—yes, he had to admit she was gorgeous; Marinette was always pretty but she had bloomed into a beautiful woman—was so exhausted that her beauty was barely visible. A thick layer of exhaustion glazed over her stunning blue eyes; her flawless skin looked pale; the sagging curve of her pink lips did absolutely nothing to accentuate her loveliness. The deep frown line in the middle of her forehead might have been there because of meeting him, but still, Adrien’s heart tightened. Working for his father hadn’t been merciful to Marinette.

Just as he’d predicted.

The worst part of all, however, was that Marinette seemed to not see it herself, fighting for a company that, without a strong leader, was quickly going under. Didn’t she have anyone in her life to care enough for her to shake her out of that trance? Didn’t she—

A thought popped into his head so unexpected and crazy, his eyes widened. It was rather insane, but perhaps fate was giving him a chance to redeem himself?

Whatever wrong he’d done before, his intentions were always pure: to help Marinette. She used to be his friend. He cared for her. Surely fate or destiny or whatever cosmic force that controlled his luck saw that and thought it unfair for Adrien to be condemned for what he hadn’t done. He wasn’t a backstabber; he was a loyal friend.

So, perhaps if he was the bigger person and helped Marinette now, she’d see his noble objective and would have to admit that he wasn’t as horrible of a person as she probably thought him to be. Perhaps she’d even apologize. He was older now, more mature. Surely, he could come up with better plans for how to improve Marinette's life, help her succeed, and prove the purity of his intentions and sincerity of his character.

He did also kind of owe her for breaking her heart. Maybe this was a chance to atone for that as well.

Adrien shook his head and rolled over in his bed. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care for someone who tossed him aside without even letting him explain. He shouldn’t help anyone who wouldn’t even listen to him or give him the benefit of the doubt.

He had been her friend. She had claimed to be in love with him. Why then was a simple mistake big enough for her to dismiss years of friendship and kick him out of her life? Why should he even think about doing anything nice for such a person, even if only to prove himself right?

Because she helped you just a few hours ago despite hating you.

Adrien groaned. Damn conscience! He still shouldn’t! She did it for the sake of her job, not because she cared for him.

She still helped you when you needed help. She isn’t a lost cause yet. There's still good in her.

Adrien pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t! Not after the way she treated him.

Weren’t you the one to deliver the first blow, though?

Adrien sat up, running his hands through his hair. Why was he such a pushover? Why couldn’t he be more like his father when it came to things like these? Why was he already thinking of the ways he could help Marinette?

Because you aren’t your father, and you still care.

“Okay, fine. I’ll help her.” He threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Just leave me alone. I need to sleep.”

Settling back into his bed, Adrien closed his eyes and hoped for a few peaceful hours of slumber. Instead, his head buzzed with ideas crazy enough to make him chuckle one moment and bemoan his existence the next. By the time the morning rolled in, there were only two things that Adrien was certain of:

First, Gabriel would have to go. His father had built that company on his employees’ tears and suffering. It wasn’t worth saving, even if Adrien thought he figured out how to do that. It might be a petty, personal revenge move, but Adrien couldn’t find it in himself to care. It would be the right thing to do. Most of its employees had already handed in their resignation letters, anyway.

Second, there was only one way for Marinette to make it in this industry now: find a position in a different company. With her talent, it shouldn't be a problem. He just had to play his cards right and find her a company that would appreciate her more than his father ever did—showing her in the process what a grave mistake she made all those years back when she had cast him aside so cruelly.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #marichat #adrienette #enemies to lovers #angst with a happy end #the other you #myart #my art

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evansfm · 3 years

Text

𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 –– 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 .

every morning evan woke up to a london sky that refused to let the sun in ; summer was drier than spring , but the clouds seemed to linger year round . . . not that she minded . she had , after all , grown up in county dublin , where things were always a bit damp . still , the lack of COLOR could be draining . . . so she searched for it in unexpected places , creating little pockets of color for herself in a rather grayscale world . golden lights strung on her balcony , isla’s bright red hair and matching smile , an array of bright letters boasting NME lining a wall –– covers from past decades , a rainbow rubik’s cube next to her keyboard , two framed photographs perched on her desk . the first seemed like forever ago , a beaming eloise with a twin on either side ; beck on the left , evan on the right , both planting kisses on her cheek one valentine’s day years and years ago . the second was more recent , backstage at a show in galway ; kieran sat in his chair with his fingers intertwined with evan’s as she draped her arms over his shoulders from behind , chin resting on top of his curls and a smile that looked SOFT compared to the goofy one ruairi wore , looming behind her with his chin on her head . she felt warmth every time she looked at them , but there was always a tug in her stomach . . . the undeniable feeling of something missing . she found her little pockets of color , but they still seemed muted without the people she loved –– the PERSON she loved .

their schedules had begun to clash –– and evan hated the way she was beginning to get used to the dull ache of his absence . distance had been a part of their relationship for months , but the time zones were killing her . they couldn’t always make time for hours wasted away on facetime ; she couldn’t always fall asleep to the sound of his voice on the other end of the line . they were both where they were supposed to be , chasing their dreams together , separately . . . but evan was beginning to wonder if the path she was on –– the desk , the deadlines , the distance –– was actually what she WANTED . there was a lack of creative control at nme ; she was a part of a greater whole , confined to a desk when she wasn’t out in the field . she felt restless . . . bored , almost . and with her most recent deadline met and a job of her own –– evan connely , sans nme –– waiting at the end of the week , she was distracted .

“ WHAT are you doing ? ” isla popped up behind her , coming out of nowhere to look over her shoulder .

“ jesus , ” evan startled , nearly dropping the plastic puzzle in her hand , “ where t’e fuck did you come from ? ”

“ charlotte’s office . answer my question . ”

“ playing wit’ a toy , ” she held up the half solved rubik’s cube , then let out an audible sigh as isla looked unimpressed , then jutted her chin towards the computer screen , “ trying to put together a mood board for t’is gig i’ve got wit’ saint valentine on friday . ”

perfectly shaped auburn brows raised , “ we got saint valentine ? ”

“ no , ” evan’s lips lifted into the faintest smirk , “ i got saint valentine . ”

“ you’re bloody joking . shut UP , ” isla gasped , rounding to her side of the table desk , just to roll her chair around , “ and you didn’t fucking tell me ? ”

“ no , because you couldn’t keep a secret if you tried .”

“ well that’s because it shouldn’t be a fucking secret , ev . this is fantastic , ” hazel eyes widened with excitement , “ so you’re shooting them for –– . . . ”

“ t’ey weren’t too explicit about it . i know for certain i’m covering bot’ shows at t’e o2 , documenting t’e whole thing from t’e moment they get there , ” evan huffed a curl away from her face , nodding to the screen , “ and t’en a shoot on site at t’e venue . so i’ve got to work wit’ what i’ve got . i’ve got ONE chance here , and nicky haven scares t’e absolute fuck out’a me , so i can’t blow it . ”

“ nicky haven scares EVERYONE . it’s part of his charm , ” isla leaned in , making herself perfectly comfortable in evan’s space as she took the mouse and began clicking through different ideas opened on photoshop , “ let’s see what you’ve got so far –– . . . ”

“ isla , it’s not a big deal . really i shouldn’t even be working on t’is HERE , right now . it’s not exactly nme related stuff , you kn–– ”

“ i TOLD you she was here today , ” a girl called sophie , who manned nme’s front desk in the mornings , materialized on the other side of evan’s desk . a junior writer , andrew , was hot on her heels .

“ soph , now really probably isn’t the best time and it really isn’t your busi–– ”

“ someone’s got to show her , ” sophie was , admittedly , obnoxious . and coming from EVAN , that was a feat .

“ show WHAT to WHO ? ” isla’s voice changed in tone , taking on a hint of authority as she looked at andrew , “ aren’t you meant to be doing some social media research right now ? ”

“ i WAS , but –– ”

“ but we’ve found something that evan HAS to see , ” sophie . again .

“ we ? ”

“ ME ? ” evan said in tandem with isla , brows lifting as she clicked the final piece into place on the cube . she glanced over at isla and felt a strange twist in her stomach when she saw the redhead had gone rigid .

“ is this about –– ”

“ rebecca stringer , ” andrew nodded solemnly , as though evan was supposed to know who the hell THAT was .

“ better known as BEX , ” sophie added .

it was evan’s turn to go rigid . her back straightened , and it felt like ice had just been shot through her veins . truth be told , she was more worried about conflicting schedules lately . . . not the way bex sing-songed a shortened version of kieran’s name . . . or the way she answered his phone and simply couldn’t remember who evan was . . . or the way she’d made sure evan could hear her promise to personally deliver kieran to his hotel room that first night in los angeles . it wasn’t exactly PLEASANT being reminded of the instinct that she’d shut down , intuition telling her something wasn’t quite right there . her brows pinched together as the rubik’s cube slid from one hand to the other and back . she glanced over at isla with a prompting look .

“ we’re . . . doing a piece about nepotism babies in the industry , and she’s a PERFECT example of one so i was having andrew look into the way she interacts with fans and her socials and what not . she’s one of like TEN people we’re looking into , ” she explained with an apologetic look . it was then that she turned a sharp eye to andrew and sophie , “ don’t know what THAT has to do with evan , though . ”

“ see for yourself . ”

“ SOPHIE . ”

“ what ? it probably isn’t even new information for her , ” she shrugged , reaching over two monitors to hand evan a phone . twitter was opened to a profile with bex’s beaming face in the icon , but the handle wasn’t hers . she gave the pair of them a skeptical look before glancing over at isla who only offered a half - hearted shrug . it didn’t take long to see what , exactly , sophie had been talking about , a slew of tweets and retweets .

bexupdates : bex & kieran pulled up to the venue together . . . and then left at the same time . why are they lowkey so cute annathefound : not bex wearing a baby tee version of the found’s merch . . . stanning her boyfriend just like the rest of us

ruairidailyposts : ok wait are evan & kieran even dating anymore bc i could be down with a bex & kieran moment cheerupbailey : @ruairidailyposts you know two people can have a relationship without posting about it right ??? they’re in separate countries rn lol

babybexxx : i just think that bex & kieran walsh as a power couple .

bxhq : no offense but bex is simply so much better for him than some rando from ireland like what thefoundupdates : @bxhq babes they LITERALLY grew up together ????

totallyconan : be honest do u guys think the reason evan isn’t on tour with them is bc they’re not together anymore like she literally never misses shows

adamfitzupdates : why are y’all so obsessed with a relationship that doesn’t concern you ??? chill bexlevitates : @adamfitzupdates bc it’s weird that evan knew him for so long and only started dating him AFTER the found started to get big like that’s shady

bexupdates : find someone who looks at u the way bex looks at kieran on stage wtf did y’all see that

newruleshq : no waaaay this man has a gf when he and bex look so good next to each other LMAO

thefoundupdates : according to the girl who wrote the article kieran literally WALKED OUT on the interview ??? rockstar behavior but also hope he’s ok

evan could’ve kept scrolling for hours as her heart rate began to rise and rise . the crease between her brows deepened , and she reminded herself of everything she knew to be true . kieran LOVED her . twitter was a BRUTAL place . it was as though the worst parts of her subconscious had come to life in 280 characters or less . her head began to swim as her heart sank into her stomach .

“ what does t’is –– . . . ” her voice cracked , and she cleared her throat , finally looking up from the phone screen , “ why , exactly , are you showing me this ? ”

sophie looked as though she was shocked by evan’s question , “ because i’ve dated musicians . . . and like HALF of those are in bex’s likes . which are public , by the way . just doesn’t seem subtle to me . ”

“ are you trying to insinuate something here , sophie ? ” her tone shifted , irritated as she handed the phone back .

“ like i said , i’ve dated guys in bands , too , and –– ”

“ enough , ” isla snapped , “ you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong . BOTH of you should be off doing your jobs right now , so , run along . ”

both of them scurried off without a word .

evan was still for a moment , but her fingertips were itching for the keyboard . she was no stranger to things like this , unkind words from strangers who didn’t LOVE the idea of her –– despite not knowing her . the good outweighed the bad on the internet , but the voices who didn’t like her were always the loudest . even BEFORE she and kieran had gone public with their relationship . . . even before they were ever in a relationship at all . over time , she’d learned to tune it out and focus on the kindness that flooded her comment sections and mentions . . . but every now and again something slipped through the cracks . . . and when they did , she absorbed them like a blow to the abdomen . they settled into her memory and cemented themselves there , tucked away until they found the perfect moment to make her self conscious . like the fan who had commented on the shape of her body before and after going to uni . . . and another from galway who made it their business to let everyone know she’d slept around while living there . . . and every time someone said she wasn’t good enough for kieran or any of them . that she had bad intentions , leeching onto the boys for fame . that her career was based SOLELY on the four of them .

if she caved and kept scrolling , she’d commit it all to memory . . . everything that made her intuition about bex STRONGER .

instead , she launched forward and snatched the rubik’s cube back up , immediately distorting its perfect faces and mixing it up again . it was good to keep your hands busy , she knew , when your mind began to run away .

the worst of it wasn’t even TRULY comments about their relationship . . . those hurt , but they didn’t sting quite as bad as real - time updates about kieran and bex showing up or leaving venues together . she dulled the pain by reminding herself that THREE other boys were never too far behind . that kieran would never . . . COULD never . . .

but then again , there was the tweet that weighed heaviest in her mind . kieran walked out in the middle of an interview , and he hadn’t told her . something rattled him to the point of his version of an outburst , and he hadn’t told her . that seemed like something he would have told her . . . it seemed important enough , she thought to herself , right ? RIGHT ?

her throat felt tight , and she kept running the tweets she’d read over in her mind . there was a deep furrow in her brow as she looked down at her hands , still vehemently mixing up the toy . something felt off kilter . . . but she couldn’t pin down which hurt more : the slew of tweets from people pretending to know what went on in her relationship . . . or the thought of kieran doing something as rash as storming out of an interview –– and then not telling her .

“ i didn’t know about t’e interview bit , ” she said quietly , eyes still trained on the colorful cube . she was certain her face was the opposite , color drained .

“ evan –– . . . ”

“ it’s fine , ” she said firmly , “ it’s probably not true . just like t’e rest of it isn’t true . ”

her voice sounded distant . . . and she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince isla or HERSELF . clearing her throat again , she set the toy back down on her desk and scooted towards the computer .

“ i’ve got work to do , ” she said quietly , getting back to the monitor . though all she wanted to do was go home . how many more people thought that she wasn’t GOOD ENOUGH for kieran ? how many people thought someone like bex was a better fit ? how long would it take for the suggestion to become potent enough to make the people who KNEW them question it as well ? and if kieran had walked out of an interview , WHY hadn’t he told her ?

she glanced down at her own phone screen , hoping that maybe she’d missed a text or a call . . . but all she got was nothing . nothing but the words she’d seen written down , now cemented in her mind : bex is simply so much better for him . . . because SHE was there , wrapped up in the same world he was in . she was accessible . immediate . beautiful .

and evan was stuck in london with nothing but time to wonder .

#idk what to taaaag it

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female-overlord-3 · 4 years

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Bring Them Home Ch 3

All of my heart one last time <- ao3 link

Prev - Next

Kyle and Alex all but collapse once they make their way inside the cabin and to the couch. Michael hesitantly follows and looks around, finally seeing where Alex has been staying since his return.

“Mi-Gueirn could you get me my laptop? In the kitchen, second shelf next to the fridge underneath a wooden panel in the left wall.”

Michael does as he asks, laptop in hand and out of the kitchen until he pauses at the hallway to Alex’s room, a familiar feeling tugging at him like a sirens call he can’t resist.

Alex watches with exhaustion clouding his mind, only realizing once Michael disappears from view what he might find in there.

“Shit.” He curses and scrambles to get to his room, limping slightly as his overexertion from earlier has finally caught up.

Leaning heavily against the door frame Alex watches as Michael reaches towards his pillow, standing with his back to Alex and fingers brushing the fabric pillow case but pause when Alex pleading voice rings through the air. “Michael wait.”

He does but doesn’t look away from the pillow or what he knows is underneath it.

“Let me- I need to sit and I’ll explain but just- please wait.” Alex continues to plead, the desperation and exhaustion nearly drowning the words.

Michael closes his eyes shut before taking a deep breath and moving his hand away. He waits for Alex to settle at the foot of the bed and watches the process of him removing his prosthetic, letting his mind get distracted by the mechanics and how he’d improve it, make it better and easier to use. Then he removes his other shoe and shrugs off his jacket.

Alex does his best to ignore Michael’s eyes but glad the focus is on him instead of the piece of alien ship hidden under his pillow.

“You can sit.” He offers as he lets himself fall back and relax on his bed. “Get comfortable. Splurged and got memory foam.”

Remaining silent Michael does as Alex says. He passes the laptop over, nearly forgetting he had it, and shucks off his boots and denim jacket before sitting.

“How long.” Michael finally asks when Alex stays quiet.

“Before you showed me what it really was. Before I knew everything.” Alex places his laptop in the nook he added then lays back to stares up at the ceiling, letting the words finally tumble free, whether from exhaustion or his need to finally say what he wants, he’s not sure, it could be both.

“I found it here in the cabin in Jim Valenti’s own secret underground bunker, hidden in a wall in a room where he helped Rosa get clean and Kyle and I discovered that he was not having an affair with her but was actually her father. I found it and was going to give it to you when I found out you were an alien but then you showed me the other pieces and you talked about leaving. I panicked.”

It’s both freeing to get all of this said out loud but the guilt and fear continue to press at his chest like a growing weight. “When we had that night where you said you don’t look away, I was absolutely terrified you might actually leave when you joked about moving. That didn’t hold a candle to the realization that you might leave the freaking planet, find a way I wouldn’t be able to follow. It nearly gutted me so I decided to keep it until I felt ready to give it to you.”

Sighing Alex closes his eyes and says a painful admission. “I just don’t think I’d ever be ready to give it to you.”

He hears the choked sound Michael makes but keeps his eyes closed. Might as well say everything he can since he has the chance.

“I know it’s selfish and cruel because I’ve walked away so many times but I’ve always come back Michael, I always had you to come back to in this shit town. Sure there’s Liz and Maria but I don’t miss them the way I miss you. The longer I didn’t see you the more I worried you’d finally leave this place and make something better for yourself, that i’d come back and you’d be gone but if you stayed on earth I could still find you and maybe we could be something too. No military. No small minded asshole small town hive minds. Just us, somewhere different where we could just be.”

Alex feels hopeful even though the small simple dream he’s kept at the back of his head hurts to voice. He’s said what he wants, what he wants with Michael. It’s one of the only things he truly wants besides keeping Michael safe.

“If you still want to leave i’d understand. You can take the piece of your ship and go where you need to. I’ve had it long enough.” He clenches his mouth shut before ‘I’ve had you long enough’ can slip out. Alex has said too much already and of course he wants to keep fighting, for Michael and them and what’s right, but Michael’s so close and is the only person Alex can be weak with. He’s tired, utterly exhausted and drained. He can be Captain Manes after he gets at least an hour nap. Alex can make a plan and do what he needs, now that he’s said what he could since he doesn’t have any other idea of what he should be doing.

Protect Michael. Let Michael leave because it would be safer. Save his people. Save his mom. Protect them from his dad. The list continues until it starts to cycle back to the start like a never ending loop making his mind go a bit numb. It’s that and sleep. He should sleep.

A loud pop jolts Alex alert and awake until he sees the shower of feathers swirling around him, none actually falling onto him or Michael, the fluffy down all settling down onto floor. Then there are hands pulling him up to face Michael, Michael who looks as devastated as he did back at Caulfield. It takes a second before Alex realizes he’s being shaken.

“You said we were done Alex. You stayed away for nearly 2 months while Liz and I were trying to find a cure for my sister and when I try and talk to you, you say it’s over. Then I show you something I’ve never shown anyone else before and you say you need time to think but now you’re telling me it made you panic because you thought I’d leave?” Michael’s voice steadily grew in volume until he’s yelling the next part.

“You left. You said you wanted us to be friends then didn’t talk to me after. I get you needed time but Alex, all I saw was you leaving me again, that the whole alien thing became too much and you finally decided you didn’t want me.”

Alex hears the faint sounds of things rattling around him but he’s too focused on Michael’s every word.

“I would never leave Isobel or Max but in all honesty I wouldn’t leave you either. The idea of rebuilding that ship and having the option to leave was the only thing that kept me sane while having to stay here. I had to stay in the same place as you father who would always find some way to remind me about what I lost. Where we thought Isobel killed Rosa and those girls and I had to lie and live with guilt. In a town who only knows me for being the town drunk and who sleeps around. In the place I had to stay to protect my sister who thought I was the killer for the last decade and believed it.”

His voice is going quiet now as everything just spills from Michael’s mouth, his hands holding onto Alex’s shoulder his only support.

“I stayed because I knew you might come back and if I could see you again, know you didn’t die in some desert that wasn’t this one, that your excuse of a father didn’t finally get you killed. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted and who made me feel like I might have a place on this horrible rotten planet.”

Michael stares into Alex’s eyes, hazel burning into brown with the shift of every emotion that flashes through them and he keeps going like he can’t get it out fast enough.

“But then we found others! Alex I thought we were the only ones that survived the crash. I found my mom and she loves me.” He’s sobbing now at the realization finally sinking in. “My whole life I’ve been hoping, waiting as I stare up at the sky for someone to come bring me back because no one really wants me here. Iz and Max have lives here. They got to grow up loved and with good people that I’m forever grateful for but I didn’t and sometimes it hurts. You were the one who made me realize there was a different kind of love Alex, one that could be just mine and I think if your dad wasn’t such a piece of shit and the world could just learn to love, if we had our chance to just be… we’d finally know what cosmic really means.”

“Michael.” All Alex can do is say his name as his brain tries to figure out what to say while also finding some way to provide comfort, arms already moving to pull Michael in and hold him like he did during the drive here but Michael just shakes his head with a pained laugh.

“God and you keep saying my name like that. I don’t even remember the last time you said my actual name to me but you keep saying it like it means so much more and I don’t understand. You want me? As a friend? More? Not at all? Why can’t we just love each other like we wanted to before everything fell apart? Why is it so hard when loving you is so easy! Do you need me to say it because I will Alex, if saying those words will make you stay I’ll never stop because it’s all I want to say when I look at you or even think about you. Do you think I don’t? Just tell me what I have to do because I’m so tired of not knowing.”

He pleads.

Alex wishes he knew the answer because it would make all of this so much easier but Michael’s not the only one tired of not knowing.

“I want to say its because I’ve been trying to protect you this whole time and staying away meant my father did too but that turned out to be a fucking lie.”

That reminder sparks anger that Alex doesn’t try to smother, that he instead uses to get the words he wants to out.

“No it’s because I’m broken and a mess who still can’t fight the hold his abusive father has on him. I don’t know either Michael and it’s ripping me apart. I want you, never stopped wanting you this whole time but I’ve never gotten to get what I want. Maybe with my dad gone and all this extra stuff that always gets in the way, we could finally get what we want but that’s not how life works.”

He lets his head fall and his forehead lands against Michael’s shoulder. He’s too tired to hold it up nor has the strength to say this to Michael’s face.

“I know you love me, it’s almost like something I can feel! But I’m not good with words Michael or feelings. This is the most I’ve spoken about everything I feel since we last talked. I don’t talk. I save it for later because there’s so much I need to do and I’ve always had to do it. You’re the only one I’ve ever been able to be weak with but even then I still have to fight for it.”

Alex pulls away and it’s almost chilling to lose Michael’s heat but he really needs to lay down and thankfully Michael follows. They lay next to each other and stare at the ceiling while Alex continues.

“I think sometimes it scares me how much we love each other. Every time you give me your heart I’m terrified okay. That I’m going to ruin it. That I won’t be able to handle all that love. That I’m just desperate to feel loved and you’ll change your mind once you see how ruined I already am.”

“If you’re ruined well so am I.”

Alex doesn’t know if Michael’s trying to comfort him or remind him.

“Because of me.” He chokes out and closes his eyes as he sees that horrible moment over and over.

“Fuck we need therapy. Not because of you Alex. How could you- wait of course you would. I guess this is what happens when we only talk about it once huh?”

Michael shifts and hovers over Alex so that he’s nearly straddling him but there’s just enough space so they’re not touching. Alex keeps his eyes closed.

“I’m going to remind you that what happened that day was not your fault. Alex that was probably the happiest and best day of my life that just happened to end so horribly. I got to finally touch you after wanting to for so long.”

Alex stays quiet but Michael can see how tense he his, meaning he isn’t asleep.

“Alex. Did you pick up that hammer and smash my hand?”

Alex’s eyes snap open at that.

“No but it’s because of-”

“Jesse Manes. It’s because of him. He did this to me and he sent you away. He can try and blame you for it all he likes but I know it’s his fault and his hate that did it.”

The stubborn glare Alex is giving him would be hilarious if the tears Michael sees didn’t hurt.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt me?” Michael questions then steamrolled on before Alex can answer. “No because you just told me you’ve been trying to protect me since that day. You’ve always been trying to protect me and it kinda pisses me off, now that I think about it, because by protecting me you’ve had to stay away when all i’ve ever wanted was for you to stay.”

Taking a breath Michael once again gives Alex his heart.

“So I’m staying and you better too. I won’t be level headed about freeing my mom and the others so i’m gonna need you Alex.”

Alex’s arms come around him and pulls him down.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Michael waits til Alex is finally asleep before gently pulling away so he can remove his belt buckle and move to the free space next to Alex. He just lays there letting everything they said sink in and enjoys the chaos go quiet when he focuses on Alex’s quiet breathing. He’s out before he knows it.

#malex #malex fic #malex fix-it fic #we get all the talking #cause COMMUNICATION IS IMPORTANT #This is the start of the beginning #of when Malex finally begin #LIKE THEY DESERVE DAMMIT #AU- Canon Diverge #Alex Manes #michael guerin #kyle valenti #BTH

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hlupdate · 5 years

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Harry Styles isn’t exactly dressed down for lunch. He’s got a white floppy hat that Diana Ross might have won from Elton in a poker game at Cher’s mansion circa 1974, plus Gucci shades, a cashmere sweater, and blue denim bell-bottoms. His nail polish is pink and mint green. He’s also carrying his purse — no other word for it — a yellow patent-canvas bag with the logo “Chateau Marmont.” The tough old ladies who work at this Beverly Hills deli know him well. Gloria and Raisa dote on him, calling him “my love” and bringing him his usual tuna salad and iced coffee. He turns heads, to put it mildly, but nobody comes near because the waitresses hover around the booth protectively.

He was just a small-town English lad of 16 when he became his generation’s pop idol with One Direction. When the group went on hiatus, he struck out on his own with his brash 2017 solo debut, whose lead single was the magnificently over-the-top six-minute piano ballad “Sign of the Times.” Even people who missed out on One Direction were shocked to learn the truth: This pinup boy was a rock star at heart.

A quick highlight reel of Harry’s 2019 so far: He hosted the Met Gala with Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Alessandro Michele, and Anna Wintour serving an eyebrow-raising black lace red-carpet look. He is the official face of a designer genderless fragrance, Gucci’s Mémoire d’une Odeur. When James Corden had an all-star dodgeball match on The Late Late Show, Harry got spiked by a hard serve from Michelle Obama, making him perhaps the first Englishman ever hit in the nads on TV by a First Lady.

Closer to his heart, he brought down the house at this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony with his tribute to his friend and idol Stevie Nicks. “She’s always there for you,” Harry said in his speech. “She knows what you need: advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl.” He added, “She’s responsible for more running mascara — including my own — than all the bad dates in history.” (Backstage, Nicks accidentally referred to Harry’s former band as “’NSync.” Hey, a goddess can get away with that sort of thing.)

Harry has been the world’s It boy for nearly a decade now. The weirdest thing about him? He loves being this guy. In a style of fast-lane celebrity that takes a ruthless toll on the artist’s personality, creativity, sanity, Harry is almost freakishly at ease. He has managed to grow up in public with all his boyish enthusiasm intact, not to mention his manners. He’s dated a string of high-profile women — but he never gets caught uttering any of their names in public, much less shading any of them. Instead of going the usual superstar-pop route — en vogue producers, celebrity duets, glitzy club beats — he’s gone his own way, and gotten more popular than ever. He’s putting the finishing touches on his new album, full of the toughest, most soulful songs he’s written yet. As he explains, “It’s all about having sex and feeling sad.”

The Harry Charm is a force of nature, and it can be almost frightening to witness in action. The most startling example might be a backstage photo from February taken with one of his heroes, Van Morrison. You have never seen a Van picture like this one. He’s been posing for photos for 50 years, and he’s been refusing to crack a smile in nearly all of them. Until he met Harry — for some reason, Van beams like a giddy schoolgirl. What did Harry do to him? “I was tickling him behind his back,” Harry confides. “Somebody sent me that photo — I think his tour manager took it. When I saw it, I felt like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction opening the case with the gold light shining. I was like, ‘Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t show this to anyone.’”

In interviews, Harry has always tended to coast on that charm, simply because he can. In his teens, he was in public every minute and became adept at guarding every scrap of his privacy. But these days, he’s finding out he has things he wants to say. He’s more confident about thinking out loud and seeing what happens. “Looser” is how he puts it. “More open. I’m discovering how much better it makes me feel to be open with friends. Feeling that vulnerability, rather than holding everything in.”

Like a lot of people his age, he’s asking questions about culture, gender, identity, new ideas about masculinity and sexuality. “I feel pretty lucky to have a group of friends who are guys who would talk about their emotions and be really open,” he says. “My friend’s dad said to me, ‘You guys are so much better at it than we are. I never had friends I could really talk to. It’s good that you guys have each other because you talk about real shit. We just didn’t.’”

It’s changed how he approaches his songs. “For me, it doesn’t mean I’ll sit down and be like, ‘This is what I have for dinner, and this is where I eat every day, and this is what I do before I go to bed,’” he says. “But I will tell you that I can be really pathetic when I’m jealous. Feeling happier than I’ve ever been, sadder than I’ve ever been, feeling sorry for myself, being mad at myself, being petty and pitiful — it feels really different to share that.”

At times, Harry sounds like an ordinary 25-year-old figuring his shit out, which, of course, he is. (Harry and I got to know each other last year, when he got in touch after reading one of my books, though I’d already been writing about his music for years.) It’s strange to hear him talk about shedding his anxieties and doubts, since he’s always come across as one of the planet’s most confident people. “While I was in the band,” he says, “I was constantly scared I might sing a wrong note. I felt so much weight in terms of not getting things wrong. I remember when I signed my record deal and I asked my manager, ‘What happens if I get arrested? Does it mean the contract is null and void?’ Now, I feel like the fans have given me an environment to be myself and grow up and create this safe space to learn and make mistakes.”

We slip out the back and spend a Saturday afternoon cruising L.A. in his 1972 silver Jaguar E-type. The radio doesn’t work, so we just sing “Old Town Road.” He marvels, “‘Bull riding and boobies’ — that is potentially the greatest lyric in any song ever.” Harry used to be pop’s mystery boy, so diplomatic and tight-lipped. But as he opens up over time, telling his story, he reaches the point where he’s pitching possible headlines for this profile. His best: “Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations.”

How did he get to this new place? As it turns out, the journey involves some heartbreak. Some guidance from David Bowie. Some Transcendental Meditation. And more than a handful of magic mushrooms. But mostly, it comes down to a curious kid who can’t decide whether to be the world’s most ardently adored pop star, or a freaky artiste. So he decides to be both.

Two things about English rock stars never change: They love Southern California, and they love cars. A few days after Harry proclaimed the genius of “Old Town Road,” we’re in a different ride — a Tesla — cruising the Pacific Coast Highway while Harry sings along to the radio. “Californiaaaaaa!” he yells from behind the wheel as we whip past Zuma Beach. “It sucks!” There’s a surprising number of couples along the beach who seem to be arguing. We speculate on which ones are breaking up and which are merely having the talk. “Ah, yes, the talk,” Harry says dreamily. “Ye olde chat.”

Harry is feeling the smooth Seventies yacht-rock grooves today, blasting Gerry Rafferty, Pablo Cruise, Hall and Oates. When I mention that Nina Simone once did a version of “Rich Girl,” he needs to hear it right away. He counters by blowing my mind with Donny Hathaway’s version of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy.”

Harry raves about a quintessential SoCal trip he just tried: a “cold sauna,” a process that involves getting locked in an ice chamber. His eyelashes froze. We stop for a smoothie (“It’s basically ice cream”) and his favorite pepper-intensive wheatgrass shot. It goes down like a dose of battery acid. “That’ll add years to your life,” he assures me.

We’re on our way to Shangri-La studios in Malibu, founded by the Band back in the 1970s, now owned by Rick Rubin. It’s where Harry made some of the upcoming album, and as we walk in, he grins at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Did a lot of mushrooms in here.”

Psychedelics have started to play a key role in his creative process. “We’d do mushrooms, lie down on the grass, and listen to Paul McCartney’s Ram in the sunshine,” he says. “We’d just turn the speakers into the yard.” The chocolate edibles were kept in the studio fridge, right next to the blender. “You’d hear the blender going, and think, ‘So we’re all having frozen margaritas at 10 a.m. this morning.’” He points to a corner: “This is where I was standing when we were doing mushrooms and I bit off the tip of my tongue. So I was trying to sing with all this blood gushing out of my mouth. So many fond memories, this place.”

It’s not mere rock-star debauchery — it’s emblematic of his new state of mind. You get the feeling this is why he enjoys studios so much. After so many years making One Direction albums while touring, always on the run, he finally gets to take his time and embrace the insanity of it all. “We were here for six weeks in Malibu, without going into the city,” he says. “People would bring their dogs and kids. We’d take a break to play cornhole tournaments. Family values!” But it’s also the place where he has proudly bled for his art. “Mushrooms and Blood. Now there’s an album title.”

Some of the engineers come over to catch up on gossip. Harry gestures out the window to the Pacific waves, where the occasional nude revelry might have happened, and where the occasional pair of pants got lost. “There was one night where we’d been partying a bit and ended up going down to the beach and I lost all my stuff, basically,” he says. “I lost all my clothes. I lost my wallet. Maybe a month later, somebody found my wallet and mailed it back, anonymously. I guess it just popped out of the sand. But what’s sad is, I lost my favorite mustard corduroy flares.” A moment of silence is held for the corduroy flares.

Recording in the studio today is Brockhampton, the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest boy band.” Harry says hi to all the Brockhampton guys, which takes a while since there seem to be a few dozen of them. “We’re together all the time,” one tells Harry out in the yard. “We see each other all day, every day.” He pauses. “You know how it is.”

Harry breaks into a dry grin. “Yes, I know how it is.”

One Direction made three of this century’s biggest and best pop albums in a rush — Midnight Memories, Four and Made in the A.M. Yet they cut those records on tour, ducking into the nearest studio when they had a day off. 1D were a unique mix of five different musical personalities: Harry, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne. But the pace took its toll. Malik quit in the middle of a tour, immediately after a show in Hong Kong. The band announced its hiatus in August 2015.

It’s traditional for boy-band singers, as they go solo and grow up, to renounce their pop past. Everybody remembers George Michael setting his leather jacket on fire, or Sting quitting the Police to make jazz records. This isn’t really Harry Styles’ mentality. “I know it’s the thing that always happens. When somebody gets out of a band, they go, ‘That wasn’t me. I was held back.’ But it was me. And I don’t feel like I was held back at all. It was so much fun. If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not like I was tied to a radiator.”

Whenever Harry mentions One Direction — never by name, always “the band” or “the band I was in” — he uses the past tense. It is my unpleasant duty to ask: Does he see 1D as over? “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d ever say I’d never do it again, because I don’t feel that way. If there’s a time when we all really want to do it, that’s the only time for us to do it, because I don’t think it should be about anything else other than the fact that we’re all like, ‘Hey, this was really fun. We should do this again.’ But until that time, I feel like I’m really enjoying making music and experimenting. I enjoy making music this way too much to see myself doing a full switch, to go back and do that again. Because I also think if we went back to doing things the same way, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway.”

When the band stopped, did he take those friendships with him? “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Definitely. Because above all else, we’re the people who went through that. We’re always going to have that, even if we’re not the closest. And the fact is, just because you’re in a band with someone doesn’t mean you have to be best friends. That’s not always how it works. Just because Fleetwood Mac fight, that doesn’t mean they’re not amazing. I think even in the disagreements, there’s always a mutual respect for each other — we did this really cool thing together, and we’ll always have that. It’s too important to me to ever be like, ‘Oh, that’s done.’ But if it happens, it will happen for the right reasons.”

If the intensity of the Harry fandom ever seems mysterious to you, there’s a live clip you might want to investigate, from the summer of 2018. Just search the phrase “Tina, she’s gay.” In San Jose, on one of the final nights of his tour, Harry spots a fan with a homemade sign: “I’m Gonna Come Out to My Parents Because of You!” He asks the fan her name (she says it’s Grace) and her mother’s name (Tina). He asks the audience for silence because he has an important announcement to make: “Tina! She’s gaaaaay!” Then he has the entire crowd say it together. Thousands of strangers start yelling “Tina, she’s gay,” and every one of them clearly means it — it’s a heavy moment, definitely not a sound you forget after you hear it. Then Harry sings “What Makes You Beautiful.” (Of course, the way things work now, the clip went viral within minutes. So did Grace’s photo of Tina giving a loving thumbs-up to her now-out teenage daughter. Grace and Tina attended Harry’s next show together.)

Harry likes to cultivate an aura of sexual ambiguity, as overt as the pink polish on his nails. He’s dated women throughout his life as a public figure, yet he has consistently refused to put any kind of label on his sexuality. On his first solo tour, he frequently waved the pride, bi, and trans flags, along with the Black Lives Matter flag. In Philly, he waved a rainbow flag he borrowed from a fan up front: “Make America Gay Again.” One of the live fan favorites: “Medicine,” a guitar jam that sounds a bit like the Grateful Dead circa Europe ’72, but with a flamboyantly pansexual hook: “The boys and girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it.”

He’s always had a flair for flourishes like this, since the 1D days. An iconic clip from November 2014: Harry and Liam are on a U.K. chat show. The host asks the oldest boy-band fan-bait question in the book: What do they look for in a date? “Female,” Liam quips. “That’s a good trait.” Harry shrugs. “Not that important.” Liam is taken aback. The host is in shock. On tour in the U.S. that year, he wore a Michael Sam football jersey, in support of the first openly gay player drafted by an NFL team. He’s blown up previously unknown queer artists like King Princess and Muna.

What do those flags onstage mean to him? “I want to make people feel comfortable being whatever they want to be,” he says. “Maybe at a show you can have a moment of knowing that you’re not alone. I’m aware that as a white male, I don’t go through the same things as a lot of the people that come to the shows. I can’t claim that I know what it’s like, because I don’t. So I’m not trying to say, ‘I understand what it’s like.’ I’m just trying to make people feel included and seen.”

On tour, he had an End Gun Violence sticker on his guitar; he added a Black Lives Matter sticker, as well as the flag. “It’s not about me trying to champion the cause, because I’m not the person to do that,” he says. “It’s just about not ignoring it, I guess. I was a little nervous to do that because the last thing I wanted was for it to feel like I was saying, ‘Look at me! I’m the good guy!’ I didn’t want anyone who was really involved in the movement to think, ‘What the fuck do you know?’ But then when I did it, I realized people got it. Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’”

At one of his earliest solo shows, in Stockholm, he announced, “If you are black, if you are white, if you are gay, if you are straight, if you are transgender — whoever you are, whoever you want to be, I support you. I love every single one of you.” “It’s a room full of accepting people.… If you’re someone who feels like an outsider, you’re not always in a big crowd like that,” he says. “It’s not about, ‘Oh, I get what it’s like,’ because I don’t. For example, I go walking at night before bed most of the time. I was talking about that with a female friend and she said, ‘Do you feel safe doing that?’ And I do. But when I walk, I’m more aware that I feel OK to walk at night, and some of my friends wouldn’t. I’m not saying I know what it feels like to go through that. It’s just being aware.”

‘Man cannot live by coffee alone,” Harry says. “But he will give it a damn good try.” He sips his iced Americano — not his first today, or his last. He’s back behind the wheel, on a mission to yet another studio — but this time for actual work. Today it’s string overdubs. Harry is dressed in Gucci from head to toe, except for one item of clothing: a ratty Seventies rock T-shirt he proudly scavenged from a vintage shop. It says “Commander Quaalude.”

On the drive over, he puts on the jazz pianist Bill Evans — “Peace Piece,” from 1959, which is the wake-up tone on his phone. He just got into jazz during a long sojourn in Japan. He likes to find places to hide out and be anonymous: For his first album, he decamped to Jamaica. Over the past year, he spent months roaming Japan.

In February, he spent his 25th birthday sitting by himself in a Tokyo cafe, reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. “I love Murakami,” he says. “He’s one of my favorites. Reading didn’t really used to be my thing. I had such a short attention span. But I was dating someone who gave me some books; I felt like I had to read them because she’d think I was a dummy if I didn’t read them.”

A friend gave him Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. “It was the first book, maybe ever, where all I wanted to do all day was read this,” he says. “I had a very Murakami birthday because I ended up staying in Tokyo on my own. I had grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast, then I went to this cafe. I sat and drank tea and read for five hours.”

In the studio, he’s overseeing the string quartet. He has the engineers play T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” for them, to illustrate the vibe he’s going for. You can see he enjoys being on this side of the glass, sitting at the Neve board, giving his instructions to the musicians. After a few run-throughs, he presses the intercom button to say, “Yeah, it’s pretty T. Rex. Best damn strings I ever heard.” He buzzes again to add, “And you’re all wonderful people.”

He’s curated his own weird enclave of kindred spirits to collaborate with, like producers Jeff Bhasker and Tyler Johnson. His guitarist Mitch Rowland was working at an L.A. pizza shop when Harry met him. They started writing songs for the debut; Rowland didn’t quit his job until two weeks into the sessions. One of his closest collaborators is also one of his best friends: Tom Hull, a.k.a. Kid Harpoon, a longtime cohort of Florence and the Machine. Hull is an effusive Brit with a heart-on-sleeve personality. Harry calls him “my emotional rock.” Hull calls him “Gary.”

Hull was the one who talked him into taking a course on Transcendental Meditation at David Lynch’s institute — beginning each day with 20 minutes of silence, which doesn’t always come naturally to either of them. “He’s got this wise-beyond-his-years timelessness about him,” Hull says. “That’s why he went on a whole emotional exploration with these songs.” He’s 12 years older, with a wife and kids in Scotland, and talks about Harry like an irreverent but doting big brother.

Last year, Harry was in the gossip columns dating the French model Camille Rowe; they split up last summer after a year together. “He went through this breakup that had a big impact on him,” Hull says. “I turned up on Day One in the studio, and I had these really nice slippers on. His ex-girlfriend that he was really cut up about, she gave them to me as a present — she bought slippers for my whole family. We’re still close friends with her. I thought, ‘I like these slippers. Can I wear them — is that weird?’

“So I turn up at Shangri-La the first day and literally within the first half-hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Where’d you get those slippers? They’re nice.’ I had to say, ‘Oh, um, your ex-girlfriend got them for me.’ He said, ‘Whaaaat? How could you wear those?’ He had a whole emotional journey about her, this whole relationship. But I kept saying, ‘The best way of dealing with it is to put it in these songs you’re writing.’”

True to his code of gallant discretion, Harry doesn’t say her name at any point. But he admits the songs are coming from personal heartbreak. “It’s not like I’ve ever sat and done an interview and said, ‘So I was in a relationship, and this is what happened,’” he says. “Because, for me, music is where I let that cross over. It’s the only place, strangely, where it feels right to let that cross over.”

The new songs are certainly charged with pain. “The stars didn’t align for them to be a forever thing,” Hull says. “But I told him that famous Iggy Pop quote where he says, ‘I only ever date women who are going to fuck me up, because that’s where the songs are.’ I said, ‘You’re 24, 25 years old, you’re in the eligible-bachelor category. Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up, and explore and have an adventure and let it affect you and write songs about it.’”

His band is full of indie rockers who’ve gotten swept up in Hurricane Harry. Before becoming his iconic drum goddess, Sarah Jones played in New Young Pony Club, a London band fondly remembered by a few dozen of us. Rowland and Jones barely knew anything about One Direction before they met Harry — the first time they heard “Story of My Life” was when he asked them to play it. Their conversation is full of references to Big Star or Guided by Voices or the Nils Lofgren guitar solo in Neil Young’s “Speakin’ Out.” This is a band full of shameless rock geeks, untainted by industry professionalism.

In the studio, while making the album, Harry kept watching a vintage Bowie clip on his phone — a late-Nineties TV interview I’d never seen. As he plays it for me, he recites along — he’s got the rap memorized. “Never play to the gallery,” Bowie advises. “Never work for other people in what you do.” For Harry, this was an inspiring pep talk — a reminder not to play it safe. As Bowie says, “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

He got so obsessive about Joni Mitchell and her 1971 classic Blue, he went on a quest. “I was in a big Joni hole,” he says. “I kept hearing the dulcimer all over Blue. So I tracked down the lady who built Joni’s dulcimers in the Sixties.” He found her living in Culver City. “She said, ‘Come and see me,’” Hull says. “We turn up at her house and he said, ‘How do you even play a dulcimer?’ She gave us a lesson. Then she got a bongo and we were all jamming with these big Cheshire Cat grins.” She built the dulcimer Harry plays on the new album. “Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, those are my two favorites,” he says. “Blue and Astral Weeks are just the ultimate in terms of songwriting. Melody-wise, they’re in their own lane.”

He’s always been the type to go overboard with his fanboy enthusiasms, ever since he was a kid and got his mind blown by Pulp Fiction. “I watched it when I was probably too young,” he admits. “But when I was 13, I saved up money from my paper route to buy a ‘Bad Motherfucker’ wallet. Just a stupid white kid in the English countryside with that wallet.” While in Japan, he got obsessively into Paul McCartney and Wings, especially London Town and Back to the Egg. “In Tokyo I used to go to a vinyl bar, but the bartender didn’t have Wings records. So I brought him Back to the Egg. ‘Arrow Through Me,’ that was the song I had to hear every day when I was in Japan.”

He credits meditation for helping to loosen him up. “I was such a skeptic going in,” he says. “But I think meditation has helped with worrying about the future less, and the past less. I feel like I take a lot more in—things that used to pass by me because I was always rushing around. It’s part of being more open and talking with friends. It’s not always the easiest to go in a room and say, ‘I made a mistake and it made me feel like this, and then I cried a bunch.’ But that moment where you really let yourself be in that zone of being vulnerable, you reach this feeling of openness. That’s when you feel like, ‘Oh, I’m fucking living, man.’”

After quite a few hours of recording the string quartet, a bottle of Casamigos tequila is opened. Commander Quaalude pours the drinks, then decides what the song needs now is a gaggle of nonsingers bellowing the chorus. “Muppet vocals” is how he describes it. He drags everyone in sight to crowd around the mics. Between takes, he wanders over to the piano to play Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up.” One of the choir members, creative director Molly Hawkins, is the friend who gave him the Murakami novel. “I think every man should read Norwegian Wood,” she says. “Harry’s the only man I’ve given it to who actually read it.”

It’s been a hard day’s night in the studio, but after hours, everyone heads to a dive bar on the other side of town to see Rowland play a gig. He’s sitting in with a local bar band, playing bass. Harry drives around looking for the place, taking in the sights of downtown L.A. (“Only a city as narcissistic as L.A. would have a street called Los Angeles Street,” he says.) He strolls in and leans against the bar in the back of the room. It’s an older crowd, and nobody here has any clue who he is. He’s entirely comfortable lurking incognito in a dim gin joint. After the gig, as the band toasts with PBRs, an old guy in a ball cap strolls over and gives Rowland a proud bear hug. It’s his boss from the pizza shop.

In the wee hours, Harry drives down a deserted Sunset Boulevard, his favorite time of night to explore the city streets, arguing over which is the best Steely Dan album. He insists that Can’t Buy a Thrill is better than Countdown to Ecstasy (wrongly), and seals his case by turning it up and belting “Midnight Cruiser” with truly appalling gusto. Tonight Hollywood is full of bright lights, glitzy clubs, red carpets, but the prettiest pop star in town is behind the wheel, singing along with every note of the sax solo from “Dirty Work.”

A few days later, on the other side of the world: Harry’s pad in London is lavish, yet very much a young single dude’s lair. Over here: a wall-size framed Sex Pistols album cover. Over there: a vinyl copy of Stevie Nicks’ The Other Side of the Mirror, casually resting on the floor. He’s having a cup of tea with his mum, Anne, the spitting image of her son, all grace and poise. “We’re off to the pub,” he tells her. “We’re going to talk some shop.” She smiles sweetly. “Talk some shit, probably,” says Anne.

We head off to his local, sloshing through the rain. He’s wearing a Spice World hoodie and savoring the soggy London-osity of the day. “Ah, Londres!” he says grandly. “I missed this place.” He wants to sit at a table outside, even though it’s pouring, and we chat away the afternoon over a pot of mint tea and a massive plate of fish and chips. When I ask for toast, the waitress brings out a loaf of bread roughly the size of a wheelbarrow. “Welcome to England,” Harry says.

He’s always had a fervent female fandom, and, admirably, he’s never felt a need to pretend he doesn’t love it that way. “They’re the most honest — especially if you’re talking about teenage girls, but older as well,” he says. “They have that bullshit detector. You want honest people as your audience. We’re so past that dumb outdated narrative of ‘Oh, these people are girls, so they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ They’re the ones who know what they’re talking about. They’re the people who listen obsessively. They fucking own this shit. They’re running it.”

He doesn’t have the uptightness some people have about sexual politics, or about identifying as a feminist. “I think ultimately feminism is thinking that men and women should be equal, right? People think that if you say ‘I’m a feminist,’ it means you think men should burn in hell and women should trample on their necks. No, you think women should be equal. That doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to me. I grew up with my mum and my sister — when you grow up around women, your female influence is just bigger. Of course men and women should be equal. I don’t want a lot of credit for being a feminist. It’s pretty simple. I think the ideals of feminism are pretty straightforward.”

His audience has a reputation for ferocity, and the reputation is totally justified. At last summer’s show at Madison Square Garden, the floor was wobbling during “Kiwi” — I’ve been seeing shows there since the 1980s, but I’d never seen that happen before. (The only other time? His second night.) His bandmates admit they feared for their lives, but Harry relished it. “To me, the greatest thing about the tour was that the room became the show,” he says. “It’s not just me.” He sips his tea. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a room, asking them to bear with him.”

That evening, Fleetwood Mac take the stage in London — a sold-out homecoming gig at Wembley Stadium, the last U.K. show of their tour. Needless to say, their most devoted fan is in the house. Harry has brought a date: his mother, her first Fleetwood Mac show. He’s also with his big sister Gemma, bandmates Rowland and Jones, a couple of friends.

He’s in hyperactive-host mode, buzzing around his cozy VIP box, making sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped off at all times. As soon as the show begins, Harry’s up on his feet, singing along (“Tell me, tell me liiiiies!”) and cracking jokes. You can tell he feels free — as if his radar is telling him there aren’t snoopers or paparazzi watching. (He’s correct. This is a rare public appearance where nobody spots him and no photos leak online.) It’s family night. His friend Mick Fleetwood wilds out on the drum solo. “Imagine being that cool,” Gemma says.

Midway through the show, Harry’s demeanor suddenly changes. He gets uncharacteristically solemn and quiet, sitting down by himself and focusing intently on the stage. It’s the first time all night he’s taken a seat. He’s in a different zone than he was in a few minutes ago. But he’s seen many Fleetwood Mac shows, and he knows where they are in the set. It’s time for “Landslide.” He sits with his chin in hand, his eyes zeroing in on Stevie Nicks. As usual, she introduces her most famous song with the story of how she wrote it when she was just a lass of 27.

But Stevie has something else she wants to share. She tells the stadium crowd, “I’d like to dedicate this to my little muse, Harry Styles, who brought his mother tonight. Her name is Anne. And I think you did a really good job raising Harry, Anne. Because he’s really a gentleman, sweet and talented, and, boy, that appeals to me. So all of you, this is for you.”

As Stevie starts to sing “Landslide” — “I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around youuuu” — Anne walks over to where Harry sits. She crouches down behind him, reaches her arms around him tightly. Neither of them says a word. They listen together and hold each other close to the very end of the song. Everybody in Wembley is singing along with Stevie, but these two are in a world of their own.

#harry styles #rs #260819 #drug mention

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

Text

Pluralistic: 05 Mar 2020 (New Pinkwater, RIP Jim Tyre, Right to Repair and covid, Radicalized is a bestseller, African Whatsapp modders)

Today's links

Daniel Pinkwater wrote a new novel! Yippee for "ADVENTURES OF A DWERGISH GIRL!"

Warner Chappel discoved a new form of copyright fuckery so dense it blew a wormhole into another dimension: From the people who fraudulently claimed to own "Happy Birthday" for decades.

RIP, Jim Tyre: The free internet just lost one of its most dedicated defenders.

Decentralizing the web is a human problem: The web needs stewards, not owners.

Right to Repair is the right to resilience: Independent repair is how we keep things going during emergencies.

Keyless car fobs can be defeated with a cheap RFID cloner: Car manufacturers wontfix a showstopper bug. Again.

Bookstores, libraries, human thriving and mental health: Books are great, even if the science behind their greatness is thin.

Copyright experts' panel on fair use removed from Youtube: A strange game. The only winning move is not to play. How about a nice game of chess?

Radicalized is out in paperback: Just hit every one of Canada's national bestseller lists, too!

African Whatsapp modders are outcompeting Facebook: Adversarial Interoperability is how you beat digital colonialism.

This day in history: 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

I'm coming to Kelowna, BC today! I'll be at the library from 6-8PM with my book Radicalized for the CBC's Canada Reads. It's free, but you need to RSVP (and most of the seats are gone, so act quick).

https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/cbc-radio-presents-in-conversation-with-cory-doctorow-tickets-96154415445

Daniel Pinkwater wrote a new novel! (permalink)

Well, this is amazing news. Daniel Pinkwater has a new middle grades novel coming out in September: ADVENTURES OF A DWERGISH GIRL!

https://tachyonpublications.com/bestselling-author-daniel-pinkwater-returns-in-classic-form-with-the-illustrated-middle-grade-adventures-of-a-dwergish-girl/

Molly O'Malley is a clever, adventurous girl. She is also a Dwerg. Dwergs are strange folks who live very quietly in the Catskill mountains, have lots of gold, and are kind of like dwarves (but also not!).

Molly isn't interested in cooking and weaving, as she is expected to be. So, she sets off to see the world for herself. Which means a new job, a trip to New York City, prowling gangsters, an adorable king, a city witch, and many historical ghosts. More importantly, it means excellent pizza, new friends, and very quick thinking.

Now someone is pursuing the Dwergs for their gold. Can Molly O'Malley save the day?

IOW: this is a book with every single thing I love about Pinkwater novels. Reading Daniel Pinkwater – as a kid and as an adult – was hugely important to my development as a writer and a human being. Meeting another Pinkwater fan is always a sign that you are among good people.

Warner Chappel discoved a new form of copyright fuckery so dense it blew a wormhole into another dimension (permalink)

I've seen some next-level copyfraud fuckery in my day, believe me, but Adam Neely's tale of Warner Chappell's copyfraud reaches a new height of absurdity.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KM6X2MEl7R8

This is sleazy even by Warner Chappell standards, and they're the crooks who fraudulently claimed ownership over Happy Birthday for decades.

https://vimeo.com/172715640

Buckle up for this one, as it is an onion of bizarre, bad-faith corporate behavior, with each layer peeling back to reveal another, even weirder and more terrible one. It starts with a garbage lawsuit against Katy Perry for including a piece of background music in her song Dark Horse that was similar to another very generic lick in an obscure Christian rap song called "A Joyful Noise."

No one claimed that Katy Perry lifted the brief snatch of music from Joyful Noise. Rather, the case turned on the precedent set when Martin Gaye's heirs sued Robin Thicke over "Blurred Lines," arguing that the song had a similar vibe to Gaye's. Gaye's heirs should not have won that suit. But they did. And it opened the floodgates to nuisance suits targeting the likes of Perry and her publisher, Warner-Chappell. They lost the suit and got hit for $2.8m.

This isn't even the fuckery part, by the way.

Enter Adam Neely, who created a massively successful viral video defending Warner Chappell and Katy Perry, arguing that the suit was garbage. The video was so successful he went on national media to discuss the case and was even asked to sign onto an amicus brief.

Let the fuckery begin:

Warner Chappell has claimed copyright over Neely's video, claiming that a few seconds of music that he used was the "melody" of Katy Perry's song.

Further fuckery:

In the case, Warner Chappell argued that this specific musical phrase was not the melody, and was rather some incidental background sound.

Fuckery extreme:

The Warner Chappell claim was not automated. A human manually claimed this phrase of music as Warner-Chappell's, despite:

a) Them having disclaimed ownership of it in a lawsuit,

b) Losing that suit and being told by a court that it wasn't theirs.

Fuckery to the max!

But the musical phrase they claimed ownership over was from "A Joyful Noise," the song they lost two point eight million dollars over, having claimed that their song was not confusingly similar to it.

The two musical phrases – the one from "Dark Horse" and the one from "Joyful Noise" – were so similar that Warner-Chappell's own copyright enforcers mistakenly claimed copyright over the wrong one!

2020 folks. Don't forget to tip your servers, they work hard.

RIP, Jim Tyre (permalink)

My old EFF comrade Jim Tyre just died.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/03/rip-eff-special-counsel-jim-tyre

Jim was a tireless civil liberties litigator, a titan of First Amendment law whose entree to tech law was defending people who criticized censorware companies who wildly overblocked what schoolkids could see. He was also incredibly garrulous, funny, a born raconteur whose encylopedic memory served him well both as a storyteller and a litigator.

Jim worked on the 2600 DMCA case, he defended Ed Felten when he was threatened by the RIAA, he fought ICANN, and he was key to our longrunning suit against NSA over mass surveillance.

Jim always worked offsite. He lived in LA and had eye problems that rendered him nearly completely blind. But he kept a stash of cash at the EFF offices so he could contribute to every whip-round for a baby gift or a wedding present.

He was a true mensch.

Decentralizing the web is a human problem (permalink)

My old EFF colleague Mai Sutton just published a smashing primer on competition, interoperability, and stewardship and the world of tech:

https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20200228/22053744006/defeating-tech-giants-with-open-protocols-interoperability-shared-stewardship.shtm

After delivering a good backgrounder on the history of the wars between shared protocols and proprietary technologies, Mai delves into the thicket of laws that have cropped up to prevent technologists from adding interoperability to existing technologies.

This has led to a new online enclosure, with "Google" becoming synonymous with "search" and "Facebook" synonymous with "social media." These businesses once competed, but today, they preside alone, over protected territory.

But some of that is changing. Between legislative proposals, new standardization efforts, the Decentralized Web movement and its protocols, and a reinvigorated threat of antitrust enforcement, there's some hope that the web will reopen and redecentralize.

Ultimately, Mai writes, this has more to do with how we view the web than how we use it. If we think of the online world as a shared space for humanity then the technologists who keep it running are stewards, not owners.

(Image: Dietrich Ayala (https://hacks.mozilla.org/2018/07/introducing-the-d-web/) and Open Clip Art (https://openclipart.org/)

Right to Repair is the right to resilience (permalink)

Writing in Wired, Kyle Wiens makes the crucial link between the Right To Repair and resilience, especially during moments of disruption to global supply chains.

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-the-right-to-repair-will-help-us-endure-outbreaks/

It's no coincidence that farms and farmers have been leaders in Right to Repair: when you're isolated and you're not allowed to fix your stuff, it means that you can neither nip down to the shops for a replacement, nor easily have an authorized repair tech come to your place.

Covid can put everyone – even entire nations – into the position of that isolated farmer. As Long Beach port is denuded of shipping containers, as air- and rail-links are broken between parts of the country, the stream of parts, replacement units and technicians stops.

A key principle of resilience is to put resources at the edge, replacing hub-and-spoke models with point-to-point, peer-to-peer ones that infuse the system with redundancy. Neoliberalism hates redundancy and equates it with wastefulness.

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1228326004508151808

But redundancy is the key to graceful failure-modes. Limiting repairs to authorized service centers works well (reliable, and certainly great for shareholders), but it fails very, very badly. Right to Repair is how our hospitals, schools, infrastructure maintenance, first responder and other vital services will keep the lights on if things go horribly wrong. Resiliency may be bad for shareholder value, but it's vital to human survival.

Keyless car fobs can be defeated with a cheap RFID cloner (permalink)

Toyota, Hyundai and Kia keyless ignition fobs can be cloned by attackers who get within a few inches of your pocket (say, at a conference), thanks to implementation errors that the auto-makers made with their Texas Instruments DST80 security systems.

https://www.wired.com/story/hackers-can-clone-millions-of-toyota-hyundai-kia-keys/

All you need is a Proxmark RFID scanner, which retails for about $300. That's more than the range-extenders used to steal cars from out front of targets' homes, but unlike those attackers, fob-cloners can start and stop the car as often as they like.

https://hackerwarehouse.com/product/proxmark3-rdv4-kit/

The researchers who did this work come from KU Leuven and the University of Birmingham. Their paper is great:

https://tches.iacr.org/index.php/TCHES/article/view/8546/8111

The attack on its own does not let you start the cars. All it does is disable the immobilizer that stopped people from hot-wiring the ignition system with a screwdriver.

"You're downgrading the security to what it was in the '80s." -Flavio Garcia, University of Birmingham.

The implementation mistakes by the car companies are embarrassingly basic. Kia and Hyundai's implementation only has 24 bits of randomness ("a couple milliseconds with a laptop"). Toyota uses a serial number as a seed, then transmits that serial number in the clear. The companies, naturally, are saying it's no biggie. Toyota claims the attack requires "a highly specialized device that is not commonly available on the market." This just isn't true. I found it with literally one search.

None of the vendors have offered to fix the problem for drivers who bring their cars to garages.

It's depressing, but at least now you know whether you can trust your car's security.

"It's better to be in a place where we know what kind of security we're getting from our security devices. Otherwise, only the criminals know." -Flavio Garcia.

Bookstores, libraries, human thriving and mental health (permalink)

I love Lydia Smith's hymn to the mental health benefits of books, libraries and reading (even if I think the science is less than convincing)

https://www.opendemocracy.net/en/transformation/how-books-and-bookshops-improve-our-mental-health-and-why-we-must-protect-them/

Reading fiction definitely stretches your empathy. For a novel to work, you have to be invested in the lives of people who don't even exist. The death of the yogurt you digested with breakfast this morning is technically more tragic than the deaths of Romeo and Juliet. The yogurt was really alive and now it's really dead. Romeo and Juliet neither lived nor died. Fiction reading is varsity-level empathy!

I agree that the traditional fiction arc – adversity met and overcome – can lighten a dark day. I turn to Kim Stanley Robinson's "Pacific Edge" whenever I'm blue for that reason. I even played a small role in getting adapted for DRM-free audio.

https://boingboing.net/2015/01/15/audio-edition-of-pacific-edge.html

(Pacific Edge was just reissued as a "Tor Essential" in an omnibus with the other two "Californias" novels, sporting a fabulous intro by Francis Spufford. Run, don't walk!)

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250307569

It's also utterly true that books are a path to resilience and self-reliance, filled as they can be with how-tos, analysis and technical knowledge. As the Whole Earth Catalogues used to have it, "Access to tools and ideas."

(It must be said that the net is infinitely better at this than print books, provided you can get online. The use of a time-transported town library to jumpstart post-industrial civilization during the 30 Years War in Eric Flint's 1632 is delightful)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1632_(novel)

Libraries, of course, are the last place in our civilization where you are welcomed because you are a human being, not because you are an ambulatory wallet. Librarians, resist the urge to call people "customers." They're "patrons." That's far more dignified (and accurate).

And working in a bookstore is certainly therapeutic, for certain values of therapy. It can be a grind, but OMG is it ever great connecting people with books that you love and watching them fall in love, too. Generally I'm in accord with the essay. I just don't think the studies cited are of very high quality and/or recency.

It's OK to say, "I love bookstores and libraries because they're fabulous" without having to provide evidence for that fabulousness.

NYU law school's Engelberg Center on Innovation Law & Policy held a symposium on copyright and the net with a panel on "when one song infringes the copyright of another and to prove if the accused song is 'substantially similar' enough to be illegal."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVQTz65Bq70

The video of the panel was taken down from Youtube after multiple copyright complaints from rightsholders who claimed that the brief clips, chosen by America's leading copyright experts as being fair use, were infringing.

https://www.law.nyu.edu/centers/engelberg/news/2020-03-04-youtube-takedown

These clips weren't just fair use; they'd been chosen by top legal scholars to illustrate what fair use was.

The rightsholder reps who issued the takedown claims for these videos did so manually – that is, these complaints were not automatically generated.

In the grand tradition of copyfraud fuckery, when the law professors appealed, the rights enforcement dimbulbs (trained on xeroxed procedures in three-ring binders) reasserted their claims, putting the law school at risk of losing its Youtube account.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/05/warner-chappell-copyfraud#warnerchappell

The law profs knew they had the law on their side, but they weren't ready to appeal, because if they lost their appeal, they'd get a Youtube "copystrike," which could also cost them their accounts. And since there were multiple claims, they weren't sure if they'd get multiple strikes by appealing. Youtube's docs don't make this clear, and going through Youtube channels yielded nothing but radio silence.

Now, these are eminent law professors at a top university, so they were able to make some insider calls to Youtube, who lifted the complaints altogether and reinstated the video. But no one ever clarified the multiple-claims/multiple copystrike procedure.

Moral: When it comes to Youtube, it doesn't matter if you're a nationally recognized copyright expert. You can't argue with anonymous, hamfisted rights-enforcer assholes to assert your speech rights. The only way to guarantee those rights is to know someone on the inside.

Radicalized is out in paperback (permalink)

My book Radicalized, a collection of four science fiction novellas, just came out in paperback!

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250229250

It's quite a week for the book! It's a finalist for Canada Reads, one of Canada's national book prizes, and the paperback immediately hit all of Canada's national bestseller lists!

I'm especially delighted to make the indie stores' bestseller list:

https://www.cbc.ca/books/the-bestselling-canadian-books-for-the-week-of-feb-23-29-2020-1.5484366

It's headlining the Toronto Star's list:

https://www.thestar.com/entertainment/books/2020/03/04/toronto-star-bestsellers-for-the-week-ending-march-4-2020.html

And there's one more national bestseller list that it's hit, but I can't name it until later this week, when it's published. But yeah, it's a hell of a week!

African Whatsapp modders are outcompeting Facebook (permalink)

Whatsapp is more popular than Facebook in Africa – but unauthorized, souped-up, third-party mods of Whatsapp are more popular still.

https://qz.com/africa/1804859/fake-whatsapp-app-more-popular-than-facebook-instagram-in-africa/

African software developers have modified the Whatsapp app to make it suitable to local users. The mods are transmitted from person to person, and sideloaded onto mobile devices.

The king of mods is GB Whatsapp, which allows for multiple accounts on a single device, ups file-transmissions from 16MB to 50MB, and includes privacy features like masking when you're online. GB Whatapp alone has more African users than the Facebook app.

All these mods communicate with users of the stock Whatapp system and with each other. They're tremendous examples of #AdversarialInteroperability, where hackers give users better, situation-appropriate tools without asking an incumbent's permission.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

They really cleanly illustrate how Adversarial Interop defeats network effects by using it against incumbents. The fact that Whatsapp is the most popular app in Africa is an ADVANTAGE for Whatapp modders: they get to treat every Whatsapp user as a potential customer. These mods also show how Adversarial Interop is key to technological self-determination. Rather than meekly submitting to digital colonialism, modders ignore the choices and preferences of a massive US firm and its shareholders and deliver local solutions for local people.

Facebook's response is predictable. Mods violate our terms of service. Modders are crooks. Users caught using mods face bans.

Modders just tell their users to sign up with secondary phone numbers to avoid bans.

Colonial American industry enjoyed a huge advantage over UK rivals because it disregarded UK patents and copyrights, allowing American firms to leapfrog the former colonial masters. Now that it is a net exporter of tech, it expects foreign countries to respect its rules.

This day in history (permalink)

#5yrsago Justice Department issues "scorching" report on Ferguson's Police Department https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2015/03/ferguson-cops-routinely-block-public-from-filming-them-doj-says/

#5yrsago Matt Haughey retires from Metafilter https://metatalk.metafilter.com/23626/Sixteen-Years

#1yrago The NSA has reportedly stopped data-mining Americans' phone and SMS records https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/04/us/politics/nsa-phone-records-program-shut-down.html

#1yrago Jibo the social robot announces that its VC overlords have remote-killswitched it, makes pathetic farewell address and dances a final step https://www.theverge.com/circuitbreaker/2019/3/4/18250104/jibo-social-robot-server-shutdown-offline-dead

#1yrago BATHDOOM: A Doom level based on a terrible bathroom remodel https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/eveknn/the-hot-new-doom-mod-is-a-nightmare-diy-bathroom-renovation-bathdoom

#1yrago The People's Republic of Walmart: how late-stage capitalism gives way to early-stage fully automated luxury communism https://boingboing.net/2019/03/05/walmart-without-capitalism.html

#1yrago History is made: petition opposing the EU's #Article13 internet censorship plan draws more signatures than any petition in EU history https://www.change.org/p/european-parliament-stop-the-censorship-machinery-save-the-internet

#1yrago London councils plan to slash benefit payments with an "anti-fraud" system known to have a 20% failure rate https://news.sky.com/story/thousands-face-incorrect-benefit-cuts-from-automated-fraud-detector-11651031

#1yrago America is not "polarized": it's a land where a small minority tyrannize the supermajority https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/05/opinion/oppression-majority.html

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: Carl Sondrol (https://twitter.com/sondrol), Naked Capitalism (https://nakedcapitalism.com/), JWZ (https://www.jwz.org/blog/), Danny O'Brien (oblomovka.com/)

Hugo nominators! My story "Unauthorized Bread" is eligible in the Novella category and you can read it free on Ars Technica: https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Upcoming appearances:

Canada Reads Kelowna: March 5, 6PM, Kelowna Library, 1380 Ellis Street, with CBC's Sarah Penton https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/cbc-radio-presents-in-conversation-with-cory-doctorow-tickets-96154415445

Currently writing: I just finished a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel now, though the timing is going to depend on another pending commission (I've been solicited by an NGO) to write a short story set in the world's prehistory.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: Disasters Don't Have to End in Dystopias: https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/01/disasters-dont-have-to-end-in-dystopias/

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020.

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a very special, s00per s33kr1t intro.

#pluralistic

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singledarkshade · 4 years

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The Usual Plan

Summary: Accepting Gideon's offer of help to find an object he's been looking for, John does not expect the help to be Rip Hunter. John intends to find out what happened to the other man after they finish the job at hand. If he doesn't deck Rip first. Author’s Note: This was written for the RipChat Holiday Exchange. Enjoy. ********************************************* John walked out the portal onto a beach, staggering slightly when the soft damp sand gave way beneath his feet. Confused he looked around the empty expanse before him, grimacing as it began to rain. Not heavy but enough to make the day miserable.

“Well, typical,” he sighed, starting to walk along to find his way off the beach wondering why Gideon had dumped him here of all places.

When Chas had called with a sighting in Ireland of one of John’s top ten ‘need to get’ magical items, he’d told Sara he was taking some time away to check into the sighting. While he was pulling together a few things he would need, John was surprised when Gideon advised him of co-ordinates from her database near the village he was going to, that would lead to someone who may be able to assist in the search. It didn’t make any sense that she’d sent him to a deserted beach.

“What the hell am I doing here?” John sighed to the ocean.

“Gideon thought I could be of some help with your search,” the familiar voice came from behind him.

John spun, nearly falling in the soft wet sand and stared as Rip Hunter, supposedly deceased almost two years ago, stood leaning against a large rock with an amused smile on his face.

“What the bloody hell,” John demanded marching over, annoyed by the way the sand made him sink with each step, “You’re not dead.”

Rip shrugged, “And you are as observant as always, John.”

John clenched his fists, trying very hard not to just deck the smug arse, “Why…”

“Why have I not let everyone know I survived overloading the time-core?” Rip asked lightly, “Let me think about that for a few minutes.”

John rolled his eyes, “You are still an utter smug bastard, you know that don’t you?”

Rip shrugged again before noting, “Gideon felt that I would be able to help in your search, so she gave me a call and here I am.”

“Then Gideon knows…”

Rip laughed, “Of course she knows I’m alive. Do you think I wouldn’t tell her? The lecture for using the Time Core against Mallus was bad enough,” he shrugged, “Not to mention I reappeared in the world on the Waverider, so it was not possible to hide from her.”

“So,” John started, not looking back as he headed to the path leading off the sand knowing Rip was following, “Where have you been for the last two years?”

“Six months,” Rip replied, catching up with John, “It has only been six months since I fell out the timestream.” He took a breath before adding, “I headed to Tibet and met up with Wally West again. I’m still protecting time, with his help, just a little differently than before. Gideon makes sure that we don’t cross paths with anyone we don’t want to.”

John mused on this information for a moment before deciding to move to the reason he was here. Rip was hiding something, but they didn’t have the time to pursue that conversation right now. He’d get back to it once they’d finished their mission and had access to a lot of alcohol.

“Did Gideon by any chance give you information on what I’m looking for?” John asked as they reached the top of the hill.

Rip nodded, “She said it’s some kind of knife.”

“Dagger,” John corrected automatically, annoyed to see Rip’s amused smirk that he’d risen to the bait. As much as he liked Rip, and he did, they were good friends but when he was in one of those moods Rip Hunter could be a complete pain in the arse.

“It’s called the ‘Lumen Dagger’,” John explained, “It has been lost for centuries technically except it seems to pop up every few decades to cause trouble before disappearing again. I’ve been after it for years.”

Rip frowned in thought, “Lumen means light in Latin. Is that an indication of what it does or just the name because someone thought it sounded nice?”

John grimaced, “It enslaves people’s souls and allows the person who wields it to control them, but it also steals that person’s soul and they die a slow agonising death.”

“Of course, I should have known better than to ask,” Rip rolled his eyes, they reached the top of the path which lead them onto a street with four houses and he asked, “Do you know where it is?”

John grimaced, “Not exactly but,” he stopped whatever smart remark Rip was about to make, “I have an idea on how to get information on both it and where it might be.”

“And what is that?”

Pointing to the building just across from them, John smiled, “We need a pub.”

Rip followed his friend inside the building, finding it about half full. Which considering the size of the room wasn’t exactly hard, the addition of the two of them practically pushed it to capacity. He watched thoughtfully as John sauntered up to the bar and ordered one drink.

When Gideon contacted him to help John in his quest, Rip had been surprised as she had, until that moment, been in complete agreement with his decision to stay well away from the Legends.

It wasn’t easy, being away from Gideon once more. Allowing the Legends to take her to stop Mallus had been heart-breaking but Gideon reminded him that it was the only plan they had that had any chance of succeeding. She just wasn’t happy that he had basically had to kill himself to ensure it did. Not that they didn’t talk at least once every day. She kept him up to date on what the team were doing, he made suggestions every so often that Gideon could use to help them. He told her what he was doing, and they just chatted the way they always did but it had been six months since he’d left his ship, his home, again.

Shaking himself Rip refocussed on John. It had surprised him to learn that the ‘Dabbler In the Dark Arts’ had joined the crew but it was good to know he was there since the last Rip had heard of John had been concerning.

“Should I even ask?” Rip grimaced at the single pint of Guinness John was carrying very carefully.

“You know that’s never a good idea,” John replied, walking past him and outside once more.

Rip followed on behind, wondering what his friend planned to do. The Dark Arts had never been something he’d studied much, although he was no slouch because Rip couldn’t not study something, having a friend who was steeped in them meant he always had someone to ask for the really bad or unexplainable stuff. It just didn’t help when his friend was the one doing the unexplainable things. They walked behind the pub across the grass, the rain had thankfully stopped and the ground wasn’t too soggy, until they were far enough away from the village.

John gently placed the pint glass down in the grass, making sure it was steady before fishing out a gold coin from his pocket.

“Oh, you’re not?” Rip demanded, realising what John was about to do.

John nodded, “Best way to get information in this part of the world.”

Dropping his face into his hand, Rip groaned, “Weren’t you the one who told me about the total and utter chaos that happened the last time you did this?”

“Well, if you have a better idea,” John replied, “I’m all ears.”

Letting out a slightly annoyed sigh, Rip motioned him to get on with it.

John pulled out a packet of salt and passed it to Rip, “Just in case.”

“That makes me feel safe,” Rip sighed, taking a step back to allow John to summon the creature.

Marking out a circle of salt in the grass, John placed the gold piece beside the pint glass. He circled the glass with salt as well and said the incantation to summon the leprechaun. Most leprechaun’s liked whiskey but the one he was aiming to call, the one who owed John a favour, preferred Guinness.

Light filled the circle, fading to reveal a small man standing in the centre of the salt circle. He was dressed in green, as expected but didn’t look anything like tv and movie versions. He had short red hair and carried a small but very sharp looking sword. After checking the edge of the circle, he moved slowly to the gold piece, licking his finger he drew it across the metal before tasting it.

“Real gold,” the Leprechaun stated looking up at them, “And a full pint. This must be some favour you need, John Constantine.”

“It is, Turlough,” John said.

Turlough glanced up at Rip, “And him?”

“He’s not important,” John replied, smirking at Rip, “Look, I need to know if a dangerous object is loose in the country. I need you to check and, Turlough this is and, not if you feel like it. And give me a location.”

The man thought it over for a few moments, “If I do this then my debt to you is paid?”

“Yes,” John nodded.

Turlough grinned, “Then tell me what you want me to find?”

“The Lumen Dagger.”

Surprise filled the Leprechaun’s eyes, “That’s a very dangerous item to be looking for, John Constantine.”

“Which is why I need to get it out of the world and into a safe place,” he replied.

“Then I’ll be back soon.”

The bright green light filled the circle once more and when it faded the small man was gone.

John turned to Rip, “He’ll be back soon.”

They stood waiting in silence before, in unison, both men’s phones began to buzz. John pulled out his mobile and rolled his eyes seeing who was calling.

“Yes, Sara,” he answered, seeing Rip moving slightly further away as he took his own call.

“Just checking in and making sure you haven’t got yourself in a jam,” Sara told him.

John glanced across to where Rip was talking, his back to John to ensure his conversation wasn’t overheard.

“I’m fine,” John told her, “Met up with an old friend who’s giving me a hand.”

“Are you sure you don’t need some more help?” Sara asked hopefully, “I’m happy to come join you.”

John chuckled, “Bored?”

“Just thought you might need some assistance,” Sara replied lightly, before confessing, “And we have nothing to do at the moment.”

With another glance at Rip’s back, John had a fleeting moment of wanting to say yes just to watch the reunion. He’d heard tales of them butting heads but had never witnessed the bloodshed. John decided against it, as amusing as it might be, he was too busy to make a trip to the hospital. Not to mention Rip would probably never speak to him ever again.

“I’m fine, love,” John assured her, “See you in a few days.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything else he hung up before walking over to Rip.

“Thanks Wally. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back,” Rip said before hanging up and looking at John, “Problems?”

“Just Sara checking in,” he replied.

Rip waited, expecting John to tell him that Sara was about to appear, relieved that the words didn’t come. Letting John know he was alive had been a decision that was debated for several hours with Gideon, she finally persuaded him to let the other man know. He trusted John but did not want Sara or the others know.

Thankfully before John could ask about Rip’s phone call, Turlough returned.

“What do you have for me?” John asked the small man.

Turlough’s eyes moved to the pint glass sitting in the circle of salt.

“You’ll get it when you give me my answers,” John reminded the little man.

Annoyance covered Turlough’s face before he shrugged, “Your dagger is in a cave. But another group of people have already found it.”

“Who are they?” Rip asked.

Turlough looked up at him, “The kind of idiots who think robes are a good fashion choice.”

Rip and John shared a look, that was never a good thing.

“Where is the cave?” John demanded sharply.

Turlough shrugged, “I don’t know what you call it, but I can send you there. Once I get my pint.”

John laughed, “Like I’m going to give you that first.”

“Then how do we do this?” Rip demanded annoyed.

John frowned, musing for a moment before asking, “Do you have any of your weird little doo-hickey devices that might be able to break the circle after he’s sent us where we want to go?”

“Doo-hickey?” Rip asked amused, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes, “You’ve been spending far too much time with the Legends.”

“And the answer to my question is?”

Rip mused for a moment checking his pockets, finding a small pod that he had created originally to blow the lock off a door, “I could modify this.”

“I’ve seen you use that before,” John noted before asking, “Didn’t it blow a hole in a wall last time you used it?”

“In my defence,” Rip stated, “I was trying to destroy the building so upped the explosive power. But I can fix it so that on a timer this lets out a small energy blast that removes the salt.”

“And doesn’t destroy my pint?” Turlough demanded.

Rip shrugged, “In theory.”

“Well, considering it’s our only option,” John motioned Rip to proceed.

Pulling out his tools, Rip quickly lowered the explosive capabilities of the pod and set a twenty second timer. Nodding to John, Rip held the button down ready to drop it.

John prepared himself to be transported by the leprechaun into a completely unknown situation. Although Turlough was getting something out of it, there was always a chance the creature would dump them somewhere dangerous just for kicks. Leprechauns could be mischievous little buggers at times.

“Alright then,” Turlough said, clapping his hands together, “Let’s go.”

As the magic enveloped them, Rip dropped the energy pod just before the landscape shifted around them from grassy hills to dark brown rock surrounding them.

“Good luck,” Turlough’s voice echoed as he disappeared, his voice coming a few seconds later, “My pint is intact.”

Rip rolled his eyes, “Well, at least that went well today. Any ideas where we are?”

“In a cave is all I know at the moment,” John replied as he searched his pockets for the detector he’d made before leaving the Waverider, “Give me a minute and I’ll check Turlough sent us to the right place.”

Rip stood silently watching as John made a few additional marks on the detector before murmuring the incantation. The detector began to glow, and a small beam of light extended into the cave.

Rip let out an annoyed sigh, “And of course we have to go into the dark, damp caves.”

John chuckled as they both pulled out torches.

“Just once, can we not find one of these things in…I don’t know…a well-lit pub?” Rip demanded as he followed John into the cave, feeling the air around them cooling.

“To be fair, we found the statue that nearly got us both decapitated in a theatre,” John reminded him.

Rip nodded, “Fine, I concede there was at least one time it wasn’t a dark dank cave or sewer we’ve traipsed through.”

Before John could retort a small light appeared at the end of the tunnel in front of them, “I think we’ve found our new friends.”

On cue, a soft chanting filled the air around them, and Rip winced.

“Why do they always chant?” John sighed, “It’s not asking for much that they do a rock number, hell I’d even take something from a musical but no, they have to chant.”

“I’ll put it in their suggestion box,” Rip said wryly.

John sighed, “At least it’s not ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’. I can’t listen to that song anymore without feeling sick.”

“You chose the song,” Rip reminded him.

“How was I to know the slime demons were ELO fans,” John retorted, “You know I was banned from that pub after the mess.”

Rip chuckled at the memory as the two men continued to creep slowly towards the light and noise, John shutting off his detector so that they weren’t seen as they crouched behind the rocks. In the centre of a small group, who were all wearing black robes with the crest of a dagger stabbed through a heart sewn onto the front of it, was the Lumen Dagger in a clear casing.

John swore suddenly, “The Obsidian Cult, of course it would be them. Honestly you’d think they’d have given up after the last time they ran into us.”

“Is the dagger encased in glass?” Rip murmured, trying to get a proper look around the cultists standing between them and their objective.

John shook his head, “From the stories I’ve read about the last time it was loose, the dagger was supposedly encased in diamond by the sorceress who found it.”

“Well that gives us some time if they’re trying to release it from the encasing,” Rip mused softly, before asking, “How are we playing this?”

John mused for a few moments, “You shoot, I attack with fire and, while they panic, you grab the dagger.”

“So, our usual plan?”

With a slight laugh, John nodded, “What can go wrong?” he smiled at the frown Rip gave him before adding, “Just don’t touch it with your bare hands.”

Rip nodded sliding on his leather gloves before he pulled out his gun, readying it to fire. He tilted his head listening to the sounds coming from the cave nearby, “They’ve started a new chant.”

“Then we have to stop them now,” John readied himself, “For the sake of music lovers everywhere.”

John spoke the incantation and magical fire began to swirl around his fingers before he turned to Rip, “Let’s go.”

With a quick nod, Rip stepped forward and began to shoot taking out the surprised cultists as John ran in behind him. Several men rushed John who let out a blast of fire, his entire body alight with magic.

“Rip,” John snapped, “Grab it.”

Spinning out the way of one of the robed figures who tried to attack him, Rip then ducked slamming into another’s stomach and flipping the man over his shoulder. John let out another blast of fire just as Rip reached the dagger encased in diamond. The moment he took a hold of the dagger, a jolt of energy went through him and Rip felt power ripple through him.

“Rip!!!” John yelled, his voice sounding far away.

Rip looked at the weapon he was holding, it was so much more powerful than John had told him, it had power to do everything. To save those he’d lost, to save the people his friends had lost. To give Gideon a human form she had mentioned wanting once or twice, although he knew she wanted it mostly so she could smack him around the head for sacrificing himself.

“Rip,” John called again, appearing before him the fire still twirling around his fingers, “I know what it’s offering but you know it’s not real. Remember what the power the Time Masters craved did to them.”

“I can save…”

“No,” John cut him off before Rip could even finish the thought, “The dagger steal souls, and it will steal the soul of anyone you try to bring back before it takes yours.”

Rip stared at the dagger, “But…”

“No,” John interrupted again, “I know you want them back, I know you miss Miranda and Jonas,” Rip’s head came up at the names and John continued keeping Rip focussed on him, “But you can’t use this to bring them back to you. It won’t be them and you know that,” John reached out, “Give the dagger to me.”

Slowly Rip passed John the dagger and let out a gasp as the energy left him instantly. Reaching out, Rip gripped the wall to keep himself steady watching his friend while he wrapped the dagger in a black velvet cloth.

“Sorry,” Rip whispered.

John rested his hand on Rip’s shoulder, “I know how tempting it must have been for you. Unlike others in the past, you didn’t give in.”

Activating his Time Courier, Rip sighed, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

*********************************************

The Mill House was quiet when the two men entered it. Heading to the main room, Rip watched John pull out a wooden chest covered in symbols, open it and carefully place the cloth covered dagger inside.

“Got to do a few rituals,” John told him, “Make some tea, would you?”

Understanding that John needed solitude, Rip headed to the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time he’d been here, so he knew where everything was. Rip just hoped John hadn’t decided to store something disgusting in the fridge next to the milk again.

“Gideon,” he activated his communicator while filling the kettle.

“Is everything alright, Captain?” concern filled her voice.

Rip chuckled, “We’re fine. We found the Dagger and are currently back in the Mill House so John can neutralise it. Why do you always assume the worse when I call you outside the agreed time?”

“Because it is you,” Gideon replied amused, “And you have a habit of getting into trouble without me.”

He laughed as he pulled out two mugs and found the teabags, “I suppose I do.”

“How much does Mr Constantine know about your return?” Gideon asked.

Rip grimaced, he knew she’d get straight to that question but had hoped they could just talk for a few more minutes before she did.

“That I’ve been back six months and I’m working with Wally,” Rip shrugged, tossing a teabag into each mug.

He could feel her disapproval in the silence before Gideon asked, “Is that all?”

“Gideon…”

“You know he can be trusted,” Gideon reminded him sternly, “That is why I suggested you help him today.”

Rip sighed, “I know.”

“Rip,” Gideon’s concern filled her voice, “Let him know everything. He will not tell the others.”

Finished making the two mugs of tea, Rip took a sip of his own before he sighed, “I’ll invite him for dinner.”

“Dinner?” John frowned confused as they exited the portal just outside the small village, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m always happy to be fed and I know you can cook better than I can but…”

“But?” Rip asked lightly as he started them walking through the village.

John grimaced before demanding, “Why am I really here?”

Rip swallowed, “Because I wanted you to know the truth about why I’ve not let anyone know I’m back.”

Concern covered John’s face, he knew there was more going on than Rip had told him and had been wondering how to get his friend to talk.

“Okay then,” John said as they reached a small cottage, “What’s the truth?”

Before Rip could answer another voice filled the air the moment Rip opened the door.

“Daddy, you’re back!!!”

“Jonas,” John breathed in astonishment, watching Rip crouch and catch the little boy in his arms who hugged him tightly.

Rip laughed as he held his son, “You didn’t miss me, did you?” When Jonas nodded, he gave him a mock frown, “But you were in school all day. How did you have the time?”

“You didn’t pick me up,” Jonas reminded him.

Rip hugged his son again, rubbing his back soothingly when Jonas tucked his head against Rip’s neck, “Wally was there, and I only couldn’t pick you up because I had to help a friend.”

Realising there was someone else there Jonas turned and grinned in delight, “Uncle John.”

Jonas threw himself from Rip’s arms into John’s and John held the little boy in a tight embrace, “Oh, it’s so good to see you, kiddo.”

“Are you here to have dinner with us?” Jonas demanded.

John nodded, putting the little boy down, “I am.”

“If you stay longer then you can have hot chocolate too before bedtime,” Jonas grinned, looking over at his father with such innocence.

“Nice try, little man,” Rip laughed, kissing his son’s hair, “Go and play, I’ll call you for dinner and, if you’re good, you can have hot chocolate before bed.”

Jonas grinned before he bounced away.

“I don’t know,” Rip pre-empted John’s question not turning from watching his son bounce over to the other children playing nearby, “My last memory is overloading the Time Core to try to give the Legends time to defeat Mallus. There was bright golden light and then it all went black. I opened my eyes and I was on the bridge of the Waverider with Jonas in my arms. I don’t know how I returned and have absolutely no idea how my son was with me. I’m just grateful that I have him back.”

John nodded in understanding, “So you brought him here to raise him in a safe environment.”

“As safe as I could find,” Rip said softly, “Away from the Legends and the Time Bureau, but with someone who could help me ensure time remains protected. Gideon and I discussed it for hours until we decided this was the best place.”

Watching Jonas running around with the other children, John nodded, “He looks happy and healthy.”

Rip smiled, “He is. And he needs to be fed so come on.”

As his friend entered the cottage John stood for a moment and watched the little boy who called him ‘Uncle John’, understanding why Rip couldn’t return to the life he used to live and why he wanted to stay away from people who were trouble magnets.

“So,” John called as he wandered into the cottage behind his friend, “What’s for dinner?”

#fic #legends of tomorow #rip hunter #john constantine #gideon #holiday exchange fic

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sunsetscurving · 5 years

Text

CHASING STARS

Ch. 1

ao3 link

In a world where reincarnation is common and excepted, people stopped to care for a reason or how many times they already lived – they have no memory of their past life anymore.

But Lucas Lallemant can feel that this isn’t his first life, some shreds of his former life still present in his new one. He has this feeling that something from his past life tied him so much to it that he has to find it again in his new life.

Something. Or someone.

It’s been 6960 days since he last saw Lucas.

19 years and 35 days.

An eternity for some people. Nearly two decades.

But not for Eliott. For Eliott, it could have been two eternities or only some minutes. Time started to work differently for him.

All he wanted was to die when he lost him all those years ago. All he wanted was to bury himself alive or disappear into the deepest deep of hell where he belonged after all of that happened. There hasn’t been a day where stopped reproaching him for what happened and how he simple could have let it happen.

I could have saved him.

Eliott was doing his daily walk through the city when the thoughts of it all occupied him again, looking around with curiosity and trying to distract himself through that. Things changed when you were immortal, things changed a lot. And Eliott learned to see every little change, no matter if it was a new bench on the side of the street or a new person working in his favorite coffee shop. When you already lived for countless years, some tiny and minor changes could lift up your whole year.

He was tucking his hands in the pockets of his a caramel brown jacket, the hood of his hoodie hiding his messy hair and his flushed cheeks. The cold morning air felt good on his face and when he walked past the bus station, something inside him twisted, memories of forgotten times surfacing again.

There was never a minute where he didn’t think about him. Everything reminded Eliott of him, a stupid bus station making him shiver with longing.

But he’s gone and that’s your fault.

Eliott was rounding a corner now, slowly coming to a stop when he reached the college he was currently attending. Leaning against a brick wall, he was watching the students coming out of the college, chatting about their last lecture or the homework they had. He already studied a lot in his life and he didn’t need it to survive. But it would be too obvious for a boy who looked 20 years old to not do… anything. And in this way, he had a task. Something to do. A reason to stand up in the morning and not to stay in bed all day, thinking and thinking and thinking.

And suddenly, while standing at the corner and watching the students spill out of the college, Eliott’s world stopped spinning.

Oh my…

Time lost its meaning as he watched someone coming out of that building and his heart was surely not beating at all or currently jumping out of his chest, Eliott didn’t know and he didn’t care. Eliott blinked rapidly, trying to calm down. But there was no calming down – not now and not ever if this what he just saw was true.

This is not real. This is a dream. This is not real.

“Hey, Lucas. There you are”, said a boy with blonde hair and glasses, greeting the other boy with a handshake.

Eliott had heard this name so often when he was in public, swirling around at the sound of it, his heart beating too fast. The disappointment then was even worse than the possibility to see him again.

But this time, no disappointment crushed Eliott like a giant wave.

This time, his heart kept beating faster and faster and Eliott had the feeling to faint.

His whole world suddenly was colorful again and it seemed like everything had a meaning again. Since he was gone, everything seemed dull to Eliott, he seemed numb to so many things he usually enjoyed or loved, forgetting how to be truly happy. It seemed like he took all the light and hope from Eliott with him.

And now he was standing there, only a few meters away from him.

Eliott needed to steady himself with one arm on the wall next to him.

This was Lucas.

His Lucas.

I missed you so much.

And he looked as beautiful and cute and hot as ever. He didn’t look like he died in Eliott’s arms.

Eliott felt his feet moving towards Lucas on their own accord, his arms wanting to close around the other smaller boy and to hold him as tightly as he could, never ever letting go of him. But he couldn’t do that. Because Lucas didn’t know who Eliott was. Because Lucas died and was reincarnated, like so many other people on this planet were too. Eliott often saw the same faces again after several years passed, the others not knowing Eliott or anything else about their former life.

There was no system who was reincarnated and who was not. It seemed kind of random but Eliott knew that everyone who was reincarnated had a reason why fate choose to give them another life.

When someone was reincarnated, their other life was erased – every memory connected to them disappeared from the minds of the people they knew, who were their family or their friends. People usually were reincarnated with their same body and their same name because of this. Their former life, their former self just didn’t… exist anymore. Like it never was there in the first place.

But there were expectations. There were people who don’t apply to that rule. People who didn’t forget about the reincarnated people.

And Eliott, being immortal, was one of those people.

Eliott was pinching himself in his arm now, afraid that Lucas was some kind of hallucination. That the long time Eliott looked for his boy in the crowds of people, trying to find a short boy with brownish, messy hair, were starting to get on his nerves and his mind. That fate started to play a game with him, punishing him for all the mistakes he already did in his immortal life. But when Eliott opened his eyes again, Lucas was still standing there, now laughing at a joke one of the boys in their group made and Eliott’s whole world seemed to light up as he saw the other boy laughing.

He is real. He is back. I have another chance.

Eliott swore Lucas that he would never forget him. And he didn’t. And Eliott had been praying to some kind of higher force that Lucas would be reincarnated. And now his wish came true.

And Lucas knew nothing about Eliott at all.

But Eliott would change that, if Lucas would let him. He had the feeling that their love was one of the reasons why Lucas was being reincarnated. Their love being so strong that it could even beat death and everything else.

And this time, things would end differently. Eliott would make sure of that.

Eliott smiled slightly. This was real. This was not some kind of weird dream.

It’s been one minute since he last saw Lucas. Lucas Lallemant, the love of his life.

In Lucas’ world, reincarnation was common and expected. Everyone knew about the possibility of reincarnation. No one asked why, no one cared about how often they were already reincarnated. No one had any memories from their past life.

No one except Lucas.

Lucas just knew that he was reincarnated. He didn’t have any proof, he just felt it. He felt it in the way his dreams were so vivid and lively that they couldn’t be just only dreams. He felt it in the way his mind recognized certain places he never saw before in this life. And he felt it in the way of this strange pull which seemed to say: Come. Find me.

There was a reason he was being reincarnated and he needed to find out what this reason was.

Lucas was absent with his thoughts while Yann and Basile talked, Arthur adding some stuff to their discussion. They always said that Lucas was a dreamer, constantly in thoughts and captured by little things. And maybe this was true. He never talked about his possible former life with his friends and as much as Lucas loved them, he just knew that they wouldn’t understand it. The whole society knew that there was a possibility of reincarnation and often it was guessed what their former life was about, especially in the young generation of Lucas. But no one really knew of their reincarnation. Not like Lucas knew it.

So he kept his feelings to himself, often being occupied by thoughts so that it looked like Lucas was dreaming about some boy he saw in the hallway of their college, his friends tending to mock him about it.

A loud noise came from the door of the college being thrown against the wall behind it and Lucas jumped, panic raising inside of him, his breathing quickening rapidly and the stream of thoughts forgotten.

“Hey bud… Are you okay?”, asked Yann as he saw how panicked his best friend was. Yann always knew when something was wrong. Lucas just nodded and took a deep breath.

“I just…”

He was not sure what this all was about. He was not sure why he always jumped at loud noises, why he seemed to hate everything connected to an explosive sound. His friends looked at him, Arthur biting his lip slightly before speaking.

“Have you ever thought about the possibility that your phonophobia comes from your possible former life?”

Everyone was staring at Arthur now, especially Lucas whose heart was now racing.

He can’t know about it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, asked Lucas while huffing a laugh. But inside, Lucas was actually dead serious.

“I’ve heard that our phobias come from the way we died in our former life”, answered Arthur and shrugged as if he just hadn’t told them something bigger than they could ever imagine. Basile was staring at him, his mouth slightly open.

“This is absolutely crazy”, he whispered quietly as if they are sharing a big secret, “Crazy in a cool way.”

Lucas was turning his head in Basile’s direction and Yann was dramatically slamming his face in his hand.

“Only you can think of something as ‘cool’ which is connected to dying and phobias”, said Yann muffled through the hand on his face and Lucas couldn’t help but smile.

“This is bullshit, Arthur”, said Lucas quickly before Basile could protest to the things Yann said, “I mean, why should this be connected to my possible former life? How did I die, then? Through a fucking door which was slammed against a wall and I was standing behind that door or what?”

“You would have died as a sandwich between a wall and a door.”

Everyone was staring at Basile again, a look of pure confusion on their faces and Lucas asked himself for the thousandth time if Basile even had a brain or any braincell at all.

“Basile, what the actually fuck”, whispered Yann unbelievable and everyone erupted into laughter. His friends made it again – they freed Lucas from his dark and deep thoughts.

“Okay, now I’m hungry. What about some sandwiches at mine?”, suggested Arthur and this plan was greeted with a please nodding.

“But we won’t eat Lucas, the sandwich between wall and door, right?”

“Shut up, Basile”, said Lucas, Yann and Arthur in a choir before the boys started to walk to Arthur’ house, laughing all the way.

Lucas was on the back of that group, smiling and listening to their conversation, when he suddenly felt a gaze on his back. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. His eyes immediately found the pair of eyes which were staring at him and Lucas went hot and cold in the span of mere seconds.

The boy was beautiful.

Really beautiful.

He couldn’t see his eyes which were hidden under his hood but he knew that they must be breathtaking. Lucas was instantly taking a step in the direction of that stranger staring at him, but with the next blink, he was gone. Lucas stopped and looked around, searching for any sign of that stranger.

Did I only imagine him or…

“Lucas?”

“Coming.”

Lucas looked over his shoulder, seeing his friends waiting for him and he looked back to the place where the stranger disappeared as fast as he appeared.

Maybe Lucas really only imagined him.

But why could he still feel his heart racing?

#yes #this is really happening #gosh i‘m nervous #GIMME ALL YOUR FEEDBACK #IT WILL BE SO FLUFFY #AND OFC DRAMATIC #AND IT WILL CONTAIN A LOT OF ELIOTT‘S POV #skam france #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #skam france fanfic #skam france fic #elu fic #elu fanfiction #chasing stars ff

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lucifer-kane · 4 years

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I haven’t wrote anything original in weeks, take almost 2k words of me rambling featuring Husbands

Christopher could dig for hours through his library and find things throughout his life that even he forgot about, things that he had read once, enjoyed, but then put them away for another day. Every book he owned he had read at least once and kept, the only times he had given anything away was to a dear friend, or to the Helimire library, back when they were first stocking the shelves with material. Most of the stuff was fiction, he kept anything non fiction, or various journals over the years for himself, especially first editions of anything. If those were to go somewhere else, he’d pay to have them recopied or, later, reprinted, for the person or group who wanted it. His most prized ones were nearest to his desk, journals of his own, first editions of his favorite books, and things his friends have written. All centuries old or days new, Christopher kept those the closest.

“Christopher, you’ve got to leave your study at least once today.” Christopher looks up from his desk, looking at Elijah, the man standing up against the doorframe, a small smile on his soft face. Christopher smiles to himself and shakes his head a bit and lets out a soft sigh before standing, grabbing his cane from where it rests against the side of his desk.

“I suppose I can not say no to you, my friend.” He walks through the large room, both a library for his home, and his personal study, but that was only done in the last century. Once up with Elijah, he presses a soft kiss to the man's cheek, smiling at him. Elijah catches him quickly before the other man can walk off into the halls, pressing a swift kiss to his mouth.

“Friend?” He grins, dark eyes sparkling a bit in the dim light of the house. “You wound me darling.” Christopher rolls his eyes at the man and reaches up with his free hand and cups the politicians cheek in his hand.

“Friend, Lover, Heart, I have a lot of things I can call you. Pain as well.” Elijah scoffs and shakes his head.

“A pain? Me?” Christopher nods and presses a kiss to Elijah’s cheek once more and makes his way down the hallway, looking back for the other to follow.

“Always a pain, but quite a welcome one, my heart.” Christopher chuckles, turning back to watch where he’s going.

This was only a new thing between the two of them, well. Really it wasn’t, they had been something for years now, but the relationship, in it’s official form, was new. Christopher’s own choice to have them wait for an official courtship between them both until after the civil war was over, nearing a decade later, and they finally entered into that portion of their life. While their own courtship… had lasted longer than most others, it was still something very personal between the two, that they had enjoyed their dance with one another during all this.

Christopher makes his way into his kitchen, surprised to see the table set and food already laid out. He turns to look at Elijah.

“Did you?” He asks, a little shocked. Elijah chuckles and nods, grabbing Christopher’s arm to sit him down at one of the chairs at the table.

“That I did, thought you could use something good to eat, and I went into the city and got some of your favorites.” He sits down opposite of Christopher, pouring a glass of shiny liquor into two glasses for each of them. Christopher looks at the swirling blue liquid before taking a sip, the flavor of strawberries and blackberries washing over his tongue.

“Ohhh even my favorite liquor.” Christopher hums happily before digging into the meal in front of him. It was a large piece of fish, over top a bed of roasted potatoes and vegetables, seasoned heavily with various seasonings, a slight spice dancing over their tongues as they ate.

“You’ve always been a marvelous cook, Elijah.” Christopher says, gently pressing his ankle against Elijah’s under the table.

This was the first time in weeks they had a moment to sit down with one another that wasn’t a political meeting with other people. Things were finally settling down since the civil war ended three months prior, and Christopher was finally feeling up to more social outings beyond meetings, the stress of war and signing death documents had piled up on him, and now he was finally feeling better.

“I haven’t done it in years, but I grew up helping my mother in the kitchen as much as possible, it was something to pass the time, and I just loved making things.”

“Well, then it’s nice to know we both like cooking, I have a feeling we’ll be spending a lot of our time in the kitchen.” Elijah smiles and nods.

“And it’s a wonderful kitchen.” He gestures to the large kitchen behind them, stocked full, and regularly used.

“One of the things I paid most attention to when building my home… next to the bathrooms. Those always have to be nice, at least a little bit.”

“It’s very much something you have to make nice! The bath in your master bathroom, Christopher, I could stay in that damn thing for hours.” Christopher chuckles.

“Oh trust me dear, I have, and I think that tub is large enough for the both of us.” He gives Elijah a wink, making the man beam, giving Christopher a wink back. They finish up eating in a comfortable silence, their legs locked together under the table. It was nice, for Christopher, to talk with his heart and none of it had to do with things that were going on in the world. He had enough of serious talk of the city and the country at large, Christopher and Elijah both would have to get back to that part of their day to day life sooner rather than later anyways. And spending time with one another during their downtime was something they were going to take full advantage of, especially after their quiet engagement to one another that… no one but them knew about. While it was open that they were in some form of a relationship, no one knew about the engagement, not even their own families. That would come down the road, they just wanted this time for one another.

“So.” Christopher finishes off his liquor and grabs the bottle, still a little more than half full, and looks at his partner, a grin on his face. “How would you like to see how long we can stay in that tub upstairs, and finish this off.” He waves the bottle. Elijah perks up and nods.

“Oh I think that sounds incredible.” Elijah stands and puts their plates in the sink, before grabbing his partner and dragging him up the stairs to what is now their shared bathroom. And what a bathroom it was, a separate shower and tub, both large in their own right. The tub was large and inlaid in the floor slightly, nice and deep, enough for the two men and maybe a couple others as well. Christopher knows well enough how many people can fit in this tub. He turns on the water and starts it almost as warm as it could be without being uncomfortable, and with the night falling over them, the night was growing cold, as cold as Helimire could get.

Christopher puts some oils and foaming things into the tub, the scent of pine and spearmint flowing through the room. The two are silent as they undress before getting into the water, Christopher leaning against his partner as Elijah wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Oh this is absolutely wonderful.” Elijah says after a moment, grabbing the bottle of wine from the floor next to him, taking a swig out of it.

“It is, I don’t think I’ve used this in months. No real time for it.” Christopher grabs one of Elijah’s hands and plays with his fingers, using his other hand to grab the bottle to take a drink from.

“Mmm, we’ll we’re using this as much as we can until we go back to work.”

“I think that is absolutely a perfect idea.” Christopher chuckles and turns his head to kiss Elijah’s cheek, relaxing further into the water. Elijah smiles at his partner and presses a kiss to the back of his head, where the short hairs start to grow longer.

“Are you going to grow this back out again? I miss your long hair.”

“Hm… I might, it’s nice how it is now, I enjoy how there’s more grey showing in it here, but, I do miss being able to do more with it when it’s long.”

“I miss being able to play with it.” Elijah says, pressing another kiss to Christopher’s shoulder.

“I miss people playing with it, it’s such a comforting feeling. I think I’ll start the process, it grows fast anyways.” He takes another long drink from the bottle.

They spend nearly two hours in the tub, talking and trading kisses with one another, Christopher taking a moment to reheat the water with a little magic in the middle.

They dress in the robes that were already in the room before making their way back to Christopher’s… their room. It wasn’t as grand looking as the bathroom or the study, but still it was the largest bedroom there, personal touches will be added later, things from them both, now that it wasn’t just a place Christopher hardly slept in. Elijah draws Christopher into his arms once they pull back the thick covers on the bed, pulling him close and holding him tight. Christopher rests his cheek on Elijah’s bare chest, pulling the blankets around them and snuggling in close.

“I think I can tell now, this is going to be the best night of sleep either of us had in years.” Christopher half jokes, looking up at Elijah.

“Oh I can say that it’s going to be great, no need to get up early in the morning, I’m going to sleep late and treasure how incredibly soft your bed is.” Christopher chuckles and kisses Elijah softly.

“Well then, let’s get some sleep.” Christopher settles himself once more, hoping he’ll actually sleep through the night for once, it’s been so long. And for once, he does, the two not waking up until the sun is high in the air, and even staying in the comfortable bed for a few hours more.

#oc #original writing #original character

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nativemossy · 5 years

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Cap-IM Rec Week 2019 - Wednesday

Rec Week- Angsty Wednesday @cap-ironman

Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for your hardworking authors! they deserve the credit for the hard work they put into entertaining us with their fabulous works of art!

disclaimer: i genuinely struggle with the difference between angst and h/c, so the way i’m differentiating those lists is (mostly) by what the author tagged.

the stillness of forgetting - by nasa

“Who are you?” Tony asks every morning when he wakes up and finds Steve lying next to him.

“I’m your husband,” Steve always replies.

aka Tony has Alzheimer's.

why rec?: ouchie, this one makes me cry a lot, so I don’t read it often. memory loss fics really get to me, so if thats something youre interested in this has it in stock! its so heartrendingly sweet and i just love it a lot

Orbital Mechanics - by Sabrecmc

Freshly out of the ice, Captain Steve Rogers definitely does not want to Bond with anyone. Until he does.

(Steve's POV for Celestial Navigation)

why rec?: tbh i’d recommend anything of Sabres (and multiple times at that - hence why i posted abt this on monday as well), but Celestial Navigation and by extension Orbital Mechanics both have permanent places on my instant classics list. just a lovely fic all around.

Something Death Can Touch - by thatdammeddame

Tony nearly dies in the field on a Saturday.

Steve breaks up with Tony the Wednesday after he's released from hospital.

why rec?: sad!! with happy ending!! its got a nice round conclusion, everyone comes full circle and is better for it.

Like A Comet Streaming On - by Sineala

Tony escapes Afghanistan with a functioning Iron Man suit and a perfectly normal heart. He even manages to bring Ho Yinsen home safely at his side. But he may as well have lost everything... because his wolfbrother is dead. Six months later, the Avengers find Captain America, frozen in ice, miraculously alive. Everything and everyone Steve has ever known is gone -- except his wolfsister, the recipient of the lupine version of the super-soldier serum, who was frozen in his arms. Tony has everything but his wolf. Steve has only his wolf. This is how their lives fit together.

why rec?: another fic that lives in my phone and travels with me - this is an instant classic for sure. i feel like i’ve recced this before no but i will be reccing it’s “fanfic of a fanfic” in tomorrows post, so I have talked about it. I love the psychic wolf premise, I hope to maybe do something in the future with it, though I could never dream of coming close to this amazing fic. If i’ve read this once i’ve read it dozens of times and loved it more each time.

Wait & Sea - by Lenalena

In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

why rec?: tagged as angst and humor and if memory serves that’s exactly right. perfect blend of the humor of the identity porn trope with the angst of constant misunderstandings.

Born From The Earth - by venusm

Tony Stark's born an omega in a world where that means he's supposed to follow certain social rules. He becomes Iron Man anyway: Fuck biology.

If only his biology (and the world) would quit fucking him back.

why rec?: i debated real heavy about including this because it’s technically steve/tony/omc, but hear me out: A great part of this fic focuses on the developing relationship between Tony and Steve, as well as Tony’s relationship with himself and the world around him. This is, hands down, my favorite fic of all time. as far as writing in general goes it’s right up there with my favorite authors. if i could only read one fic for the rest of my life this would undoubtedly be it - unfinished or no. i cannot even begin to impress upon you how much I love this fic. I can only aspire to write like this. the author makes you angry when they want you to be angry, sad when they want that too. It’s a beautifully orchestrated rollercoaster of emotion and I fall a little more in love every time I read it (which is frighteningly often).

Never Too Late for Love - by Sineala

Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one.

Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in.

And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark.

why rec?: so much relationship angst. so. much. angst. Steve has to get his ass in gear and his brain into the 21st century, and Tony probably needs to go easy on the poor guy. its also ultsfic, which I’m usually not a giant fan of bc of the assholery but the dynamic works for me here

Senseless - by Scavenge4Dreams

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

why rec?: it’s been a while since i’ve read this, but I remember this being a good one that involves a rescue, injury recovery, and some eventual upon a brief reread I can say that this fic also has established relationship going for it! it’s tagged angst but it’s definitely got it’s fluffy parts and a really fun ending

Thrust Issues - by Sineala

A battle gone wrong leads Tony to the unexpected and pleasant discovery that Steve is much more well-endowed than he could ever have imagined. But when Tony learns that Steve has never actually been able to sleep with anyone because of his size, Tony does what any good friend would do: he offers to relieve Steve of his virginity. Personally. Tony's determined, Tony's methodical, and Tony has a plan. He's going to get Steve laid. Tony just needs to make sure Steve never finds out that Tony's in love with him.

why rec?: look at this point i think we can all agree that i might be a little bit of a fan of sineala’s. just wanted to throw that one out there to start us out.

so my rec has little to do with the oodles of pining angst (of which there is plenty) and much more to do with there being a specific line in this fic that boils down to “friends fist friends right?” and I think of it at least biweekly. the rest of the fic is beautifully written and the characterization is to die for, plus its got a lovely happy ending!

She - by isozyme

Iron Man is strong and muscular and masculine, and Tony Stark wears a three-piece suit and walks with his hips stiff. No colors other than navy or muted red. No prints bolder than a pinstripe. No luxurious silks and linens. His outfits are tailored to hang crisp and straight, his slacks hemmed to a conservative medium break. The public won’t know. Nobody will go digging deeper, for classified ads and witnesses who remember him from half a decade ago. Steve will never find out all the ways Tony’s ruined himself.

why rec?: i’m putting this here just in case I don’t make a post for Sunday. This is one of those fics that hurts so good - it’s so well written sometimes it makes my teeth ache because it’s so sad and as the reader you can see all the pieces but a character cant. I love that feeling, its a great feeling. Some of this stuff can hit close to home so heed the warnings and read the tags!

#capimrecweek #capimrecweek2019 #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #fic recs

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gloamingdawn · 5 years

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I don’t normally do big posts like this because I’m definitely the kind of person that would rather just reach out privately than dump an entire text post on a website but seeing as today is “World Kindness Day” in honor of Mr. Fred Rogers I’ve decided to deviate a little. As we slip into the Holiday Creep our online communities can start to feel a little more distant as important RL things are happening for folks and now seemed as good a time as any to give some public kudos.

The bulk of this post is going to be me gushing over people I haven’t spent enough time gushing over lately, and it’s not meant as a personal slight if you read this and aren’t included -- my thoughts are really hole-y after a long couple of weeks at work and there’s a good chance I’ll do a couple more of these as we drift into the New Decade.

@kharrisdawndancer You & I have been online (and RL) friends for a very long time now. One of my favorite memories from when I lived near enough to you to visit easily was sitting at your kitchen table, eating tiramisu that your husband put way too much booze in. I moved over to WrA with you, we’ve raided together, you were one of the first people I called after Rory had to be emergency admitted to the vet for his troubles, and you’re one of my constant pillars of support when I’m struggling with my place in the community.

You do so much by hosting Cakes in game nearly weekly & trying your hardest to make it out to all the social events you can to support the other players and guilds who give their time to make sure other RPers have a space to hang out. You, your characters, writing & art are very special and I hope you keep creating in this space for a while to come.

@turning-through-the-never What a year, huh? I can narrow that down even further to “What a month, huh?” as you, with Kharris, were driving forces in bringing people together for the October Writing Challenge. You’ve doubled down on this and started the Weekly Writing Challenge over at @weekly-writing-challenge, adding to all the stuff you do to make the WoW RP & WoW Tumblr community a more creative and constant space to play in.

You do so much in game to not only make good events with the Tarts but you constantly advertise, attend, and sometimes perform at events for other guilds within WrA and MG and I know how time consuming that is -- especially with how incredibly busy you are in your personal life. You’ve done a very good job of keeping up with your stable of characters through all of this, something that never fails to impress me. I’m very happy I ran into you nearly five years ago when you were barking for a Tarts event -- my time on this server has been so much better for it.

@darbiebot Your D&D game has made me lifelong friends and brought me closer with people who I was never able to find the time to hang out with even though we only lived 20 minutes from each other. It’s a major factor of joy in my life and I really do get a little sad when we can’t play as much as we want. I’ve been telling my own group that the next couple of months will be rocky -- that’s just how it is as adults with families around the holidays, but I’m looking forward to diving in feet first when we’re able to get back to playing again in the HOMEBREW STORY you made. It’s in all caps because I’m so proud that you’ve done this and I am extremely excited to do my best to ruin as many encounters as you’re willing to put in front of me (& maybe also thunderwave the rest of my party to death).

@andijelly You’re at the helm of a huge, icon of a guild and I know how spooky that can be. You’ve had to navigate losing officers, gaining officers, dealing with the insanity that trying to plan and execute a good event can bring. You’ve got an amazing support net behind you, & the fact that they’re always so willing to help you out speaks volumes to your character and theirs.

Thank you for putting up with me pestering you about things with grace. As a former major officer for a big, military style RP guild and an event planner in real life I often have Suggestions or Observations and you kindly listen to me every time I dump them in your lap. You’re going to rock that hat you’re making, just take it one stitch at a time and remember -- you can always rip back and fix your mistakes! Yarn is the most forgiving material.

@lylianwyatte We’ve not known each other very long but your excitement around RP and your willingness to reach out to literally anyone to start a thread or get them involved at whatever event is going on is refreshing. You’re such a bright and light personality that you’re a boon to any community space whether that’s a guild or in a discord. I’m happy the Owl found you, and that you engaged with me & some of my other spaces through them.

@belillinafireseeker You are SO NICE. All the time. It might be the curse of being close enough to Canada that it’s just seeped into you from across the border, but it’s the trait of yours I immediately mention when new folks are asking about the who’s-who around the server. You’re another one of the major drivers of events on the server, and you’ve somehow managed to bridge yourself across two high-performance, high-event guilds and I am constantly impressed that you’re able to keep that up.

@theconstructsworld You didn’t think you’d be able to write as much for the October Writing Challenge, but you really stuck to it and made sure to get something out on a daily basis. Life’s kept you away from the game for a while, but your posts really do pick up my day sometimes. I hope you’re able to come back soon, but in the meantime there’s always this terrible website & discord. Please keep writing as much as you’re able!

@seraphai My crafty buddy <3. Your quilting is so impressive to me, it’s one of the fabric witchery crafts that I’ve yet to dive into and it makes my history loving heart so happy to see the blocks you’ve put together. It’s one of the handmade disciplines I really worry will die out over the next decade (maybe that’s a good resolution for me, huh? Just start). On the in-game, in-RP side of things our characters just sort of clicked and then we just sort of clicked. Chatting with you about our stories or what’s going on is a highlight of my day whenever we manage to find the time. I hope you’re able to get some good R&R over your upcoming holiday break, you’ve earned it in spades!

Alright, my brain is mush. I’m going to sign this off here and come up with more gratitude over the next few weeks so I can be mushy about more folks in my sphere in another (probably way too long) post.

#<3 #other people are the reason I still play this game #or any games #I wouldn't be doing this without y'all

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angelofrainfrogs · 5 years

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Serendipity (Part 2/3)

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but not the main focus)

Other Characters: Warlock Dowling

Description: Seven years after Armageddidn’t, a boy wanders into A.Z. Fell and Co. and finds something more priceless than a first-edition novel- a reunion he (and his childhood caretakers) never thought possible.

Rating: G

Genre: General/Family/Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432192/chapters/48866999#workskin

Part 2

Aziraphale watched the scene in front of him with a look of adoration so blatant it made Crowley scrunch up his face in disgust and stick out his tongue when he noticed. The demon did not, however, loosen his grip on Warlock in the slightest.

The boy really was crying now- silently, but the tears staining Crowley’s jacket caused the demon to pat Warlock’s back and whisper words of reassurance until he quieted down. Eventually, Warlock stood back and fervently swiped at his eyes with the collar of his t-shirt, trying to clear the emotion from his face. Crowley took this moment of distraction to raise an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

What the hell is going on? Crowley's thoughts rang loud and clear; Aziraphale didn’t need to be a mind-reader to understand what his companion of 6,000 years was wondering.

I’ve got absolutely no idea, the angel’s shake of the head answered.

“Okay… okay, so,” Warlock began, fixing his gaze on Crowley, then on Aziraphale. A frown creased his face and he pursed his lips, putting one hand in his hip and using the other to point an accusatory finger at the angel. “So… you’re Brother Francis, but you’re really Mr. Fell.” He shifted to point at the demon. “And you’re Nanny Ashtoreth, but you’re really…?”

“Er… Crowley. The name’s Crowley,” the demon said. Warlock considered this for a moment, then shrugged.

“Weird name, but okay.”

“Hey, you're one to talk-"

“This is not our main concern!” Aziraphale interjected loudly, taking a few steps forward to grasp Crowley’s arm. The demon looked at him, eyes so wide they could almost be seen over his glasses. “Warlock is here, and we haven’t seen the dear boy in nearly a decade, and I think he would like some things explained.”

“Oh… right.” Crowley grimaced, coming to the same realization as Aziraphale: they hadn’t planned for this situation and therefore had no idea how to handle it.

“I have so much to ask you,” Warlock said, taking this as a cue to continue. Any trace of his previous burst of emotion had been replaced with a look of unbridled excitement. “So, where… I mean, how… God, there’s so much stuff! Um… okay.” The boy took a deep breath and Aziraphale and Crowley spared a glance at each other, wondering what in the world the boy was going to ask. “Okay, first question: are you two a thing?”

“…What?” the pair asked in unison. Warlock gestured to Aziraphale’s firm grip on Crowley’s forearm.

“Like, are you two together? There were always rumors- still are, actually, since some of the housekeepers remember you. But… is it true?”

Aziraphale merely blinked, not knowing what to say. Crowley, on the other hand, scoffed and gently removed his arm from the angel’s grip.

“That’s the first thing you’re worried about?!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air exasperatedly. “Really?! Seven years apart and all you want to know is whether your old gardener and nanny are an item?!”

“That’s not all I want to know,” Warlock replied testily. He could throw his former nanny’s attitude right back, as Crowley recalled a bit too late. “I really want to know why you sang me lullabies about taking over the world and crushing people under my heel. I want to know why Brother Francis told me to do the exact opposite and insisted I call animals ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister,’ which, by the way, is very weird to other people.” He gave Aziraphale a pointed look, to which the angel could only smile apologetically. “I also want to know why my scrapes always healed faster than other kids’- what, you think I didn’t notice that?”

Aziraphale had let out a small gasp, shooting another look at Crowley, but the demon was transfixed by the ranting boy in front of them. Warlock continued with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I didn’t notice the weird stuff at first, since I was so little. But when I started hanging out with other kids, I realized how things just seemed to… happen to me. If I fell and got a bruise on my leg, I’d show it to Nanny and it’d be gone in a day. If another kid had the same bruise, it took a week to disappear. I found four leaf clovers anytime I was looking for them with Brother Francis, even though they’re supposed to be super rare. When I went to the bakery with Nanny, they always found one of my favorite cookies in the back, even if they said they’d sold the last one for the day. Little things like that- they didn’t seem crazy at the time, but after you both left, they just… stopped.”

Warlock’s emotions were reemerging, and he clenched his fists by his side to try and control himself. Aziraphale touched Crowley’s arm again but the demon shook his head, knowing that the boy had to get this out of his system before they had even a vague chance of talking to him.

“I… I thought I was special,” Warlock said, more quietly. “I didn’t know if it was because I was supposed to bring about the end of the world or save it, like you both kept telling me-” His eyes flashed dangerously, as if this was a pinpoint of great strain on his mind. “-but I thought that’s why things happened to me like they did. That I was the one in control, unintentionally making my life better where I could. But, really, it was you two.” He crossed his arms pointedly. “Am I right?”

Crowley and Aziraphale said nothing for a long, long time. Just when Warlock began to grow frustrated, the demon took a step towards him.

“Yes,” he admitted, holding a hand out as if to grasp the boy’s shoulder. He paused before making contact, arm hanging awkwardly in the air. “Yes, hellspawn, you’re right.”

“Am I really a hellspawn?” Warlock asked. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

“…No,” Crowley said with a grimace.

“That’s part of why we had to leave,” Aziraphale added, moving next to Crowley. One more step, and they would both be close enough to pull Warlock into another embrace… but they didn’t dare. Not when the boy was in such as volatile state. “Actually, I suppose that is reason why we had to leave.”

“Because I’m not… what?” Confusion washed over Warlock’s face again. “A demon?”

Crowley let out a snort. “No. Because you’re not the antichrist.”

Warlock blinked at him.

“Really, Crowley, you just had to say it outright? You couldn’t have used a little more tact?” Aziraphale said testily, and Crowley gestured to the boy in front of them.

“He blatantly asked! What are we supposed to say? Come on, Angel, we can’t lie to him anymore; he doesn’t deserve it.”

“’Angel?’” Warlock repeated softly, forehead creased in utter bewilderment. Aziraphale sighed.

“Yes, alright, fine,” he said, voice full of resignation. “The angel would be… me.”

“…You’re an angel,” Warlock repeated. It was not a question, but a statement. Aziraphale nodded and the boy turned his gaze on Crowley. “I’m guessing you’re… not an angel, then.”

Crowley let out a mirthless laugh. “Haven’t been for over 6,000 years, kid. You’re looking at a genuine demon.”

Warlock could only stare, disbelief and acceptance fighting for control over his face. Eventually, the boy sunk onto the couch behind him, curling towards his knees and wrapping his hands around his head.

“That… makes so much sense, if it’s true,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He glanced up at Crowley. “You’d better not be lying to me, Nanny Ash, or else I’ll-” The boy paused, then shook his head, as if correcting himself. “Er, I mean, I guess I should call you Crowley now?”

“I’ve been called too many names over the years to count; you can stick with what you know or try something new.” Crowley flashed what he hoped to be a reassuring grin. “Also, good job with the empty threat- though sitting up a bit straighter and not mumbling to the floor would give it more oomph.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, so stressed that he actually stomped his foot. Crowley and Warlock both raised their eyebrows, surprised at the outburst. Aziraphale lowered his voice, an obvious strain in his normally calm tone. “This is not the time for that sort of…” He grabbed at the air, reaching for the word. “That sort of… lesson, if you can call it that.”

Crowley sighed. “Point taken. Warlock, we are telling you the truth. We didn’t when you were a kid because we were trying to… you know…”

Aziraphale knew what the demon struggled to say and jumped in. “We were trying to protect you, dear boy.”

“…That’s cool and all,” Warlock said slowly, trying to piece his scrambled thoughts into something that made a slight bit of sense. “But you still haven’t proven anything. About demons and angels and stuff, I mean.”

“You want proof?” Crowley asked, raising a hand to his sunglasses. “There’s a reason I never took these off.” He slid the glasses off his face, golden eyes blinking in the dim light of the bookshop, and Warlock gasped.

“Whoa,” the boy breathed, standing up to get a better look. Crowley cringed a bit at the scrutiny- not because he wasn’t used to people judging his eyes, but because this was Warlock. He’d made a point not to let the child see his true face for fear of what he might think.

After staring for an uncomfortable few more seconds, Warlock grinned, excitement finally creeping back into his expression. “Nanny Ash, those are awesome.”

Crowley chucked, hesitant to admit that he felt a bit relieved, and slipped his glasses back on. “Can’t say they’ve been described that way before, but I’ll take it.”

“You don’t secretly have weird eyes, do you, Brother Francis?” Warlock asked, turning his attention on Aziraphale. He scrunched up his nose questioningly. “Wait, your name’s really Mr. Fell, right? What’s your first name?”

“Actually, my true name is Aziraphale,” the angel replied with a smile, and Warlock silently repeated the name, testing how it sounded. “And no, my eyes are as they always have been. My angelic nature isn’t as obvious; I can manifest a halo, if I so choose.” He held up a hand as Warlock began to request to see this phenomenon. “But that’s for another time. Why don’t you two make yourselves comfortable, I’ll go put the kettle on, and then we can have a proper discussion about everything.”

Aziraphale gazed at Warlock expectantly, his request not up for debate. Warlock, whose current thoughts were a jumble of eyes, Nanny, demon, angel, antichrist, sat back against the plush cushions without question. Crowley automatically sprawled out next to him, as if he'd been itching for a chance to get off his feet, taking up the remaining two-thirds of the couch. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, a well-worn reading chair appeared perfectly centered on the other side of the coffee table. Warlock jumped, his mouth falling open.

“How’d you do that?!” he eventually managed to say, and Aziraphale smiled back at him.

“Just a little miracle, my dear,” the angel replied. Before Warlock could question him further, Aziraphale walked back towards the kitchen, brushing his hand fondly over the boy’s hair as he passed. Warlock watched him until he disappeared from sight, then turned to the demon dramatically splayed out next to him.

“Can you do that, too?” Warlock asked, sitting up a little straighter. It felt strange to see his former caretaker like this, so loose and (sort of) relaxed, laying on the couch as if the demon hadn’t a care in the world.

“Miracles? ‘Course I can,” Crowley responded. He waved a hand lazily. “Mine would technically be considered demonic, but they’d turn out the same. It’s all about thinking how you want things to happen- if you believe something will turn out a certain way, then it will.”

“Huh,” was all Warlock could think to say, and the pair lapsed into silence. Eventually, Crowley sat up and put a tentative hand on the boy's shoulder.

“Listen, Warlock, I…” The demon faltered, words never coming that easily to him. His grip on Warlock's shoulder tightened, wishing he could transfer his thoughts through touch and avoid the whole talking about emotions thing. "I never wanted... We didn't want to leave you, especially in that empty house with your shitty parents-" Crowley cut himself off with a wince. All the feelings about leaving the kid behind that he’d made a point not to acknowledge were bubbling at the surface of his mind; it was hard to sort out what he should and shouldn't say.

"No, you're right; they're really shitty," Warlock agreed. "They've gotten a little nicer, I guess, but we hardly see each other anymore so... I dunno." He shrugged, then glanced at his shoulder, where the demon's hand still rested. Crowley moved to take it away, but Warlock slapped his own hand on top of it, startling them both. "Sorry! Sorry, I just..."

"There's no need to apologize," Crowley said, voice automatically slipping into a soothing tone that brought Warlock right back to his childhood. Regardless of how the demon looked now, he'd still been Warlock's caretaker for eleven years, and that had quite the lasting effect. To Warlock's dismay, he felt his eyes beginning to water again.

"Oh, for Satan's sake- come here," Crowley responded instantly, using the hand on Warlock's shoulder to pull the boy into another hug. To Warlock's credit, he kept his tears at bay this time, though his grip around the demon was even tighter than before. Crowley returned the pressure, silently resting his chin atop Warlock's head as the boy buried his face in his shirt again.

Crowley was, by nature, not the biggest fan of physical affection. But in the Dowling household, the fact Nanny Ashtoreth filled a much bigger parental role than initially intended had a permanent effect on both Crowley and Warlock: the boy felt safest in his caretaker's arms, and Crowley secretly relished this fact. Usually, Warlock would come running for comfort when his parents had no time for the inquisitive questions of a child and shooed him away, and Crowley would be there to answer everything he could and encourage him to never stop asking about things. And, sometimes, Warlock simply needed to be held in silence- a strange thing for the demon to get used to at first, but over time it simply felt right.

And so it felt now, in the back of Aziraphale's bookshop, seven years after Armageddidn't. Crowley held Warlock close, not needing words to reassure the boy that, as he'd always said to soothe the boy's trembling nerves, everything would be alright. Aziraphale poked his head out from the back room, checking on the pair, and when Crowley met his partner's gaze, he was overcome with the sensation that yes, things really would be okay after all.

Aziraphale smiled and then ducked back into the kitchenette area to grab the tea. Soon after the angel disappeared, Warlock slowly unlocked his arms from their fierce grip around Crowley's waist and sat up straight.

"Feel better, hellspawn?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow and cracking a grin. Though his eyes were obscured by sunglasses, Warlock could feel the fondness from the demon's gaze.

"Yeah," the boy responded with a slightly embarrassed laugh. At that moment, Aziraphale reemerged carrying an ornate tray upon which rested three cups of tea and a plate full of assorted biscuits.

"You really shouldn't have, Angel," Crowley said, eyeing the teacup closest to him.

"Oh hush, dear; a hot cup of tea is good for the nerves," Aziraphale responded, demurely settling into the comfy armchair across from the couch. Warlock took a sip of tea and his face lit up.

"This is really good!" he exclaimed, reaching for a biscuit to nibble on. The angel was right- the warm cup in hands was grounding him firmly in the present and doing wonders for settling the remaining agitation in his mind.

"I'm so glad you enjoy it." Aziraphale beamed. "Now, I suppose we should start from the beginning... Many years ago-"

"Oh no, we're not starting from the beginning beginning!" Crowley interjected. "The kid doesn't have fifty years of his life to waste listening to a story."

"It does not take me fifty years to tell our history!" Aziraphale huffed. Crowley snickered, pleased with himself for ruffling some feathers, but quickly shrunk under the angel's glare.

"Anyway-" Aziraphale turned back to Warlock, his smile returning instantly. "I was going to start eighteen years ago, when the antichrist was born."

"Maybe I should take that part?" Crowley offered. "Seeing as I was the one who delivered him to the hospital and all?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose..."

"Right. So, eighteen years ago, the antichrist arrived on Earth, and-"

A high-pitched series of beeps interrupted Crowley's tale. The demon tilted his head questioningly as Warlock reached into his pocket and took out his phone- the newest and greatest model a rich politician could buy, of course.

"Ah, crap, sorry," he apologized, unlocking the phone and furiously beginning to type on the digital keypad. "My roommate's texting me, and I've gotta reply or he’ll just keep messaging me until I do; give me a sec."

"Roommate?" Aziraphale questioned, and Warlock nodded, still focused on the device in his hands.

"Yeah, my college roommate. I texted him when I got here and I guess he just got the message.” The phone’s keypad clicked a few more times and then Warlock locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket, returning his attention to the supernatural beings in front of him. “Okay, sorry, keep going.”

“So, there’s this Great Plan, right?” Crowley said, making an all-encompassing gesture with his hands. “And as part of this Great Plan, there’s supposed to be a big war between Heaven and Hell, but that can’t happen unless Armageddon wipes out humanity, so-”

Warlock’s phone chimed again. The boy pulled it out of his pocket and automatically started typing. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in annoyance.

“Warlock, dear, this is very important, and I think you ought to pay attention,” the angel suggested firmly.

“Sorry, I’m really interested, I promise!” Warlock replied, still typing. “I just promised my roommate I’d fill him in on the bookshop once I got here- he's actually the one that helped me figure out how to find it." Warlock glanced up for a moment to flash a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'm not saying anything about you two, even though he'd would believe it. He's into all that supernatural, witchy stuff."

Aziraphale frowned. "I thought you said you found the shop through the internet."

"Well yeah," Warlock replied, refocusing on the phone to finish his message. "I found all the info and stuff online, but Adam gave me more detailed directions than Google Maps; he said he'd been here before, which is how he knew I'd like it. Obviously, he didn't know that my old gardener owned it, right?" Warlock snorted at the impossible coincidence, finally sending the reply and locking his phone again. He looked back up to find Aziraphale and Crowley staring at him with slack-jawed expressions of utter shock. Aziraphale's teacup was tilted at an obscure angle, though the liquid miraculously remained inside.

"Your roommate's name is Adam?" Aziraphale asked quietly. Warlock nodded, eyebrows creased in concern.

"Yeah; do you actually remember him?! Oh my god, he'd probably freak out if I told him; he seemed really into this place."

"What's his last name?" Crowley questioned, although it sounded as if he already knew the answer. Warlock tilted his head, even more confused, and responded:

"Young. His name’s Adam Young. Why?"

***

Read Part 1.

Read Part 2. (You are here.)

Read Part 3.

#good omens #fanfic #fanfiction #warlock dowling #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #found family #reunion #serendipity #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452

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bi-bi-want-dragon · 5 years

Text

Meet the Ingermans Chapter 4 Snoggletog and New Traditions

AO3 | FF.net

I have returned!!! This chapter is a little almost companion-type chapter to "Snoggletog and Mommy's Axe" over in Life After They Left if any of you guys read that. And if not then oh well :) Also if there's anything specific you'd like to see between these two lovebirds, please let me know! I LOVE hearing what you guys are interested in!

Fishlegs bounded into the forge, nearly knocking over the Chief as he tried to stop against his own momentum. Gobber and Hiccup both flipped their heads around as Fishlegs tried to catch his breath.

“Woah, Fishlegs! You haven’t been eating those weird mushrooms at the edge of the forest again, have you?” Hiccup asked with a chuckle.

Fishlegs froze and met Hiccup’s eyes, pointing a finger at him. “Never. Again. No! I have to get Ruffnut’s Snoggletog present finished! And you’re helping me, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Hiccup replied. “You haven’t stopped talking about it since Nuffink’s nameday.”

“You know this is important, Hiccup. I’m still not convinced Ruffnut is okay with all this baby stuff.” Fishlegs’ glance fell sheepishly to the ground.

Hiccup shared a look with Gobber before walking over to his friend, grasping his shoulders. When Fishlegs met his eyes, he said, “Fishlegs, this is Ruffnut we’re talking about. She’s the stubbornest viking in all of New Berk next to my own bride, and definitely the loudest. If she wasn’t okay with it, you would know.”

Fishlegs huffed but nodded his head in agreement. “I still won’t feel better until I know it’s ready for tomorrow. It has to be perfect, so Ruffnut can see without a doubt that this is our new family, and this is right.”

Hiccup nodded with a smile, setting aside a child-sized, intricately designed axe and pulling over the components of Fishlegs’ gift from the nearby shelf. “Have you decided which one you’re going to design it after?”

Fishlegs smiled. “Something like that.”

***

“I’ve tried, Astrid, but for the life of me I can’t think of what to give him.”

Ruffnut sat in a chair around the Haddock’s fire pit with Zephyr sitting quietly in her lap, absentmindedly running her fingers through the girl’s soft hair. The moment Zephyr had seen her aunt, she had ripped her locks out of their signature pigtails, insisting that Ruffnut redo them (much to Astrid’s annoyance).

Astrid chuckled as she attempted to wrangle in a squirming Nuffink. “You’re giving him a child, Ruff, is anything else really necessary?”

“You and I both know he’s at the forge with Hiccup right now working on something amazing. And I’ve got yak dung for h- Zephyr, kid, I told you I don’t know how to braid like your mom does.” Ruffnut smiled down at the anxious little girl who was now patting Ruffnut’s cheek.

“But how come Momma knows a different way?” Zephyr asked.

“Because she knows the fancy way. I don’t.”

“But... But how come Momma knows it and you don’t, Aunt Ruffie?”

“Because she’s married to the Chief,” Ruffnut replied. Zephyr opened her mouth, but wasn’t able to form her next question. Her eyebrows pinched together as she tried to puzzle through the nonexistent connection between braiding knowledge and the royal bloodline.

Astrid chuckled again and shook her head before bringing her attention back to Ruffnut. “Fishlegs is a lot like Hiccup, right? He’s great at giving thoughtful gifts, but he’s not exactly a material person. Remember my betrothal gift to Hiccup?”

“You mean the one you never got him?”

“Exactly,” Astrid confirmed. “And he and I are doing just fine, aren’t we?” Nuffink cried out in Astrid’s arms, leaning over as if trying to grasp the floor. “Alright, alright, you little Terrible Terror,” Astrid muttered, setting the boy down onto the floor. He looked around for a moment as if surprised he earned his freedom before rolling onto his hands and knees and taking off. Zephyr laughed and hopped down off of Ruffnut’s lap, dashing after her brother.

“Thor almighty, how long has he been doing that?” Ruffnut asked, slightly horrified.

“Oh, he’s been getting better over the last moon or so,” Astrid sighed, shaking her head. “That one’s going to give us trouble. I have a bad feeling he’s got too much of Hiccup’s recklessness in him.”

“Then Odin help us all,” Ruffnur muttered as she rolled her eyes.

Astrid snorted. “Alright, back to your problem. Why don’t you just cook his favorite meal? Something simple that he’ll appreciate.”

“You think that’ll be enough?”

“For Fishlegs? All he cares about right now is that little bundle in your belly and you yourself. He’s already the happiest man in the world.”

***

Favorite meal... Favorite meal... Ruffnut wracked her brain as she kicked through the snow, both freshly fallen since the highest sun today and tightly packed from the last few snowfalls as well. She knew Fishlegs loved a good rabbit stew, but she wouldn’t call it his favorite meal.

She would make fresh bread tonight, and fresh yak butter as well. She knew Fishlegs loved certain herbs folded into his butter, which she would add if they still had some from the last harvest. But what to go with it?

Ruffnut took a slight detour home to stroll through the market, hoping something would spark some inspiration. The markets were always more scarce in the winter months than in the summer, but that was to be expected from the lack of fresh produce to farm. She was able to get her hands on some of the heartier produce that tends to store well through the frost, but still no thought as to what to cook with them.

Just as she was about to break down and settle for rabbit stew, a familiar smell reached her nose. For a moment she was surrounded by the fresh wood of newly built stables and fish-filled buckets. She could feel cool scales under her hands growing steadily warmer as the rancid smell of Zippleback gas enveloped her, followed by the explosion of embers as fire scorched the air.

“Feeling better, there, Miss Ruffnut? Glad to see you roaming the markets again.”

Ruffnut opened her eyes to the smiling face of Garvin, taking his place behind the stand before her. “Yeah, the morning sickness didn’t seem to hit me today... Hey, how did you manage to get fish? I thought we ran out already in the stores.”

“Oh, we did a while ago, but I managed to break through a bit ‘o the ice below the docks yesterday. Caught quite the spread, if I do say so myself.”

“What’d you manage to snag?” Ruffnut asked, setting down her bundle of produce.

“Plenty ‘o catfish, cod, mackerel, a bit ‘o tuna...” Garvin scratched his beard as he looked curiously at Ruffnut. “Doesn’t Mr. Fishlegs enjoy pollock?”

Ruff sighed. “He does, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t able to get any of that.”

Garvin glaced around before kneeling down to retrieve something out of reach. “Funny enough, I was able to snag two.” He stood with the fish in question wrapped in his arms. “They’re a bit smaller than usual, but ‘s better than nothing. I kept them just for the Ingermans. A thank you for helping with the boys when my wife was ill.”

Ruffnut wasn’t sure what to say, but she was silently thanking Thor for the perfect meal for her husband that essentially fell into her lap. “Thank you, Garvin. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Carrying her prize home, Ruffnut was suddenly quite excited to surprise her husband with an improved recipe she had been working on for a while now.

***

“Ruffnut, I tried to think of the best way to show you... No, no. Our families are blended now, so I just- Ugh, no! Stupid!” Fishlegs tried time and time again to wrap the words together in the perfect explanation of his gift, but the words just wouldn’t flow like the descriptions on his information cards. He could write decently about tangible things. Feelings, though...

Maybe he was trying too hard. Maybe saying a simple “I love you, Ruffnut,” and just handing her the package was the best way to go. But that seemed so bland, so insignificant considering how important this gift was to him.

His focus was distracted as their hut came into view and a familiar smell wafted his way. Something that hadn’t touched his imagination in a while suddenly crashed over him like a flood. He was surrounded by musty rocks and lava, a metallic burning followed quickly followed by the sharp ting of rock forcing a molten material into just one of uncountable potential shapes. The closer he got to the smell, the more evolved it became. He picked up on the earthy smell of salt mixing with the cooking flesh of fish. He chuckled quietly to himself, remembering the night of the twins’ salt-encrusted fish on their island getaway decades ago when the great beasts of the sky still roamed loyally at their sides. Thankfully, the present smell wasn’t so salt-heavy; it actually smelled quite pleasant.

By the time he opened the door, shaking the snow and chill from his body, the rich scent of fresh bread and cooked vegetables enveloped him in a warmth transcended only by...

“Welcome home, love,” Ruffnut said, wiping her hands on a nearby cloth as she glided over to Fishlegs. She pressed a kiss to his cheek as she unwrapped the furs from his shoulders. Throwing the furs on their hook by the door, she eagerly wrapped her arms around him, not caring if she seemed a little desperate for his embrace. “Happy Snoggletog.”

“Happy Snoggletog, my queen,” he said, his smile giving away his absolute pleasure in an instant. “Though, you do know that’s tomorrow, right? Where did you get this fish? It smells fresh.”

Ruffnut tried to stifle her pride at the delighted glow in her husband’s eyes. “Well, Garvin managed to snag some in a break in the ice yesterday. I couldn’t bring myself to let that kind of Snoggletog opportunity slip by. Especially not when he saved two polluck just for us.”

Fishlegs’ eyes grew wide. “Pollock? Really? That’s hard to snag in the warmer months, let alone the winter.”

Ruffnut shrugged. “Maybe we have Snoggletog a night early? While we still have the time to be spontaneous?” she added with a chuckle, patting her stomach.

Fishlegs cradled her cheek in his hand and gently kissed her lips, wrapping his free arm around her back to pull her as close as possible. “I love you, Ruff.”

She chuckled, cheeks growing warm. “You’re not too bad, yourself, ‘Legs.” She kissed him back. “I love you, too.”

Now it was Fishlegs’ turn to fight the nerves. He cleared his throat and picked up the forgotten box he had set down on a chair next to him. “Well, since my gift is obviously this wonderful meal my beautiful wife made - which I am incredibly excited about, might I add - I guess I’ll give you my gift now while it’s still cooking.” He held out the box gingerly, motioning with his head for Ruffnut to sit down. When she walked over to the couch only to stop and stare at Fishlegs, he giggled. He took his seat in the chair, patting his leg before opening up his arm. Ruffnut easily found her favorite spot, sitting on his leg and leaning against his shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around her waist and lips pressing occasional kisses to her collarbone.

He set the box in her lap, hiding his smile in her hair. She carefully untied the strings, painstakingly choosing which corner of the box to open, inching her finger underneath the wood...

Fishlegs laughed. “For the love of Thor, Ruff, just open it!”

Ruffnut mirrored his laughter, breaking into the box. “Alright, alright.” She lifted the lid and froze as the laughter slowly evaporated from her lips.

She lifted the small helmet from the box to inspect it closer. It was small enough that she knew it wasn’t meant for her, but a child. Their child. A thought she only then realized she never had to herself until this moment. Because the helmet didn’t just boast the horns like Ruffnut’s helmet, nor did it only show off the wings of the Ingermans. Instead, the Ingerman wings were slightly more exaggerated to better stand out against the outreaching Thorston horns in a perfect balancing act.

When Ruffnut didn’t speak, Fishlegs did his best. “I didn’t want our child to just have the Ingerman wings. He or she will still be a Thorston, and I didn’t want them to forget that. So... I tried my best to combine the two. The best combination of Thorston and Ingerman, proudly shown for all to see. What do you think?” he sheepishly asked.

Suddenly, Ruffnut was pissed off. Not at the gift, no. The gift was perfectly thoughtful and wonderful and more than she could have ever asked for. She was pissed that she found herself fighting tears.

She angrily wiped them away, setting the helmet and box beside Fishlegs and burying her head on his shoulder.

“Babe?” he asked concerned as he wrapped his arms around her quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“You made me cry, stupid,” she shot back.

Fishlegs chuckled, rubbing her back. “You know I’ve always loved that soft side you try to bury,” he gently reminded her.

“Doesn't mean I like it,” she clarified.

He kissed her hair. “But you like the gift?”

She pulled back to look her husband in the eye. “I love it. Of course I do. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, brushing a bit of hair from her face. He let his hand gently fall to wrap his fingers in her’s, lifting them to his lips. The soft smile that graced Ruffnut’s lips melted Fishlegs’ heart. She squeezed his hand and pulled their interlocked fingers slowly against her stomach, leaning in to properly kiss his lips. She felt Fishlegs gently rub her lower stomach with his finger as Ruffnut relaxed into his embrace.

She wanted to savor this moment, but the tightness and burning came back to her throat as she found herself fighting tears again. She leaned back and laughed at herself as she wiped the tears away. “Well, um, dinner’s probably ready by now and I’m starving.”

Fishlegs offered an understanding nod. He knew she still hadn’t matched his comfort level with their impending adventure in parenthood, but he also saw she was getting close. “Then let’s eat, my love.”

Fishlegs carefully pulled Ruffnut to her feet and followed her to the kitchen to help put together their plates. Ruffnut took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Obviously she had never been void of emotion, but she was still getting used to having her moods so drastically different from one moment to the next by the drop of a helmet - literally.

She was getting there, though. Somewhere not so deep down, she was ecstatic about their little baby. And not just because of how happy she knew Fishlegs was.

#httyd #httyd fanfic #httyd 2 #httyd 3 #fishlegs #fishlegs ingerman #ruffnut #ruffnut thorston #ruffnut ingerman #rufflegs #randis fics

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