#i bought the new affinity suite

[omophagic-beast]

hey, folks around here who use ipads for your graphic design and layout, which one do you use and how do you like it?

#i bought the new affinity suite #n it includes all the ipad apps #so now i am Looking #corvid caws #the problem is that theres one part of me that wants the brightest and shiniest #(ipad air) #and then theres the part of me that has to pay rent #thats looking at the reasonable option #(ipad 9th gen) #but realistically i want the one that works good for what i want to do with it

[desn512ryanescalona]

After a little wait, I'd just like to clarify that I'll switch from Affinity back to the Adobe Suite as I bought a new device to work on my projects more efficiently and conveniently.

[sindirimba]

⭐!

you are a darling and a scholar <3 mwah.

okay i'm full of thoughts for rapprochement because i put in a lot of thought to its world building that i didn't actually get to at ALL, and i probably won't write more of that story so these thoughts have to go somewhere, so

i took the TOG universe and boringified it: made it fluffier, sillier, more pacifist, and more chronologically compressed:

- andy was the horse whisperer in her village. any time someone had a sick horse or a horse who wouldn't do normal horsey things, people would bring them to andy, who would talk it over with the horse, figure out what the problem was, and have it solved in no time flat. her first death came as she approached one of the gentlest mares she'd ever collaborated with, who unfortunately thought she saw a snake nearby and panicked, kicking andy square in the noggin.

meanwhile, in vietnam

- quỳnh was a master potter, whose work was known throughout the land. she had a strong affinity for green glazes, the brighter the better. unfortunately her method for achieving these colors involved lead. a lot of lead. one day she got a terrible headache, an atrocious pain in her gut, and she went to lay down. when she woke up she felt like a new quỳnh, better than she'd felt in years!

then the weird dreams about a woman obsessed with horses started to happen

later

- yusuf was a merchant, very successful with a lot of associates around the known world. when you needed a particularly special gift for someone you're romancing? you go to yusuf. his friends weren't so great, though, and one day one of them gave his dear friend yusuf a poorly preserved jar of pickled plums from an unspecified source. they smelled okay, so yusuf had a few. his first death came a few days later from a terrible case of food poisoning and the associated dehydration sickness. he doesn't like to talk about it.

meanwhile, somewhere in italy

- nicolo was a cook for some intolerable land owner with bad taste in food. still, he liked his job, and found it suited his nature well. imagine if he'd gone off to join the army like his father had wanted? anyway, one day he experiments with a new method of food preservation he'd heard tales of, and it seems to produce good results at first. he sends a few jars off with a travelling merchant who pays him well. a few days later he's slicing a fresh loaf of bread when he cuts his thumb deeply. he bandages it and thinks nothing of it, but unfortunately his first death comes some time later due to a staph infection. if only he'd believed in germ theory.

nile was the pov character for this story, but a bit more for her bc i can:

- her father was a cowboy, her mother was a cow-woman, but that exact life never really suited her, so with a little savings her father had left for her in case of his untimely demise, she bought herself a little farm and struck out on her own. once she figured out how she'd died (lightning strike) she found it darkly funny, because she'd always loved thunderstorms. hardly seemed fair, you know?

- booker found himself heading out in america with a fellow french-speaking group going out west looking for gold, because he desperately needed the money and he didn't want to have to go back to france. he figured this was a good way to see this new land he'd heard so much about, and he found it largely pleasant as they travelled, though his gold-seeking companions struck him as a little paranoid. unfortunately he was right about this, and one day while he was out taking a piss in the woods, one of the especially paranoid in the group tackled him and put a knife in his gut. somehow he managed to drag himself out of the woods and in the direction of a house in the distance before he finally keeled over.

but where's lykon, you should ask? he hasn't been born yet!

- lykon is a talented bassist in a two-tone band steadily growing in popularity, some where in the 1980s english midlands. one night after a gig with a lot of well-known-in-the-scene faces (they may get a chance to share a stage with THE SPECIALS!), he and his friends are stumbling home, buzzing with glee, when lykon trips over a curb, falls over, and hits his head on a post box. cue his friends panicking and freaking out in the way only non-sober people can panic and freak out, but no worries-- after a couple of minutes lykon wakes up again. phew, he'd just knocked himself out. not a big deal after all, why’s everyone panicking?

a few days later he leaves his flat and runs into the six weirdest bastards he'll ever meet, who are out in his hall having an argument over who's going to be the one to knock on his door.

and that's all she wrote. you'll notice basically no dates here, yes. i never got to that level of research. :)

#<3

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #16

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

← Previous || Index || Next →

Colombo’s Bookstore

Sri Lanka didn’t have as many bookstores as Japan. It had about three times as many used car shops as in Japan, I believed. But there were few bookstores.

In the first place, be them used car stores or bookstores, the shops were by no means big. This country was a tiny island with a national territory smaller than Japan’s, so lands that had forest reserves of local nature in them and real estate were probably valuable. If anything, I had an affinity for the place. But it was a pity that the bookstores were so few.

I often spent my time alone nowadays, so above all else, I appreciated having anything to read. I wasn’t the bookworm type, but there were just too many book-selling places in Japan. If you were getting off at some notable station in Tokyo, no matter which one it was, there would be at least one bookstore within walking distance. I also had a fresh memory of Saul-san telling me that “Japanese people really like their books”.

A street vendor was selling scissors in front of a bookstore in the sunlit streets of Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka. Why did he decide to sell scissors by the road? And right before my eyes, a person on a bus riding slowly down the avenue was buying a pair of scissors from him. Did they have some bag that they wanted to cut open no matter what or something? I had no idea, but anyway, this was a world that operated with standards different from Japan’s, in which supply and demand were apparently well-established.

With glass doors, the bookstore had a magnificent structure and felt nice and cold when I stepped in. The study reference books were on the second floor, so I went up the arched stairs that parted to left and right, searching for the shelf that I was aiming for.

There you are.

I took three books from it, and when I went to the checkout, the female clerk, dressed in a sari, asked me, “Is this all?” in English. The official languages ​​of this country were English, Sinhala and Tamil, with English being spoken by both Sinhalese and Tamils. I believed she was Sinhalese. Because the sari was not a Hindu but a Buddhist thing.

“These are volumes 2, 3 and 4. What about volume 1?”

“I bought just volume 1 a while ago. And it was really good, so I also wanted to learn the rest from this book series.”

“So you’re studying Sinhala. That’s rare. Where are you from?”

“I’m Japanese,” I answered.

What I had come to buy was a Sinhala language study reference book. It was a book for people who couldn’t read Sinhala, so it was, of course, written in English. Even so, I had read it a little before traveling. I also found and purchased a Sinhala language study reference book written by a Japanese scholar, which I was able to buy in Japan.

Regardless, it was kind of useless for my range of understanding, so I almost felt like throwing it away before I could learn anything. I told Saul-san about this when asking him for advice, at which he burst into laughter and then bought me a red paperback book.

A Sinhala book written in English.

The letters were very large and there weren’t too many words. As for the quality of the paper, on the bright side, it was straw paper, and on the downside, it was gray and flimsy. But the contents were very easy to understand and the insides were firmly packed.

This reference book taught Sinhala letters first, as well as the meaning and pronunciation of each one. From that point onward, I couldn’t be more thankful for it. Sinhala was a language written with a Sinhalese alphabet, after all. In addition to vowels such as A, I, U, E and O, it jumped on to a variety of consonants and other symbols that stuck one letter to another like joints. It explained each of them carefully so that even people who didn’t know Sinhalese at all could understand them. This book solved a large percentage of the problem that I had stumbled upon, namely “I can’t find the commonalities and differences between letters, so I don’t know how to tell them apart and can’t organize them in my head”. I was grateful for that. There was no need to ask Richard-sensei for a foreign language course via international call all the time anymore.

That being said, there were many letters in Sinhala. Meaning that there were several pronunciations. You’d think that the Japanese syllabary was cute in comparison. Not all of it could be explained in one book, and the lectures were extended over to the second volume, but Saul-san had bought only one book, in case it didn’t suit me. The results were as could be seen. It was the same kind of joy as reading one book from a novel series and then buying all the sequels.

Learning languages was fun. By the looks of it, learning how to link them directly to communication was what worked for me.

“But can’t you live in Sri Lanka while speaking English, even if you don’t understand Sinhala? Are you on a business trip?”

“Something like that, but if possible, I’d like to talk to people using a Sri Lankan language. I’m Japanese, but I’ve had the experience of being a bit happy when someone from a foreign country spoke in Japanese to me, so now I guess it’s my turn.”

“You have so much free time, huh!”

I had no words to reply. The clerk and I burst into laughter without any reserve and finished the checkout. As I went down the arched stairs, I found a space where they were selling festival tools, stationery and picture books. Many of the same books were arranged on two sides.

Or so I thought.

But that was apparently not it. What I thought to be the exact same large-format picture books were the English version and the Sinhala version. You’d miss it if you were distracted because the pictures were the same, but the picture book, which was probably a Sri Lankan version of a “Japanese folktale”-like work, was published in two languages.

“Y’see, the ones who buy these are parents who want their kids to learn English. ‘Cause speaking English comes in handy.”

When I turned around, the clerk who had been at the cash register on the second floor was right behind me. It seemed she had come to see me off. Apparently, the cashier on the first floor called out to her, telling her to go back to work or something like that, to which she replied at length, and the two exchanged laughs. Maybe the people in this bookstore were cheerful, as not all Sri Lankans expressed their emotions so openly.

“This one is the ‘Mean Old Man’. This one is ‘The Perahera Festival’.”

“Can even a small child understand it well?”

“Of course. This book is big so that it’s easy to read to them.”

Indeed, it was a thin picture book of a size larger than A4. In Japan, it wouldn’t be strange for it to have an anime or manga-style art, but the art of this one had an ethnic touch to it, perhaps to match the contents. The colors were rich, the mean old man was drawn in a vile yet comical way, and the blue gradation of the feathers in a bird’s tail looked tasteful.

“Hum, excuse me. Can I buy this too?”

“You’re going to buy it? Do you have children?”

“I’ll read it myself.”

The clerk laughed again, but after a moment, she made a straight face and told me that it certainly might be perfect for studying. I bought the picture book at the cash register on the first floor. Either way, it cost about 500 Sri Lankan rupees, which was about 600 Japanese yen, but in the eyes of this country’s people, that was probably quite a high price. This was a world of 10 rupees for a loaf of bread and 3 rupees for a cup of tea. Thinking like that, I could understand why there weren’t many bookstores and why there were so few people here.

You can’t eat or drink books. They’re not daily necessities either, like clothes, scissors or toothbrushes. Being able to spend money on such things as if it were obvious must be a sign of wealth. My country was all the more disagreeable for having bookstores everywhere. I’d never thought about it that way.

As I took the receipt and said, “Stūtiyi”, which was “thank you” in Sinhala, the black-haired woman smiled, looked at my face and said in Japanese, “Thank you very much. We will be awaiting your return.”

“Amazing!”

“Thanks.”

And so, she told me that her husband had been working with sheet metal in Ibaraki, Japan, for a while. Her pronunciation of the words “Ibaraki” and “sheet metal” was really good. Apparently, her husband had started up a small company with the money he had earned as an immigrant worker and was its president.

With her waving a hand at me and telling me to be careful, I left the store.

Even though it was early spring, the sunlight in Colombo felt like that of midsummer in Japan. But I was growing quite fond of this glare. Everyone walking in the streets was wearing mid-sleeves, and if they were so inclined, beach sandals too, but the humidity wasn’t as high as in Japan, so I could think that, indeed, this was also spring. The white of the temple flowers blooming along the road was refreshing as well. They reminded me just a little bit of cherry blossoms. And from this street, I could clearly see my favorite landmark.

Colombo Tower, a tower that had the lotus flower as its motif.

It was a Tokyo Tower-like landmark, not visible from my base camp, the mountain town of Kandy, and although the shape was grandiose, it was still under construction and nobody could enter it. However, one day – I didn’t know whether that would be while I was still in Sri Lanka or after I had settled somewhere else, but – I definitely wanted to climb that. I would.

May I be a little more proficient in the language of this country than I am now by then, and if possible, may I get to have small talk in the tower.

With a modest goal and a new book, I treaded the way to Saul-san’s office.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation

[whispelanix]

Gameplay features we should have in a future Fallout title

Based on what we’ve had in previous games. Just some random storyline stuff and game stuff I’ve enjoyed so far:

Regions (Fallout 4, 76): Yes, I know every game has regions, but I'm talking about the difference in how life grows in certain areas and the level of radiation in said area kind of thing. The regions in 76 have so much personality. Fallout 4 only had the Commonwealth/Glowing Sea as its base game regions in how nature has evolved, but in 76 it's so diverse. Different mutated creatures are more native to different areas, and it has the flora to go alongside with it.

Plans (Fallout 76): Yeah, most of the 3D Fallout games has a few schematics for some weapons, and maybe a small variety of unique consumables, but I like how 76 makes you actually work and spend caps for Plans in order to know how to make something new. Not just weapons, but food, drinks, armor, workshop, etc. Because if this was real life, you wouldn't magically know how to make everything all of a sudden. They keep basic knowledge food items like deathclaw steak, which you can just cook up, as recipes you already know and you find recipes for more "advanced" dishes, and I really enjoy that.

Consumables System (Fallout 76): The amount of variety you have in regards to consumables in this game is amazing. There's so many mutated animals to cook up, so many plants to make soup, and you can make tea and even make juice out of something like mutfruit. I also love the additions we can put into consumables now (sugar, salt, pepper, honey, and we FINALLY have milk). So what they gave us in Fallout 4 with the better cooking aspects has been taken to new heights. Your food spoils now, and boiling water doesn't purify it, it just makes it boiled, which means you NEED a purifier to make it clean.

Eating/Drinking consumables without using Pip-Boy (Fallout 76): This is extremely useful, especially in an online game, and I think it'd work well in single player as well. You no longer have to hoard a bunch of stuff to just eat it, you now have the option to eat it on the spot as well, and move on with your life.

Layered Armor System and the ability to wear costumes over them (Fallout 4, 76): Fallout 4 introduced to us the layered armor system, which is one of the greatest things we've been given in regards to customizing outfits in the game, and now with Fallout 76 we have two different outfit options, armor and clothing. Now, not only can we wear underarmor and armor over it to protect us, but we now have coveralls as well to do so in style whilst retaining the effects of whatever else we wear underneath it.

Distant Weather Systems (Fallout 76): Pretty self explanatory - the ability to see storms coming from a distance as well as nuclear explosions along the horizon is pretty great if you ask me.

Faction Reputation (New Vegas, Fallout 76): I really like these features, because let's be honest, you can't stay on everyone's good side forever. There was only one case of this in Fallout 4, and that was the "You are now enemies with X faction". That ain't good enough. If we could get a mix of the faction reputation system in NV/76, I would be very pleased.

Karma and Affinity (Fallout 3, New Vegas, Fallout 4): The ultimate decider of good and evil. While in NV you had reputations amongst different factions, the karma system is the ultimate decider of where you stand in the wasteland. I like the individual Affinity system with companions as well, because it gives you the chance to either be a certain way, or pretend to act a way to gain trust. I can see why Karma was removed in 4 though, because Karma is based upon what everyone in the wasteland knows of you, so that would've limited the ability to stay on all the companions good sides if your Karma was at a certain level. If there was a way to balance it out though, that would be great. Or maybe they could find a way to make Karma separate from companions, and still make it work out nicely with their individual Affinity.

Maybe Karma in regards to companions could be the determiner of "first impressions", and then the Affinity you develop with them is the determiner of who you really are. They did a reversal of this in Fallout 4 where companions such as Cait, MacCready and Hancock have a more badass reputation when you first meet them, but as you get to know them you find they've been through a lot of suffering. But they still keep their initial reputation among outsiders. If it can be done with NPC's, who's to say it can't be done with the player?

"You are now dressed as a member of X" (New Vegas): The ability to disguise ourselves as members of different factions was a great addition, and really should be bought back. You can get into places you couldn't before, amongst people you normally couldn't, but I think if it's bought back, then factions you work alongside with should be able to detect whether or not it's you, unless you wear a mask or a facial covering.

Clothing is as clothing does (Fallout 4, 76): Suits shouldn't just magically turn into dresses just because you decided to play as a female. If you wanna alternate between "male" and "female" versions of an outfit, then let there just be suit/dress versions of certain styles of clothing. I liked how 4/76 did this, because now, if you wanna be a guy in a dress. Guess what? You can be a guy in a dress.

Workshops and C.A.M.P features (Fallout 4, 76): I doubt we're going to get the ability to make an obnoxious amount of settlements again (maybe), but I admire the chance we're given to build and really make a part of the wasteland our own, and I even more so love how 76 really gives us all those buildings and furniture and decorations to really personalize what you have. Who knows, maybe a future title will give us a combination of workshops you naturally have in place for construction, settlements to help build up (because saving the day always seems to be the job of the player), and then C.A.M.Ps that we as the player can move wherever we like. Maybe we could be given the option to build campsites for other NPCs as a temporary or permeant home. Maybe what we build up will have the ability to be destroyed like in 76.

Grey Morality/Politics (A bit over all titles, talking especially about New Vegas, The Pitt, things of the sort): The factions we were given in NV all had good and bad sides to them, making it sometimes difficult to have a truly perfect utopia. I hope we get back more morally grey choices as well as factions and politics, or instances in where there is no right answer other than wrong and a little less wrong. I don't really need to explain in detail, you've seen how things have played out across titles.

Old Dialogue System (Every game but Fallout 4): Options yes, no, no but actually yes and sarcasm aren't good enough. I love the cinematic aspect FO4 had, don't get me wrong, but conversation is so limited. I also loved the ridiculous way the camera would zoom right on someone's face (I feel sometimes in 76 you can just be way too far from someone talking sometimes) and I'd like to be able to walk out of the conversation whenever I want as well.

Certain Perks/Stats result certain outcomes (Most of the old titles): I wanna be able to get away with low intelligent speeches, flirt with people to get my way, things of the sort. Pretty simple.

That's all I've got for now since I've been working on this list for hours but yeah. Feel free to add things you'd like to see. Personality I'd just like to see the best features and aspects taken from all the games to create the "ultimate Fallout experience".

#fallout #stuff #thoughts #idk

[dykeninthdoctor]

love you (to the moon and to saturn)

oh this got out of hand but have 2.2k of tony and kids

No one ever said Tony Stark wasn’t impulsive, and Tony himself has never disagreed, because he knows he’s impulsive, but he thinks things through, more often than not, and he calculates the answers to problems before the problems even arise.

So, when he meets five-year-old Harley Keener in a Malibu home for boys and immediately decides to adopt him, it’s safe to say he’s thought it through, but it’s also safe to say it’s the most impulsive decision Tony’s ever made.

-

It goes like this.

-

“Tony. You need to do something. Being locked up in your workshop for hours on end to build different models of a suit you’ve already perfected isn’t healthy and I know your therapist has told you the exact same thing. So pick something, or I’ll choose for you, and I know you don’t want that.”

“The suit’s not perfected,” Tony mutters, avoiding Pepper’s eyes.

“Maybe not, but you need something else to do, because you’re ignoring the work the board needs from you.”

“I’m not ignoring it!”

“Oh, because having JARVIS flag it as priority twelve isn’t ignoring it?”

“It was a mistake letting you know my organizational system.”

“I created your organizational system, asshole.”

“Ooh, call me asshole again,” Tony teases, because he hates the way he knows she’s looking at him and it’d be so much better to see a blush or a smile. Instead, he gets her hand under his chin tipping his gaze up to meet hers and a kiss on the forehead.

“You know you can’t deflect around me. Maybe it’ll work with Jim–“

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t, he just humors you, but Jim’s not here, so you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you? Oh, my dearest Pepper-pie, I could never be stuck with you.”

That gets him a laugh.

“Find a different nickname,” she tells him, and Tony almost thinks he’s gotten away with that deflection–almost–but then she gives him a look, and he knows he hasn’t.

“I’ll pick something.”

“I know you will. Ask JARVIS for the options.”

-

It goes like this.

-

Tony spends a few hours–yes, hours, because he knows his therapist and Pepper are right, even if he doesn’t want to admit it–going through the selection of different “charitable” distractions Pepper’s curated for him.

There’s a few that catch his eye, more than a few, because despite what people think, Tony wants to help even when it’s not possible, and Pepper knows that too, so of course everything she and JARVIS picked are things he wants to do.

The home for boys, though, is the one that jumps out the most.

JARVIS makes a knowing noise when Tony tells him, and his coding abilities hurt sometimes, because damn if it doesn’t sting that it sounds just like his namesake, and damn if that isn’t the exact reason Tony chose what he chose.  

-

It goes like this.

-

Tony starts going to the home every other day, Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule, spending hours with children who don’t care what his name is or what his weapons did, who only care about the fact that he gives them all nicknames and actually listens when they talk about LEGOs or butterflies or the monster in the closet.

When the kids look at him with awe in their eyes, awe that has nothing to do with who he is, it makes working on the suit easier. It makes everything easier.

There’s seven-year-old Alex, who knows the name of every type of flower out there, and beams when Tony brings him a different flower from the local shop every day.

There’s five-year-old Robbie, with his quiet love of dinosaurs, who screams loud enough to burst eardrums when Tony brings him a shirt with the different eras of dinosaurs on it and a book about the Paleolithic era.

There’s nine-year-old Carter, whose memorization skills almost rival Tony’s when it comes to any cartoon, and when Tony finds the complete collection of the Calvin and Hobbes comic strips for him, he doesn’t stop talking about it for days.  

And there’s so many more, who call him “Tony” and make it sound like they actually care, because they actually do, who help him forget about scorching desert heat and freezing water filling his mouth, who let him be just Tony without anything else.

And then there’s Harley.

-

It goes like this.

-

The door is open when he gets there on Friday for him to drop into a crouch in the doorway, ready for the rush of boys who fling themselves into his arms. After they’ve all gotten their hugs, and Tony’s given Alex his new flower–snapdragon, today, a purple one since it’s his favorite color–Carter whispers in his ear, “There’s a new boy, he came yesterday. Mam said his name is Harley, but he won’t talk to us. He’s really little, like–“

The distance between Carter’s hand and the floor is less than a foot, but no one ever said kids were good at measurements. Tony just nods, though, and lets Carter grab his shirtsleeve to lead him inside.

“What time did he come in?”

“Before dinner, but like, he didn’t eat, so maybe he already ate dinner–Alex tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t say anything, so I don’t know. He looks really sad, Tony, but he won’t answer our questions. Oh!” Carter says suddenly, stopping in the middle of the hallway; Tony stops with him and trips over a collection of spare…engine parts? “He didn’t let Alex touch him either.”

There’s a rush of emotions in Tony’s chest at that, and when Carter’s hand slips off his shirt and into his, he takes it gratefully; children are better at reading emotions than any adult Tony’s ever met, and there’s no point in lying to him.

“It reminded me of you,” Carter whispers. “Of the story you told me about your dad.”

And that’s the kicker.

Every boy in the home has a piece of Tony in the way they move, or the way they speak, or the way they don’t speak.

“Okay,” Tony says, and crouches down again to be at Carter’s eye-level, ignoring the way his knees protest at the movement. “I’ll see if he’ll talk to me, okay?”

Carter hugs him, and Tony hugs him back.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“You’re good at taking care of your friends,” Tony tells him firmly. “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Carter repeats, softer.

Tony ruffles his hair. “Course, kiddo. You wanna take me to see Harley?”

Carter nods his head towards the door Tony hadn’t realized they stopped outside of. “He’s in there.”

-

It goes like this.

-

Carter lets go of Tony’s hand after Tony forks over the candy he promised to bring last time and runs off to–fairly and equally–distribute it to the other kids. Tony watches him go with fondness swelling in his chest before turning back to the door and knocking a pattern lightly against the old wood.

There’s no response, but Tony wasn’t expecting one, and he opens the door quietly, pushing the engine parts in the doorway into the room with his foot.

It’s empty at first glance, the three bunkbeds in various states of disarray and LEGOs scattered on the floor, a Star Trek poster half-taped to the wall–Tony makes a mental note to bring more tape next time, and more posters, and a DVD of Star Trek seasons one through three–and clothes overflowing from the hamper shoved in the corner like an afterthought.

Then he hears a tiny sniff and the sound of fabric against skin from behind the clothes, and it’s like he’s five again and hiding from Howard in his closet.

“Harley?” he calls out softly.

Again, no response, but when he shifts down to his knees again and the floorboard underneath him wobbles, the noises stop.

“My name’s Tony, I’m here to say hi.” He pauses, then adds, “Your friend Carter sent me.”

There’s another sniff and a quiet exhale, and then the clothes move, and Tony’s face-to-face with liquid blue eyes and a freckled nose surrounded by a tiny mop of blond hair.

The kid–Harley–freezes. Tony freezes.

“‘m sorry,” Harley mumbles, and it sounds wrong, not just the words–because Tony hates when an unneeded apology falls from a kid’s lips, rotting fruit from the purest of trees–but the way he says them, like they’re clunky on his tongue. “Didn’ realize you were s’ill ’n here, ‘m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tony starts, but Harley keeps talking like he didn’t hear him, hands–tiny hands–shaking at his sides and eyes–scared eyes–focused on the floor.

“‘m sorry, Mis’er S’ark, I didn’ mean to–“

Then it clicks.

Tony raises his hands, slowly slowly slowly, to sign, “You don’t have to apologize.”

The rambling stops, and Harley’s eyes finally lift to meet his.

“You know how to talk to me?” he signs, hands moving almost too fast for Tony’s rusty knowledge of ASL to pick up, but the gist is clear, and Tony’s heart breaks.

“Yes. I do,” Tony tells him.

Harley beams.

-

It goes like this.

-

Through silent conversation, Tony learns about Harley, learns about a car crash that sounds all too familiar, learns about Harley’s affinity for engines, learns about this child, this child who shines as bright as the arc reactor in his chest, and the thought that maybe, maybe, this is what Jarvis felt, creeps across his mind.

Even if it isn’t, Tony looks at Harley, and understands, for the first time in his lifetime, why Jarvis was always there for him.

He adopts Harley on the spot.

-

It goes like this.

-

There’s paperwork to fill out, and questionnaires to answer, and pamphlet after pamphlet, but a two-month process gets condensed down to two hours, because he’s Tony Fucking Stark, and Harley’s eyes filled with tears when he realized what was happening.

With Harley’s tiny hand clasped firmly in his, he finishes signing the last document.

“All done, bud,” he finger spells.

“Thank you,” Harley signs, “Thank you thank you thank you–“

When he picks Harley up and settles him on his hip, it feels right.

“Time to go home, kiddo.”

-

It goes like this.

-

Pepper drops everything she’s holding, including the One Tree Hill mug that Tony bought her despite her protests that she didn’t like the show, when she sees Harley sleeping–and most likely drooling–against his shoulder.

Tony winces. “Hey, Pep.”

“Hi, Tony. Why are you holding a kid?”

“His name’s Harley.” “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I–“

“The real answer, Tony,” she says, before he can even think of an excuse.

“He’s like me,” he says suddenly, without meaning to, but despite that, he does mean it, because Harley’s like him in every movement he makes, every word he speaks, and after all, that’s why Tony brought him home.

The crease between her eyebrows smooths out momentarily, before reappearing with force.

“How much like you, Tony?”

“I had Happy throw out every bottle before we came home,” Tony answers with, and it’s enough for Pepper.

“You can’t do this on your own.”

Harley snuffles against his shoulder. Tony’s gaze immediately shifts to him.

“No, but I can try.”

“No, you self-sacrificial idiot, I’m calling Jim and Roberta.”

-

It goes like this.

-

When Momma Robbie sees Harley–who’s curled up on his chest watching a cartoon with subtitles on while Tony “rests his eyes” on the couch–she just gives Tony a Look, kisses both their cheeks, and tells him that she wishes he’d waited until Jimmy was home, which. Is something Tony doesn’t need to unpack while Harley’s there.

Harley falls in love with everything about her, including, but not limited to: her cooking, her hugs, the way she signs, how she tucks him into bed, her kisses…the list is so endless Tony almost gets jealous, because that’s his kid.

Then again, Harley sits by his side in the workshop for hours on end, content to build his own miniature robot–a companion for Dum-E and U–and it’s him Harley comes to after a nightmare.

The nightmares are hard, for both of them. Most nights, Harley will crawl into his bed, face stained with tears, and fall asleep to the light of the arc reactor.

“’s a star. Our nightlight,” Harley mumbles, half-asleep, one night and for once in his life, Tony doesn’t hate the arc reactor.

The nightmares get easier when Rhodey comes home, three weeks and a day after Harley’s first day in the mansion. When he gets his first look at Harley–in the lab, playing around with his new bot while Tony builds his hearing aids–his face goes eerily blank, before he comes to hug Tony tightly. “He’s you, genius,” he murmurs, and Tony almost cries, because of course Rhodey doesn’t have to ask.

Again, something to unpack later.

Harley adjusts to Rhodey’s presence like he was there from the first day, like he was there when Harley didn’t want to talk at all, like he was there when Harley didn’t stray from Tony’s side, like he was there when fear was the primary emotion in Harley’s big eyes, not joy and comfort and safety.

Harley lets Rhodey in just as easily as he let Tony in.

That Tony cannot fault him for, and maybe the fact that Harley’s like him isn’t a bad thing.

Maybe Tony can guard him from the worst parts of it all.

After all, that's what Jarvis did for him.

#look i. did not mean to write this much. but i don't hate it #i will perhaps expand on this and make it like 15k and post it on my ao3 but who knows....i'm just thinkin about it #tony stark #harley keener #edwin jarvis #anyway rhodey and tony raise him together and fall in love even more than they already are it just takes harley for them to realize it #james rhodey rhodes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #ironhusbands drabble #tony stark drabble #irondad #ironson #i don't know how to tag this at aLL #aven.writing #ask game #peachy tag

[cicaklah]

I before i go tackle my inbox of ficlet prompts I just caught up on oxventure blades in the dark and have feelings about Zillah teaching Edvard to swan dive so...miiiild spoilers for the second episode of the Astor Gambit.

--

Walking the streets of Volisport, it's obvious that Astor knows his stuff, takes seriously security, probably to stop people breaking in and taking their stuff back, if half of what Edvard says was true. Zillah's not sure exactly how he manages to steal all of Edvard's good ideas, but she's got theories. Not ones she'll speak before she's given more hints, but she's a woman of the world. She's seen a spurned lover or two in her time.

Though, men are weird. It might just be common or garden betrayal, but if Zillah was a better rather than someone people bet on, she'd have a flutter that there was something emotional there too.

Edvard's muttering about how the upgrades on his zipwire are going too slow, berating himself for being distracted with mechanical men. Zillah interrupts him, "How tall do you think it is? In feet."

"if it's a regulation building" he says, "75 feet. But it's likely to have high ceilings. Say 85 to be safe, old girl."

She waves her hand. "Pfft. Easy. Come on."

"What? No, Zillah."

"Trust me. You trust me right?"

"Of course", and she likes that about him, how sincere he is, how this isn't a lark for him like it is for Barnaby or Lilith, and how he's still learning, not jaded like Kasimir. She feels kinship, both professionals trying their hand at this new world, determined to make a success of it.

"Then meet me tomorrow at...you know the furnicular stop at the magnolia wall?" He nods. "Okay meet me there at 11. Bring something to wear you don't mind getting wet."

When they meet there, he's wearing loose trousers and a jacket fastened over the distinctive striped woollens of a swimming costume. Hes traded his safety goggles for a pair of waterproof ones, and they're pushed up in his hair.

They walk the short way to the cliff face, and make small talk about the rubbish Barnaby has been spouting, and the aftermath of the last heist, until they reach a secluded spot known as cowbell drop.

He's a good learner, and it's fun teaching him how she wish she'd learned, rather than just shoving him over the edge and praying to her ancestors he won't die, or at least if he does he won't leave a corpse. She's always had affinity with the mysteries of the deep. Loved those stories the best, but whule she's never felt l'appel du vide, she's often felt l'appel du depths.

In return he explains why certain things work, but not in a condescending way, but as equals, as if she was a colleague at a university and not a brawler with a few too many concussions under her belt. He's produced a picnic as thanks, and it's a lovely day up on the cliffs, just the two of them and the seagulls. The sandwiches are good ham and sharp cheese and pickle, ladies choice, and it's been so long since someone bought her lunch for nice reasons.

Look, you've got the theory, she says. Just watch me.

She stretches, and notices he keeps his eyes on her face, respectfully.

As she turns to face the edge, Edvard calls her namr. "Aren't you going to change?" He stutters. Zillah looks down at her clothes, she picked her second best set on purpose, and shrugs. "Why? Saves a trip to the laundry this way," spreads her arms, and falls.

Diving had always been a pleasure, the closest thing she'll ever come to being a bird and escaping the seedy streets, no matter what Edvard says about his amazing icarationaries being close to being done. Man wasn't meant to fly, not when the gods made him so good at falling.

She breaches the water with a splash, and when she resurfaces she can just see the tiny figure of Edvard peering over the edge.

She swims to the side of the river and perches on a rock. The sun's nice and hot, now it's nearing midday, and she'll be dry in no time. She pulls out a pair of darkened glasses so as to be able to look up, no one wants to get cow sickness from staring at the sun, and watches Edvard prepare himself. So far away she can't see the detail, but she's sure he's psyching himself up. Finally, the figure stretches it's arms out and gives a little jump, and falls in a perfect swan dive into the calm blue waters. Zillah watches the shape under the water brace and then kick, and then Edvard resurfaces. He isn't half as scrawny as his slim cut suits make him seem, she realises as he swims towards her. Underneath, and in his soaking wet costume, his body is, well, fit. Fit and masculine and deliciously hirsute where the wool has sagged and exposed his chest and ridden up on the thighs from the downdraft. Behind her sunshades, Zillah takes a moment to appreciate him as he pulls himself onto the riverbank, his luxurious moustache dripping with river water, his compact frame nicely muscled, and the sheer delight in his ice blue eyes, and thinks "oh no."

#oxventure #blades in the dark #zillard #oxventure fic #the astor gambit #whoops i didnt mean to do this but its done now

[tagsecretsanta]

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person. 

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands. 

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module. 

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later. 

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements. 

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm. 

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy. 

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him. 

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.” 

  A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

#thunderbirds are go #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #MissSquidTracy

[queenxxxsupreme]

Adore You

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3k 

Summary: Inspired by Adore You by my baby Harry Styles, Steve proposes:)

Steve braced himself on the counter, his hands gripping the marble so tightly he chanced breaking the stone. He hung his head as he closed his eyes, silently telling himself that everything would be okay. He could do this. Now was the perfect time, Rogers. You can’t chicken out now.

The little red velvet box in the pocket of his royal blue suit pants felt like a brick.

Just as he was about to pull the box out, the door behind him opened and Bucky slipped in.

“What are you doing in here, Steve?” He closed the door behind himself and turned to face his best friend. “You’ve been gone for almost ten minutes.”

Steve turned to face him, a soft breath escaping his lips. He leaned against the sink and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I want to do it tonight, Buck.” He admitted quietly. It took a moment for the Winter Soldier to register what exactly Steve was saying but when he did, his eyes grew wide and a bright grin plastered his face.

“You do? You have it here? You have the ring?”

Steve had told Bucky about his desire to propose to you from the moment he even thought about it. Bucky even helped him pick out a ring three months ago-with Stark’s help. Steve knew the billionaire knew what you would like. You two were practically best friends. Steve had been holding on to the rock ever since, keeping it close for when the time was right. And that time was now. The whole team had decided to go out for a fancy dinner. Sometimes they did it for publicity and sometimes they did it because Stark felt like dressing up and wanted to treat his friends to a nice dinner that wasn’t takeout food. You were dressed in a beautiful royal blue dress that matched Steve’s suit. The color complimented his eyes, and it was your favorite on him.

“Yeah, I’ve had it on me since I bought it.” Steve pulled the box out to show Bucky.

“So you’re hiding out in here cause you’re scared?”

“M’not scared, Buck.” Steve muttered, tucking the box back into the safety of his pants pocket. “I mean, I am but just.... just because I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“Steve, she’s madly in love with you, man.” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and then pulled him in for a hug. “I think she’d make a great Mrs. Rogers. She likes making dumbass decisions too.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve patted his back.

There was knock on the door before it opened. Natasha poked her head in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, boys.”

“He’s gonna do it, Nat. He’s going to propose to Y/N.”

“Shh, Buck!” Steve hushed him.

“Finally.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“It’s only been three years.” Steve told her.

“Three years for you guys. For the rest of us who have to put up with your lovey-dovey romantics bullshit, it’s been at least a century.”

“Don’t let her attitude get to you, Steve.” Bucky teased the Widow. “She’s just grumpy because I wouldn’t let her sit beside Pepper.”

“Why not?”

“Cause Pepper’s sitting right across from Sam and I want to be able to kick his seat when I feel like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes at his best friend. As he neared the table full of Avengers, he could hear you telling a story about when you were still new to S.H.I.E.L.D. Your eyes almost instantly found him and the smile on your lips widened. You waved at him, continuing your story as you shifted a little to face his seat. He took his seat and put his hand on your knee. You placed your hand on top of his.

He listened to your story, even though he had heard it at least a hundred times before. He loved your voice and the passion you had when you spoke about your work. He adored the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him or the way you knew when he wasn’t in a good mood. You had this weird affinity for knowing when something was wrong. Whether he had a headache or someone managed to piss him off, you knew. It was a gut instinct. Someone or something had messed with America’s Golden Boy, and you were willing to do everything you could to make him better.

You had risked your life for him time and time again-which he hated. He didn’t like how careless you would become if it meant keeping him safe. His life meant more to you than anything. Even though he was enhanced and you knew he could withstand a tremendous amount, you still did your best to protect him from everything you could. You hated seeing him hurt.

Your compassion was another thing about you that he adored. You were always so eager and willing to help those around you. Even if you didn’t have the means to help them, you would do your best. You were truly kind to everyone you came across, that is, unless they were undeserving of your kindness. You had the ability to be mean and cold, he had witnessed this a handful of times in the years that you had known each other. It was a part of you that you didn’t like him to see, but you didn’t hold back. If you were around someone you didn’t like, you made sure they knew you didn’t like them.

“Earth to Captain America.” Stark waved his hand in Steve’s face. Steve blinked and turned his head to the Iron Man. “You good, Capsicle?”

“Yeah. I’m-I’m fine. Why?”

“You spaced out for a minute. Did you fall asleep, old man?”

A soft laughter broke out across the table.

“No I was thinking.” Steve shook his head. He looked over to you. You had wrapped your fingers around his at some point. He wasn’t sure when. It must’ve been when he was lost in thought. “I was thinking. And.... And I’m ready.”

“You’re ready?” You repeated, raising your eyebrows just slightly. “For what?”

“For this.” He stood up and pushed his chair away from the table. He brought your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before he pulled the velvet box out of his pocket.

Your breath immediately caught in your throat at the sight of the box. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as your eyes flickered up to the Captain.

“Y/N, I’ve known you for almost a decade.” He laughed softly as he sunk down to one knee. “You’ve been by my side since I came out of the ice. You’ve been with me through all the hard times since then. You-You’re what made it bearable.” His voice cracked. Tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision of the beautiful man. You quickly blinked so that you could see him. The tears left your eyes and trailed down your cheeks. Your hand fell from your mouth to your chest as you let out a shaky breath. “I’ve loved you longer than we’ve been dating. I love everything about you. From the way you do your hair to-to the way you say words like crayon.”

All of the Avengers and you laugh gently at him. You wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?” He opened the box to reveal a dazzling roung diamond ring.

“Yes.” Your voice was raspy as you nod your head, offering him your trembling hand. The Avengers cheered and whistled and clapped as he took the ring out and slipped it on to your ring finger. You admire it for a few moments, watching the way the gem catches the light. You leaned forward in your chair to wrap your arms around his neck. “Yes, yes, yes.” You kiss his lips and then leave kisses all over his cheeks as he laughs. “I love you.”

His arms wrapped firmly around you. He stood up and took you with him, his strong arms holding you to his body.

“I love you more.”

#steve rogers #captain america #marvel #avengers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #oneshots #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

[mo0n-yang]

XUE YANG _ MAFIA AU

So, this isn't very detailed nor is it the best, but I'll try my best to convey the exact AU I had in mind when I first listened to this song. Without further ado, I present to you:

XUE YANG SUITING UP FOR A GANG WAR ;)

A series of gun shots alerts xue yang from where he was seated, clad in the finest suit tailored to fit, negotiating a deal with the Mongolian drug cartel.

Staying as calm as still water, he turns his attention to one of his subordinates who crashed through the door. Shaking while moving forward she struggles to speak.

"what is it A-Qing?" Xue yang spoke, sounding as uninterested as listening to someone go on and on about their ingrown toenails.

"Wing B ...is under... attack"

Slight tremors of surprise glaze over his eyes. Xue yang looks over to the two representatives of the Mongolian channel present, face transforming to that of pity and starts to speak "Wing B is where Meta347 is stored."

The representatives are shocked. "Isn't that, the shipment we were supposed to pick up, if the deal went alright?"

Xue yang scoffs. Slightly losing his calm, he speaks in an irritated tone.

"Does this LOOK like it went alright? WING B IS UNDER FUCKING ATTACK. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH VALUE A SINGLE PACKAGE OF META347 HOLDS??"

Shrinking further into their seats, the representatives are now on the verge of tears. Never did they expect this to happen. Never in their life did they fathom Xue Yang to be this scary. I mean, all the man did was raise his voice and he got 2 whole ass human beings scared shitless.

"what's the estimated time of transport of packages and how many K.I's are we dealing with here?" Xue yang spoke to the guard while stripping himself of the expensive coat down to just a plain white dress shirt and pants.

A-Qing who has regained some of her energy responds so as to get further orders from her boss "15...15 minutes to get 347 to safety and 27 K.I's"

"What about our men?"

Xue yang steps on the table in front of the Mongolian representatives to put on his extremely chunky boots, surprising the two because of how calm he is.

"8 on Wing B... rest are at Wing A and D, unloading new shipment"

Xue Yang mentally facepalms. Ofcourse they're outnumbered. This has to be the most cliché movie scene situation ever.

"Assign the representatives to guards Lim and Jay. I want them safe. You hear me?"

"Yes Sir. I have sent a signal to A and D and messaged Commander Song for backup."

"Good. I want all the goddamn K.I's out of my base and minimum injury to our men. All exits to B should be blocked. Contact Xingchen and tell him I'll be late for dinner tonight. Is that understood?"

"YES SIR"

"Good. NOW MOVE"

A-Qing ushers the two representatives outside, slamming the door closed behind her.

Xue yang shakes his head in annoyance. "How many times should I tell that lil shit to not slam my door. Tsk"

Moving to his wardrobe in his office with long strides, he puts on a black harness with holsters and small silver pendant hanging from the side secured with a chain.

He then picks up his sword. Yes, a sword. Though Xue yang was the leader of what is possibly the most famous drug cartel to run in all of china with access to state of the art weaponry, he still had an affinity towards swords. Picking up Jiangzai, his glorious and deathly double sided sword which triggered a secret room with weaponry to open up, he chose a smith and wessons .38 and a colt.

Satisfied, he suits himself up. Wearing his bladed knuckle duster, he touches the silver pendant with his left hand. The pendant which his loving husband bought him on their 3rd date together.

Checking himself out in the mirror, xue yang laughs maniacally and walks outside with feather light steps. Whistling away with hands in his pockets.

#xue yang #mdzs #the untamed #songxuexiao #song lan #xiao xingchen #a qing #mafia au #drug cartels #i really like how this turned out #i really dont #I cannot english right now #jiangzi #guess I'll attempt this again #but Xue Yang do be hot tho #Spotify

[cottontail20]

Children Of Iron, Chapter 17: Drone Strike

Summary: Drones raze London.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323687/chapters/60673021

Vision managed to catch Peter, snagging him by the back of his suit just before he hit the ground.

"Whoa!"

"Are you alright, Peter?" Vision asked.

"Yeah" Peter nodded. "Thanks, Vision. That would have hurt.." By now, the whole illusion had faded, while a large number of drones had turned their attention to Peter and Vision. "Uh.. I think he might be on to us.." Peter took off at a run, dodging the shots of some drones, while using others for anchors from which to jump and swing.

"I think so too" Vision followed close behind him, firing at the drones. --

Meanwhile, poor Happy had had to set aside his panic over losing Wanda to focus on the task of picking up the kids. Finally spotting them in person, he brought the jet in to land near the Tower of London, and rushed to intercept the panicking kids as they fled through the crowds.

"Ned!" He called when he spotted them.

"Happy!" cried Ned, relieved, while MJ, Betty and Flash looked confused.

"I've gotta get you guys out of here" said Happy. "Quick, get on the jet!"

"Who are you?!" Yelled MJ, not about to get on a jet with a stranger without question, even if it seemed like Ned knew him.

"I work with Spider-man, okay? Now you've got to get on that Jet!"

"You work for Spider-man?" gasped Flash, awestruck.

"I work with Spider-man" Happy replied exasperatedly, "Not for Spider-man. Now.." Before he could repeat his order that they get on the jet, an explosion behind them signalled that the jet had been destroyed by missiles.

Even worse, more missiles were heading straight for them.

"Oh shit.." said Ned.

"We're gonna die!" Flash wailed.

Happy, unfortunately, could not comfort the boy, because it seemed quite certain that they were, in fact, about to die.

Just as all hope seemed lost, Wanda landed in front of them in a flash of scarlet,raising her hands to halt the missile's descent and hurl it high into the air, where the resulting explosion would do less damage.

"That was close.." Wanda panted.

"You're.. You're the Scarlet Witch!" Flash gaped at her.

"I am. Is anyone hurt?"

The kids shook their heads mutely.

"Good" Wanda smiled, and, still maintaining her affinity for the slightly weird kids of the world even in the midst of the current chaos, turned to her young saviour from the other night and asked, "Are you alright, MJ?"

"Um.." MJ blinked, surprised. "A little wigged out, but yeah, I guess I'm okay."

"You know the Scarlet Witch?" Flash gasped.

"Kinda.."

"Oh, MJ and I are very good friends" Wanda smirked, before turning her attention back to the the task at hand. "Happy, we need to get these kids somewhere safe."

"I know. I was trying to round them all up onto the jet, But.." He gestured to it's smouldering remains.

"Right" Wanda frowned, looking around. "Okay, new plan.. everyone into the tower!" She took off at a run, Happy and the kids following without question. --

Elsewhere, Peter and Vision were still locked in battle with the drones. Vision was beginning to feel strangely drained. It was something that had happened now and then since his resurrection, if he was away from Wanda for any period of time, but it hadn't occured to him that it could be a problem today. He didn't mention this information to Peter. The poor boy had enough to worry about.

Peter looked around, at the drones still causing chaos, civilians fleeing.. But he couldn't let Mysterio get away with all this.

"Vision, you can fly, right? Could you go up and wrangle Beck until I get back up there?"

"Of course" Vision took off, still not mentioning the drained feeling to Peter.

Peter dodged another few drone shots, taking shelter behind a car as he decided to check in with Happy.

"Happy, say something!" He panted. "Please, let me know you're alive!"

"I'm here, I'm here" Happy's voice crackled through the communicator. "Wanda too. We've got your friends." --

"Oh, thank god!"

"Wanda bought us some time.." Happy glanced nervously towards the door of the tower, which was beginning to spark as the drones tried to break in from the other side.

"..But not much" Wanda grimly finished Happy's sentence for him, making sure to keep the panicked children behind her.

At some point, MJ had snatched a mace from one of The Tower's displayed suits of armour. She looked as terrified as the others on the surface, but Wanda admired the girl's bravery. --

"I'm trying to get to Beck, but I can't shake these drones!" Peter replied. "I sent Vision after him!" He took advantage of an explosion that sent the car he'd been hiding behind into the air, leaping from it and continuing his way upwards, leaping and swinging from various other bits of debris. "Whoa, I think I've got it!" --

"Take your time, Peter.." Vision called into the communicator, a little breathless, firing beams at stray drones as he went. "I'm almost to Beck, we've got this under control." --

Wanda, while focused on protecting Peter's friends, frowned a little. Shedidn't like the breathlessnes in Vision's voice. Something wasn't right.. --

When Vision finally caught up to Beck, he saw him working madly, barking instructions to his team while also keeping track of the drones he was sending after Spider-Man, and all his little friends. Finally getting a confirmed lock on Peter, a wicked grin spread over the villain's face, as he prepared to order a missile strike.

"Gotcha now, Spider-Man.."

"I don't think so."

Beck tried to hide his surprise at Vision's sudden appearance.

"Hey there, Vision the super-bot. Supposedly one of Stark's greatest inventions, but then.. You're not really all his, are you?" Beck taunted, wicked grin still in place. "You were an accident."

"Maybe" Vision glared at Beck. "But there's enough of him in me to help stop you."

Beck's eyes narrowed.

"We'll see about that.."

#spider-man #spider-man far from home #spiderman far from home #far from home fix it #peter parker #Scarlet Witch #wanda maximoff #vision mcu #mysterio

[petepettingillposts]

NEW YORK DAYS 1987 – 1988

I was born in Queens, a New York City borough but I grew up in Nassau County. The city always loomed large in our lives but we didn’t have much to do with it. It might as well have been another country.

My father worked at 26 Broadway. My Aunt Jessie worked in Manhattan, too, for General Electric in the sixties and early seventies. My mother worked for Liggett & Meyers until she left to have me in the late fifties. We visited the city a few times as kids to see my father, to eat at the automat, to ride the Staten Island ferry. As young adults we would drive in late in the evening to go to the top of the World Trade Center. We did that a few times. But we’d always come right back out.

Sometime in 1987 I was promoted by my company to a supervisory position in Rockefeller Center from one of the Long Island offices. I was not keen on this at all but I went. It was going to mean longer days because of the commute and I was uncertain what it would be like overall. I was twenty-eight years-old and had been with the company two and a half years. In hindsight I was not so opposed that I ever contemplated quitting my job. As a dutiful soldier, I took the assignment and went to New York City, much as I had taken orders to go from Fort Jackson, SC to Giessen, Germany a decade earlier.

I was married and living in Hempstead. We had been married just over two years. E was working as a research librarian at a Wall Street bond firm. Our apartment was very close to the Long Island Railroad station. It was only a mile but I did not consider walking there because it was not a great neighborhood. I drove to the station every morning. I had to have a town sticker to park in that parking lot.

I became excited about the job and wanted to do well. I went early every day. I recall getting up at 4:30 or 5:00, showering, dressing and leaving. We wore suits in those days, or at least slacks and sports jackets with a tie. Don’t forget the tie. In the late autumn and winter, I wore a trench coat or an overcoat. It was during this period I developed an affinity for herringbone. I had a maroon briefcase from Macy’s I bought for my promotion. That only went to the dump a few years ago.

Whenever I reflect on this part of my life to other people, I always make sure I tell them “I read the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times in the morning and the New York Post in the afternoon.”  Stories in the news then were Tawana Brawley, the garbage barge, and, of course, Oliver North and Fawn Hall were waist deep in the Iran-Contra Affair with Ronald Reagan. And rarely a day went by that Donald Trump was not in the New York Post.

Rarely did I catch a morning train that did not require a change at Jamaica to go to Pennsylvania Station, so I also like to share how at least twice I fell asleep, missed the change, ended up in Brooklyn, and had to work my way up to Rockefeller Center on the subways from Brooklyn. I am glad that only happened twice. It is an ordeal.

On the approach to Jamaica, I was always fascinated by the ruin of Saint Monica. Saint Monica’s was a Roman Catholic Church built in 1856 and closed in 1973. In 1987 it was staggering to see this church, right in the middle of Queens, not just in complete disrepair but collapsing. It always captured my imagination: the people who had built it, loved it, and cared for it. And now abandoned it. What had become of them that this had become of this church?

Shortly after departing Jamaica, the trained stopped at Woodside, and from there accelerated and dove in to a tunnel under the East River. Next stop: Pennsylvania Station.

Depending on the weather I would either walk the mile from Penn Station to Rockefeller Center or I would take a subway. I had two choices: the 1 train or the F train. The F train stopped in a mall beneath what was then the JC Penney building. I could work my way through the labyrinth to number 10. Using the 1 train I would emerge by a deli and I would always get a fried egg on a bulky roll and pint of Tropicana orange juice for about $2. Those guys could move some people through that place every morning. The hustle was all New York.

Early on I learned about synchronized commuting on the subway: the best entry point on the subway that would be the best exit point off the subway for my stop. You will see the same New Yorker standing in the same spot at the same time for decades with little deviation.

Rarely was I the first one in the office. Pat always beat me. In those days he commuted in from the Delaware Water Gap. That was an hour and a half each way! I would eventually work with Pat again in Dover, New Hampshire.

I loved the work I was doing in New York. I was a supervisor and we were doing liability claims primarily for department stores, hotels, and restaurants. I worked with some great people and we had a lot of fun. I can still name names but I won’t. We had one guy who frequently took naps in the bathroom stall with his pants around his ankles.

It was a formative time in my career. I had good managers. They let us do our work and were there for us when we needed them. We dealt with some huge and complex claims, and I was exposed to some of the most notorious plaintiff attorneys in the country. I was naïve and would go right at them. I had no idea who I was dealing with until it was all over. Sometimes it ended well and sometimes it did not. But we settled cases all day long.

We had some high profile claims that were in the news and we’d always have a few with celebrities. It was real time stuff. I worked with some great defense lawyers. And to be honest I worked with some really good plaintiff attorneys. One guy actually coached me on how to do my job. I mean he was completely forthright and honest. I remember his name as if I spoke with him last week. “Kid, make sure you are leaving a paper trail because you will never remember it all and I’d hate to see you get hung up.” My adversary said that to me.

I am sure I ate lunch but I don’t remember much about it or any particular routine except for walking. I walked everywhere. I’d walk up to Central Park and back. I’d go down to Bryant Park and the New York Public Library. I took advantage of the sights and sounds of the city. Of course, the famous Christmas tree was right outside our building and Saint Patrick’s Cathedral was across the street. I had no inside information but I knew my city career would be a brief period of my life and I wanted to take in every piece of it while it lasted.

I frequently walked over to the then construction site of Worldwide Plaza. When I first visited the site it was a great big hole between West 49th and West 50th Streets and Eighth and Ninth Avenues, the proverbial city block. And for the remainder of my time working in the city I watched that hole turn to a foundation and three main buildings, the tallest being fifty stories. If you have never watched a skyscraper being built, it is really something else to see the trucks arriving with steel beams, and the workers and the cranes put them in place and fasten them.

If I did take the subway back to Penn Station at the end of the day I have no recollection of that now. For the most part I walked. It was a mile and it was an interesting mile of people, places and things. And smells. Smells good and bad. It always seemed like the best choice to walk. In fact it might be quicker depending on the timing of the subway. And it was a good way to unwind. If my timing was right, I could catch the Hempstead train and not have to change at Jamaica. In fact, I think I planned it that way most often.

To call Penn Station bustling is an understatement. Certainly, not for the faint of heart. I quickly became accustomed to it, entering from Seventh Avenue, descending the escalator, and working my way through the faceless crowd and countless shops and concessions. Thinking back on it all now, it was pretty amazing, the timing of it all: leave the office, walk to Penn, get on the train moments before it pulled out.

I feel fortunate I had the experience. After about 18 months, I was moved back to one of the Long Island offices and shortly after that, in 1989 I came to New Hampshire on a 3 – 5 year temporary assignment.

I’ll leave it at that for now.

[fink-le-freak]

@mikey-putrid and I have this weird little desert town we created called Halflight and I want to share some of the character blurbs we wrote for the citizens

Notable Locations Within Halflight

-Halflight General Hospital

-Halflight Public Library

-Halflight Grammar School

-Halflight Town Hall

-The Flock and Feather

-Dragon's Keep Games and Comics

-Feline Good

-Pins N' Needles

-Ink Addicts

-Rose's Antiques

-Theodore's Oddities and Enchantments

-Kelly's Judo Club

-New to You

-Sunny Valley Nursing Home

Dr. Elsie O'Dalaigh, 54: The town's most beloved doctor. Her dry wit and eccentricities may put you off at first, but she's a very warm and wise woman and should you fall ill or find yourself hurt, you will be in good hands. She's originally from Dublin and has a fair number of stories to tell from her wild youth in Ireland. She has an affinity for all things macabre but especially spiders. You might find her dozing off on her porch swing or enjoying a cup of tea with a friend. You're always welcome to join her and her spouse for dinner.

Dr. Ivan Vasilevsky, 39: A sickly doctor who recently came to town from New York City because the air quality was better for his lungs. He's very brilliant but hardly friendly and very private. Because he's fairly well known, patients come from across the country seeking his care. The only person he seems friendly with is his nurse, Cameron.

Dr. Andre Jimenez, 34: An anthropomorphic parrot surgeon at Halflight General Hospital. He's a total social butterfly and loves to talk, talk, talk. He has trouble keeping secrets and falls into gossip frequently. He's well liked by all his colleagues, all but Dr. Vasilevsky that is.

Johnathan "Johnny" Ross, 20: A cowardly and sensitive young man with a passion for piercing. Though only an apprentice, he's very knowledgeable about body modification and keeps his own piercings immaculate. His motorcycle is also kept in pristine condition. He's also quite shy and is hardly ever seen without his girlfriend, Loretta.

Venus Estelle, 31: A laid back frilled lizard woman that claims to see the future through the smoke from her pipe. She's very transparent and sees no reason to keep secrets about herself. She has nothing to hide. She has a passion for music and plays drums in a local punk band, The Heart Electric.

Kaisei "Kai" Kelly, 56: A very stoic and serious judo instructor. His father was a boxer in Ireland and ever since childhood, Kai has been enthralled by martial arts. He fancies himself a train enthusiast and has a large collection of model trains in his home. His serious nature and brute strength can make him rather intimidating but his husband Rodney finds him cute. He visits his family in Kyoto every spring.

Rodney Kelly, 59: The gym teacher at Halflight Grammar School. Originally from Edinburgh and standing a diminutive 5'2", Rodney more than makes up for his height with personality. He's encouraging, kind, hyperactive and loud. Very, very loud. Fitness has always been an important part of his life, even at nearly 60. He does his best to make gym class a fun place for all instead of a source of bullying and stress for those who don't like team sports.

Jeremy Fox, 19: A brilliant college student neck deep in conspiracy theories. He's very paranoid and distrusting, often to his detriment. He wants to prove to his professors that aliens exist though none of them will give him the time of day. When he isn't studying or trying to prove his theories, he can be found practicing his bass guitar or stargazing. He and his older sister like to unwind by smoking pot and watching sci-fi movies. He's one of Johnny's closest friends.

Jodie Fox, 23: Jeremy's cheerful, supportive yet ditzy older sister and roomate. She let him move in with her after their parents kicked him out for being gay. She doesn't understand a lot of what he talks about but she's happy he's passionate about something. Her bedroom is filled with Care Bears merchandise and colorful collectibles. She's rarely seen without her sticker covered roller skates. The two siblings live in the apartment right above Johnny and Loretta.

Sunny McIntyre, 30: An anthro horse gym rat and fitness trainer. Her cheerfulness is contagious and her motherly nature makes her easy to talk to. Her thick southern drawl might make it hard to understand her though. She always looks on the bright side and doesn't have a pessimistic bone in her body. In addition to being a die hard Bon Jovi fan, she enjoys fishing, hiking and hunting. She also hosts a transgender support group at her house.

Junichiro Oguma, 46: An overworked and underpaid pharmacy technician. Though very good at what he does, he isn't really a people person. He's rather grumpy and has little patience for foolishness. He's infamously difficult to work with due to his perfectionism. He holds himself to ridiculously high standards and gets upset easily when he fails to meet his own expectations. His wit is drier than the desert itself.

Edward Dowler, 68: A retired illustrator living comfortably at the Sunny Valley Nursing Home. He takes his sketchbook everywhere and may sheepishly ask you if you would mind posing for a portrait. He's a gentle soul and a firm believer in the power of pacifism. He's very close to his adopted daughter and three grandsons.

Joanne Lawrence, 47: The owner of Joanne's Diner. She bought the place almost 20 years ago and turned it into a comfortable, 1950's style diner popular among bikers and travelers. She's very blunt and hates wasting time but if you treat her well, she'll treat you well. Threaten her livelihood however and you will pay dearly. Regulars might call her Mama because she takes such good care of them.

Dennis "Moose" Bowen, 52: The cook at Joanne's. He's a people pleaser and will do whatever a customer asks to make sure they enjoy their meal. Hearing someone say they didn't like his food is like a knife through the heart. He prefers to stay in the background and not call too much attention to himself. Joanne calls him Moose because of his large size.

Hilda "Mouse" Calhoun, 21: A demon waitress at Joanne's. Contrary to what you might believe, she's very down to earth and sweet. She's not here for souls or bringing you to damnation, she just wants to serve pancakes and save money for beauty school. Her petite build makes her the Mouse to Dennis's Moose.

Wally Mack, unknown but born before 1956, mentally and physically around 21-24: A living humanoid shadow that can usually be found on a wall at Joanne's. He's chatty and perky and loves to dance. He's able to interact with others through their shadows. If Wally was to touch your shadow's shoulder, you would feel it. He likes to play harmless pranks on Dennis.

Tiffany "Tiff" Cain, 25: An anthropomorphic eagle bartender at her father's restaurant, The Flock and Feather. She also volunteers to work with children with special needs on weekends. She's very patient and a daredevil at heart. Her straightforward, casual attitude makes guests comfortable and keeps them coming back. She may be seen skateboarding around town.

Hisao Nakajima-Stewart, 33: The recently appointed head librarian at Halflight Public Library. He's rather sarcastic and moody but becoming a father has softened him up. He's very passionate about high fantasy and hosts Dungeons and Dragons sessions at his house every week. He spoils his chihuahua, Kotori, rotten with all kinds of pretty dresses and toys. He loves his husband, daughter and newborn son dearly.

Delwyn Morgane, 29: An employee at Dragon's Keep Games and Comics. When his shift ends, he dons a full suit of armor and obsessively hunts down dragons, or at least tries to. He's yet to actually kill a dragon. He's quite handsome but has a few screws loose. He plays Dungeons and Dragons with Hisao and friends every Thursday night.

Klaus Brunsvold, 70: A quiet and hardworking man originally from Norway. English is not his first language but he's slowly improving thanks to his coworkers. Though he might look imposing, his warm smile puts people at ease right away. He works at the cat cafe, Feline Good, as a barista and gleefully serves customers fattigman and slices of ostekake. Goria says he has "big grandpa energy".

Jonas Ostergard, 61: A blunt, reclusive man that's easily recognized by his towering height and voracious appetite. Standing 8'2" in comparison to his wife's tiny 5', he's one of many oddities in this town. He's absolutely enthralled by zombies and robots and fills notebooks with detailed diagrams regarding them. He's often seen at the Flock and Feather, chatting up a storm with his friend Tiff. He has autism, ADHD and intellectual disabilities.

Jamie De Luna, 18: A scrawny young man enamored with anime and martial arts. He's a bit hotheaded and immature but nonetheless determined to become an MMA fighter. His younger sister Tala is his biggest fan and supports her nerdy big brother all the way. He loves cheesy kung fu movies and takes them very seriously. He thinks very highly of his judo teacher Kai and seems to think of him as a father figure.

Goria Stout, 15: A high school student and part of Hisao's Dungeons and Dragons group. She's partially an ogre, 25% to be exact, and admires her ogre grandfather greatly. However, at the same time, part of her has been made to feel ashamed of her pointed ears and blue skin. She's rather lazy and self centered, but occasionally shows a more warm side. She wants to study magic and become a feared sorceress but just doesn't have the natural ability to do so. She frequents the comic shop and is the only one that believes in Delwyn's quest to slay a dragon.

Wesley Eldridge, 19: The bratty and materialistic son of billionaires left to play in mommy and daddy's mansion. His parents are constantly traveling the world, so he spends his days lazing about and relishing his family's wealth. He's notoriously snobbish and will have no part in anything, or anyone, he deems beneath him. He's had a fondness for unicorns since he was a child and even owns a purebred Irish unicorn named Divinity Diamond. He's very protective of her and has no qualms about sending his guards after you if you dare harm her.

Renwick Ozul, 25: E-boy and aspiring model with a sour disposition. He's distrusting of others and keeps people at a distance, except for his close friend Missy. Despite his cold and calculating online persona, he's quite insecure and struggles with his body image. He can be rather rude and nasty but has his moments of vulnerability and kindness.

Chelsea Montgomery, 23: A quiet young woman who keeps to herself. Some people say she fades into the background. She's very creative and resourceful, cleverly finding solutions to most problems she faces. Her interests include anime, cosplay, drawing and video games. She's great with kids and would like to be an art teacher one day.

Dallas Silvers, 27: A monster hunter and unofficial sheriff of Halflight. She's bold and quick witted, outsmarting any beast that threatens the town and quickly subduing it or killing it. Her talent with a rifle is nigh unmatched in town. She's the second oldest of 11 children and adores her older brother, the bounty hunter Smokey Silvers. She finds it difficult to be open about her feelings but loves her family dearly.

(Characters below belong to my friend @mikey-putrid, follow him he's cool)

Brody Erickson-O'Dalaigh, 47: The town's resident maternal figure and unofficial monster hunter (or befriender, really). Their spunky, adventurous attitude often gets them into shenanigans, but they always manage to pull themself out. They are kind and loving towards everyone. No matter who or what you are, you are always invited to Brody's for a nice meal.

Landon Borowick, 26: Brody's, often unwilling, sidekick and a security guard at the local mall. He's a cowardly young man who would rather stay home and get stoned, but thinks of Brody as his hero and therefore ends up getting dragged along on their adventures. Despite his fearful nature, Landon is a physically intimidating person who will do anything to help a friend.

Darcy Cooper, 16: A rough and tumble student at Halflight Grammar School. Darcy moved to Halflight with her mother to open up a bakery, which doubles as their home, and she often makes deliveries on her bike. Her warm and friendly personality helps her to make friends easily. Usually covered in bandages, Darcy loves practicing stunts on her skateboard, as well as watching anime and playing video games.

Loretta Sims, 20: Johnny's girlfriend, aspiring cryptozoologist and collecter of cool antiques. Loretta is shy and timid, preferring to blend into the background and not draw attention to herself. She loves spending time in the forest and working on her ever growing scrapbook. She's never far from her beloved boyfriend.

Cameron Payette, 28: A nurse at Halflight General Hospital and Dr. Vasilevsky's live in assistant. Having grown up with 15 disabled and ill siblings, Cameron has developed a love of helping people, keeping them healthy and cheering them up with a silly song on their trusty ukelele. During their off time, they enjoy video games and sci-fi movies.

#oc #original character #long fucking post

[unproduciblesmackdown]

this post is about jeremy’s laptop based on this pic

i’ve seen a slightly different one and i don’t remember if it’s an older one (like, off bway) or just an Alternate Prop but either way i feel like this one is like, The Main One currently. it’s definitely a one. either way. the stickers, clockwise-ish:

1) the transformers sticker

idk it could fit with jeremy’s Retro stuff and there’s “trans” in the name

2) the tattoo shop sticker

says “get a tattoo / ...or don’t / downtown tattoos / 501 frenchmen / st. nola”....a new orleans tattoo parlor. did michael get his pacman tattoo there? if so, he’d have to have used a fake i.d.

3) bmo

setting bmc post-2010...popular well known series...hey wait bmc and bmo are just a few pixels apart. anyways bmo’s canonically nonbinary

4) odd eye

setting bmc post-2016...an east village home decor/design store? it seems kinda fancy and idk why jeremy might have merch from a furniture place but it makes sense that he might’ve done a fair amt of nyc wandering. the aesthetic seems pretty jeremy-esque...bold patterns, bright colors, and an affinity for the weirder versions of stuff. plus apparently the guys who own it are a couple

5) su

setting bmc post 2013...popular well known series...most of the characters are canonically nonbinary...plus all the gay shit

6) circle sticker

idk what this one is. it seems to say total [?] of(?) solar b[?] 2012 or probably 2017, which sets bmc post-2012 or post-2017...i guess it’s like, a band’s tour merch? unless it’s maybe some kind of event title

7) you go girl

this is re: like, the most prominent mostly-anonymous street artist in new orleans, hugo gyrl aka you go girl. (i know the Other Laptop i saw had “hugo gyrl” vs this one’s “you go girl”)...most of their works have “you go girl” (dotted with an x) or “you go gyrl” and their art is colorful and fun and self-described as queer and feminist and meant to seem affirmingly positive in a genuine way

new orleans again, so like, i want to believe jeremy and michael were both on a trip there once

7) the black suits sticker

the black suits is a real band in the bmc universe and nato is jeremy’s cousin and you know nato could get hold of a bunch of mtn dew red somehow if his cousin needed to go adventuring with his buds to desquip some parts of nj...really it’s pretty easy to stop a squip invasion what with how they all want to interconnect and every individual person has to have a spiked drink and yet only a single person in the Network needs to drink some Red to deactivate everyone they’re synced with. nbd! anyways jeremy and michael went to the saint anne’s battle of the bands and michael bought a The Black Suits tee directly from the source and he eventually decided the band might be so bad it’s actually genius and he’s a genuine fan and it’s the Most ~underground~ cred

8) the sticker underneath the the black suits sticker

[???]

conclusion: jeremy’s neither cis nor het and plenty of evidence here for nb lesbian jeremy and jere and michael have been to new orleans and manhatten and michael has a fake id and a the black suits tee and a burned cd of some of their phone-recorded tracks

#also it tells us that jeremy is super chaotic for just overlapping stickers like that #bmc

[lovemesomerafael]

EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 22:  Proximity Alert

Chapters 1-20  Chapter 21

Traffic that night was just beginning to creep again after the gridlock of rush hour, made worse by the angle of the sun blinding westbound drivers in the soggy evening air.  Barba liked hot weather, but only when he was dressed for it.  Just the walk from his garage had Rafael’s once-crisp dress shirt sodden with perspiration.  Just up the street, Rafael noticed the pretty, rounded backside of a woman in short running tights, leaning over to stretch very nice legs.  Although he appreciated the picture, he couldn’t believe anyone would willingly run through the sweltering city right now.  As he got closer, the woman stood up to change her stretch, giving him the opportunity to appreciate her upper half. She wore a ratty-looking grey T-shirt that hung loosely.  

She was right in front of his building.  He had to walk around her to get to the door. Being a lifelong New Yorker, he didn’t even think of catching her eye or saying hello, until she called his name in a surprised yelp.

“Mr. Barba!”

He turned.  To his confusion, the woman was Detective Parker, hair pulled into a haphazard knot on top of her head and skin already showing a sheen of sweat, although she was just getting ready to run.  Her T-shirt had a faded Northwestern University logo and was short enough to display a few inches of toned midsection above her black shorts. Her eyebrows pulled together and faint frown lines showed between them.  

“What are you…  Do you live in this building?”

“I do,” he answered, wearing a similar expression.

“Huh,” she said.  “So do I.”  

They didn’t speak for a few seconds, neither particularly wanting to spout one of the usual banal expressions of surprise going through their minds.  All they could think of to say was their apartment numbers.

“10C,” Rafael said.

“8D,” she answered.    

The strange moment was broken when a tall, athletic man with shaggy black hair and startlingly blue eyes jogged up to them and greeted Laura.  Rafael thought he looked like he should be pretending to man a sailboat in an advertisement for expensive cologne.

She stiffly introduced the man as her friend Jeff, leaving out the fact that she and Jeff knew one another from A.A.  She explained to Jeff that she and Rafael worked together and had just discovered they lived in the same building.  

“Jeez,” Jeff said, “What are the chances of that? So, you ready?”

Laura sputtered a hasty goodbye to Barba, and she and Jeff headed down the street at a jog.  

“So what’s his story?”  Jeff asked as they ran, avoiding the passersby on the sidewalk.

“I barely know him.  He’s the Assistant District Attorney assigned to our unit. Squad seems to like him, and he’s really good at what he does.”

“He’s pretty.  What’s he like?”

“Snarky.”

“Ooh, you like snarky.  Is he single?”

“No idea.”  

“I guess you’ll find out, since you’re neighbors. That could be convenient…”

“It could also be a pain in the ass.  I don’t think I like someone I work with living in the same building as me.”

“You don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

“Jeff, do I need to remind you you’re married?”

“Bradley would agree with me.  He has good taste.”

 Rafael scowled at nothing as he rode the elevator up to the tenth floor.  He wasn’t happy about what had just happened.  For one thing, he liked his privacy.  He didn’t want someone he worked with keeping tabs on him.  For another, it meant that, of the thousands of apartment buildings on this island, that damn Peter Stone had moved into his.  And finally, he really wished he hadn’t seen Parker in that outfit.  He didn’t need that in his head every time he saw her at work.  

 Laura let herself into the building after her run and started up the stairs.  She thought again about living in the same building with Rafael Barba, and wondered whether they would ever run into one another there.  Probably.  There weren’t that many apartments in the building.  She thought about what Jeff had said.  Barba was definitely hot.  That was one of the first things she’d noticed about him.  Now, a few weeks later, she often found herself hoping he would give her one of those smirky, smouldery looks of his, and was guilty of more than a little surreptitious admiration of his physique in his gorgeous suits.  But for some reason, it seemed odd to think of Barba as someone to date.  Even with Olivia Benson, he had a certain barrier that discouraged people from getting overly familiar.

She wondered what that was about, because it was obvious in everything about him that he was a passionate man.  That made her wonder what it would be like to be able to get around that barrier and truly know him.  As she let herself into her apartment and started the shower, she let her thoughts drift to what he would be like as a lover.  He might be so guarded because he was one of those deeply romantic men who, when they fell in love, fell hard.  Maybe he was all ardent caresses and whispered endearments – in Spanish, of course – or maybe he got all rough and growly and devouring. Maybe both.  Probably both.  OK, so maybe it wasn’t so odd to think of him as someone to date.  It was certainly easy to think of him as someone to fuck.

Under the steamy shower, turning to more realistic thoughts, Laura considered whether being neighbors meant that she and Barba might become something like friends.  It wasn’t out of the question.  After a stumble at the beginning, he did seem to be growing on her.  Carisi had been right; Barba was an acquired taste. These days, Laura actually liked him. She always appreciated anyone that intelligent and articulate, and she had a definite affinity for snarky people.

After her shower, Laura pulled on a plain grey tank dress and went to her living room to pick up her computer, intending to Skype with her family in Chicago.  She looked around her apartment.  She hadn’t brought much with her.  She’d sold her car and all her furniture in Chicago, so right now, her apartment was pretty sparsely furnished.  The only things in her living room at the moment were her new couch, her keyboard and stool, and her guitar.  

But she’d splurged on new clothes.  It was important to her to look good for her new job. Voight’s unit had worn jeans and T-shirts pretty much exclusively, because that’s how Voight dressed.  SUV had a stricter dress code.  She’d decided to go with quality over quantity, and been careful what she bought.  So now she had only two choices: new, carefully-chosen work clothes or old, scruffy, comfy sweats and hanging-out clothes.  Nothing in between.  

She plopped onto the couch and checked her email. There was a message from Avi ben Yaakov with frustrating news.  Avi was Laura’s new krav maga instructor, a native Israeli in his fifties who had practiced the art since his teen years, and perfected it while doing his compulsory service in the Israeli army.  He’d seen combat and was very serious about everything having to do with his training of his students.  The timing of Laura’s move had been poor; she’d felt like she was close to being ready to test for her blue belt, but had to leave her gym in Chicago before she could do it.  Now, she was starting at a new gym where she had yet to prove to her instructor that she was ready.

Laura grinned as she thought about the afternoon when she and her former instructor and lover, Eric Hernandez, had lain naked on the floor of his apartment researching gyms in Manhattan where Laura could continue her training.  On their stomachs with Eric’s laptop before them, they’d found Avi ben Yaakov fairly quickly because of the amount of favorable information about him online.  Avi had insisted on speaking to Eric about her skill and work ethic, and would not agree to consider taking her on as a student until he had met and tested her.  Laura was entirely intimidated.  She tried to get Eric to help her find a less demanding instructor, but Eric had asked her to trust him to know what kind of instructor she needed.  She’d trusted Eric, but the jury was still out on Avi. Still, it seemed to speak well of Avi that Laura found herself working as hard as she could, every class and every lesson, hoping to get his approval.  But for Avi, the jury was apparently still out on Laura, too.

 A week later, Barba had his first opportunity to see what Liv’s new detective would be like as a witness.  They met in the courtroom where the trial would be held, which he preferred when he could make it happen, so that he could assess how the witness would appear to the jury.  The meeting was necessarily scheduled in the evening when court wasn’t in session.  When they met in the hallway, he was surprised to see that Detective Parker had blots and smears of blood on the light linen jacket she wore, as well as on the silky tank top beneath.  She had a bruise on one cheek surrounding a small cut.

“Bloodstains.  Bold fashion statement.  It’s a way to go, but it might be a little much for a jury.”

One corner of her lips turned up as they began to walk toward the courtroom.  “Don’t worry, she was bleeding when we got there.”

“And this?”  He indicated her cheek.  

“The boyfriend.  He doesn’t like cops.”  Noting the look on his face, she added, “I didn’t make him bleed, either.”  

“Are you aware that not every detective I work with has to begin conversations with ‘I can explain?’”  

She chuckled.  “Can I bill the city for dry cleaning?”

“No.”  He opened the door for her and motioned her in.  

Laura was curious to see how Barba would conduct his witness preparation.  During her years in Chicago, she’d been prepped by a few attorneys, each of whom had his or her own style.  This was also the first time she would be spending any time one-on-one with him, and she wondered about that, too.  

He told her to sit in the witness box as he removed his coat and vest, loosening his tie even further than it had already been. She was mesmerized by his hands as he rolled up his shirtsleeves.  As much as she appreciated his style, there really was something about seeing him remove some of that sartorial armor that made his handsome features even harder to ignore.  Head in the game, Parker.  

“Tell me about your experience testifying in court,” he asked, spreading some papers into small piles on the table before him.

“Does moot court count?”

He looked up, surprised.  “Did you go to law school?”

“I had a boyfriend who did.”

Had?

“Well, it doesn’t count.”

She chuffed a short laugh.  “OK.  I probably testified at thirty trials in my uniform days, and six or seven when I was with Intelligence.  The last time was, say, three months ago.”  

“Tell me about the cases.  I want to know what kinds of things you’ve testified about.”

Laura had observed Barba in court on a few occasions since she’d been with SVU, and was interested to see that he was all business now. Perhaps not in full Prosecutor mode, but definitely serious and on a mission.  

She briefly sketched a summary of the trials at which she’d testified, beginning with traffic court, car accidents, and minor crimes, and working up to the Intelligence cases.  

“Favorite trial?”

“The naked guy.  It’s January in Chicago, below zero, and he’s wearing nothing but handcuffs.  Not even shoes.  He wouldn’t let me put a blanket over him because he said it interfered with the flow of The Force.”

No reaction.  He was looking at her, clearly hearing her, but was deeply immersed in his own trial planning.  It was impressive.  That laser focus explained a lot of the success she’d heard about.

“Most difficult trial?”

She had to think about that for a minute.  “A shootout at a factory.”

“Good.  Answer only the question you’re asked.  If I want more, I’ll ask for it.  If Buchanan wants more, make him ask for it.  Why was that your most difficult trial?”

“It was a huge building that was almost all one room, where they drop forge tools.  So there were machines everywhere.  It was dark, and everyone had flashlights, which made the light confusing, and there were a lot of people in there but you couldn’t see ‘em.  There were seven of us and then a bunch of bad guys in –“

“Suspects.  Or offenders. Not ‘bad guys’.”

“A bunch of suspects, who scattered as soon as we hit the door.  There were a million places to hide, so we had no choice but to try to flush them out. There was a firefight, and I was using an M4, which I’d never used in the field before-”

“The jury doesn’t know what an M4 is.”

“Big-ass gun.”

There it was, the look of amused disapproval.

“I’m not planning to say ‘big-ass’ in court.”

“Good to know.  You’re telling me why the situation was difficult.  Tell me why testifying about it was difficult.”

“Because I didn’t really know what happened.  I had a confused series of images in my head, and I knew what I’d been thinking, but…  There was just too much happening too fast.  CSU mapped every shot they could, and I knew how many I’d fired, but even then I couldn’t be sure which ones were mine.”

“Good.  Admit when you don’t know something.  Don’t guess. All right.  Now let’s talk about your testimony in this trial.”

For the next hour, Barba asked questions and Parker answered them.  He took her through his direct examination, correcting her errors and explaining where particular facts were especially important.  Then he switched roles, and asked the questions she could expect from the defense attorney on cross.  

He was much more critical and demanding here. It was exhausting and, at times, frustrating.  

“Where was the gun?”

“On the floor under the bed.”

“No.  It was sticking out from under the bed.”

“That’s what I said.”

“That’s not what you said.  If it was under the bed, it wasn’t in plain sight, was it?  Which means you couldn’t take it without a search warrant, which you didn’t have.  Now, where was the gun?”

“Sticking out from under the bed.  I could see the handle and part of the trigger guard.”

“Better.”

At last, he’d taken her through all the testimony he expected her to have to give.  He began to gather up his papers and note pad, putting them back into his briefcase.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her as she crossed from the witness stand to the gate into the seating area.  

She didn’t know quite how to respond to that. “I wasn’t.  Before.  It’s not my first rodeo.  But after this…”

“Look,” he said, picking up his jacket and vest and following her to the door.  “Bottom line, just tell the truth and leave the rest to me.”

“You couldn’t have just said that an hour and a half ago?  I could be home eating pizza.”

He didn’t respond for a few moments as she passed through the door he held open and stepped to her side to walk down the now dimly-lit hallway.  “About that.”

She looked up at him to see he was not exactly frowning, but clearly a little uncomfortable.  Suddenly, she was, too.  She felt embarrassed, like she’d done something wrong or foolish.  Words came tumbling out in a rush to smooth the situation.

“I know.  I feel like I should apologize for moving into your building.  I’d feel weird about it if I were you.  I do feel weird about it.  I guess I’m used to not knowing my neighbors.  Makes me feel like I have to behave now.”  

“Actually, all I was going to say is that I’m on my way there now, and offer you a ride.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m interested in what misbehavior is now off the table.”

She was too flummoxed to answer.  

Somehow she managed to recover enough to accept a ride home once they were outside.  They walked down the street, Laura feeling grateful for the orange-tinged light of the streetlamps, which hopefully hid her blush.  Smooth.  Real smooth.

“Did you go to Northwestern?”  He asked suddenly.

“Yeah.  How did you know?”

“Your shirt.  The other day.”

“Oh.  Yeah. I have a Bachelor’s in Nursing.”

“Nursing?”

“Long story.”

“Were you a nurse?”

“Yeah.  ER nurse in Chicago.”

“Nurse, and now a cop.  You don’t go for the easy jobs.”

“I guess not.  There’s just something about being a first responder.  There’s nowhere else in the world with that kind of energy. And I like being one of the good guys.”

“As opposed to, say… lawyers.”

“Nope.  You’re the good guys, too.  Prosecutors. Guys like John Buchanan… not so much. I heard you’re Harvard Law.”

“Mmm-hmm.  Why do you speak Spanish?”

She didn’t miss the abrupt change in topic, but thought better of mentioning it.  She wondered what that was about.  

“Are you saying I actually speak Spanish?”

His stomach gave a little flip.  He really wished her teasing him didn’t do that to him. “I’m feeling generous.”

“Nice,” she laughed.

“So why?”

“Because I took Spanish class in junior high, and I fell in love with it.  I couldn’t learn fast enough.  I did a summer in Madrid in high school, and I just… The language is so beautiful.  And I like being able to talk to people who are in trouble and don’t speak English.”

“Hmmm.”

As they reached the parking garage, Barba indicated a stairway and they turned into it, heading to the first level below the street.  Barba’s car, a silver-blue Audi, was parked not far down the row.

“Wow.  Celebrity parking,” Laura noted.

“I’m kind of a big deal.”

Laura noticed that, even though he unlocked the doors with a key fob, he still walked to the passenger door and opened it for her. Now it was her turn to experience a stomach flip.  Why was that so bloody sexy?  All he did was open a door.  Because he’s a gentleman, and that’s sexy.  

The car wasn’t very big.  When they’d buckled in and Barba was backing the car out of the stall, a whiff of breeze through Barba’s open window blew a faint scent of something warm, and musky, and spicy toward Laura.  Holy shit, he smells good.  

“Can I ask you a question?  And will you give me an honest answer?”

He stole a quick look at her.  “No, your accent’s not really horrific.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

She smiled.  “How’d you know what I was going to ask?”  

“Because it was a shitty thing I said, and you seem to like to call me out when I say shitty things.”

“Hmm.  I feel kind of like a bitch now, but I also appreciate the fact that I’m keeping you on your toes.  I’ll have to think about that.”

As he turned the car into the street, she saw the most adorable half-smile touch his lips.  Oh, fuck.  This is like the tenth time he’s made me wet and he’s not even trying.  I am in serious trouble here.

He wanted to find a casual way to ask about her comment that she “had” a boyfriend in law school.  That had to be Stone, right?  Did she mean to use the past tense there?  But then why would they have moved out from Chicago together?  He wished he wasn’t even thinking about this. He needed her to be unavailable, and if she was, then what difference did it make if she was seeing a rabo[1] like Stone?  He told himself he just wanted to know whether he would be running into Stone in his building.    

“So, uh… what do you think of the building? Do you like it?”

“Of course I do.  What’s not to like?  I don’t have any furniture yet, or not much anyway, so it’s a little like camping for the moment.  But I’ll get there.  And I work crazy hours, like you, so… I’m happy.”

I. Not we. How obvious would it be if he asked-

“Do you live alone?”

“Yep.  You?”

“Yes.”  

Hmmm.  Curiouser and curiouser.  

“And the answer to your next question is, ‘I can’t.’”

“What’s my next question?”

“How can I afford to live there on a cop’s salary. I can’t.  But my overprotective father can’t sleep unless I live in a secure building, so he bought the apartment and I rent it from him.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that.”

She smiled at him.  “Sure you were.  Maybe not out loud…”

She really needed to quit smiling at him. Especially now that she lived alone. Two floors below him.

[1] dick

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago justice #peter stone #philip winchester

[shaun-evans-fanblog]

Lessons Learnt

Shaun Evans returns in Endeavour – but what has life taught him since he left his last crime scene?

RADIO TIMES: Interview by MICHAEL HODGES Locked away in the labyrinth of ITV’s London headquarters, Shaun Evans, so buttoned up when he plays Endeavour Morse, is giving vent to his passions. “I’m interested in stories,” he says, whacking the table with his hand. “What is it about people sitting around a campfire and telling each other tales to illuminate, to entertain, to educate, to inspire? And what about all the amazing histories and religions and books there are? In this line of work, you should know more about things. Does that make sense?” Sort of, I say, “Ah, right,” he exclaims, “you just want me to downplay everything!” Really, I don’t want him to downplay anything. I’m just trying to keep up with a 38-year-old who pulses with enthusiasm of a man half his age. In our hour together he tells me about his decision to act as well as star in Endeavour, why he drives himself relentlessly to learn more about the world, the reason he doesn’t go boozing anymore, and just how much he cares for the people he works with. “I really love these guys”, he says of the Endeavour team. He also asks me not to write anything that suggests he has anything but the utmost respect for his colleagues. “I’m always wary,” he says, “I’m just going to say that now.” He’s wearing slimming dark navy trousers and a shirt, but there’s not an inch of fat on him. He looks like he does on television, focused and very serious. Evans has played Endeavour Morse, the younger version of the detective made famous by John Thaw, alongside Roger Allam’s DCI Fred Thursday, for seven years. With writer Russell Lewis and executive producer Damien Timmer, Evans is one of the key people who steers the hit show’s direction. “And Rog,” Evans adds. Such is the chemistry between Evans and Allam, I suggest it’s their relationship, rather than the will-won’t-they tension between Endeavour and Thursday’s daughter Joan, that is the real romance at the heart of the show. “Yes,” says Evans, mulling this over as he mulls everything. “I’d agree.” They first appeared together in a 2012 pilot. Five full series followed, and now Endeavour is back for *six feature-length episodes, the second of which Evans has directed. Having directed episodes of the long-running medical drama Casualty before, Evans says he’s determined not be limited to acting. “Even if Endeavour was to end now I feel I’d be able to go and direct something and it wouldn’t be second best.” The last series of Endeavour finished in disarray, when Lewis Peek’s rookie constable George Fancy was gunned down and WPC Shirley Trewlove, played by Dakota Blue Richards, left for Scotland Yard. Now the 1970s are in sight and hard drugs have hit Oxford. DCI Thursday, after postponing his retirement, is working under a thoroughly unpleasant and possibly corrupt new boss, and a rueful Morse is manning a rural station, back in uniform and sporting a large moustache. “When Fancy got killed, I thought Morse felt responsible for that,” Evans says, explaining the moustache. “So, there was an idea of asking, “What about not being able to look in the mirror? What would take you away from yourself?” As ever with Endeavour it’s the atmosphere that matters. The souring of the 1960s is signaled by brutalist interiors and lots of Led Zeppelin, and the show also seems more willing to show the bullet holes and wounds than before. “Well, it’s always a compromise,” Evans says. “ITV have specific guidelines about what they want and don’t want to see at a certain time. But I think as a storyteller, you’re interested more in the darker aspect of things. Often, it’s where a lot of the gold is.” The series, as complex as ever, is less concerned with tying everything up at the end; explaining what has happened has never really been what Endeavour is about. “That’s very astute,” says Evans, as if he has finally found someone who agrees with him. “I find it dissatisfying when I watch something and then walk away and I’m still thinking afterwards, ‘He bought those stamps and sent that letter, but how could he have done that?’ That annoys me. So I always seek clarification on that. Sometimes you get it, sometimes you don’t.”

Evans was born in Liverpool in 1980; his father was a taxi driver and his mother was a health worker. “My family originate from Ireland and that was a massive part of my culture growing up,” he says. “I feel as close an affinity with that as I do with being from Up North. One of the great things about being an actor is you can leave all of that behind – just crack on and do your work. Now I’ve lived in London as I lived there.” Does he worry about becoming a Londoner? “Yes, or of losing a big part of who you are. It’s funny, isn’t it? You spend so long pretending to be other people, then as soon as you go home you’re right back into it.” When Endeavour began, Evans based his portrayal of young Morse’s voice on that of Michael Palin, another young northerner who found himself in Oxford in the 1960s. He still does. “I was listening to one of his CDs the other day. I get a new one for the series.” I’m surprised to hear how much of Merseyside remains in Evans’s own voice. “For good or ill for someone in my game,” says Evans. “I was reluctant to do much press for this way back because I thought, ‘Well, as soon as people hear what you sound like, it’s game over, isn’t it?’ I like having a bit of separation.” When he was 11 years old, he won a place at St Edward’s College, the highly academic Liverpool school run by the Christian Brothers. “I was raised as an Irish Catholic,” he says. “It’s always there, but I don’t really have any religion. I have a system of my own personal beliefs, which are informed by many different things. I’m kind of interested in studying the gospels but just as interested in the origins of Europe. For half the year Evans is filming Endeavour; the other half is dedicated to a sort of restless search for knowledge that can take him around the world. “I can afford to take six months off,” he says. “I love my work. But if I’m not doing that, I’m taking pictures, I’m writing every day, reading books. The first job I ever had was in a camera shop, so taking pictures and being interested in photography and developing has always been a part of my life. Writing as well. I want to be better. I want to improve as best I can.” Can he reveal any books, television series that may emerge from this creativity? “No, not right now” he says. “You would look like a prat if you said something and then it didn’t happen.” Does he ever just take a break? “Of course. You do things that you like to do, but I also like to generate my own work as well, otherwise I’d just be sitting around. You need other things going on. In a way it makes no odds, regardless of how much you’re getting paid. That’s a by-product, isn’t it?” That rather depends, I suggest, on how much you’re being paid. “I hear what you’re saying,” he concedes. “If you’ve got to run out and get another job. But I think it can be equally dangerous having that luxury, and damaging to someone in my line of work. “For those six months there’s so many things that I’ve thought about that are interesting, and I want to make sure that I make the most of them. I’m also going to be working with different people, seeing different parts of the world and seeing how different people do different things – photographers and film-makers. And also studying the history of things as well. There’s so much to do…” He doesn’t tell me if he has a partner, but I imagine Evans would be hard to go on holiday with. “Yes, a nightmare,” he says, “If I went and sat on a beach I’d last about two days.” I wonder if he ever does anything that isn’t serious or intelligent? “Like what?” Deciding to drink yourself silly this weekend, perhaps. “I’ve done that,” he says, “It’s not like it doesn’t suit me. I just feel like time is of the essence, and I want to work. There have been times when I wasn’t as productive, but I don’t think I was as happy. I’ve realized what keeps me happy and what keeps me going. Seeing things, mates who inspire me to be creative. Not being hungover for four days, and losing those days? Drinking is amazing. I love all that but, right now, I’m into doing my work.” And finally, I ask, will the series ever come full circle and end in 1987, when the original Morse began? “No,” he says with certainty. “We won’t do that.” Will there at least be another series? “If we reached the destination of the story in this series,” he says. “If we felt that we’d seen it all, then we all have to be brave and say, we’ve done that now.” He ends as intensely as he began. Feeling a bit blown away, I take the wrong corridor when we part and go down a dead end. I turn back, round a corner and find Evans again. He’s hugging Roger Allam by the lifts.

#shaun evans #interviews #endeavour