#felt very clever with the gear-inspired look

[shannonallaround]

i would love to see your interpretation of what Oswald would look like in Kingdom Hearts!!!

Ok this is a fun ask :D

So I actually designed a KH Oswald WAY back in 2014 during my deviantart days. Here's a redraw just for you (with a redesigned keyblade!) and the original below!

2023:

2014:

[plisuu]

Happy friday Sterling!!! last week I got some Revalas/Bull out of you, howabout some Revalas/Dorian this time? or not if you are stricken with a different inspiration. "i dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. not when it’s you." from the emotionally charged sentence starters.

Ooookay, man Kia you've been coming in clutch with the prompts.

This one kind of got away from me, I just started writing with a bolt of inspiration and ended up here ahahah

Here's something a bit more established for Revalas and Dorian :)

wc: 1.2k @dadrunkwriting

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Revalas swore the sound of Dorian’s ring against to bar-top was the only thing keeping him sane. Like a metronome, a steady beat against the backdrop of the busy chatter and clinking glasses and Bull shouting something behind them to a group of very drunk Chargers.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The pace was increasing, just slightly, and Revalas finally peered up from where his gaze had been fixated on the gold that glinted against dark skin, just a few shades darker than his own. It looked good on him, on Dorian’s hands. Jewelry always did, and Revalas had spent more than his fair share of time haggling with merchants and using Leliana’s contacts to get this particular ring smuggled out of Par Vollen—a yellow-gold that stood stark and bright against the more muted, deeper golds of Tevinter jewelry.

“Yes yes, I love it,” Dorian muttered, waving his hand loosely, the word a slurred assurance that he did, in fact, realize Revalas was staring at it.

“That’s not… I’m not worried about that, vhenan,” Revalas chuckled in reply, leaning over to place a kiss on Dorian’s cheek, missing, and planting one on the mage’s collarbone instead. He could feel the warmth of his drink beginning to spread through his face, to the tips of his ears, and left his forehead resting against the perfumed linens and cool skin of Dorian’s shoulder. Patchouli and sandalwood, something smoky and a little spicy, something a little musky and human… He breathed in deeply before continuing, his voice muffled by the fabric. “You don’t even have to wear it. You could hate it for all I care, I just wanted you to have something so you’re reminded of me when you’re out,” he gestured vaguely, “doing whatever it is you do.”

“I’m always reminded of you, amatus,” Dorian said, his voice sounding a little distant, a little watery, still slurred and slow. Revalas heard the soft clink of gold against glass as he reached for his drink again. “It’s rather ridiculous, really.”

“What is?” Revalas looked back up, suddenly alert, an eyebrow raised, his hand darting out to catch Dorian’s wrist before more booze could hit his tongue. “What’s so ridiculous?”

Dorian chewed his lip and looked away. Krem and Skinner had begun to sing loudly, drowning out the music they were trying to sing to. Sera’s delighted squeal cut through the ruckus and Revalas felt the slow drip of a sloshed ale soaking into his pant leg from the bar.

None of it mattered though—they may as well have been alone in the Herald’s Rest as he gently pried the drink from Dorian’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

“Ar lath— I love you,” Revalas huffed. “Talk to me. I can see the smoke coming from your ears.”

“As astute and clever as ever,” Dorian replied, still turned away. He heaved a heavy sigh. “This seems… unwise.”

“What does? How so?”

There was silence between them. The chaos of the tavern had all but fallen away as Revalas watched the gears turning quietly, his gaze piercing, knowing exactly what Dorian meant but waiting for him to piece together the words to say it himself.

Dorian finally met his gaze, brows drawn in a way that he would have never allowed were he sober.

“Emotions are so… messy,” he finally said. “I never meant to let it get this far, you know.”

“But here we are, so now what?” Revalas pressed his lips to the back of Dorian’s hand. “It’s okay to be messy, Creators know Bull and I are just as bad.”

Dorian frowned. “Yes, but—”

“But you aren’t allowed to be? Why not?”

Revalas swore he could see the words turning over in Dorian’s head, the mental gymnastics he was putting himself through to try and justify his hesitance.

“Vishante Kaffas, you Ben-Hassrath are truly the worst,” he eventually snipped. “Perceptive asses, the lot of you. Yes, fine! Let’s make Dorian confess his feelings in the middle of the tavern, what fun! Surely he wants to share his deepest fears in public, or—no, wait—let’s make it in front of an audience! Of course!”

Hs voice cracked, and he pressed his palms into the scratched wood bar, staring at it as if trying to study a reflection that wasn’t there. Revalas brushed his thumb across Dorian’s cheek, unsurprised at the wetness he found there, and pulled Dorian to face him again. Grey eyes glittered with brimming tears, and Revalas wiped them away as best he could without smudging the khol that streaked down tanned cheeks.

“Dorian. Vhenan. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes… I…” Dorian shook his head. “I simply hate that I care so much. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it, to receive so much… attention? When I don’t even do anything, when I have so little to offer but these petty, drunken outbursts.” He slumped over, defeated. “There. You’ve pried it out of me. May I have my drink back, now, if you're satisfied?”

“Vhenan.”

The scrape of wooden stools across the floor seemed deafening in comparison to their conversation, but Revalas knew it was all drowned in the sea of late-night drunken chaos as he scooted himself closer to Dorian and pulled him into his arms. It was awkward, and likely an awkward sight, but Revalas held him tightly, as if his grip could quell his partner’s hitching, uneven breaths.

“Vhenan, you don’t need to do anything. You’re allowed to just care. Hell, it’s really not like Bull and I are any more practiced at this. We don’t even have relationships under the Qun.” He sighed, kissing the top of Dorian’s head, the styling oils tingling his lips. “I think about you constantly, and I don’t do anything but drag feelings out of you kicking and screaming, but you wouldn’t say the same about me, that I’m not allowed to care, right?”

“You shouldn’t” Dorian muttered, and Revalas hugged him harder, just uncomfortably so, so that he heard the air whoosh out of Dorian’s lungs.

“That’s stupid. You’re too smart to say stupid things like that. This isn’t conditional. There’s no rule that says any of us have to do anything.”

There was a long pause while Dorian finally hugged him back, fists clutching the back of Revalas’s shirt and face buried in his neck, until his shaking subsided and his breathing settled.

“I… I do like the ring.” he eventually said, pulling away. His eyes were puffy and red, but the shimmer of tears was replaced with a glint of his usual sarcastic mirth. “It’s rather fetching on me, don’t you think?”

Revalas kissed his hand with a smile.

“Ar lath. Yes, vhenan. Absolutely stunning. I bet you could even charm the pants off a Qunari with your fashionable jewelry alone. No one would even notice your dashing good looks.”

Dorian flashed him a smile before tipping his drink back and draining the glass.

“Ah, and don’t forget my unmatchable wit and irritable charm.”

“Oh, Creators, I don’t think I could if I tried.”

[pearl484-blog]

Deleted Scene: Chloe is Ladybug?!

This scene is from Replay, depicting Blue talking to Nox after Nox comes to him despondent. Originally, it was going to be a set up to an explanation of the glamour in-story, however, it has been replaced by a shorter version. We worked hard on it though, so here is the original for your enjoyment

“What happened? What’s going on?” Blue asked. Had something happened? Had someone died? 

“I can’t believe it,” Nox despaired. “Chloe’s Ladybug.” Blue bit back a scream. This was what Nox had woken him for?

“Oh, really?” Blue asked. “Chloe is Ladybug?” If this was some kind of joke, it had horrible timing. Although he had to admit, the acting tips he was giving to Nox seemed to really be paying off. Blue was almost convinced that Nox was upset.

And then,  Nox looked at Blue sadly and nodded, “Alya confirmed it. She found her suit in her locker.” 

Blue snorted. Wow, his counterpart was committed to this. “Really?” Blue asked. “She had her magical suit in her locker?”

Nox nodded sadly and then cried, “And then, Chloe got Alya got expelled! How could I have fallen in love with Chloe?”

Oh God. Blue realized. This wasn’t a joke. 

“Okay,” Blue said, sighing as he realized he was going have to break the very obvious truth to his counterpart. “Will you humor me a second?” Nox nodded. 

Blue decided to go with an easy one. “What color is Ladybug’s hair?”

“It’s dark as night,” Nox answered, a bit poetically, but Blue would accept it. 

“And what color is Chloe’s hair?” Blue asked.

“Blonde,” Nox answered, rolling his eyes at such a ridiculous question. Blue waited for his other self to realize his mistake, but instead Nox continued by gushing, “It’s so clever of Chloe to change her hair while she’s in costume. No one will realize it’s her.”

Nox sighed. Okay, he had walked into that one. He’d been the one to tell Nox that some heroes dyed their hair, so maybe he just extended that to Chloe. Nox decided to try again. 

“Okay, well how about this? You know how Chloe is, spoiled, bratty, and a bit demanding? And that’s just around us, you’ve seen her around other people. She’s like a mean girl straight out of a high school show. Do you really think that Ladybug would act like that?”

 Nox gasped, and Blue applauded himself on the crisis averted, before Nox said, “I knew she was faking the mean girl act. It’s genius.” Blue felt the smile fall from his face as Nox continued, “Wow. I almost believed it myself, and we’ve been friends forever. She’s an amazing actor.” 

Blue was stunned at Nox’s amazing thickheadedness and had to think for a moment. What on Earth could possibly be undeniable, indisputable proof that Ladybug and Chloe were not the same person. Then, in a flash of inspiration, he had it. 

“Didn’t Ladybug save Chloe from Stoneheart less than a month ago?”

Nox paused for a minute, and Blue watched the gears in his counterpart’s head turn, and then. 

“I can’t believe it,” Nox moaned. “Chloe is Ladybug!” Blue watched incredulously as Nox went through the same spiel about Alya finding it out that he had done less than 5 minutes ago. 

At this point, Blue wasn’t really sure what he could do. Clearly Nox was convinced that Chloe was Ladybug, despite all the evidence saying otherwise, but it also seemed like maybe he was having memory problems, or brainwashing?

Cautiously, Blue had Archie carefully start exploring Nox’s head for any sore spots, and Blue kept a careful ear out for any winces or complaints. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Nox had a concussion, but Blue figured it couldn’t hurt to know. 

But before Blue could finish, the Adriens’ phone started playing a demand from Lady Wifi. Apparently, being suspended caused people to get upset. Who’d have thunk?  

Without a word, Nox brushed Archie off and transformed, racing off to face Lady Wifi. And although Blue tried to stay awake to keep an eye on his possibly concussed counterpart, in the end, his attempts were for naught and he was dragged back into the realm of sleep. ~*~

Thankfully, Chat did manage to defeat Lady Wifi on his own, and much to the superhero’s delight, he’d also managed to get to lay in Ladybug’s lap and snuggle her, after he nearly died of hypothermia. He’d been so excited about the feeling of safety and concern that Ladybug had for him. It made Argos try to remember when the last time he’d felt that Ladybug had been for himself. He wasn’t sure when it was, honestly, but it couldn’t have been too long ago. 

Even more surprising though, had been Plagg’s complaining about Chat Noir passing up the opportunity to look at Ladybug that day. Plagg had complained over and over that they could’ve solved all of Adrien’s problems with just one peek, but Nox seemed resolute that he should not do that, albeit he didn’t seem to quite understand why he’d felt such a strong need to just leave her be.

The entire fiasco seemed so bizarre to Blue. Ladybug had trusted him enough to detransform in front of him a number of times. Everytime, he’d never been so much as tempted to open his eyes. Perhaps it was just how often it had happened, but the idea that Ladybug had been standing a few feet in front of him de-transformed wasn’t a big deal to Blue anymore.  

Honestly, though, the thing that mattered most to Blue is that he’d finally gotten the notion that Ladybug was not Chloe out of his head. Apparently, what had really been helpful was seeing the two of them together. Not just reminding Nox of when the two were together, but an actual moment for him to look at them side by side to re-evaluate. God, he had been such an idiot.

Of course, when he complained about Nox had been, Nox had been thoroughly confused, and Plagg had just laughed it off as people being so oblivious sometimes. And so Blue sat and stewed. Now, Blue knew he had been naive in the past, but he refused to believe that he’d been that bad. Plus, Nox had been acting very weird. 

So, of course, during his next appointment with Master Fu, he asked if they could check Nox as well. 

Master Fu raised an eyebrow, and in a carefully measured voice, asked, “And why do you think we should check your other self?”

And so, Blue explained everything, detailing how strangely Nox had been acting and his apparent amnesia near the end. 

Unconcerned, Fu simply said, “I wouldn’t worry about that. As a wielder of the Miraculous, you, Chat Noir, and Ladybug all have a special magical protection designed to prevent others from seeing through your disguises. It’s not foolproof,” Fu said sternly, as if in warning. “But it is a nice bit of protection.” Master Fu stroked his beard in contemplation. 

“It is unusual to see anyone affected so strongly by a glamour though, especially a wielder. Perhaps the city itself has made everyone a bit less immune,” he mused. “It will certainly make finding Hawk Moth harder.”

Blue sighed. Wasn’t that the truth? If this protection extended to all Miraculous wielders then he’d be dealing with a city that might even be able to watch Hawk Moth transform right in front of them, and not notice.  ~*~ Later:

Plagg laughs and says that you could dress up a mannikin in a ladybug suit and throw a red wig on it, and everyone would be convinced that it was her.

Blue says that Plagg is exaggerating. Plagg smugly asks “Wanna bet?” Blue laughs and says that it can’t possibly be that hard to get a manikin and a red wig. In the end, the manikin did fool the class, although it didn’t fool Alya after it was painted green. As a matter of fact, an inflatable Ladybug, gnome dressed like a ladybug, and a hand puppet all fooled the class. The lawn flamingo dressed like ladybug needed a little convincing, and the Ladybug cake didn’t fly for a minute, but throughout the next two weeks, both Blue and Plagg had a heck of a time coming up with new ways to test the glamour, somehow missing the dirty looks given to him by one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

[doggernaut]

3, 6, and 29!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I wrote most of it last year, but edited and posted this year so it counts, right? It has to be Pucks and Recreation, which I wrote for the OMGCP Big Bang. It's both the longest fic I've written to date and the most difficult fic for me to write. I've been in a real rough spot with writing for the past two years, so being able to actually finish this fic, despite the fact that it never really found an audience, was a victory.

6. Favorite title you used

As it happens, my answer for this question is the same as above. I almost always have a hard time titling fics, but once I hit on the idea of a Check, Please! AU inspired by Parks and Recreation, the title was obvious. It was so obvious I couldn't believe nobody had done it before. (At least, not on ao3, and I hadn't seen it anywhere else.) It's probably too obvious to be clever, but I was pleased with how well it worked.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

My favorite passage I've written this year is from a WIP that hasn't been posted yet, so instead I will share this from Leave a Light On , which is an unfinished AU that I had to put on hiatus, though I do intend to finish it when I have more time to devote to it. In this AU, Jack's a reporter who torpedoed his career due to an inappropriate relationship with a source. The source is Kent, and they have a history. This is a flashback to their first meeting, and I really like the way it establishes how toxic Kent was for Jack while simultaneously establishing why Jack would be infatuated with him.

After the game, Jack talked to a few of the other players while he waited for Kent to finish up in the locker room. In another life, he thought, he might have been here too, changing out of his gear instead of hovering in the doorway with his reporter’s notebook. 

“You’re the reporter, right?” Kent asked from the bench where he was taking his skates off.

“I just want to ask you a few questions about the game,” Jack said. “I can wait until you’re ready.”

“Nah.” Kent flashed what Jack eventually came to think of as his press smile, the one he used when he wanted to charm somebody. Even back then, he knew when to turn it on. “C’mere. Sit.”

The bench was damp with what Jack assumed was sweat, or possibly somebody’s spilled Gatorade, but he sat. Kent continued to work at a knot in one of his skate laces. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.

“You have soft hands,” Jack finally said.

Kent looked up. “What’s that?”

“When you play,” Jack said. “Soft hands.”

“Fuck, for a second I thought you meant something else,” Kent laughed.

Jack could feel the heat in his face. He quickly looked down at his notebook and scribbled something that, later, he couldn’t decipher and had no recollection of writing.

“I mean, you know what they say about soft hands, right?” Kent asked.

Jack swallowed. Save for some fooling around he’d done with a girl named Jane at journalism camp the summer before freshman year, he didn’t have very much experience. Definitely not enough to consider himself an expert on hands, soft or otherwise.

“I know what your mom says,” Jack retorted, and when Kent laughed out loud in surprise Jack felt proud of himself for saying the right thing.

Kent squinted at Jack. “I know you right?”

“We played together for a couple years when we were kids. The Falconers? My dad’s company was the team sponsor. He helped Coach Walter out sometimes.”

“Right, right.” Kent snapped his fingers and his face changed as recognition dawned on him. “You were kind of fat back then.”

“Um.”

“Fast, though. Super fast. Why’d you quit?”

Jack shrugged. “Didn’t make the travel team.”

“Too bad.” Kent snorted. He pulled off his socks and stuffed them into his duffel. “You know it’s all just a bunch of political b.s. anyway. There are plenty of guys who shouldn’t have made it, but their parents had ins with the league president.”

Jack had once heard his parents complaining that was probably the case, but it still felt weird to hear somebody his age say it out loud. 

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “Sometimes my dad and I go out to my uncle’s place and play.”

Kent looked up from his bag, the contents of which he seemed to be meticulously reorganizing. “Why didn’t you try out here?” he asked. “Some of the guys on this team really suck.”

It struck Jack as a terrible thing to say about one’s teammates, but Kent wasn’t wrong. After all, Kent was a sophomore—and a transfer student, at that—and was already captain.

“I don’t have time for sports if I want to stay on the newspaper staff. And I’m in line to be assistant editor next year,” Jack explained.

“Oh, assistant editor. Bet that has the girls beating down your door.”

“Look, do you want to give me a quote or not?” Jack asked, suddenly impatient to get out of there. “I can go talk to Brady.” Brady would give Jack the same old line about everybody working as a team and winning it together, but that might be preferable to … whatever this was.

“No!” Kent held a hand up. “That guy’s dumber than a box of rocks. At least I’m interesting.”

That was how it started.

It wasn’t that Jack had a crush on Kent. He kept seeking Kent out after games because, unlike most athletes—especially high school athletes—he was articulate and went beyond the usual bland talking points. Kent wasn’t afraid to tell it like it was. His honesty was refreshing, and he was always good for at least one quote that would raise eyebrows.

Later, Jack would wonder if he should be blamed for creating what Kent became. Kent was already full of himself, but Jack gave him a platform to be himself at his most outrageous.

Thank you for the asks!

[shawnjacksonsbs]

Dwelling isn't helping. 4-8-23

“Before you know it, they're spending as much or more time away as they are at home. As they increasingly choose the company of their peers, you cease to be the center of their universe. Before long, they begin to doubt your intelligence and resent your input in their lives. And then, one day, they're gone for. . .busy figuring out who they want to be.” – Dr. Richard Carlson

It's always easier to convince others if you believe it yourself. The wisdom of a former bullshitter. I was confident in my ignorance.

But I feel like I never actually looked ignorant or overly confident.

Reactions from others fed my bullshit.

It wasn't until years later, looking in my mirror that I saw that ignorance shining bright in all its undignified glory like a beacon too bright to deny.

My confidence switched gears to, and for the things I felt instead of what was on the surface, or whatever clever shit I could think to say.

It's more about being real and looking for the right questions.

And just being the me I could have always been.

Thinking about my kids lately, especially with some of the drama from inside my own house . . .again. lol

I think a lot about the ones out in the world that are doing fairly well that I don't get to see often, and the ones that are still lost in struggle out there, that I wish I could be more involved with as well.

(Most of my attention these days seems to center around their littles), it's hard to balance seeing any of them as much as I'd like.

Granted, I am living close enough now to keep my place at events, parties, and just my position as the elder head of the family.

Even as I write it's hard for me to articulate exactly the way the thoughts are in my head about negligent, or lost time with them, as well as missing time now.

I get how growing up comes with the emptying of the nest transition, but I wish I was . . .more for them, in ways that are more important than just being an example after showing up late to serve it to them.

I love my kids, and I miss them too. But the end game result is still the same as what I've always wanted for them, and that's that not only are they making it on their own, in their own positive ways, but, and this is most important, that they are happy, kind, and grateful.

I try not to criticize, although it's hard as a parent, especially when most of their struggles, currently, are by their own hand.

We all have to find balance for our own lives, obviously, and try to just cherish the limited times we get with each other.

I'm just grateful I get to be in their lives at all.

Plus, it ain't all bad making up for lost hugs by giving them to their kids. Lol

This entry took a kind of a weird turn somewhere, but it's evidently what needed to spill out.

My kids . . .too . . .very much too.

We'll know by how our attention is met whether it's quality and quantity or not.

These are the days where gratitude lists spoken out loud throughout the day, comes in pretty handy. Lol

Also, I don't know how I'm going to do it, or how it will be received, but the book I've chosen for Pawpaw's Storytime gave me a mild Fred Rogers inspiration, completely on accident. Lol

That's it, I guess for this week.

I'm might leave this a little choppy, although it is a day or two before it's to be posted so I might edit.

Time will tell. Lol

Be kind to each other, and share your love and your laughter with your kids. Try not to dwell, except about the good times and shared successes.

Until next week;

“All of this is natural. It's the way it's supposed to be. Each step forward takes them closer to life apart from you. If you don't live in and love the time you have . . .with your kids, you forever miss one of the richest experiences life offers.” - Dr. Richard Carlson

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 6

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Three things happen at once. 

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,114

Warnings: Swearing, backstory, angsty angst, fluffy fluff, mutual pining finally acknowledged, overuse of italics, don’t mess with Din’s Cupid or he’ll kill you

Author Note: Important please read this! Ok, so if you’ve been following along you’ll know I had no outline for this originally. And well, that’s come back to bite me. I had to make an edit to Part 2, a small one but still the very beginning will look marginally different if you’ve read it before today’s date Dec. 16, 2020. Basically, I took away the implication that You don’t know exactly how You became a Cupid. So, yeah. Hopefully moving forward I’ll be better handling all this *awkward shuffling*. As always, thank you for all the support and I appreciate every one of you so much ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 5 and Part 7

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Silence floods the ship in the wake of your admission, stifling and charged with enough tension you fear breathing too loud will set off a chain reaction with disastrous results. It makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle, every instinct inside of you screaming to teleport away, if only so you no longer have to see Din stubbornly trying and failing to hide his internal turmoil behind a mask of indifference. 

When he opens his mouth, you tense but the question slices through you all the same. “When?”

You hesitate, making a face. “Din, we really don’t have time for this. Let’s just move on—”

Without warning, the hand holding your elbow slides to your wrist and twists, turning your palm up for inspection. Din stares at the blank expanse of skin, then slowly his gaze lifts, and he releases you as if you’ve poisoned him.

“You’ve never lied to me before, angel. Did you honestly think now was the best time to start?” he asks, and something breaks inside of you when he looks at you as if you’ve become a total stranger to him.

But before any pain can begin to sink in, anger overcomes you as his assumption registers.

“I’m not lying, you asshole,” you say sharply, feeling a faint pulse of petty satisfaction when you notice the subtle way his stance shifts defensively, betraying his surprise at your boldness. Resting your hands on your hips, you fix him with your fiercest glare. “For all that you are a powerful ancient being of the universe, you are also the biggest, most ignorant fool I’ve ever met. You have absolutely no idea how Cupids become Cupids, do you?”

You don’t offer him even a second to respond, too wound up and fueled by the overwhelming desire to make him get it. To make him understand you’re not purposefully trying to hurt him. If it were up to you, you’d make sure he never felt any kind of pain. But that would require having a choice and that is the one thing the universe did not grant you as a Cupid.

“Every Cupid was once a mortal with a soulmate,” you explain, choosing each word with careful precision while watching his face to make sure his focus never wavers. “And every one of us was rejected by them. When we die, we’re transformed into Cupids, losing our soulmate markings in the process.” When you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble, you pause to take a steadying breath. “You asked me before, what is the true purpose of a Cupid? It’s to help others find the kind of love we never experienced for ourselves.”

Din stands there in front of you, still staring passively, and you’re scared for a moment your words have made no difference, but then his jaw clenches so tightly you hear his teeth grinding. 

“You were rejected?” he growls, vicious and guttural, the sound of a feral beast.

He pivots, fist colliding with the wall with enough force it dents the metal beneath his knuckles. You flinch at the noise, shocked at the abuse he’s inflicted upon his beloved ship. Every bone in his hand should have shattered upon impact, but because Death is immune to such damage he merely turns back to you, breathing raggedly and eyes blackened with rage.

“Tell me his name.”

You’ve already begun shaking your head before you say, “So you can go hunt him down? Hell no. Trust me, it doesn’t matter.”

Instead of pacifying him, this only infuriates him further. “How can you say that? That bastard broke your heart when he was supposed to cherish you, protect you, love you above all else.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you ask peevishly, letting your temper get the better of you. Sparing a moment to mentally count to ten, you quietly reveal, “I can say it doesn’t matter because I don’t even remember who he was. There is no point sending you to kill someone who’s face I can’t pick out of a crowd.”

The sudden way Din’s whole body slumps in response to the news, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, expression scrunched and dumbfounded, would have made you laugh if the circumstances were entirely different. Being what they are, you can only meet his stare evenly, silently assuring him you’re not joking in the slightest.

“I don’t understand,” Din says at last, looking like he wants to approach but is unsure you’ll welcome his nearness so he keeps his distance. “You never told me you had memory loss before. What happened to you?”

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. For as long as I’ve been a Cupid, all my memories from my mortal life have dark spots, like something poked holes in them.”

Din glances away as he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘Or someone’ but before you can comment, his tone rises to its usual volume as he says, “Is this why you collect all those old newspapers? To try to help you remember?”

You recall with embarrassment him having previously commented on the pile in your living room. That moment feels like years ago, the two of you sitting in your apartment and Din asking...if Cupids were on the list of potential soulmates. Was that his way of asking if you were on the list? Surely not. He’s much cleverer than that.

...Isn’t he?

“I just,” you shake your head, refocusing on the current conversation. “I keep thinking maybe I’ll find something that fills in the gaps. I don’t like this pit in my stomach, this feeling that I’ve forgotten something important.” You huff a self-deprecating chuckle. “Other than my soulmate, I mean.”

He offers you a smile, small and lopsided, likely meant to be consoling, but you see right through it. You see his pain in the tightness around his mouth, in the way his fingers flex at his sides like it’s taking all his self-control not to reach out to you. Your confession has hurt him. Badly. It’s the kind of hurt no amount of bacta can heal.

The silence returns, different than the one usually experienced during hyperspace in that it wishes to be broken, for someone to say something, anything. You would grant its wish except your thoughts are a jumbled mess inside your head. Deep down, there is a part of you which knows there is nothing you can say that will fix this—this being the chasm forming between you and Din, widening with every passing second spent staring wordlessly at each other. 

Would telling him sooner have prevented this heartbreak? Probably. But looking back, you can’t think of an opportune moment. You had never thought your crush could be requited—not just because you were already matched, but also because it had always seemed so ridiculous, imagining the great and powerful Death feeling anything remotely close to affection for an unimportant, low-ranking Cupid. 

“Angel,” Din begins after a few minutes, his voice anchoring you back in the present. He’s staring over your shoulder, brow furrowed thoughtfully and you can practically hear the gears turning inside his head. “Earlier, you said you didn’t tell your boss I was your client. Why didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, before an unexpected wave of boldness comes over you. Digging your finger into the armor on his chest, you remind him, “You came to me first, remember? Not them. So, I figured you didn’t want them knowing.”

“I couldn’t care less who knows,” Din deadpans.

“Oh.” You blink, hand falling back along your side, because what else can you say.

“You want to know what I think?” Oh Maker, he’s stepping closer until there’s only a foot of space between you two. His voice is a low, raspy murmur, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. “I think you didn’t want them knowing because you like being the only angel who does.”

You start to squirm, fight or flight instincts at total war with each other. His theory isn’t too far from the truth, making it all the worse hearing it out loud because it practically oozes possessiveness which is exactly what you’d feared.

“Before you pull away from me again,” Din continues, knowing you and your mind too damn well. “I want you to listen when I say nothing that you’ve told me changes how I feel about you.”

“Din—” you try, only for your voice to crack.

Then three things happen at once.

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been alone my entire existence and I kept telling myself that was how the universe intended it to be. That I couldn’t love anyone because I kill everything I touch.” A smile pulls at his lips when he looks down at his bare hand and a note of awe slips into his voice. “Then you came along, beautiful and clumsy and unafraid to call me out for being an ass. I started looking forward to each full moon because it meant I got to see you and admire every new detail about your life you chose to share with me. And then when this appeared,” he nods towards the soulmate marking, gleaming faintly beneath the overhead lighting, “all I could think of was you.”

You feel your throat becoming thick as you blink back tears, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Why didn’t you say anything at the train station? Why would you let me try to set you up with matches if you liked me that way?”

Din grimaces, abashed. “Because after you said there weren’t any Cupids on your list, I realized you didn’t know I liked you. I convinced myself I had to show you how I felt, instead of tell you. Although,” he holds up a finger, backtracking, “I actually almost did confess, on our way to Sorgan, but you stopped me. And that just further convinced me actions spoke louder than words. I knew none of the people you found me could ever compare with you, so I thought once you saw each unsuccessful connection, you’d realize the only hand I want to hold is yours.”

“Din, it can’t be me.” Your protest is weak, on the verge of caving in, forcing you to try another angle. “I can’t have two soulmates.”

He inhales a breath so sharp and unexpected, it startles your poor heart into skipping a beat.

Din looks at you like you’ve gifted him all the stars in the galaxy, brown eyes blown wide with hope. “Angel, do you mean it? That you consider me—”

“Of course, you idiot.” You attempt a laugh, but it comes out sounding broken and forced. “As Death, as Din, as whoever you want to be, I’ll always consider you. But...what if what happened on Sorgan happens to us? What if the universe doesn’t favor us?”

“I just want to be yours.” Din extends his hand towards you. “And if that means breaking the universe’s rules, then fuck it. We’ll make up our own. Together.”

Time seems to stand still, like you’ve entered a realm separate from the rest of the universe where you’re able to forget you have a complicated past, filled with holes and a soulmate who rejected you. Here it’s just you, Din, and his offer to love you unconditionally. Here you have a choice.

And it’s the easiest one you’ve ever made.

You slowly lift up your hand to hover in front of his, fingers trembling as they uncurl.

“Together,” you whisper.

And then your hands are moving to meet one another, closer and closer until his fingertips brush yours, sending a spark of warmth through your nervous system. Oh, Maker, you had described what you imagined a soulmate connection was like, but you had no idea this is the true experience. It’s like a sunrise dissolving midnight skies, lighting up your surroundings with breathtaking vibrancy. You can’t fathom how you survived all this time being in his presence without feeling his touch.

“Dank farrik,” he mutters hoarsely, sounding just as overwhelmed and awestruck as you feel.

You open your mouth, but instead of words a whimper of agony escapes instead. That lovely warmth spreading from your linked hands has started to boil, white-hot and furious. It’s as if all your internal parts have caught fire and are slowly withering to ash—your organs, your bones, even your kriffing blood. 

Your body crumples and Din cries out your name, but you don’t get to hear him say it, unconscious before your head collides with the floor.

Tag List:  @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan

[lebrookestore]

I think ur a great writer so I wondered if I could request smthn? Could I request a short detective!johnny Drabble? the genre is ur choice hehe :)) btw don’t feel obliged to write this 💕🌸

thank you for sending this in Jessi! I’m sorry this took so long, I was trying to get a plot, and tbh idk what it is either. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: detective! Johnny x reader

Themes: slightly sherlock esque, inspiration from one of the episodes of a series of unfortunate events

WC: 914 words

“It’s quite obvious”, the detective deadpanned, taking a long slow drag of his cigarette. You rolled your eyes at his antics. Johnny was always one for dramatization, but you didn’t think a murder as gruesome and complicated as this one needed any. 

The officer sighed exasperatedly, “John, this isn’t the time”

“Have you sent the samples to the lab?”

“We did, nothing came back”

“Incompetent fools”, he muttered, “Of course they wouldn’t get anything, the culprit is too smart”

“Smarter than you?”, you quipped, causing him to look at you, lips twisting upwards into a smirk. His dark eyes scanned your figure, making you shift uncomfortably, “No one is smarter than I am”, he said, “But I suppose you have theories, Watson?”

You glared at him, “I am not your Watson”, you stated, even you knew very well yourself that the relationship the two of you had was very much reminiscent of the great detective Sherlock and his friend. 

You had known Johnny for three years now, solving several crimes, from petty to impactful and sometimes plain annoying. You knew him better than anyone, and he had been a constant in your life, however annoying.

He was a proud man, but rightly so, for his intellect was unmatched in the whole of Seoul. But he was difficult and stubborn and refused to admit defeat. Granted he was usually right, when he made mistakes, he somehow blamed it on another, or used them to his advantage.

Johnny Seo was brilliant.

“Didn’t she have a snake? I thought we had agreed that she had died from its bite”, you added, taking a sip of the tea you had. He clicked his tongue, “No, the bite marks are too precise”, he picked up the pictures of the victim, looking at it intently. You took a moment to admire your best friend, before recollecting the fact that there was a murder to solve.

You bit your lower lip, realizing that this was happening more and more often. You would find yourself spacing out, thinking about Johnny. Sometimes it would be idiotically obvious, it was a marvel he didn’t notice.

You were undoubtedly in love with Johnny Suh.

His eyes lit up, you could almost see the gears in his head clicking in place. “Taeil, take me to the scene”, he said, “I want to see something”

Officer Moon Taeil nodded, grabbing his coat. You got up to get yours, but Johnny handed it to you instead, not sparing you another glance as they walked out. You sighed, shrugging on your coat and following them out. 

After all, every Watson followed a Sherlock.

Johnny picked up the needle that was on the carpet, inspecting it in his gloved hands. It was pretty thick, slightly curved and extremely sharp looking. “Of course”, he muttered, turning towards Taeil, “Take this to the lab and have Doyoung examine it”, he instructed, “I believe I know how our victim was killed.”

“Do tell”, Taeil urged the man, putting the needle in one of those clear bags for later. You inspected the place, looking around, at the cabinets and at the frames.

“We’ll need more proof first”, he mused, “So until I’m sure I won’t say”, he turned to you, “Tea at Kim’s?”

“Sorry, I have some writing to finish up”, you explained, “I’ll be off”

He nodded, “Send that to Doyoung”, he repeated his instruction, he turned to you again, “See you later”

You bid him farewell, leaving the scene of the crime.

Johnny felt quite stupid, which wasn’t something he was used to. 

He looked at his phone, at a picture at the both of you. You were smiling, and he was staring at some sort of device, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He sighed, rubbing his temple. 

You walked into the room, throwing your coat on the couch and standing near the window, pulling out your phone, “Hey”, you greeted, “Were you right?”

He smirked, “Of course I was. The murderer was clever”

“Complimenting the murderer?”, you asked in mock surprise, “What has he done to achieve such high praise?”

“He created a device, with needles, a mix of a syringe and gun, to mimic the snake so the blame couldn’t be placed on him. Of course, in his hurry to get away, he dropped on of the needles, leading me to my conclusion”

You raised an eyebrow at this, “You and your far fetched deductions that somehow are always right”, you tsked. He stayed silent for a minute, walking over to you. You froze slightly as you felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind. “But I can’t see what’s right in front of me right?”

“Hmm?”, you hummed in question, looking behind. He smiled.

“With all my deductions, I never deduced your affections for me.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. He smirked, resting his head on top of you. You didn’t respond, realizing there was no way you could deny it, especially not to him. 

“Do you”, you paused, your mouth feeling quite dry all of a sudden, “Do you-”

“This is why I’m the detective and you’re my Watson, I suppose”, he mused, “I’m the one who gets stuff, no matter how late.” You stayed silent, not following, mind still clouded by the fact he knew. Instead, you waited for him to say something, anything honestly, but when he did, you were left speechless.

“I deduce you will go on a date with me?”

@lebrookestore,2021

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I A THIRSTY INTERLUDE

First time reader click here

Bun Bun at 2:30 AM posting: This is 110% pornography. I wrote that when I was feeling extra thirsty over Tony and his Nano suit so yeah... A bit of choking a bit of mild suit bondage. Daddy kink 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 BDSM themes. Humor & porn. Has minimal correlation with the story and can be read as standalone smut-shot. Inspired by this NSFW tik tok audio (headphones!).

"OH MY GOD, NO! NO, NO, SHIT, FUCK, NO!"

"Princess, what's wrong?" Steve's worried voice rang high in the kitchen, followed by an alarming clattering of the dishes against the sink. "Are you hurt?" He didn't even remark on my use of profanity, which meant I'd startled the Captain for sure. He appeared in the doorway ready to fight, run; his eyes immediately drawn to his shield in the corner.

"Only what's left of my dignity," I sighed.

"Oh, okay," He visibly sagged, tension leaving his voice and his body. "What happened?"

I inhaled several times, feeling heat creep up my neck and blossom on my cheeks. It took a lot, and I mean A LOT, to make me feel embarrassed enough to fumble my words and palm my face but that was exactly what I did. "Well, umm... Tony found a couple of thirst tweets. Mine, from my sophomore year. And uh, retweeted them." I thought I'd cleaned up my social media quite well, actually. My fingers twitched remembering manually sorting through thousands of posts. Apparently, my fingers weren't clever enough.

Steve snorted, evidently having had someone tell him what a thirst tweet was. He, however, did not understand the sheer mortification that I would be subjected to at the hands of Tony. And my classmates. And Peter, oh my God. Natasha and Wanda too, probably. And Loki.

I. Was. Toast.

"How bad was it?" Bucky piped up, finally having dealt with the mini laughter fit.

"Not worse than what you two get up to in the gym when you think nobody is home," I immediately retorted in hopes of avoiding teasing from the metal-armed man. He would take the chance, of course, he would.

"Oof, I'm sorry, doll," Bucky whistled sympathetically. And promptly pulled out his phone, to, what I assumed, see the offending social media posts for himself. I assumed correctly. Bucky was bent over laughing in no time - was it my doing or did Tony's own commentary on them that made the whole situation so hilarious to the gramps on steroids?

"I will light you on fire," I seethed but remained where I was standing. There was no point in doing anything about them now. Screenshots were probably already being saved on everybody's devices.

Steve peeped over his boyfriend's shoulder, chuckling. "You had a crush on Tony? That's embarrassing, doll." He had the audacity to give me an innocent smile before returning to his dishwashing.

"Punk, I don't know if - and I quote: Not to be That Girl™ - it's trademarked, by the way - but Tony Stark could hit it and quit it and I wouldn't even be mad - qualifies as a crush." Bucky pointed out, the sound of his voice being drowned out by Steve's guffaws. "And this one definitely does not qualify for it to be a romantic setting. Listen: I'm not a fucking bottom, okay?.. there are seventeen question marks. But, like, can Tony Stark choke me in one of his Iron Man suits - nine more question marks." Bucky joined his partner's laughter, unable to continue.

I was literally on fire. My face burned, my hands shook. I had the strongest urge to stick my index fingers in my ears and loudly yell "la-la-la" until both fossils ceased to roast me like I was some sort of holiday brisket. "I hate you. I will burn... The heart... Out of you," I seethed.

"O-oh, honey bu-un, da-arling..." I heard Tony's sing-song voice happily calling for me. Too happily. Not good.

I had literal seconds to get myself scarce out of this situation. I'd already avoided the dozen text messages, two calls in hopes the engineer would drop the topic and go back to his Big Bad Science Project. I had underestimated his persistent desire to cause chaos and his terrible, no-good sense of humor.

It was fun and games when we teamed up to prank our friends. I just never expected for the tables to be turned this way, y'know? Betrayal of the highest quality. The turntables had been turned - decidedly NOT in my favor.

In a brief moment of panicked clarity, I opened one of the empty bottom cabinets in the kitchen. It took some uncomfortable folding and maneuvering but I got myself inside and pressed the door shut seconds before his footsteps made the distinctive noise of sneakers on tile.

"Capsicle, Terminator," I heard Tony greet the two laughing supersoldiers. "Have you seen my Princess?"

I melted a little bit at the way Tony called me his, I won't lie.

"Nope," Bucky lied shamelessly.

"She's in the empty cabinet," Steve chuckled at the same time. Top 10 anime betrayals, right there.

"Wow - and I thought we were friends," Tony scoffed, I assumed at Bucky. My body tensed and I prepared to dial-up my puppy eyes to eleven. My hiding spot was wack.

The door was roughly tossed open, my eyes landing on Tony's oil-stained jeans. He crouched down, his brown eyes positively sparkling. The engineer's body radiated smug mischief, fingers twitching in anticipation.

"Sorry, Princess is unavailable right now. May I take a message?" I said, pulling on the cabinet door and fully prepared to slam it shut in his face. I was NOT ready for any more mortification.

Tony's chuckle shook me to the core, louder and ten times more expressive in the cramped, dark space of my temporary lair. "Come on out, baby girl. I didn't peg you for a wallflower."

"Duly noted," I said warily, having been expecting for him to drag me out and carry me to his bedroom, caveman style. I had noticed that my dorky self revved up his gears faster than any stereotypical seductive shit. It was no secret, at least not for us 'vengers, that Tony was a huge dork himself but I guess it takes one to know one.

"So, my suits, huh?" He smirked after a brief moment and just like that, I Did Not Like Where This Was Going. The receding footsteps and quiet snickering only confirmed my suspicions. Tony's form blocked the opening of the cabinet, crowding me even further into the already cramped space.

"Um," I found myself pretty much speechless. Part of me was excited and yearning - of fucking course I was curious if Tony Stark, genius and former playboy, had found a way to incorporate his suits of armor into the bedroom. Daresay, it was the question of the decade, according to Cosmopolitan, GQ, and a whole lot of other large media outlets.

The more sensible part of me screamed shame for that, playing with an essentially massive, powerful destruction machine. Something meant to protect millions of people from bad guys and aliens. It seemed blasphemous to waste such an important thing on scratching a curious itch.

I blinked owlishly, squirming.

"Okay, out you go." Tony's patience had run out and he withdrew himself, promptly standing up.

I heard the tapping of his fingers as I ungracefully stumbled out. He was occupied with his tablet so I turned around to adjust myself and the things on the countertop I had accidentally jostled in my rush to preserve some dignity.

An arm snaked around my waist, cold and unyielding, brushing against my exposed midriff with metal fingertips. Goosebumps followed the touch as I shivered involuntarily, stuttering in my breathing. "Fuck." The sound came out as if it was punched out of my throat with force, breathy.

"What's your safeword?" Tony's neatly groomed beard scratched against my ear. His voice was heavy and his lips were moist.

"Banana," I blurted the first thing that came into my mind. My body was hot and yet, I froze in place. The sheer power that the man behind me contained demanded unyielding obedience. I had no choice but to comply.

"Friday, lock the door. Nobody but me, in and out." Tony growled, pulling my hips into his metal-covered form.

Were we really doing this in the communal kitchen? With Steve and Bucky probably fully aware of what exactly was going on in here? Tony seemed to have zero reservations about that; in fact, I was almost sure he'd orchestrated the whole thing somehow. Steve owed like a dozen favors to the engineer.

The thick of Tony's leg firmly wedged itself between my thighs, spreading them open just enough so I was forced to put a slight arch in my back to keep still, my ass and shoulders firmly pressing against his Iron Man suit. I felt the coldness of the metal through my clothes, heard the hum of the nanobots in my ears.

My blood responded, heartbeat pulsing in my ears in sync with the electrical currents supplying the man behind me with the immense physical power to match his mental one. "Shit," The sound of my voice was faint. His other arm began creeping up my side to my shoulders, making an unmistakable beeline for my neck.

Tony applied firm pressure on it, wrapping the gauntlet carefully - not restricting the airflow, just steering me as he wished. And apparently, he had some very strong ideas about my current predicament: "Got me right where you wanted me?" He asked, low and breathy.

As I attempted to make noise, his hand tightened on my throat. Eyelids involuntarily sliding closed, my lips shook with the force it took me to muster up enough oxygen to hum a sloppy. "Mhm..."

"Can't hear you, baby girl," His cheek rested against mine, scratchy and hot and smelling like iron and gasoline and Tony.

Another shaky breath, I attempted to force the words out - for some reason, Tony's presence commanded me to obey him like never before. I nearly shivered from the sheer aura of power surrounding my man and it was his cue to lessen the careful pressure on my throat - just enough for blood to rapidly rush to my ears, making the world even hazier. "Yeah, Tony," It didn't take me much time to give him the enthusiastic consent he was looking for.

"Uh-uh," Tony tutted cheerfully. His other arm snaked around my waist, dipping lower to play with the hem of my skirt. God bless me for wearing a skirt! The rough pads of his fingertips scratched against the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. "I think we're past first name basis, baby," The suit retracted, mostly. The nanotech allowed for different parts of it to cover Tony's body in odd places: I felt the gauntlets and the arm braces, as well as part of a chest plate, but waist down my man was wearing simple jeans and tee.

"Uh," My brain supplied unhelpfully, feeling the bulge pressing against my ass. "Daddy?"

"That's my girl," I was rewarded with a groan, so sinful and delicious, falling from his lips straight into my ear. The hand that had gone down south cupped the mound of my pussy with a tender gesture. "Or Iron Man's?" He teased, grinding into me from behind.

"Yours," I keened obediently, my body seeming to find it impossible to decide between rubbing myself on his hand and his cock. It was a hard choice - pun absolutely intended. I was long uncomfortable in my panties and Tony's clever digits surely felt it, yet he made no further moves. "Daddy," I tried to put how much I ached for him into words.

Tony hummed, placing his wet mouth on the juncture of my neck for a moment. His hot breath seared my skin. The curious fingers finally, finally, reached the apex of my thighs. "Fuckin' shit, baby, you're..." He didn't bother finishing the sentence, speaking with his actions instead, scissoring his fingers between my labia, running the knuckles over my clit.

Just to feel me pant and shiver. I was sensitive and so aroused it was nearly unbearable. Tony always made me feel some type of way and, once again, my man had outdone himself. There was no shame left in me as I shifted my hips to the rhythm of his hand.

"Please?" I asked him prettily, knowingly that one little word would get me everything I wanted. A hard fucking, a new dress, a car, or, Hell, my own private island. My eyes were pretty when I begged, he had said. I would move the world for you, he had meant.

"Baby," The whisper was rushed as Tony turned me around and claimed my lips, hoisting my ass onto the marble countertop of the common kitchens. My legs wrapped around his hips, seeking the warmth and relief of his skin on mine. I wanted him inside of me, inconvenient location and two layers of clothing be damned. I wanted to bury myself in him until either of us couldn't tell who started and ended where.

"Daddy," I whispered into the thin line of his mouth, conveying my all-consuming need in a single word.

My skirt was hiked up in a second, the gauntlets of his suit still on his hands tearing my pants in a single clean motion. Eagerly, I scooted forward to pop the button on his jeans; grateful for the fact more often than not, Tony choose to forgo the belt whatsoever when working in the lab. Today was my lucky day.

His cock, red and thick and hard enough to pound nails with, weighed my hand down for barely a second beforehand Tony's gauntlets closed around both of my wrists, securing them to my chest. His other arm swiftly wrapped around me, pulling me close to him, as close as we could be together without sharing a single body. The blunt tip of his manhood stood at my entrance - not just teasing it but seeking permission.

One keen that seemed to come from deep insight my chest and I felt Tony's breath hitch as our sensitive flesh met; he filled me up at least as superbly as I hugged him. We shared a moan and a breath, just feeling each other, feeling the moment.

We were short on patience. Tony's hand slid onto the small of my back, urging our hips to meet each other, setting a punishing pace from the very start.

"Fuck, Daddy, oh God," I panted. I wasn't used to getting things started with so little prep.

"Baby," Tony rumbled, trying for stern, having it come out as breathless as I felt. "Shit, so fuckin' tight," His words garbled.

The sound of flesh slapping flesh was loud, perhaps, loud enough for certain enhanced folk to hear should they happen to pass the kitchen doors - and if that didn't make my insides clench in the most delectable ways.

Tony grunted in response, a lewd noise adding to the cacophony. "Gonna come?" His teeth caught my bottom lip, pulling it slightly. "For Daddy?" He asked, all traces of his usual cockiness gone, as he pulled away slightly to stare right in my wide eyes with his baby doe browns, equally blown with lust and longing.

Neither of us would last. "Yes, fuck, Daddy, please," I begged.

His hips angled just right, Tony continued mercilessly railing me, holding up my weak body between his arms. I felt the cold metal of the gauntlets through my shirt. The shivers ran across my skin in heaps, like busy little ants.

"Come for Daddy," Tony ordered, yanking me closer to hit that sweet spot deep inside of me. I couldn't resist the command, feeling the waves build up with every brutal stroke, clenching, muffling the screaming of my release in the crook of his neck, relishing in the growl that left his lips as he followed me, releasing my arms and folding his torso over mine. "Fuck," Was the only coherent word that left Tony's mouth, his seed creating a sticky mess between our legs.

"Yeah," I moaned, unwilling to part from him. It was intense. My world was spinning on its axis and my Tony was the center of it. He said something again, something soft and quiet, and my only concern was to rub my nose on his pulse point, to savor and remember the smell of our shared pleasure.

"Baby..." Tony sounded... Concerned. He withdrew slowly, frowning at my sleepy state. His frown only intensified when I absentmindedly rubbed my wrists - there were bound to be some marks left from the force of his grip. It was hot and it was... A surefire way to tell the suits weren't really adapted for bedroom games. Kitchen games.

"Daddy," I mumbled, sounding sad and pathetic to my own ears. I kind of wanted to cuddle and watch a movie but it seemed weird asking that from Tony since we've done crazier things and I had never felt like this, never got this greedy.

"Oh, baby, c'mere," He had come to some sort of conclusion. After re-doing his pants and picking up the scraps of fabric that used to be my panties, his arms made a comfortable nest. I was picked up without any troubles; the gauntlets had disappeared, too, into the thin golden bracelets around his wrists. I allowed myself to play with them, the shiny colors doing a good job of distracting me all throughout the brisk walk through the main living room and the swift elevator ride.

Tony's bed was messy, unmade and smelled like us - just the way I had left it that morning. Tony's hands were gentle as he stripped me and then swiftly chucked his own clothes.

"Watcha' doin'?" I asked as he wrapped his body around mine.

"Shh, we'll talk later," He murmured, looking slightly dazed himself. "Friday, put Stardust on the TV. 25% volume," As soon as the command was spoken, one of my comfort movies began playing on the large screen. Tony's hand kept stroking my hair and I didn't resist the temptation to close my eyes, settling into a peaceful lull atop the glowing white-blue of Tony's arc reactor.

My favorite color in the world, to be honest. It felt like I'd slept for ages when I opened my eyes to see the color again. "Um, hi," I supplied meekly, feeling way out of my depths from my own strange behavior.

"Mornin', Princess," Tony seemed joyful, the bags under his eyes a little less prominent than before.

I made moves to get out of the bed but he wrapped an arm around me, tugging me closer. "What do you know about sub drop?" He questioned me, in response to my vaguely confused noises.

That's what it was?!

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[carmenxjulia]

I put together a transcript of the 2 hour Q&A Interview the Carmen Sandiego Discord did with Showrunner Duane Capizzi. All of the questions were submitted by server members. You can read everything below the break!

Duane Capizzi:

Hi there!

Am I in? Is this thing on?

PizzaHorse:

Hi, welcome!

Yep, you're in the right place!

Duane Capizzi:

Sorry I'm late, I was wandering around some empty Discord hallways looking for the right room haha

PizzaHorse:

No worries. Let's get started!

Who is your favorite character?

Duane Capizzi:

Moose Boy!

KIDDING!

Alright, how to NOT get myself in trouble if my answer isn't "Carmen" haha.

But really, they are ALL my babies.

So I know it's going to sound like a cop out to some that I can't pick just one. But hmm, some for instances...

I love that she's so morally evolved at such a young age; her ability to always take the high road and never lower herself; her drive and conviction and dedication. Her ability to kick serious booty and look good while doing it. Her progressive values, her fashion sense. I could go on and on. But then there's Shadowsan and his arc; Chase and his. Julia, who's every bit as strong as Carmen but shows it in different ways. The Cleaners don't get enough love.

I'll close that question with an anecdote about The Cleaners ...

I love that all our characters are embraced and that everyone seems to have favorites. Our sound engineer Marcel is a pretty serious guy: he has a serious job that takes high levels of focus and attention. He's always deeply focused and not prone to small talk. Anyway, we were in the middle of our first or second sound mix, and he suddenly stops in the middle and turns around to face us. I'm thinking, "uh oh, we're giving too many notes." That's when I notice he's freeze framed the Cleaners. He says "I really like these guys." Then he turns around, hits play and gets back to work.

PizzaHorse:

What was the biggest challenge for coming up with new stories and plot for the reboot?

Duane Capizzi:

THE biggest? Sigh. I'm not sure I could come up with just one. Plotting is always challenging and we had the brain trust of the room, our trusty white board, and writer assistant to keep the threads of the ongoing storyline together. I think the single biggest ONGOING challenge was tracking which character knew what at any given time.

The caper part was challenging - coming up with new capers and keeping them interesting and fresh. But, it was the characters and their interactions that kept things fresh and interesting. Another museum heist? That's okay - Chase is on the case and he gets to interact with "X" this time (for instance).

There were also some episodes - Duke of Vermeer and Crackle Goes Kiwi come to mind - where there was SO MUCH SET UP needed to get the payoffs to work. I was really worried about too much talk/too much detail. Very "Swiss watch!" It took a lot of work to make sure it all clicked and was clear - hopefully it seems effortless on screen but I can't say there wasn't some sweat and the occasional tear (mostly from me - I'm a big cry baby

But really, what made it fun was that we had so many buckets to draw from: sometimes a story germ initially began with a character idea; sometimes it was inspired by global location; sometimes it was a clever way to update or reimagine an idea from old Carmen lore. Usually, it was some combination of all of the above!

PizzaHorse:

What was your favorite scene to write?

Duane Capizzi:

I think we have a theme here! "How can I pick just one ...?"

As a film buff, I got to indulge in some serious fan nerdery on this show: I got to write spy movies, yakuza movies, spaghetti neo-westerns (though turning it on its head: spaghetti westerns usually involve REVENGE and because of Carmen's character make up, this was sort of anti-revenge).

Is writing coming up with the idea or typing it? Haha. An "if a tree falls in the forest" question. The writing team and I had so many cathartic "that's how it goes" in the room. But on my own, writing the Pilot, was a very inspiring time for me: I remember laughing out loud the moment I thought of Chase falling on his own car (in part because of doing my spin on "that trope" that we've seen in so many hard boiled movies recently). But also how emotional I got when I imagined the simple but potent image of Black Sheep deciding to take her destiny into her own hands and walk that long corridor to the Faculty who we were about to meet for the first time.

I think I've cited this in another interview, but there was a period where I was completely immersed in Chase's arc and the scene where he would crack the location of VILE island ... by listening to Julia in a dream ... was a big one for me. It revealed he was finally open to admitting he needed Julia more than he would ever admit - yet, it was his own subconscious speaking.

The next morning, after cracking that scene, I bumped into Raf Petardi (voice of Chase) ... at the supermarket! It was very strange and hilarious

PizzaHorse:

Did you scrap any lengthy or funny scenes that you would be able to share?

Duane Capizzi:

With few exceptions, most scene cuts are done at the script stage so that the story board team doesn't waste effort over boarding. A variety of trims to any script are common, but they are usually for the better

The easier question to answer might be scenes were part of our "wish list" at writer room stage, but never made it to story or script. I hesitate to go too deep here (in the event that we might ever do more Carmen episodes in this canon - I'm not giving up hope). And there were cases where things we wanted to do earlier in the series wound up getting nixed or not fitting for whatever reason, but we got them in later - USUALLY FOR THE BETTER. So there's sort of a reverse Murphy's Law/rule of good fortune somehow in these things. But some fun things that didn't make it into the show, that leap to mind were: a Bollywood dance sequence (!). A Vegas caper involving Brunt wanting to steal an Elvis jumpsuit against the backdrop of an Elvis impersonator convention. We also thought it would be neat to get Maelstrom imprisoned so that Julia could interrogate him and he would play mind games with her - very Lector/Clarice!

PizzaHorse:

Were there any different treatments of Carmen you pitched before settling on the one we ended up with?

Duane Capizzi:

I was one of several "pitches" that I'm sure HMH heard before running with my version. But I can honestly say I've never pitched anything as fully formed: the take on Carmen felt so right to me, and clearly HMH and by extension Netflix agreed

I'll answer your question with an anecdote: I had the entire Pilot pretty well worked out, and pitched it in the first meeting. But one key thing that changed (much for the better!), simply because it wouldn't have fit without slogging things down ...

In my Pilot pitch, Black Sheep's escape on the boat was off screen: we see Shadowsan corner her, then we cut away. The rest of the Faculty show up to find SS's broken sword on the rocks, and are led to believe BS killed him (!). In the present, Crackle points his weapon at Carmen and prepares to pull the trigger. We know that Chase is on the way and may rescue her. The compartment door opens to reveal - not Chase - but Shadowsan! Big surprise! Then we cut back to BS's escape and find out what really transpired etc etc.

Crazy, right? SS would have been hanging out with the gang in season 1; we might not have gotten to 203 with his back story, since his sword was broken and he couldn't return it. Just one of those magical things where "things work out" the way they are supposed to. THAT SAID, it made for a heckuva pitch

PizzaHorse:

Are there any characters that ended up taking a direction you didn't initially anticipate?

Duane Capizzi:

GRAY.

I didn't know we'd make him amnesiac when I wrote the Pilot, that was something we came up with in our first week Writer Room.

And even then, when it became clear he'd be a key piece of the bigger puzzle, we didn't know how exactly (mostly the Season 4 stuff).

We did get very deep with a version where 404 ended with his protective streak for Carmen kicking into high gear, and they would be fighting off Vile Guards back to back in perfect tandem. Then, having chosen Carmen over VILE, it was Carmen who actually orchestrates Gray going "off grid" so that VILE can never find him again. Funny, I know that is arguably the version of Gray's arc that many fans might have preferred seeing. But in the tradition of spy thrillers and film noir, and for a lone wolf character like Carmen who is focused on her life mission and not romance, we stand behind where we went with him. We felt it was so much more compelling ... and truly more emotional that he totally has a get out of jail free card when he sacrifices everything (including his life, potentially) to save Carmen.

when she needs him most!

I know I made some controversial comments about Gray "not being good enough for Carmen" and I'd like to clarify that I meant, until that final episode. What he did was so selfless and heroic. Is there hope for them in the future? Who knows?! But I do hope we get to explore that one day

I'm sure Gray is living off the grid somewhere now, inspired by Carmen's selfless good and thinking of her from time to time.

PizzaHorse:

You mentioned in the interview with Alicyn that Carmen is a love story, but you were cut off before you could finish discussing. Could you elaborate on your answer now?

Duane Capizzi:

Ugh, yes! Sorry about that. I actually answered that privately for someone so will cut and paste that response here. Let's see if it works.

Something we never said in the show, but something I imparted to the creative team was: Carmen Sandiego is (among other things) a LOVE STORY, where every character in our ensemble is in love with Carmen in one way or another. Even if they don't know it! That love can take different forms: we see how spurned by Carmen Coach Brunt feels and why she retaliates so excessively. Chase eventually comes to realize that he too loves Carmen, even if he wasn't initially aware of it haha. One of the most moving things to me about the series is how all of the different factions come to Carmen's rescue at the end when she's not "in her right mind," without knowing the others are there too. It's a massive group effort to bring back the Carmen they love. But we weren't looking for a fairy tale ending for Carmen with ANYone - Carmen's a classic lone wolf anti-hero, that goes with the territory. At least at this stage in her journey.

PizzaHorse:

Were there other locations that you wanted to feature in the show that didn't make it?

Duane Capizzi:

I think we managed to cover a lot of ground and "cadence" between different countries/cultures/continents was important to us. Many "iconic" locations of course, and it would have been nice to explore some lesser known locations if we had more episodes.

One that we almost did was Niagara Falls, Canada - actually literally going to the Falls and doing a big hydro-electric caper, where Player could actually get into the field with Carmen and the team.

But ultimately, we wound up bringing Player into the fold the way we did and wound up stronger as a result. It made his "first face to face" with Carmen even more impactful, IMO.

PizzaHorse:

Were there any changes in production between the first half and the second half of the series?

Duane Capizzi:

Well, there was that Covid thing

But while it was no doubt a colossal undertaking to get the entire staff transitioned to work from home (animators! and their equipment!), we managed to make up for lost time WITHOUT a dip in animation quality. My fedora's off to our amazing team at Wildbrain for pulling it off!

We did lose some staff between orders, but that is a natural part of production unfortunately. Namely, one of our episodic directors Kenny Park, our first storyboard artist Dennis Crawford, and our story editor May Chan were among those who moved on to other shows during the break. But, as hard as their shoes were to fill, fill them we did!

PizzaHorse:

What is your favorite season?

Duane Capizzi:

Easy. Hands down, Season 3.

(crickets)

KIDDING!

Again, another "they're all my babies" answer (and yes, I love Season 3 equally

It's hard, because really when you step back I'm sure you'll agree it's a series, with stand alone capers; but it's really all ONE BIG MOVIE.

Season 3 is like the scherzo of a symphony: the shortest movement of four, and the one that tees up the big finale.

That's my hoity toity answer but I'm going to put to rest all of the various theories on what happened with season 3. It was a combination of two things: Netflix's desire to experiment with different ways of "dropping" seasons, and their desire to do a holiday themed drop (in this case Halloween, naturally). It became our challenge to come up with a theme (easy enough: masks), and the bigger challenge to serve their need while not interrupting our ongoing narrative. A challenge to be sure, but a challenge met. I think the biggest bump was perception: it was a short season and I know that was disappointing to many. But, by design.

So, Season 3 = an essential part of the whole. I don't think there's a wasted episode, and it gets everyone into position for the big finish. I can't pick a favorite season - you can't make me

PizzaHorse:

Were there any characters you had wanted to give more time to but couldn't due to time/plot restraints?

Duane Capizzi:

Well, there's the "what was on the white board" answer but hopefully some of those ideas will see the light of day in some way, shape or form some day. I think if we had more episodes, we would have shaken up the internal dynamic of VILE a bit more (as hinted at Brunt's displeasure with Maelstrom for leaving her hanging out to dry at end of 405 - a seed we planted "just in case," as some have noted). And we had more scenes in mind with Chase's partnering with Carmen for the first time that we had to cut to the bone because of what little room we had in that otherwise packed episode (worry not: it's mostly more gags, more embellishment, more twists and turns - but the important stuff is there). Mostly, and I don't think it would have been right for Season 4 but I hope to tell in the future, I think there's an interesting history between Shadowsan and Lady Dokuso - possibly tragic - that I would love to explore one day. (She was a cameo in Duke of Vermeer at the dinner party BTW, I'm not sure if anyone noticed. And we built a bigger role for her out of that)

PizzaHorse:

What are some pre-2000/nostalgic Carmen references you snuck into the show? Do you have a favorite reference that was included?

Duane Capizzi:

Doing that was so much fun! I'd say roughly 60% of the characters were from previous iterations of Carmen, though often in name only. We had fun reimagining most everyone to make them more relevant or updated or giving them a more colorful personality for starters.

"Suhara" was Carmen's Japanese mentor when she worked at the ACME Agency in a flashback episode in the 90's series, for instance. I don't think I need to spell out how we turned that one inside out

And Tigress was also one episode only: she was a "rival thief" to Carmen, but revealed to be an ACME agent in disguise - a persona created solely to bait Carmen. It was really cool of course, but it seemed like untapped potential so we made her an ACTUAL Vile Thief.

My own internal rule was to make sure the references/easter eggs wouldn't confuse anyone - they were there for those who were in the loop and window dressing. The one and only time i broke that rule was Dark Carmen's line from 407: "I do it for the mental gymnastics." It was one of the most absurd lines from the 90's series (IMO) and i was determined to have it come out of Dark Carmen's mouth. I'm sure it left some 7 year olds scratching their heads

aside from that, the key references were the music: I still tingle at how we worked the Rockapella theme into the Interactive Special; and the 90's main title theme (composed by Mozart!), in our Vienna episode ("They're playing my song"). If you wanted Rockapella or Carmen as a bad guy, well ... be careful what you wish for!

PizzaHorse:

Was there any improvised content from recording sessions that made it into any episodes?

Duane Capizzi:

Yes! Not much, because a lot of it would have pushed us into TV-MA haha

Mostly Mary Elizabeth - Coach Brunt has a POTTY MOUTH!

Mikey and Abby usually riffed their banter WAY beyond what was on the written page and had us in stitches. Some bits definitely made it in! But mostly there was too much or it would get off point (hmmm, much like my interview answers maybe? haha)

Sharon Muthu did rise to Pun Goddess status with "Mask and you shall receive." And Raf pitched me "Chasse means hunt in French" after one session and I said: "I'm going to write that in." I don't think he believed me. You can't say I'm not a straight shooter.

PizzaHorse:

If you could get more season, would you do it, and what type of story would you tell?

Duane Capizzi:

Well if that hasn't been clear so far, ABSOLUTELY

There have been discussions of course. It's up to the powers that be at this point. I will say this: the beauty and tradition so far has been that every iteration has been its own thing. I definitely think there are more "different canon" versions of Carmen that can be had and be a part of this wonderful tradition. After all, there were many naysayers for our version when it was first announced.

I will also say that if we don't get to tell any more stories in this canon with these characters, we've left a perfect gem that will stand the test of time. I would rather go out on a high note than overstay our welcome.

All that said, we worked within the allotted episodes given, ended it as we wished, but left the door open for other stories. I'd love to do an expansion and a deepening: pick up where we left off; find out what happened in those two years; and proceed to do the equivalent of Godfather II or Better Call Saul as related to the amazing originals they followed.

Let's hope! Keep putting good vibes out there!

PizzaHorse:

If you could pick a character on Carmen Sandiego who'd you switch places with for a day (you get to control their life and they get to control yours) who would you pick, and why?

Duane Capizzi:

Okay, THIS is difficult. So you're going Freaky Friday on me?

on a Sunday?

Hmmm, I know Ivy would get along with my cat ... but then I'd have to hang out with Zack!

That's the trick: I can't pick my favorites cuz I couldn't hang out with them!

(not that I have favorites - they're all my babies haha)

Okay, I have one: ROUNDABOUT. I could fill Shadowsan's seat - how cool is that? Then, I could enact all my evil fantasies - but still have a get out of jail free card cuz he'd be sitting at my desk!

(cut to Duane being brain wiped - D'oh!)

PizzaHorse:

Who are two characters who don't really interact in the show that you think could be good friends or work really well together?

Duane Capizzi:

Hmmmm. Okay, now I'm going to give you quick and sassy answers. Gray and Julia! They'd be so cute banding together to rescue captive Carmen (for instance). And they could also duke it out and maybe settle things between themselves re: shipping controversies instead of dragging me into it

PizzaHorse:

The FINAL QUESTION. Have you learned anything super impactful while working on the show?

Duane Capizzi:

Aside from Iceland's terrifically low crime rate?

I think I have learned to never underestimate how meaningful characters can be to fans. Social media has obviously brought us a lot closer to our fan base in more immediate ways: it's been really gratifying to hear/see/read feedback and not be writing things in a vacuum. It's been gratifying to see that ideas that were meaningful to myself and the creative team on Carmen that were crafted with care, have also resonated with our fan base. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who has traveled on this journey with us - for embracing Carmen's world view, and her friends and foes alike. Take care everyone! Stay safe! This has been fun, thanks for having me!

PizzaHorse:

HUGE thank you to Duane Capizzi: for being here today.

Thank you everyone for watching and reacting!

Duane Capizzi:

Okay, gotta run - just gotta find the door

Anyway, really: THIS HAS BEEN AMAZING. I speak for everyone involved in the creation and production of Carmen: it has been an amazing and inspiring series and we're elated to see it connect with such a CREATIVE, TALENTED and INTELLIGENT fan base. Take care everyone! Until next crime...

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Don’t Forget Me

Art in banner done by me.

College Life / Mermaid / Kimi no Na wa (Your Name) inspired AU

It’s all nothing but a dream. A series of dreams that are all too real. That’s all it is. Your soul - or whatever it was - couldn’t possibly be swapping places with a Merman. One, mermaids aren’t real. Two, that’s not even possible! Is it? 

Mermaid!Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Human Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Don’t Forget Me tag. 

Genre: Romance / Angst Story 

Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Interspecies Sex (merman / human), Masturbation, Alcohol, Animal death / hunting (whales, fish, sharks, etc), Cursing, Descriptions of Injuries and Blood 

A/N: This is my part for the @bnhabookclub weekly collab event Just Add Water for MerMay! I know there isn’t much going on in this, but it’s just the first chapter to a new multichapter fic. Per the rules of the collab, I used the prompt “That’s just an urban legend”. I’m excited, because I’ve wanted to do a Mer!Bakugou x reader for a LONG time and could never think of anything. But when this theme was announced, I was watching Kimi no Na wa and immediately had this idea. So, full disclosure, the theme of switching bodies in their sleep / forgetting each other is inspired by that movie, but that is all that I take away from it. 

Prologue: Stone

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing

Words:  1,855

You were doing it again. 

How many times had you caught yourself staring at the delicate necklace in your hands? More than you could probably count on all your fingers and toes, and you were sure that number had nearly doubled just in the last week. You really weren’t sure why you were drawn to it so intensely, nor why it gave you such a deep sense of loss and loneliness. 

Where had you gotten it from? 

You couldn’t remember. In truth, you couldn’t remember getting it at all. As far as you could recollect, it had been around your neck when you woke up one morning, about two months ago. Since then, you refused to go a day without it, even if it didn’t necessarily match your outfit or any particular occasion. You felt so lost without it around your neck, like a part of you was away, off in some distant land or deep within the sea. 

Why did you think that? 

Of all things, why would you assume that this missing part of you was in the ocean? Was it because of the necklace? Probably. The silver clam shaped pendant that rested in your palm was most likely the culprit to make you think of the sea. But that particular piece of the jewelry wasn’t what kept you so entranced. Set in the middle was a small, perfectly round stone, and its brilliance is what you couldn’t help but stare into. To anyone else, it would just appear to be a small marble, with brilliant deep indigo, swirling turquoise and hints of radiant purples. There were sparkles of twinkling white, like light reflecting off a water's surface, and if you gazed into it long enough, you could have sworn that the colors were mixing and twisting, as if there truly was water inside the stone. 

It was so beautiful. Had someone given it to you? Whoever did must have cared about you so deeply to give you something so special. You had asked all your friends and family if they knew anything about how you got it, but no one knew anything. You received some weird looks and uncomfortable responses when you tried to ask them, but that didn’t bother you much, not when you had been dealing with people finding you strange for almost half a year now, anyway. 

Why did they find you weird again? You couldn’t remember.

All you knew was that it had to do with this necklace. You had tried to find out what it was made of to try and get any hints on where it may have come from, but each jewelry store or stone expert you took it to, they all had the same response. They just didn’t know. Many offered to buy it from you at varying prices, their interest peaked and their hopes of being the first person to discover a new stone pushing them forward. But you resisted, as just even letting it out of your hands so they could look at it enough to make you nearly burst into tears. You couldn’t let it go and you wouldn’t, either. Not ever. Not for anything. 

Because it was precious. It was the only thing that you had that could help to calm this nearly unending sense of longing. 

But what was it you were longing for? 

Or who? 

Why did that always pop up in your mind? There were so many pieces of scattered thoughts that you just couldn’t put together. A person. The sea. Feeling like a piece of you was missing. You wanted these feelings to end, but you knew that they wouldn’t, not until you found what you were searching for. 

With a frustrated sigh, you put the necklace back on around your neck, clasping it in place with skilled fingers. Standing from your bed, you shuffled your way towards your desk, lightly running your fingers down along the slender metal chain. Your mind was still in a hazy grip of sleep, barely registering that the electronic clock mostly hidden by books and other stationary read 5:49 AM, though that didn’t really matter. Your mind was racing with the overbearing thoughts, and as you sat down in your squeaky office chair, you were already near breaking out into tears.

The necklace wasn’t the only clue you had. Scattered among the desk were notebooks and papers, though you had refused to touch them for the last few weeks. At first, you had meticulously looked over every page and every written note, trying to do everything you could to learn about who this person was that you were missing. But now they sat on your desk, abandoned in defeat. There were many things in the notes that didn’t make sense to you now, though according to what you had written, you had understood it all at one point. 

What you had written. 

That was what was the most odd. There were two very distinct handwritings within the notebooks and scribbled on the scrap pieces of paper or sticky notes. Yours was so proper and easy to read, clean and steady. The other was rough with some of the characters almost completely illegible, requiring you to assume what the person writing must have been trying to say. Large and scratchy, it almost resembled the handwriting of a child or what you assume would be someone new to writing on paper. The phrases. The choice of words. All of it was completely different from yours. 

It had been another person. Someone sat in your chair, in your room, and wrote these messages to you. At first, you thought that it just had to be a prank. One of your friends was fucking with you. That was the only realistic solution. But none of them talked this way, and if you were honest, they weren’t exactly clever enough to pull off such a big ordeal over months and months. 

The way they talked… It was so strange. You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and if you were honest, you thought that they must have been a little crazy. Yet, you weren’t all that rattled in most of your responses, like you knew what they had been saying to be the truth. 

The conversations were so… natural. In fact, most of it was like a diary, with the scratchy handwriting cataloging what had happened that day, how they felt about it, and what they had done. 

This school shit that you humans do is so stupid and pointless. Who the fuck needs to know about… what is it called? Calculus? You’re never going to use that shit, I’m not bothering with keeping up with it, fuck that. You always catch up on your own anyway. That bitch Midoriya or whatever gave you some fucking flowers today. I thought about stomping on them and telling him to fuck off, but I just took them and left. You need to tell that prick you’re not into him or this shit will never stop. Also, the way you humans handle courtship is fucked. I didn’t do shit today otherwise. Just stayed in the room. I did find your sketchbook though. You’re getting better, but you still can’t remember us for shit. 

Pulling your eyes up from the paper, they immediately landed on the mentioned sketchbook, which was tucked up beneath some schoolbooks. Carefully, you pulled it out, setting it down on the pile of papers to thumb through it. 

It had been so long since you had even opened this thing. The feeling of the coarse paper beneath your fingertips brought a small smile to your face, as did seeing all your old sketches and doodles. Though, the smile faded as you reached near the middle of the sketchbook, your eyes tearing up immediately at the contents of the page. The page was completely covered in drawings of what looked to be mermaids, or mermen, to be more accurate. They were mostly faceless and unidentifiable, the sketches geared more towards poses and anatomy. The only thing mostly consistent was the tail. It seemed to be the same over all the drawings, with matching fins and scribbled patterns. 

“Mermaids… I’ve never cared to draw them before, why did I…?” 

After another turn of the page, you were met with similar things, only this time they had heads and hair, jewelry, pieces of clothing, and even weapons. Only one of the sketches resembled the previous drawings, and his particular features called to you. The feeling of recognition and longing grew fiercer with another turn of the page, which was all nothing but sketches of that particular merman’s head with varying expressions and positions. He was particularly attractive, with slanted piercing eyes and a mass of fluffy spiked hair on his head. He had fin-like ears that were mostly drooped, but flared out on the drawings with a more intense expression, where his mouth was open in a yell or intense fanged snarl. 

A small gasp left your lips as a drop of liquid suddenly landed onto the paper, pulling you out of your daze. Crying? Why were you crying? Why did your heart feel like it was about to be ripped from your chest? It wasn’t possible for this to be the man that you had been longing for. You had drawn him as a mermaid! They weren’t real, and there was no way that was possible. He couldn’t even get into your room, let alone sit in your chair and write you letters. 

“I’m so ridiculous…” You whispered quietly to yourself, wiping the tears from your flushed cheeks. Had you been blushing? You didn’t even notice. “Mermaids… That’s just an urban legend. A myth. I must have just been in a phase… Maybe I saw a movie or an anime with them, and I got super invested? But then… they’re so…” 

Page after page, more sketches followed, some making you giggle while others made your chest ache so badly you thought you would pass out. But then, there was something scribbled onto a page that made your entire body grow cold, stomach twisting into such a tight knot you were sure that you’d vomit. 

Save me. 

“Save… Save you?” You choked out into the silent room with a trembling voice, more tears cascading down your cheeks as you reached up to grip the pendant around your neck tightly. It was in the familiar scratchy handwriting, though it was more frantic and messy than you had ever seen. Hiccupping, you brought the pendant up to your lips, pressing the stone against them as you struggled to calm yourself. 

Save you from what? What the hell happened? Did I save you? Why the hell can’t I remember!

It was then that you felt an odd pulsing against your lips, and as you pulled away in shock, your teary gaze was locked onto the pendant in your hands, which was pulsing slowly with a pale green glow. And with it came a thought, like a soft voice whispering in your ear that you couldn’t ignore. 

He’s calling to me… 

[fabulouspotatosister]

Reset - Part One: Darling

a/n: Whoa, Eleven x Reader fanfiction in the year of our Lord 2020? More likely than you think.

I meant to finish the original version of this fic years ago, and then the Thirteenth Doctor came along and... well, we all know what happened. I was also just going to update the fic with a whole new chapter, but I decided to rewrite the whole thing since I wrote the first draft in 2015. Then I posted it in 2018 on AO3 to see if anyone would read it, and then proceeded to abandon it for two years. 

This fic is inspired by the episode "Amy's Choice", and, of course, "What's In a Dream?" by midnighteclipses. It's still one of my favorite DW reader-insert fics out there, and the first one I read a long long time ago. I hope you enjoy this!

Also if this read-more doesn’t work, I’m going to cry.

Word count: 3529

[Part One: You are here!] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five]

“Darling, wake up.”

 You groan and squeeze your eyes shut, clumsy fingers grabbing at your blanket to pull the fuzzy thing over your eyes. The blankets smell good today. You’ve always used the same detergent, and it’s never failed you. Your brain is protesting, but your mouth hasn’t quite caught up yet, so all you do is mumble into your blanket, your mumbling roughly translating to “Five more minutes, please?”

 “Love. Sweetie. Dear. Don’t make me pull out ‘sweetheart’, I know how much you hate it.” You hear a long, dramatic sigh, and you feel a weight sink into the mattress. The weight shifts, and you feel hands splayed out on top of the blanket, threatening to pull it away and rob you of some good, extra sleep. “Please wake up.”

 “No,” you whine, vainly hoping that you’ll sink into the blankets and fall asleep before the idea of waking up becomes too tempting. It is getting a little hot... “Leave me alone.”

 Another sigh. “You asked for it.”

 “No, no -!”

 Suddenly, the blanket’s yanked away - you wince at the bright light that filters through the room, and when your vision clears, you see your husband, John.

 He smiles at you, and it’s brilliant. His hair is sticking out at ridiculous angles and yet he is still stunning, big beautiful green eyes shining in the light of the rising sun. “Hi,” he breathes out, and all you can think is that you have never felt so lucky in your entire life.

 “Hi.” You smile back, and his smile grows wider. “Good morning.”

 “Good morning to you too,” he says softly, reaching out to brush your hair from your forehead. “I was starting to wonder if you would ever wake up.”

 “Sleep is good.” You raise your eyebrows and push yourself up into a sitting position - John moves to sit closer to you, his hand falling from your temple and into your lap. He wraps his hand around yours. “It’s an escape.”

 “What, an escape from me? Am I that insufferable?” John lifts your hand to his mouth, laughing slightly. He presses his lips lightly to the inside of your palm, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours, mischief behind them, and suddenly you’re a schoolgirl with a crush, your heart racing at a simple kiss. “Well?”

 Well, that wasn’t fair. “Are you trying something?”

 John doesn’t move, but you know he’s hidden his smirk behind your hand - “Is it working?”

 “Do you want me to tell you the truth?”

 Oh, he’s definitely smirking now. “Of course.”

 “You are a big flirt.” You pull your hand away with a laugh. John had always been mischievous, his affection expressed in teasing touches and words. “Is something up? What’s the occasion?”

 “The occasion? There’s no occasion,” John says, and then his smile falls. You can see the gears in his head turning as he lifts his gaze to the sky, his lips open slightly in thought - and then, like nothing, he smiles again. “Although something is up. Close your eyes.”

 “What, now?” You giggle, doing as you’re told.

 “Yes, now,” John says. You feel him cup your face in his hands, and feel his lips on your forehead, and you catch the faint smell of pancake mix and blueberries amongst his distinctive smell. “I had to hurry before you got grumpy, and so there’s a bit of a mess in the kitchen, I’m really sorry -”

 "I don't get grumpy!"

 "Right, right…"

 You feel him get off the bed and leave the room, his footsteps growing softer as he walks away. Distantly, there’s the clinking of plates and utensils, something being poured into a glass, and something muttered that you’re sure is a swear -

 “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

 You do, and you can barely keep your jaw from falling open - laid out in front of you is a breakfast feast. Pancakes, perfectly stacked pancakes drizzled with just the right amount of syrup, dotted with the color of blueberries, and a steaming cup of coffee right beside it. The room smells amazing now, and you feel amazing. All you can do is stare incredulously at the meal laid out in front of you.

 “Surprise!”

 You look up at John, your mouth still wide open - he hands you a fork and smiles sheepishly, placing his hands behind his back. Standing in front of you, you finally notice the flour stains on his arms, and the bits of batter on his shirt. Shaking your head, you blink away tears.

 “Oh no, don’t cry,” John says, quickly reaching forward to take your face in his hands again. He strokes your cheek with his thumb and you bask in the warmth of his touch - you are so lucky to have someone like him in your life. Forever. “I just wanted to make you breakfast.”

 “Yeah, but - this is so nice, I can’t -” You reach up and hold his wrists. “Why?”

 “Well, you deserve to have nice things.” John exhales, looking up at the ceiling before pressing his forehead to yours. “Someone as beautiful as you deserves to have nice things.”

 “Oh, don’t start,” you complain, but John just laughs and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. You, with your bedhead and your chapped lips and your sleepy face, beautiful. You weren’t really complaining at all. There’s a buzzing noise from the nightstand on the other side of the bed - “Hey, I think that’s your phone.”

 “I don’t have a phone,” John says innocently.

 “You have a phone, and you have work,” you counter. You realize you’re winning when he lets go of your face and rolls onto the other side of the bed to check his phone.

 “I’m going to be late!” you hear him gasp, and you bark out a laugh - John turns to face you, scandalized, his face pale. “This is no time to be laughing at my misery!”

 “It’s the perfect time to be laughing at your misery.”

 “I’m sorry, I got carried away making breakfast -” John scrambles off the bed, rushing to the closet and pulling out a coat. He switches between the closet and the full-length mirror propped up beside it, running his hands through his hair and adjusting his coat. “Bon appetit! Enjoy your pancakes, sweetheart, I’ve got to -”

 “Wait!” you cry out, stopping him in his tracks. “Wait. C’mere, I’m not letting you leave without a hug from me.”

 “But of course,” he says, quickly walking to you and leaning down so he can wrap your arms around you. You press kisses to his neck, his jaw, and finally his lips, attacking him with affection as a small “thank you” for the breakfast. It’s the least you can do for your lovely husband, the perfect man that you’ve somehow managed to snag from everyone else. How did you even manage that?

 “I won’t keep you,” you whisper, and he pulls away. “Go, you clever boy!”

 John beams at you and rushes out of the room - you hear the front door slam not long after. You settle into your pillows and pick at your pancakes; they taste divine, of course, and you sit on your bed silently eating your pancakes while enjoying the sound of distant birdsong. Chewing on a particularly syrupy piece of fluffy pancake you remember that you’ll have to clean up the “mess” John mentioned earlier, and you smile, having a plan already set for the day.

 You spring to your feet with a renewed sense of vigor, gathering up your empty plate and mug, and carrying them into the kitchen. You smooth your gloved hands over your apron and get to work washing all the plates left in the sink - and then you frown. You don’t remember when you got dressed, or when you put those gloves on, and what you ate last night. The thought passes quickly before you shake your head and continue scrubbing at an already spotless plate.

 You dry off the last of the plates, placing it neatly onto a metal rack before grabbing a broom and sweeping the floor - you’d narrowly avoided choosing carpet as your flooring when you were renovating, before John had swooped in and saved the day by picking out some classic floorboards.

 The dust and lint gathers into a pile in the corner, and you lean on your broom, admiring your home.

 You were lucky to have bought such a nice house. It wasn’t too big, but had enough space for you to be able to decorate and plan for the future. Very lucky indeed...

 There’s a “photo wall” near the kitchen that you like to look at. It’s sparse, but there are a lot of mementos there to remind you of the important things. Among the usual decorative pictures of forests and gardens there are pictures of you and John - pictures of the two of you at your wedding, posing and laughing and drinking with friends. Wasn’t your dress frilly that day? Or was it loose? Wasn’t your hair in a bun? John didn’t wear a bowtie, you think...

 You squint at the photos. Your gaze is drawn to one of the wedding pictures, one from the reception where you’re standing with all your bridesmaids. You’re drinking and laughing, holding a champagne flute in your hand, but you can’t make out the bridesmaids faces. They’re fuzzy, and where are their mouths? Their eyes? The photo blurs like the photographer taking it had moved his hand while trying to take the shot.

 Your grip on your broom tightens. It feels like years and years ago, and the details escape you now.

 You shouldn’t focus on those things. You’re happy here, with John - but maybe you should go find your bridesmaids, it’s been so long since you’ve last seen them. What were their names again? You’re sure Jenny was one... but you don’t know a “Jenny”.

 You can feel your nails digging into the broom’s wooden handle now, threatening to leave crescent-shaped marks into its surface. The details escape you, now.

 And the details don’t matter.

 You sweep quickly, the pile of lint and dust and pieces of wood growing steadily bigger. Soon enough the house will be spotless again, and John will come back from work and you’ll kiss him until you have to clean the house again.

 That’s my life, whispers the voice in the back of your head, and you believe it. I am happy. I am content.

 “I am happy,” you mutter as you place the broom down, letting in lean against the side of one of the kitchen counters. The pile of dust is gone, you swept it out of the door. You walk towards the living room, the soft surface of the sofa beckoning you to lay on it and just take a nap. Forget about all the racing thoughts in your mind. You said sleep was an escape, and you have to escape now. "I am content."

 But your feet take you somewhere else. You lead yourself down the hallways, away from the living room, and now you’re standing in front of a beautifully painted blue door.

 You don’t recognize the door, but it’s familiar. Your brain helpfully supplies it as the laundry room, which is always clean and doesn’t need cleaning ever, but you’re drawn to how faded it is. You lift your hand and drag your fingers across its surfaces. You feel old paint and memories behind this door, and you don’t have to open it.

 Your fingers inch closer and closer to the doorknob and you don’t need to open it -

 The door swings open slowly with a soft creak. It’s pitch-black in there. You feel a soft breeze against your face - you take a small step inside, clinging to the doorway, squinting through the darkness. The darkness almost feels solid, like a barrier, keeping you out.

 Or, you think as you spot a flickering flashlight on the floor, it’s keeping something in.

 You pick up the flashlight, tapping it a few times until its flickering stops. Your fingers curl around its sleek metal handle. You wave it around, watching it cut through the darkness to reveal -

 The flashlight clatters to the ground. Writing. Words, scrawled all over the walls in your handwriting, frenzied rambling trailing from the walls to the ceiling. Don’t forget, try not to forget. Among the crazed writing are drawings, messy sketches of you and John together in places you don’t recognize. Arrows pointing to John labeled “Doctor, Doctor”.

 “No, no, no...” You feel weak, you feel wrong. This can’t be real. It’s not real. Where am I? Who am I?

 And etched into the wall right in front of you, surrounded by your name: Remember who you are.

 You blink, breathing heavily, and you’re outside. The door was never open. The door was never there. You trace your fingers against the wall, and it just feels like a wall. It’s just a wall. A wall with some really nice wallpaper, wallpaper that you picked out not long before the wedding. You agreed on flowers, because they were nice to look at - didn’t you agree on stripes?

 You keep blinking. You can still see its silhouette in the split second where your eyes haven’t fully closed yet, and when they’re not fully open.

 But there was a door. You could have sworn there was a door there, it led to the laundry room - you feel all over the wall and find the place where the doorknob should be, and you feel something solid but see nothing. What the hell is going on –

 …

 “Darling, I’m home!”

 John’s voice rings out from behind you and you suck in a breath, whipping around to see him come in through the front door. The sun’s already set. Darling. He’s never really called you darling, hasn’t he? You take in a shaky breath, and call back - “Yes, honey?”

 John lifts his arms for a hug, grinning brightly and dressed in completely different clothes from when he left. “Where’s my lovely wife?”

 My lovely wife, I was never your lovely wife, but you rush into his arms anyway. He stumbles back at the force of your embrace, slowly wrapping his arms around you and patting your hair. This is comfort you’re used to, but not in this context. And now all the things he did this morning seem so different - “Hey - what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

 “I’m-” Not sure about who I am. John’s hold loosens on you slightly, and he leans away from you to look into your eyes. “I think something’s wrong.”

 “Oh, nothing’s wrong, nothing’s ever been wrong,” John says. But everything is wrong - how is he not getting it? “But tell me.”

 “The laundry room,” you mumble, even though that place was definitely not the laundry room. John’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

 “We’ve never had a laundry room.” He looks over your shoulder at the place that’s just a wall, and frowns. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 “But - there was a door there,” you say, wrenching yourself away from John’s arms and walking to the wall. The wallpaper flickers between flowers and stripes. You feel against the wall until you hit something solid, something round. “There’s a door here right now.”

 John squints. “I don’t see it.”

 “Look,” you stress. You grab his hand and place it on the doorknob, and when you look up the door is back, beautiful and blue and now you know what it reminds you of. “Open the door.”

 “Darling, I don’t -”

 “Stop calling me darling and open the door, Doctor!” you snap, and John pulls his hand away from the doorknob, his mouth hanging open in shock.

 “That’s not my name,” he insists. “You’re not feeling well.”

 “I’m feeling very well, thank you very much,” you grumble. Remember who you are. “Please, just open the door. For me.”

 John - but also not John - stares at you, his mouth set in a hard line. You recognize that look and you recognize him, who he really is, and he’s not your husband. After a moment, he sighs, places his hand on the doorknob, and twists it, flinging the door open.

 The room is illuminated now, all of the scratched writing clear to see - Remember, you have to remember who you are. There are so many more sketches now, and they blur and shift right in front of your eyes. You’re all in places you recognize - Starship UK, ancient Egypt, the planet of the Gargotins. You grab John’s hand and lead him to one of the sketches on the wall.

 “I remember this,” John mumbles. He presses his hands to the wall. “This was a dream I had. You and me together at the end of the world.”

 “When?” you ask.

 “L-last night,” he replies. You grab the front of his shirt and he gasps.

 “Then what did we do last night?”

 “I don’t remember.”

 The whole dream shatters when you find one, tiny, hairline crack in the illusion. There was never a “last night”. “You don’t remember or you don’t know?!”

 John opens his mouth to say something, but then he closes it, deep in thought. You can see the gears turning in his head - just like the morning, when nothing was wrong and everything was perfect and he was your husband - but they’re turning too slowly, which isn’t like who he really is. The room starts to darken, the writing that’s brought you back fading away. You’re running out of time.

 You grip his shirt tighter and shake him. “You need to remember! Who you really are - it’s got to be locked in your big brain somewhere! You’re not John Smith, you’re not my husband, you’re The Doctor!”

 “The - the Doctor…” he stammers, raising his hands to his head, his eyes widening in realization.

 “Yes, that’s you! Two thousand years old! An alien! Come on!”

 “The Doctor - I am the Doctor!” Suddenly, the Doctor grins and grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you into a tight hug. He laughs, his arms wrapped around you, squeezing you slightly before he lets go. “Oh, it feels good to be me again. Hair - good. Eyes - still got ‘em. Bowtie -” His hand shoots up to his collar. He frowns when he doesn’t feel anything there - “Could be worse.”

 “Doctor, where are we?”

 “Dunno. I can’t tell if it’s a simulation or an actual set. If it’s a simulation, then it’s not a good one.” The Doctor whirls around, examining the walls. He lifts his hand to place it in his jacket, looking for his sonic - then he groans when he realizes he was never wearing a jacket. “Empty pockets!”

 “Oh, again?”

 The entire room shakes and you stumble - the voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere without a clear source, and it also sounds vaguely annoyed. The Doctor quickly grabs your hand and squeezes it tight in silent comfort, and now you wish he hadn’t done all of those things in the morning. You glance at his serious face and silently thank whatever gods are out there that he hasn’t mentioned any of it, at all.

 “Marlene. Marlene!”

 There’s another voice, timid and shy. “Yes, ma’am?”

 “Subjects 11A and 11B have escaped immersion. Again. For the fifth time this cycle. Did you forget to intensify their wipes?”

 “No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

 “They’re awake now, so they’re no use to us. Reset them and -”

 “WAIT!” Your plea comes out louder than expected. The Doctor glances at you, and when you meet his gaze, confusion and concern swim in his eyes. “At least tell us what’s going on!”

 “Sorry, 11B, but that’s classified information. You should know, you’ve asked me this before.”

 “Well, it would do us a world of good if we knew!” the Doctor says loudly. “Who are you?”

 “I’ll say it again. Classified information.” There’s a spitting sound, and then another laugh. “I don’t have time for this.”

 “Well then make time!” you shout, and the Doctor pulls you closer to him.

 “Oh, 11A, or should I say the Doctor. Not so ‘Oncoming Storm’ now, are you? Do you want me to tell you what happens to your poor little companion if you keep going like this? Or do you want a demonstration?”

 “What it’s talking about?” You look up at the Doctor. His eyes are trained on the ceiling, and they’re burning with anger.

 “I don’t know. Keep quiet,” he mutters. Then, raising his voice again, “We’ll keep trying! We’ll keep trying to get out!”

 You hear a deep chuckle. “Then good luck. Reset them.”

 A wave of exhaustion passes over you, and through your haze you reach out for the Doctor - you still have to keep him safe -

 You’re out before you even hit the floor, the Doctor’s hand still wrapped in yours.

[thekillerssluts]

Nostalgic For A Different Future: Arcade Fire's Will Butler On How His New Solo Album Finds Healing In Community

When Arcade Fire released their very first single, it came with a B-side that hit very close to home to brothers Win and Will Butler: a recording of a song called "My Buddy," credited to their grandfather, Alvino Rey. In fact, several generations of musicians line their family tree. While those historic echoes provide joy and solace for younger brother Will, the world tipping into pandemic and protests over racial injustice reinforced life’s darker cycles. On Butler’s second solo album, Generations (due Sept. 25 via Merge), he explores the ways in which we come together in community both because of and in spite of those ripples.

The video for early single "Surrender" represents that duality perfectly. The clip opens with studio footage of Butler’s band recording the jangly anthem, complete with call-and-response vocals and gospel falsetto. But much like 2020, things devolve quickly, with closed captioning-style subtitles mourning the deaths of Black men and women killed by police, calling for sweeping political change, and insisting on prison reform. Though written long ago, the album holds a special ability to tap into something boundless and timeless while simultaneously feeling entrenched in the tragic pain of the present.

Butler spoke with GRAMMY.com about the album’s similarities to Fyodor Dostoevsky, the ways in which songs take on new meaning over time, how Generations fits in with an upcoming Arcade Fire album and the healing power of community.

Did you have any hesitation about releasing the album in the midst of the pandemic?

I'm sad to not tour it. If I could wait four weeks and then tour the record... but that's not going to happen. It's actually kind of a good time to put out music. It feels morally good! People want music, so let's put out music. I've experienced that, where people put things out and it feels generous.

It truly does. You've compared this album to a novel and your debut before this to a collection of short stories. Is there a particular novelist that you feel would be in tune with your work? Do you take inspiration from fiction in that way?

It's not Dostoevsky. [Laughs.] But it is weirdly more inspired by Dostoevsky than it ought to be. It's the tumult of the 19th century, the next stage of the industrial revolution and the gearing up of socialism and anarchism. It feels related to the pre-revolutionary thing happening in Russia. [Laughs.] It's not a one-to-one comparison by any means, but it’s just the deeply human things happening in a context of the whirlwind.

Was there an experience that led you to the feeling that it was the right time to deliver such a politically driven album?

Partly, I went to grad school for public policy. I explicitly went as an artist wanting to know what's happening and why it's happening. I started the fall of 2016, which was a very bizarre time to be at a policy school. But I had a course with a professor named Leah Wright Rigueur, a young-ish professor, a Black woman, a historian. The course was essentially about race and riot in America. And since it was a policy school, the second-to-last week on the syllabus was talking about Hillary Clinton and the last week was talking about Donald Trump. It was a history class, but in an applied technical school, so it's like, "What are we doing with this history?"

We read the post-riot reports of Chicago in 1919 and the post-riot reports of the '60s, the Kerner Commission and after the Watts riots, and we read the DOJ reports after Ferguson and after Baltimore and Freddie Gray. And then Donald Trump got elected at the end of the semester. This course really trained my eyes at this moment of time, just being in that state of thinking about what's going on and why it's happening.

Right, and the album's title feels like it encapsulates not only the history that you were learning at the time but also your personal and familial ancestry.

Yes, very much so. My mom's a musician, and her parents were musicians. My grandmother grew up in a family band driving across the American West with her parents before there were even roads in the desert. Her dad got arrested a bunch of times for vagrancy or for not paying off loans. There's something very beautiful about being in the tradition of generations of musicians. That's a positive thing in this world. It's no coincidence that I'm a musician. There are, however, many more poisonous things that are also not coincidental that are rooted in both personal and political history. All of political history in America has been geared towards making each generation of my family's life better insofar as they're white men. It's been very good to my family, but that is as much of an undeniable generational heritage as music, which is this beautiful and faultless and glorious thing.

Do you see that musical tradition in your family as storytelling?

It's never been explicitly storytelling, though that is part of it. It's more about building community or building a society through entertainment. Entertainment is almost too light a word. My grandfather and grandmother did all these broadcasts during World War II, and some of it's jingoistic, some of it's incredibly moving, some of it's just dance music for people who don't want to think about the war for a minute. It's all these emotions, but still with this aim of trying to get us all in it together–which in a war context is fraught. But there's that element of always trying to make a family, make a community, learning how to bind us all together.

That reminds me of the call and response vocals you've got throughout the record. It has an especially gospel-y feeling on "Close My Eyes," which is such a clever way to paint a song about surrendering to something bigger than yourself, that communal feeling. What was the impetus for that narrative voice?

Part of it is just rooted in Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. [Laughs.] Years ago, someone mailed us the complete Motown singles on CD, just every single starting from day one. Even though there’s some garbage mixed in there, it just feels so human with those gang vocals and great singers that sometimes they just pulled off the street. You get the sense of humanity. Having backing vocals be so integral instead of just having my voice layered feels like having a community and feels very natural. It's hard for me to not just rely on that every third or fourth song. [Laughs.] It just feels like that's how it should be.

Those multi-part harmonies must be especially potent live in a room. Do you write in a way where you’re already picturing these songs live?

We played almost every one of these songs live before we recorded them. My solo band played "Surrender" live on the Policy tour for years. But even before we went into the studio last summer, I booked a weekend of shows. We did the Merge 30th Anniversary festival just to have us feel it live and have that communication. And then we went down to the basement to try to iron it out.

Speaking of "Surrender," that song took on an entire new life in the video. It starts out with videos of your band in the studio, but then quickly and powerfully gets replaced with messages mourning the deaths of George Floyd and Breanna Taylor and emphasizing the need for prison reform. You never know what life a song will have when you’re writing it.

That song is very nostalgic in a certain way. It’s looking towards the past, but not wishing to be in the past. It's wishing that we were in a different present because we had already chosen a different past. So when I was editing the video, I started it as a "making of" video. But the footage is from January of this year—five, six months old. There's this feeling of nostalgia, but also 2019 was not good enough to look back at. [Laughs.] 2019 was also horrible.

It's not like I want to go back to 2019. I want to play music with people. I want to be having fun with my friends. I want to be making a record. But I don't want it to be 2019. I'm nostalgic for a different future. And as I'm editing the video, there have been six weeks of protests of people trying to build something, and it just felt crazy to not acknowledge that. It was what people were focused on, at least the people around me.

Do you feel like you'll be infusing more overt social and political commentary into your music going ahead?

I think so. It's important that it's organic. It's part of the world I live in, part of my family and my friendships. Before the coronavirus hit, I was very much looking forward to touring and had vague plans to do town hall meetings and discussions. It felt like a rich time to do that around America, and around the world. I'm sad to not get to do that, but I think it will happen someday.

You produced the album yourself in your basement, so were you writing with the production choices already in mind or were you writing while in the studio?

I had the band come down and record for a week. And at the end of that first week, we had seven or eight songs that could be real. Some of them were clear. Some of them are simpler, like "Surrender." Others were trying to figure out where they would go. "I Don't Know What I Don’t Know" was more trial and error, trying something crazy. We'd turn everything off for two days and then come back to it and try something else. You try to be surprised by it.

I love revision. Well, I don't love it. I hate it. [Laughs.] I love the process of editing, of making a version of something and then finding something that's either better or worse. It's fun when you work with an editor that you trust, but when you're just doing it yourself, you drive yourself batty after some time. But I still love versioning it until it makes sense.

It feels like you're not too precious. You just want to service the song at the end of the day.

Yeah. I try to not be precious. I feel like the songs mostly came out with a fresh spirit. I didn't massage any of them too much. I'm very conversational in how I think of the world. Nothing is the final statement. You say something and then someone says something else and then you say something. And you have to finish what you're saying in order to hear what the other person says. So if that means putting it out into the world without rounding everything off, to me that feels right.

The record begins and ends on the same burning synth tone, like history ready to go around the loop again. What does that synth tone represent for you?

Not to get too mystical, but there's something about the bass that is so embodied. There's something about a really powerful bass that is fundamental, something that just gets to the core. I wanted that core to feel a little uneasy. It's not like the hit at the end of "A Day in the Life" where it’s this clear conclusion. It's a little bit gnarly. It's a little bit not in the right key for the song. It’s something disturbing at the very core of everything.

What has writing and producing this record taught you about yourself?

I found that while I still prize quickness and thoughtfulness and conversational life, this record took longer and took more effort than Policy. It was way less casual. It was not casual in a very good way. I realized this shouldn't be a casual undertaking—even though it can have lightness and humor and breezy elements. Even then, the whole undertaking can still be serious and grounded. It can even be quick without being casual. In the past, I've fallen into thinking, "Just do something first before you think about it too hard." But this was a reminder that you can do something more thoroughly.

Were you writing these songs while working on the next Arcade Fire album? Speaking about intention, how do you compartmentalize those two sides of your creativity?

Yeah, Arcade Fire is always very cyclical. We record for a year and a half, we tour for a year and a half, and then we're off for a year and a half. I was very conscious to do this in a moment when I wasn't distracted by something else. I wanted to focus on this.

I'm still figuring it all out. Right now I'm making a video for the song "Close My Eyes." I have children, two-year-old twins and an eight-year-old, so the spring was just complete family time—net positive, but total chaos. [Laughs.]

https://www.grammy.com/grammys/news/nostalgic-different-future-arcade-fires-will-butler-how-his-new-solo-album-finds

[pearl484-blog]

Trick or treat!

Got any replay wips?

The key to my heart! Asking about my baby! Here's a snippet from the Lady wifi chapter

“I can’t believe it,” Nox despaired. “Chloe’s Ladybug.” Blue bit back a scream. This was what Nox had woken him for?

“Oh, really?” Blue asked. “Chloe is Ladybug?” If this was some kind of joke, it had horrible timing. Although he had to admit, the acting tips he was giving to Nox seemed to really be paying off. Blue was almost convinced that Nox was upset.

And then,  Nox looked at Blue sadly and nodded, “Alya confirmed it. She found her suit in her locker.” 

Blue snorted. Wow, his counterpart was committed to this. “Really?” Blue asked. “She had her magical suit in her locker?”

Nox nodded sadly and then cried, “And then, Chloe got Alya got expelled! How could I have fallen in love with Chloe?”

Oh God. Blue realized. This wasn’t a joke. 

“Okay,” Blue said, sighing as he realized he was going have to break the very obvious truth to his counterpart. “Will you humor me a second?” Nox nodded. 

Blue decided to go with an easy one. “What color is Ladybug’s hair?”

“It’s dark as night,” Nox answered, a bit poetically, but Blue would accept it. 

“And what color is Chloe’s hair?” Blue asked.

“Blonde,” Nox answered, rolling his eyes at such a ridiculous question. Blue waited for his other self to realize his mistake, but instead Nox continued by gushing, “It’s so clever of Chloe to change her hair while she’s in costume. No one will realize it’s her.”

Nox sighed. Okay, he had walked into that one. He’d been the one to tell Nox that some heroes dyed their hair, so maybe he just extended that to Chloe. Nox decided to try again. 

“Okay, well how about this? You know how Chloe is, spoiled, bratty, and a bit demanding? And that’s just around us, you’ve seen her around other people. She’s like a mean girl straight out of a high school show. Do you really think that Ladybug would act like that?”

 Nox gasped, and Blue applauded himself on the crisis averted, before Nox said, “I knew she was faking the mean girl act. It’s genius.” Blue felt the smile fall from his face as Nox continued, “Wow. I almost believed it myself, and we’ve been friends forever. She’s an amazing actor.” 

Blue was stunned at Nox’s amazing thickheadedness and had to think for a moment. What on Earth could possibly be undeniable, indisputable proof that Ladybug and Chloe were not the same person. Then, in a flash of inspiration, he had it. 

“Didn’t Ladybug save Chloe from Stoneheart less than a month ago?”

Nox paused for a minute, and Blue watched the gears in his counterpart’s head turn, and then. 

“I can’t believe it,” Nox moaned. “Chloe is Ladybug!” Blue watched incredulously as Nox went through the same spiel about Alya finding it out that he had done less than 5 minutes ago. 

[faecaptainofdreams]

I kinda don't LOVE the art, but it's eh. I think it works though, maybe it'll grow on me. ^^ Keep in mind this is a head canon, don't like it don't look at it. MCU universe with me bending the rules a lot and taking inspiration from the PS4 game, bla bla bla.~ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ~~Scorpion~~ McDonald "Mac" Gargan was a mercenary with a predisposition for cold, violent behavior, though he hid it well. But when J. Jonah Jameson ended up funding research to create an "anti-Spider-Man" to do "real good" and be a "real" superhero, Mac jumped at the opportunity. Of course, he never intended to do any good with it; all concerns were centered towards himself. He figured it would make missionary work easier to complete, not to mention the powers would be fun to wield, but since Jameson was so adamant on rivaling Spider-Man, Mac thought the concept of challenging the spider to be thrilling. And of course, it was no accident that the mutagen created for this process would be drawn from that of a scorpion, a cousin of the spider -- but more importantly, a predator of the spider. While the labs used to create this new "superhero" were government authorized (which is why Jameson felt safe enough to invest), the regulation over its work was not as good as it could have been. Moreover, the scientists working on the mutagen were not prepared for just how unstable their product would become when mixed with the DNA of a human being. They thought they did everything right, but upon infusing the scorpion-based agent with Mac's DNA, the mutation erupted and went far further than they'd intended. And with Mac already being a born psychopath with a near-total lack of conscience, the cold, self-serving nature of the animal hind brain we all possess became enhanced in him. After nearly a week spent in a sort of incubation period in a bizarre cocoon formed of hardened skin cells, Mac emerged totally transformed. He was bigger, and it was clear that the scorpion-to-human ratio was unbalanced. A hollow, blood-thirsty gaze and sharp, toothy grin adorned his face, as did armor plating all down his body. And, eerily enough, an enormous tail equipped with a massive, functioning stinger. In awe of their creation, the scientists took notes, of course, and they attempted to study Mac. Mac was patient for about an hour, but ultimately decided it wasn't wise to have so much information on him available at the ready. After destroying the lab and killing half of the scientists, Mac broke out and escaped into the city. Eventually, he had a run-in with Spider-Man, whom he easily overpowered and wounded during their first fight. But a few tries later, Spidey subdued the Scorpion, and Mac went to prison. He would be there for five solid years before being broken out by Otto Octavius, along with a few other top-tier villains and Spider-Man enemies. ~~Personality~~ Mac Gargan is a sociopath with none of his humanity left. He is ruthless and not shy to kill, and loves more to torture his opponents. He's not the most intelligent, having a bad habit of taunting even his allies a little too much and getting himself into trouble. He's basically his own worst enemy in that regard. Although he doesn't appear to think things through very well, he is clever, and enjoys snuffing out the weaknesses of his foes. ~~Physiology~~ Mac is almost twice the size of the average human. One would think that with his enhanced strength, he would be able to lift and manipulate far more weight than Spider-Man, but as it is his max weight is 5.7 tons, which is just a little more than half of what Peter can haul. Regardless, he is a powerhouse and a force to be reckoned with, and that armored tail is nothing to sneeze at. His tail is considerably stronger and more flexible than his full-arachnid cousin, and this is thanks to his human DNA. Mac is still a vertebrate; he just has a bigger, stronger musculoskeletal system now. His tailbone extends into the full length of his tail, ending with a thick joint just before the stinger, which is filled with contracting muscles that regulate how much venom he can inject into his victims. This tail is far more precise during attacks as well, and the entire appendage itself can be used as a major blunt-force weapon. The venom in Mac's tail is a potent hallucinogenic neurotoxin that, in its lowest dose, causes muscle pain and spasms around the injection site, and causes the victim to experience imaginary bodily pain as the brain's frontal lobe and sensory cortex go haywire. The amygdala, the brain's fear-processing center, kicks into high gear as "bad trips" and horrifying hallucinations begin, often in relation to the imagery of scorpions and monsters resembling Mac. Each experience is different for each individual, but more often than not, the gruesome vision involve the victim's worst fears, phobias, and even drag feelings and hallucinations related to the victim's past traumas to the surface. The brain creates nightmares that the victim's body thinks are real, causing pain and all sensory input to feel very, very real. There is a chance of surviving envenomation at a low dose, but the victim needs to be taken care of immediately. At a moderate and high dose, the victim doesn't stand a chance. Organ failure, paralysis and respiratory failure kill in roughly a minute -- and that's ignoring the wound Mac inflicts with the stinger itself. Cruelly, Mac prefers to kill or get by using lower doses, as he is fascinated with watching his victims squirm and suffer. But when patience is lost or a deed needs quick doing, a hard strike in the right place can kill his target in seconds, hardly needing venom at that point. Mac's grip is vice-like and impossible for the average person to get out of. His crushing hold on a victim is helpful, needless to say. He's not nearly as fast as Spider-Man, but he's agile enough and is an expert at concealing himself. Like the scorpion, he can climb up most surfaces, though he doesn't have scopulae hairs like Peter. Rather, he relies on his enormous claws. Mac is nocturnal, preferring to be up and about during the night. And, like a real scorpion, he glows under ultraviolet light. Scorpions are not picky eaters, but they are carnivores. They'll eat anything they can get their claws on, including other scorpions -- even their relatives. Needless to say, Mac isn't a sentimental person. During his first time out in the city, Mac first killed and ate a few farm animals, but Spider-Man stopped him while he was in the process of hunting a person. Yes, he will eat people if he gets the chance. It would be an extra nasty sight, too, as the enzymes in his saliva are designed by nature to start breaking down his food before it even gets into his mouth. It would be...unpleasant to be spit on by Mac Gargan, so to speak. Scorpions are tough animals that can survive immersion in water for up to two days, and can withstand being frozen solid. Once the ice thaws, the animal simply gets up and gets on the move again. They can also go months, even a year without eating! Yes, these durability traits apply to Mac, which makes him all the more horrifying. ~~Preference~~ Mac is straight, though understandably, has never gotten too lucky, and is very aromantic. One would think that, violent as he is, he would simply force himself onto victims, but with the scorpion instincts he possesses, that reflex is inhibited. Rather, he will attempt to sway a potential mate, and of course, it never works, much to his deep frustration. He may injure whoever turns him down, but oddly, he won't assault them. In the animal kingdom, the female scorpion gets her say-so, and that's the end of it. Even though the average female human doesn't stand a chance against him, his instincts (awkwardly) tell him that pushing it will somehow result in his destruction. Don't be mistaken, he doesn't care about the woman; he's only protecting himself. It's safe to say, Mac experiences bouts of sexual frustration...especially during mating season. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hm. What do ya know, already growin' on me ^u^

[imagine-loki]

Atlas: Space, Sun

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 1/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album. 

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

As far as warnings go, some language, terrible writing, and just general awkwardness because I love it. Warnings will be chapter by chapter basis.

Chapter 1: Sun

Summary: Tony begs Rebecca to come with the team on mission and Loki is a surprisingly thoughtful mission companion.

=

“For the sake of all of us, I need you to suit up.”

That was the climax of her morning, she would say. Or, at least, the turning point of her day… her life… and the reason why she, a weapons development technician with bare minimum battle training ended up, smack dab in the middle of a firefight.

With golden string

Our universe was clothed in light

Pulling at the seams

Our once barren world now brims with life

It was a morning same as any other. The weapons lab was calm and quiet, save for the white noise hum of robots moving and instrumentation chugging along without supervision. Crisp, white sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, negating the need for any of the harsh fluorescents overhead to be turned on. This was how she had fallen in love with the lab–in the early hours before anyone turned on the tinting of the windows and blasted Black Sabbath for no reason other than to drown their own thoughts. Essentially, any time before Tony started his insane experiments was wonderful and full of meditative peace.

Despite the fact that it was only seven in the morning, Rebecca Brun had already put in four hours of work. One of the side-effects of working in Stark industries was that she often forgot what hours normal people usually kept. A lot of missions were at night, and she needed to be awake to outfit the team before it was time for wheel’s up on the Quinjet. More recently, her shift in schedule was mostly attributed to Loki’s inability to maintain normal hours, as well. And he dared say he had nothing in common with Tony. You know, besides the fact that the two of them had somehow roped her into friendship (though in Loki’s case, she would admit it was her fault).

Her zen moment of peace was about to be shattered as she watched her boss stride into the lab. Tony looked pensive, which was never a good sign. Their conversation had been a blur–something about needing a technician on hand to sustain any on-field repairs and how that would ensure that they could bring everyone home alive. Another comment about her being the very best, second only to himself. More importantly, there was the voice in her head that spoke of purpose. She always knew her work made a difference, but she would have never dreamed that she could make a difference. She could be a hero in her own right. She could keep them safe.

“Fine. I’m in.”

–

I guess space and time

takes violent things, angry things

and makes them kind.

Loki watched from the shadows as Stark rounded up everyone who was to go on mission that day. There were nearly two dozen, in total, between heroes and agents. And Becca. Who was shaking like a leaf in her tactical gear, matching the rest of the crew. The gear suited her, he thought wryly, gaze skimming the curves of her hips and thighs as she shifted her weight from one leg to another. He then felt a little disappointed in himself, scolding his primitive thoughts when his friend was in clear distress. He hated admitting it, but he was fond of the mortal. She was clever, quiet, and quick-witted–all things he… liked? Admired? Suffice to say, he didn’t wish her dead.

He moved like death, silent and furtive, until he sidled up to her. She didn’t seem surprised when she glanced up and gave him a smile that looked a little closer to a wince. He returned a small one of his own before fidgeting with his armor. Becca made a noise like a whine and with a chuckle, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. He meant to reassure her, but his brain also whispered guiltily that it was giving him an excuse for contact. They were firmly just friends, but every now and then the baser part of his brain longed for a lingering touch or, heavens forbid, a hug.

“We are the dust of dust”

“We are the apple of God’s eye”

“We are infinite as the Universe we hold inside”

“Folks, listen,” Stark started, standing on a box of ammunition to look over the crowd. “This is the big one and I’m sure that your team leaders have driven home the importance of getting in, doing our job, and getting out. I know that for some of you, this is your first mission. Others don’t even want to be here. I appreciate all of you coming aboard, anyway. Because, whether we like it or not, we are the only thing between the world and those who intend to destroy it. You’re all heroes. Let’s go show them who they’re dealing with.”

Becca squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quell the feeling of nausea rising through her. They had gotten into the jet and were flying to some undisclosed location where bullets were already flying, courtesy of the advanced guard. She had fitted everyone in their armor and left instructions on how and when to double back for assistance. One of the agents had then offered her the handle of a gun and more than a handful of cartridges of bullets before exiting the Quinjet and into a very noisy battlefield. It was then that she realized she would be on her own from there on out. That didn’t sit in her stomach very well, either. 

“Hey.” Becca looked up rather anxiously. Loki was stood in full armor, golden horns and all. He looked just south of fidgety and was eager to jump into the fray. The only reason he deigned to stop and check in was the annoying sinking feeling he got when he noticed her take the clip out of her gun and count bullets for a sixth time in as many minutes. “Well, you’ve taken to battle rather well,” he teased, nudging her foot with his.

“Shut it or I’ll throw up on you,” she groused, and the green tinge in her complexion assured him of the truth behind her words.

He laughed boisterously, though there seemed to be no malice in his actions. “Midgardians, scared of a little fight. Precious, really.”

“What part of I’ll throw up on you did you not understand?” Her voice sounded rough, as if she really was fighting the bile from rising up her throat.

“You’re going to be fine.” Loki laughed again, a little less effusively. For a second he hesitated in his movement, before his resolve steeled, reaching up and tugging on a golden horn to slide the helmet from his head. “If I remember correctly, you’re well-acquainted with these. How about you keep them until I circle back, hmm?” They were placed on her head before she had even had time to argue, feeling snug and secure. Long fingers felt cool against her flushed skin as he lifted her chin to look at him. “There. Fit to be a shield maiden.” The heat in her cheeks only intensified. “Stay in the jet. And if you need to barricade the doors, regardless of what side of them we happen to be on, do it.” He stared her down until she nodded.

Before he disappeared out the hold doors, he turned his head and winked at her over his shoulder. Oddly enough, it settled her stomach to see his cocky confidence.

The one thing Becca was not prepared for, ironically, was the wait.

The jet had been empty for several hours and only Bucky had come to get some gravel out of the hydraulic gaps of his metal arm. The rest of the time, she spied outside the one-way glass at the battle ahead. It was a terrible hobby to have when you knew half of the players, but it was like watching a train wreck. You know you shouldn’t watch, but…

A flash of red caught her eye, at once. Peter had just been flung aside by some Hydra agent in a bulky exosuit. In a flash of green, Loki cut in and deliver a blow to protect the kid. Loki would never admit it aloud, but he had a soft spot for the teenager–partly because he was a child, mostly because he would bring Loki chocolate chip cookies every time he went to see him. Regardless of the reason, the maneuver had ended with Loki becoming the new favorite target of all the Hydra personnel around the pair.

Loki yelled something she couldn’t make out, and Peter began to climb upwards to get a better (and safer) vantage point. More agents converged on the Asgardian and Becca found herself chanting no’s under her breath. This was a bad idea.

She shouldn’t have watched the fight.

And she certainly shouldn’t have opened the hold doors and run straight into its center.

Becca had the advantage that she was swift on her feet from years of track and field. She could outrun nearly everyone, except for Steve and sometimes Bucky. And being a hurdler, she could clear obstacles in her path as easily as breathing. Instantly, the sound of gunfire made her regret leaving her safe, warm little workstation on the jet. It certainly was a bad place to contemplate her mortality, and a stranger place still to pray for the very first time.

Let there be light, let there be light, let me be alright.

With shaky hands, she lifted her pistol and took aim. Tony made everyone take basic gun training and get certified at the gun range–this wasn’t a new experience for her. Having buildings shudder and rumble, screams fill the air, and explosions happen less than thirty meters off–that was a new experience. And it made it a hell of a lot harder to aim at areas that were not covered by a bulletproof vest or part of her friend.

Loki started as the body trying to wrestle him down shuddered and slumped to the floor. He turned round in a neat circle and glared. “I told you to stay in the jet!”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve circled back earlier, then!” She screamed back, flinching her eyes closed with every thundering bullet leaving her gun.

“Tell me you’re not closing your eyes every time you shoot!” He had closed the distance between them and had joined his back to hers.

“Fine. I won’t tell you.”

“You could’ve shot me in the head!”

“You should have taken your damn helmet, then!” Her voice was near a shriek, another three bullets ringing through the air before she realized she had to change the clip.

Except she forgot them.

On the jet.

Did she mention she had no real battle experience?

“Loki,” her voice trembled, barely audible over the scuffle even to her own ears, “do you have bullets on you?”

He snorted. “Do I look like I have a gun, Rebecca?” He glanced over his shoulder at her and did a double-take before the information clicked. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t!” She didn’t answer, instead drawing a knife sheathed in a strap on her thigh and holding it in front of her. It shuddered in time with the tremors in her hand. She couldn’t stay here and she couldn’t make it back on her own. And for some reason, after over a millenium, his conscience decided this was the day to make an appearance. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He growled. “If I die getting you back to safety, I’m going to be so damn cross!”

Before she could offer a retort, he grabbed the back of her suit, pulling her away from incoming threats. Every now and again, they’d stop, fight hand to hand, or rather, Loki fought while constantly pushing her behind him. Becca felt like a ragdoll, though she never thought she was being flung carelessly or without any sort of poise. It was a carefully calculated and perfectly executed dance of which she was a participant with no say on the steps.

The Quinjet doors were just a few meters away. They were almost there. Another three Hydra agents had closed in on them, trying to cut off their escape. The next minute was hazy in her mind. She could remember, as clearly as if she were seeing it right then, as a gun barrel aimed for her head and the rumble of gunpowder deafened her a second later. And then there was darkness.

With golden string

Our universe was brought to life

That we may fall in love

Every time we open up our eyes

“Becca.” The voice was soft, as were the thumbs brushing her cheekbones, though the pounding in her head was certainly not. She blinked her eyes open to find two blue orbs of concern watching her. “Oh, thank the gods. You’re alright.”

“My head is killing me.” She winced at the echo of her own voice. 

“Yeah. A bullet to the skull will do that,” he said, smirking. He had yet to let her head go.

They were on the floor of the jet, and he was on his knees. Beside him, his horns sat with a splotch of blood marring the very edge of the face opening and the metal bent slightly out of shape.

“You’re lucky I left you my helm. Not so much for the man who shot you. The ricochet was nasty.”

“The ricochet killed him?” She frowned, trying to think of the physics that would make such a thing possible.

“No, I killed him. The ricochet left him blind in the left eye, though,” he retorted matter-of-factly, smiling. He finally let go and sat back on his heels, his fingers came away red, but a cursory check with her own showed the blood was not hers. The thought did not reassure her. “I should go back, keep the Spiderboy out of trouble.” He stood and cracked his neck, squaring his shoulders to prepare himself for more gore. “Are you OK?”

She nodded. “I’m OK. I’ll just stay put.”

He snorted. “I doubt that. At least I already stuffed all the bullets I could find into your pockets. Don’t need a repeat of this fiasco.” He stepped lightly to the hold doors, as he had done earlier. This time, he turned around completely, walking backwards out of the open doors. “Maybe keep the helmet on, for now, and try not to get shot in the head again." 

For a long moment she looked between the cushioned seats and the hold doors, deciding the best course of action–back to her work table, safe, or…

Just beyond the doors, Loki sunk a dagger into the stomach of a HYDRA agent and kicked them back. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced back at jet and smirked, turning away only to dodge a punch. Becca took a swig of water, grabbed her gun, and ran back into the fire just as the horns settled onto her skull. Loki gave her a knowing smile before pressing his back to hers and finishing their mission.

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 1/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album. https://imagine-loki.tumblr.com/post/623647803992899584/imagine-narrating-episodes-of-lokis-life-with-the

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for but my brain insists.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

As far as warnings go, some language, terrible writing, and just general awkwardness because I love it. Warnings will be chapter by chapter basis.

Chapter 1: Sun

Summary: Tony begs Rebecca to come with the team on mission and Loki is a surprisingly thoughtful mission companion.

=

"For the sake of all of us, I need you to suit up.”

That was the climax of her morning, she would say. Or, at least, the turning point of her day… her life… and the reason why she, a weapons development technician with bare minimum battle training ended up, smack dab in the middle of a firefight.

With golden string

Our universe was clothed in light

Pulling at the seams

Our once barren world now brims with life

It was a morning same as any other. The weapons lab was calm and quiet, save for the white noise hum of robots moving and instrumentation chugging along without supervision. Crisp, white sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, negating the need for any of the harsh fluorescents overhead to be turned on. This was how she had fallen in love with the lab–in the early hours before anyone turned on the tinting of the windows and blasted Black Sabbath for no reason other than to drown their own thoughts. Essentially, any time before Tony started his insane experiments was wonderful and full of meditative peace.

Despite the fact that it was only seven in the morning, Rebecca Brun had already put in four hours of work. One of the side-effects of working in Stark industries was that she often forgot what hours normal people usually kept. A lot of missions were at night, and she needed to be awake to outfit the team before it was time for wheel’s up on the Quinjet. More recently, her shift in schedule was mostly attributed to Loki’s inability to maintain normal hours, as well. And he dared say he had nothing in common with Tony. You know, besides the fact that the two of them had somehow roped her into friendship (though in Loki’s case, she would admit it was her fault).

Her zen moment of peace was about to be shattered as she watched her boss stride into the lab. Tony looked pensive, which was never a good sign. Their conversation had been a blur–something about needing a technician on hand to sustain any on-field repairs and how that would ensure that they could bring everyone home alive. Another comment about her being the very best, second only to himself. More importantly, there was the voice in her head that spoke of purpose. She always knew her work made a difference, but she would have never dreamed that she could make a difference. She could be a hero in her own right. She could keep them safe.

“Fine. I’m in.”

–

I guess space and time

takes violent things, angry things

and makes them kind.

Loki watched from the shadows as Stark rounded up everyone who was to go on mission that day. There were nearly two dozen, in total, between heroes and agents. And Becca. Who was shaking like a leaf in her tactical gear, matching the rest of the crew. The gear suited her, he thought wryly, gaze skimming the curves of her hips and thighs as she shifted her weight from one leg to another. He then felt a little disappointed in himself, scolding his primitive thoughts when his friend was in clear distress. He hated admitting it, but he was fond of the mortal. She was clever, quiet, and quick-witted–all things he… liked? Admired? Suffice to say, he didn’t wish her dead.

He moved like death, silent and furtive, until he sidled up to her. She didn’t seem surprised when she glanced up and gave him a smile that looked a little closer to a wince. He returned a small one of his own before fidgeting with his armor. Becca made a noise like a whine and with a chuckle, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. He meant to reassure her, but his brain also whispered guiltily that it was giving him an excuse for contact. They were firmly just friends, but every now and then the baser part of his brain longed for a lingering touch or, heavens forbid, a hug.

“We are the dust of dust”

“We are the apple of God’s eye”

“We are infinite as the Universe we hold inside”

“Folks, listen,” Stark started, standing on a box of ammunition to look over the crowd. “This is the big one and I’m sure that your team leaders have driven home the importance of getting in, doing our job, and getting out. I know that for some of you, this is your first mission. Others don’t even want to be here. I appreciate all of you coming aboard. Because, whether we like it or not, we are the only thing between the world and those who intend to destroy it. Let’s go show them who they’re dealing with.”

Becca squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quell the feeling of nausea rising through her. They had gotten into the jet and were flying to some undisclosed location. She had fitted everyone in their armor and left instructions on how and when to double back for assistance. One of the agents had then offered her the handle of a gun and more than a handful of cartridges of bullets before exiting the Quinjet and into a very noisy battlefield. It was then that she realized she would be on her own from there on out.

“Hey.” Becca looked up rather anxiously. Loki was stood in full armor, golden horns and all. He looked just south of fidgety and was eager to jump into the fray. Still, he made it a point to stop and check in when he noticed her take the clip out of her gun and count bullets for a sixth time. “Well, you’ve taken to battle rather well,” he teased, nudging her foot with his.

“Shut it or I’ll throw up on you,” she groused, and the green tinge in her complexion assured him of the truth behind her words.

He laughed boisterously, though there seemed to be no malice in his actions. “Midgardians, scared of a little fight. Precious, really.”

“What part of I’ll throw up on you did you not understand?” Her voice sounded rough, as if she really was fighting the bile from rising up her throat.

“You’re going to be fine.” Loki laughed again, a little less effusively. For a second he hesitated in his movement, before his resolve steeled, reaching up and tugging on a golden horn to slide the helmet from his head. “If I remember correctly, you’re well-acquainted with these. How about you keep them until I circle back, hmm?” They were placed on her head before she had even had time to argue, feeling snug and secure. Long fingers felt cool against her flushed skin as he lifted her chin to look at him. “There. Fit to battle the enemy.” The heat in her cheeks only intensified. “Stay in the jet. And if you need to barricade the doors, regardless of what side of them we happen to be on, do it.” He stared her down until she nodded.

Before he disappeared out the hold doors, he turned his head and winked at her over his shoulder. Oddly enough, it settled her stomach to see his cocky confidence.

The one thing Becca was not prepared for, ironically, was the wait. The jet had been empty for several hours and only Bucky had come to get some gravel out of the hydraulic gaps of his metal arm. The rest of the time, she spied outside the one-way glass at the battle ahead. It was a terrible hobby to have when you knew half of the players, but it was like watching a train wreck. You know you shouldn’t watch, but…

A flash of red caught her eye, at once. Peter had just been flung aside by some Hydra agent in a bulky exosuit. In a flash of green, Loki cut in and deliver a blow to protect the kid. Loki would never admit it aloud, but he had a soft spot for the teenager–partly because he was a child, mostly because he would bring Loki chocolate chip cookies every time he went to see him. Regardless of the reason, the maneuver had ended with Loki becoming a favorite target of all the Hydra personnel around the pair.

Loki yelled something she couldn’t make out, and Peter began to climb upwards to get a better (and safer) vantage point. More agents converged on the Asgardian and Becca found herself chanting no’s under her breath. This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t have watched the fight. And she certainly shouldn’t have opened the hold doors and run straight into its center.

Becca had the advantage that she was swift on her feet from years of track and field. She could outrun nearly everyone, except for Steve and sometimes Bucky. And being a hurdler, she could clear obstacles in her path as easily as breathing. Instantly, the sound of gunfire made her regret leaving her safe, warm little workstation on the jet. It certainly was a bad place to contemplate her mortality, and a stranger place still to pray for the very first time.

Let there be light, let there be light, let me be alright.

With shaky hands, she lifted her pistol and took aim. Tony made everyone take basic gun training and get certified at the gun range. This wasn’t a new experience for her. Having buildings shudder and rumble, screams fill the air, and explosions happen less than thirty meters off–that was a new experience. And it made it a hell of a lot harder to aim at areas that were not covered by a bulletproof vest or part of her friend.

Loki started as the body trying to wrestle him down shuddered and slumped to the floor. He turned round in a neat circle and glared. “I told you to stay in the jet!”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve circled back earlier, then!” She screamed back, flinching her eyes closed with every thundering bullet leaving her gun.

“Tell me you’re not closing your eyes every time you shoot!” He had closed the distance between them and had joined his back to hers.

“Fine. I won’t tell you.”

“You could’ve shot me in the head!”

“You should have taken your damn helmet, then!” Her voice was near a shriek, another three bullets ringing through the air before she realized she had to change the clip.

Except she forgot them.

On the jet.

Did she mention she had no real battle experience?

“Loki,” her voice trembled, barely audible over the scuffle even to her own ears, “do you have bullets on you?”

He snorted. “Do I look like I have a gun, Rebecca?” He glanced over his shoulder at her and did a double-take before the information clicked. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t!” She didn’t answer, instead drawing a knife sheathed in a strap on her thigh and holding it in front of her. It shuddered in time with the tremors in her hand. She couldn’t stay here and she couldn’t make it back on her own. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He growled. “If I die getting you back to safety, I’m going to be so damn cross!”

Before she could offer a retort, he grabbed the back of her suit, pulling her away from incoming threats. Every now and again, they’d stop, fight hand to hand, or rather, Loki fought while constantly pushing her behind him. Becca felt like a ragdoll, though she never thought she was being flung carelessly or without any sort of poise. It was a carefully calculated and perfectly executed dance of which she was a participant with no say on the steps.

The Quinjet doors were just a few meters away. They were almost there. Another three Hydra agents had closed in on them, trying to cut off their escape. The next minute was hazy in her mind. She could remember, as clearly as if she were seeing it right then, as a gun barrel aimed for her head and the rumble of gunpowder deafened her a second later. And then there was darkness.

With golden string

Our universe was brought to life

That we may fall in love

Every time we open up our eyes

“Becca.” The voice was soft, as were the thumbs brushing her cheekbones, though the pounding in her head was certainly not. She blinked her eyes open to find two blue orbs of concern watching her. “Oh, thank the gods. You’re alright.”

“My head is killing me.”

“Yeah. A bullet to the skull will do that,” he said, smirking. He had yet to let her head go.

They were on the floor of the jet, and he was on his knees. Beside him, his horns sat with a splotch of blood marring the very edge of the face opening and the metal bent slightly out of shape.

“You’re lucky I left you my helm. Not so much for the man who shot you. The ricochet was nasty.”

“The ricochet killed him?” She frowned, trying to think of the physics that would make such a thing possible.

“No, I killed him. The ricochet left him blind in the left eye, though,” he retorted matter-of-factly, smiling. He finally let go and sat back on his heels, his fingers came away red, but a cursory check with her own showed the blood was not hers. The thought did not reassure her. “I should go back, keep the Spiderboy out of trouble.” He stood and cracked his neck, squaring his shoulders to prepare himself for more gore. “Are you OK?”

She nodded. “I’m OK. I’ll just stay put.”

He snorted. “I doubt that. At least I already stuffed all the bullets I could find into your pockets. Don’t need a repeat of this fiasco.” He stepped lightly to the hold doors, as he had done earlier. This time, he turned around completely, walking backwards out of the open doors. “Maybe keep the helmet on, for now, and try not to get shot in the head again.”

For a long moment she looked between the cushioned seats and the hold doors, deciding the best course of action–back to her table, safe, or… Just beyond the doors, Loki sunk a dagger into the stomach of a HYDRA agent and kicked them back. As if sensing her gaze, he glanced back at jet and smirked, turning away only to dodge a punch. Becca took a swig of water, grabbed her gun, and ran back into the fire just as the horns settled onto her skull.

[unnecessarygayfeelings]

Finished my Farafey fanficton! Here’s a link to it on ao3, but I know not everyone uses that, so I’ll post it here under the read more. No content warnings (there’s a small mention of alcohol, but no one is intoxicated), just 2k words of fluff. This is for the Farafey micronation especially @aquilamage because she has epic content that inspires me a lot.

Lavender Lip Gloss

It was new year's eve and Kay was going to be late to the party because her roommate was hogging the bathroom.

Kay should be used to this, really. Ever since she and Sebastian decided to rent an apartment together at the ripe old age of nineteen, she became well aware of her friend's quirks. But she could handle the misplaced pens, loud classical music, and endless pacing at ungodly hours of the night. She would be a hypocrite if she judged him, though. Half of the pens they owned were probably on her desk, and in the early mornings she liked to sing her favourite pop songs in the shower. They argued about who was the cause of their the noise complaints every time they received one.

They've been roommates for years now. Kay was used to Sebastian's habits... except for one.

"Seb, leave the goddamn door open when you're just fixing your hair! I need the hairspray!"

It took a long time for Sebastian to break the habit of placing barriers between them when it wasn't necessary (Kay had grown up in a home with open doors and open hearts; she wants the same for Sebastian), and eventually he stopped locking the door behind him every time he entered a room. Kay respected Sebastian's need for privacy. But she also respected their friendship, and that's why she knew that what she was about to do was not only expected, but acceptable in their tiny apartment. She took a step back, lifted her leg and opened the door with one swift kick.

There was a high-pitched yelp from Sebastian, who had styling gel on his hands, a strand of hair sticking up on his head, and an unimpressed expression on his face as he saw Kay's triumphant smile. "I-I was almost done!"

"You always say that, and then you end up taking another thirty minutes," Kay replied, grabbing her hair spray and securing her high ponytail right there. Sebastian's face scrunched at the smell. She sprayed a little bit of the product in his hair, too. They both laughed, doing the finishing touches on both of their party looks together.

After a final once-over from each of them ("The green button-up was a good choice, right, Kay?" "Yeah, but what about this silver skirt?"), they were ready to go to the new year's party. It was at Miles's house this year, and if they both weren't used to bothering him at every location possible, it might have felt a bit weird to party at the boss's place.

When they arrived at Miles's house, the host himself greets them. Although he does look genuinely pleased to see them, his smile turns strained when Kay tells him to "prepare for trouble, and make it double". While Sebastian is making small talk with Edgeworth, Kay lets her mind trail elsewhere— to the reason she was so eager to get to the party in the first place.

Maya Fey had been in Kura'in for a while now. Despite their friendship being long-distance, they were still very close. Their bond was just as strong as Kay's with Sebastian, although she felt very different about Maya than him. Kay's heart soared every time her phone dinged with a new message. She circled dates on the calendar with a violet marker whenever they planned to video chat. The time difference was brutal, but Kay would gladly stay up late just to hear Maya's voice.

"Waiting for s-someone special?" Sebastian's teasing voice broke Kay out of her thoughts. She hadn't even realized that Miles was long gone. The only one next to her was her best friend, who was looking extra smug. Of course Sebastian knew about her crush. He was the one Kay would go to at one in the morning, bombarding him with texts and asking him if he thought there was a deeper meaning to them. The deeper meaning, he would tell her, is that you both like each other and it's only a matter of time before one of you make a move. He was being ridiculous, of course. Just because Maya called her pretty and laughed a little too loud at her jokes and had a purple heart emoji next to her contact name didn't mean anything.

Okay, it definitely meant something, but Kay wasn't going to take the first step and confess or anything because... she was shy. Ugh. She wasn't used to being shy. Sebastian was the shy one, not her. But Kay hadn't seen Maya in person in what felt like forever (it had been six months), so who knows. Maybe she would make a move.

"Hey, there she is!"

Kay's head shot up, pure enthusiasm with a twinge of anxiousness filling her whole body. She looked to where Sebastian was pointing, and there she was.

Maya Fey was here. Maya Fey was looking around the room. Maya Fey was making eye contact with her. Maya Fey was walking towards her.

"Hey!" Maya Fey's voice sounded so much more real when it wasn't through a speakerphone, all light and chipper. Kay wasn't sure how she'd survive the night, let alone make a move.

"Hi, Maya!" Sebastian greeted, holding out his arms and allowing a brief hug. Maya showed her affection through touch: high fives, hair ruffles, and hand holding. Kay was the same which was one of the reasons why their long distance communication was difficult. You couldn't embrace someone through a screen.

Then Maya turned towards her, arms outstretched, and Kay found herself being pulled in like a magnet. Maya's hugs were warm and welcoming. She didn't miss how they both lingered, the hug lasting many seconds longer than a hug Kay would have with any other friend, even Sebastian. But eventually they had to (slowly) pull away.

"It seems like forever since I've seen you!" Maya exclaimed, looking up at Kay with a big grin. "You look great! I love your skirt!"

Kay's brain seemed to short-circuit. Maya was wearing a cute pink party dress and her long hair was in its usual style, decorated with sparkly hair clips. Her lips were shiny with a purple gloss. It was a light shade, like lavender. Was this weird, just staring at her lips? She needed to respond before it got weird. "Thanks! I love your lip gloss!"

Okay, so now Maya had solid proof that she was staring at her lips. Oops. But Maya just smiled at her. "Haha, thanks! Do you guys want a drink? I saw Miles bought the good champagne."

Had he? Kay didn't even notice. Sebastian nods and then a minute later Maya is offering her a drink. Kay takes the glass, and tries not to think about the brush of Maya's fingers against hers too much.

Conversation is easy. Maya asks what they've been up to since the last time they talked. Kay feels like this question is more for Sebastian, since her and Maya just talked this morning on the phone. Sebastian tells her about his latest case (not a murder, thankfully), and Kay includes details from her perspective as the detective assigned. She's sure she had mentioned this case to Maya before, but Maya seems very interested anyways.

When they ask what news Maya has, she perks up tremendously. "I've finally mastered the bowl without falling on my face!"

Recently, Maya has taken up skateboarding while in Kura'in. Pearl has been the one teaching her; she was very talented, and had a cool skateboard with a flame design on the sides. Kay had been blessed with many cute selfies of Maya in her skating gear (lavender knee and elbow pads, and a florescent pink helmet that could probably blind a person if they stared too long at it) and ten second clips of her skating around in sunglasses, striking poses at the camera. Maya was a beginner but she refused to give up, despite the constant complaining of bumps and bruises from falling all the time.

"Really?" Kay gasps. She's received many texts about the bowl, and according to Maya it was one of the most difficult things to master in her life. ("It's harder than channeling spirits, Kay! Stop laughing, it's the truth!") Kay had never skateboarded before so she felt like she couldn't judge but it certainly didn't look easy.

Maya quickly pulls her phone out of her dress pocket. "Let me show you. Pearly got it on tape! Proof that I'm not making it up to sound cool or anything."

Kay believed her. Maya wouldn't need to make stuff up to sound cool. She unlocked her phone (Kay felt herself blush at the lockscreen— it's a selfie that they had taken the last time Kay was in Kura'in, a trip that was impulsive and expensive but she didn't regret it one bit) and pulled up a video of Maya on top of the bowl. Pearl can be heard off-camera shouting encouragement. Then Maya adjusts her helmet, balances herself on her board, and slides down the bowl in one swift movement. She skids to a stop once she's on the ground. The last thing they hear before the video cuts out is Maya and Pearl screaming with excitement.

"That's so cool!" Kay exclaims, genuinely impressed.

Sebastian's eyes are nearly bugging out of his head. "Whoa! You look like a pro-professional skateboarder!"

"Yeah, this makes all the times I fell down on my butt worth it," Maya says, grinning from ear to ear. They talk some more before Maya goes to mingle with an old friend.

"Hey, do either of you know where Nick is? I want to bug him before the year ends."

Sebastian points Phoenix out across the room, where he is currently distracted by his daughter Trucy pulling an comically long scarf out of the tiny pocket on her blouse. A mischievous smile, a wave of her hand, and Maya's off.

There's a brief silence as they watch Maya leave. Sebastian turns to Kay with the same shit-eating grin he has when he's about to say something clever. "Kay? I diagnose you with gay. Lesbianism, if you want to be specific."

Kay groans. "I know, I know."

"Well, it's clear that she likes you, too, so I don't see what the con-conundrum is."

Kay believed that she was a relatively logical person. Her field of work made use of that trait, tested it. And now she was being presented with more evidence and a restless witness. The pieces fit together perfectly— Maya Fey liked her. The only question was what she going to do with this information.

"Was I... obvious about it?"

Sebastian raises his eyebrow. Takes a long sip of of his drink. "Is that a trick question?"

Not everyone Mr. Edgeworth invited was at the party, but the house is noisy regardless. Friends and acquaintances are talking in groups, there's music coming from an unknown source, the television is playing a new year's special, and Kay's heart is beating up a storm. Despite all of the activity, Kay thinks her heart is the loudest thing in this place.

Sebastian is tapping his fingers against the table next to them. Another noise, although it's muffled by the black gloves he's wearing. "Well, I know you don't like champagne."

Kay looks down at the drink Maya gave her, still full. The condensation from the glass mixes with the sweat on her palm. The feeling of Maya's hand brushing against hers lingers.

In the distance, Maya nudges Phoenix roughly in the side, and his drink splashes on his shirt. Maya laughs and then points at the stain, exclaiming loudly that it kind of looks like the Blue Badger. Phoenix seems to push his annoyance aside to carefully examine his sleeve. Maya calls other people over to look, a light yet determined expression on her face, and Kay can feel herself fall a little more in love.

...

The flashy countdown screen on the TV lights up, signaling the last minute of the year. Kay smiles and swirls the untouched champagne in her glass. She's lost in the way the tiny bubbles cling onto the sides of the cup until something distracts her. Or more accurately, someone.

"Hey," Maya says, placing her own glass on the table in front of them.

"Hey," Kay echoes back intelligently. She places her glass next to Maya's as her friend (she ignores the tightening in her chest when she calls her that; she's not sure there's a single word in this world to describe what Maya is to her) sits down next to her.

There's a moment of silence between them. Maya smells like jasmine and nostalgia. Kay wants to look but she's glowing like the sun, so she decides to play it safe and stare ahead. She sees Sebastian and Klavier talking about something, but she can't concentrate enough on their voices to know the topic.

Maya's voice snaps Kay out of her trance. "Happy new year."

For a split second, Kay thinks she miscounted the seconds, and missed the celebration. She checks the television quickly, and sighs with relief. "You're about thirty seconds too early, but I appreciate your enthusiasm." Then she had to use all of her strength to resist the urge to kick herself for sounding so weird.

"Oh." Cheeks flushed red for sure, Kay risks a glance at Maya. She doesn't regret it. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of seeing Maya smile. "Happy new year's eve, then?"

She barely pulls herself together before responding in a passably-normal-although-probably-too-eager tone. "Yeah! Happy new year's eve!"

Maya laughs at that, and Kay can physically feel her heart soar. She knows it's bad to look at the sun but she can't help it, and within seconds she's pretty sure she could map out all the freckles on Maya's face. Kay stares too long to pass as normal and she knows it. But Maya is staring, too.

"TEN SECONDS!" Kay doesn't recognizes whose enthusiastic yelling the voice belongs to, but she doesn't even bother tearing her eyes away from Maya.

Ten.

Maya is sitting so close to her that their thighs are touching. How did Kay not notice that until now?

Nine.

Maya hesitantly reaches over and touches Kay's hand with her own.

Eight.

Her hand is shaking slightly. It's sweaty, too. Kay doesn't complain. She's probably the same.

Seven.

Kay curls their fingers together. She can't seem to stop smiling.

Six.

There's no denying it. The walls between them tumble down to reveal something a bit more than friendship, a bit more than just simple attraction.

Five.

Kay wants to say something, anything, but she's been rendered speechless. She's pretty sure she looks ridiculous. Ridiculously lovestruck.

Four.

Maya's other hand reaches over to brush Kay's hair out of her face, and her touch lingers near her cheek.

Three.

There's a line that they haven't neared, trying to maintain their friendship. Maya is standing at the edge of it, threatening to cross over.

Two.

Maya tilts her head, leans in, and closes her eyes. Kay can't hear the music over her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

One.

Kay closes her eyes, leans in, and unconsciously holds her breath.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Their lips met, and Kay smudges Maya's lavender lip gloss.