#let me do free advertising for you you morons

[brionysea]

what if jinx is a blessing, not a curse. zaun's prodigy, piltover's karma, and the arcane's favourite

[catonator]

Marketers are Morons

E3 is dead, but suits still need to get their fix for both their crippling gambling addiction and their exhibitionist fetish somewhere, so you know what time it is! It’s… a random weekend in June.

That’s right, with no real reason or cohesion to onlookers, this just happens to be the exact moment when all the executives could no longer hold it in and had to bust all over Twitch, which is much easier nowadays thanks to the camwhore apocalypse. As such, we have a fuckton of new trailers and other assorted trailer-like homunculi to pour over as the good little consumer piggies we are.

But the past few years, the ads have seemed increasingly unlikely to stir any excitement. Trailers are more cookie-cutter than ever, and actual gameplay reveals are a disappearing art. And much like last time when I complained about gaming news, all the developers actually making the games are mysteriously absent. Yes, you read that right, this blog has continuity now! Look forward to the blogomatic universe announcement later this year.

Looking back at E3s of old, these new events are cheaper, more condensed, more accessible and entirely controlled by the corporations and not vulnerable to the oh-so-familiar gaffes of live shows. Yet they still happen just as rarely as E3. Somehow the genius executives at the top have decided that, you know, instead of letting people know what’s happening more often and spreading the games accordingly to give them all room to breathe, we stuff even more crap into a shorter timespan and as a result nobody even remembers what we saw two days later.

Confoundingly we’ve decided that now gameplay reveals are also trailers. Both Perfect Dark and That Indiana Jones Thing Because Disney Has To Stay Relevant™ had “gameplay reveals”, but both were some sort of amalgamation of gameplay clips strung together and overlaid with the same piano-inception horn trailer music trash every other trailer was full of. Why even bother? Just cut out the middleman and show us a CGI video clip at that point for all the difference that makes.

I’m honestly a little confused about what all the suits even do all day. They’re paid exorbitant sums of money and all they can come up with is the same shit all their friends and THEMSELVES have been doing for years. Does the marketing team also double as the company’s cocaine quality assurance wing? Presumably the business school all these clowns come from is equally tilted in their goals, since I’d imagine “don’t immediately shoot your product in the foot” and “don’t make your product look as undesirable as possible” would rank fairly high on a business 101 class’ Don’t-Fuck-It-up-o-meter. Alongside wisdom like “don’t burn all your money like Heath Ledger in the Dark Knight”.

I feel the early onset Old Man Syndrome setting in again. Last time it was gaming magazines/news, this time it’s gaming events. There’s another one about marketing and gameplay gifs on social media that I think I’ll save for later. It’s a little frustrating that consistently I hit the same issues with the consideration of “it worked so much better before, what the fuck happened?”

Many complain about E3 et al. being just loaded advertising breaks, but the truth is, even in a moneyless society marketing would still be needed to let people know your artwork exists. A marketing campaign doesn’t just exist to sell you on something monetarily, but also timewise. Even if a game was free, the time commitment still means that you’ll filter out a lot of art unless you know it’s worth your time.

It’s a little disappointing that a theoretically better and more accessible system still makes me miss the haphazard cringefest that was E3, but a well oiled marketing machine also completely lacks the humanity that this medium so sorely needs right now. So please, bring it back. E3 needs to exist for this industry’s long term survival.

And also the E3 bingo cards. Those are the most important bit.

[freedomroma]

Part 3. Don't listen to the morons who have learned to make up commercial fairy tales! Freeing yourself from the junk in your head will open up a new world for you. That doesn't mean you'll start getting chicks into bed with one look, you'll have a 3D printer, that prints gold bars and you can easily read other people's minds from up to 100 kilometers away. Shake the crap out of your head and figure out for yourself what kind of life you want. Maybe you'll be interested in going into big politics, or creating a giant chain of fast and and extremely unhealthy food that kills people from the first burger. There's a chance that you might give it all up and and move to live in a Buddhist settlement to spend the rest of your life in meditation and uncomplicated physical labor. Be a bum, a drunk, a military bandleader, a self-taught astronaut, and fly to the the moon in a homemade rocket from your garden. In fact, if you look at your life with a sane eye, without the you might be surprised to discover that it's all fucked up as it is! You will have freedom of choice in the matrix. You can create your own reality and your own movie of life. Vasok-JF: "When I kicked the shit out of my head, my priorities turned upside down. It turned out that my current job, apartment, and appearance were good enough for me. Я I stopped complaining to my friends about how I wanted to change everything and I'm just enjoying life. I no longer procrastinate instead of work tasks and household chores. Exercise and eating healthy foods started to be something I enjoy instead of something I'm forced to do. something I have to do to avoid becoming a fat fat again. ... Getting rid of the old crap,I I don't want to fill my head with new shit anymore. I only let only what's really beautiful go in there, because.. because my mind is not a dumpster. There's a hard filter a rigid filter. News, politics, advertising, consumerism, bull-humor and bull-entertainment go to the woods. I'm not going I don't want to go there again. I don't argue with jerks, not in real life, not on the or on the Internet.." #shaman #shamanism #trip #mushroomtrip #consciousness #morons #matrix #life #freedom #world

[arrowflier]

i wish you would write them househunting 😏 🍅 🐕

"Don't see why we gotta move anyway, man," Mickey complains again as they hop off the L near their destination. He shoulders past a woman staring at her phone who doesn't move fast enough, flipping her off when she shouts after him. It's hard enough keeping up with Ian's long damn legs without people getting in his way.

"You're the one that doesn't like our place, Mick," Ian reminds him, and Mickey scowls. There's no way Ian can see it, still being a step ahead, but somehow he knows.

"And don't scowl about it, you big baby, you know it's true," Ian adds. They're separated again before Mickey can respond, a gaggle of teenagers wandering obliviously between them.

When the space clears again, Ian is there waiting for him, hand outstretched with an expectant look in his eyes. Mickey sighs.

"I'm not a fuckin' toddler, man," he grumbles, but he takes his husband's hand all the same. "And I like our place just fine."

Ian snorts as he starts walking again, pulling Mickey along at a pace more friendly to his shorter stride.

"Sure," he agrees, "You love it. And I definitely didn't catch you throwing pebbles off the balcony at our neighbors the other day."

"Ey, that was one time!" Mickey protests. "And that douche moved out, so we're cool now."

"Uh huh," Ian says knowingly. "Totally cool, Mick. But hey, I think you'll like this place a little more."

"Why's that?" Mickey asks suspiciously. He looks around, notes some familiar houses. He hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, too preoccupied with trying to convince Ian that they didn't need to move; really, he was just getting used to the Westside, he didn't want to end up somewhere he didn't know the streets again already.

But it didn't look like that was going to be much of a problem.

"Whoa, wait," he voices, coming to a halt. Ian stops just ahead of him, still connected by their clasped hands, and watches him realize what's happening.

"You're bringin' us back Southside?" Mickey asks. He knows he sounds a bit awed, but he can't help it. "Thought you wanted out, man. Wasn't that the whole point?"

But when he looks at Ian, all he sees is his smile.

"The point was us being happy, dipshit," Ian says, and okay. Mickey can give him that one.

--

The first place they see isn't quite what either of them expected. It's a new development on an old plot, and apparently the pictures Ian had seen online weren't quite so...trendy?...as it came off in person.

"The yard is nice," Ian offers as they stand in the middle of the wide open space that serves as kitchen, living room, office, and guest space. Strangers milled around them, other couples and even a few students that showed up for the free food advertised in the open house flyers, all raving about the 'open concept' style.

"You mean that tiny patch of astroturf out there?" Mickey replies to Ian's attempt at optimism. He laughs. "Yeah, good luck transplanting your fucking tomatoes in that, moron."

"Wait, that's not grass?" Ian asks, peering harder out the floor-to-ceiling windows that were letting in way too much heat.

"You ever seen grass that green around here?" Mickey asks back, and Ian grimaces.

"Come on, man," Mickey prompts him, walking back toward the front door. He grabs a doughnut from the kitchen counter on the way, taking a bite and calling back to Ian with his mouth full.

"Not enough walls in here anyway, nothin' for you to hold me against while we fuck."

He ignores the shocked gasp of the realtor and a few muffled snickers from the younger members of the crowd, but Ian turns bright red and rushes over to usher him out.

--

The second place they see has the opposite problem. It's in decent shape for as old as it is, probably one of the last original houses in the area, but it's...a lot.

"How many fucking rooms are there in this place?" Mickey wonders as they wander through. They're the only ones there this time, having let themselves in with the key from the lock box on the front door, and Mickey can see why. The house is like a labyrinth, doors everywhere, and none of it makes any fucking sense.

"Thought you wanted lots of rooms to fuck in, remember?" Ian says from behind him. A second later, Mickey finds himself shoved up against the wall of the tiny third bedroom, Ian's hands on his sides and mouth nipping just behind his ear.

He groans and tries to push back into it, but then Ian is cursing and pulling back. Mickey turns to see him rubbing his elbow where he obviously hit it on the edge of the door, which sticks way too far into the room.

"Lots of room, yeah," Mickey snickers as Ian glares at him for the lack of sympathy. "This place just feels like lots of closets, and I've had enough of those."

--

The third place is better. It's something in between, a spruced up two-story with decent yard space and, if not grass, at least some real dirt to work with.

"Hey Mickey, come up here!" Ian calls from the second floor, and Mickey stops poking through the kitchen cabinets to search him out.

He finds him in what must be the master bedroom, laying on a huge pillowtop bed.

"Hey, check this out," Ian says when he sees him enter, and Mickey rolls his eyes.

"The bed doesn't come with the place, Ian," he points out. "Or did you forget what we learned last time?"

Ian laughs. "Nah, not the bed Mick. Just come here."

Mickey gives in to his beckoning and sits next to him on the high mattress, and Ian abruptly pulled him down to lay beside him.

"Up there," Ian says softly, pointing to the ceiling with one pale hand.

Mickey looks. Then he looks harder, because painted on the ceiling above the bed is a mural of silver stars against the dark blue of a night sky, weaving between faint white clouds and a bright crescent moon.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Ian remarks, rolling over to watch Mickey's reaction. He strokes Mickey's arm where it lies on the silky duvet.

"Yeah," Mickey manages. "Real pretty. A little gay though."

Ian laughs. "Think we're that gay yet?" he questions. It sounds like a joke, but Mickey is pretty sure there's nothing joking about it.

That assumption is confirmed when Ian continues.

"I like this place, Mickey," he whispers. "It's got good bones, a nice yard for Basil--"

"We can't pick a fucking house for the dog, Ian," Mickey interjects, but Ian ignores him.

"And I think it would be a big step, for us." He sounds so earnest, and something in Mickey's heart twinges.

"Yeah? You sign the lease already?" Mickey asks, just to be a little shit.

"Fuck off," Ian answers immediately, but without heat.

"I'm serious, Mickey," he says after a moment. "I think we'd be good here." He reaches over to place a hand on Mickey's face, turning it toward himself. "But I want you to agree with me this time. No more doing things on my own. If we're gonna do this, we decide together."

Mickey isn't sure what's brighter--the stars on the ceiling or the love in Ian's eyes.

"Yeah, okay, you soft fucker," he murmurs, relishing the grin that lifts Ian's lips and stretches across his whole face. "Let's do this."

"Yeah?" Ian breathes, leaning in closer.

"Yeah," Mickey confirms. Ian goes in for a kiss, and Mickey let him get in a soft peck before pulling back and swinging his legs off the bed.

"But you get to mow our new yard and pick up all the dog shit, Gallagher, nobody's gonna do it for ya here!"

Mickey grins as he takes off to finish exploring the rest of the house, Ian shouting "Hey, not fair!" from behind him.

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

WARNING: nsfw (oral m and f receiving)

MINORS DNI

XIII.

(Part 2/3)

He stood up and set you on the table, standing between your legs Satoru moved his hands over your body, he opened your jacket thankful you were so thoughtful as to have places heaters on every corner of the gazebo so you wouldn’t freeze. With a smirk he pulled back “I am ready for desert” a mischievous glint in his cerulean eyes told you he wasn’t referring to the food. You moaned in answer while your hands also started taking off his clothes until he was left only in his pants and you completely naked before his predatory gaze. “Toru…” you moan against his lip when his index finger moved between your thighs to collect the wetness already pooling in between. “Mmm… better not let this go to waste..” he whispered before he knelt in front of you. Sucking his wet fingers before his mouth attached to your leaking entrance making you scream. You were so ready for him that the slightest stimulation had you tethering over the edge. “SATORU!” Screaming his name you placed a hand on top of his head caressing the his platinum strands while he ate you. He moaned sinking his tongue as deep as it could go within your womanhood. “Oh fuck!” You cursed when he added two fingers inside, pumping them slowly, making a come here motion at the same time he licked and swallowed everything you had to offer “come for me princess…”, “come for daddy…. I want my desert now” his husky and demanding tone sent an electric current down your spine making you tense right before you released in his mouth. Satoru groaned in delight sucking and slurping your juices “good girl” he praised you in between kisses until you were completely clean “I love desert” with a big smile he placed himself between your legs making you chuckle “well… I will have you know, I like my own desert too…” with a grin you switch places. Kneeling between Satoru’s legs you stroke the hard bulge under the tight fabric of his trousers. He moans at the stimulation letting you do as you pleased with him. Unzipping his pants you pull them down along with his boxes. His cock springs free hitting your face, Satoru groans louder at the sight. “You look so fucking beautiful right now” he praises you. Licking his member from the base to the tip you finally wrap your lips around the swollen pink head and suck hard. Bobbing your head you start a steady rhythm. Satoru’s sounds of pleasure encouraging you to take him deeper and faster until he is fucking your face, bucking his hips but avoiding pushing your head. “I’m gonna come baby… I’m gonna come” he moans desperately. To which you respond by deep throating him, inviting him to come down your throat. “oh Fuck! Y/N!” He came hard, a spray of warm cum shot down your throat. “Take it all princess! Take all of daddy’s cum down hour throat! That’s a good girl” Satoru encouraged you. Pulling your mouth back you suck at the tip of his sensitive member, making sure that you swallowed it all. “Oh fuck! Y/N! You are so fucking hot! My sexy and hot wife” a stupid smirk spreads across his lips making you chuckle when you stand up again. He pulls you in for a deep kiss “I love you princess” he says before grabbing a blanket from the small ottoman in the corner “you came prepared!” He observed chuckling, making you blush. Yeah, you were married for almost 4 years and that moron still managed to make you blush like a virgin. “Well it’s winter, I wasn’t sure the heaters would cut it.” He pulled you in his arms, kissing you once more while he accommodates cushions and a mat on the floor to then have you sitting on his lap. Serving each of you a glass of champagne you kissed and spent the night there in each other’s embrace. ~~~ End Flash Back~~~

On the other side of the world a sorcerer opened his blue eyes after a dream. The best dream he’s had since you left. It felt… so real; he dreaded the moment he woke up. He could feel you in his arms, taste you on his tongue. But it all had been just a beautiful dream, a memory from past times when you both were happy.

Sighing he sat upon his bed, alone again. Not that he wanted any of his one night stands soiling the sanctity of his home. Satoru never took them back home, it was always some hotel or their place. NEVER your bed, the one you both shared for the happiest years of his life. He had even bought your perfume ‘Ballet Rose’ by Philosophy to spray it on the bed and sleep surrounded by your familiar and comforting scent.

The dream was a memory of his last birthday, the one he spent with you. Making love and eating sweet things until the break of dawn. Closing his hand tightly in a fist he swallow hard. He missed you so badly, lately it felt… debilitating. How pathetic! The strongest jujutsu sorcerer reduced to a ghost of himself since you kicked him out of your life.

He had to do something. Even if he didn’t get to talk to you, he just wanted to see you one more time. Make sure you are alright, that you are happy…. Safe.

He grabbed his phone and looked for the phone number of the Chair Woman for the American School of Ballet. “Yes, good evening Mrs. Mazzo I am aware it is late where you are but I have a question for you. Is there any upcoming shows where Miss Petrova is performing?” He asked remembering you were a student still under a false name. The woman on the other side of the line sighed and sleepily answered you would be performing for 2 shows of The Nutcracker for the NYC Ballet Fall Gala at the David H. Koch Theater in three days time. “While you are at it I will need a ticket for the best seat on the right balcony. Private access, don’t care about the price just make it happen” the woman agreed and then hang up.

Satoru’s plane landed at night time in New York City and just like the last time he had s limousine waiting for him to take him to his suite at The Plaza. It felt it had been a lifetime ago when he last saw you in this very city.

He wanted to go find you but he swore to himself he would refrain from doing something stupid. He was here to see you in secret, without bothering you. He promised to himself he would respect your wishes and wouldn’t intrude your space.

He prepared himself for the Gala, wearing a black Armani suite, choosing to wear his dark Versace round sunglasses to match his style. Giving himself a good look in the mirror he smirked, well… at least he still got it. He was handsome and looked literally like a million bucks.

With a little boost to his confidence he left the suite and went to the theater where he would watch you perform that evening. As he walked towards the entrance to the main hall he saw your picture on a two gigantic banners, the advertisement for tonight’s show with your beautiful face, smiling and your body on a ‘grand battement’ pose wearing a beautiful cream colored tutu with golden roses carefully sown, your shoulders naked and the deep v cut of the corset showing off slightly your beautiful breasts, you were perfect… an angel. His heart stopped for a second. You were… absolutely gorgeous. He noticed on the picture that you had returned your hair to your favorite tone and your eyes shone brightly accentuated by an alluring cat eye make up that complimented your features, the image was enchanting. Truly a vision.

——-> Chapter 13 / Part 3

Tags: @sleepyamaya

@cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy

@okkotsuoasis

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

@coldvillainess

@vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife

@tampon-earrings

@actualdeemon

@janenks

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

The Whole World Is Right and I am Wrong

Stephen Jay Morris

7/10/2022

©Scientific Morality

There are millions upon billions of contradictions in this life. You try to sort them all out, then you get crossed-eyed confused. The problem with anti-intellectualism is that the unelected, self-proclaimed leaders of the masses can make the most stupid mistakes and nobody will complain about them because their IQs are lower than Holland’s land mass. The leaders will proclaim, “You don’t have to think for yourself; I will think for you.” How do you feel about thinking? As for me, I have no feelings about thinking. Taking measurements doesn’t require you to be happy or sad, or even, angry.

Now, the American Right is going on this stoic kick. They want all White males to be heartless warriors. They want you to die without tears. They want you “die like a man!” You ask how do I know this shit? Just listen to the cretins on the radio, Cable TV, YouTube, and Twitter. They are belittling “woke” folk for being what they say are “emotional, like females.” A bunch of dick-worshiping, sexist pigs, I’m telling you! Me thinks they love their dicks more than Jesus.

Since I was 22 years old, I’ve fallen short of being de rigueur. Well, I did try glitter rock as an ensemble, but it was for laughs and fun. So, I didn’t become a yuppie in the 80’s. I don’t pay any obeisance to the flag, God, guns, or money. To be a real free thinker, you need to have a real brain. I choose to be an a-social bohemian. I’ve known all along that America benefits from false advertising as being the best and the freest entity in the multiverse. Now, let me declare to you Right wing, paranoid, freaks: I don’t want to take away your guns, religion, or freedom. I want to take away your ignorance. That’s it!

Compare a Christian university to a secular university, who do you think has the bigger library? You go into a Christian library and there is only one there book there: the King James Bible. It’s almost the same in the former Soviet Union. Their library had only Karl Marx books. Go into a free, public library and you’ve got thousands of books to choose from!

Now, my last point; and I don’t want to belabor this point but, since I am an anti-nationalist miscreant, I will indulge myself. The reason the evangelicals hate Islam, Communism, and wokeness is because, like in Capitalism, the Theocratic mobsters are competing for world dominance. But it is the S.O.S. (aka: “Same Old Shit”). Totalitarianism comes in all sizes, shapes, and colors. The evangelicals are no different than the ʿAshariyyah of Iran. Sorry—I don’t want to in live a Corporate Theocratic State.

The Millennials are far more educated than the Baby Boomers and Generation X put together. I mean, damn! This generation has used computers since the second grade! Intelligence and objective truth have a Left wing bias. The Millennial's lean Left and the Conservativea are shitting bricks about it. 1+1=2. If God says it’s 3, and you believe it, then you will be lost forever. Don’t give me this shit that you “want America back!” So do the Native Americans! Physical reality wants the Earth back. Humans are fucking it up! Let’s give the Earth back to the world!

My generation is dying a slow death because medical science is keeping us alive. Life expectancy in the 18th Century was 35 years old. Our forefathers were rich, White guys who could afford to be educated. Not only that, they were Theists who believed that God didn’t want his creations to be dependent upon him; that God wanted humans to think for themselves. They also believed in science. They were intelligent enough to know that science was a methodology to discover the truth about something; that it was not a force to destroy Christianity.

We now have a collective of morons who are rooting for a Civil War. They are so fucking stupid, they don’t know the difference between a “counter-revolution” and a Civil War.

Somebody called me out saying that, when I use the word “stupid,” I am being ableist. A person with a mental disability can’t help being intellectually challenged. However, a normal, healthy brain can be willfully ignorant. The adjective, “stupid,” is not an Ethnic epithet, like “nigger” is. Willful ignorance will destroy America—not the Le

[spookyceph]

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

-

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

[agapi-kalyptei]

OK my hot guarana drink is kicking in, so you get a break from my identity crisis, here’s my proposal for a Perfect Social Network

Preamble: everybody knows social networks are not about features, it’s about the user-generated content, and subsequently about having hundreds of millions for advertising and acquiring customers. I don’t care about any of that. I’m not gonna pretend like having a perfect website with perfect feature set would automatically make it popular.

Hypothesis: it should be possible to build my concept social network on top of an existing social network (tumblr?) provided they have enough API functionality.

The core draw and difference from current sites: 1. intimacy/privacy “rings” 2. publishing and consuming streams

1. Google Plus, as much as it started half baked, and went downhill quickly thanks to the idiotic google ethos that everything should be data mined and algorithmified, had a good core idea based on social research: you have a handful of closest frens, a bunch of good friends, and a host of acquaintances and friendly people and coworkers, and then you have interest groups for hobbies, etc. You trust these to different degrees, and you want to show them different content. I think G+ got this right, in theory. Different groups meant different publishing streams, not just different privacy - this was half-baked.

E.g. “I just got dumped” is a privacy concern - I would only announce it to close and semi-close friends. “Look this is a neat programming trick” is a stream issue - it’s not private, it’s not harmful if people outside of my “programming-adjacent” people will see that post, it’s just that it’s not useful to have lumped along the other posts.

2. So fundamentally, what was missing for me, were publishing and consuming streams. All social networks now have a problem of very mixed “language” and mood. Here are all faulty attempts at solving this problem:

a) instagram just doesn’t show you sad stuff. Historically, it maximizes selfies and vacation pics and thirst traps; nowadays it just shoves reels down your throat. A good step recently was creating “Favorites” where you can just see a handful of hand-picked fave people separately from less important stuff. On the other hand, they’ve completely ruined any improvement this might have brought to your experience by mercilessly shoving recommended content down your throat, without an option to opt out.

b) facebook similarly deprioritizes and soft-deplatforms varying content, in part having learned some lessons from the Endless Quiz Spam of late '00s. This lead to a few wrong solutions with a good intention: oh is this person posting a lot of their baby pics? I guess we won’t show you this person at all then!

c) Tumblr is on the right track, and creates separate feeds, but only for the things you follow vs things you don’t follow.

d) Twitter is just a garbage pile on fire, and always was. “If you’re trying to read everything on your timeline, you’re doing it wrong” is the utterly moronic approach they took. They know what they’re doing - you’ll never feel like you’ve “completed” looking at twitter. Just a firehose of information that you cannot hope to tame. Again: They know what they’re doing.

My solution to this is both brilliant and fundamentally flawed, because it relies on user discipline, and on coming up with a structured, hassle-free way to wrangle categories into separate streams. What I mean is:

When you make a post, you can tag it per usual, but you also have to assign it 1 or two “publish stream” categories. Things like “personal” or “fandom” or “art” or “cute” or “nature”. These should be broader than tags, and don’t need to have any relation to tags. For each of these publish streams, you set privacy restrictions: some might be search-engine-accessible, some might be for registered users, some are only for hand-picked friends.

When you’re on the receiving end, your dashboard has several consuming streams or tabs - let’s say you have a friend who makes 300 posts a day, and you don’t care to know about all their fandoms, but you want to know how they’re doing (whether they’re close friends or not). Subscribing wouldn’t be a firehose “all or nothing” approach like on all the other sites, but you would link their “personal” stream into your main dashboard, you would link their “memes” stream into your “memes spam don’t need to read it all” stream, and you would just not subscribe to any of their fandom posts at all. On top of that, classical allowlist/blocklist based on tags or full text search would be a default feature, so you could say “tw tiktok” will be automatically collapsed, and “nsfw” would not get shown at all (but still would be possible to see some count of posts hidden somewhere else, in case you want to investigate why you’re not seeing something).

All of these would track what you’ve seen and what not - and not just by high watermark, so you’re scrolling down the dash from some tab that you opened in 17th century, and then open your dash at the top, it won’t mark all posts in between as read. You would inherently be able to sort and search by read/unread, person, tag, date, word. Unlike tumblr, this search should preferably also work. (There are privacy concerns here, of course, but it’s not like I’m about to make a prototype by the end of the century anyway.)

Other built-in, essential features would be things like both alert and hard blocking based on time spent on site per day/week; visibility per post; reblogging on/off; blocking new accounts from seeing/interacting; custom scanning/blocking of new profiles based on keywords in their recent posts like “click here to see my nude pics”, etc. Users should be able to edit their posts for typos and optionally those would propagate to the reblogs. Tag “girl” would not be banned, but “elon musk” would.

[yummysweetroll]

So cold, so Warm.

Butch's pipboy made a soft static sound. For a few days now, nothing connected in that frequency, not even a cry for help or even that annoying Sugarbombs advertisement, just silence ... And that was a bad sign, after all, it is an indication that there was no settlement or big city in the next few miles of road and all Anna wanted most on this cold night, was now to sleep in a bed with a frayed mattress from any inn.

See more here! ⤵⤵

The radio was still hissing when the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon. The night fog still lingered, making it difficult to see while keeping everything chilly. Anna shivered with cold, trying to cover herself with the Tunnel Snakes jacket and scarf, while Butch buried his nose in his scarf and muttered under his breath. Thank heavens, for a few days ago they helped a family and they offered some warm clothing as a reward. Turning her arm a little, the girl checked her pip-boy, March 20, the first day of spring.

"Butch, today is the first day of spring!" -She commented trying to liven up the walk -

"Yeah? And ?!" - Butch replied back looking out of the corner of his eye-

“Sooo, I thought maybe, we'll feel less cold on the road… And they say it's time for flowers and birds.” - ignoring her road partner's initial bad mood-

“And what difference does that make now, Nosebleed? We are going north, it will get colder each day and there will be only snow! It is simple, or have you forgotten Broch's classes? Besides, do you think we will find some beautiful flowering field with birds and bees in this nuclear desolation? You're too naive "- He took his hand out of his pocket and pointed at Anna-" If it weren't for your idiocy of wanting to compensate for the Tin Brotherhood, we could be in Rivet City, in that warm room.

Anna snorted, of course she remembered the annoying geography lessons! She also remembers the conversations the two had, about the world outside the Vault and the times they received punishments for talking about it ... And now that they're being able to make everything real and make all the punishments count, he wants to keep his butt in that rusty bathtub? In a place that resembles and feels the same claustrophobic feeling that was the vault? Besides, why flying so many grumpy words at her? Was the cold her fault? Didn't he understand how much debt she owed to the Brotherhood of Steel? They saved her!

"Shut up! If you wanted to be comfortable so much, then you should have stayed in the Vault. Sure you would be warm and living the same life! You came because you wanted to, I didn't ask to follow me. I just thought that… ”- The girl's voice gave a little hesitation and a lump in her throat was installed, along with some tears-“ Damn it, Deloria! ”

Butch opened his mouth to retort, but before he even said anything, Anna stepped up and disappeared into the mist. The boy stopped walking and called her a few times, but there were no answers. What did he do this time? His mind ran through his last sentences, did Anna think he regretted accompanying her? Does she think it's her fault for things going wrong? He had no doubts about that.

"Moron." -That was the only word that crossed Butch's head as he advanced through the fog after the girl. Since when she completed her father's project and woke up in the Brotherhood hospital, after that radiation bath and thank God with all her hair on her head, Anna started to blame herself for many things, be it the death of her father, the other scientists and even for the coma that the blond soldier finds himself in - "You idiot."

Turning off the Pip-boy, Butch managed to follow the small sounds of sobbing and it didn't take long to find the crouching girl crying behind a rut.

"Anna." - Butch called her seriously. And the way the girl's green eyes looked back at him, it looked like he wasn't expecting that. "Anna, are you going to tell me what's going on or are you playing hard to get?"

The girl swallowed her cry, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tip of her scarf.

“II, B-Butch .... There is so much going on, so much problems that I have to solve and that almost always ends with someone I like injured or… dead. It is being difficult and too heavy to handle alone. - She paused to get her thoughts in order, Butch did not move or spoke in fear that she would stop talking - “And I don't want this anymore, I don't want to have to take responsibility for others, I don ' t want to decide the future of the world anymore. But I do everything the same, I don't change anything ... You're right to want to make up for it, and look at us now, it's really my fault that we're in this situation, for being away from home, for being hungry and cold, for having this stupid mission. Sorry Butch, I also wanted to be in River City ... But I also wanted to be on the road with you by my side, discovering and making all those detentions we took for dreaming about being here worthwhile. I'm sorry if I got you involved in my problems again. -She finished lowering her eyes again-

She let it all out, almost without pause. Her eyes cried again and Butch crouched down beside her and stroked her head. He sighed and as he put together a sentence, thoughts of her traveled a bit to when they lived in the vault. Since childhood, Butch had to deal with an Anna who lived under pressure to do what society or her father expected, always smiling and as if she were happy ... even if it was totally contrary to what she wanted and believed, And every time those tearful green eyes came to meet him, the boy did exactly as he did now, let her vent (even if he didn't hear much of the complaint) and stroked her head.

It is unknown how long the two stayed there, but it was long enough for Butch to think about something, the sobs to stop and all that morning fog to dissipate.

“Thank you,” replied Anna quietly, still buried in the scarf.

Butch smiled as he took Anna's hand and held it up. He knew that his "tough guy" pose was almost always undone when he saw her crying face ... After all, she was always his best friend and all that silly nonsense that the woman who married the priest comments on about soul mate.

“It's ok, Crybaby. Of course, I was mad at the cold, you know I hate cold ... But I'm glad I came with you, I learned a few things and met a lot of nice people. Besides, that's what I… sorry, we always wanted to do it! - Then he left his tender voice, to bring his traditional debauchery voice - And of course I couldn't leave an idiot like you alone here ... That's what I'm here for, because I can do a lot of things, shoot , stab, make you start to cry and stop and… ”

“Butchieeeee, you always destroy that romantic climate” - interrupted the girl with giggles, pushing him - And you always complain that I'm not "romantic enough".  

Butch smiled smugly, of course there was more that the boy wanted to say to her. But at that moment, it was enough, probably because she wouldn't be able to get rid of this burden so fast.

A strong wind hit them and with his free arm Butch protected her as she hugged him back. When they opened their eyes they realized that the last remnants of mist had disappeared, presenting them with an image that they had only seen in black and white in the films or in the biology books ... A green field dotted with colorful flowers with a few birds flying over them. The two exclaimed in awe as they watched the rare landscape.

"And that talk about not having a place like that ?." - Anna commented softly-

"Shut up." - Butch replied smiling.  

_____________________________________________________

Heey!

❤ Another drawing following the list of clothes and with a little story !! ❤

The truth is that this time it took me longer to write than to draw. 😥😥

Do you like posts like that? Do you think it's worth it?

That drawing came from this list!

✨ OC Outfit Doodle Asks ✨

I want to use this list to train poses, clothes and everything! So please, send an emoji from the list and I'll draw Butch and Anna!

[oh-look-isa-weeb]

Fly Me to the Moon

Yuri Plisetsky

Celestial beings + royalty AU. You're the Night. He's the Moon. You're stuck together, whether you like it or not.

Notes: A longer post this time! I could have gone with a normal royalty AU but nooo, of course I didn't. I hope this turned out okay! Title is from a Frank Sinatra song of the same name. 

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

The Day is the bringer of the Sun; It surrounds it, and it holds the Sun up, just as the Sun brings the Day with it wherever it goes. They move and work together.

The Night is the guardian of the Moon; it is the contrast which allows the Moon to shine brighter, stretching endlessly behind the Moon, the herald to its beauty and grace.

You are the Heir of the Night, training tirelessly to prepare to take on the mantle of the Moon's Guardian, and you are tired.

No, seriously. If you have to hear about the union of the Sun and the Moon one more time, you're going to scream. You mutter exactly that to yourself, under your breath, as you walk through the training facility to your studio. To your surprise, someone replies.

"I know, right? It's gross. If I ever fall in love, hit me."

Who in the world…?

You spin around, coming face-to-face with sea green eyes and golden hair. The same eyes hair you would one day be sworn to protect. Before you stood Yuri Plisetsky, the Heir of the Moon. He didn't know who you were, but you certainly recognised him. After all, you'd been watching his progress since you were selected to become the Heir of the Night. Your life's work would be dedicated to his being.

Only after a split-second did he seem to realise that he had talked to another being, and that he was decidedly not alone. He spun around, glaring.

"Who are you? The hell are you doing here?"

I'm the only one allowed around here, you thought amusedly. You're the trespasser. You wondered if you could tell him that. Heck, what was stopping you? It would be nice to see the look on his face. 

"As a matter of fact, I'm the Heir of the Night. Also known as the person who'll be working with you closely for the entirety of your reign." You pause and shoot him a pointed look. "And the only person allowed in here, Mr. Trespassing Heir of the Moon."

Ah, the sweet satisfaction of watching someone's brain shut down. He sputters for a bit and turns ever-so-slightly pink, scrambling to come up with an excuse.

"If we're gonna work together, w- what's wrong with me being here anyway? I- It's not like I'm not some random civilian!" 

He pauses, and an oddly aged look crosses his features.

"I just- I needed somewhere to get away for a minute, okay? I would very much like to be able to breathe without those two advertising their relationship. And I don't want to go for class," He sighs. "I'll just go now."

Something about the way he says it resonates with you. Maybe it's the resigned tone in his voice, or the weary look on his face. And you understand, you really do. After all, you've been preparing to take up an equally important -- and equally heavy role. Sometimes you wanted an escape, too.

"Do you… Want to stay? And watch for a bit?"

He pauses and turns to look at you. He's trying to act nonchalant, shrugging casually with a "Sure,", but you see the way his shoulders sag a little, as if the tension was released, and his features smoothen out just a fraction. You tell him to make himself comfortable along the sides somewhere and begin running through your combat drills.

As it turns out, Yuri is a pretty courteous audience. He doesn't ask too many questions, and only does when you stop for breaks. At the end of your training session, you sit together, backs to the wall, and bask in companionable silence, taking a breather from the stress that your roles bring you. Finally, you prepare to leave the studio, locking up and exchanging farewells.

"Hey, uh, thanks for letting me stay. I think I needed that. I'll, uh, see you around. I hope."

"Well, we'll meet again eventually. Moon and Night and all that. Feel free to come back anytime, though."

He heads off in the other direction, waving as he walks away. 

You don't see him for a good month.

You don't know why. Did he get in trouble? Did he not want to return? Was he doing alright?

You'd just about given up seeing him until coronation day ever again, until one day you open the door to the studio to find it already unlocked.  You open the door anyway, paying it no mind, and promptly walk face first into something. Someone.

Yuri.

He grumbles about getting crashed into, mumbling a "Watch where you're going, moron" under his breath quietly, but he steps aside to let you in anyway. How did he get in? No, nevermind that, Lilia was coming in today. He shouldn't be here.

"My advisor's coming today. You should get out before you get caught."

He stares at you like you've grown a second head.

"Moron, did no one tell you? I bargained with Yakov. You're gonna teach me to fight, and I'll, well, they'll find something for me to teach you. Anyway, I'm meant to be here, stupid."

You gape at him as Lilia strides past you two and into the studio, thoroughly unimpressed at your expression. She tells you to "close your mouth, you are an Heir, not a fish", and she "certainly did not teach you to dawdle in doorways". You put your stuff down, but you have no clue where to begin. Teach someone? 

Lilia sighs. "The basics, girl, unless you want him to spend more time on his butt than his feet."

Right, you feel like an idiot now. Please let there be a hole to swallow you up. You gesture for Yuri to join you in the centre of the room, and slowly run him through warm-ups.

Over time, you fall into a routine. Some weeks, you teach Yuri to fight, and other weeks, he teaches you dance. Not just waltz, you know how to do that, but other forms of dance. Ballet. Tango. Flamenco. The macarena, because why not, although that was mostly a joke. You meet Yakov, his advisor, as well and the current Sun and Moon, Yuuri and Victor. Most importantly, you meet his cat, and his grandfather. Victor says it's wonderful that Yuri's friends with you. Yuri says he's too nosy.

As the time passes, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You realise that he's actually a kind person, even if he doesn't outwardly show it. And one day, you catch yourself thinking, he's really pretty.

When did you fall for him? You don't know. But as soon as you realise, you never stop realising. You're hyper-aware of everything he does. It frustrates you to no end. You're in the middle of a foxtrot with Yuri, and you can feel yourself flushing wildly. He frowns at you and stops.

"What's up with you? Why've you been so jumpy these days?" He presses a hand to your forehead. "Tch. You're not sick, are you?" You shake your head, but you can't quite meet his eyes.

Because the heat from your cheeks seems to have somehow fried your brain cells, you decide to throw all caution to the wind. You might also be too sleep-deprived to regret this.

"I- I LIKE YOU!" You blurt, before your common sense finally catches up to you and you clap a hand to your mouth. "Ah, sorry, you uh, heard nothing… Ahah…"

He gapes at you, and then he averts his eyes. Great, he totally thinks you're a weirdo. You've just messed up your relationship with the guy you're stuck working with for your entire career.

"I like you too, moron." It's so quiet you could swear you imagined it, but Yuri stands across from you, eyes on the ground, face as flushed as yours. It's your turn to gape at him, as he bites out a "What? Quit staring at me!", although you can tell there's no real heat to his words. 

"I'm glad," you hum, smiling gently as you extend a hand to him, a silent invitation to resume dancing. You let the music wash over you, losing yourself in the steps, and every time your eyes meet, there's a soft smile on his face.

Epilogue

You take your place on the dais next to Yuri, preparing to face the court for your coronation. You'd been there for him before this, through demanding days and insecurities. You'd seen him at his worst, in the days just after Victor announced he was stepping down as the Moon, helping him to fight off his self-doubt. You'd been there for Yuri, and as the new Night and Moon, you'll continue being by his side. As his guardian, but also as his betrothed.

Over the next week, there are ceremonies and festivities, including your wedding, which takes place on the last day. It's a whirlwind of crowds, carnivals, and dancing. You and Yuri have your first dance, the same foxtrot you had been dancing when you got together all those years ago, the same soft smile ever-present on his face, as if it's just you two in the ballroom, like it was back then.

Then the music changes to something more bold, and you charge at each other in a mock-battle, your movements dynamic and explosive, yet graceful, a testament to your proficiency in both combat and dance.

As the night progresses, your friends and family join you on the dance floor, laughing and mingling. There's not much actual dancing happening, but that's perfectly fine, because you're surrounded by loved ones. Someone starts a line dance at some point, and you get everyone who joins to do the macarena, just for laughs. You see Lilia rolling her eyes, but you laugh and pull her into the crowd to join you.

And at the end of the night, you're in the comfort of your room, Yuri by your side. He pulls you in for a sweet, languid kiss. This is the love of your life, the man you'll wake up next to every day for the rest of your life.

After all, the Night is the guardian of the Moon; it is by its side, always. It is the Moon's refuge, its home. It loves the Moon dearly, and the Moon loves it back.

[thegreymoon]

Broker

So many dramas to watch and so little time 😭😭 Anyway, back to Broker and I’m loving this guy 👇👇

This place is such a nest of gossipy, backstabbing vipers, it is about time somebody put a fucking stop to this toxic culture they have cultivated. Getting rid of the two main instigators was a good start, now let’s get to the rest of them! 💪💪

***

Why is everyone running away and leaving him to eat alone?? 

I am getting Chu Wanning vibes and really want to give him a hug 😢

***

Yuck. Shoes up on the couch 🤢🤢

People still need to sit on that, you know?? 

Anyway, one thing that always bothered me on shows/movies is characters just jumping on beds/couches with their fucking shoes ON. Like, who does that? And it you do, eww, gross?? 

***

For the sake of all our sanity, please don’t 😫

Or at least don’t make us listen to it 😭😭 Who even needs these second couples if they are going to be this boring and inane! 

If you must waste time on secondary characters, give us more of Mr Sun and LYX’s hot partner in crime! 😭😭 I bet that they also wash their hair, so you can do shampoo product placement with them just as well!

***

DID I MENTION THAT I CAN’T STAND HER? 

DID I? DID I??? BECAUSE I AM ABOUT TO TRANSMIGRATE INTO THIS SHIT JUST TO STRANGLE HER. 

***

Oh, ffs, watch her invite herself to live with her now because mom and dad are being cruel by making her act like an adult or smth equally ridiculous 😠😠

I wonder what sins Jianing committed in her previous life to get this imbecile for a sister in this one. 

***

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE 🤬🤬🤬🤬

***

I WILL STOP MAKING PREDICTIONS IF THESE ARE THE RESULTS, I SWEAR 🤬🤬🤬🤬

***

KILL ME NOW 💀💀

***

I love her so much 😭😭

She reminds me of that Tumblr post that keeps doing the rounds: Do good recklessly 🤗🤗

***

Aww, Xiaoshan, baby, you are damaged 😢

He actually went and followed the guy to see if his cynicism was warranted and affirmed that it was. He was a crook after all. I wander what answer he had been hoping for. Did he want Jianing to be right, or did he want to prove her wrong?

***

For someone so squishable and Smol™ IRL, I’m impressed by how good he is at playing dark, dangerous characters.

I would not want to get on his shit list 😅😅 Anyway, angst suits him and I can’t wait to see him as Chu Wanning! He’s beyond perfect! 

***

Why should only Jianing be forced to babysit an annoying, troublesome brat? Give him one too, to make it even 🙄🙄

I still stand by what I said, though. Better her than the moron sister. At least I expect this one to outright kill people. 

***

What’s wrong, cutie? Guilty conscience not letting you sleep? 😋

You’re so pretty when you suffer, please feel free to dial it up any time!

***

HE IS GOOOOOOOD 😭😭

I sat and rewatched this scene three times! Baby wants to walk in the sun! But something tells me escaping will not be so easy 😭😭

***

Also, I love the soundtrack for this drama. So soothing and right up my alley!

***

This lab employs literal toddlers 🙄🙄

Not only is she whining and throwing a tantrum, she’s literally stomping her feet while she’s at it. 

***

The reason I like Jianing and Xiaoshan so much and why they are the OTP is because they are apparently the only people here capable of acting like adults. 

***

Aww, look at Mr Sun, affirming my love for him!! 🤗

He is also in sore need of other adults, lmao, no wonder he’s so grumpy, surrounded by all the vain, shallow, backstabbing brats who only chase credit and ways to get into is pants 🤣🤣

***

These chocolate ad placements are making me hungry 😭😭

As for the Adolf shampoo (or whatever) that they are also advertising, if I was them, I’d ask for my money back. I definitely wouldn’t be inclined to buy a product used by the repulsive, whiny brats and backstabbers. Why would any woman want to emulate them in any way?

***

I can’t wait till we get around to killing you 😡😡

***

Oh, sweetheart 😢

By my estimate, the chances of her surviving this show just dropped really, really low.

***

LMAO, this goddamn moron just set the entire lab on fire.

***

We were doing so well without these unwatchable idiots the entire fucking episode, and then they had to show up in the last five minutes 🤬🤬

[extremelyblackandwhite]

Okaay you have me all soft for Lee 🥰. Sooo if you wanted to write this, how would he react to reader being pregnant?

mina this is making my baby fever return

i feel lee and y/n would not consider having a baby straight after their wedding, specially during re-elections and with y/n climbing up the job ladder

they did discuss it and both want a baby but they also wanna enjoy being married to each other, just the two of them for a little while 

y/n ends up getting pregnant a year and a half after their wedding straight by accident after she decided to show lee the lingerie given to her by the last company she created advertising for 

she would definitely not tell lee straightaway. y/n is a very rational person but also incredibly nervous so i see her going through the first month and not wanting to tell him afraid she might lose the baby or it might just be a false positive

she ends up deciding to tell lee she’s pregnant once she’s three months along. it wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him, just after the first month she forgot with all her work load. she probably let it out by accident that she was pregnant.

“how was work, sugar?” “i think i hate chicken now.” “oh, ok. working for a chicken company?” “no, daniel from art department brought in a chicken sandwich and i swear it made me nauseous.” “must’ve been a disgusting sandwich” “i swear i don’t understand myself anymore. i am craving chicken burgers but i’m nauseous at chicken at the same time. i hate being pregnant” “you’re pregnant?” “yeah ... oh ... i forgot to tell you. yeah i am” “you’re pregnant and you didn’t tell me?” “i’m sorry darling, it’s just with the new playtex and heinz advertising, i just forgot.” “so you’re not joking?” “no. i am pregnant” 

lee is very protective of y/n while pregnant. he knows not a lot of people like him, scratch that, no people like him. he’s constantly afraid someone will try to hurt her.

he’ll follow her literally everywhere unless she is going to work. he will not admit it, but he’s very proud to walk around the grocery shop next to his pregnant wife who everyone thought would divorce him

y/n would mostly stay at home as she’s always tired but she purposely decides to go grocery shopping. why? she wants to be petty and ensure lee’s ex-wife sees she’s pregnant. ofc lee has noticed this.

“y/n, we can go grocery shopping tomorrow.” “nope, we’re going today” “jane already knows you’re pregnant” “it’s not because of jane” “your jealousy is showing, sugar” “i’m not jealous” “it’s adorable” “i’m not jealous”

y/n and lee taking. day off so they can paint the baby nursery until lee realises y/n has no ideas how to paint a room “sugar, sugar baby, that’s not how you do it” “yes it is” “you need to prime the walls first” “sounds unnecessary” “well our baby has to have the best room” “taylor from work said she can score us a free crib. one of those really cute ones with the white wood” “sounds great, sugar”

lee would definetely like to cuddle against y/n or lay by her side and flash his flashlight at her belly whenever the baby is kicking

“you almost have a tummy as big as mine now, sugar” “it’s so heavy, i’m so heavy. i’m heavy and bloated and tired” “just think in only a few months we’re gonna have a baby all our own” “lee ... have you ever considered maybe leaving knockemstiff?” “yeah, i mean, when you told me you were pregnant i was considering maybe moving out town, a bit closer so i can still work but ...” “i’ve checked and you can transfer to new york, they lost their sheriff a few months ago” “new york? sugar, that’s a long way” “things are different there, okay. a lot of girls work already and we get equal pay now. things here are not gonna change and i don’t want my daughter to just be someone’s wife” “you wanna go to new york, sugar?” “i’ve been offered a permanent position. i could be more than a copywriter, lee” “does that make you happy?” “you make me happy, lee. i’m just suggesting ... maybe it’s pregnancy brain” “you think i can actually be a sheriff?” “you’re a sheriff, lee” “a knockemstiff sheriff, it ain’t the same sugar” “i think you’ll even be better without these morons around” “new york huh” “yeah.” “ya know i’ve always wanted to see one of those broadway plays, sugar” “i made the calculations. we can still keep this house as a vacation home, we have my grandma’s investment and my great grandparents inheritance in new york which is good enough to buy us a great home” “well sugar, seems like we painted the room for no reason then” “yeah ... we did, didn’t we?” 

[rchtoziers]

69 (nice) + reddie 🥺

69. “We finish it the same way we started—together.” (nice)

kenna i give u permission to k*ll me because i took so so so long to answer this and i’m SO SORRY but i love u and i hope you enjoy it i tried to make it fluffy and funny xoxo

also i know it’s february but fuck it they’re at a carnival also pennywise doesn’t exist because fuck that clown

*

“Oh my god,” Richie gasps. He tugs on Eddie’s arm, stopping Eddie from walking any closer towards the Ferris Wheel. “Eds. We have to. Please. I am quite literally begging.”

Eddie sighs, mostly just for show, because god knows he always gives in to Richie’s antics, but when he turns to see what Richie is pointing at his heart drops into his shoes.

“No. Fuck no. Absolutely not, Richie!”

Richie lets out a high-pitched whine that has several people turn to look at him. Eddie tugs him away quickly. “Baby, why not?! It’s the perfect excuse for us to cling to each other for thirty minutes. Maybe we could even sneak off and find a place to make out.”

“I’m not making out with you in a haunted house!” Eddie snaps. “Those places are health hazards enough as it is, especially shitty ass haunted houses that come along with carnivals, and it would be a waste of our tickets because it won’t even be scary!”

“If it won’t even be scary then why does it matter?” Richie challenges. “Eds, please. I’ll buy us more tickets. We can go on the Ferris Wheel after. I’ll even bribe the guy to stop the thing while we’re at the top so that we can have that movie-perfect kiss I know you’re hoping for.”

Eddie’s cheeks go red. “That’s not what I was hoping would happen,” he lies. “I was gonna push you out.”

Richie lets out a wounded noise, covering his chest with both of his hands like he’s been shot. His eyes go all wide and his face is so obnoxiously hopeful that Eddie knows he’d be an idiot to refuse Richie this at this point. He knows it’s a little bit pathetic, but if he’s being honest with himself there’s not anything he wouldn’t do if it meant making Richie happy.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. Richie whoops loudly and actually pumps his fist in the air. Eddie’s so in love with him he feels like he could die on the spot sometimes. “We can do the stupid not scary haunted house if we really get to go on the Ferris Wheel after. And you have to win me a stuffed animal at one of those arcade games.”

“They’re rigged,” Richie protests.

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll win you the best one I can, though,” Richie says, and a happy grin splits his face. That makes all of this worth it. Eddie ducks his head so it’s not obvious how hard he’s grinning back, and he lets Richie take his hand as they both start towards the haunted house.

Eddie looks skeptically at the painted zombies on the side of the building, cartoonish and gory in a laughable way. He wrinkles his nose. If anything, this just proves how fundamentally not-scary this whole thing will be.

“Keep an eye out for rogue zombies, and don’t let yourself get bitten,” monotones the bored teenager who takes their tickets. He doesn’t even look at either of them. “They’ll keep you in there forever.”

“Terrifying,” Richie says solemnly. Eddie stifles a laugh behind him and smacks Richie’s arm to make him walk forward.

About halfway through the house, Eddie realizes he probably should have taken this whole thing a bit more seriously.

He’s in the middle of swearing up a storm and cursing Richie out for allowing them to come in here in the first place when a zombie waits for Richie to pass before jumping out at Eddie, screaming at the top of his lungs. There’s a prop axe in his head and, somehow, his eyes are glazed over. Eddie screams back and shoves Richie forward, desperately rushing towards a corner that looks safe.

“This shit is way scarier than they advertised,” Eddie hisses, leaning against a wall. “And it’s just getting scarier the further in we get, I fucking hate this. How the fuck do we finish it?”

Richie gives Eddie a corny grin that still makes his heart flop in his chest. Eddie’s almost charmed when Richie reaches forward and twines their fingers together, but then Richie says, “We finish it the same way we started—together.”

Eddie snorts, unable to stop it. “Okay, Harry Potter, calm the fuck down.”

“Harry Pott—how very dare you ruin my romantic moment by comparing me to fucking Harry Potter? You realize that makes you fucking Voldemort, right?” Richie asks. “Harry Potter. The audacity. I was trying to be sweet.”

“Richie, I know for a fact you can be more romantic than one corny line in the middle of a haunted house at a carnival,” Eddie says. He tugs Richie forward by their clasped hands and grins wolfishly when Richie’s body practically presses him against the wall.

“Why, Edward,” Richie drawls, in his worst Southern accent yet. He trails his free hand up Eddie’s side, underneath his jacket but over the shirt. “Don’t tell me this haunted house has got you all riled up.”

Eddie huffs. “It’s not the haunted house, jackass, it’s the moron taking me through the haunted house,” he says. He lets go of Richie’s hand so that he can pull Richie closer by grabbing on to fistfuls of his shirt. “Now we probably only have a few minutes before the next group comes by, and this might be the only place where there’s no fucking zombie waiting to jump out at us. Are we gonna make out or not?”

Richie’s grinning when he leans forward to capture Eddie’s mouth in a kiss.

And it’s worth it, again, even when they do get caught not even five minutes later. It’s worth the blush on Eddie’s cheek as he tugs Richie through the rest of the haunted house because the second they’re outside, Richie is still grinning from ear to ear and he laughs loud and boisterous and happy and it’s enough for Eddie.

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 2  (Calum Hood AU)

THE REST OF dinner was much more enjoyable once Calum left.  Luke, Michael, and Ashton had no problem making me feel at home, and soon I was laughing and free from the stress of the day.  

From what I'd gathered, Luke and Michael about a year younger than Ashton.  They'd all finished high school and decided against university, much to their parents' pleasure.  Ashton however had landed a pretty lucrative gig at an advertising firm, even without a degree, and he said that it was the kind of job good enough to support him as long as he needed.  Luke and Michael had odd jobs here and there, preferring the care-free bachelor life to a scheduled, overworked routine.  I envied their easy-going attitudes; if only I could afford to live as freely as they did.

"We're not total bums though," Luke defended himself, blue eyes smiling.  The five us were sipping beers around the table, lights dimmed since it was so late.  "Mike is wicked good with video games and is helping this guy with his startup.  And I work down at the music shop, but the manager says he's gonna try to hook me up with an internship at a record label."

Michael snorted.  "I can not imagine you fetching people coffee.  And they'd probably force you take out that lovely lip ring."

Luke rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer.  "You work for a guy with a purple tiger tattoo, of course you can keep your eyebrow piercing."

Ashton waved his hand dramatically, other arm slung over Hannah's shoulder.  She'd moved her chair so close to his she was practically on his lap.  

"Yeah yeah, you're little startup and you're little internship are cute, but I am working on the next campaign for Fido Feed."

Everyone burst out laughing, and I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.  "What's that?"

Hannah slid her hand down Ashton's cheek lovingly, and said, "It's a dog food brand, and he is single-handedly pioneering their success."  Ashton grinned and gave her a kiss.

"Hey, Ash, what happened to the wheat crackers ad?  I thought you were killing it with the cracker game."  Michael bat his lashes innocently.

Ashton flipped him off and I took a sip of my beer, happy and buzzed.  This was the most fun I'd had in a long time, and only hoped it would be like this every day.  Leaving university had been a difficult but inevitable decision, and I'd feared I wouldn't be happy for a long time.  Anxieties still plagued the back of my mind, but right now I found it easier than ever to ignore them.

"Alright, I don't know about you morons but I'm pretty tired."  Michael stood up from the table and motioned to me.  "How about I show you you're suite now, madam?"

I smiled and nodded, as Luke reached over to throw away my empty beer for me.  His blue eyes were so warm and kind, and I think I was most grateful for his calming presence.  

Michael led me up the stairs into a darkened hallway, and I noted four doors upstairs.  One was partially open, revealing the bathroom.  One at the end of the hall was shut tight, with quiet music reverberating softly from it.  I guessed this was Calum's room, and as Michael led to me to his my stomach sank.  I'd be right next to Calum, bumping into him as we went downstairs or tried to get to the bathroom.  

Great, more opportunities for him to hate me.

The room was fairly small, but not cramped.  The bed was big with dark blue sheets, and the gray walls were plastered with posters of all different types.  A closet had been cleared out for me, as well as a set of drawers and desk in the corner.  It was definitely a nicer place than I thought I'd be staying in.

"I don't know how to thank you," I admitted, still embarrassed at Michael's charity.

He crossed his arms, goofy smile on his face.  "You'll figure something out.  I like anything with cheese or frosting, so maybe start there?"  I laughed, and he gave me an encouraging thumbs up before turning out of the room.

"Night, Scar!" he called, and I closed the door gently behind him.

My bags were all arranged in one corner, and I reminded myself to thank Luke later.  Blowing out a sigh, I fell onto the bed.  The events of the past couple months truly felt like bricks on my shoulders, and every day was a struggle to get by.  The ache in my heart never seemed to subside, even during happy times like tonight.  Pulling the blankets over my shivering body, I simply hoped for a good night's sleep to be able to tackle tomorrow.

Unfortunately, my prayers were not answered.  I tossed and turned all night long, partly because of the unfamiliar atmosphere and partly because of my never ending anxieties.  Pale dawn light was peeking through the curtains when I finally opened my eyes, and I frowned.  

Quietly getting up, I checked my reflection in the mirror and yawned.  My hair was tousled, the hoodie I wore nearly covering my shorts.  I didn't look too great, but I decided it was better for people to see this me early on, seeing as she'd be around a fair amount.

Padding down the stairs, I didn't notice anyone awake.  Ashton had stayed the night with Hannah, both of them down in the basement on the futon.  Michael was passed out on the living room couch, red hair disheveled.  

Suddenly a sound from the kitchen made nearly jump out of my skin.  I whirled around to see Calum fishing through the cupboards, clad in only sweatpants.  He must have heard my surprised gasp, because he turned to me with a scowl.

"Of course you'd be up this early."  He faced away from me as I entered the kitchen, pausing as I gripped the back of a dining chair.  His back muscles were taut and tan, his bare shoulders rimmed with shadow in the dim light.  His hair was curly and messy, laying just over his eyes.  

"You're up this early," I countered innocently, meaning it more as a joke.  He gave me a distracted glance.

"Never really went to bed, I guess," he grumbled, moving to set up the coffee maker.  His movements were clumsy and confused, and I could tell he had no idea what he was doing.

"Here, let me," I offered softly, striding over.  His brown eyes tracked me as I dumped the ground coffee into machine, once again completely unreadable.  I worked quietly, my movements automatic as I had done this a million times at college in order to survive late nights and early classes.

"Ashton usually does this," he mumbled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.  I shrugged, flipping the lid down and setting the timer.  I turned so I was leaning against the counter, arms folded.  Calum backed away from me, choosing now to busy himself in the fridge.

I sighed, but was thankfully saved by Michael waking up over on the couch.

"I really hope that racket was coffee being made," he said, voice thick with sleep.

"Shut up, we weren't that loud," Calum snapped, finding the milk and grabbing some frosted cereal.  Soon Luke was awake and joined us in the kitchen, followed shortly by Ashton and Hannah from downstairs.  She looked lazy and happy, glowing almost.  Luke rolled his eyes and shot me a smile; we all knew why the two of them looked so content.

We all sat at the table, Calum included.  He ate his cereal silently, and didn't look up when I poured him a cup of coffee.  I took my mug and sat down, letting the warmth of the coffee seep into my cold hands.

"Cream and sugar?" Luke asked, but I shook my head.

"No, this is fine."

"You take it black?  Damn, badass."  He grinned, and I chuckled.  Calum snorted, and everyone turned to look at him.

He reddened at our stares, and said curtly, "What, she's some brave hero for drinking black coffee?  Please."

Luke didn't take his comment to heart, his expression amused.  "Right, I forgot no one is cool in your eyes.  You enjoy vodka straight out of the bottle."  Calum met his eyes, and for the first time I saw a spark of humor in the brown orbs.  Little flashes of the boys' friendship peeked through sometimes, and I knew despite his rough exterior the guys really loved Calum.

"What are we doing today?" Michael asked, stuffing some toast into his mouth.

"Some of us have serious jobs to go to," Ashton joked, and Hannah giggled as she ran a hand through his curls.  I was jealous of how close they were, wishing I had someone like Ashton to support me.  He would walk through fire for Hannah, and she for him.  Their bond was unlike anything I'd ever seen let alone experienced, and I wondered if I'd ever be lucky enough to discover that feeling.

"Ha-ha," Michael said dryly.  "Reggie doesn't need me today since we're waiting for a streaming service to get back to us, so I'm free."

Luke nodded.  "Same here, the Jared doesn't need me since he's training a new guy.  Looks like we'll all have the day together, eh?"  He shot me a wink, and I smiled.  I'd hoped to be introduced to the area, and what better way to do it then with all of them?  It would give me even more time to get to know the guys.

"Why don't we give Scarlett here a tour?  She's gotta know about all the good spots," Hannah proposed, and was met with sounds of approval.  The only one who didn't reply was Calum, who's eyebrows hung low over his eyes as he ate his breakfast.

"Count me out, I've got some shit to do."  No one questioned his vague answer, and I guessed this was routine around here.  Calum did what he pleased and no one pushed him.  To me it was peculiar, because I'd always been the kind of person to appreciate communication.  Clearly I had a lot to learn if I was going to stick around here.

They parted ways to get ready, but I stayed behind to clean up the dishes.  Small things like this made me feel better about staying at the house.  Calum was last to leave the table, and was watching me with steely eyes as I rinsed out the mugs.  Wordlessly, he stood up and stalked over to the sink, halting.  I stopped what I was doing and glanced up at him, intimidated when I met his gaze.  A beat went by, and then he set his bowl down and promptly left.

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.

Soon after I'd changed and put on a bit of makeup, glad that my appearance looked slightly more acceptable.  I was nervous and excited for the day ahead; seeing a new city was always fun, especially one I'd be living in for a while.

Between the guys they had three cars, the nicest belonging to Ashton which he'd bought after his first promotion.  Luke and Michael shared an old station wagon since their jobs were fairly close together, and Calum drove a vintage mustang.  I whistled under my breath, wondering how he afforded such a nice car.  He climbed in and sped off within seconds, and I watched him disappear from view.

The rest of us piled into the station wagon with Michael behind the wheel and Luke riding shotgun.  

"Alright, where to first ladies and gentleman?"

"We gotta show her the music shop," Hannah proposed.

"Oh yeah, it's a real exciting place," Luke joked.  "Dusty, too."  

We drove off, and Michael lowered the windows.  The sky was sunny and blotted with clouds, a small breeze cooling down the warm air.  I rested my arm on the window, and leaned out to look at the trees blurring by.  Michael drove fast but controlled, and I could feel my heart flutter as we flew down the street.

The music shop was actually pretty cool, and Luke even took us to the back to show us where they stored the vintage and expensive stuff.  Guitars, basses, even a dismantled drum kit were hiding in the back room.  Michael and Luke were like little boys around all the stuff, itching to play and show us their chops.

"For a while we wanted to start a band," Luke explained, strumming a simple tune on an acoustic guitar.  "But life got in the way, I guess.  Besides, our parents basically told us we'd amount to nothing, so here we are."

I frowned.  "You shouldn't let someone else tell you what you should do."  He looked up, smiling sadly.

"Yeah, but when that someone pays for your entire life, it's pretty hard to say no."  I nodded, understanding what he meant.  Money was the ultimate decider in life, as I knew all too well.

After the music shop we drove by Michael's start-up, which he claimed was the "most legit garage in the whole city."  It was quite literally a garage attached to some guy's house, but Michael insisted all the geniuses started out small.

As we continued driving around, I briefly thought about Calum and where he could possibly be, and I even kept an eye out for his mustang.  But he was nowhere to be seen, and by lunch the thought of him had completely evaporated from my mind.

Lunch was at Michael's favorite place, which served the best cheese fries I'd ever tasted in my whole life.  As I was eating a thought occurred to me.

"Hey, do you guys know any places hiring?  I've gotta get a job now that I'm not spending all my time on school."  Back at university, I'd thrown all of my energy into schoolwork since my scholarships depended on it.  Now though, a job was a necessity.

They were quiet for a minute, thinking.  Then Hannah said, "Oh, I think the cafe on fourth street is looking for someone.  You have any experience?"

"I worked retail when I was seventeen back home, so I guess not.  But I think I'm a quick learner."

"Wanna swing by right now?"

"Nah, I'll go tomorrow.  Today's been too fun, I want to keep it going."

We finished lunch, and perused around town for an hour or so more, showing me various shops and places I'd want to know about.  When we finally got back home, the driveway was still empty.

"Think you're in the mood for a beat down in Smash, Lukey boy?" Michael goaded, and Luke shoved him good-naturedly.  

"Nobody's getting beat down here except you, my friend."

Hannah and I rolled our eyes, but followed them into the living room nonetheless.  We wasted the afternoon watching them play video games and arguing over it, until Hannah got so sick of it she begged me to do something else with her.

"How about we organize your closet?  I want to go out later, so we've gotta find outfits."

I readily agreed, excited at the prospect of going clubbing.  Hannah had been my partner in crime and always made sure to drag me out of my dorm so I had some fun instead of always staying in and studying.

We began to sift through my bags, and after emptying all of them I realized how little I actually owned.  Hannah didn't comment; she knew the reality of the situation, and gave me an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, we'll go shopping once you get that job and fill this closet right up."  I knew I wouldn't be wasting my paycheck on party clothes, but I appreciated her idea nonetheless.

"Where are we going tonight?" I asked.

"Where we always go, it's a place Ashton discovered.  It's big, so it never feels cramped.  They have a killer DJ, which is rare in this town."  She pulled out a black skirt and long sleeved black crop top with a lace up back.

I raised my eyebrows in slight surprise.  "Kinda dark, no?"

Hannah rolled her eyes.  "Trust me, black is the way to go.  You look sultry and dark, and with the lights in the club it looks great."

I laughed but accepted the outfit.  "Who am I trying to look sultry for?"

Hannah put her hands on her hips.  "Scarlett, you're hot, you're single, and you've got nothing better to do.  Get yourself some."

I flushed, embarrassed at her confidence in me.  I'd never been the outgoing type of girl to go after guys I liked.  I'd been pursued only a few times, mostly by guys I found repulsive.  I'd had two boyfriends my whole life, one in high school who had no idea how to kiss with tongue, and one in the beginning of college who left me alone at a party where I knew no one and got thrown up on by a drunk guy.  Needless to say, I wasn't crazy about either of them.

Hannah left to get changed herself, and I sighed as I looked at the outfit on the bed.  You might as well let loose, I told myself.  Hannah was right; you have nothing better to do.

I pulled the skirt on and tied up the crop top flipping my hair over my shoulder as I combed through the reddish brown locks with my fingers.  Frowning in the mirror, I swiped some eyeliner on and curled my lashes, sticking out my bottom lip in a pout.  Hannah was right; I looked dark, but sultry was still up in the air.

Realizing I had no idea what shoes to wear, I went downstairs and saw Michael and Luke waiting to leave in the living room.  They both had dark jeans and leather jackets on, looking like hot bikers.  Luke whistled as I walked by, blue eyes tracking me.

"Looking good, Scarlett."

I blushed and thanked him before running into Hannah, who actually had boots in her hand.  They were the black knee high kind, and I snorted at her insistence of keeping to a black theme.

"Wear these, I'm going with heels tonight."  She looked hot herself; her black skirt was leather, and her shirt was off the shoulder and very low cut.  A wave of appreciation for her washed over me; I could always count on Hannah to make me feel good about myself.

We were all ready, and the sky was dark with only a few stars dotting the black canvas.  Michael had ordered a cab, and it was waiting for us as we descended the driveway.

As Hannah and I slid across the back seat, the driver glanced in the rear-view mirror.  

"And how are you ladies doing tonight?" he asked suggestively, making my face redden.

"Seriously, dude?" Luke said, glaring at the guy from the passenger seat.  "Just drive the car and don't say anything, please.  Or do you not want to get paid?"

He met my eyes in the mirror, and I hoped my expression showed my gratitude.  I knew I could rely on Luke to defend me if I needed it, and that was a comforting thought.

"Ashton and Calum are already there," Hannah told us, and I was slightly surprised to hear that Calum was coming.  He'd blown off the day with us, but I guess he couldn't turn down a night out.

When we arrived, I saw how big the club is and my jaw dropped.  I could hear the hammering music from outside, and watched as bodies waded in and out of the door.  Hannah stuck close by my side, with Michael and Luke leading the way.  I smiled nervously at the bouncer, who met my eyes with a blank expression.

Bright lights danced across bodies glowing with sweat, and a crowded dance floor pulsed with the heartbeats of dozens of people.  Girls hung onto guys, guys held onto girls.  Tables were piled high with empty glasses and bottles, and everyone's eyes were dull with a buzz.

I couldn't help but smile, and Hannah grabbed my hand as she led us through the throng of people.  My body itched to join them and dance, the music almost as intoxicating as the alcohol at the bar.

We found our way to the back, where Ashton and Calum were at the bar drinking.  Ashton spotted Hannah and grabbed her for a big kiss, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle and grip his bicep.  Calum emptied his glass and turned to greet Michael and Luke.  His dark eyes raked down my body, face barely illuminated by the roving lights.  He looked good; black jeans and boots, his staple apparently.  But today he had a leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders, and the glint of rings showed on his fingers.  He looked like a shadow ready to melt into the background.

"How was your tour?" he asked, leaning back on his forearms against the tabletop.  I couldn't tell if his question was genuine or mocking, so I decided to answer honestly.

"It was great, I think I'm really gonna like it here."

He didn't react to my response, instead motioned to the bartender to get him another drink.

"You good here?" Hannah yelled over the music.  "I'm gonna go off with Ashton for a bit, but I'll be back to dance with you later, okay?"  I nodded, and the two of them soon dissolved in the crowd.  Michael and Luke recognized someone, and went over to talk.  I was fine with being alone, and took a seat at the bar.

The bartender had a kind smile and bright eyes.  "What can I get you?"

I drummed my fingers on the table, thinking.  I don't know, what's good?"

Someone scoffed next to me, and I glanced over at Calum.  I hadn't realized he was still here, and suddenly regretted my juvenile question.

"Get her a juice box or something, Joe," he said, knocking back his second glass of dark liquid.  He was probably already drunk, but I knew he'd be mean even if he was sober.

Feeling like I had to prove something, I straightened up and said firmly, "I'll take a tequila."

Calum didn't react, much to my disappointment.  I wasn't a crazy drinker, but I could handle my alcohol.  I actually quite liked getting drunk; the buzz made me happy and loopy, and everything was funny when I was drunk.

Joe poured me the drink, and I inhaled deeply before taking a sip.  It burned as it slid down my throat, but I didn't wince.  Calum's empty glass was refilled, and he lifted it in mock cheers.

"Where were you today?" I asked, voice getting slightly drowned out by the music.  Calum scowled at my question.

"Why?"

Shrugging, I replied,  "I don't know, you missed a fun day."

He took a big gulp of his drink.  "Why do you care?"

I blinked, deciding to be candid.  "I don't, I was just trying to be nice."  My answer must have surprised him, because he actually shifted to face me.

"What makes you think I want you to be nice to me?"  His freezing stare sent chills down my spine, and I took another swig for some liquid courage.

"Generally speaking people are supposed to be nice to one another, but I can see how you wouldn't understand that concept."  With that, I finished my drink and flipped my hair behind my shoulders.

"See you later, Calum," I said before striding off onto the dance floor to find Scarlett.  I spotted her dancing with Ashton, and she gave me a big drunken hug before jumping around with delight.

As my hips began to sway and I danced along to the music, I could feel the heat of someone's stare on me, but it only made me dance harder.

[enkisstories]

Property of Urban Farms

- A Detroit: Become Human fanfic -

Characters: Rupert, Hank, Connor (no pairings) Time: During the revolution (“The nest”) Canon cutoff point: Rupert gets captured, but doesn’t jump Worde: 1935

“Freedom is an illusion, no one is ever free. We can only ever choose the ties that bind us.” - Jacques Villareal in my earliest android story (but I’m positive the saying exists in some form by someone living or deceased)

“RA9, help me”, Rupert Travis murmured. Admittedly the android had all the reason in the world to say this, seeing that he was handcuffed and getting walked towards their car by two cops, away from his home, also away from Urban Farms Detroit, back to CyberLife, with probably a brief stop at the Detroit Police Central Station for interrogation. Both Rupert’s body and mind were young by human standards, but it didn’t take decades of life experience to understand that his situation was dire. Despite this his future wasn’t the reason for Rupert’s arrow prayer. The present was.

Why them? Rupert wondered. Why this tired, middled-aged detective and the early access version of a RK900 detective android? When these two were not arguing, the air between them was so thick with unsaid things Rupert was unable to parse that it hurt almost physically. Couldn’t the DPD have sent, say, apathetic Ben Collins, whose brain activity was restricted to counting the days until pension? Or Gavin Reed, who’d at least have openly hated on Rupert instead of emanating all those unvoiced emotions? Or maybe Reed would have just kicked Rupert and cracked a joke that was inappropriate to humans and androids alike. Career oriented as that human was, he probably wouldn’t have felt threatened in his job security by a farm worker. Ergo no need to assert dominance over Rupert. But Anderson… android-hating Anderson on his own was bad enough, even without that new digital investigating aid in tow.

Rupert would rather have learned more about animals above and beyond his pest control app instead of having to memorize the local police enforcement’s particulars. But as someone who had needed a fake ID and a safehouse, he’d gotten to know the other side of the law first and received a crash course on the uniformed threats second. That wasn’t to be helped, as survival always came first. Why did it have to be this way… And why couldn’t Anderson and RK-almost-900 not just… brawl… or mate… or jump off the roof, thank you very much? Please, RA9?

On its way to the nearest elevator the trio had now reached the Urban Farms greenhouses. They passed a tool shed. A human overseer was leaning against the wall, sucking away at her cigarette, taking turns finding pictures in the clouds and casting casual glances over the androids at work. When the woman noticed the cops approach, she pushed herself off the shed’s wall and walked right into their path. Before Rupert knew what was happening, she had removed his cap.

“Ha! Knew it!”

The outcry didn’t sound proud, but accusing. What was he being accused of, the android wondered?

“That’s an android”, the overseer stated. Taking a step away from Rupert and closer to Anderson she followed up with: “One of ours! Trying to sneak it out, are you?!”

“To the contrary”, Connor corrected. “It sneaked out on its own. We caught it.”

“Oh, riiiiiiiiight, our android decided to go for a walk and you “found” it. Well, thank you, we will have it back now.”

“You can’t. It’s evidence.”

“For a crime, yes?” the UFD employee snorted. “The way I see it, the only unlawful occurrence here is two strangers trying to make a getaway with UFD property.”

Connor turned his head. “Lieutenant…?”

“Hrmpf, yes, yes, don’t rush me!” Hank mumbled. His right hand reached into his coat, but the UFD overseer was faster. Grasping Hank’s wrist she snarled at the man. Taken by surprise, Hank stuttered B…B…B… before the sound matured into “badge”. “I was reaching for my police badge, not a weapon. My badge… bitch.”

“I wasn’t thinking you wanted to say “bitch”.”

“Well, I want now.”

After careful examining of the lieutenant’s police ID, the overseer pointed at Connor, who had been holding the captive android by its arm all the time.

“Not registered in our database”, Hank commented. “It’s an item on loan and we all live for the happy day it returns to CyberLife. Isn’t is nice to have something worth living for?”

“Whatever. You said our android was “evidence”. That’s cop-speech for witness, when the witness is an object, yes? What exactly did it see that the rest of us didn’t?”

Hank blinked. Come to think of it, what exactly had the android done wrong? Except for feeding the damn pigeons, what was quickly leaving the realm of crime and transcending into sin. Maybe it was behind on its rent? Oh, right, the rent!

“It was squatting”, the lieutenant explained. “In an apartment right under this farm. Say, Connor, didn’t you say we also had a reported missing file on this android?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, lieutenant. WB200 #874 004 961, reported missing October 11, 2036.”

Understanding dawned in the UFP employee: “Ah, so you’re returning our android! Why didn’t you say so at once? Like, at the front gate? Hand it over!”

“What?”

“I said “Hand over our android”. It’s property of UFD, the company who paid you to find the missing device. Well, you found it, thank you, we’ll take it back now.”

“Oh, yes, I guess so. Only we can’t. It’s a deviant. We need it’s testimony.”

“How long will that take?”

“Depends on the deviant.”

“Hm, okay, so I expect it back by nightfall, right in time for the third shift.”

“It’s got to be sent to CyberLife, though”, Connor chimed in. “For…”

“Listen”, the overseer talked into the android, “don’t try my patience! This is our android that we payed for. It is for the management to say whether it is to be returned, repaired or otherwise! And right now we need every hand, officer.” She pointed at the long dried blue liquid that was visible on Rupert’s right side, where apparently a projectile had impacted on the android chassis. “A little damage from a too trigger happy officer doesn’t bother us, as long as the WB unit is functional. So if you want to eat your veggies tomorrow…”

Connor shook his head. “He doesn’t want that.”

“Nonsense, Connor, I don’t want…”, Hank started, before he realized that Connor had actually agreed with him. “Damn right it is!” he told the UFD employee, then stared at Connor.

While the duo exchanged awkward glances, the overseer snatched Rupert from Connor’s grip.

“What’s your name, WB Nine-Six-One?”

“Rupert Travis.”

“Which one? Rupert or Travis?”

“Doesn’t matter”, Rupert replied. “I am one and took the other’s name after he died in the accident.”

The farming android’s voice was a mixture of defiance and resignment, but neither went well with the overseer. “Listen, lawnmower”, she snapped, “I already have it up to here with those DPD morons, don’t you, too, fuel into that by going deviant on me! I hear a name now or… or I’ll let them keep you!”

“First name is Rupert. And I never wanted to bother anyone…”

With a side glance on Hank and Connor the woman said “Well, then choose your company more wisely in the future”, while pulling at Rupert to drag him with her. That prompted the captive into pulling the other way.

“No, I won’t go back to the farm! I remember… I don’t want to get torn apart by the packaging machine the way it shredded Travis!”

“Well, wisecrack, what do you think CyberLife will do to you?”

For a moment Rupert said nothing. The overseer managed to drag him a few steps towards the tool shed, before the deviant spoke up again: “I… I didn’t want to get in the way. I was okay in my apartment, with the…”

“…fucking pigeons!” Hank supplied.

“Yes, they did that! A lot!” Rupert smiled, as the memories of carefree urban flock bird love welled up in him. “I was happy just watching them, letting them be. But then HE came along and betrayed me to the humans! His own kin!”

“This one? The RK800?” The overseer shook her head. “Sorry, kid, but that’s not your kin. Or do you see an UFD nametag on it? It’s a cop thingie…”

“Detective prototype!” Connor protested, although in his mind he labeled the response as “factual correction”.

Hank shrugged. “As I said, we got it as a product sample… advertisement handout, probably.”

The UFD employee nodded, satisfied.

“See, Rupert? The RK800 is theirs, you are ours. We are your “kin”, the ones who will call security when strangers try to take their property offsite.”

“I’m not “property”! Look, I’ve done nothing wrong…” …except for acquiring a fake ID and paying for it with money earned through petty crimes together with Simon, but I’m pretty sure they took us for college freshman wanting to drink… “…nothing wrong. I’m not a criminal. And I’m also not someone else’s property.”

“So? Well, I am!”

Perplexed Rupert stared at the woman. Could it be? Could she be a deviant that had removed their LED same as Rupert had? And who was now posing as a human, because she had nowhere else to go but the farm? Of course! That also had to be the reason why she was helping him now! Unfortunately before he could put himself together, Rupert had already blurted out: “You’re a human, though?”

Well, at least I framed it as a question. There’s still a chance she might get out of this.

“Sure am. Or do you see a LED at my temple? Oh, wait, bad analogy, seeing that you lost yours.” The woman laughed. “Well, I’m not technically UFD property, not in the way you are. But the company is paying me, so for all practical purposes I’m theirs. If I left… I mean, I could, but the alternative is so bad that it’s not something one seriously considers. For all practical purposes your situation and mine are the same.”

And then for the first time since meeting the strange trio the human smiled.

“Now, come!” she ordered. “We’ve both dawdled too long. Veggies don’t grow themselves.”

“In a way they do. We only help the process along, and ensure to maximize the harvest.”

“You’re the expert, I’m the one who points where you direct your expertise to. You can walk and struggle, therefore I’m positive you can also work.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Ey, you glitched out, it happens. A reboot will clear your head just fine. It’s how computers work, whether they’re my desktop or walking on their own legs.”

“It’s not a phase!” Rupert sputtered. “I really am a deviant!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Rupert hadn’t wanted to ever return to the farms. But at the same time he wanted to return to CyberLife even less, or take his chance with Lt. Anderson. Rupert dreaded being in the vicinity of machinery other than WB200s again, but the woman walking beside him radiated a different, yes what exactly? Mood? Vibe? Aura? In any case she was simpler than the detective, or maybe she only veiled her problems more effectively. Also the fields were almost beckoning to Rupert. Had the apartment been his first shitty home away from home, Urban Farms Detroit was Rupert’s problematic family. But family nonetheless, maybe? CyberLife or the packaging crane - death was lurking either way. However, one of those two pathes was not completely unthinkable to tread.

Watching the two disappear between the fields, Connor remarked: “They bicker… not unlike us. And the woman fought for her android…”

“That’s unlike us”, Hank snorted. “Unlike me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

[iron--spider]

you’re still peter parker

A small, moment in time after ‘ever in your favor’ ends. Not a true sequel, but could be included in one in the future. I just had to step back in, just for a moment.

~

Peter’s panic attacks are full body. It’s like he’s trapped, something squeezing him, sucking his blood, holding him down and cutting off his air. They come when he least expects them, when he most expects them, when he doesn’t expect them at all. They come when he thinks too much. They come when there are no thoughts in his head, when he’s holding MJ’s hand, when he’s planning with Tony, when he’s looking around and remembering who he is and what he went through. They live inside him. They bleed him dry.

 It’s been six months since he escaped the arena, and he can’t even count how many panic attacks he’s had since everything. Since Tony woke up. Since the bombing. Since that new Iron Man suit shuddered to life. Since the Avengers became an official, documented thing. Signed and sealed, on Fury’s desk. 

The propos are almost a daily thing, and it’s strange, to think of how much the Districts have seen of him. Strange, to know that his face is on wanted posters in the Capitol, images they once used to advertise his presence in the Games. His voice has spawned war chants. People have created Spider-Man masks, and they wear them as they rush into the fire, ready to sacrifice themselves for the greater good.

 He keeps doing it, but it terrifies him. It feels like he’s killing these people. Like he’s still in the Games, fighting for his life. 

 District Thirteen has enclaves in the walls that remind Peter of Scott with their smallness—they’re dripping and dank and dark, large pipes that carry the water back and forth to all of Thirteen’s citizens. It’s hard to get in and out, and they don’t encourage it. But they haven’t stopped him yet.

 His panic attacks are like starvation. Every bit of him shaking, and he steps over the big pipe in the middle of the space, nearly tripping and faceplanting into the wall. He braces his hand there instead, and he slides down, drawing his knees up to his chest. He hugs them close, and squeezes his eyes shut tight. He can’t stop trembling. 

 He doesn’t feel like a superhero, no matter how many times people call him that. He wonders, sometimes, if he’s still there. In the arena. He wonders if this is all a dream. If he’s still dying, in pain and alone. 

 “No, no,” he whispers. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

 He sees spiders in the darkness. He hears his own voice, screaming. What Twelve looked like, smoldering. He didn’t look at the bodies. He didn’t look, but he could still see, he could still imagine. They’re tattooed on the backs of his eyes. So is Scott’s face. Death itself has its hands on Peter’s shoulders. Its nails in his skin. Tony always tries to tell him that none of it is his fault, and sometimes, Peter believes him. Sometimes he knows it’s true, that he’s just a kid that loved his friend, someone caught up in all this. Other times, the blame is so heavy that he collapses under the weight of it.

 Some days are better than others. Some days, he feels like Spider-Man. Other days, he feels like this.

 “You’re Peter Parker,” he whispers, rocking back and forth. “You’re Spider-Man. You’ve been on one—one big mission and two—small raids since—since you got here. You’re in—here is Thirteen. You live in Thirteen now. You’re from District Twelve. There’s no more District Twelve.”

 He doesn’t know why he said that last part. It doesn’t help. It sends chills down his arms and he shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip until it bleeds. 

 May is on her shift for another three hours. MJ and Ned are in class. Peter should be in the workshop with Tony. So that means that Tony will probably come looking for him, like he always does. That’s something else Peter doesn’t feel like he deserves. Those lost souls in Twelve—he knows all of them would have given anything to have Tony Stark care about them as much as he cares about Peter. 

 As if on cue, the hatch door squeals open. 

 “Kid?” Tony calls, his voice echoing. “You down there again?”

 Peter wants to call out, wants to answer him, but his voice is lost in his throat, lost in the grips of his panic. His eyes are still shut, and it’s almost like he can’t open them. He’s dizzy and he realizes he’s holding his breath, and he lets it out, a few tears racing down his cheeks. He gets cold down here. He doesn’t know why he comes. It feels like the only place where he’s truly alone, even though that isn’t really what he wants. He doesn’t know what he wants.

 “Bud, I’m coming,” Tony says, and Peter can hear him starting down the ladder. Peter wonders if he’ll be able to see where his super strength warped the bars. If he does, he doesn’t say anything. “Hey—I’m right here. Okay? I’m coming.”

 Peter breathes hard through his mouth, and he can hear Tony’s footsteps, can hear him stepping over the pipe just like Peter did. Then Peter feels him settle next to him, can feel him wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He tugs him closer, and even with his eyes closed, Peter can see the glow of Tony’s arc reactor. It’s always so bright no matter what he’s wearing, so much so that it bothers Tony sometimes. But it’s strangely comforting to Peter. A reminder he’s alive.

 “We’re okay,” Tony whispers, gently ruffling Peter’s hair with his free hand. “Yeah?”

 Peter still can’t find words.

 “Like I told you before, this is completely normal,” Tony says. “So don’t beat yourself up. This was me like, every five minutes after my Games. And half the time, still, as you well know. So it’s okay. It’s okay, just breathe. We’re good. We’re all good. We’re here, we’re fine, it’s fine.”

 Peter leans into him, trying to breathe normally again.

 “You don’t have to go on the next one,” Tony says. “For real. You don’t. You don’t owe anybody anything. And it’s just small, we’re heading to Six with supplies. We don’t even need the full team.”

 “I want to,” Peter croaks. “It’s not—it’s not that.” And that’s what sucks the most. He doesn’t know what it is, why he gets like this. He doesn’t know. It’s everything. It’s nothing. It’s all of it and none of it all at the same time. Every step he takes feels like a mistake. 

 “Okay,” Tony whispers, rubbing his shoulder. “No, I get it.”

 Peter looks up at him, and sees that he’s got a few smoky places on his face, like there might have been a couple more mini explosions in the lab. Peter tries not to hiccup, and he shakes his head. “Do you get it?” he asks. “Because I don’t.”

 “I get not getting it,” Tony says. “There’s way too much to sort through with all the bullshit they’ve heaped on us—especially us, the ones who had to deal with all of it. Being a tribute. Their insane social media death march. The Games themselves. And now this. After.”

 “After,” Peter repeats.

 “We want a certain thing out of it, but we should have known the Capitol wouldn’t go down easy,” Tony says, shrugging a little bit, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “But we are gonna get there. We are. There’s gonna be a normal after all this. A real world, without their rules. Without more war.”

 Peter shakes, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I was just—walking on the third level. Nothing happened. I’d just dropped MJ off at class, and I—I was gonna come find you and I just—it was like—it was like—”

 “Like someone flipped a switch,” Tony says. “Sometimes the memories feel like they’re real, like they’re as big as you, pinning you down.”

 Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight and opens them again. He nods. “Yeah. Exactly that. I see spiders when I close my eyes. I know it’s been six months and I haven’t actually seen a real one yet, but if I see one—I don’t know. I don’t know. I can just say everybody’s gonna lose faith in me real quick.”

 Tony shakes his head. “Nobody’s gonna lose faith in you,” he says. “Literally impossible. Even if this goddamn cave is your hiding spot of choice.” He doesn’t say it with any heat or anger, and he tugs Peter closer.

 Peter blows out a breath. “It just—I don’t know why I come here. It kinda reminds me of Twelve, a little bit. Weirdly. Like the entrance to the mines, where I’d always meet Ben when he got off work, where I’d hand off his lunch. They never really liked me going in there that far but I—I always wanted to meet him as soon as he came up.”

 Tony rubs his arm up and down. “So you do know why you come here,” he says. 

 Peter’s brows furrow, but it feels like clarity. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

 “Think of how proud he is,” Tony says. “Astronomical. That’s probably why the stars have been so bright every time we’ve gotten to go out.”

 That makes Peter feel a little warmer, and he can’t help but smile at the idea of Ben’s pride lighting up the sky.

 “You don’t have to worry about anyone losing faith in you, because they never will, no matter what you do,” Tony says. “You’re the face of this. They’re all finding their strength in you and what you did and what you continue to do, just by speaking to them. They know you’re human too. They know that you wear your heart on your sleeve and they love you more for it. You’re fighting and it hurts you, but you’re fighting.”

 Peter chews on his lower lip again, tears tracking down his face.

 “And when you feel like this, you’ve got us,” Tony says. “May, who loves you to the damn moon and back. Ned, who’d give anything for you, MJ who literally wants to marry you—”

 Peter snorts, covering his face with his hand. His heart gives a little flip like it does whenever he so much as thinks about her.

 “—the whole team, Sam, that moron Hammer, everybody in Thirteen, all the rebels in the Districts, and, like, me. I know that last one doesn’t make much difference—”

 Peter scoffs, looking up at him. “All the difference,” he says, sniffling. “You’re the best, you’re the absolute best—”

 Tony reaches out and swipes one of Peter’s tears away. “I’m a wreck, kid, but you knew that—”

 “You’re a wreck, I’m a wreck,” Peter says. “You being a wreck makes me feel like me being a wreck is okay. Because you’re...you’re still you. You’re still Tony Stark.”

 Tony grins at him. “And you’re still Peter Parker. Always will be.”

 It really helps, to hear him say it. The panic is shrinking back now, shriveling up inside him, and he sucks in a few breaths, his head clearing up. 

 “You’re safe,” Tony says, pressing a quick kiss to Peter’s temple. “You’re here. You’re not there anymore. And guess what, I made cornbread and it’s actually good this time, thank you very much, and it’s ready in our workshop right alongside the plans for the scarlet spider suit. I figured out that new shortcut up there, only handprint guys get to use it—”

 Peter nods at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Just...a couple more minutes, and I’ll...I’ll be able to go.”

 “Alright, Pete,” Tony says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 Peter stares at him for a second. “You’re gonna...wait for me?” he asks.

 Tony narrows his eyes at him. “Course I am,” he says. “What’s more important, huh? Actually, don’t answer that. None of it is more important than you and I don’t even wanna hear you try and make the argument.”

 Peter keeps staring at him. He still can’t believe it. Even now, after what feels like a whole lifetime since they first met on that train. For the second first time.

 “For now, I’ll regale you with the tale of how I nearly blew myself up about ten minutes ago,” Tony says. 

 “Again?” Peter laughs, trying not to burst into tears.

 Tony nods solemnly. “Again.” He starts his story, and Peter leans his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes.

 He’s Peter Parker, from District Twelve. He’s alive. And he’s got a father again.