#space suit replica

[rabbitcruiser]

Apollo program: Apollo 11’s crew successfully makes the first manned landing on the Moon in the Sea of Tranquility. Americans Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first humans to walk on the Moon (July 21 UTC) on July 20, 1969.

[grandlinedreams]

Hello!! Hope you’re well !! <3 if you’re still taking requests, can I request a cute scenario of reader who’s into crafts? Like she sews up shachi and penguin’s hats when they’re a little torn, she mends to the suits and makes patches for them time to time, and what law thinks of it? Would he want something too??? Would plushies that look like the heart pirate crew be scattered ???

Hope that’s not a weird idea, sending you good vibes and a good day !!

Oh, that's cute and not weird at all, no worries!! But i can absolutely do my best, I hope that this is to your liking!!

[Heads up!:fluff w a tiny pinch of angst, now i wanna find the materials to make mini Heart Pirates]

"Here's your hat back, Shachi."

Law watches from where he's slowly sipping his coffee, watching the redhead take the familiar cap back from you for inspection.

"Thanks, [name]. It looks good as new!"

You beam at the praise. "It was nothing, least I could do when it means so much to you."

Law's eyes drift over Shachi's hat. The hole that'd been torn into the dorsal fin is gone, previous damage unnoticeable as Shachi puts it on.

You'd fixed Penguin's hat the week before, mended something for Bepo before that, and for Hakugan the week before that ㅡ all within spare moments when you could find them, with a skill not born from a devil fruit.

No, your talent with needle and thread is your own. Sometimes Law wonders if you're ever tired of it ㅡ but when he asks, you shake your head.

"No, I don't mind. It's the least I can do, I think."

There's something sad to your tone as you say it, an undercurrent that makes Law frown and wonder what you mean by that.

ㅡ

"[Name]."

Law's call of your name makes you jolt, the case in your lap tipping to scatter the contents across the floor. Bobbins of every color wheel aimlessly, and you stare at the mess before you kneel to begin picking them up. "You startled me," you say, tone accusatory as you glance at Law. "Did you need something, captain?"

"My apologies." Law bends to pick up the few that have rolled to his feet before he hands them to you, fingers brushing yours. "I wanted to ask, ifㅡ" He catches a pop of color where you'd been sitting, and he blinks. "What is that?"

You follow his line of vision and tense. "Nothing!" You reach to hide it behind your back, and Law's eyes narrow.

"[Name]."

"It's nothing!" You scowl when Law lifts a hand. "Captain, don't you dareㅡ"

"Room. Shambles."

The item in your hand is replaced by a bobbin, and Law stares down at what you'd tried so hard to hide. It's made of soft fabric, tiny boiler suit carefully stitched ㅡ a small replica of Bepo.

"It's dumb," you say, voice small as you look anywhere but at your captain. "I know, but i had a bunch of space fabric so i...made mini versions of the crew. And...of you."

Law isn't sure how to react to the fact that there's currently a plush somewhere made in his likeness, but he still rubs his thumb over plush Bepo's forehead affectionately. "And you?"

"Hm?"

His eyes lock with yours. "Did you make one of yourself? You're part of the crew too, [Name]."

"Oh," you answer. "No, I didn't."

Law watches you, struggles with what to say to you that won't either make you both uncomfortable or breach the line of captain and crew member.

"Catch." He tosses plush Bepo to you gently, watches as you catch him before he continues. "Make sure to make one of yourself too, [Name]. You're important to this crew. And...to me."

You blink, toying with plush Bepo's arms. "Okay," you murmur. "I can do that." You watch as he moves to leave, what he'd originally come to ask you lost to the momentary embarrassment over his own words and feelings concerning you. "And captain?"

"Hm?"

"You're important to the crew too. And to me."

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will... (Ocean of Grass, Colin Bridgerton x f!Reader)

The Queen opens a new gallery space, and you can barely tear your eyes form the works on the walls, until art starts pouring from the lips by your side.

W/C: ~2.8k Warnings: None I believe A/N: there is a part where writing it was like patting myself on the back, so damn strange. fear not, I am not that up myself. but reader had to simp over smtg.

Stepping onto the marbled flooring of the gallery, you struggled to keep your concentration on the task of putting one foot in front of the other. Eyes locking on the pieces adorning the walls and topping the podiums. The words of greeting hitting your ears from all directions as you began trailing the walls of the space, were forgotten immediately, muscle memory replies rolling off your tongue with ease. The same old people and same old conversations were now framed by works of detail and grace grander than you'd ever had the pleasure of seeing.

The tickle of lace over your arm was the only thing to prompt you back to the world of the Ton, as an elbow hooked through your own and a head weighed down your shoulder. Vanessa, a close family friend, had taken her place by your side, as she often did, leaning into you and squeezing your arm in a silent greeting. Taking a moment you finished following the length of a brushstroke, before you tore your stare away and with a breath, that you held for perhaps a beat too long, looked towards your friend.

'Hello' The bland greeting was all your brain could hope to form at that moment. Your mind was shaken awake as the woman by your side responded simply with a suppressed squeak and a wide-eyed grin.

Her expression held within it a great amount of glee and undoubtedly a grand quantity of gossip, only being held back by the tight-pressed line of her lips, a sight that never failed to elicit a smile of your own. Raising your eyebrows slightly, you opened the floodgates and suddenly you found yourself much more knowledgeable about the events that had preceded your arrival. 

To the best of your understanding; One young lady had swooned at the revealing visage in one of the paintings, The queen had not yet made her appearance yet would most certainly do so soon and many of the mamas and papas had retired to the adjacent tea rooms which many had taken as a sign to converse freely. The latter explained the cacophony you registered now free of your stupor, but it certainly surprised you as you surveyed the room to find the group of your peers crowding a piece only a few meters away. 

'Are they discussing that work? Come, surely this will be interesting' You tugged your friend along as you started towards the trio, Vanessa and you discussed each of your hobbies with each other at length but rarely had the chance to discuss such matters with other members of the Ton.

'I don't believe they ar-' Vanessa's warning was cut short as you greeted the small group, not registering her concern in your excitement. 'Hello!'

Looking to the women closest who turned on the spot to see you, you watched with confusion as their smiles twisted into bitter replicas of kindness, each of them giving a nod to you, a small curtsey to the art and turning to walk away.

'Where are yo-' Your words trailed off, your eyes on the receding figures of the other debutantes, as Vanessa spoke up from beside you;

'Good afternoon Mr. Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton' From your peripherals you watched her curtsey, you followed suit before you had thought to comprehend why.

'Good afternoo- OH' Your realization wasn't loud, but it wasn't silent either, so truly you shouldn't have been as startled as you were when a pair of matching chuckles were heard from the men in front of you.

'We did not mean to interrupt, we were under the impre-' Vanessa was silenced as Colin Bridgerton shook his head slightly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he spoke up in a lilting tone; 

'No need to apologize. Who would we be to be upset with such beautiful company? We are truly a lucky pair of gentlemen.' 

A minuscule bow of your head and a flash of a smile that you refused to let within a mile of your eyes, crossed your expression before you were blinking your eyes into focus. Looking to the older Bridgerton with a gaping expression Vanessa had, long ago, coined as prized koi, you found your voice a moment too late.

'Amidst my travels-'

'Mr Bridgerton, You are an artist are you not? What are your thoughts on the collection thus far?' You had spoken at the same time and inadvertently cut off Colin. Your mind catching up with your mistake had you countering your question with a rushed apology to the man at your left; 'I am so sorry Mr. Bridgerton, please go on,' Looking up at him you matched the warm smile he sent you as best you could despite the heat in your cheeks.

'It is no problem at all, I was simply saying-'

This time it was Benedict who interrupted his brother with a waving hand of dismissal and a much too-happy-with-himself smirk, at which the younger simply scoffed.

'I am indeed, I was studying for a while but have found the natural approach to growing my abilities to be more fulfilling. I have found some of the pieces featuring the Welsh townships inexplicitly compelling, the detail and depth given to the cobblestones is startling.'  

'That sounds...' You began before pausing somewhat taken aback by the fullness of his answer.

'Compelling' you finished before shifting to the balls of your feet, peering back over the crowd to search the walls for the works Benedict spoke of. 

'And what of this one?' A new voice spoke from behind you, Viscount Edward Lowe had approached and looked to the piece that hung behind the Bridgerton men.

You felt Vanessa's arm slip from your own, as she met your eyes, tilting her head to the side, you nodded in return, assuring her you would be fine should she take her leave. 

'Mr Lowe' Benedict greeted, 'Grown a sudden interest in the arts have you?'

'Not so much as I have found in my betrothed.' Smiling to yourself at the glance the couple shared, you watched as Vanessa took his offered arm and stepped away from the three of you.

'They make a charming couple do they not?' You mused to seemingly no one, not waiting for the opinions of the brothers before shifting yourself to study to the work framed on the wall. 'I find the colouring of this one to be concerningly bland, as if the artist had naught but three hues on his palette and was unaware he could mix them.' Your words pulled a laugh from Benedict while Colin remained silent, 'I apologise if that was too cruel,' Looking towards the latter you found him shaking his head slightly as if to dismiss your apology, and still your eyes remained on his silent figure for a few moments longer even as his brother began to speak.

Benedict was fast to fill the silence, eyes trained on the artwork as he shifted to fill the space to your right,

'I agree, it makes the work come off hollow, as if he, himself felt disconnected from the scene he stood amongst, which if that is the case I would ask him why he desired to commit it to canvas.'

'Perhaps his intention was indeed to spur discourse over that distant feeling?' You mused, attempting to refrain from overly critical comments going forth. 'What do you think Mr Bridgerton?' As you addressed the younger of the two, you watched him glance towards the art, eyes roaming the surface with some obscure purpose.

'The- um, the reds are a strange choice for such trees that don't shed with the seasons' He was softspoken yet the charm of his tone was absent, a vulnerable air to his persona that was rare to see amidst Society. 

Nodding to yourself as you let your own eyes fall back upon the art, you attempted to consider the implications of such a choice. Benedict, on the other hand, seemed not similarly inclined as he started his assertion, 'The warm shades are a strange choice but I doubt it was a pensive decision. He seems unable to make use of any cooler tones. The brush strokes in that area, however, are not dissimilar to that of a toddler with their fingers dipped in mud. Pure chaos. So perhaps he aims to discuss the unpredictability of the natural world.' 

Colin's face was more unsure than ever, clearly out of his comfort zone and flanked by two enthusiasts was surely not the easiest position to be in.

'Perhaps the red of the trees work to add to that chaos Mr. Bridgerton, the artist certainly could have made them brown. Most trees do reach that colour as they die.' You had averted your eyes to the older of the pair, hoping to give the younger a moment to collect his confidence which, to all appearances, he managed, as within moments he spoke again.

'I-I also find the textures... quite... realistic' His voice was still low and somewhat unsure of himself, this was of course not helped by the immediate response, once again, of his brother nor the brow quirked in amusement that accompanied it.

'You find the flat orange expanse of grass, with no discernible brush strokes, accurate?' 

'Mr Bridgerton, if that is how your brother experiences the work is that not a testament to the nature of art itself as a concept that is entirely subjective' Your rebuttal, if it even counted as that, was weak and somewhat irrelevant, even so when Colin spoke next his voice was notedly more settled.

'It follows memories of mine of hills of grass in the wind, moving as the ocean does not as singular blades but as a fabric of silken thread.'

To say his words caught you off guard would be inadequate to describe the buzz and ache that filled your mind and chest at his observation. Everything aside from the artwork and his presence by your side fell from thought. Benedict's lips were moving, that much you were sure of, although that wasn't much of an accomplishment as even the man in the painting could surely hear his opinions.

Colin's words were still floating through your mind, drifting in and out, painting the picture within your head, the image, as clear as it was beautiful. He had set out the details so masterfully you doubted more than a select few painters could compete at rendering such a scene.

Looking up at the man by your side you watched as he rolled his eyes, exasperated as a bright blush crawled over the peaks of his cheekbones. You were startled when his observation fell on you once more, this time partnered with a touch of confusion as he glanced to his brother and back. 

'Are you quite alright?' You watched his lips form the words and still they took comparable years to reach your ears, not to mention the decade it took for you to splutter out a response.

'Oh, I'm quite alright, thank you Mr Bridgerton.' Shifting on your feet you glance to the art before settling your attention on the elder brother, hoping to remain grounded in conversation, 'Art has a way of consuming my attention, although usually, I can maintain focus on the discussion and not drift into thought'

A bright smile broke over Benedict's face in jest as he clasped a hand on the other man's shoulder, 'It seems we are boring her dear brother,' 

'Oh, I assure you that is not the case. You have both given me so much to consider I simply couldn't stop my mind from wandering.' Looking up to Colin you hoped he knew you spoke of his words, and as his eyes met yours you watched his signature smile bloom on his face.

Nonetheless, breathless, you spoke up again, 'I apologise for my rudeness.' His expression melted every ounce of tension in the air and like a windswept hill allowed you to breathe easy.

Keeping his gaze on yours he leaned closer, barely an inch, un-noticeable from afar but up close it was enough to have your breath catching in your chest as his lips parted in a whisper; 'Best to save that for the art hm?' His smile, was now a full-blown smirk as he straightened himself. You could swear his movement had stolen the heat from your skin as he retreated those measly few centimetres to stand back by your side, this time, however, he extended an arm for you to take.

'Shall we move on to the next one? I am eager to hear how you shall tear it apart-' the last second of his speech was cut short by the blaring trumpet that announced Her Majesty's arrival, 'We shall have to save that for later...' Your words, although a whisper, were stronger than you thought you could manage given the nerves plaguing your chest, and surprisingly, your composure was strong enough to allow yourself to retreat to the other side of the room. Stopping short of the wall you stopped, finding yourself alongside your friend and her husband-to-be, stationed by the refreshments... exactly what you needed.

The queen had not spoken for long, but the air in the room had grown hot, so aching for a breeze you stepped outside the moment her speech concluded. Walking clear of the tiled path that hugged the exterior of the gallery you landed amongst the grass of the gardens, traversing the plains your eyes hovered around the horizon, cloaked in statues, hedges, and shrubbery it trapped your attention. You charted the curves of green, trailing your hand against the leaves as you strolled, turn after turn until hedges eight feet high were all you could see.

The maze was not a difficult one to escape, you had surely only rounded a few corners, but the peace was difficult to pull yourself away from. It was simply you, the wind, the trees, and a single set of footfalls.

'Mr. Bridgerton' Startled yet relieved, you stepped to the middle of the path, away from the branches and towards the approaching figure as he rounded the turn. 'What are you doing out here?'

'Am I not to be?' His question was teasing and the smirk across his lips broke the charade of his concerned tone as he continued, 'In that case, you shouldn't be out here either...'

'I-I only meant-' your words were forced out through breaths that grew ever more shallow as he drew closer.

'Why am I here? That's what you meant isn't it?' Now, standing mere inches from you, his voice was quiet, barely audible above the rustle of the leaves and the whistle of the wind. 

'Yes, that's what I meant. Why are you out her-' Feeling small under his gaze you set your stare on somewhere through his chest, a far-off distance blocked by his being just as your question was halted by his voice,

'Guess.' 

'The wind is moving today, the grass, the trees, they do as you said. You came out to feel it for yourself?' The guess was the best you could produce that wasn't corrupted by the heaving of his chest and the depth of his voice. His lips parted though you beat him to it as you questioned him further, 'Why are you breathing so heavily?'

Reaching forward at a snail's pace you sought out his eyes only to find them affixed to your hand as it drifted nearer, 'Mr-'

'"Colin", please' his correction was soft as he inched forth, his chest leaning into the touch as he sighed at the contact.

'Colin, why?'

Encasing your hand within his own as he held it to his breast, he parted his lips once more, 'Listen to the trees, the branches, the leaves. They breathe as we do, as one. Like waves crashing upon the shore,' With a deep breath in his chest pressed into your fingers, 'before returning to the depths,' With a shaky sigh you found yourself emptying your lungs alongside the man in front of you.

Holding his eyes with your own you slipped your hand free, the flash of pain across his eyes faded instantly as you turned his wrist, pressing his palm to your skin.

'Waves crashing down on the sand' your voice is low yet resolute as you breathe in, Colin following suit, 'Before finding its way to the depths...' Raising yourself to your toes you press your lips to his. Releasing your breath, no sooner have your heels returned to the grass than his hand has found your waist and pulled you back to him.

[k1ngdom-of-thieves]

Could I request headcanons of Ruggie, Trey, and Jamil with an s/o who's good at textile design 🪡 (sewing, knitting, embroidery, etc)?

Of course!! Also, did you guys know that Crewel’s name isn’t just a play on “Cruel”, it’s also a type of embroidery?

Ruggie, Trey, and Jamil + S/O that’s good at textile design!

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie won’t say it out loud, but he really does like it when you give him things you embroidered. It makes him feel special; knowing that you went out of your way to give him something handmade.

He is definitely flaunting your work to anyone willing to listen. And some who aren’t. It’s gotten to the point where even Leona knows about your skills.

The best way to get him to practically swoon is by patching up some of his old clothes without being asked. Something about you noticing it and going out of your way for him makes the poor guy’s heart flutter.

He’s gonna try to get you to make a business out of your skills. There’s definitely a market out there for custom embroidery, and you two could definitely get in on it!

“Hey, just think about it. You could make a killing doing this for the students. They’d pay a stupid amount of cash to make them stand out a little!”

Trey Clover

Trey enjoys watching you work on your projects. He loves how focused you are and how much you love doing it.

He’d never ask you to, he knows how stressful it is to be a student here already, but he’d love it if you put some of your own touches on his clothing.

Finds himself getting inspired by your work while thinking of how to decorate his cakes. Obviously frosting and fondant are very different from string, so it isn’t a perfect replica, but he does get pretty close to it.

Going back to an earlier point, if you embroider something small like roses or really anything you’d like, he would spend forever admiring each and every detail.

“How you can add so much detail on such a small space is something I can never understand. It’s really incredible.”

Jamil Viper

While I’m sure Jamil has some skill with a needle, it’s mostly just to stitch up some holes quickly. He honestly doesn’t think about it until he sees what you’re able to do with it.

He’s very impressed with your patience while sewing, he knows that he’d get frustrated if he attempted something similar.

If you give him something you made yourself he’d treat it like it was made of gold. He hardly lets anyone touch it, partly out of fear of damaging it and partly out of his own pride.

He enjoys watching you plan out your next projects, helping you choose the colors and designs. If you ask nicely, he might model some of them for you.

“Does this look how you pictured it? It does suit me quite well, I must admit.”

[jesncin]

This might just be me, but I try to make the House of El shield more about the negative space to make it more alien and less 'S' centric

Oh it's not just you, I've seen both fanartists and canon works (MAWS, James Gunn's Kingdom Come-esuque logo, the comics too) that lean towards making the "S" look more alien looking and I get the reasoning behind it!

In the YA graphic novel The Harvests of Youth, a character calls attention to the negative space in the design specifically, and it smartly pays off in the final panel of the comic that I don't want to spoil! Read it, it's pretty good.

I personally like to draw Clark (and Conner!) wielding the more "S" looking symbol as a means of showing how he's several layers removed from his culture, and a nod to how Ma Kent (who made his outfit) translated it to something more recognizable for the people of Earth.

it narratively plays into how he wants to assimilate and the "lost in translation" aspect that happens when Ma Kent created the suit. It's a silly thing- but it makes me think about how when I was little and my family migrated to America, we didn't have any cultural clothes to wear for a heritage event at school. My mom sewed Timorese clothes out of what she had available, and got emotional seeing us wear what she made- even when we were so far from home. It wasn't a perfect replica, but that's what made it special.

It's a matter of preference in the end! I'm just attached to what Smashes the Klan brought into the meaning of the S.

[carionto]

Humans seem to have a "switch"

Team building exercises and competitive events are commonplace around the Galaxy. Everyone needs a distraction from the daily grind every now and then, and large organizations and long-term deployments make it essential for such "ice-breaker" activities, both to help integrate newcomers as well as reduce the chance of veterans becoming numb to life.

Yarvut Lyetzsnezhniiy had recently been assigned as a Cultural Analyst to the Human embassy aboard the Coalition Governing Station. While highly professional on the job and quite amicable, but wasn't all that into small talk, and once the workday was over, he was gone. No overtime, no hanging out, nothing.

When time came for the next publicly broadcast Cross-Embassy Game Series, where as many members from each species represented would be paired up with each other over the course of several days and partake in a game both agreed to in advance. Most of these were of the mental variety, and were honestly kinda boring to observe, but some pairings opted for more... active activities.

On the second day the Humans and another bipedal species called the Jorval had agreed to a competition not dissimilar to laser tag. This had actually been proposed by the previous Cultural Analyst and recently been added to the roster with some modifications. Two teams of, in this case, 15 participants on each side, as that was how many Humans were available that day without hindering the core operations of their embassy, so a few Jorvals had to sit out.

They entered a large spherical room with about a 300 meter diameter. Once they were done with the formalities, rules about safety, and yadda yadda - they turned off the gravity. Using small boosters on their heels, knees, elbows, and back, the teams floated to their starting locations on opposite ends of the sphere. And now the obstacles gently puttered in from all sides, turning a pristine empty space into a jungle of jarringly colored geometric shapes, natural looking plant replicas, and numerous traversable but obscuring meshes that come in all colors and patterns. Where once you could observe the entire area from anywhere, now there were scarcely any vistas that would allow one to see more than 50 meters away.

All for a simple capture the flag laser tag game. The Jorval have fairly long lifespans and, though they have not engaged in any wars for generations, military training is compulsory and seen as a matter of course by most of their society, so even the most desk-dedicated office workers are in generally good shape and have some reflexive combat moves at the ready. The Human team on the other hand, had one guy who used to be in the army... 40 years ago, two had taken up martial arts as a hobby, and Yarvut who turns out was an air-soft enthusiast. The rest were your typical either slightly too thin or too thick office workers when it came to their physical readiness.

Before the signal to start, the army guy, Brandon, gave out some tips and pointers, though it was likely going over everyone's heads as they tried to adjust to moving around in zero-g. No sooner had the game started, Yarvut dashed off on his own. Everyone did kinda feel he might do a lone wolf thing, but that, unsurprisingly, was short lived, as not even the two minute mark had struck when Yarvut found himself ambushed from three sides and was now locked in his suit gently pressed up against a tree-like obstacle with a modest view of the Jorval turf.

It would be a best of three, and, predictably, the first match ended with a strong Jorval victory by the seventeenth minute mark. However, it was not a total wipeout as the initial minutes might have suggested. Half of the remaining Humans were taken out within five, but by then Brandon had gotten used to moving in all directions and keeping tabs on the z-axis as well, and was coordinating a defensive tactic with the remaining members. He knew they would lose this match, but he was bent on making the Jorval earn it and show him what they could really do. In the end, every Human was taken out, and the Jorval had lost only three members, though all of which fell victim to the final holdout against just four Humans.

When it was time to swap home bases for the next match, before Brandon could start elaborating on his new tactics, Yarvut surprised everyone by huddling everyone together for a tactical discussion himself. From his position early on he was left with nothing else to do but carefully and calmly observe how the Jorval moved, where they focused their sights on, how close they tend to stick to each other, and other minor details which Brandon was deeply impressed by. Using this newfound perspective and knowledge, Brandon came up with a far more refined strategy for both offense and defense.

Seemingly bolstered by the humiliating defeat, the rest of them were also more motivated, and the entire Human team now gave off, what the neutral observers of the games described as, a different aura. Like something had flipped, that turned this group of people they knew and worked with and respected and generally liked, into something menacing, a focused machine almost. The look in their eyes through the visors sent shivers down most everyones spines or equivalents whenever a camera operator decided to do a zoom in.

Upon the start signal, the Humans split into five squads, one pair on defense duty, one four person team on patrol around the immediate vicinity, and three squads of three on offense, taking the longest route all around the edge of the sphere going for a three-sided ambush of the Jorval's home turf. It was amazing to see how much smoother and more coordinated each Human moved now, when before it was the first time most of them were expected to maneuver in zero-g using suits they had never worn before. You could literally see them adapting and intuitively getting a better by the minute at handling the booster-based movement, and navigating and keeping tabs on all three dimensions. Some were better at it than others, but even the most clumsy of the Humans was still visibly more comfortable now than thirty minutes ago.

The patrol squad had a quick skirmish with a Jorval scout, paralyzing his legs before he made a rapid retreat and taking no wounds themselves. Then a minute of silence, interrupted by a burst of activity coming from the Jorval base, then another minute of silence.

Yarvut was the only of the attack squad members to return, his left arm paralyzed, but he rushed past the defense members to plant the enemy flag in their base and take the win. It was now 1-1.

Another huddle, nobody even needed to call for it, now everyone on the Human team had fully switched to "hunter mode", as a Human audience member called it.

The third and deciding match wasn't even close. Once again, five squads, but this time three each and all in attack formation. They did not give the Jorval even time to fully disperse before the Humans came barreling through the obstacles just thirty seconds after the start signal. Shock and awe - every Jorval was taken out in the next twenty seconds, no Human losses.

Combining what everyone conveyed about their opponents from the second match with Yarvut's keen observations from the first, Brandon figured the Jorval were behaving in a standardized and heavily drilled pattern and would likely repeat it for the third, perhaps with minor alterations expecting another three-way ambush or some other sneaky and delayed attack. Their scout had also not arrived all that fast, so they must have trained to be very methodical in their approach. Brandon also employed a methodical defense the first time, then a coordinated precision strike, so, naturally, it was time for a sledgehammer approach.

And it worked beautifully, completely catching everyone off guard, even the audience. Blink and you missed the entire action. Everyone knows Humans can be reckless and even downright crazy, but to witness them going full "hunter mode" was a first for practically all observers. And this was just some office workers and an elderly former low ranking soldier. What kind of monsters were their actual well trained and fully geared up soldiers then?

_______________________

I really want to limit how much I describe the sentient aliens as they are not the focus of these stories, but it would be awkward to keep saying "those bipedal aliens", so a compromise this time. How they look beyond bipedal I'll leave entirely to your imagination.

[foundress0fnothing]

and kisses are a better fate than wisdom

Summary: Feyre drags her sisters to Medieval Times to ogle the hot king. Nesta drags Emerie and Gwyn to Medieval Times for support and hater solidarity. And maybe to ogle some hot knights.

Rated E, Chapter 1/6, ~2.9k words

For @nessianweek ♥️

This fic is brought to you by an ER visit and antibiotics! I had intended to have the Nessian section of this complete, but then life kicked my ass, and so all I have to offer you today is a beginning. The Nessian smut chapter will be my next update to the fic, and then I’ll write chapters for all the other pairs (eventually and as the horny mood strikes).

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

“What the fuck, Feyre?” 

Nesta started in horror at the seemingly endless train of middle schoolers who were being led past the ticket window. Three jostled Nesta’s bag as they scuttled past, and she glared after them. Not that it did any good—they just dissolved into shrieking giggles as they careened around the space, narrowly missing the suit of armor standing in the corner of the large atrium. “Please tell me you didn’t have me call out of work for this.”

“Of course she didn’t, Nesta,” Elain said, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Our dear sister would only text us “Need you at the mall, personal emergency, please come ASAP” if it was for something really, really serious.” She looked pointedly at Feyre. “Right, Feyre?”

Feyre at least had the decency to look a little guilty. “He’s just…so hot, guys,” she mumbled, blushing.

“Oh my god.” Rolling her eyes, Nesta turned away from her sister’s embarrassed face to take in the spectacle that was apparently going to consume the next two hours of her life if the sign above the ticket window could be believed:

Brace yourself for approximately two hours of heart-pounding excitement! You’ll see lance-shattering jousting, clashing swordsmanship, and thrilling hand-to-hand combat! Join us for an unforgettable experience!

When Feyre told Nesta and Elain to meet her by the fake castle façade, Nesta had assumed it was only because it was easily recognizable and about as far away from Feyre’s waitressing job at the Cheesecake Factory as it could be while still technically being part of the mall. 

She did not expect that Feyre actually wanted her to spend time—not to mention 60 fucking dollars—in this tacky monstrosity. 

And “tacky” was a generous description of the space around her. Between the suit of armor in the corner, the display cases lining the room stuffed with replicas of weapons and garishly colored flags, and the entire wall devoted to headshots of all the idiots who were involved in the whole farce, Nesta found very little here that made her want to linger any longer than she absolutely had to.

But—it had been so long since her littlest sister had shown interest in anyone since she broke up with that god-awful trust fund manager Tamlin, and that interest, combined with Feyre’s palpable youngest sibling energy, softened Nesta enough to stay. Begrudgingly.

“It could be fun!” Feyre tried, but she was looking at the picture of whoever the “so hot” cast member was who prompted this nonsense in the first place as she said it, so Nesta didn’t trust her judgment anymore. She refused to look at the cast pictures. What use did she have for role-playing nerds or gym bros who used the guise of a medieval joust to hit at each other like brutes? No thanks.

She sighed and pulled out her phone to text her best friends and coworkers Emerie and Gwyn to take their lunch break and come over.  “I’m not about to suffer through this alone.” Their law office was only a few blocks away, and Nesta only felt the tiniest bit guilty about condemning them to a few hours of campy spectacle. What were friends for if not to hate watch something with you as a favor to your little sister?

That made Feyre turn away from the cast picture wall as she gestured indignantly between herself and Elain. “We’re here!” 

“You don’t count anymore, Feyre.”

“Well, what about Elain?”

Nesta scoffed lightly. “She’ll probably end up liking it somehow, and then I’ll have no one to complain with.” Elain stuck her tongue out although she didn’t deny it, and Nesta hummed in satisfaction at being right. She hadn’t missed the way Elain had also been looking at the wall of cast members, lingering for a few moments on the head shot of one of the knights who bore a distinctive red ponytail.

Nesta looked back at her phone and saw messages of confused confirmation from Emerie and Gwyn agreeing to meet her there, and so she went back to the ticket window to buy seats for them. Maybe she’d expense them—company bonding and all that bullshit.

By the time she returned to the corner where her sisters were standing, Gwyn and Emerie had joined them, and Nesta shook her head, forestalling the question that she could see forming on her friends’ lips. “Don’t ask.”

Emerie snorted. “You think I’m not going to have questions after you text us in the middle of the work day demanding that we take off and come to Medieval Times? Be serious Nesta.”

“Maybe she’s finally lost it,” Gwyn shrugged. “The Hybern case cracked her.”

“That case drives me to drink, not to willfully agree to a two hour long lobotomy.”

Feyre glared. “Stop being such a spoilsport. We’re here to ogle hot guys. You should be on board.”

“Hmmm, $60 to watch grown men play dress up and cover anything interesting with armor. Sign me up.”

An announcement overhead began, urging audience members to find their seats before the beginning of the show.

Feyre grinned and flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Well, good thing you already bought a ticket then, Nesta.” And with that, she hooked her arm around Elain’s, turned, and flounced into the darkened hall that led to the arena.

“Walked right into that one, babe.”

“Shut up, Em.”

Emerie flashed a smile and started following Feyre down the hall. “Do you think there’ll only be hot guys? Because that’s really gonna put a damper on the next two hours for me.”

“From a place like this?” Nesta gestured around to the kitschy, rustic decor. “I doubt we’re going to find any brave, gender-role defying performances here. I think the best you can hope for is a hot tavern wench.”

“Desperate times, I suppose.” Emerie sighed dramatically. “Perfect people must endure so much in this life.”

Gwyn giggled from where she was walking behind them. “And what would you know about that, Em?”

Emerie flipped her off without turning around, and Gwyn added, “But who knows? Maybe this’ll be great! Maybe we’ll find true lo—”

“Stop—don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Nesta stopped walking and turned to face Gwyn. You’re only here to be a hater with me.”

“Nesta—”

“No—this is a Valkyrie law office pact. You have to hate this with me. Don’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a guy in a tin can.” She whirled back around to Emerie. “Or a wench in too-tight stays. We’re better than that.”

Her friends nodded silently, and Nesta chose to ignore the knowing looks they gave each other in favor of turning back around and marching toward the opening to the arena. It was a large, airy room with rising wooden stands that ringed a sandy, clear oval in the middle of the space. There were oversize flags and banners hanging from the ceiling designating four different sections that corresponded to the different knights, and a dias, where the king would oversee whatever nonsense was about to happen.

Feyre and Elain had already grabbed their seats along a wooden, almost picnic-style bench in the first row of what was apparently the Red Knight’s section. Wenches were circulating, taking drink orders, and Nesta made sure to order a glass of wine—a large glass of wine—before she sat down. Needs must. Gwyn and Emerie quickly followed suit, and it wasn’t long before the lights in the stands dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd.

There was a distant stamping sound, and then all of a sudden, four knights on horseback burst out of a door at the far end of the arena, galloping around the perimeter of the arena. The audience erupted into cheers at the sight of the knights, and Nesta felt her mouth go dry.

Holy. Shit. 

She felt Gywn lean over to whisper in her ear. “Are we still better than that, Nesta? Because…” She trailed off, but Nesta didn’t need her to finish her sentence.

Because Holy. Fucking. Shit.

All but one of the knights weren’t wearing their helmets yet, and each one was intensely, unfairly gorgeous. 

There was the red and yellow knight whose long red hair streamed out behind him as he circled the arena. He was tall and wickedly handsome, even with a rough scar bisecting the left side of his face. Small charms and beads woven into individual strands caught the overhead lights and made him look like he was glowing with some inner light. 

The next knight was his opposite in every way. Clothed in black with accents of a deep blue, he seemed to swallow the light as he rode a lap around the arena. He was imposing and muscled and almost unfairly beautiful for a man. Especially for a man wearing fake armor, Nesta reminded herself, shaking her head and closing her mouth from how it had gaped open slightly at his appearance.

The green knight rode in after him, his helmet still on, and Nesta idly wondered why he alone would still be wearing his helmet. Was he self-conscious? Or just not a cocksure, handsome asshole like the first two knights? Whatever the reason, he was clearly an excellent horseman. His seat was agile and easy, and the two of them together moved like they were caught in some dance with music only they could hear. 

But Nesta didn’t have time to linger on why this knight was still wearing his helmet, or how well he rode a horse, because any thoughts she had were quickly replaced by the sight of the red knight. He was almost like a brother to the blue knight, but almost impossibly larger. It was as if he was made entirely of muscle—Nesta could see as much even with his armor covering almost everything except his neck and head. His skin was a deep brown and his hair, long and black and wavy, had been gathered into a messy half ponytail. He was a warrior, that much was clear, and Nesta had no idea how someone who looked like that could possibly exist in today’s world. He looked like Arthur, or Gawain, or Lancelot—someone from myths created centuries ago. 

“Shit, shit, shit there he is!” Feyre yanked on Nesta’s arm to drag her attention away from the red knight and point out—not subtly, mind you—the reason they were all here in the first place. The king who presided over the arena and the tournament had just stepped onto a platform situated against one of the walls. He was tall and dark-haired, and the kind of attractive that had from money written all over him. Not that someone who was from money would want to work at a place like this. But still—something about the smug smile and the glint in his eyes as he surveyed “his kingdom” made Nesta shudder slightly. No thanks. 

She turned a skeptical eye toward Feyre. “Him? Out of all of them?” She asked, gesturing to the knights who were bringing their horses to a rest in front of the dias. “You’re going with him?”

“What?” Feyre turned to Nesta in shock. “Do you have eyes?”

“Do you?”

Feyre crossed her arms in front of her chest, turning back to look at the king. “He’s clearly the hottest one here.”

“Okay, Feyre,” Nesta said, pursing her lips and deciding to let the argument drop. If he did it for her sister, then so be it. 

She turned back to the center of the arena to see that all of the knights had come to a stop in a line. The crowd was murmuring, pointing at the assembled men and occasionally whooping for their assigned knight. The red knight was looking over at their section, his eyes locked on Nesta. When he realized that she saw him, he winked and gave a small bow with his head. Nesta scowled, ignoring the spark of interest that flared to life somewhere in her chest. She would not let herself be flustered by a Medieval Times actor. She wouldn’t. 

The king raised a hand, and the crowd quieted. “My loyal subjects!” His voice, low and smooth, boomed over the gathered crowds. “I am his Royal Majesty, King Rhysand. Thank you for joining me here today to watch as the heroic knights of the kingdom fight for honor and for glory.” 

Nesta looked at Emerie and Gwyn and raised her eyebrows at his theatrics. Gwyn giggled, and the king’s gaze flashed over to where they were seated, roving over their group until his eyes landed on Feyre. His smile at the sight of her was sickeningly self-satisfied, and Nesta turned to see Feyre flush at his attention. 

“I am honored that so many handsome lords and fair maidens,” he continued, winking at Feyre, “decided to join me to welcome my court today. I don’t yet have a queen to join me in my revels, but perhaps I shall find her amongst your number today.” Nesta watched as Feyre, impossibly, flushed even deeper. She rolled her eyes.

“That is, unless you lose your heart to one of my knights.” Rhysand gestured toward the knights in front of him. “My friends! Introduce yourself to my honored guests!”

One by one, the knights stepped their horses forward, bowed to Rhysand, and called out their names. Sir Lucien. Sir Azriel. It was like they were characters out of some long-forgotten medieval tale, their names at once ancient and eternal. If those were actually their real names. Nesta doubted it. 

The green knight stepped his horse forward, and Nesta wondered if he would finally take off his helmet. He obliged Nesta’s request, and she realized, as a thick braid of lustrous blonde hair dropped on the knight’s shoulder and their face, all softness and full lips, came into view, that this knight was a woman. 

Emerie’s mouth was hanging slightly open at the sight. She leaned across Gwyn to whisper, “Nesta, I love you and I know I said I wouldn’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a wench in stays but,” she said, her eyes never leaving the armored woman, “for a wench in armor? I don’t know you.”

And then it was the red knight’s turn. He bowed slightly to acknowledge the king and said, with a small smirk, “Sir Cassian, your majesty.” 

His voice washed over Nesta, deep and husky and filled with laughter, and she hated that something in her shivered at the sound of it and the sheer power it carried. She wondered, idly if that power extended to other areas of his life.

“And there you have it, my subjects!” The king’s voice rang out again, breaking her out of her rapidly devolving reverie. “Please give a warm welcome to my loyal knights as we begin our tournament!”

The crowd burst into cheers, and the knights smiled and waved at their respective sections, which, in their turn, cheered even more loudly until the entire arena was awash in sound. 

The red knight—Sir Cassian—was looking toward where they were sitting in his section, and, at his wave, Nesta’s sisters and traitorous friends burst into renewed applause and cheers. She took a sip of her wine, pointedly not joining in.

He frowned slightly, and she raised an eyebrow in challenge, taking another drink while maintaining eye contact. He looked away, and she smiled vindictively before turning to berate Emerie and Gwyn for caving so easily.

But before she could say anything, she was interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofbeats and a deep, murmured, “My lady.”

Nesta turned, and there he was at the edge of the arena, sitting astride his giant horse and looking directly at her. He was nearly at eye level with her, even from her seat in the raised stand, and she was struck by just how tall he was. His hands, as they held his horse’s reins, looked massive as well, and she wondered, just for a moment, how they would feel spanning across her waist, her breasts, her—

She shook her head and scowled at him. “Me? No, thank you.”

He only smirked at her refusal before continuing on. “While it used to be tradition that maidens would give tokens to their favored knights before a tournament, here in the arena, it is the knights who give tokens to their ladies,” he said, pulling a red silken handkerchief out of a pocket somewhere—did suits of armor have pockets?—and held it out to her.

Nesta crossed her arms, reminded herself that he was just a guy in a tin can, and scowled. “I’m not your lady.”

“And yet, I still have a token for you.” He kept his arm outstretched and met her gaze. “Only you.”

His eyes—distractingly smudged with eyeliner—were a lovely shade of hazel, and they sparked with warmth and mirth as he looked at her. From this close, she could see that he had earrings as well—small red studs in each lobe and tiny golden hoops along his cartilage. He looked charming and wicked and roguish, and Nesta found that she couldn’t tear her gaze away—that she didn’t want to.

And, well, she was only human. Who could blame her for being interested? 

But she wouldn’t cave that easily, so she said, instead,  “Not until you earn it.”

Something flared in his eyes at the challenge, and he said, easily and certainly, “As my lady commands.” He left the red handkerchief on the table in front of Nesta and went to prepare for the tournament.

As he rode away, Feyre turned to her with a shit-eating grin. “Having fun yet, Nesta?”

“Shut up, Feyre.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Rootin' Tootin' Real Estate. This 2002 mansion in Milton, Georgia has a wing that's a replica of the wild west town Tombstone, Arizona circa 1800s. (What a great place for a laser tag shootout.) 4bds, 8ba, $8.950M.

Mosey on down the center of town and head into your own saloon.

So, here's the saloon.

This looks like the entrance to the brothel.

There are 2 guest powder rooms down here.

Not sure if there are actual 2nd floors in these buildings.

And, here's the old bath house. There are 15,000 sq. ft. of unfinished space in the basement, so you could expand this, if you want, or make something else.

The house is pretty grand. The sitting room has a curved wall of windows and a huge fireplace.

The kitchen is very big and has a large island, plus a curved counter that seats 6, as well as a separate dining area.

This a family room off the kitchen with a beautiful stone wall and fireplace.

And, there's a library, too.

As with all mansions there are sitting rooms all over the house and this one has a bar w/9 stools. There are so many glass walls and double doors in this house.

Beautiful hallway.

The primary bedroom has a full size sitting area and double doors to a patio.

Very large, open en-suite.

Home gym.

Sauna.

Steam room.

And, closet.

The secondary bedrooms are all generously sized, have en-suites and walk-in closets.

Home theater.

This looks like an art studio.

And, the garage has room for 25 cars.

Look at how vast the unfinished basement area is.

There is no pool, but the property is 8.97 acres, so there's plenty room for one.

[lysenfeu]

Devil in the Details •Part 2•

Captain John Prices makes a desperate decision and takes a huge risk to try and resolve his grief.

Rating: Mature

Eventual John Price x Reader

850k words, Slow Burn, Drabble/Short Form Writing

CW: Dark themes, Mentions of death, Grief, Supernatural events, Occultism, Demons, Corruption

(Part 1)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Price wastes no time, the moment he's home he lays the book out flat on his desk and studies the circle intently. His fingers trace over the black marks on the page, eyes poring over every splash of ink, no matter how small or smudged. Each line and symbol burning into his mind.

By the time he bothers to read the warning printed boldly beneath it, the words are meaningless. A hindrance only to someone who has something left to lose. It does nothing to quell his determination, this is no longer a choice he's making but an obligation. A duty he's been forced to accept by his own pride.

He gathers his supplies, the list is rather short but specific. Red chalk, a red candle, a small knife and a small red dish. He shoves his desk out of the way and rolls up the corner of the area rug, making room on the hardwood floor for his work.

He forces the small tremor out of his hands as he carefully marks out the symbols onto the floor with the chalk. There is no room for error in this, each stroke of the chalk must be exact. He must create the perfect replica of the sketch in the grimoire. He lights the candle and places a dab of hot, melted wax on each of the twelve star points. Careful not to disturb the chalk, he places the dish in the dead center of the circle. His nerves thrum in anticipation as he anxiously completes the last step, pricking the tip of his index finger with the knife, allowing a few drops of blood to splash down beneath him.

Finally, it's finished.

The circle crackles and hisses to life, the red outline illuminating itself as a cloud of smoke quickly rises from the centre.

He steps back, eyes wide with awe.

It worked.

~*~

It takes you a moment to recognize the tug behind your navel and the tickle at the back of your mind. It's been at least a decade or two since someone initiated your summoning ritual, you were starting to forget what it felt like. But now you can feel the magic pulling at you, beckoning to you through the newly forged connection. You let it carry you, twisting and turning your form through time and space as you have no choice but to answer the call.

Dark wisps of smoke curl out and flood the space before you as you rise from the centre of your circle. Small blue flames dance along the edges, lighting you with a flickering, dim glow as they spin and swirl in haphazard patterns.

As the haze slowly clears, you're able to take a better look at your surroundings. The room is a decent size, filled with dark wood furniture and leather accents. Small half-full bookshelves run along the wall, facing a large, well-worn leather sofa. An unusually tidy mahogany desk sits between them, shoved further back than usual based on the imprints left on the plush, wool area rug underneath. Not a single skull or a shred of velvet in the whole place.

Hm.

Not necessarily a worrisome sign, but odd nonetheless. The type who usually summon you tended to be more … overt in their interest in the occult, if not downright predictable. The kind of person who always used to break out the Ouija board at sleepovers and then grew up to spend too much time antiquing, looking for just the right candle holder. More crystals than sense, the lot of them.

You weren't especially fearsome, your abilities were far more subtle than most. You weren’t really suited for great acts of revenge or rampant bloodshed, anyone looking for an imposing or dreadful creature would be sorely disappointed with you. To be honest, you were more of a party trick. Your summoners really just wanted you to put on a show. So you would dazzle them with billowing pillars of brightly coloured smoke, making licks of fire dance before their eyes, a truly theatrical production. It was a simple routine: make a grand entrance, flash a little horn and tail, accept the offering, grant the favour, done.

Simple.

Quick.

Easy.

On the face of it at least.

Really though, that was the true fun of it.

They never suspected a thing.

With the smoke cleared, you take a moment and study the reason you're here, forcibly called to this time and place. A man stands before you, tense but still on the other side of your circle. He’s tall and broad, handsome in a rugged and weathered way. You note that he’s well-groomed in a utilitarian fashion, showing no hint of the usual flamboyance or flair you expect from your usual patrons. Interesting. Oh well.

Showtime.

“Tell me why I'm here, human.”

The man takes a deep breath before squaring his shoulders and meeting your eyes with a steady, even gaze.

“I need to make a deal.”

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(Part 3)

A/N: Surpriiiise! *You're* the demon ehehe 😈

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - October 27 - Week 43

Hi friends! Keeping it short and sweet today--because I’m exhausted and crawling back into bed to read. Enjoy and leave comment/kudos for your authors! 

~ 

Love in the Dark by mombasas

The guy who lives in the apartment next to Steve's is a nocturnal sex addict with a complete lack of volume control, and Steve's not going to take that lying down. Or, well.

(Neighbors-with-a-shared-bedroom-wall AU in which Steve and Tony get into a not-so-passive passive-aggressive sex war, despite never having actually met.)

Tony Stark in Grocery Lists by dizzydreamer

Tony Stark is all busy and bright and future, and Steve Rogers is still shaking, still tired.

There is still water in his lungs, and they rattle when he yells, "big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you."

Steve hasn’t quite figured that out yet.

So he keeps a list. '101 things that make Tony Stark tick.'

Only, he guesses he ought to change it. These days '1000 Reasons I'm in Love with Tony Stark' has a much better ring to it. 

Or, Steve is confused about the future. He figures Tony Stark is a good place to start.

malignant is malicious by dizzydreamer 

‘If I kissed you,’ he thinks, somewhere in the kitchen where the sky can barely reach them, ’would you let me?’

‘If I bent the stars to see this, would you tell them our story?’

He is empty space and inches to fill, and Tony Stark knows all of his corners.

‘If I told you I loved you,’ he wonders, ‘would you let me?’

Steve Rogers says nothing. He just sits in the silence of Tony Starks kitchen and tries not to want things so much.

The Good or Bad Thing by petreparkour 

“It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”

“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.

“Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

Who Has Known Heights by MountainRose, szzzt 

Before his injury, Tony had been a fast, intuitive flier: agile in the air, as those of his wingshape usually were, able to tumble and swoop and then trade back the speed for lift, and always get the best of the bargain.

That was how he referred to it; not 'abduction' or 'captivity' or 'maiming' but injury, the most neutral word possible. Though Steve had never, not once heard him call it an accident.

[rabbitcruiser]

Apollo program: Apollo 11’s crew successfully makes the first manned landing on the Moon in the Sea of Tranquility. Americans Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first humans to walk on the Moon (July 21 UTC) on July 20, 1969.

[pastrydragon]

What do the rogues smell like? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I know you probably asked this as a joke but I thought deeply about it anyway so here you go!

Riddler:

Lemon and lavender soaps.

Edward's dad was a hoarder and so Edward has a thing about his space being clean.

when he got his first apartment he kept it obsessively clean and as a side effect of this the place always smelled like the lemon and lavender cleaning products he'd scrubbed the place with.

And since this was the first place Edward ever felt safe, he ended up associating those scents with safety.

So all his soap and cleaning products to this day are either lemon or lavender scented, so he inevitably ends up with a near permanent air freshener like scent.

Scarecrow:

Pumpkin pie now but used to smell like chemicals.

Harley got him a basket of pumpkin spice everything as a gift for his birthday one year after he developed a toxin variation that was particularly pungent and he wasn't gonna waste perfectly good hygiene products!

And he has a genuine love for pumpkin taste so he keeps cans of it around to put in his pancakes every morning.

So yeah, The Master Of Halloween smells like thanksgiving.

You can still smell the chemicals if you get close though.

Mad hatter:

“Iris Poudre” by Frederic Malle, he doesn’t care that it’s a women’s perfume, he wants to smell like a sexy flower garden and everyone else can mind their own business.

Under the perfume he smells like whatever tea he drank that day and possibly like whatever sugary treat he baked to go with it.

Unless he's been in his lab all day, then he smells like metals and plastic.

And once in a blue moon when he needs to do some intense testing, cool ranch Doritos.

Except he never brings food down there with him so how....?

Mr. Freeze:

His condition causes him to have a permanent fresh snow smell which he was pleasantly surprised by.

Like the other scientists on this list carries a kind of "laboratory smell" with him.

His suit smells... weird. Like you can smell that a person was there but there's no sweat smell and its honestly a little off-putting. Luckily he cleans it very regularly.

He used to wear “Angel’s share” by Killian because Nora has good taste and wasn’t gonna let her husband smell like detergent and nothing else.

He'll start wearing it again when she wakes up.

Penguin:

“Tobacco Vanille” by Tom Ford mainly. The man wants to ooze class.

He also wears it because he always has a cigar after his lunch and dinner so he needs to wear something he knows won't clash scents with his Arturo's.

And if you're thinking that smell is strong, that's on purpose.

Oswald has a small group of birds in his atrium that he cares for personally out of affection, and because of that if you get right up close to him you’ll smell bird cage. Not great.

He might also smell like seafood after meals but not really in a bad way, more in a "Well fuck, now I'm craving Red Lobster!" way.

TwoFace:

“REPLICA jazz club” Because before he was Twoface he was a snazzy lawyer who wanted to smell like how big band music sounds.

There's also the medicine he puts on his acid burns which smells exactly how you’d expect it to.

The two mixing together isn't unpleasant but it is a bit confusing to get a whiff of if you don't know who it's coming from.

It smells kinda like an expensive hospital room.

He might also smell like Bloody Mary's if he's had a bad day.

Harley:

“Tutti Fruity Candy” by Bath and bodyworks

Unless she’s going to one of Oswald’s fancy parties, Then she wears “Into The Night”…. Also by bath and bodyworks.

She also smells a bit like bubblegum.

She smells like how a slumber party feels I think.

Just smells like fun!

Catwomen:

Has accumulated an impressive collection of expensive perfumes as gifts from various gentleman friends over the years and uses them almost at random so literally no one knows until she shows up.

She also smells a bit like cats.

Poison Ivy:

ROSES

Like a very aggressive rose smell.

Like you aren’t allowed to wear rose scented perfume in Gotham because it makes people try to evacuate the area.

Ivy could smell like any flower she wanted of course.

But who doesn't love roses?

Bane:

Harley strikes again and got him Dr. Squach products because he's Mr. manly man and she thought it was funny.

He shares John's "waste nothing" philosophy and used all of it, then bought more because he liked it.

His favorite scent is alpine sage but he changes it up sometimes.

He also smells like 24 hour fitness, because obviously.

He might also smell like peanut butter protein shakes.

Bookworm:

Musty dusty book smell.

He smells like a socially awkward moth eaten carpet.

He smells like an old arm chair with a cat sitting in it.

He smells like cocoa butter because he is an ashy bitch who needs to be moisturized.

Please buy him some cologne.

Killer Croc:

Waylon's home may be in the sewer but his home also happens to be beachfront property, so he smells like ocean mainly.

With all his free time between heists and such, Waylon often takes on elaborate cooking projects with a focus on BBQ and smoking meat. Which means he smells like a plethora of kitchen spices, smoke and herbs.

Maybe it's the alligator skin, maybe it's the jackets he wears, but he always smells a little like leather.

So the entire effect is "Bar and grill by the ocean with those really nice leather booths"

Please make him into a cologne.

Music Meister:

He avoids scented products to avoid irritating his respiratory system in any way.

So He just smells like a clean human.

Possibly lemon and honey from trying to soothe those vocal cords with weak tea.

Joker:

Is also a basic bath and bodyworks bitch, he wears “Among The Clouds”. 

He does class it to the roof for formal events though and switches to "English Promenade 19" By Krigler.

If you catch him without any scent on he smells slightly acidic and some other rogues would describe him as smelling "sickly". He's not physically sick as his doctors can attest, in fact his chemical bath raised the PH across his body so he can't even get most diseases anymore.

Because of this he can tend to overdue it on the scent to hide the sickly and chemical smells.

Like Jervis, Joker often smells like his baking projects. (Except the project is almost exclusively some sort of pie.)

[toomuchracket]

thinking of d-word Christmas cabin trip with baby Amy in a snow suit (specifically picturing baby Maggie from the simpsons star snow suit)

p.s this may not work time line wise I do not know when she was born 💔

lyla is d word baby girl but oh my GOD i love this so much the star snow suit in the simpsons makes me weepy fr. and the timeline works!! she'll be 7 months old in december, and the trip to the cabin is her first proper little holiday - matty suggests that the three of you (and mayhem) go the week before christmas, because it's been a busy year (tour/baby being born/you literally helping launch a record label imprint) and christmas with your families is going to be insane with everyone spoiling lyla, so it'll do you all some good to get away. not that you go far, i think actually you end up driving to stay in a lodge in the lake district, because you think the baby is "just a TEENSY bit too little to take to lapland, matty. we want her to remember it, yeah?"; it's lovely, though, the place you end up in, quiet and cosy and beautiful, with lots of space for lyla to practice her crawling (she's so close to getting the hang of it!!). the days are spent slowly, mornings full of baby cuddles and making elaborate breakfasts, taking your time to get ready before going for a long walk in the snow - lyla has an array of adorable snowsuits that you and matty are actually obsessed with, including a replica of maggie's star one from the simpsons that honest to god makes him cry more than the literal baby lmfao, and her little face when she saw snow falling for the first time was the actual funniest thing ever. she liked it, in the end, but there was a LOT of confusion initially; matty got the whole thing on video, her frowning at the white flakes and looking baffled when you showed her how to catch one and watch it melt on her little mittens, and when i tell you it went platinum in the family groupchat AND the band groupchat... yeah. it's also so apparent that your daughter genuinely just stole your whole face, on this trip, because she's always got a little beanie hat on and you can't see healy hair - like, your insta is private, for friends and family only, and when you post a cute pic of you and lyla that matty took the comments are just "oh my god she's YOU" and george being like "i'm high and this is scaring me. why is there a big you and a little you" lmfao. even matty posts a pic of lyla on main feed, actually; not with her face in, of course, but a selfie where she's fast asleep on his chest in another adorable outfit (christmas onesie) and you're asleep snuggled into his neck, captioned "being cutest baby ever and hottest mum ever is exhausting apparently. fit dads are a bit better at staying awake though" lol he's so weird. but yeah, lots of long walks and pub lunches and group hugs watching christmas films and playing fetch with the dog, the perfect quiet getaway before you go to denise's for christmas. lovely <3

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 353: That was Then, This is Now, p5

Melissa was crouched down alongside me, excited about giving me this virtual tour of the new office spaces using her laptop. She was positively beaming, and her size made me feel like a child with his pretty teacher as I sat like a kid at my oversized desk that Monday morning. I’d normally struggle with keeping my eyes from drifting down into the neckline of her low-cut white dress, but I was rapt in awe, and more than a little apprehension as I stared at the screen. I struggled to grasp at the sheer scale and enormity of this thing. I hadn’t seen anything about this before, believe it or not. The girls hadn’t let me even step foot on the construction site for the past few weeks - ‘it’s a surprise!’ they’d said, but I suspect there was more to it than that - so all I’d seen were the early blueprints before things really got started. Even those were ridiculously extravagant, and impossibly adventurous, but this…this looked even more incredible.  Did she say it was almost finished??

She'd just shown me the interactive, digital replica with the soaring, Roman-temple inspired atrium with its jaw-droppingly huge statue of M-…of, uh, ‘Female Health’ towering over a new, opulently modern reception desk. The glass ceiling left the whole space awash with sunlight. Then she showed me the humble new entrance to our old practice here. It was left virtually unchanged as if they had simply built around it. Melissa assured me that this was so things would stay nice and familiar for my geriatric patients, but I couldn't help but notice how small it looked. It was completely dwarfed by the grand entrances and size of whatever the hell was going to be going on in those two new wings of the building.

Turning the camera around, Melissa ‘walked’ us by the desk and over to face the entrance to the ‘Evolution Wing’. She explained to me that this area of the walkthrough wasn’t populated with imagery yet, so its onscreen doors remained locked. 

Huh. Apparently that area would be for continuing pharm studies, etc. I guess I wasn’t clear on why they need a whole wing for that, but whatever. How much research did they really need us for? Well, it’s their money. Theirs…and my ex-wife Sheryl’s. Who, with her enormous wealth, technically owned this entire building.

Speaking of which, how this whole thing got funded was beyond me; this company’s pockets seemed limitless. But, I reminded myself, I’d decided to stop worrying about it weeks ago. There’s nothing wrong with growing the practice, is there? Growth is good, bigger is better…

I suddenly noticed my eyes had, as if on instinct, finally drifted down Melissa’s top. 

“Let’s check out the ‘Women’s Health’ wing!” she sang, bringing my attention back to the screen. Our camera made its way towards the rear of the atrium, under the imposing presence of the giant statue, and into a well-lit suite of separate clinics. Each one had their own separate entrance from the main wing. Down this impressive hallway I saw signs for ‘Internal Medicine’, a ‘Fertility Clinic’, even an ‘Aesthetics Center’, where Melissa told me Karen, the new APRN, would run a squad of cosmetic nurses and plastic surgeons. And… “We’ll have an ‘Adolescent Care’ department’?” I asked, baffled at the scope of what this place was soon to be.

“Sure yes of course!” Melissa lauded, excited, “Even the youngest women will need a place to come where they can be encouraged to, like, grow into everything they can be!” She sounded like she was reciting something that had been told to her, for sure, but whatever it was it was clearly something she believed.

“But, pediatrics?” I pressed, incredulously.  Frankly, I was afraid of how far away things were getting from geriatrics, the specialty of my practice. Far Horizons was drifting, and soon I was going to lose even more of the little control that I still had.. 

“Oh, you’ll see, this won’t be just kiddies and boo-boos,” Melissa continued, “this’ll be where girls are taught and trained and, like, developed into what this new, changing world is going to need. Strong and confident female leaders, scientists and athletes, young women that can take care of things. It's important that they become healthy, empowered women who can lead us into the future.” Again, it sounded like a marketing angle, but one that had obviously already worked.

The camera passed through the doors into the ‘Adolescent Care’ unit, and I was shown a small, but beautiful new waiting room, a modest gym, and several well-appointed, modernly elegant exam rooms. Further in I spotted a procedure room along with  what looked like several offices for new providers. This was obviously concerning, but before I could really think about it my attention was pulled away by something in the air, away from the screen and settling, once again, down into Melissa’s cleavage. Her big lungs swelled her breasts up with every breath, and a new wave of perfume had drifted up from her flawless, velvety skin. Breathing her in felt…good. It helped me relax and forget my worries.

Melissa was, no doubt, enthusiastic from the start to show me this virtual tour, and she seemed to be getting more and more excited as we went along. I could tell she really wanted to show me something, but all I could think was: You smell really good. 

“Thank you,” she said, and continued talking. “But speaking of what the new world’s going to need, let me show you this!” she twittered, quickly now backing the camera out and away from the adolescent unit. A new door came into view, further down the main hallway of the new wing. “We even have a small clinic for men, too, a little place for them inside us,” she said, “And here it is!”

I squinted at the door, not really comprehending what I was reading on the small sign aside it. 

“‘R-regression Clinic’??” I asked, my radar suddenly up, “What’s that?”

“Oh, Jay, I can’t wait!” Melissa beamed, bouncing a bit on her haunches and sending new jiggles through her upper chest, “Haven’t you heard? It’s the newest thing, a new movement in therapy to help couples really bond, get them closer, open up, like, new pathways of communication, break down barriers.” Our camera stepped right up to the doorway but Melissa stopped us there. “Katerina and Shanette have done such a good job setting it up. The counseling rooms and procedure areas are really nice but, y’know what?” she continued, smiling with giddy anticipation, “I'm going to save showing those to you ‘til we can do it in person. I already booked an appointment for us!”

She what??

“In fact, we can save the rest of the clinics for when I show them to you for real,” she said, “In the meantime, why don't we check out the basement.”

“The basement?” Couldn’t be too much down there, right? At the time the basement of the building had been used for some storage.

“Yeah, it’s incredible what they’ve been able to do. Expanding it I mean. You must have heard the blasting, all hours of the night? They’ve added in two…or, wait, is it three?…new sub-basements. Like whole new floors.”

I watched as the camera quickly sped down a hall and up to an elevator. Even in this mock-up walkthrough, we had to wait a moment for the elevator in the hall to bring us down to another floor. Whoever designed this must have been a real stickler for details I thought as we waited for the doors. Melissa, I noticed, could barely keep herself still. When the doors finally slid open and we stepped in, she took us down past the first basement levels down to the very bottom before mentioning that the virtual walkthrough didn’t have images for the pool yet. 

“Wait…There’s a pool?!?” I asked, in disbelief.

“Yes, of course silly,” she giggled, “on the first basement level. I’ve told you about that! You’re so cute, so scatterbrained. I love that! But, yes - pool! For trainings and exercise, and there’s a nice hot tub that I think the Regression Clinic is going to use until theirs is finished."

I felt a chill rise up my spine as I thought about the last time I was in a pool.

"Don't worry, sweetie, you’ll be safe,” she assured me, “Men aren't even allowed onto that level unless there’s a lifeguard on duty. That reminds me - we have to hire a lifeguard!” Melissa giggled, maybe picturing exactly what I was, a hot young thing in a red swimsuit. “Now, The other levels aren’t for patients, it’s like cubicles and computers and stuff, and they’re supposed to be for girls-eyes only. But I’ll show you the bottom one anyway. It’s so cool!”

“What’s down there?” I queried, as the elevator hit the bottom floor and the virtual doors slid open. 

“So far it’s a place for the construction workers, a whole floor,” she began. In front of us was a big, simple, starkly lit room that looked like something of a community space, a common area with large tables and benches. Like what someone might see in a school or church basement. Or a prison. 

“A lot of them…well, all of them really…have stopped going home at night. Like, when their shifts are done they just keep working. They’ve just started camping out among all the construction when they need to sleep, and just wake up to work. They feel better here than they do…out there.” Along with the weirdness of what she was describing, Melissa giggled strangely. “I guess they just like it here so much! Even the ones with homes still would rather stay here now.”

“For real?” I asked, incredulously, but suddenly I was reminded of the queasy feelings I got when I stepped outside for too long, and a looming sense of dread began to  slowly creep over me. There was something terrifyingly wrong about all of this, but at that same time it was all darkly thrilling. I watched the screen as the camera slowly came out of the elevator into the big, open common room. Unlike the upper level, the ceilings here were low, and though the area was likely the footprint of a small gymnasium, it felt strangely claustrophobic. 

“Yeah. But, the construction’s almost done,” she continued, as we drifted in among the plain plastic chairs around a simple round table, “and some of them are homeless now, and the rest don’t want to leave. So, we decided to make a place for them, and any other men we hire. If they need a place to stay."

That surprised me. “Hiring men?”

“Oh, for sure! I mean, we’ve been interviewing and hiring for so many new positions. Girls, of course, for the clinics, the administration and blah blah. But Evolution wants to do some community outreach, help out the less fortunate,” Melissa continued, “So many men are unemployed now, and we figure we can use them for maintenance, cleaning, laundry, landscaping, right? Maybe even some basic data entry in one of the lower levels.” 

“I…I guess?” I answered, still disbelieving what I was seeing and hearing. 

“…and some of these construction workers are pretty cute,” she giggled, as the camera brought us to one of several doorways at the back of the room, “the girls kinda want to keep them.” This entry led to a low hallway off of which came a number of hostel-type rooms. Each room had multiple iron bunk beds, allowing each to sleep a dozen, maybe more. “Just look at these cages I’ve made for them…”

“C-cages?” I blurted, suddenly noticing now that, yes, the doors to the rooms were barred, like a jail’s might be. 

“Well, haha, not cages!” she quickly corrected, “We just…want it to be secure, and safe, right? If there’ll be men living here, underground, we don't want them getting into trouble do we?”

“O-okay…” I hesitated, trying to come to the logic of it all.

“They're more like living areas…” she added.

…than, like… some sort of pen? Yikes. But… there was some charity in it I guess. If these men were homeless, and without work, weren't we just doing them a favor? They seemed to like it here. 

The camera looked further down the dark hallway. There were lots and lots of these rooms. “How many of these people will be living down here?”

“Well, right now we think there’s about twenty surviv-…A-about twenty of them. Plus we have plans to bring in about a dozen right away.” she answered, a strange tilt to her voice, some heavier breathing as she turned the camera around to go back to the common area, “But we have plenty of room for a lot more once we need it.” She was excited for this, for sure, and trying to hide it.

“It…it  looks nice,” I tried, just imagining what the real thing would look like in person as I did  and doing my best to ignore the lingering sense of foreboding, which continued to breath chills onto the back of my neck. Something about this wasn't quite right.

“It will be pretty nice for them,” Melissa continued, as she breezed the camera past what looked like a small cafeteria. “It’ll be our own little far-...our own little community of men. We’ve included a few more feeding areas, back that way, all sorts of…uh, like, games and places for them to explore and hang out when they’re not working.” The camera was sailing through a labyrinth of smaller spaces, now, little halls. A room of video games. “They seem to like looking at pictures but they won’t have phones or computers…”

Because they can’t afford them? Or because you won’t permit it? I didn’t dare ask.

“...and haha we noticed that now that we have the statue up in the atrium, they spend a lot of their free time at night hanging around, sometimes even kneeling in front of it,” she explained, “but we can’t have that anymore so haha we made a little room with a smaller version of the statue that they can go to.”

“Another statue of you?!?” I asked, totally flabbergasted at what I was seeing. The camera had glanced into a small, dark chamber, lit by flickering, computer-generated candles. Indeed a smaller, maybe eight-foot tall copy of ‘Female Health’, stood inside. Made of a similar white stone amalgam perhaps, this one was placed in more heroic of a pose. It stood on a raised platform at the far end of the room, to look down at its admirers. “For them to….what??” Jerk off to you?!? “Down here?!”

“Remember, it’s not me!” Melissa giggled, as the camera backed out of the room, “You don’t have to be jealous!” 

Is that a sign above the door? They call that ‘The Chapel’ ?!?

I looked to my right, to Melissa, still squatting aside me. If I hadn’t noticed it before, I did now. Her dress today was toga-inspired, for sure. She looked like a Roman goddess, unsettlingly too much like the statue even now, here. 

“And, don’t worry, I’ll make sure they behave,” she continued, as our point of view on-screen shifted, “I have cameras everywhere, so I can watch over them. I'll make sure they’re nice and safe.”

…and not doing anything you don’t allow, I gather?

“Okay well speaking of staying safe, I can’t wait to show you where you’ll be living!” Melissa said ebulliently. She was moving the camera around a bit through the men’s chambers again, and I was suddenly afraid that she’d had a cell set aside for me down there, in the depths. “But the upstairs isn’t done yet. We’re still working on finishing the design and moving the walls around. Especially the third floor.”

“I’ll be u-upstairs?” I asked, feeling a sense of immediate relief. Had I known I’d be moving? 

And the building has three floors now?

She sensed the change in my voice and giggled. “Yes of course, silly! You’ll be living upstairs, cutie, with me and the girls,” she said, as she moved to click a few keys and the animation of the virtual walkthrough closed off her screen. “There’s a big suite planned for me, and you’ll have your own ca-...your own little room inside it.” Crouching alongside me, she shifted a bit. “It’ll be so nice, when…when I can take you back to my new nest, I can make it all so comfy for you,” she said, and I heard the first hint of the throaty growl that signaled her arousal. “We’ll move all your stuff in, or just get rid of it all,” she said, making herself even more excited with the thought of it, “I’m going to have everything you need, get you anything you want. Mmmm….rrrrr….”

Oh…oh crap…   

Jesus I was getting so hard.

“Oooo just the thought of it is getting me all kinky haha,” she laughed, “Mama’ll take good care of youuu….”

Oh god.

I saw Melissa glance up at the camera, which Gianna had been using earlier in our video chat and had since stood forgotten attached to my desktop’s monitor. She’d clicked off power to the screen, but the camera’s red light still blinked. Melissa smirked.

“Mama and her girls, her huge, huge hive of girls,” she continued, in a tone that had started to sound like gloating as she settled her hand on my iron-hard cock, though my thin, ripped scrub pants. “We’re getting so big, here, our little home. And we’re going to be…nnngh…hiring. Hiring more. Hiring so…many…more…girls…”

“Oh jesus Melissa,” I moaned, as she began to squeeze me.

“Picture it, baby, picture all the girls,” she purred, her eyes gleaming as she glanced up again at the camera. And then, with her large smile pointed at its blinking red light, she slipped her hand though the tear Morgan had left, up the front of my pants. “There are going to be so many of us, your swarm of girls growing and growing and growing. Will you like that? Having that many more of us?”

“Oh g-god yes,” I admitted, already picturing a crushing throng of them and then gasping as I felt her palm and fingers slip below me, to cup my chicken-egg sized balls.

Feeling how swollen I was, she purred her approval. ”It’s good that he’s all nice and full now,” she said, massaging my sac gently and making my eyes cross, “all ready for a productive day.”

With her free hand she tore away, like tissue paper, the remaining portion of my scrub pants from my hips leaving me fully exposed and helpless to do anything about it. She took my shaft in hand and began speaking right to it, right to my cock. ”This weekend I got used to being with you every moment, baby,” she cooed, “And I started to miss you already.” One hand still played with my balls while the other slowly began to stroke me. She cooed and clucked down to it, treating my penis like it was directly her lover. “Now, I want to suck you until there’s nothing left inside.”

In an instant she had turned me in my chair, on her knees got between my legs, and reached up to - for some reason - adjust the position of the monitor and camera. 

“M-Melissa!” I exclaimed, trying to figure out what was happening. 

You wanted to frame the shot perfectly, so she could see you do this. I didn’t realize it right then but I do now. You wanted her to watch. And seethe.

“Shhh shh shh…I know we have work to do,” Melissa said, trying to control herself and keep the growl out of her voice as she continued to talk directly to my cock. “We have to make sure Gianna knows you’re a good worker, she has to know you can get to work on time, that you can finish your paperwork…” She took a moment to put her hair up into a loose bun. “But I also want her to see how good an Office Manager I am. How good I am at taking care of you….”

“Oh god…” I moaned, letting myself submit to the moment, feeling the eyes of both Melissa and Gianna on me as I collapsed.

“Good boy,” Melissa lauded, and suddenly I was in her mouth. Stars exploded in my vision, even as my eyes clamped shut. She had me fully in, down to the base, and the muscles of her throat vibrated around me. Girls, girls all around me, through these thin office walls, they all stood suddenly at attention. 

They knew what was happening. They could feel it. Could they…see me, too? 

I could picture them, all about the office, trying to keep from groaning or smiling too broadly, knowing what was coming. Melissa in the meantime purred and moaned, and barely had to move or caress my testicles at all because with just two deliberate passes up and down my length, her mouth had me exploding, my hips bucking up into her as she laughed with gurgling glee around my manhood.

“uuungh…unnngh…unnghh…” I mewled, just trying to stay focused, stay conscious as - yes - she seemed to be sucking everything I had right up out of me. She was draining me, unburdening me, granting me my morning relief. She let me come, come completely, come completely down into her throat until I was fully spent and flaccid. We both knew I’d need it again, but for now-

“How’s that?” she smiled, finally pulling herself back up and taking me again in her hands, so she could gently caress my softened length as she laid me back down again along my thigh. She wiped the corner of her lip with a finger, and swallowed demonstrably. “All better?”

I released one last shuddering breath, and let my head nod forwards. 

I passed out.

===============================================

thank you muchly to RiF for his help in editing

check out my Patreon for lots more GITJ:

[operafantomet]

Do you prefer larger or smaller stages, Like the Swedish production?

"The Swedish production" might be a bit wide term, as there has been four different Swedish production:

The original Stockholm production 1989-1995

The non replica Finnish / Swedish one in Gothenburg 2017-2018

The Stockholm revival 2016-2017

The non replica Kristianstad production 2020-2023

Of these, the latter was definitely the smallest, playing in a theatre with a seating capacity of 362. Which of course meant all seats were fairly close to the stage. It was a lovely Art Nouveau theatre, grand in style but small in size, I liked it a lot. Photo I took there:

The Stockholm revival played in Cirkus Teater, with a seating capacity of 1,644. It's a circular auditorium, where many will be placed far at the side or quite long away from stage. I have seen both POTO and Chess there, and whereas the building itself is stunning in its turn-of-the-century-circus vibe, it is not my favourite venue for theatre. It's so many levels and stair and fences and whatnot, and a sound more suited for concerts. But it's a cool allround experience to go there, including its location at an idyllic peninsula. Photo from TripAdvisor:

The original production played in Oscarsteatern, which has a seating capacity of around 950, but again with an intimate layout where most seats are close to stage. I did not see this production, alas, but friend Josefine loved it there, and sometimes compared it to Det Ny Teater in Copenhagen (which I adore). From their website:

The Finnish / Swedish version played at the Gothenburg Opera's main stage, with a seating capacity of around 1,300. I also didn't see this production, but I have seen Sunset Boulevard there. It's a brand new building, a fairly tall auditorium, but with a smart horseshoe layout and a feeling of sitting close to the stage still. From their website:

As a general note, I do tend to enjoy smaller theatres more, due to the proximity to stage. More facial expressions, more details, more concentrated sound, more acoustic sound. Ob the other hand, I think a production like POTO needs a bit of stage and space. So I probably prefer the mid/large size theatres, like Det Ny Teater in Copenhagen and His Majesty's Theatre in West End. But it also depends on the production.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Phantom Boy (1)

When the Doctors Fenton lose their son in a lab accident involving a ghost portal, the distraught parents will do anything to get him back. Even if it means breaking the immutable laws of life and death. But that thing? That’s not their boy.

[This fic is inspired by, and follows the general plot structure of, Astroboy (2009).

I had the pleasure of working with two absolutely fabulous artists on this fic for Invisobang 2023: @pikakaistudios and @polterrrgeist, who created some beautiful illustrations! And thank you to my marvelous beta, Fin, as well!]

Chapter 1: A Perfect Replica (Read on AO3)

[Warnings for character death, and human experimentation]

Danny Fenton always tried to be the perfect son.

Straight 'A's in school—even with advanced math and science classes, a vested interest in a well-regarded future career in space science, and a polite disposition all made him a son any parents would be over the moon to have.

His own parents, however, never seemed to appreciate it. Nor did they realize that he did all of it to earn their attention and their love. Always vying for his parents' affection when they remained ensconced in their work resulted in disappointment, even resentment, more often than not. But his disappointment took a back seat to his determination.

He still tried. That was a feat his older sister had entirely given up on, focusing instead on her own aspirations, and drifting further away from her family with each passing day.

Unlike his sister, Danny remained optimistic. He’d just gotten back a major test with a perfect score—surely, this could earn him his parents’ praise.

"Mom! Dad!" he shouted as he practically skipped up the porch steps and in the front door, bright eyed, and smiling, full of hope, and life. "I totally aced that test the other day!"

His announcement met cold silence.

A house full of empty rooms greeted him, his own footsteps against the hardwood floor the only ‘welcome home’ he was going to get. He checked the kitchen, living room, upstairs bedrooms. His parents were nowhere to be found. They were probably in their lab again, working on their big project—the ghost portal Jazz always said they loved more than their kids. Danny could always find them there, whether he wanted to or not. He didn’t want to agree with Jazz, but it was hard not to, sometimes.

He crept down the stairs to the basement. "Mom? Dad?"

There was an anteroom next to the lab with changing rooms and radiation showers. Danny usually never bothered to go past it into the actual lab. For one, hazmats were required in the lab at all times, and those things were a pain. For another, his parents were always down there, and if he did something careless like ask a question, then he could forget about them listening to another word he had to say. They would spend hours blathering on about their work as if he wasn’t even in the room.

Still, the lab had always drawn him to it, fascinated him. It was pretty cool in a creepy sort of way. It was full of strange inventions and concoctions, and colored lights and glowing vials that cast strange shadows on the walls which were almost mesmerizing. And even with a hazmat suit on, he could swear the smell of chemicals permeated right through and followed him for hours after he left.

He looked through the window into the lab itself. Usually knocking would get their attention, although it often took a few tries.

Much to his surprise, he didn’t see them down there either. "Where are they?" he wondered aloud, reaching for a hazmat suit which hung on the wall. If they weren't home, maybe he could actually nose around without having to listen to a two hour lecture. Besides, once they got back, he’d have a better chance of catching them down in the lab than anywhere else in the house.

Once suited up, he pressed the button to open the door and walked through. The portal they were so obsessed with looked like a big, metal hole in the wall, much less impressive than some of the other things his parents had built, if you asked him. Danny scowled at it, running his fingers along the octagonal opening before walking inside to get a closer look.

Seeing it now, up close and personal, Jazz’s claim that Mom and Dad loved it more than their kids rose to the top of his mind feeling truer than ever. What was so great about this project they'd ignored him in favor of working on for so many years? Why was this more important than a relationship with their kids?

"I think this part from the Ops Center will be just the thing," he heard his mother's voice, loud but muffled, coming down the stairs. "It's so close I can taste it!"

"They're back," Danny muttered, turning. He was almost at the very back of the unfinished portal, completely in darkness, and began to walk out, his eyes focused on the hexagon of light spilling in from the lab.

He didn’t see the jumble of cords on the floor. They grabbed him by the ankles and sent him careening. He bit his tongue as his chin hit the floor, a bitter, metallic taste filling his mouth.

The cords wrapped around his feet, tangled around his ankles and crept up his shins as if they were alive and keeping him there intentionally, rather than by his own misfortune. Or perhaps it was his dazed mind or the blood which gushed from his lips and choked his breath that prevented him from untangling them. Perhaps, in his disoriented state, he was just tangling them further.

The door to the lab hissed as it opened. His parents didn't hear his alarmed shout when he fell. They didn't see his struggling form take off the hood of his hazmat suit to spit blood in the dark, shadowy depths of their portal.

"All set!" his mother said as she wired in the final piece. "Turn it on, dear!"

"Banzai!" his dad shouted, flipping the switch.

An instant later, Danny found his voice, shouting through a gargle of blood, slurred from his wounded tongue.

"WAI'!" he screamed.

Then he screamed.

The bloodcurdling, bone chilling sound of their own child dying an excruciating death punctuated their lethal mistake. Millions of volts of electricity shot through their fourteen-year-old son, and billions of joules of ectoplasmic energy, compounding together, amplifying each other, ripping a hole into another dimension through the boy between them.

"Oh my God, Danny!" his mother shouted. "Turn it off! Turn it off!"

Shaking himself out of his horror, skin still tingling from the energy in the air and spots dancing behind his eyes from the bright white flash, Jack fumbled for the switch.

But it was too late.

The portal was on, self-sustaining. The lab was awash with green light from the swirling vortex of ectoplasm they had built, and the two parents held their breath.

A glowing corpse drifted out of it, floating as if on a gentle current.

Their son’s subdermal skin had been burnt and blackened by the heat. Jagged, glowing green electrical marks covered his whole body. Holes had been burnt right through his protective jumpsuit, and the hood was gone, and his hair was frayed, shock white, soot covered, and smoking. His eye sockets were empty, and full of ash, his face caked with blood, his teeth shattered.

But beneath it all, it was—it had been—their son.

"Danny..." his father breathed, gently resting a gloved hand on the floating body’s collapsed chest.

"What have we done?" his mother rasped, her voice choked with tears. "We—we have to fix this. We have to make this right."

Jack nodded, and though they did nothing to discuss how. They were both on the same page.

Carefully, they pulled the floating corpse of their son down to their examination table for samples.

If they were going to bring him back, they had to restore his body first.

Hours dwindled by, dinner time came and went, and Jack and Maddie grew neither tired nor hungry, consumed by their work. Late that night, the door opened at the top of the stairs. It was only as it slammed shut that the two of them heard it and realized Jazz must be coming down to check on them.

They shared a glance, then Maddie threw a sheet over the table while Jack crossed into the anteroom to place his bulky frame in front of the stairwell, blocking his daughter’s way in.

"Have you seen Danny?" she asked him.

"Danny's gone to sleep at a friend's house tonight, since we're going to be performing some dangerous experiments with the portal, and wouldn't want you kids getting hurt," her dad said. But she could always tell when he was lying, and she could tell now by the way his eyes darted around when he pushed off his hood. "We're very close to finishing it, so I suggest you find a friend to stay with tonight, too, for your safety. In fact, you may want to be out of the house for the rest of the week."

"What aren't you telling me?" Jazz asked, suspiciously.

“Not telling? Nothing—”

She backed up the steps so she could see through the window over her father's huge shoulders and noticed the swirling green portal on the opposite wall. "It's... already on..." she said, and her brain rapidly picked apart what her father had just said. "Dad... where's Danny?"

"Jasmine," he said sternly, but she pushed forward, trying to force him out of her way.

"Where's Danny?!" she shouted. Her parents were a lot of things, but liars wasn’t typically one of them, especially when it came to her and Danny. "What happened to him?! What did you do?!"

"Jazz...."

She had never seen her father cry before, but he was crying now as he wrapped his arms around her, as much to hold her in place as for his own comfort.

“What’s going on?” she asked again, a hard edge to her voice.

"We didn't know he was in there,” he whimpered into her hair. “Didn't hear anything… we didn’t know he was in there.”

She shook her head, uncomprehending, and tried to pull away, but wasn’t strong enough to escape her father’s vice-like grip until her mom came in and made him let go with a touch of her hand.

He stepped back a bit so Jazz could see them both. Their hoods were down, and on their faces all she could read was grief. "He... he's dead, Jazz," her mom said, audibly struggling to keep her voice level. "He was inside when the portal turned on, and we had no idea he was there until we heard him scream, and by then it was too late. We… we couldn't even recover a body."

Jazz could feel her chest tighten, her heart crawling up into her through, a sting in her eyes as her vision blurred. All of the physical sensations came first, before the emotion finally registered, and her legs turned to jelly beneath her as she collapsed back into her father’s arms wracked with sobs. Danny… her brother… was gone.

The three of them hugged and wept in the stairwell for hours before finally moving upstairs for some comfort food and hot cocoa. It was easy for Jazz to clock when her father was lying to her, but she never even suspected that her mother had lied, not until a little over a month later.

It wasn't suspicious that her parents threw themselves into their ghost research, working obsessively on some new project they wouldn't tell her about. People responded to grief in different ways. Focusing only on work was a common coping mechanism. One Jazz apparently shared, as she studied relentlessly for college entrance exams she wouldn't be taking for over a year.

She didn't bother to even ask about her parents' new project until they emerged from the lab, over the moon, excitedly proclaiming that they'd done it! That their experiments were successful.

"Done what?" Jazz asked, but she didn't have to wait for an answer.

Sitting on the couch in front of her, sipping hot cocoa from his favorite mug, sat Danny.

At first glance, he looked exactly the same, but looking at him closely, Jazz felt a sense of uncanny valley creeping up her spine. When he smiled, his teeth were too bright, too white. His eyes were wrong. They looked just the same as she remembered them, but they distinctly weren't in a way she couldn't describe until the light caught them at a certain angle and they glowed green.

"Danny?"

His eerie grin brightened.

When she stepped closer, she could see very faint white scars criss-crossing his skin, like lace, and dark shadows around his eyes that couldn't be explained by lack of sleep.

"Hey Jazz," he said. His voice was so very slightly deeper, huskier, that she thought she could be imagining it.

"Is that really you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm finally back from the hospital."

"Hospital?" Jazz asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "But—"

"Jazz, sweetie, can I talk to you for a moment?" her mother called from the kitchen. "Now."

Jazz obliged, following her mother into the kitchen, but the whole time she was looking over her shoulder at... whatever that thing was wearing her brother's face.

"Mom, what did you do?" She demanded under her breath. "You said he was dead. You said you couldn't even recover a body. What on Earth did you do?"

"We brought him back," Maddie answered. "You may call us crackpots, but your father and I are brilliant paranormal scientists. We used all our knowledge of ghosts and the afterlife to formulate a way to get our baby boy back. Wouldn't you have done the same to get your brother back if you could?"

"What? No!" Jazz shouted, then lowered her voice again, not wanting the creature that once was Danny to overhear and come to check things out. "No, Mom, I wouldn't. Jesus Christ, this is more than just a bad coping mechanism, this is—what you did—it's against nature. It's wrong."

"He's my son, Jazz," Maddie implored. "We couldn't... you can't possibly imagine what it's like for a parent, losing their child. It's like losing a part of our soul. Maybe someday, if you have kids of your own, you will, but it's... it's devastating, unbearable, more painful than you can even comprehend. And it was our fault, our experiment that killed him.”

Her voice stayed soft and level, but she was trembling, barely holding it together. She clenched her jaw and took a shuddering breath, looking Jazz directly in the eye.

"We couldn't let it go and move on when we had the means to fix it. He's fourteen, sweetie, and he's our baby. He never should have died in the first place. All we did was put things back the way they're supposed to be."

Jazz only stared in disbelief. "You're wrong," she said finally. "And soon enough, you'll realize that. This isn't going to change what happened. You may think you've fixed him, but it won't fix you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Maddie responded with a pinched frown. "Please don't take it out on Danny, and try to be civil with him."

"Of course I will," Jazz said. "He didn't ask for this. He shouldn't have to suffer because of your mistakes.” She turned to go, silence stretching taut between her and her mother. “I just hope you know what you're doing."

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