#this world is so dark i had to crank the brightness up for these

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - Port Royal

[seths-rogens]

cardboard houses, cardboard hearts | M | 1.9k | ao3

should’ve been finishing my infidelity au, but instead the cardboard joe cutout i was given inspired me to crank this out in one sitting,, anyway, please enjoy :)

—————

Eddie often thanks God that he took the leap and moved to Indianapolis after he finally graduated high school. Not that he really believes in God. Just… figure of speech and all. Though, maybe he’d believe in God if they were a metalhead with tatties and an eyebrow piercing, but he thinks that might ruin their image honestly.

He’s getting off topic.

Eddie often thanks God for Indy in moments like these. Moments where he has a fucking beautiful man pinned to his own front door, strong, thick fingers tangling in his hair as Eddie desperately tries to fit his key into the lock. He shoves his thigh between Pretty Man’s legs - he didn’t catch his name - and presses upwards. Pretty Man whines, grinding down and making it all that more difficult to unlock the goddamn door.

“Hold on, Sweetheart. I just gotta-“ Eddie bites back a groan as Pretty Man kisses down his neck, sucking a bruise over his pulse as the key finally slips into the lock. Chrissy’s never gonna let him live the marks down.

He’s surprised he picked anyone up tonight at all. He’d gone to a concert alone for once, as Chrissy was staying at her new girlfriend’s place, and Gareth and Jeff weren’t the biggest fans of his guilty pleasure artist ‘King S’.

And honestly? In any other world. Eddie wouldn’t be either.

King S isn’t his usual style. Where Eddie usually loves a hard drumline, thrashing guitars and lyrics you can only scream, King S is all soft melodies and crooning vocals set to slow drum beats.

He’d stumbled upon him completely by accident, honestly. It’d been a slow day at the record store Eddie manages. He’d been there for nearly five hours and so far he’d only served maybe three customers - and two of those customers were an old couple shopping for their granddaughter. So he’d picked the first magazine he could reach off the stand by the counter, and flipped it open to a random page.

It’d been an interview with King S, who’d just released his first album at the time. He was talking about his inspiration for making music - his best friend and little brother who, he’s quoted as saying, ‘always ragged on him when he played his pop shit in the car’ - and the meaning behind his stage name - reclaiming an old high school nickname he’d been given after his brief stint as a bit of a mean girl, though now he promises he’s using it for good.

He’d flipped the page to find a double page spread of King S curled up in a bathtub. His eyes were squeezed shut through the lacy masquerade mask that was supposedly his staple (no one knew his real identity after all). His hair was messy and flying all over the place. He was…

He was naked. Or at least that’s how it seemed.

His arms and legs were bare, the black and white photo only emphasising the toned curves of the muscles in his arms and back and the dark hair covering those lush thighs.

Call him obvious but Eddie had been intrigued. He knew they’d received a new shipment of records that morning that weren’t supposed to be hitting the shelves until the next day, so he figured what the hell!

Ten minutes later, elbow deep in a shoddily painted green wooden crate, Eddie emerged victorious with King S’s debut album ‘Robins and Tadpoles’ in his hands.

The album cover was two people’s hands clasped together, matching ice cream cone tattoos on both wrists. There was a little dedication on the back. To R & D.

He took it out to the turntable on the shop floor and dropped the needle. When the soft music started, he was hesitant, but as the album moved on he quickly realised he was hooked.

He’d gone into the shop bright and early the next day - on his day off no less - and bought the album. Only slightly laughing at the look on Mike’s - part time Lit student, part time cashier, full time grump - face.

That had been two years ago, and Eddie had been solidly on the King S train since.

Sure, Gareth and Jeff - and Grant too when he was in town - would tease him about abandoning his people, about betraying the freaks and the weirdos, but really they supported his love for the artist, even if they didn’t quite get it.

So when King S announced a stop in Indy on his second album tour, the guys (and Chrissy) had banded together to get him tickets as an early 26th birthday present. Except when the day came, they were all busy, so he went by himself.

He didn’t mind really, was just happy to be there to appreciate the music. (And the man himself, Eddie has eyes, come on now.)

Elated and feeling just a little self fulfilled after the concert, Eddie had gone to his favourite queer/metal bar, Crash. He’s picked people up there before, sure, but they’ve all been metalheads, just like him, and as many of his friends have said in the past, he’s cursed to have the hots for the preppy jock types.

Usually, that’s not the type of guy he’d find in Crash. Tonight was different.

Eddie had been sat at the bar, thinking about King S’s arms beneath the crimson sweater he wore on stage, when a gorgeous man had stepped up beside him to buy a beer. The man was wearing a dark, charcoal coloured t-shirt under a light grey Members Only jacket, paired with light blue levi’s.

Eddie kinda felt his jaw hit the floor. Could this be the perfect end to the perfect night?

This brings us back to now. Eddie finally pushes the door open, swings Pretty Man around and pushes him back against it.

He drops his keys somewhere. It doesn’t matter. He’ll find them tomorrow.

They’re grinding fast against one another now, only their harsh, panting breaths filling the silence of Eddie’s apartment. Eddie slides his hand into Pretty Man’s hair, tugs on this side of too hard. Pretty Man moans, loud, almost echoing, and tilts his head to the side, baring his neck for Eddie to defile.

Eddie leans in, presses his lips to those two little moles, and—

“What the fuck?”

Eddie pulls back to look at Pretty Man’s face. He’s still, not looking at Eddie, instead staring with wide eyes into the open plan of Eddie’s living room.

Eddie follows his gaze and… Oh. Yeah. He forgot about that.

See the King S tickets hadn’t been Eddie’s only birthday gift. He knew this would come back to bite him in the ass, but his friends thought it was hilarious. Eddie thinks they’re assholes.

Because Pretty Man is staring at a life size cutout of King S, standing by the wall.

Eddie winces, pulls away. This guy might not look like a metalhead, but he was in a metal bar, there’s no way he listens to King S. He’s gotta come up with an explanation for this, and fast.

“Um, yeah… About that… would you believe me if I said I didn’t buy it?” He asks sheepishly, avoiding Pretty Man’s eyes.

“You’re a fan?” Pretty Man asks, except he sounds dejected, which Eddie thinks is weird. And actually? Fuck this guy. He’s allowed to like whatever he wants.

“Yeah, man. What’s wrong with that? Maybe it’s not for everyone but King S actually makes really good music.” He gets more than a little defensive, takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“No, no… that’s not what I meant.” Pretty Man raises his hands placatingly.

“Then what did you mean?”

Pretty Man sighs, rubs a hand over his face. “Don’t you recognise me?”

Eddie furrows his brow in confusion. “Do I like, know you or something?”

Pretty Man raises his eyes to the ceiling like this is difficult. “Really? Nothing?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t…” Pretty man nods, sighs, and then walks past Eddie further into the apartment. “Hey, you can’t just—“

“How about now?” Pretty Man asks, stopping right next to the cardboard cut out.

Eddie flits his eyes between the man and the cut out, trying to understand what Pretty Man is getting at until he sighs again, pulls down the sleeve of his jacket to reveal…

A tattoo of an ice cream cone, and suddenly it all clicks.

Oh. Oh no. That’s… oh holy ever loving fuck.

“Holy shit!” Eddie exclaims, pointing frantically between Pretty Man and the cardboard. “You’re King S!”

“Yeah. It’s uh, Steve, actually.” Pretty Man, King S, Steve nods, seeming much more shy than he was ten minutes ago. He’s curled his arms around himself, trying to make himself shrink. Eddie feels bad.

“Did you think I was trying to sleep with you because you’re famous?”

“I mean, weren’t you?” Steve won’t meet his eye. Instead he’s staring around the room, taking in all the little details of Eddie’s life.

Eddie takes a step towards him. “No, man. I just thought you were pretty, that’s all.”

“You really didn’t know who I was?” Though he still looks unsure, Steve finally meets his eye.

Eddie shakes his head, coming to a stop in front of Steve. “I didn’t even buy that thing, dude. My friends thought it would be funny because you’re like, the only non-metal artist I listen to.”

Steve smiles at that. He really is so pretty, Eddie can’t help but think. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, man. Heard your first album right after it came out and I was hooked!” Eddie laughs softly. “I used to be a little bit narrow minded when it came to music, but I heard yours and it’s like the world of music blasted wide open.”

A pretty pink blush spreads its way across Steve’s cheeks. “Oh, uh… That’s really cool. I’m glad you like it.”

“I was at your show tonight, actually.”

“You were?”

“Yeah!” He shrugs. “I used to play in a band in high school, we were never very good but I liked to think I had good stage presence, right?” Steve nods and Eddie grins, leaning in a little. “I was nothing compared to you. It was fucking electric, I felt like my skin was buzzing.”

Steve’s smile seems to grow even wider. He sways forward into Eddie’s space, almost unconsciously. “This might be crazy, but do you wanna start over? Forgo the one night stand and just, I don’t know, get coffee or something? I know this cute little 24 hour place, Victoria Street, it’s only a couple blocks away.”

Eddie narrows his eyes a little. “Stevie… barely anyone knows Victoria Street. Are you, dare I say it… local?”

Steve’s cheeks darken even further. “Maybe.”

Eddie laughs. “Then, I’d love to start over. I wanna get to know you as Steve, not King S.”

Steve slips his hand into Eddie’s, tugs him

back towards the door. “God, how much do you know..?”

“I may have read a couple interviews.”

Steve groans, embarrassed, as the door clicks shut behind them.

Then, a few moments later. “Shit! My keys!”

The date goes well. As does the second, and the third, and so on, and so on. They’re officially exclusive by date 7.

Steve meets Chrissy and the boys on date 20. Eddie meets Dustin and Robin, right before date 45.

On date 94, Steve presents his third album to Eddie. There’s a different dedication on the back cover this time.

To E, my love.

——————

taglist: @judasofsuburbia @gothbat99 @cheatghost @flowercrowngods @fastcardotmp3 @simplebtromance @gonzofromspace

lemme know if u wanna be added to a permanent taglist for anything i do in the future, i’m thinkin’ that might be funky :)

[stra-tek]

Discovery's Engine Room

We all know Discovery's engine room, it's seen in most episodes. It's this, right?

Clearly based on the TOS engine room with it's pipe cathedral and it's where all the engineering stuff in the series happens.

Well, no. You're wrong.

That's actually "Engineering test bay alpha" according to a little plaque on set, and according to this diagram...

...there's two rooms like that. And yes, this behind the scenes layout does in fact have a label "engineering" pointing to one of the test bays and "warp core" pointing to one of the pipe cathedrals... which are apparently (like Strange New Worlds' Enterprise) pointing toward the front of the ship.

But that's all wrong. Because at the end of season three, they eject the warp core. And in the same episode that gave us the Great Turbolift Caverns, we get this...

An enormous, dark and moody chamber with escalators and catwalks and tons of generic sci-fi machinery that may or may not have come from a CG asset pack. If you crank up the brightness during the pan-up shot you can even see people working on consoles near the core.

So the true engine room of the U.S.S. Discovery is here, a place so large it puts the Kelvinverse brewery-location engineering section to shame. Except this is season three and we've never had the slightest hint this important location on the ship ever existed before. Let alone little things like it having no chance of fitting in the ship's hull at all, or fitting around all the correctly scaled stuff in the above diagram.

And in true Star Trek fashion, we never ever see this room again.

I kind of like to imagine that none of the main crew ever actually set foot in main engineering, ever. Not even their chief engineer, Jet Reno. Not once.

[irondadfics]

Hi! Could you recommend some post-Infinity War fics where Avengers think Tony didn't lose anyone in the snap, but then he shows them who Peter was?

here you go! Happy reading!

Exposed by Multi_Fandom_Feels

"You lost nothing. I lost everything, everyone. You have no reason to be moping around like you’ve lived through tragedy.” Clint said, anger and envy dripping from his every word. Tony looked up, pain and anger burning in his eyes. “You have no idea what I lost.” - When Clint returns to the compound after the Snap, tensions are high. Tony is grieving, and no one knows why. No one knows what Tony lost that day, and Clint takes an issue with Tony.

You Didn't Lose Anything by lightningbugqueen

“I lost my son and I waited and wished for that snap to get me too, but it didn’t. And now I have to live in a world without my baby in it, and apparently I didn’t lose anyone! Apparently I am one of the lucky souls in the godforsaken world who didn’t lose his reason for living and you know what? That’s bullshit!”  ********************** Or when the Avengers don't understand that Tony lost someone too. Tw: death, grieving, etc.

Bring Him Back by fictionart

When Tony comes back from Titan, he doesn't say a word. This makes Clint really mad.

Hell on Earth by madasthesea

Prompt: please do post!IW where everyone lost someone in the snap, but on paper it looks like Tony didn't lose anyone (Rhodey is alive, I'm pretty sure Pepper and Happy are too), so Hawkeye or someone is pissed until they see Tony and realize he's lost just as much as them

too-bright-eyes and too-dark-eye-bags by Speeps

He’d tried to act as if nothing had changed. As if all he had to do was crank up his speakers, power up his workshop and haul his armour onto his workbench, and then everything would go back to normal. A sixteen year old with too-bright-eyes and too-dark-eye-bags would come bounding in, smile wide as he slung his backpack somewhere on the floor where he’d inevitably trip over it later on.  He eyed the faded backpack that sat lonely on its owner's bright blue chair. Dust clung to its seams.

every promise don't work out that way by LethalBookshelves

"His son." Everyone turns to look at the blue girl. She doesn’t flinch at the new attention, staring right at Clint. Then she turns her dark eyes to Tony’s. “He lost his son.” — Tony’s back on Earth, but not really. He left something—someone—back there on Titan. In his hands he holds the picture frame of him and Peter—young, happy, alive Peter—posing stupidly with cheesy bunny ears at the camera and holding Peter’s Stark Industries certificate upside-down, and he knows exactly what he’s lost. And as he watches his tears fall onto the glass, he knows that he will stop at nothing to bring Peter Parker back. This is the story that shows what happens when he succeeds.

i will restore all that was broken by killerqueenwrites

“He took my kids!” Clint shouts. “And he took mine!” Tony roars back. After watching Peter disappear, Tony is lost. People keep finding him.

[definitelyisd1ce]

“It’s always been you.”

K. Baji — Tokyo Revengers.

Synopsis : Being somewhat affiliated with gang because you like one of its members; leaves you feeling strung along. Although, if it all fells, it’ll end well. Right?

Content Warnings!

contains the following ; unestablished relationship(s) , light angst to fluff and comfort, sweet nothings and sweet sorrows! ——— very much SFW!

As always, A/N! : My content is for those who wish to read it, though it is heavily recommended that you are 18+. I have no control over what you read, nor is it my business. Read at your own discretion. I’m not holding your hand.

WC; 2.3K !

Viewer Discretion Advised. <3

7:32pm.

The sun had cast a bright orange-yellow through the sheer white curtains of your bay windows, praising its rays on you as you decided it was time to crash in for the night. It was Friday, so there was nowhere to go. All your homework and upcoming assignments had been done, so you were basically just… here.

You settle in your bed with a book, letting the sun set in on you, and watching you read the book (it's more like reading the words and not retaining the information).

You needed help figuring out why you weren't interested in the book. It fits your taste; it was on your "To read!' list, so what was the problem? Unbeknownst to you, the deep-rooted desire to text your situationship was brewing, and it annoyed you.

You tossed the book to your side and picked up your phone, looking at the time and date on the home screen, though there was no notification from the guy you were looking for.

Keisuke.

You didn't like to accept the fact that he ghosted you every now and again, mainly because he always dragged his sorry ass to see you before anything was said and done. You still couldn't hold that over his head because he had a gang, family, mom, and school to cater to.

He wasn't your boyfriend, and you weren't his girlfriend; at least, that's what it comes out to be after you do the mental gymnastics.

You laid your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling, the ridges in it doing imaginary dances to entertain your brain and distract you from the impending silence. Eventually, your eyes grew shrouded, and you fell asleep.

--

2:43am.

The light taps of rocks hitting your window roused you awake and caused you to sit up and glance at your phone.

The time read 2:43, and the day was a new day. The only thing different was a couple of missed notifications: various calls and text messages, Instagram, TikTok, etc. But the one that stuck out to you was from your ravenette.

3 new messages and 2 missed calls from 'Baji <3."

It was weird; you didn't even know you had fallen asleep, exhausted and missing everything lively before the world went quiet.

You were pulled out of your stirring thoughts by another pebble thrown at your window, forcing you to pull yourself out of your bed and head to the window. You pulled the curtain back a little, only giving you a view of the ground below it without being seen, and there he was.

Baji, standing in his toman uniform and leaning against his motorcycle, tossed another pebble in his hand, almost nearing to look like he was about to throw it before he glanced at you and put his hand down.

You drew the curtain back and made a questioning face at him, which only caused him to throw his hand up, insinuating for you to open the window.

You grabbed the crank of the middle bay window, the biggest of the three, and turned it until it was open enough to talk with him.

"What are you doing here?!" You whispered-yelled to the boy below you, who only displayed a shit-faced smirk as he saw you.

You were wearing a fitting tank top, nylon shorts, and a bright pink bonnet—a scene that was way too familiar for Baji. It brought him clarity as he saw that, for the first time in a couple of days, you were facing bright even though your expression was dark as you looked at him quizzically.

"I just wanted to see you. I thought you were with Hina or Emma for a while. You really are a heavy sleeper," he answered, kicking the gravel as he chuckled out his response. His hair was in his all-knowing fighting-style ponytail, blood that may or may not be his, and a snark attitude just for you at this unearthing hour.

You rubbed your eyes and fetched your glasses to get a better look at him. Once you returned, you leaned on your window sill and spoke.

"Yeah, well.. when you have basically nothing to look forward to, what's the point of sleeping light?" you asked, head propped up in your palm.

Baji stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at you with a slight tilt to his head, a light pout to his lips. He looked around, trying to find an answer to lighten the mood.

The streets were empty, with the occasional car passing through. People were either on their way or coming back home from work. Bright orange streetlights shadowed the midnight sky, giving Baji a talking point.

"You normally never miss my calls; if you do, you call me straight back. What up with you, babydoll?" he asked honestly, wanting to understand the scarcity of your two moments.

This sent a countdown in your brain, counting the seconds you were about to have a meltdown or self-implode. What's up with you? More like, what the hell is up with him? Who just randomly ghosts people you claim to be infatuated with? But you digressed.

"What's up with me? Nothing is up with me, Keisuke. It's you. I should be asking that question, considering you act like you don't know what phone or a response is." You answered in a quiet yet tired tone, still putting heavy emphasis on his name.

Being woken up from her sleep was warranted, though her calling him by his name caught him off guard.

You could see the look on his face after you called him his name and not his last name or a pet name, slight appalment, and the look of being taken aback. He couldn't lie; it hurt a little, but his pride was too big to show it.

"First name basis, huh…" he muttered back before standing back up straight and opening his mouth to speak again. "I understand. But can you put off being mad at me for a tad bit longer? We can talk it out, yeah?" he asked, feather-light pleading and a somewhat sincere smile on his face.

"And what makes you think I want to do that?" you asked back, deadpan and with a smirk of sarcasm.

Baji looked back at his motorcycle and then back up at you, clicking his teeth as he insinuated a joyride on it.

“Uhn uhn.. uhn uhnnnnn Baji, no. It's too late, and my mom would kill me if she found out I left to go on a joyride. Especially with you." You gritted through your retainer-ridden teeth.

His bike, Ol' Alessia, was almost as old as Baji. You looked at his bike just about two or three feet from behind him, the memories of your shared laughs, your tears, his sweat and blood, and long conversations flooding your senses.

"Come on, I won't keep you out long—just long enough to fill in the missing time." He begged, a slight smirk on his face, his mischief fang, as you like to call it, on display.

After some thought, you caved and rolled your eyes, strolling to your already shut bedroom door and locking it. A slight prayer to hope for an easy in and out slipped past your lips as you put on your robe and house slippers and came back to the window.

"20 minutes?"

"20 minutes."

You sighed once more and climbed out the window, using the tree next to it as your way down. Once you got on your feet, you avoided Baji and went straight to his bike, putting on the helmet he kept for you.

He got on the bike, pulled it out of its idle stance, and revved it to warm it up. You got on right behind him, your body immediately going to backpack him as he pushed off and started to ride down the street.

The light breeze brought a sense of security that you haven't felt since you've last been with Keisuke. You used to reflect on your non-situation-relationship with him in times like these. Sometimes, he'd be with and around you like a lovesick puppy; others, he'd go with so much without a slight acknowledgment toward you.

You laid your cheek on his back as he made precise turns in your neighborhood, fighting the urge to break the stiff silence between you both. He found you being deep in thought cute, but since it was he who was on your mind, he had stirred the conclusion that it was probably a bad thing.

"I'll give ya a penny for that thought.." he spoke up a while after a mindless 7-8 minutes.

"You can keep your penny. I'm just thinkin'," you responded, perching your chin on his shoulder.

"About?"

"You, me, something I'd normally call us," you mumbled, paying attention to orange-hued streetlights. "It doesn't really feel like it's been that recently, y'know?" you urged.

Rueful silence racked through the air as your question surfaced, and Baji's hand was forced to speed the bike up a little.

"Yeah.. but you know I have good reasons, right?" he wondered, also wanting to see where you stood in understanding.

"No, Kei, I don't." you started, leaning up to sit up straight, "I don't know that you do because you don't communicate that."

He hung his head a little, sucking in his bottom lip. He knew he wasn't (and still isn't) the best at communicating. He wholeheartedly felt awful after Mitsuya and Chifuyu dogged him about it.

He guessed being together and not committed drew a fine line between his girl and his gang. He was together with you, but committed to his gang; thus causing a painful realization. After that brief realization, he got slightly startled out by feeling your hand creep up to his and guide Alessia back onto the road.

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you a lot more than I give you, huh?" he asked, feeling the hell-ridden embarrassment creep up his neck and rest on his cheeks.

"Yeah. I'd like to think so. I mean, for god's sake, Kei. I know we aren't in a relationship, but you can at least have some decency and acknowledge that you treat me more than just somebody. You and I have both admitted that." She ranted, pausing occasionally to push down the urge to cry.

"I don't ask for so much as a 'why, what are you doing, run this by me'… just something. Don't even let me get started because it makes me feel like I'm talking in circles, then I'm wasting my brea-"

"Hey! Hey! It's alright. I hear you." He cut you off, looking over his shoulder at you.

You bit your bottom lip, sniffling a little as you finally caught wind of your word vomit. You shook your head, not knowing what more to say. The silence was filling the space you two as he turned back onto your street, the light cruise bringing you back to a level head.

"Look, it's always and has been about you. I just need to work some things out before I can officially say I'm all yours, yeah?" he murmured, pulling up back under your window.

As much as you wanted to scream and hit him and tell him it was not fair, you understood he wanted to go through the troubles to get rid of them before being with you. And for that, you had to commend him.

"Okay, Baji. I guess I can't argue with that." You answered, taking off your helmet and getting off the bike.

It had been exactly 17 minutes since you left, and you still had 3 minutes to return to your window. Baji had gotten off his bike and came for a hug, wrapping his arms around your neck and bending down to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry, ma. I am immensely sorry for not making you feel like a priority, not holding myself up to a higher standard, and leaving you in the mud. It's not so manly and Toman code of me." He spoke, etching his apology into your forehead.

You grinned a little at his formality and apology, hugging him back. You pulled back, looking at his pale brown hue, smooshing his cheeks in your hand.

"I understand. I'll forgive you when I see you change and hold yourself up to what you say. But as for now, come on. I'm not letting you drive back home this late," you confided, motioning for him to help you into the window.

He nodded, boosting you into the open pane, allowing you to climb in and make sure everything was in order. Baji turned off his motorcycle and climbed into your window himself. He looked around, feeling the sense of familiarity creep up on him.

"Hey, while you stand there, close the window." You whispered,-demanded, already back into your tanktop and shorts.

He playfully rolled his eyes as he shut your room off from the outside world, removed his uniform, changed into basketball shorts and socks, and prepared to climb into bed with you.

He followed suit, climbing back into your plush sheets, big-spooning you to give you a tinge of protectiveness. You curled up into his caged arms; his faint cologne that wafted on his wrists seeped into your nose and started to lull you into brief, deep sleep. At least not before you got your final words out for the night.

"Kei?"

He grunted politely.

"Just promise me you won't keep me waiting."

"I won't keep you waiting, n/n. I promise. I want nothing but you. I want your past, your present, and your future." He answered, holding you tight and secure.

You smiled, keeping his promise close to you as he kissed the crown of your head.

And with that, you fell asleep.

silly little a/n!🤭: hey guys! second fic, how we feeling about it? Keisuke Baji is my man so there DEFINITELY will be a lot of fics about him as i write more. Feel free to drop suggestions. i’m open to just about any fandom i’m familiar with. as always, im open feedback and critiques! (though do be nice.). and as per usual; divider by @benkeibear:). reposts are highly appreciated ;).

[skullsnbruises]

Catboy Soot just dropped-

Hello! @/poprockpanda and I can’t stop making edits of Wilbur as a catboy, and then i was given the idea of making a fic, and I couldn’t help myself <3 idk if this counts exactly as g/t? But it’s my account and I do what I want<3 so here!

[Ao3 Link]

Taglist: @brick-a-doodle-do @poprockpanda (SORRY FOR SECOND TAG) @da3dm

Feline Fine

Chap. 1 - Cat Out of the Bag!

There was something nice about taking a walk down the street without a real reason. Not needing to go to the store, not needing to meet someone, just enjoying the bustle of the city and getting some fresh air. Tommy could go wherever he wanted, having the whole day free to do so.

He walked past buildings slowly, no particular aim as he crossed the street. Traffic was light that day, the birds were out and about flying through the air, and even people’s faces seemed friendlier. Tommy was happy to take it all in, not a care in the world. Until, he passed by an alleyway, to hear a small and distant cry.

Instantly he thought he might’ve just run into a dumpster baby, and his heart panged. He imagined those movies where a child had been abandoned and then adopted by a passerby. Tommy was not at all intending to adopt this baby-

Why was he even going so far with this random, and probably inaccurate, thought??

He’d just check out the noise. Quickly. Then back to his walk.

He peered into the dark strip between the two shops, brick walls on either side. Tommy would be lying to say he didn’t feel a bit anxious looking down there. You normally avoided dark scary spaces, ‘cause there might be wronguns down there. But curiosity killed the cat, he supposed.

He crept slowly through the alleyway, minding the trash and dirt as he went. He cranked his ears to catch sound of the foreign cries again. He waited, waited… maybe he imagined them?

And then- a meow.

Oh! So his “abandoned baby” thought was wrong after all. Still, he had been somewhat on the right track.

Tommy spotted a box, scribbled in marker over top of it “please take care”. He cocked an eyebrow, wondering why the hell someone would not only dump a cat by the dumpster, but tape the box shut as well.

The blonde glanced around, and he found a shard of a broken beer bottle. He picked it up with a mildly disgusted expression, worried of disease, and then cut into the tape, careful not to slice too deep for fear of the cat inside.

The meows started up again, louder. And as soon as Tommy had cut through the slip of tape, they paused again. Hesitantly, he lifted the flaps of the cardboard box, and peaked inside.

Staring back with dilated pupils was a matted long-furred black cat with twisted whiskers and bright brown eyes. Something clicked as they met eyes, and Tommy was taken aback.

All in an instant, the cat was out of the bag- er, box- and it darted through the alley. Tommy panicked, and took chase, worried like hell.

The blonde raced across sidewalks, keeping the black cat within eyesight at all times. It seemed smart enough to try to shake him of its trail, but Tommy was fast too, and turned this way and that to stay just a foot behind.

The cat took a sharp turn, and ended up backing itself into a corner. Tommy pumped his arms, drenched in sweat, as he came up to the cat. He slowed his pace, the adrenaline running out as he panted heavily, and entered a mock staredown with the feline. They both had a steady rise and fall of their chests as wide eyes glared nervously. Neither made any sudden move, too afraid how the other’d react.

“W-wait,” Tommy heaved, then questioned why he was talking to an animal, “I- I don’t want to hurt you,” he hoped it would understand anyway. Hands came out softly, gently. He positioned down to his knees, remaining consistent eye contact.

Tommy outstretched a welcoming hand, “Come here… pspsps,” he called quietly.

The cat stared, blankly for a moment, before it took the chance and shifted its paws slowly, one in front of the other. Gradually making its way closer. A second or two and the eyes would glance back to Tommy’s expression, watching intently for a change, for a frown, for any aggression before it would move again.

The feline was right before Tommy, and it closer detail and view, the blonde could see how dirty it was. The fur was clumped and shedding. It looked rough and fine, like a brush would tear it all out. There was a chip out of its left ear, and old wounds that trailed through its skin, only slightly covered by the mess of loose pelt. The poor thing looked quite skinny too, starved, if Tommy had to guess.

It sniffed the blonde's hand with great interest. Tommy didn’t dare take a breath as he stilled his body. The cat judged him, stared through him, sniffing like it could tell Tommy’s true intent through a whiff.

The furball decided it trusted Tommy, rubbing a cheek against his fingers. He smiled, scratching underneath its chin.

“Let’s get you home, poor thing, would you like that?”

The cat purred deeply, leaning into Tommy’s touches.

“Alright, let’s go then,” he smiled.

And like that, a simple meaningless walk turned into adopting a cat. Tommy wrapped an arm underneath its belly, and scooped it up so he was holding its rear in one hand, the cats body supported by his shoulder, with its head facing behind the blonde. He sighed as he turned out of the alleyway, and made his way, noting the street signs to head back home.

What did he get himself into?

[divinemissem13]

I was tagged by @elephant-in-the-pride-parade.... 20 fic writing questions here we goooooooo 1. How many works do you have on AO3?: 58

2. What's your total AO3 word count?: 171,059

3. What fandoms do you write for? Star Trek: Voyager, Prodigy, Next Gen, Picard, Strange New Worlds... I've also dipped a toe into some other fandoms recently, but mostly drabbles.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Gotta Start Somewhere! (Trektober 2022) (198)

Rotund (113)

Postlude to a Kiss  (98)

What Happens on the Holodeck Stays on the Holodeck (97)

Kitchen Confidential (87)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I don't always have a lot to say, but I try to at least acknowledge comments with a heart or a "thank you."

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hmmm probably Just Another Love Story (J/C Workforce AU)? Most of the time I try for at least a hopeful ending but that one is a real cliffhanger... Forever, Honey, and Au Revoir, Mon Amour are also probably in the running (thanks, Whumptober).

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? As I said, I do like a happy ending, so this is harder to narrow down... but I think maybe All Things Bright and Beautiful (very fluffy Beverly/Kathryn fic)... or else maybe The Best Things In Life Are Free (J/C domestic fluff)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not really, although I have gotten comments here and there where people are pretty adamant about how they want the story to go... even if it's not the way I'm planning it to go 🤷‍♀️

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I will heavily imply it from time to time but that's as close as I get!

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Within the Star Trek universe, absolutely... And Beverly/ Kathryn is one of my favorite pairings. I also attempted a Doctor Who / Voyager crossover but ended up spending the whole time with Ten & Donna... who knows, maybe I'll give that another try eventually.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of (except probably Chat GPT)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No one has but I would be open to it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Did my first one very recently! Kathryn vs Coffee with @magdalenejaneway

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Kathryn Janeway/ Chakotay.... even though I'm a bit turned off by Robert Beltran at the moment, I've mostly been able to disassociate the character I write with the actor! But I do also love Kathryn/ Beverly and Picard/ Crusher (TNG)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? N/A

16. What are your writing strengths? Getting inside characters' heads/ working out why they did whatever dumb thing the original writers made them do because they had to crank out 24 episodes a season 😂

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Plotting out a story in advance, visual descriptions

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I love languages but if I'm going to use another language in a fic, I will double and triple check that all of the vocab and grammar are correct and also make sure to provide a translation or enough context that one isn't needed.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Star Trek Voyager

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Most challenging fic that I think I'm most proud of: Flecks of Light and Dark (depression focused J/C rewrite spanning from 'Hope and Fear' through to 'Latent Image') But the one that kind of lives rent free in my head at the moment is All the Wounds We Cannot See (Kathryn and Beverly meet-cute, post-Picard season 3)

That was a fun little trip down memory lane! I will tag (with zero pressure!) @madamairlock, @n-square, and @captainhattersvoyagerreviews... and anyone else who wants to answer the questions!

[tsuki-chibi]

Ladynoir July 2023 Day 13: In the Dark

Read all the entries on AO3

--

“I never thought I’d say this, but I would give my allowance for the next three years to have the night back,” Queen Bee announced. She was sitting there with her eyes shut and her hands pressed over her eyes, but even that didn’t seem to be enough to keep the light out. Chat knew exactly how she felt.

“Don’t get discouraged. At least the light makes it easy for us to see everything the akuma is doing,” Ladybug said, clearly trying to force some cheer into her voice.

“I don’t think that’s helping,” Chat said, letting his shoulders slump. He also shut his eyes, pressing his face to his knees. The world outside of his eyelids was so unbearably bright though, that the light seemed to seep in even in his protective position.

Today’s akuma appeared to be terrified of the dark. It’s whole body appeared to be coated with millions of fireflies that were so brightly lit that the akuma was genuinely painful to look at. It had taken Chat several minutes to get the dancing spots out of his eyes after stupidly looking right at the akuma. It was like looking at the sun.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, every light in Paris had been cranked up to eleven. Even the sun seemed brighter than usual. Not a single part of the city was cast in shadows anymore. It was after midnight, yet the sun was higher in the sky and it was brighter out than it sometimes was at noon. There was no sign of the moon. The sun had just kept shining away.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Rena said.

“What do you mean?” Ladybug asked.

“Well, if we can see everything the akuma is doing, they can see everything we’re doing,” Rena said reasonably. Chat lifted his head to look at her. In addition to her usual fox costume, she was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Queen Bee had bought several pairs from a store after realizing that they couldn’t exactly fight an akuma if they couldn’t see because it was too bright. The sunglasses helped, but only a little.

“That makes sense,” Ladybug said slowly. “This would be easier in the dark. But… how can we make that happen?”

They all looked at each other cluelessly.

“A giant umbrella?” Chat offered lamely.

“A tent?” Rena suggested.

Queen Bee just shrugged.

Ladybug sighed and drummed her fingers on the rooftop. “Even if I cast my charm and we did get something like that this time, how could we make the akuma stay under it?” she wondered. “Wouldn’t the akuma just move out from underneath a tent and an umbrella?”

“Oh, right,” Rena said, sounding disappointed.

“Hang on,” Chat said. “What if we combined something like that with Carapace’s Shellter? The akuma wouldn’t be able to escape from the dark if there was a barrier keeping them in, right?”

“That’s brilliant!” Ladybug exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands. “Okay. You three keep an eye on the akuma. Try to herd it towards – um – towards the park near the school. I’ll go get Carapace. We’ll meet you there. I’ll cast my charm and hope that Tikki’s been listening and gives us just what we need.”

“Good luck!” Chat called after her as Ladybug scrambled up and away. He had no doubt that their plan would work perfectly.

But as he turned back to Rena and Queen Bee, who were both looking at him with baffled expressions, one problem occurred to him.

How on earth were they supposed herd this akuma to the park when they couldn’t even look at it?!

[d-trashbandicoot]

The last 4 years : a retrospection (part 1)

I guess looking back it wasn’t the running away that saved me, it was the time living the easiest way available. All these years growing up imagining the way the real world would be. Unaware that my mind was skewed, biased, against me. There was a simple reason for the way I felt. In between; the bouts of youthful despair, in fear of there being nothing to live for in the future, and the moments of overzealous joy, where the world was so bright and full of hope.

Perhaps it was this reason one would always return to Star Trek TNG and Avatar TLA, in the darkest of times. To remember that fleeting feeling of hope. To grasp at the last threads of love and humanity.

In my bipolar support group the other day I brought up the idea that if there was ever a magical cure all of a sudden for bipolar, I didn’t think I would take it. I’ve ridden this bull this long and boy when the adrenaline hits, sure life is sweet. Granted at the lowest it is normal to question whether one's ride will end violently this time under the hooves of the bull.

The topic shifted onwards and we ended up on the truth that this illness, in part, cranks the emotional feelings and reactions up to eleven. Our emotions hit us so strongly, we often feel more than our "healthy" peers. And whilst the downs may be horrific the ups are emotions many could only access with by intoxication.

Alas, it is my circumstance of being a middle class Nepo-baby that has not only kept me out of institutions but dragged me along to get where I am today.

That paragraph makes me sick. But I guess that's where my illness festers these days. The only valid target of the darkness. Capitalism and its proprietors. Those who put profit above life.

At this point I have repeated the last 4 years to so many as a quick snapshot of movement. I have also written plenty on the past around the time of my diagnosis. But I never really looked at the 3 years of healing that I did. At the time it did not feel like healing, but hindsight also makes for pleasant surprises. At the time it was about survival, just finding a way out from that godforsaken tax haven.

But it gave me what I needed. Stability, schedule and money. All I had to do was go to work each day, keep my head down, get through the day and then I'm home. On the couch with the family smoking weed whilst watching Tv. Except half the time it would be football. That made it very easy to let the THC work its way and process my past, present and future. In the presence of my own family I have spoken thousands of words to myself. My change was happening right in front of them, in my mind, and then never even knew. After all, it's not something a mother should hear of her own child. At least not till I could say I truly know myself. Not till I knew where I began and where the affliction ended.

Now, many times these introspections were triggered by the theme of the film or show we were watching, or the news. The news was the worst. And for the latter year'n'half I had to work in an office with bloomberg or some other 24/7 financial news channel.

I would say this was also spurred on by the DMT I brewed and drank back at Uni. The cannabis had started to bring up the elements of the trip and each night I was filled with I get it now moment. At least that is how it feels now after another year and 5 months of moping around the mainland.

Realistically it wasn't every night, no...

surely it couldn't have been...

Whatever it was, it worked and kept me going. When the family dog died I felt the weighted reason to stay, on that island, go. A deciding factor, the thing that tipped the scale was removed and now the scales swung to the other side. So I decided to leave..

Consciously, this time. Mulled it over for some time, although my mind was set. I went to Bristol for a weekend and told my parents when I got back, that this is my plan. We talked, they had reservations and it felt like a battle. In the end I felt as if I had offended them, betrayed them in a certain way. More so my father, I think my mother understood. Her prime concern was for my welfare, his was more focused on financial stability. After 2 more months I left.

[revelisms]

Antichrist Copia theory has overtaken me yall. I was not expecting to crank out a full thing on this, but, uh...if you're looking for one big indulgent braindump on Terzo trying to unpack his feelings on this while Copia gets possessed by a demon, look no further?

Quick context setting—I'm still working out these headcanons a bit, but what I'm generally tinkering with here:

Everyone tied to the Emeritus bloodline has some degree of magical abilities, which were formally "awakened" in an oath-taking ceremony at a point in the boys' childhood. This is the Sight mentioned here (i.e., whatever is up with the white eye), and each of the brothers have a slightly different angle for it: Primo can see into the minds of living things, Secondo can see into the past, Terzo can see into the future, and Copia can see into the realm that bridges life and death—and is somewhat a literal bridge, himself, between those planes of reality.

The Exaltation ceremony is a formal handoff from each Papa to the next heir, in which their Sight is tapped to its greatest potential in preparation for becoming head of the church. This typically involves a delivery of rites, a magical blessing, and an opening of the Gate between worlds (which, in this context, is technically Hell itself).

Basically: mayhem ensues.

here we lie

4k words | Rating: M | Terzo-Centric | Antichrist Copia | CWs: Ritual magic, dark imagery, near-death experience, blood, language, existentialism, doomed fate, whump, anger issues, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The exaltation ceremony goes wrong.

By all accounts, it shouldn't have.

As with any long-standing traditions of the church, the ritual had been perfected to the scrape of dust one was allowed to wear on their boots—and, as such, had been prepared with the expected flurry of pomp and circumstance.

The esteemed Monsignor Emeritus, firstborn, blessed with the Sight, had cleansed the air thrice with dishes of althea and frankincense and bistort: enhancements for protection and divination. 

Sister Mariella, well-familiar with the customs, had laid down the sigils for the Gate flawlessly: shadowed by the slow-prowled growlings and page-turned rites of Secondo Emeritus, Archbishop of the Eternal Light.

The ceremony, as was custom, was set to be led by the head of the church: their Exalted, sheened in black from neck to toe, the points of his clawed gloves glinting in the lowlight—for whom the Sight of premonition had seemed both a blessing and a curse, and never more so than now.

He was distracted, perhaps. Dehydrated, maybe. Dreading the moment he would stand at the door to the realm beyond—a threshold of time and space untethered—that would soon devour the faceless flesh-form of a ghoul cast back to the shadow (his One, his All, his own); a door he himself, in time, would one day find himself crossing, with body and soul split, head and neck cleaved, heart and mind shattered.

From the moment he'd slopped a spoon through the breakfast his secretary had slid on his desk that morning, he'd known, instinctually, that this damned thing could turn so haywire, if only because he'd been the one shackled with it.

His jittery magic, his restless brain, and Copia—

Well. 

Copia has been anything but normal, from the day Sister carted him up the chapel steps.

Terzo knew he had magic—the likes of which few could fathom, even from his sticky-fingered child days. The night the little rat had taken his oaths, the air had sung with it: a strange buzz of sensation that felt like the sun had tipped off-center. 

And now— 

Now, the Gate is laid open beneath Terzo's hands, the unseen ink of his spell-marks glowing a blood-lilac fuchsia, bright enough to glare violently through his clothes, and the void of Hell itself screaming in its glory—and Copia is not imbued with the Dark One's majesty, as he should be—is no man, is not living, has flames for eyes and claws for teeth and wings like the undead and is screaming—

"Close it," Secondo snarls at him, a blurred tower of shadow and piercing white—

—and Terzo knew this.

Knew this boy-man-beast-hellspawn of Christ-Shadow Beholden always was. 

He'd looked him in the eye—kneeled there in the cat's cradle of a pentagram scraped in chalk, hands fidgeting at his cassock—and gave a crook of his head: murled, Ready? like a tease, though some part of him had meant it as, You'll be alright, eh?

But unblessed saints and demons below, Copia isn't.

What writhes before him now is a creature that terrifies him to the bone—one that may not abandon his brother completely, should he fail at this any farther than he already has.

"Terzo." Primo, now: an urgent hiss at his shoulder. "Close the gate—"

"I know." His magic burns at his fingertips, sears through his blood. "That—thing hasn't released him—"

A thing with claws cradling Copia's head like ceramic a hairline from shattering, spitting a pained growl through his teeth.

The sacrament in Mariella's hand shakes. "Papa, what's...?"

"I don't know." The flamelight flickers unnaturally against the domed walls: a great breath that lapses to darkness, sparks back again. "Shit, I—I don't know."

"Terzo—"

"Close the gate—"

"Hell Satan—will you all shut up?!"

There are horns in Copia's hair, slick-red-gold between his grappling fingers.

His stomach is in his head. His brain in his feet.

Mariella swallows. She's always been a strong soul—far more than him, now: level-headed in a storm, vibrant in a fog; a presence that guides as much as it grounds.

"How long can you hold it for?" she whispers, firm and calm. 

He pulls dry air into his lungs. "As long as I need to." 

He steps forward, spellwork singing in his veins, and lets his hands unfurl. The air whips at his vestments, wailing with the bone-deep unease of voices old as Creation straining to be heard.

Somewhere in there is Copia's own. He'll drag it out by hand, if he has to.

"You imbecile!" Secondo is shouting, muffled behind the blurred opalescence of the Veil: a wall that glows off the circle Terzo crosses, consumes him with the prickling unease of a limb losing its circulation. "You can't reason with it!"

The flames warp again. A shadow like death bends over the walls. 

Terzo's no stranger to the taste. His dreams have been riddled with the stench of it, from the day the Sight was force-gifted upon him. And like he had, then—a child with battered elbows and bruised knees; a not-man with awkward limbs and disdain for the old orders of this world; a Cardinal with paint on his teeth and a straightjacket of woolen expectations—he repents.

"I call on the spirits of the Then and the Below." A twitch strings through his fingers: with it, a flare of violet light. "To the Beings of those Beyond, the Eternal, I speak now, and speak only—" The pitch of his voice mangles, ragged with the corded growl of a beast: the underbelly all their half-human souls peel clean, when drowned deep enough in this waste. "In my Blood, see my will. In my Sight, my path—"

"What is he saying?" Mariella asks, her voice muffled as though through glass.

Primo calls a sharp warning: "Don't cross it—"

The air whistles with a faint singing of metal—and splits. It grapples at his clothes, twisting his hair with a gravitational pull unseen. 

He breathes in chalk dust, sighs out knives.

Beneath Copia's shivering limbs ripples the black expanse of the Gate: an aether so endless one couldn't capture its history in a millennia: a presence so indefinable that even Primo, with years of such history under his belt, can only stare through the blur, voiceless and rigid at the sight of it.

With twitching claws and lightless eyes and Hell beneath his feet, Terzo beckons.

"Bare yourself to me."

The room shivers. The walls shriek. The flames stagger, flutter, wheeze again—and snuff out, completely. 

In the pitch, it is only the Eternal, and the glow within his veins, and the white of his eye, and Copia's beast-man-beast-man-fanged grin with a split lip— 

A Being that takes the air of the room by the throat, and speaks in a voice that thunders.

"It is time."

Terzo feels its presence slithering up his legs. The weight of its All on his lungs. 

He keeps his hands steady, his intent clear, even for the exertion that leaves his arms quivering.

"Not here," he grits back, a strange echo in the ringed light that encases them. "Not now."

A hand that is not Copia's, is scaled and rotted and red, slaps to the stones. "When?" The shriek hits his ears like a thunderstrike. A chill is crawling under his veins: a heaviness that isn't right, is this thing more than his own blood. "When?"

Primo's magic is wafting through the air—some swift-casted attempt at a ward around them, far too late now. The scent of it itches on Terzo's tongue: dragon's blood, rose-ash, frigid at his back. His own aura swats it off like a gnat, too distracted to let it in, to think.

Fuck, he needs to think.

A stage—

The Being wails.

His downfall—this one's own Ascension—

Ice knifes into his ankle.

A stage and heat and lights and purple-bleeding-black and blood on his throat—a syringe in his brother's own hands, a demon masqueraded—his Unnamed's voice gristling in his ear, Be still be still be still now—

Mariella squeezes a talisman in her palm, smoking sweetly with the taste of Secondo's own protection charm. 

"Papa," she calls out: her voice a muddy, drowned thing.

His lashes flutter open, heavy as lead. 

"Coward!" the Being retches. Hellfire blisters against its silhouette, a nebulic haze. "Tell them of your death. Of Our purpose. Where We were sewn. You know it—"

Mariella holds the stone out to him, guided through the surging current of Primo's ward. The air wrestles like a gale through her sleeve.

"You know it!"

His claws catch at her palm—not his gloves, but his own, thick and black as talons. The talisman burns a sunspot-bloom through his marrow, bright as a thousand stars.

"Thirteen months." His speech is one he doesn't recognize: child and entity and Bloodline infinite. "On a black dais, surrounded by your flock." The talisman melts like a balm into his skin: an unseen shield that ripples with half-lit iridescence. The chill biting into his skin flinches. "You will know it," Terzo grits on, "and now is not it."

He thinks he hears Copia's voice through the fray. He can't be sure.

"And then?" snarls the Being.

Not a being. Not a thing. 

No—this is Lucifer-incarnate.

An orchestration.

"It won't be finished, then." The shell of magic around them snaps like embers in a flame, a jolt wrestling up his arm. So much time. So much weighed down—and he weighs it down, still, his breath shuddering. "You'll have years to go—"

"And then?"

Scraped nails, dead eyes, bloodied horns, Copia—

Secondo's gloved palm tears through the gleam, squeezes like a noose around his bicep. "I won't say it again, you fuck," he spits, the words warped and crackling. "You're going to get him killed—"

He can't shake him off quickly enough. 

"Close it!"

Copia's eyes. Copia's soul, trapped in the All. Right there—

His magic flares like a supernova, spears through that gate and holds: a cosmic blast that shouts his throat raw, knocks Secondo nearly off his feet, leaves him lightheaded and with blood on his teeth—but he has him—

"Thirteen months' time," the Being roars, "and you'll be taken with it."

Terzo hisses, his claws scraping at his brother's skin. 

"So is the Rule."

The Gate grapples at his silks. 

Copia's gloved fingers shake, snatching desperately at his arms. His own voice breaks through the loom. "Terz—"

"I've got you," Terzo spats. Sweat sticks at his neck. 

The fibers of his magic are fraying at the edges. 

Red eyes glare up at him. "Do you accept it?"

The portal whines.

"To the day it is marked, you'll have it. As it is written." His claws slip on Copia's sleeve. "As it always was."

The Being grins. "And so it will be."

It spits his brother out.

His hold on the Gate snaps like a wire—and shatters the well of magic, with it. The howl torrents through the room with a cello's blare, and whips to a bee-winged nothingness.

With the loss of it, gravity lurches in his gut. He cracks to his knees, catches himself on the stones just enough—gloves still intact, not torn through, only clawed with gold—and heaves blood. 

"Papa!"

And his brother. His damned demon brother: rubber-legged, staggering, Copia gasps like a man near-drowned.

Unscathed, somehow—Satan willing.

Primo is across the room, in an instant. "Copia. Unblessed beneath, are you alright?"

"Ye-Yes, yes, I—shit." Primo catches him, his gloves slipping at his sleeves. Unsteadily, he veers back on his feet. "What...what happened?" 

It's too dark. Too quiet. Too loud.

Terzo swallows down bile; chokes on blood and phlegm. Mariella's habit swims in his vision.

"Papa," she hushes, clear as crystal now. "Papa, look at me." 

Secondo, halfway between them: "Is it gone?"

Her fingers skim through the sweat-dripped mess of his paints: press cooly at his temple.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes," she breathes.

Hazily, lashes flicking, Terzo tips out of her touch. He chokes on his words, the first try; rasps them, the second. "Where's the rat?"

"He's here," Primo answers him. "He's fine."

There's a clumping of boots, a rustling of silks, Mariella scurrying from the floor.

"What in Hell's name were you thinking." Secondo's hand jerks at his sleeve, wrestles him half-blind back into his bones. "You could have doomed us all. We never—never—speak to the Unnamed without wards in place. You know that—"

"Brother," Copia croaks.

Secondo rips his head over his shoulder. "You shut your mouth. I haven't even gotten to you." With a firm grip, his hand slips under Terzo's arm, helps him slowly to his feet. "Get up," he huffs. "Come on. Are you alright?"

"I'm—fuck. Fine. I'm fine."

His elder brother scowls down at him. "Good. And you better stay that way, because I have half a goddamned mind to put a fist through your teeth—"

"Dino," Primo snarls, "This is helping nothing." Years of practice in such misguided events has left him rationed, calm: a quiet glance turned to the pale-faced attendant behind him, who stands shell-shocked, having seen unwantedly the darker veins of their Order—and ones their customs would soon have him forget. "Jean," Primo says, waiting for his eyes to drop. "We will need a medic. Say nothing to the All-Father."

Secondo scoffs. "Oh, yes—Nihil will have this one's ass, when he hears of this—"

"Saints—ignore him, young one. A medic, and Priestess Diana. Quick as you can."

The boy nods and takes off through the hall's doors, stumbling up the stairs in his haste.

In his absence, the room holds a collective breath, the eyes of the siblings still in attendance fixed like rabbits on the four men clustered in the center of the room.

"We're alright," Primo says to them all, in a tone that is more order than reassurance.

It couldn't be more of a reach.

Terzo wheezes a snarl, a laugh. "Alright." The stones sting beneath his feet: five paces that drive him out of Secondo's iron grip, steer him straight into the path of Copia's saucer-wide blinking: eyes blue and white and younger than they should ever seem, in a face that has grown so weathered, as all of them have.

And he knew.

He lifts a clawed finger, his breath too slow. "I knew."

Primo, sharp as steel: "Do not take this out on him—"

He couldn't give a shit. 

He almost killed him.

The bastard wasn't living.

"What are you, mh?" Terzo licks his lips, tastes the bitter metal of blood. He lifts a shaky hand. "No, no—what did she make you?" He smears the leather against his mouth, the heat of his stare unwavering, a knife-edge sliced from shoes to frazzled fringe. "That—that Aether just within you, eh? Always that, under there?"

Copia shakes. "I didn't," he blunders.

"This is why she brought you, isn't it? Satan, of course—"

Secondo wrestles for his elbow, a steadying squeeze. "Terzo—"

"You saw it—!"

His brother's eyes simmer: one black in the lowlight, the other white as a moonbeam. "I saw you."

His bites his nails through his glove. Rattles in a breath.

"Calm down, the both of you," Primo says coldly, a hand still on Copia's shoulder. "It was reckless—but you managed. We are all still in one piece." He steps between them, pointedly, studying Terzo's face like a leech. "Your Sight will be strained for weeks, after that. You did not have the power to even attempt that on your own."

Terzo snuffs. "A good thing one of us sorry shits did."

Behind the sharp slope of Primo's shoulder, Copia shivers, eyes downturned. "I—"

"Don't." He drags a gloved hand through his hair. Shaking—still shaking? Outraged—always. Horrified, still. "You're good," he tells his brother, tells himself. "It is all good. You're alright. Okay."

Primo's eyes stare through him, see a bitten-lipped boy with a bandage on his cheek.

Terzo turns away. "Okay," he hushes again, and walks, past Secondo's stone-still glare, Mariella's worried frown, and walks, and walks, and walks—

"You are not running away, now—"

"Dino. Leave it. Copia, do not linger on that, alright? Don't listen to it. You know how he is. It is not your fault—"

"But what—what was that? What happened—?"

—up the gnarled stairwells, out the maze of lower halls, stumbling over the grasses, and sits like a stone on the side-entry's steps. Like a ghost.

Sits for an age.

He must—because, by then, the medics have come, and the stench of that room has been dragged open, and Mariella's whispers are drifting across the corridor's arches—after he's ripped off his gloves, dug his fingers through his hair, tried to breathe and not think—and he expects her. 

He expects her fear, her pity.

Not Copia.

The fool's boots scuff on the stairs.

"Is it, eh..." His brother muddles over a breath. "Alright if I—?"

Terzo doesn't have the mind to fight it—not with sweat still cold at his back. He swats his palm, some attempt at allowance, kneading his other fingers over his brow.

Copia slumps down to the steps. Just stays there, in awkward, insufferable silence.

Finally: "Shit—it's chilly today, isn't it?"

Terzo leers through his fringe. "Going to talk about the birds, next?"

"I'm just saying."

"Just saying. Yes—and you'll be singing, after." He combs back the half-tamed waves of his hair, hangs his hand across his knee. "Old chamber smells like a cesspool."

Copia manages a smile, the thistles of his mustache wrinkling. "Bleh. Nasty place. I've always hated it, down there."

"All the more reason to, now, huh?" Terzo forces a sneer of his own, glaring away. He sniffs. Pits his tongue against his teeth.

For a beat, his brother says nothing. Then, his gloved fingers squeaking over each other: "I'm alright."

Terzo chuffs, furrowing his brows. "Barely."

He can feel the rat's eyes on him. It makes his skin crawl. "Primo...told me. What it—well." Copia frowns at his boots, at the graveled path beyond. "Did you mean it?" he hushes, lifting his eyes. "That you've...seen it, before?"

Terzo bites the inside of his lip. "Seen lots of things."

"But—that. It's—I've always thought...er...felt that, maybe, she'd..."

"Sister?"

"Mother, yes—"

"Your mother."

Copia's shoulders twitch.

"I—sorry," Terzo mumbles, shifting his fingers over his thumb. "I know it's not..." 

His fault, his intention—his anything, right?

But it is. Isn't.

Should be.

He flexes his hand, pitters his fingertips together. Looks away. "Anyway."

A breeze rustles cooly through the shrubbery that flanks the stairs: a feathered hush along the pines that tower over the grounds.

"Anyway," Copia repeats, shifting his tongue around his mouth. "It's just...you, eh...you have seen it, before," he says again, watching the air ripple through the leaves, "haven't you?"

Terzo glances at him. Sister's sloped nose. A paintbrush-smattering of freckles. The white of his eye, fixed on the swaying branches. Lanky little thing, as he's always been. The mirror to his own placelessness, own purposelessness, own forced mantle he never asked to have thrown upon him—but craved, clawed for, claimed, nonetheless.

"Told you, little thing," he says, tipping his heel off the stones. "Seen lots of things."

"But I know. I've always...felt it, I just haven't—" Copia fumbles, lacing his fingers. "Had the words, I guess." 

"Rare thing, for you."

"Shut up."

"Heh—even rarer for me, eh?"

"Ugh."

They breathe in unison, the air thick with it: hope, despair, magic, emptiness.

"When it...when that...thing took over me, did it...say anything to you?"

Terzo's mouth ticks.

Thirteen months. Poison in his neck. His body tossed through the gaping maws of the realm beyond.

He stares at the points of his boots, still speckled with his own spit and blood, and scuffs his thumb at it.

"Eh...not clearly. Hard to make out, in the muck of it."

"None of it came through?"

Terzo tilts his chin on his shoulder, fixing him with a narrowed look. "It wasn't you, Coppie," he says. "Just...forget what I said, before. Old temper of mine, rearing its shitting head again."

"But what if—"

"It wasn't." Terzo plants his palm on his brother's knee, chipped black on his nails, and squeezes. "It wasn't," he murmurs again.

Copia stutters. "Well, even if it wasn't—it—it felt like I was..."

"Delirious?" He perks one brow, fox-grinned in his usual reach for deflection, distraction. "Dead, even?"

"Whole."

The smile wanes. 

For a breath, he tries to hunt for that beast beneath his brother's skin—the way he so often does in the steamed glass of his own mirrors, and so easily sees it in them: the spire-teeth, the winged limbs, the eyes half-living. 

He finds only a quivery little boy, tucked in the cage of a man's body. The same one who spent years, against all odds—against his own stupid, spiteful jealousy—clinging like a barnacle to his side.

He slides his hand away. "The Sight does it to all of us, little rat. Strips away the Veil." He picks at his thumb, the gravel hazing to a fine blur, and swallows: white stone crisping to clarity, again. "Catch an Emeritus in the right light—even a clueless one can see the Fallen in them."

Copia frowns.

Maybe it's not a comfort. All the more proof that he isn't one of them, as he has so often feared.

The Other, above all else.

"But what if I am?" he says quietly. "Whatever that...thing was? Will, eh...will something happen, if that's true?"

Terzo lifts his eyes to the sky—grayish with cloud-cover, damp with the chilled humidity of a storm along the way, something to wash this whole mess clean—and lies through his teeth. 

"Happen?" he snides. "What is this—Armageddon, itself? You worry worse than Nonna, Coppie." He wrinkles his brows at him, his smile thin, his paints half-smeared off his face. "And even if you were—would it be so bad? All of us are hardly human, eh? Perhaps you are just farther along the evolutionariness—the truest Creature of the Night, of us all." His eyes widen, teasingly. "I mean—psh! I will have my fangs, no? And the pincher, his wolf-pelt, and Primo will, eh...Hell, what would the old goat be?"

Copia rolls his eyes, leaning into the cradle of his elbows. "A zombie?"

"Feh—the Nihilist is the rotting corpse, surely."

His brother rolls into a snicker. "Sea creature?"

"Agh—not the lagoon man! We will insult the dear river's integrity, with such things—no, no." Terzo sniffs, feigns smearing away his paints instead of the heat itching at his eye, and smiles wryly again. "Let's be realistic, here—the old gardenia will be the enchanted plant that traps one's bones for the witches, yes?"

Copia wheezes on another laugh.

Saints, he hates that laugh. Godawful sound, a mimicry of his own: a snort and a tea kettle and a giggle all in one. 

The brightest sunbeam of any.

"He has to be the, er—the witch, right?" Copia wonders, giving him a teasing glance.

Terzo flashes his teeth. "Now, if that is the category—I will rule above them all, no?"

And his brother laughs again.

Their little brother, little demon, little star. The highest heir of them all, doomed to a path he should have never been put on—as all of them are, in their own ways. Always have been; always will be.

Terzo ignores Primo's shadow in the corridor, flanked by Mariella's quiet eyes. Ignores the hawkish leer of Secondo's folded-armed scowling, waiting to deflect the plague that will no doubt burst into the halls, once news of it all has reached the ears of their Highest.

At least for this moment, he can pretend.

Flit away what is yet to come, like a bottle tossed to the sea—Nihil, Sister, this brother tressed in silks and jewels for a price he hadn't the slightest knowledge would be paid—and goad another laugh out of him, and another. 

Relish in the denial that this is all that ever was. Ever could be. 

Copia: blushing, teary-eyed but toothy, knocking his shoulder into his—unable to do anything but choke at the idiotic scenarios he conjures for the four of them, in all their monsterly glory. As distracted as he deserves to be, after that wretched thing. The memory of it all forgotten, if for a moment.

And that's enough, Terzo thinks, the cool tang of rain on the gales.

For now, maybe, that's enough.

[lyss-butterscotch]

A friendly reminder to let the worms off the strings in your headcanon universes

[corruptedcaps]

Goth or not

This is based on a request from @ab1nsur . I hope they and you like it.

Larissa nearly gagged as she walked onto the convention floor. It was like comic-con for self centred brats. Every stall was hocking some new kind of beauty product or diet or similar crap. She hated this superficial world and hoped no one would recognize her. Although being a goth she did stand out in the sea of bright pastels.

She wouldn’t even be there if her stupid twin sister Belle hadn’t begged her to drive her there. Despite literally being the same age, Belle had yet to get a drivers licence so relied on Larissa to bring her places. Of course Larissa made sure she got something out of it.

“Alright enjoy your stupid Barbie Con with your friends or whatever the hell this is, where is my fifty bucks?” Larissa said to Belle who was busy squealing with her two best friends Courtney and Alexis at the sight of it all. Rolling her eyes Larissa snapped her fingers in front of Belle finally snapping her out of it.

“You get the money when we get home remember? If I give it to you now you’ll just leave me here. Have fun, look around a bit, maybe you’ll pick up so tips to fix… all of that.” Belle said gesturing to Larissa’s whole look causing Courtney and Alexis to giggle and the three walked off into the convention hall.

Larissa groaned and dragged herself towards the food court. She coughed as she went through clouds of perfume and pushed herself through gaggles of women giggling at her.

After an hour she was throughly bored and couldn’t take it anymore. She searched the massive hall for her sister for another 30 minutes before finding Belle and her friends in front of a booth. They were all standing outside a weird pink tube of some sort. It had a door and looked like it could fit a person.

“Alright Belle I can’t stand this anymore, give me the $50 or I’m out of here right now.” Larissa said. Belle turned around annoyed.

“God Larissa you’re such a buzzkill! I was just about to try out this new makeover machine and…. Wait. I have an idea. How about you try this machine out. You do that and I’ll give you the $50 right now AND you can leave.” Belle said with a mischievous grin on her face as the other two girls giggled. Larissa thought about it for a second. The machine looked ominous but it couldn’t be any worse than staying there for a few more hours.

“Alright deal but have the money ready when I get out otherwise I’ll leave you here and never drive you anywhere again.” Larissa said stepping into the machine.

“Now how does this wor-” Larissa started to say before Belle slammed the door on her. Belle smirked as she cranked the dial up past ‘hottie’, ‘babe’, ‘sexpot’, ‘temptress’ to its final setting of ‘mega bitch’.

Inside the machine Larissa was alone in the dark until a laser light began scanning her entire body. It was then that she noticed that the door had a mirrored back so she could see herself. As the scan finished she felt two clamps squeeze around her arms locking her in place.

“Hey! What the hell is this.” She yelled but the machine was soundproof. As she struggled to get loose a pulsating light began to flash pink. That’s when the voice started.

“You are a powerful and beautiful brat.” It said over and over again as it started to flash up images of girls like Belle and her friends. Narcissistic and vain dolls who lived for their own pleasure. Despite her restraints, Larissa was still able to resist.

“No… I’m…. Not… like… those…. Sluts!” She groaned trying to look away from the images and ignore the audio.

“Resistance detected. Scanning memories for more specific treatment. This is your sisters fault. You deserve her respect. You deserve her fear.” It said over and over.

“No! She’s a brat but she’s still my sister. A sister who dragged me here. A sister who tricked me into this machine. Yesss it is all her fault! She should respect me! No she should fear me!” She moaned as the machine found its way into her mind.

Her pupils’s began to dilate as her resistance weakened and she became entranced by the lights and the images and stopped struggling. The machine then proceeded to pump her body full of pink liquid through her restraints. Her body started to transform slowly. Her skin tanned and her hair lightened.

“Your sister is worthless. She is beneath you. You deserve everything she has.” The machine continued.

“Yessss she is pathetic! She is a worm ohhh but what could she possibly have that I want?” Larissa said just barely clinging onto her goth persona.

“You should have her clothes. Her friends. Her power.” The machine said pressing on with her transformation. Her lips grew larger, her tits grew bigger and her now platinum blonde hair become thick and long.

“Why would I want any of that? She’s a loser bimbo with beta bitches hanging on her every word and I’m…” she said trailing off as the strobing slowed down and she was able to focus on her own reflection. She hadn’t noticed how drastic the machine had worked. It had felt so good she didn’t even question what it was doing but now she could clearly see.

She looked every inch the kind of girl who would stuff her in a locker, who would call her names and have a gaggle of girls laughing at her inane jokes. She looked like the enemy and she loved it. Any reservations she had were gone looking upon her new perfect face. The machine had even put a stylishly bitchy outfit on her. She didn’t have to be the victim anymore, she could be the villain and look gorgeous doing it. She even knew who her first victim could be.

“… and I’m the Queen Bee.” She said with a smirk to herself as the restraints lifted and the door started to open. The first person to see her was her sister and she loved how Belle’s mouth dropped open upon seeing her.

“Larissa wow you look…” Courtney began.

“… utterly gorgeous and mean.” Alexis finished.

Larissa loved how the two girls looked at her now. The disgust they once had for her was gone and replaced with reverence and awe but also fear. The fear of having someone they once bullied be now clearly superior to them.

“Thanks girls, but please call me Lacy, it’s so much hotter. Aren’t I just perfection in heels? Wish I could saw the same about you sis.” Larissa/Lacy said looking at Belle dismissively causing the two other girls to giggle. Belle shot them a look and they stopped.

“Alright you had your fun now it’s my turn out of my way.” Belle said pushing past her now more beautiful sister. Lacy laughed as Belle entered the chamber. She was going to shove her in herself so this was a lot more convenient.

Lacy looked at the dial and was about to crank it to its lowest setting when she spotted a button labelled ‘reverse’ which she pressed instead. Lacy stepped over to Courtney and Alexis who flanked her, recognizing their new leader. Moments later the machine whirled to a stop and the door creaked open. Belle stepped out looking identical to when Larissa stepped in.

Her hair was black, her clothes were dark and her skin was pale. Everything that had been Larissa was now in Belle who looked confused. “W-what happened?” She asked.

“Look girls, even a makeover machine couldn’t make Bellatrix attractive.” Lacy sneered and Courtney and Alexis laughed.

“Bellatrix? W-why are you calling me that? I’m… I’m…” the new goth said before catching herself in a mirror. The machine had pumped her full of Larissa’s memories, thoughts and ideals. Belle was inside trying to get out but Bellatrix was now the new home owner.

“A goth loser. Go cry to the food court until we’re ready to leave.” Lacy said finishing her sisters sentence. Bellatrix scowled at Lacy and ran off embarrassed.

“Wow Lacy that was pretty mean.” Alexis said in equal part shock and glee.

“Yeah mega bitchy.” Courtney added liking her new friends style.

“Ah girls you say the nicest things. Come on i need to touch up my makeup in the bathroom but really how much more perfect can I get.” Lacy said with a laugh as the three of them walked off.

[monstersandmaw]

This one predator ask got me angry about too dark movies again.

There was a post somewhere comparing lord of the rings and game of thrones, how got is so much darker and hard to see but some people apparently think that's important because realism.

Someone argued that it's a fantasy setting so who knows, the moon might be brighter there or people see better in the dark and good lightning reflects that and I'm like, not to dismiss cool fantasy theories but it doesn't really matter. It's still a movie and as much as I want the world and plot to be convincing, I'm still aware it's just a movie.

No one complaines about how soundtrack makes it unrealistic cause where the hell is the music coming from. We have time skips, subtitles when they speak languages we don't know, everything is in a language that's not actually spoken in that world, but making sure we actually see what's happening would be too unrealistic?

I just hate when I can only watch a movie in a completely dark room, sorry for the rant

Agreed - plus if it’s medieval fantasy, or even “””historical””” like, say Last Kingdom, THEY DID HAVE FUCKING LIGHT SOURCES!! They had beautiful hanging lamps and braziers!! It was bright!! The dark ages were super colourful!!!

But yes, in general, you can show it’s dark without having to crank the brightness up and turn all your home lights off.

[carry-the-sky]

Kastle + 2 for the touch writing prompts 💕

based on the prompt: a touch with relief

also on ao3

shout out to @onebatch2batch and @ninzied 💕

.

She’s late.

Frank’s eyes dart to his phone. Screen’s dark, same as it was when he glanced at it a minute ago. No missed calls, no texts. He swigs his coffee, more to swallow down the muted panic in his throat than anything else.

“Fresh cup for your friend, honey?”

Frank looks up. The waitress—Jo, her name tag reads—is nodding at the mug of coffee he ordered for Karen when he got here.

His eyes linger on it a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m good, ma’am. She’s, uh—she’s on her way.”

Frank must look as keyed-up as he feels, because Jo offers him a gentle smile. “You got it,” she says. “Just holler when she gets here, okay?”

Then she’s walking off. Probably assumes he got stood up by a date, and hell—he almost wishes that’s what this was. At least he could shrug that off, carry on with his day instead of sitting across from an empty booth, chest slowly going tight with dread.

Frank pushes back from the table, forces himself to breathe. Maybe something came up at work—a deadline got pushed up or a source backed out last-minute and Ellison’s got her holed up at the office doing damage control—

His hand twitches for his phone. They’ve been meeting for lunch pretty regularly for the past month or so, but Karen always shoots him a text the day before to confirm. He scans her last message in their thread—Tomorrow still good? Same place as last week?—and something in his chest twinges. Maybe it’s an occupational hazard, or maybe it’s just her way of making sure he won’t bail—either way, Frank can’t blame her. He’s far from atoning for the way he left things that day at the hospital. It’s a small miracle she let him back into her life at all.

Frank’s eyes flick to the time at the top of the screen. It’s going on twenty past the hour. Hell with it—maybe he’s being paranoid, but his gut says something’s off. He hits the call button next to her name.

It goes straight to voicemail.

His pulse stutters. It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean—

He tries her again.

Hi, you’ve reached Karen Page. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back—

Shit. Frank swipes over to his contacts, scrolls until he finds the number for the Bulletin’s front desk.

“New York Bulletin,” a cheerful voice answers on the second ring. “How may I direct your call?”

“Is Karen Page in?” he asks, straining to keep his voice steady.

He knows what the answer will be, but it still lands like a gut-punch when the receptionist tells him that Ms. Page is currently out of the office. His hand is shaking when he hangs up.

Jo is making the rounds again, and Frank doesn’t miss the sympathetic glance she shoots in his direction. He takes a deep breath through his nose, slow and steady to counter the hammer of his heart. He needs to focus, think.

Hanging around her office is a non-starter—he’s let his beard grow out, but his face has been plastered across the front page enough times that the damn receptionist would probably recognize him now. He could try Karen’s place on the off chance she ran home—

Frank’s fingers twitch against his phone. He should get up, move, do something other than sit here with this familiar tension cranking up his sternum. One thought spins on a turntable in his head—something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. He let his guard down, let himself breathe for one goddamn second, and now—if something happened to her—

The world narrows, tilts like a kaleidoscope. He needs air.

He’s dimly aware of standing, tossing a few bills on the table before he’s out the door. The street is thick with noise—people laying on their horns, distant sirens, someone shouting. He focuses on each individual sound, anchors his breath to the steady thrum of the city around him.

He’s not sure how long he stands there—a few minutes, maybe. Long enough for his vision to stop swimming, for the pounding in his ears to subside. Long enough to register his phone, buzzing in his hand.

Her number’s flashing across the screen.

Frank fumbles to answer, almost dropping his phone in the process. “Karen, hey—”

“Frank,” she replies, and relief floods his veins at the sound of her voice. “I’m so sorry—my phone decided to automatically update right as I was leaving for lunch, and then when you didn’t show—I was getting worried.”

He frowns, trying to process her words. “Where—where are you?”

“Sal’s. Why, didn’t you—” she pauses. “Wait, did you go to Cinco’s?”

Frank turns her text from last night over in his head. Same place as last week. They definitely grabbed lunch at Cinco’s—he’d ordered extra steak fries with his burger, just to let her swipe a few from his plate—but, shit, that’s right—they’d swung by a new place afterwards for dessert, some local café that had just opened.

We should try this place for lunch sometime, Karen had said in between bites of her raspberry scone. Frank remembers the dusting of sugar across her upper lip, remembers the small heart attack it gave him when she’d licked it clean.

“Think there might’ve been a misunderstanding,” he tells her now, cheeks warm. Karen just laughs in response as it all clicks together, and Frank lets the sound wash over him, the warmth of it dissolving the tension in his chest. She’s laughing. She’s okay.

“Lesson learned,” she says. “Be more specific. And make sure the phone isn’t going to update.”

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you had one like mine.”

“Not a chance. There’s old-fashioned, and then there’s prehistoric.” There’s a beat of silence, and he knows she’s smiling on the other end of the line. “Listen, I have to head back early today, but are you free for lunch tomorrow? I owe you some fries from Cinco’s, at the very least.”

“Works for me,” Frank says. “Sure you don’t wanna write that down, just to be safe? That’s C-I-N—”

“Shut up, Frank.”

It’s his turn to grin. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoes.

He stays on the line until she hangs up, weightless with relief even as his blood still hums with adrenaline. It was just a miscommunication—but when his eyes squeeze shut, he’s right back in that hotel watching Lewis drag her into the elevator, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that she’d still be breathing when he got to her.

He knew, even then, what it would mean to lose her. Lose her without her ever knowing—

Make it mean something.

About damn time he did.

.

Karen’s waiting for him when he gets there the next day, sitting in the same booth he was. Her eyes snap to him as he pushes through the front door, and then she’s standing, and somehow before he’s fully aware it’s happening, he’s pulling her close, burying his face in the slope of her neck, breathing her in.

She’s warm. Her arms cinch around his shoulders, drawing him in even closer, and he smells something floral, soft and clean when her hair brushes his cheek. They stay like that a moment, holding onto each other—then she gently pulls back, and the loss of contact aches like a bruise. As he slides into the booth across from her, it’s all he can do to keep from reaching for her again.

Jo comes by with coffee, gives Frank a wink that could be seen from outer space as she slides Karen a mug. When he ducks a glance at Karen, she’s pressing her lips together like she’s trying not to smile.

“How long were you sitting here yesterday?” she asks.

Frank grips his own mug tightly to keep his fingers from shaking. “Not long. Felt like—longer than it was.”

He tries to keep his voice light, but he never did have a very good poker face. And they don’t do that. They don’t lie to each other.

When he looks again, Karen’s face has softened. She reaches across the table, rests a hand against his forearm. “Frank—”

He recognizes her tone of voice, knows she’s about to apologize for something that’s not her fault. After all his bullshit, everything he’s put her through—she’s still the one telling him she’s sorry. She’s still all heart. The ache in his chest digs its roots in, blooms until he can hardly breathe.

“Hey.” He tilts his head to catch her gaze, holds it. “I’m good. Yeah? Might chuck your phone in the Hudson first chance I get, but—”

He’s hoping the jab will pull a smile from her, and it almost does. Her mouth crinkles at the corners. “Still,” she says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He just looks at her—eyes bright and blue and open, and shit, he’s gonna kick himself for the rest of his life for taking his sweet time telling her exactly what she means to him. He slowly turns his arm until his hand grazes her wrist, her palm, and then he’s threading his fingers through hers.

“I’m always gonna worry, Karen. I know you can handle yourself, that’s not what—” he cuts off as she gives his hand a gentle squeeze, swallows thickly before saying— “You’re the most important person in my life. You’re everything. I’m never gonna not worry.”

Now she’s smiling, mouth curved like a moon as she looks down at his hand in hers. “You mean that, Frank?”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get off my ass about it, but—this thing, Karen, you and me—if you’re in, I’m in. I’m all in.”

He’s not sure it’s happening until it’s happening—one second Karen’s leaning across the booth, the next her lips are on his.

He barely has time to process the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her hand cupping his jaw, before she’s sitting back, looking as stunned as he feels.

“I take it back,” he says, a little hoarse. “What I said about your phone. Damn thing should update every day.”

Karen just laughs, and they both lean in again.

[vicious-vixxxen]

Kirishima X Male!Reader: Late Night Gaming Session

More of the bestest shark boy! Something short and sweet, not sure where it came from, but I had the scenario in my mind for a while, and finally wanted to get it written down tonight. Hope you guys enjoy it :) ))

Shifting slowly, and stretching your limbs out, you sighed contently- outstretched arms shuffling over the other side of the bed- a frown tugging at your lips when you realized it was empty. What the fuck? You cracked your eyes open then, blinking blearily at the clock on the nightstand, the bright red 2:37 blinking back at you. That’s when you finally clued in to the soft sounds from across the room, the incessant ‘taptaptap’ of a keyboard, and the quiet, intense muttering. Of course. Your boyfriend was so textbook.

“No no he totally downed me! I’m right here, Kamin-no! No Sero don’t go in there, don’t go in there!” Kirishima hissed into his microphone, furiously clicking his mouse, and squinting his eyes, as he’d brought the brightness of his screen all the way down. “What?” Kirishima asked suddenly, silent for all of two seconds before leaning half an inch away from his monitor, and pouting. Shoulders hunched in that adorable way you’d recognize from a mile away. The one that meant Kiri’s brows were drawn down tight, his cheeks were puffed, and his tongue was peeking out. “No, /no/, I can’t turn my headset up, I told you Y/N is sleeping, and he needs his beauty rest..” A pause. “Whoa dude, not cool. He’s the most beautiful thing...creature...person..boyfriend....being..cosmic force EVER. Don’t insult my guy like that, come on...no I know it was a joke, but still- besides, those are his words, not mine. He totally went beast mode in a private with Present Mic today, and now he’s totally out of it. Barely made it through fifteen minutes of our nightly cuddle session before passing out on me.” Kirishima explained- shoulders tightening up even more as he finished, and you couldn’t help the stupid smile that was front and center on your face as you stared at your boyfriends back. He was such an adorable dweeb. Swinging your feet out and over the side of the bed, you stood- arms stretched high above your head, a yawn forcing its way out of your mouth. Smacking your lips together gently, you reached back to grab the blanket off the bed- wrapping it around your shoulders, and shuffling as quietly as possible to stand behind Kirishima as he played. Peeking over his shoulder slowly- trying and failing to recognize the first person shooter he was playing. All you knew, was that barely being able to hear his teammates, or see the screen, was going to frustrate the redhead into a frenzy. His fingers would harden and snap the keyboard and house, as they’d done before, and it was expensive as fuck to replace. “Babe,” You whispered finally, waiting for a response, but Kirishima was deep in strategic thought over the game, and you were happy his back was still turned when you rolled your eyes. “Kiriiii,” You sang, right next to the boys ear- nearly jumping back yourself as the other boy jerked back in his seat- headset ripping off as he looked all around himself- pout returning quickly as you buried your face in his neck, laughing. “Dude! So not cool! I thought you were asleep?” Kirishima whined, turning his desk chair around, arms crossed over his chest, as he looked you up and down- leaning back, pout clear as day on his face. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He asked, as an afterthought, features softening, shoulders even falling slightly, as you shook your head. Spreading your legs to sit in Kirishima’s lap, cuddling the blanket around the both of you now, as you rested your head in the crook of his neck, and closed your eyes. “I’m feeling...restless, and you weren’t in bed like you usually are for me to wake up and talk about nonsense with you while you’re half asleep,” You explained, fondness lacing your tone, as you leaned back, blush bright even in the dark, as Kirishima gave you one of his signature warm smiles- your hands finding their way into his thick, spiky locks. “Jokes on you, cuz I’m fully awake, and now /you/, have to listen to /me/ play video games, while I explain in great detail how all the mechanics work. Even my custom settings.” Kirishima’s smile turned predatory, sharklike, even, as he bared all his teeth, and spun his chair back around. Popping his headset back on, and cranking the volume and brightness back up. Aware enough to look at least slightly apologetic, as you cringed back from the brightness of the screen- lifting your legs up, and curling into Kirishima’s lap, as the both of you settled in, and he started playing again. “Ah, so sleeping beauty is joining us? Welcome back to the world of the living, princess!” Kaminari shouted through the mic, and you huffed- feeling sorry for whoever’s room was next to his. “Maybe if you spent more time resting, and less time gaming, you wouldn’t short circuit every time you touch a battery,” You called back casually, an eruption of laughter coming from the rest of the group chat- you thought you could just barely make out Bakugou and Mina in there somewhere, maybe even Sero. “Low blow,” Kami muttered into his mic, as you sat up a bit, and actually paid attention to what Kirishima was doing. Before long, sitting up straight, and taking control over the keys, while Kiri worked the mouse- movements in sync, both of you screaming through the same headset, cheeks bumping together as you both tried to work one earpiece over each of your heads. Your noses bumped together roughly the third or so time you tried- both of you cringing, before giggling into each other's faces. And then you were kissing, suddenly, and sharply. Kirishima’s hands on your waist, your hands up in his hair- matching smiles pressed against one another as you kissed. And kissed, and kissed. Soft, needy sounds pulled from Kirishima, as you bit at his lips, and swiped at them with your tongue. “I don’t know if I’m horrified, or if I want a live show of whatever is going on on Kirishima’s end right now,” You both barely heard from the headset on the floor- laughing out loud, and turning your attention back to the game. For the time being. “Half an hour?” Kirishima offered, and you nodded. “I can think of something even more fun we can do, one v one.” Kirishima blushed, growling at you playfully, before ordering Kaminari to mind his own business, as you both got back to the game. Kirishima’s arms wrapped around you, and on his keyboard this time. 

[strawwritesfic]

Thor Odinson x Female!Midgardian!Reader: Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court [Ch. 1]

Summary: It was supposed to be a standard Vegas trip: drinking, gambling, a night out on the town with your best friend, Jane. A bit too much of the first has you pass out–through your entire wedding! Waking up to find yourself married to your best friend’s boyfriend? Not that great. Even worse? He’s not from Earth, not by a long shot. Worse still? They don’t believe in divorce in his Realm, and you never wanted to be a princess.

Challenge:  “A Twist on ‘I Do’” challenge by Aqua4044 on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (drinking problems; slow burn; hate to love; sexual references; jerk!Odin; not woobie!Loki; foul language; references to broken families; references to broken-off engagements; love triangles galore; siblings!Sif & Heimdall; set in between Avengers (2012) and Thor: The Dark World; not canon compliant; Jane & Reader friendship; Darcy & Reader friendship; Clint & Reader friendship; Sif & Reader friendship; Loki & Reader friendship)

Pairings: Thor/Reader; Thor/Jane; Jane/Thor/Reader; Clint/Darcy/Fandral; one-sided!Sif/Thor

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 1: The Makings of Disaster

Never before had you been so thrilled to see the sign that welcomed you back to your home state of New Mexico. As your rented bright red convertible hummed across the the asphalt, you kept your gaze fixed on the haze of purple mountains shimmering on the horizon. The wind whipped through your hair. The flat, gray street beneath your wheels remained empty. You allowed your eyes to slide shut for only a moment; heavy sunshine made the inside of your lids glow red. A gentle swerve had you paying attention again, though you lifted your head ever so slightly to breathe in the breeze and the smell of hot, baked earth. Now, truly, everything was behind you: your fiancé’s cold feet, your abandoned apartment, your notice of resignation to the school president, and the feelings of disappointment and pity strewn among each.

In front of you lay the Land of Enchantment, the land of dirt, the land of sunshine and heat waves coming off the pavement and low shrub bushes covering the flat mesas by the side of the road. Some people might not have found the environment beautiful–you certainly would not have in your youth–but the drastic shift was a welcome change from New England. It was something of a relief knowing those mountains would not get much nearer, and that Jane’s town promised more heat and the color brown. Anything to keep your mind off…Well, anything to keep your mind off much of anything, really.

You wanted a weekend without thinking. Your knuckles tightened around the steering wheel momentarily, and then you released a long breath as you cranked up the radio. Just a few days ignoring the twinges, and you’d start planning what you were going to do with your life afterward.

“Forget it,” you crooned to yourself under your breath. The gas pedal shifted underneath your right foot. Soon the landscape blurred behind you and your voice lifted into the air. You’d figure it all out eventually: where you would live, where you would work, who you would remain in contact with.

For the time being, it was just you–you and the open road.

******

The headquarters of one Dr. Jane Foster was in an usual flurry of activity. It would have to be, seeing how small it was and how many people were then inside it. Jane herself had to admit that even she was starting to feel overwhelmed, between Thor’s presence, his friend arguing with Darcy, and Dr. Selvig whispering warnings in her ear while she looked over her instruments one last time before her weekend getaway.

“Jane, I’m not certain that this is a good idea.”

She kept her eyes focused on the reading she was trying to get while she tried to figure out another reason that Dr. Selvig was, as usual, being a mother hen. Jane knew he meant well, but when she’d asked him to watch her things while she was away, she didn’t think he was going to be quite so upset about her bringing Thor along.

“Why?” she asked as she pushed some hair behind her ear and continued moving. Dr. Selvig sighed and came to a stop; Jane had to turn around to catch his answer:

“Because he just doesn’t understand these sorts of things.”

Jane shot a look toward the other end of the room, where Thor was leaning against the wall, watching Darcy triple-check her luggage. When he caught Jane looking at him, he grinned broadly, but soon turned his attention elsewhere. Only once she knew that Thor wasn’t listening did Jane say, “He’s not stupid, Erik.”

He sighed again. “I’m not saying he is. I’m just saying he’s not from around here and Vegas is enough of a trap for people from Earth.”

With a roll of her eyes, Jane decided to end the fretting right then and there. She looked back over at Thor and, lifting her voice, called “Hey, Thor!”

“Yes, Jane?”

“You promise you won’t get into any trouble while we’re there? That you’ll ask me questions if you don’t understand something?”

“Of course.”

Jane turned back to Dr. Selvig with her eyebrows raised. Clearly, Dr. Selvig got the message: Is that good enough for you? But apparently it wasn’t, because he shook his head. “Oh, come on, Erik! He’s saved the world twice now, what more do you want him to do to prove himself?”

“Not get anyone killed while you’re on vacation,” Dr. Selvig answered. “Of course he won’t do anything on purpose, Jane! But that doesn’t mean that nothing will happen.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” Both Jane and Dr. Selvig looked around to see Thor’s friend smirking at them from his perch in a chair. Unlike the rest of them, he seemed unconcerned by trivialities such as what to pack. Mostly, he just twiddled with his arrows and smiled to himself, like he found the rest of them unceasingly amusing. “I’m coming along to make sure Thor doesn’t accidentally break anything.”

Somehow, even from several feet behind Clint Barton, Darcy heard and answered that statement by slamming her suitcase shut. “What, you don’t think I could handle that?” she demanded as she came up to the rest of the group. He eyed her for a moment.

“Aren’t you like seventeen?” he asked.

“I’m twenty-two!” Darcy snapped, throwing her hands into the air. “And I’d like to see you taze the God of Thunder, Mister Bigshot.”

By that point, Jane was having to try very hard not to rub her temples. Darcy and Clint had been going at it since the latter had arrived via car with Thor four days ago. It was pretty obvious that Darcy thought Clint was attractive, but who didn’t Darcy find attractive? Jane wished that SHIELD had sent someone that at least wouldn’t think loud arguments were a form of flirting. Hadn’t Dr. Selvig mentioned a pretty redhead with an icy demeanor that spent most of her time around Clint? Even if Darcy found her attractive, it didn’t sound like that sort of woman would reciprocate…

“Look,” Jane said forcibly, and every head in the room swiveled in her direction. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? Dr. Selvig is going to man the fort, and I am going to enjoy having Thor around, and Darcy isn’t going to hire any male prostitutes–”

“I make no promises.”

“Should I make sure to look after you, too?” Clint asked.

“Do you want a taste of my tazer? ‘Cause I can go get it out of my bag.”

Jane rolled her eyes a second time and wandered off, the better to let Clint and Darcy’s voices fade into background noise. Maybe if she showed how stressed out she was getting, Dr. Selvig would leave her alone, too. As she moved across the room, Jane looked at her watch. Where were you? Being on time had never been your strong suit, but she thought she might go crazy if the trip didn’t get a move on soon.

“Are you all right?” Thor touched Jane lightly on the elbow as he spoke. Jane smiled up at him, though she winced a little as she did.

“I’m fine!” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just…worried, I guess.”

“If it is about what Selvig said,” Thor’s expression was full of concern, “I really do not intend to make trouble for you.”

“I know,” Jane said as she gently touched Thor’s cheek. “And he knows that, too. Erik just likes worrying.”

“I heard that!” Dr. Selvig called. Jane chuckled, that time more genuinely. Her smile seemed to make Thor feel more at ease as well, because he grinned down at her.

“I am glad that the fixing of the Bifrost and my arrival did not cause you any inconvenience…though I do feel as though I am interrupting your work with this trip.”

“You’re not!” Jane said. “This was already planned. You just have really great timing. Besides, it would be pretty boring, you sitting around watching me work all day.”

“Never boring.” Thor took her hand and kissed the knuckles. Despite that being a fairly common occurrence by that point, Jane still felt herself blush crimson. “You are so passionate that I could never find your work boring.”

“That’s–” Jane began, but she couldn’t finish her sentence. The sound of a blaring car horn cut across her words. Her mouth snapped shut; she looked outside to see a bright red car pulling up to the front of building. “She’s here!”

Before anyone could stop her, Jane pushed the nearby doors open and rushed outside. You were only just getting out of the car when she arrived, and when you saw her, you threw your arms wide open.

“Jane!”

“[Name]!”

Without further ado, the two of you hugged, both laughing. The sound of the door opening again announced the rest of the troop joining you, though neither of you broke apart at that. Even when Jane did step back to beam at you, the group went ignored.

“Thanks for inviting me along on such short notice,” you said.

“It was no problem at all! How have you been?” Jane asked. You cringed slightly, but still tried to pass it off as a smile when you answered:

“Well, I’ve been better.”

“I know. I’m really sorry about the wedding. I was so surprised when I heard he called things off.”

“You and me both,” you said with a snort, but soon your smile was back. “But that’s not your fault. I’m just grateful for something to take my mind off things.”

Behind her, Dr. Selvig cleared his throat. Jane gave him a sheepish smile before looking back at you. He would insist on proper etiquette. Jane’s father might have been dead, but he had done a pretty good job with his choice of father figure. She stepped up beside you, then pivoted to look at the rest of her friends.

“Everyone,” Jane said, “this is [F Name] [L Name]. We were roommates in college. She’s a biochemist up at University of Maine.“

“Was,” you said.

“She was a biochemist at University of Maine,” Jane amended, though she frowned as she did so. On top of everything else, you had quit your job? Things must have been really bad for you to want to leave entirely. That moment wasn’t the time to ask for more details. Maybe later, once the lot of you got to Vegas. “[Name], this is my associate, Dr. Erik Selvig, my boyfriend, Thor, his friend, Clint Barton, and my friend-slash-assistant, Darcy Lewis. More my friend.”

“Uh, rude,” Darcy said, though she grinned. “I’m the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

“You’re the only assistant I’ve ever had.”

“Doesn’t change my point.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m glad Jane has some friends down here.” Your eyes met Jane’s. “She was really shy in college.”

“Well, she’s not shy anymore, I can tell you that,” Dr. Selvig said as he stepped forward to shake your hand. You took his with a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Selvig. I once had an associate that thought most highly of you.”

Clint and Darcy both greeted you afterward, and then Thor kissed your hand. You smiled wryly and looked over at Jane.

“When did you start having all the luck with men?”

“When they started falling from the sky,” she answered. Your eyebrows shot straight up at that, but Jane didn’t elaborate. She still wasn’t clear on whether or not Thor’s identity was very much “secret.” Probably the truth of it would come out eventually from Thor himself anyway, once everyone got on the road.

As if reading her mind, Clint placed his sunglasses over his eyes and looked pointedly at the car. “I know I’m not the one in charge of this operation, but if we don’t get moving soon, we’ll miss our check-in time.”

“I never told you our check-in time,” Jane said, and looked at Darcy, who lifted her hands to her chest.

“What? Why would I tell him? The more in the dark he is, the better.”

“Are we competing to see who can babysit best?” Clint asked with a smirk. “Because you’re going to lose, Darce.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said haughtily. “And don’t call me Darce! We aren’t friends.”

Clint laughed. Jane stood awkwardly at the center of the group, looking between Thor’s pleasantly curious face, your bemused one, and Dr. Selvig’s expression of complete disbelief at the fact that she was actually going to go through with the trip. For a moment, Jane seriously considered calling it off. Between you being emotionally volatile and Thor…being Thor, and Darcy and Clint being determined to go at each other, the entire thing seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

But Jane was, if anything, ever-optimistic. Soon she was smiling again. “Well, let’s pack up and hit the road, then!”

“Yay!” Darcy said, darting back into the building to grab her things. Clint followed her at a slower pace, shaking his head.

“You still have a chance to get everyone to stay here, Jane,” Dr. Selvig said quietly. Jane shook her head.

“It’ll be fine! We’re all adults here, right?”

“I suppose.” He still looked doubtful. “You have my number so you can call me if anything goes awry?”

“Yes, Erik,” Jane said. “If Thor’s brother decides to send down another alien being to destroy the hotel, you will be the first on my list of people to notify.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know, but everything is going to be fine.”

“Loki is imprisoned on Asgard after his attack on Manhattan,” Thor called. He was loading both his and Jane’s luggage into the back of your car. “He will not be able to bother us.”

“Yes, well,” said Dr. Selvig, “I’ve heard that before.”

“Erik…”

“I know, I know. You can handle yourself. Try to look after things, will you?”

“You know I will. And you’ll do the same here?”

“To the best of my abilities.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“Come on, Jane!” Darcy cried. “Let’s get going!”

Jane waved at Dr. Selvig and headed back toward the car. “Goodbye!”

“So, who’s driving?” Clint asked as she arrived. Jane looked curiously at you; you grinned.

“The car is rented under my name, so I’m driving.”

“I call shotgun!” said Darcy, and climbed into the passenger seat without waiting for anyone to argue. Jane, Clint, and Thor made their way to the back of the car.

“Great, that means I get to sit with the happy couple,” Clint said as he scooted over as far as he could go to allow Jane and Thor seats together. Darcy glanced back at him.

“Hey, you want babysitting duty so bad, you can sit there. I don’t want to watch Jane make out with anybody, even if the anybody is as hot as Thor.”

Though his eyes were hidden by his lenses, Jane could only imagine Clint rolling his eyes that that one. Before he could retort, however, Thor clapped him on the shoulder. “It could be worse, my friend. You could be looking after Tony and Pepper.”

A short bark of laughter burst from Clint’s mouth. “Right! If anyone needs to be watched in Vegas, it’s that guy. Let’s hope Nat gets that gig.”

“Are we all ready to go?” you asked from the driver’s seat.

Jane caught your eye in the rear view mirror and tried her best to smile. “We’re ready,” she answered, though not without another pang of nerves about whether or not the entire Vegas trip was a good idea. No one else seemed to feel that way at all, though, so what choice did she have?

“Let us go,” Thor said.

“Wee!” Darcy said, bouncing several times in her seat.

“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand!” you said, and the convertible rushed back toward the road. Jane twisted only once in her seat to see Dr. Selvig watching them go. When you turned a corner, she settled back down, trying to ignore how worried he looked. Because, really, what could go wrong, with two doctors, a political science student, a demi-god, and a trained government agent?

Thor nudged Jane’s shoulder and pointed toward one of the rock formations as you passed. As Jane attempted to meet his enthusiasm with her own, she really hoped that no one would try to answer that question. It sounded more like the opening to a bad joke than reality, and she’d had more than enough of people treating her reality like a joke.