#while also challenging her not to hide in her comfort zone

[pearlcaddy]

Lockwood vs. "everyone back home"

LOCKWOOD & CO.

[occamstfs]

Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all. 

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace. 

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake. 

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself. 

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning. 

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault.  Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right? 

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

 Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it. 

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him. 

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates. 

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord. 

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate. 

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model. 

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow. 

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

[aphroditelovesu]

Cyrus and Aella Headcanons

❝commission: headcannons about the twins (Cyrus and Aella). — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I spent a few days thinking about how to create a different but complementary personality for the twins and this came out, I think it turned out good. They're my babies, my first OC's to be honest, and I need to write more for them. I hope you like it and forgive me if there are any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: none.

❝📜word count: 1,208.

Cyrus and Aella have complementary personalities. Cyrus is calmer and more reflective, while Aella is energetic and adventurous. 

From a young age, Cyrus has always demonstrated a serene and contemplative nature. He is a deep thinker, often lost in his own thoughts. He prefers to analyze situations before acting, evaluating all possible consequences.

His ability to formulate complex strategies is unparalleled. Cyrus loves studying ancient texts on military tactics and philosophy, drawing inspiration from great thinkers like Aristotle, who was also a mentor to his father.

Aella, on the other hand, is a true free spirit. Since she was a child, she was known for her tireless energy and thirst for adventure. Always looking for new experiences, she loves exploring unknown territories and engaging in challenging activities.

Aella has a natural talent for leadership. Her courage and determination inspire those around her, and she quickly gains the loyalty of her followers. On the battlefield, her presence is motivating, and her strategy skills are admirable. If she could (and perhaps can) carry a sword, she will.

Unlike Cyrus, Aella often acts on intuition. She trusts her instincts and is willing to take risks that others would avoid. This approach, while risky, often leads to surprisingly positive results.

Aella has a strong sense of justice and is a fervent defender of the oppressed. She does not hesitate to fight for causes she believes are just, even if it means confronting powerful adversaries and defying the laws that prohibit her from doing what she wants just because she is a woman.

The combination of her personalities creates a perfect balance. While Cyrus plans and calculates every move with precision, Aella is ready to act quickly and face any challenge with courage and vigor. If they decided to rule together, it would be almost impossible to stop them.

In crises, Cyrus can calm and guide Aella, while she can encourage him to step out of his comfort zone and make bolder decisions. They complement each other.

Communication between the twins is almost telepathic. They understand each other with a simple exchange of glances, allowing for fluid and efficient collaboration, whether in strategic discussions or battles.

This complementarity makes them unbeatable, whether in the administration of the empire, in leading armies, or in diplomacy. They support each other, using their strengths to cover each other's weaknesses.

Since they were little, Cyrus and Aella have developed a secret language that they use to communicate without others understanding. This makes them even more united and inseparable.

Language includes a combination of hand gestures, facial expressions, small sounds, and even visual cues. Each gesture or sound has a specific meaning, allowing for quick and effective communication.

In situations where they need to communicate without being overheard by others, such as in strategic meetings or on the battlefield or just to hide secrets from their parents, secret language is essential. It allows them to share critical information with others.

Alexander's passion for exploring and conquering unknown lands is inherited by Aella, who frequently ventures beyond the borders of the empire, always accompanied by Cyrus, who prefers to explore through study and diplomacy.

From an early age, Alexander the Great recognized the extraordinary potential of his twin children, Cyrus and Aella. He made sure that they both received exhaustive training in combat and strategy, aware that their skills would be essential to the continuity and expansion of the empire.

In addition to practical training, Cyrus dedicated himself intensely to theoretical studies. He read the texts of Aristotle, Socrates and other philosophers and historians, seeking to understand the dynamics of power, war and politics. His evenings were often spent in the library, where he studied maps and developed new strategies. Cyrus has developed a close bond with his uncle Hephaestion, mainly because they look so much alike.

Cyrus saw Hephaestion as a trusted figure to whom he could turn for advice and emotional support. Hephaestion, in turn, saw in Cyrus a reflection of himself and was dedicated to guiding him in the best way possible. Hephaestion helped Cyrus hone his diplomatic skills, teaching him to negotiate and mediate conflicts with the same effectiveness he demonstrated on the battlefield.

Aella, from a young age, showed an innate talent for combat, despite not actually fighting because she was not allowed to. Her training included a wide range of fighting techniques, from wielding swords and spears to hand-to-hand combat. She trained daily with the best warriors in the army, improving her strength, agility and precision. Due to her aptitude for fighting, although it was not common at the time, Aella ended up becoming quite close to Cleitus, who was mainly the one who taught her.

Cleitus, known for his skill and bravery on the battlefield, dedicated himself to training Aella in advanced hand-to-hand combat techniques. Under his guidance, Aella perfected her use of swords, spears and unarmed combat. Cleitus also focused on developing Aella's stamina and agility, subjecting her to rigorous exercises that made her not only strong but also quick and flexible. This prepared her to face opponents of different sizes and fighting styles.

Aella has a strong connection with nature and animals. She often spends her time in forests and mountains, while Cyrus prefers gardens and libraries. However, they both share a deep love for the natural world.

(Y/N), Alexandre's wife and mother of the twins ensures that her children receive a complete education, with tutors from different areas of knowledge. Cyrus shows great interest in philosophy and history, while Aella is interested in poetry and music.

Cyrus devotes hours to the study of great philosophers, including Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. He enjoys debates about ethics, politics and the nature of knowledge, often discussing these ideas with his tutors and applying them to his life and strategic decisions.

He analyzes the strategies of historical leaders, learning from their successes and failures. This enriches his own strategic capabilities, helping him develop innovative tactics for military campaigns.

Aella studies the works of great Greek poets, such as Homer and Hesiod, as well as the lyrics of Sappho and Pindar. She writes her own verses, expressing her emotions and experiences through poetry. There is no doubt that she inherited her father's love of reading, especially the Iliad.

Aella learns to play several instruments, such as the lyre and the flute and receives training in singing. Her tutors teach her about music theory, composition, and the Greek musical tradition.

The twins feel an innate curiosity about their mother's heritage and if given the opportunity, they will visit their mother's time to learn about her origins and cultures other than Greek.

Over time, Alexandre begins to trust his children's advice more and more. Cyrus becomes a trusted strategist, while Aella helps inspire and lead the troops, earning the soldiers' respect, just as her mother did years ago.

Despite the fierce love and loyalty that exists between the twins, there is a healthy rivalry between Cyrus and Aella, especially during training and games. This rivalry encourages them to constantly surpass each other.

After Alexander's death, Cyrus and Aella assume central roles in preserving and expanding the empire. Cyrus focuses on strengthening diplomatic alliances, while Aella leads military campaigns, both keeping their father's legacy alive.

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 35/45 Word count: 1875 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 33. Successful Girl Era

"Never did I ever imagine I would do a shoot and interview for Vogue," Matilde said, peering into the mirror of the makeup trailer, her reflection framed by the soft, flattering lights. She adjusted the edge of her robe and glanced sideways at Charles and Carlos, whose hair was meticulously styled. The room buzzed with activity; stylists flitting around, makeup artists working their magic, and the occasional burst of laughter from the crew. "Have you ever done a shoot for Vogue before?" she asked, curiosity lacing her tone.

Carlos, who had been staring thoughtfully at his reflection, shook his head with a grin. "It's a first-timer for me as well. But I'm excited. This is pretty surreal. Never thought being a F1 driver would bring me this."

Charles, already in a professional styling session, looked up with a smile. "I have. This will be my second time for Vogue Italia," he said.

"Share your tips and tricks," Matilde responded. "Not gonna lie, I feel like I'm on The Kardashians. Eye patches? Check. Hairstylist? Check. Makeup stylist? Check. Stylist for clothes? Check."

Right at that moment, the hair stylist introduced herself to Matilde. She was telling the plans with Matilde's hair for the shoot.

The stylist removed the hair tie from Matilde's hair. "I have researched you and your looks and you always wear your hair in your signature blowout. I see your natural curls now. I'm planning to style your curls. They look stunning and very healthy," the girl said and looked at Matilde via the mirror while she touched the blonde curls.

Matilde stared at her reflection, her curls falling freely for the first time that day. She had kept her hair up in a tight bun, hiding her natural texture, feeling more comfortable with the sleek, polished look of a blowout. The thought of revealing her curls, of stepping outside her usual comfort zone, made her uneasy. She took a deep breath, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I was hoping for a blowout," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But if you think curls would work better..."

The stylist's fingers gently caressed Matilde's curls, as if trying to convince them, and Matilde, of their worth. "Trust me, they'll look amazing. We can do something really special with them. I promise you'll love it."

Charles looked next to him, picking up the conversation. He heard how the stylist tried to convince Matilde to wear her curls, but it made Matilde look uncomfortable and insecure. Who made her feel like this? Her curls were beautiful. "Your curls look beautiful on you," Charles said and warmly smiled. "I like them."

She looked at him, her heart skipping a beat. Her lips parted. She quickly looked away, hoping she could stop her cheeks from turning pink. Matilde cleared her throat and looked at the stylist, sharing a polite smile. "I prefer not to show them, sorry."

"No, don't be sorry," the stylist smiled. "No is also an answer."

The hairstylist began on Matilde's hair, doing a classic blowout. In the meantime, someone else started to work on her makeup and the outfit options were being discussed. The stylist noticed the Scandinavian style on Matilde. She thought it was fun to mix the minimalist style with the Italian fashion, but by only wearing Danish designers. The stylist thought it was cool to add a touch of home to the outfits for Matilde.

Her first outfit was a black shirt, white wide-leg trousers and flats. While she was being styled, Charles and Carlos had to wear the typical Ferrari outfit every team member had to wear during a Grand Prix. Matilde was the main person in this shoot and interview, so she had to stand out from everyone.

"Oh, my god," she whispered to herself when she stood alone in the trailer. Her look was complete. She was being styled by the best. She was wearing high-end designer clothes. Matilde took a deep breath and smiled. She was so incredibly nervous, but she was so excited. Photo. She grabbed her phone and took a photo of herself in the mirror.

As she stepped outside, to the track, she got greeted by a lot of people. She felt like she was a celebrity. A smile got on her face when she saw Charles and Carlos wearing their team outfit.

"I would almost say the team clothes look better on you than just the usual shirt," Matilde called out with a playful grin as she approached the two of them. Her teasing brought a laugh from both Charles and Carlos, who shared a glance at each other. Even the three mechanics involved in the shoot - Mario, Abele, and Alessandro - joined in on the joke.

"They got the looks, huh?" Mario chimed in with a wink. "I'll have them straight to work in no time."

Matilde giggled at their banter, her nerves now fading into the background. She pulled out her phone and waved it in the air. "Let me take a photo. You all look too good not to capture this moment." She snapped a quick picture of the boys, all of them posing with exaggerated seriousness before breaking into laughter.

The director of the shoot was asking for everyone's attention, wanting to explain the planning of the photoshoot. "I would like to start with the group shot with the car and then take Matilde for a few solo shoots. If we have time left, I want to bring in the drivers for a photo with Matilde. In an hour and a half, Vogue will start the interview with Matilde."

As the team began to set up, Mario approached Matilde with a step next to the F1 car. "Take your shoes off," he instructed.

Just like Mario asked, Matilde took her shoes off and stepped on the step next to the Ferrari. She looked around; so many people were moving around to get things happen. She waited for the sign so she could get into the car.

"Okay, we are ready," the director said.

With the help of Mario, she got in the car. "This is tight," she murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice as she adjusted herself, her legs now stretched out in front of her, the pedals just within reach. "And low."

"First time?"

"Yes," she replied softly, her eyes watching as Alessandro clicked the steering wheel into place in front of her.

It felt weighty, solid, and yet somehow more delicate than she imagined. Her hands hovered over the wheel for a brief moment before she grasped it lightly, her fingers tracing the contours of the controls. She had worked on many cars, and helped build engines that would power these machines to incredible speeds, but this... this was different. Now she understood the cocoon-like nature of the car; the way it wrapped around the driver, isolating them from the outside world, turning everything else into background noise.

"Let's do a test shot!" The director's voice echoed through the garage as he moved toward his setup, eyes scanning the camera feed on his laptop.

Matilde's breath caught in her throat as she heard the photographer's voice next. "Matilde, look at me. Boys, get ready, act like you're about to perform a pit stop," he directed.

She shifted her gaze toward the lens, focusing as the mechanics moved into position around the car, tools in hand, bodies tense as if ready to spring into action at any moment. The photographer circled around them, capturing every detail; her poised in the driver's seat, the mechanics ready for the pit stop, the perfect moment of anticipation before everything burst into motion.

But then, the director's voice cut through the organised chaos. "I need a cushion for Matilde, she's drowning in the shot," he said, his tone calm but decisive as he examined the test shots on the screen.

Matilde chuckled softly to herself, her amusement hidden behind a small smile. She knew she wasn't exactly built for a Formula 1 cockpit, and the seat, designed for drivers who spent hours moulding their bodies to fit every contour of the car, felt far too large for her. But at the same time, too small. She didn't fit the seat. She pulled herself up, so the cushion could slide beneath her. Once she sat down again, she could oversee everything better and her posture was more confident.

The photographer glanced up from his camera, giving an approving nod. "Perfect, Matilde, now just lean forward a bit more. There you go. We're back on track."

Just like Matilde was asked to, she leaned slightly forward, her hands resting casually on the steering wheel. She looked into the lens. And as Tyra Banks said: smize; smile with your eyes. She softened her expression, letting her eyes do the talking, conveying confidence and composure. At that moment, she wasn't just a passenger in the car; she embodied the strength and precision of the team surrounding her.

The photographer moved around, snapping multiple shots, capturing not just the car but the essence of teamwork. Each crew member had fallen into place, their movements fluid and unforced. They weren't merely posing; they were simulating the motions of a real pitstop, as if preparing for a race that never came.

Carlos crouched at the front, his hand lightly resting on the front wing, his gaze focused as if checking something critical. Charles, on the side, leaned into the shot, his body angled like he was ready to push the car forward from the sidepod. Behind them, Mario, Abele, and Alessandro hovered over the rear of the car, their hands on the chassis as though bracing to lift it, each man focused and immersed in the role they were playing. It was a portrait of readiness, frozen in time.

The photos turned out powerful, strong, exactly what the director had in mind. He smiled at the screen and nodded. During the moment, some words were exchanged with the Ferrari members and they smiled, laughed or reacted to it. It was a great way to see the dynamics within the team. The director signed to the photographer to continue shooting.

After a couple of group shots and different poses, Matilde shot a couple of photos alone. She sat in the F1 car alone, leaning out of the seat. Her elbow leaned on the car and her other hand rested thoughtfully against her cheek. Then another closeup was made outside of the car, the photographer captured her from being awkward, to giggly, to being serious. For another shot she got changed into a bright red suit that stood for Ferrari.

Charles' arms were crossed in front of his chest, but his eyes never left her. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he watched Matilde in the crimson suit, her confidence radiating in every pose. The red suit looked so incredibly good on her; it made him fall harder and harder for her. The heels she wore elongated her legs, adding a graceful edge to her stride as she walked across the track. His gaze followed her, taking in every movement, and then, a soft laugh escaped him. Then, as if knowing exactly where his thoughts had wandered, she looked over her shoulder, her expression effortlessly shifting into a playful yet sultry pose.

Next chapter

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[dandylionsden]

wishlist ideas for all muses:

this is a big post don't look at me. i figured this was preferable to spamming a bunch of little posts.

—luther

seve.rance au. he's a severed employee who's far too loyal to lumon, but too unpredictable and prone to romanticism to be considered good at his job.

royalty aus. a tryhard prince (or noble) who will never live up to his father's standards. terrified to become the head of the family but also, highly likely to kill his father himself.

on-again off-again relationships where he's messy as fuck and the other person gets a front row seat to his mental health rollercoasters.

—nealie

seve.rance au 1. nealie is convinced lumon has stolen her mother from her, despite being told her mother is dead. hiding her true intentions, she becomes a lumon employee, working in corporate as a public relations liaison while searching for her mom.

seve.rance au 2. nealie, forced with an ultimatum from her father, chooses to become severed employee. innie nealie is boisterous and playful while outie nealie is ashamed of herself.

royalty aus. the black sheep of a royal (or noble) family.

someone to patch nealie up after her underground fights.

—henri

friends to lovers au where your muse realizes that henri's been in love with them for literal years and has done nothing about it.

—jacob

a bad boy to "corrupt" him (even if that's just teaching him how to have fun and step outside his comfort zone).

roommates au.

forbidden lovers where jacob is working as an art therapist and catches feelings for his client.

—ansgar

bodyguard au. after his tragic backstory, protecting the other character is ansgar's primary purpose in life.

—atalante

sugar baby au.

alternatively, he's a bastard son who's father disowned him. let him fall in love with his dad's friend or something.

someone to challenge him to do something with his life.

artist interactions where they bounce creativity off each other and become each other's muses.

—kent

someone finds out that he's gay and decides to wreck his life with this knowledge.

someone finds out that he's gay and decides to keep his secret, whether to blackmail him or because they can't live with destroying his life.

fuck buddies who met on grin.dr end up getting complicated, whether because of feelings or logistics or because they recognize him.

[sgiandubh]

"He's actually paying those PR people? Whatever for? A drunk wombat would be better at the task." I LOL'd because my god have we been asking this very question of both Sam and Cait for years. They're PR is actually the worst. It's honestly hard to believe at times. Absolutely zero idea who either of them are trying to reach. The recalibrating after that VF disaster sent Cait into hiding, I'm not sure she's done another print interview since Belfast promo ended and if the Sam articles are going to continue on this way, he can quit too. Boring.

Dear Quit Anon,

I am flattered I managed to bring a smile or even a LOL, but I am not particularly glad about it. Unlike droves of people who think this PR shitshow is sad, I actually find it mystifying.

You are right. Goddess C went into occultation after that cursed VF interview. There are clear reasons, I think, for that. Also, please take into account the fact that, despite the illusions peddled by some fuckwits in this fandom, there are many things we simply do not know (nor should we, most probably).

As for S, I guess that ever since she went totally MIA (as I said, make-up and fash-un promo don't really compensate), he is overexposing himself. On purpose. Perhaps to protect her (I think so). Certainly to hide something. Since this is no way in hell about being gay (I will die on that hill and I know I am right), the only thing he could hide is well... I don't really need to draw it, do I?

Smoke and mirrors is always a risky strategy. S simply hasn't got what it takes to play that game long term, probably for the same reasons he was never a serious shortlist candidate for Bond. At this point in time, he'd mechanically go with whatever merde du jour is thrown by his imbecile PR on the table. Still, it's high time he'd seriously pull himself together. He can do better, as I wrote in a comment: he can do NYT and he did it very well, recently. And I was glad to see that. But Metro is just disappointing, clueless and tasteless. And it's padding up a press portfolio with amiable, meaningless bullshit that goes nowhere. Or at least nowhere near he wants to be or see himself in, let's say, five years from now.

OL is going to end. It has to. It's been both a blessing and a curse, I said that before. Then, it will be high time to end the fucking Truman Show. He (abstractly) knows that, he keeps hinting about it. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world” - for some reason, I found this phrase very telling. But I doubt he internalized what probably still feels like a safely remote occurrence, right now.

What are his real projects? For the moment, zero. Directing? I'd love to see it, but he's got no real credentials for that. Bond? I mean, publicly gushing and insisting is not going to manifest it. He needs a real movie, a good one to break that glass ceiling. Is he going to get it? I hope so. But his personal brand awareness is still low. The PR clowns should stop talking to us, in here: we are already here and not going anywhere. All of us: antis, mommies, shippers, fencers, haters, trolls. They should talk to the people who have no clue who S is, and do it differently. He should step out of his comfort zone, ditch the leeches and refuse to discuss his personal life, for a while. There, I said it.

What are her real projects? For the moment, not much. Sure, we have The Cut, where I gather her part is minimalistic, to be kind. We also have The Amateur, of which very little is known at the moment. However, if I am correct, she is not one of the leads. Enough said. And beyond that? Crickets.

Make no mistake. The real litmus test is not now. The real litmus test is 2025. And then we'll see. And I'll still be here, taking weeping Anons because I don't know who said I don't know what I don't know where. Mark me.

[bo-ying]

As a casual Sunday afternoon texting with one of friends. He brough up a topic that helps me kill some time and found an interesting Album:

Album: 『結束バンド』《ぼっち・ざ・ろっく！》(結束バンド)

Date of Release: Dec. 28, 2022

Price: 4,070 Yen ($28.31 USD)

In side the album: 1 CD, 1 BD, 1 limited time edition sticker

Songs in Album: Total of 14 songs

01．青春コンプレックス

02．ひとりぼっち東京

03．Distortion‼

04．ひみつ基地

05．ギターと孤独と蒼い惑星

06．ラブソングが歌えない

07．あのバンド

08．カラカラ

09．小さな海

10．なにが悪い

11．忘れてやらない

12．星座になれたら

13．フラッシュバッカー

14．転がる岩、君に朝が降る

As an album that origins from one anime that talks about band, once the album had released it has sells 155,000 album out.

I was attracted to the album at first, I was impressed, this is an well done album with story, the story inside the songs seems to be about relationship of friends creating a band. yet, the struggle, the tingling feeling between each members. With that imagination scene appears in my brain. I start to watch the anime of this album.

青春コンプレックス 9.0

The very first song of the album comes from the opening of the anime (ぼっち・ざ・ろっく, Bocchi The Rock), with the quick tap of guitar sound with drum hits, it sudden hype up the audience's emotion while listening to it. After the opening with instruments, the words they used was simple and easy to understand. It's simply describing the main character, ぼっち(Bocchi) - a high school quiet girl that keep herself in her own world, she hides in a hoodie, stay distance with others, but love to play guitar more than anything else. With the simple lyrics and energizing music, this opens up the album.

ひとりぼっち東京 8.5

A song for people travel alone to new place and starts off a new live there, the pondering of loneness, and helpless of alone. With a light happiness beats dropped, representing meeting new friends discover the good food around the hope had shine in the world. Which, matches the story of the protagonist's journey of Highschool.

Distortion‼ 5.0

Its funny that they used Distortion instead of phase changing or any other words to described how Bocchi had stepped out her comfort zone and challenged to met new member in band.

ひみつ基地 7.0

After a long adventure of seeking a band practice room. The achievement of completing a task, the joy of that spreading to your body. Such emotion had express in the song by a strong and engaging melody to show the energy of it.

ギターと孤独と蒼い惑星 10.0

The best song out of this entire album, just by the melody, this song express an emotion of "Determination" to me. This song was dropped in the animation when Bocchi showed her talents on guitar in the band's first performing, that gives me goosebump all over my skin, from the wonder status to one the determine to participate as a guitar hero.

ラブソングが歌えない 9.0

With the success in the first show, the argon of people had shown, the numbers of practices had become less and less, and finally the biff between members had been exploded which was painful to see. However, the story end up with everyone comes back with passion and the love of playing their instruments.

あのバンド 8.0

After the biff of the band, this was on the next show, the melody had shown a strong unbalanced in the performing and less cooperation with each others. But with the song progress, the layer by layer start to seem more mixed up and start to become as a one.

The other songs were also played in the animation, but giving you all to watched the series of animation with the songs. With all of these songs and the story of the anime, this creates an incredible album that been named as the "Best Anime Album of All Time."

[roleplaystop]

Hello! I am Castor (She/her, 21+) and I am looking for people for my new discord server, for a fantasy roleplay that I would love to do! The server is 18+, so minors, please do not interact as I don't feel comfortable roleplaying with anyone under 18. This is a fandomless roleplay, so only OCs are allowed.

🌿 What I am looking for:

People that are enthusiastic about character creation.

People's that are engaging and are able to help carry the plot (Please don't let you character be a bystander)

Easy going roleplayers. I do not want drama in OOC chat, leave that for the actual roleplay.

Semi-Lit to Literate writers

NOTE: I am EST, so I would also prefer people in the same time zone or usut a few hours ahead of me or behind me so that we can all be active at the same time. Keep in mind that I work (as I assume we all do) so communication is key. Let me know if you can take part in a session. I don't need a reason, just let me know if you don't be on. This rp will most likely take place on the weekends, but we can discuss this further in OOC.

🌿 Setting:

I have based this rp between a dimension I have created for my novels (Isla) and a town that I have created named Lonest, located in the state of Washington. The main setting is in the Undergrove, a program for young supernatural beings that need more help to control their abilities. The Undergrove is located under the prestigious school known as Arcane University in Lonest.

🌿 Plot:

Your character has been invited to walk the halls of the prestigious Undergrove Program, located under Arcane University in the gloomy and rainy town of Lonest, Washington.

Here, they will learn how to control their abilities and by the end, they shall be sent out into the world the knowledge of how to better control and use the abilities that have been given to them.

Undergrove was founded by a mysterious family, keeping themselves under wraps and away from the eyes of those that they see as Outsiders—a few of them having walked the halls of Undergrove themselves.

The school was created to protect the mortals world from the thinning veils that separate the mortal realm and the realm of the dead—the realm of chaos. And while the school has an amazing reputation, one can not help but take notice of the disappearance of three of them top students—the De La Cruz sisters and a boy that came from the founder's family.

The staff, while helpful and well meaning may be hiding something darker than any of the students could imagine. Why do they act weird when questioned about the disappearances? Why are they afraid of the founders? And what happened to the missing students?

It is the job of our characters to uncover the deep dark secrets of this place, and maybe even someone in their own ranks.

Will you join?

🌿Acceptance letter:

To whom it may concern,

It is with great pleasure that we inform you of your acceptance into the esteemed program of Undergrove. You have been selected amongst an elite few who possess the necessary skills, knowledge, and strength to protect the mortal world from the dark and deadly forces beyond understanding.

The very name of Undergrove speaks to the nature of our work. Our organization is shrouded in mystery and darkness, and our purpose is to maintain the balance between the light and the shadows. You have shown a keen interest in the realm of death, night, and the unknown, and we believe that you will thrive in our environment.

Undergrove is a place of ancient knowledge and secrets, where the art of combat and the mastery of the arcane are practiced with equal fervor. You will be among peers who share your passions and interests, and you will be challenged to push yourself beyond your limits.

Our work is not for the faint of heart. You will be tasked with defending the mortal world from the very things that go bump in the night. Demonic forces, undead armies, and eldritch horrors beyond comprehension all threaten to tear apart the fabric of reality. But fear not, for you will be trained by the very best, and armed with the most powerful weapons and spells at your disposal.

You will be living in a world of darkness, but it will be a world of excitement, adventure, and thrill. You will be part of a long-standing tradition of guardians of the night, and you will be responsible for upholding our sacred oath to protect humanity from the terrors that lurk beyond the veil.

Your journey into the unknown begins now. Pack your bags, say your goodbyes, and prepare for a life of darkness, death, and night. Welcome to Undergrove, and welcome to the fight.

Yours in the shadows,

The Council of Undergrove

🌿Rules:

Please be 18+

One character limit (though your character can have a pet)

No controlling the characters of another

NSFW topics and darker topics are allowed but please respect the triggers of others.

This is a safe place for LGBTQ+ roleplayers and characters. I will not tolerate homophobia. You'll be booted faster than you can blink.

No Op characters. I don't care about the abilities that your characters have but they can not have all the knowledge of everyone and everything.

No god Ocs. I usually don't place a restriction on what race your character is, but I already have my own, original gifs that rule over Isla, and that watch over Lonest.

No drama. Keep it in the rp.

Please do not treat this server as a dating server or site...we are here to rp, not be badgered to date the person behind the character.

Have fun!

I only rp on Discord. My contact is Castor#0039. Message me and I will send the link to the server.

Discord - Castor#0039

[samwrites99]

1.How many works do you have on AO3?

20 works

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

170,154

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Law and Order SVU and Organized Crime

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

A decade without

Geocache

Bankers box

This is her story

Boarding passes

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, as much as I can now! I wasn’t too good at it when I first started writing fic about a year ago-ish, but I’ve come to like the interaction with people :)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

either uncharted (bc it basically was a prequel fic to SVU ROTPS (back door pilot to Organized Crime) OR Purgatory (which basically was EO stuck together in hiding but it’s just them *not talking* featuring an unused shotgun).

Idk I try to end my fics on a happy note bc that’s just the type of person I am.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

THIS IS HARD — like I said, I really try to end on a positive note because I love to wrap things up in a cutesy little bow but maybe geocache or bankers box since those are coming home stories.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I did once, but I’ve since learned the art of comment moderation 🫡

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I’m inclined to say no, but that would be a lie. I did in like 1 AU pilots fic. People said they liked it (maybe?) but I also am super uncomfortable writing it. It was a nice challenge to write it and to get out of my comfort zone.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

SVU/OC live in the same universe, so while technically a crossover, I’m not going to count it here.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of! But I have used Google translate in fic to have dialogue in another language.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Right now, it’s EO bc they’re the ship that got me to dive head first into all things fandom.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

….. gonna have crickets here…..

it’s not that I don’t like my 2 WIPs, it’s just that I think I bite off more than I can chew with both of them and I have second hand embarrassment from them now.

I also prefer to live in oneshot heaven 😇

16. What are your writing strengths?

Not sure… I like to think I can write a loosely enough connected thread to make a storyline come out of the woodworks… but I also don’t know exactly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh most definitely grammar.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’ve done it! It’s fun and at least for the EO ship, it’s a playground bc it’s a detail that we as fans know but the writers room seems to ignore/not sure how to incorporate it. Live laugh love continuity.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

SVU/OC

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

oh gosh… this feels like a toss up because I have a few I always rec to people… this is her story holds a special place in my heart, but I also ADORE bankers box and geocache. Probably those 3 I feel like best represent my work, but I have little pieces of my heart deposited into all my writing 🫶

Thanks for the tag @somuchwhatever . If you come across this feel free to do it yourself!

[softc0reearts]

OC Pride Month 2024 | TWD OC

( Late submission because I was on vacation until yesterday Teehee )

OC Pride Challenge (Day 3): Bi

Make something for an oc that identifies as bisexual and/or biromantic!

Yvonne Tawnie : The Song

It was late enough that Tamika became suspicious when a knock came to her door. She stood at the side of the door with a gun pressed against it as she cracked it open. She let out a relieved sigh when she saw Yvonne standing on her porch, the darkness masking her face.

“Hey, what are you doing wandering around at this time of night?” Tamika asked, her voice softening.

Yvonne, a frequent ignorer of the community curfew, had been reprimanded before but it never deterred her from wandering the empty streets in the dead of night. Tamika, on the other hand, loved hiding away in her house with her doors locked and a warm cup of tea. It made her feel normal, like the chaos of the world wasn’t allowed past her locked door.

When Yvonne didn’t answer, Tamika fully opened the door and waved her hand to invite her longtime friend inside. After everything they’d been through, she wasn’t about to turn her away. Yvonne didn’t say anything when she walked inside; the light finally showed her expression.

Yvonne had been crying, her cheeks were wet, and her mascara had traveled down her face. Tamika just watched as she stood there, her frame slumped in a way that made her look so fragile. Tamika closed the door and took a moment to ponder the random visit, her mind racing with concern.

Once the door was locked, she took Yvonne’s hand and guided her to her room. She had one of the smaller homes within the community. The living room doubled as her studio and was normally bathed in soft natural light streaming through large windows. Easels in the corner where a tv would normally be, paired with canvases in various stages of completion. Paint brushes and palettes were arranged neatly on a small wooden table, alongside jars of vibrant acrylics. It was clear she didn’t normally entertain.

As they moved into the bedroom, it had a similar decor style. The walls were adorned with a vibrant mix of her own paintings and a diverse collection of art she’d collected or traded from other communities. The room also housed lush, green plants in mismatched pots, adding a touch of life and color to an otherwise bleak world outside of her home.

Once in the room, Tamika tossed Yvonne a shirt to change into. She didn’t wait to confirm Yvonne was changing before she turned away to grab a bottle of water and a rag from her bathroom. Once Yvonne was changed, Tamika wiped the mascara from her face.

“I thought I’d understand. Thought it would be just like before,” Yvonne’s voice was pitiful. “That I would be okay, but I’m not.”

“What?” Tamika asked, confused.

“Daryl. I thought I’d be okay after he left, but I’m not.”

Now that Tamika realized what Yvonne was talking about, her heart broke. She immediately wrapped her arms around the other woman and squeezed. Memories of Yvonne and Daryl’s relationship flooded her mind, the love they shared in a world of despair that seemed to pull them apart at every turn. After a few long moments of hugging, Tamika pulled away and guided Yvonne to the bed. She didn’t know what to say, so this was the best comfort she could offer.

In comparison to Yvonne’s long-term on-and-off relationship with Daryl, Tamika hadn’t had more than a fling in years. She didn’t know how to console someone with a recently broken heart. Instead, she held her friend while wrapped in her comforter.

The two lay facing each other on their side, staring at one another in complete silence. Tamika caressed Yvonne’s cheek, wiping away the freshly fallen tears that formed. She wanted to tell Yvonne how badly Daryl had screwed up leaving like he did, how lucky he was to have a place in Yvonne’s heart, but none of that would help the pain.

Tamika started to zone out, losing herself in her own thoughts. So when Yvonne placed a hand on her cheek, she was forced to come back from her thought. There were no more tears to wipe away, so Tamika let her hand rest against Yvonne’s arm. There were still no words shared between them, just the sound of a light breeze outside of the window above Tamika’s bed.

Tamika's presence was like a bandage to Yvonne’s wounded heart, a reminder that not all was destroyed. In the dead of night, a heartbroken Yvonne made the decision to leave her relationship where Daryl left it. After nearly 10 years of back and forth, broken hearts, wedding dresses that never got to see the light of day, and letters explaining some greater cause that took precedence over the other, Yvonne was tired. Her eyes moved between Tamika’s eyes and her lips a few times.

“Stop me before it’s too late,” she whispered, breaking their silence.

Tamika looked confused until Yvonne leaned in, and it immediately clicked. She didn’t stop her, and instead leaned into the kiss. Tamika closed her eyes; the feeling of Yvonne’s lips was something she fantasized about years ago, but it had been a long time since she put her crush aside to focus on the friendship. So this was just as shocking as it was a welcome surprise.

The kiss was gentle at first, an exploration, but quickly deepened as years of unspoken feelings and recent heartache blended together. Yvonne held Tamika’s cheek as she adjusted her own head, as if she needed to be closer to Tamika despite their lips being connected. What was once an innocent embrace had now become a fervent release of pent-up emotions.

The hand resting on Yvonne’s arm slid down her side to rest against her hip. Tamika didn’t want her to feel trapped, so she refrained from gripping her. Her fingers played with the edge of Yvonne’s shirt; Tamika was not confident enough to push further.

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end, which came in the form of Yvonne pulling away. She didn’t say anything, instead let go of her friend and lay flat against the bed. Tamika watched her as she stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her to speak.

“I don’t know what came over me…” Yvonne shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Tamika didn’t know how to react. Should she be hurt?

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I do. I don’t want you to think I’m using you to feel better,” Yvonne finally looked her way. “Because I wasn’t.”

Tamika nodded; she knew that this could have been the result of a recent breakup, but the rekindling of her crush gave her hope this was more.

“We’ll take it slow, see where it goes.” Tamika moved to lay flat on her back too.

With that, the pair lay quietly. Yvonne reached out and intertwined her hand with Tamika’s. Neither knew what to say next.

Everything had changed.

[cherokeegal1975]

Johnathan was a family man and cargo runner and had no interest in getting entangled in royal affairs. So, when a deposed and fleeing princess arranges a meeting to give him a package to keep safe, he was reluctant to take it. But she convinced him to hide the royal seal until she needed it back despite himself. Unknown to him, she had also ticked him into carrying another precious cargo.

When Johnathan learns of the trick, he’s furious. When he confronts the princess about it, he learns it’ll be impossible to return it before it’s appointed time. Then she tells him of an unbreakable bond between them and ends a long search for someone he had lost as a boy. So, instead of revenge, he does what he can to help her. He must also avoid capture; the King would execute Johnathan if he ever found out about his secret cargo.

Author's Note: I'm posting this again so it doesn't sink to the bottom of the pile. I'd really love some feedback and I really want to know what you think about my story. This project took a lot of work to complete and I may never be able to do it again. My current circumstances will not allow it...I will spare you the sad details. This story is based on an online dumpster dive I did some years ago. Worth exploring, but I generally hated how stupid, disgusting and poorly written the mpreg genera all too often is in every place I looked. It's not even my favorite genera, I tend to gravitate towards fantasy and sci-fi and sometimes mystery and suspense.

Just because I'm willing to explore out of my comfort zone in literature, doesn't mean I'll like everything I find. Anyway, all those awful mpregs looked like a challenge to me after a while. I wanted to see if I could write a good story in the mpreg genera. I figured if I could, then I really did have some talent in writing. So, let me know what you think about my story, I genuinely want to know. Even if you don't like it, I won't take offense, but please be polite. Constructive criticism is welcome, trolling is not. I never respond to trolls. This story does take some time to build, so please, have some patience. I did try to keep the pace up to a nice level for most of the book. Ages 15 and up should have no problem with this story, but I highly recommend earphones of some kind if anyone is within earshot, especially if you make it to chapter five. You can also purchase the book from Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/Unexpected-Cargo-Meriah-Smith/dp/1537355236/ref=pd_ybh_a_sccl_4/135-1912623-2050026?pd_rd_w=LbwU8&content-id=amzn1.sym.67f8cf21-ade4-4299-b433-69e404eeecf1&pf_rd_p=67f8cf21-ade4-4299-b433-69e404eeecf1&pf_rd_r=JH5E2XGTFGW23XPXB8TW&pd_rd_wg=OLxiR&pd_rd_r=188a9d3d-6bf9-4f7f-9e25-430cd3fa871f&pd_rd_i=1537355236&psc=1

[unlockcharmz]

Unrequited feelingZ, When Homeboy prefers your friend.

What do you do?

On this fine Sunday, my chomie called me today as I was enjoying my wine and planning my week's activities to have an afternoon talk with me about a guy, she likes who doesn't like her back but likes other her friend instead. I was thinking, "Girl, what are you going to do?

We have all experienced that emotion, and it hurts like a bee sting.

When I once fell in love with a guy who, regrettably, preferred my chomie, I remember experiencing the emotional rollercoaster that comes with unrequited sentiments.

I struggled with disappointment and self-doubt after the trying encounter. I want to offer my own experience and the techniques I employed in this blog post to help you manage the challenges of like someone who doesn't share your sentiments.

I can still clearly recall our first encounter. It was at the house chill, and the moment I entered, his warm grin and amiable demeanor drew me in.

Having similar interests and enjoying each other's company, we hit it off right away. I couldn't resist falling in love with him in those few minutes as we spent more time together. It was like a flurry of feelings—excitement, anxiety, and the wish that perhaps, just perhaps, he felt the same way.

But as the hours of that night went by, it became clear that my feelings were not shared. Accepting that the connection I felt was one-sided was challenging.

He started expressing interest in my friend, further complicating the matter. I felt a sharp ache of disappointment, and I found it difficult to control the wave of feelings that followed.

Avoiding comparisons was one of the most difficult tasks. When you feel like you are vying for someone's attention, it is only natural to compare yourself to other people.

As the alcohol started to take effect, I started to doubt my value and wonder what my friend had that I didn't.

I was reading something about originality while seated in a corner of the house when I noticed through my Facebook quotes that these comparisons were harmful and counterproductive. Individual differences make romantic tastes subjective. It was only a matter of compatibility; it had nothing to do with my value as a person.

I also came to understand the value of open communication, both with myself and other parties. I gave myself permission to experience my disappointment and realized that it was alright to feel this way. Instead of hiding my sentiments, I confided in a close friend who was also at the house party.

She was not overly inebriated despite having had a lot of vodka, and she offered valuable assistance. I was able to better understand myself and process my feelings thanks to this open conversation.

This guy was only a test to see if I would sacrifice friendship for a man, I met just one night. I didn't leave the party feeling bitter or dejected, but rather with the knowledge that someone better is waiting out there someplace.

I was forced to leave my comfort zone and widen my circle of friends as I tried to navigate this circumstance.

I went in search of novel encounters and took part in interests. I not only found new hobbies through this, but I also made new friends who have positively impacted my life and given me new insights. It served as a reminder that there are a plenty of networking options available and that the ideal match might be nearby.

The practice of self-care became my compass on this trip. I came to see how crucial it was to put my health first and take care of my physical, mental, and emotional needs. I spent a lot of time doing things that made me happy, such engaging in hobbies like writing and spending time with loved ones, as well as engaging in self-reflection through journaling.

Self-care started serving as a constant reminder that I didn't need anyone else's love to be happy.

I recovered and got stronger as time went on. I realized that unrequited love is a part of life's journey and offers chances for personal development and self-discovery.

Even though the disappointment persisted, I understood that it was a necessary stage in the search for someone who would actually understand and share my feelings.

In conclusion, it can be extremely difficult to like someone who doesn't share your sentiments, especially if they express interest in someone close to you.

My own experience has taught me the value of self-reflection, open communication, avoiding comparisons, enlarging my social circle, and placing a high priority on self-care. Though it's acceptable to be disappointed, try not to let it define your value. While waiting for the ideal person to come along, put your attention on loving and caring for yourself.

I am living proof that it is effective because, when I was only thinking about myself and my journey, God brought me my soulmate—the person who completes me.

Do you babe.

[rebecca2407]

I’ve been dealing with endometriosis and interstitial cystitis (IC), which means my body doesn’t always behave in the way I’d like it to. It can be painful, exhausting, and often frustrating. As part of managing my conditions, I’ve been following the advice of my physical therapist to try things that can help, even if they feel a little outside my comfort zone. These things have made a difference for me in managing the pain and improving my quality of life.

The problem, though, is living with my mom, who has very strong religious views. She’s passionate about her beliefs and, honestly, I don’t mind hearing her talk about it. But the challenge comes when those beliefs conflict with my decisions. For instance, she’s always telling me that I’m going to hell for not going to church, or for making choices that don’t align with what she thinks is right. She doesn’t always understand the medical advice I’m following, and it often feels like I have to defend myself.

When I try to take control of my health in ways she doesn’t agree with, I’m met with judgment rather than understanding. She’s quick to offer her opinion, but rarely does she listen to why I make the choices I do. It’s exhausting having to keep my decisions and personal care under wraps, just to avoid hearing her criticism. I don’t want to feel like I have to hide things from her, but sometimes I have no choice.

It’s difficult to maintain privacy when she insists on “helping” around the house. While I understand she’s only trying to be helpful by cleaning, I don’t want her to interfere with my personal space. There’s a constant worry that she might stumble upon things that are part of my healing process—things that are deeply personal. I shouldn’t have to hide those things just to avoid her disapproval, but the fear of being judged makes me feel like I have no other option.

At 40, I should be able to manage my health and my life the way I see fit. I’m old enough to make my own decisions and understand my body, and while I know my mom’s intentions are good, it’s hard to feel supported when I know she doesn’t agree with everything I do.

Living at home as an adult is a delicate balance between maintaining your independence and respecting the boundaries of the person you’re living with. I want to have a say in what happens in my room and my life, but I also want to avoid unnecessary conflicts. I can’t help but feel that my personal health choices are under constant scrutiny, and it gets tiring.

I know I can’t change my mom’s beliefs, and I’m not trying to. What I do want is respect for my privacy and autonomy. I’m working on setting clear boundaries—helping her understand that while I appreciate her concern, I also need space to make decisions about my health and my life. It’s not about rejecting her or her views; it’s about creating room for my choices, even if they don’t always make sense to her.

At the end of the day, it’s about mutual respect. It’s about recognizing that I’m an adult, and just because I’m living under her roof doesn’t mean I have to justify every decision I make.

It’s a learning process, and maybe there will be growing pains. But I hope that, over time, my mom will come to understand that just because our paths don’t always align, it doesn’t mean I’m making the wrong choices. I’m just trying to take care of myself in the best way I know how.

[118buck]

118eddie​:

TELLING || BUDDIE PARA (APRIL 17TH)

Eddie was at first confused by Maddie’s reaction, and he barely remembered handing her the bottle of wine before they were following her into the house. It was only after hearing her explaining her point that he finally got it. “I suppose he wanted to make it a surprise as long as possible. We have only told my parents, and now you. And we’ll be telling Bobby, and Hen, and also Chim later today, so we’ll appreciate if you hold onto our secret for a couple of hours longer? We want to be the ones to tell them.” Eddie felt bad in a one for sounding somewhat bossy to his potential sister in-law, but he was being honest. He didn’t want anything to mess with how they had planned things. 

Of course, the way she was pouting at him showed that it would take all of her strenght to keep it a secret a bit longer, but nevertheless, she promised, and even threw in a pinky swear with both Buck, and also Eddie. “Good. A pinky promise means business” he said with a soft chuckle, then they all sat in the living room. “I have to say” she said as she brought the glasses over “I knew even before I even met you that this was how things would be.” Eddie looked confused. “Wait, what does that mean?” he asked her, to which she giggled. “When I first got here, Buck wouldn’t stop talking about you, and how good you were to your son and everything, so I asked him if this brand new man crush on you meant that he was over Maddie.” He looked at Buck and raised a brow. “A mancrush, huh?” he said, the smile way too much obvious now.

Buck opened his mouth, then shut it, with a shake of his head, “I...” He said, trying again, “look, I was an idiot, okay? We’ve definitely been over this. Not realising straight men didn’t think about making out with other guys and all that? I just thought I was really fucking comfortable with my straight-ness.” He laughed, taking a sip of the win, “but yes. I had a massive, what I thought, to be bro-crush on you from the beginning. Well, maybe not the first day.” He thought back to the anger he’d felt when he first saw Eddie in the station, but he knew it was just misplaced jealously. He’d liked being the hot, flirty firefighter, and he didn’t want Eddie to challenge him for that. “But at least from the second.”

“So... do I get to know how it happened?” Maddie asked, smirking into a sip of wine and Buck rolled his eyes. Of course she was curious. They told her, about how Eddie had known his feelings for Buck for a long time, but it had taken Buck a while to cotton on to his own despite the fact it should have been obvious. They left out some of the details, but the essence was there (and she was not impressed to find out how long they had been hiding it from everybody, but also happy to know they really had passed the ‘danger zone’ of the early months of a relationship). She looked between them, before her gaze settled on Eddie, “I’m glad it’s you, Eddie. You guys are perfect for each other, always have been.”

[hallmark-movie-fanatics]

'When Calls the Heart's Erin Krakow Leads Hallmark's April Movie Premieres: See the Schedule (Exclusive ETOnline)

HALLMARK CHANNEL'S "SPRING INTO LOVE"

All premieres are at 8 p.m. ET/PT. 

Love in the Maldives  Starring: Jocelyn Hudon and Jake Manley Premieres: Saturday, April 1 Rae Parker (Hudon) has a very fabulous, single life that attracts thousands of readers to her monthly travel column, “Reservation for One.” Rae is surprised when her editor wants to send her to the world’s most romantic vacation destination -- The Conrad Maldives. She’s an adventurous spirit and staying at the luxurious Muraka makes it difficult for her to find the type of experiences she needs to write an article worthy of her column. It doesn’t help that Rae is terribly afraid of the open ocean and a hotel that floats in the middle of it. After a few failed solo attempts, Rae realizes she needs some guidance and support to undertake some of the challenges outside of her comfort zone. The Conrad’s guest experience expert, Jared Joseph (Manley), steps in and makes it his personal mission to give Rae the adventure she’s looking for… 

The Professional Bridesmaid Starring: Hunter King and Chandler Massey Premieres: Saturday, April 8 Years ago, Maggie Bailey (King) realized she had a particular skill set for being an ace bridesmaid -- and she went pro. Now she uses her talents to help brides navigate the tricky emotional and social dynamics that go along with planning their big day in addition to the practical. Her latest client, Alexis Shepard (Francesca Bianchi), is the daughter of Columbus’ mayor who is up for re-election. Alexis’ wedding promises to be the event of the summer with lots of scrutiny, so the mayor’s team hires Maggie to join the bridal party and help keep everything on track. But no one can know that Maggie is a hired bridesmaid, so she is introduced as Alexis’ old friend Maisie. Unfortunately, Henry Whittington (Massey), an ambitious local reporter assigned to the society story is sniffing around hoping to get close to the mayor for a scoop on the pending development  of local park land. To pull off her assignment, Maggie must coordinate three unhelpful bridesmaids and keep Henry focused on the wedding while hiding her identity, even as she begins to grow closer to him. 

The Wedding Cottage Starring: Erin Krakow and Brendan Penny Premieres: Saturday, April 15 A wedding guide creator (Krakow) must convince an uninspired artist and owner of a special wedding cottage (Penny) to renovate the rundown cottage to host a contest-winning couple for their dream wedding.

A Pinch of Portugal Starring: Heather Hemmens and Luke Mitchell Premieres: Saturday, April 22 When a celebrity chef walks off his show, prep cook Anna (Hemmens) must step into the spotlight and make the show her own, with the help of her Aussie cameraman (Mitchell) and Portuguese location scout.

The Spin Cycle (working title) Starring: Erin Cahill and Marco Grazzini Premieres: Saturday, April 29 Hazel Miller (Cahill) is a top publicist in New York City looking to build her empire. Diego Vasquez (Grazzini) is a top MLB pitcher who froze during Game 7 of the World Series. He also happens to be the guy who shattered Hazel’s heart in high school. When Hazel is tasked with spinning Diego’s image, it might be her biggest challenge professionally, and personally, as she takes him back to their hometown in Ohio to deal with what they've both left behind. 

HALLMARK MOVIES & MYSTERIES

All premieres are at 7 p.m. ET/PT. 

The Blessing Bracelet (DaySpring movie) Starring: Amanda Schull and Carlo Marks Premieres: Sunday, April 9 Dawn Spencer (Schull) approaches the Easter holiday trying to balance being a single parent while working to get out of the debt left behind by her ex-husband. Feeling overwhelmed, Dawn unearths a bracelet she made years earlier and stored away. She created it using four beads with the intention of using each one as a reminder to count the blessings in her life. As Dawn begins to focus on the good, her faith is renewed, and her life takes a positive turn. Thanks to the support of Dawn’s church community and the encouragement by Ben (Marks), who recently came into her life, the blessing bracelets help take her down a path she never could have imagined. 

Spring Breakthrough (Mahogany movie) Starring: Keesha Sharp, Demetrius Grosse, Rhyon Nicole Brown and Akono Dixon Premieres: Sunday, April 30 Single mother Monica Rollins (Sharp) excitedly waits for her daughter, Vivian (Brown), to come home for spring break, their annual tradition. Days before, after years of tireless dedication to her job, Monica is unceremoniously fired. To make matters worse, Monica is dealt with a second blow when Vivian announces her surprise engagement to Shawn (Dixon), someone Monica didn't even know existed and travels to The Gulf Shores for the engagement celebration. En route, she meets Clark Randall (Grosse), who also happens to be Shawn’s godfather, at the airport and an unexpected flirtation ignites. 

Click on this LINK to read the full article and see some pics at ET Online. 

[five-rivers]

@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

.

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

.

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.