#[static in my head for the foreseeable future]

[waldau]

crescendo — chwe hansol | 1,042 words | fluff

boinon! chwe! hansol! back on my marriage agenda because it's ME. song taken from vernon's playlist from weverse magazine. also i'm a firm believer that vernon is the kind of guy who looks at two of anything and just goes "us." please enjoy me simping for him.

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

you notice vernon's not sleeping anymore.

he's looking up at you from where his head is resting on your chest. he always does this thing where his gaze is focused on you till you acknowledge it, whether it's by asking him what's up, or blushing at how intense it is.

this time, though, you don't do anything to shake the moment. so it's just you looking down into his eyes that are looking back at you, and it's not the first time you've paused to admire his eyes.

before vernon, you didn't really understand how you could be lost in someone's eyes. but his eyes? hazel brown, shining when they catch the light just right, a hundred thoughts running through them. streaks of light you wish you could decode.

there's a soft love song playing in your ears while your hands rest on his chest, tracing the shapes of the stars on his shirt. he manages to look good even when he's upside down, somehow.

soft. vernon would shake his head if you said that to him out loud, but he wouldn't deny it. not anymore. he likes when you call him nicknames. he likes when you call him, even. content to listen to your self-professed rambling about whatever's on your mind.

just like you're content to listen to him ask you ridiculous questions out of the blue. ridiculous to anyone who doesn't know him.

"do you believe we're made of the same stuff stars are made of?"

you'd blinked out of the show you'd been watching. "i...yeah? technically? hydrogen and all."

"does that mean we found each other all those years ago? and not just now?"

vernon has a way with words, really. he doesn't downplay it, but that's because you don't let him know how much it affects you in the first place. you could be talking about two seeds in a segment of tangerine and he'd say it was the both of you. two moths flying around a lamp? you.

and then there's times you think his humour couldn't get any worse.

"hey, you dropped something."

you'd looked around to find nothing out of place. "what?"

"my jaw."

suffice to say, vernon didn't get a single kiss from you for the next few hours.

(of course, you'd had to make it up to him with a ton of kisses and cuddles later on.)

right now, he's still looking at you, and the song has changed. you don't know the name of it, having picked it from the playlist vernon made for you, that he keeps adding to.

i hope you like this, he'd said shyly, when he'd sent you the link to it.

it's not surprising that you've liked almost every song you've heard so far. of course, there's a few that don't match your vibe, but when you close your eyes and think of vernon enjoying the song, lost in his own world, it makes you like them a little more.

back to the present. your fingers are tapping along to the rhythm of the song, something about love and self-doubt, upbeat yet heart-wrenching with a guitar riff that's so painfully vernon that you have to lean down and kiss his head.

vernon grabs your fingers where they're dancing on his chest and presses a kiss to your thumb. then your index finger. then the rest of your fingers. and then your palm.

you stop the song, amused at how affectionate he's being.

"what's up?" you ask, taking off your earphones.

he shakes his head. you push at his shoulder lightly.

"keep listening to your song."

you frown. "am i ignoring you?"

vernon sighs. "not at all. it's just...you'll stop doing it if i point it out."

"stop doing what?"

he takes your hand and places it on his chest, trapping it in place with his own. "you do this...thing. you tap out a song on me when we're not listening to it together. and then i try to guess what you're listening to. and i almost always get it wrong. it's...silly."

your heart feels too big for your chest. "vern? have i ever told you how much i love you?"

he shuts his eyes, a smile on his face. "yeah. 'course you have. love you, too."

squeezing his hand that's holding yours, you resume playing the song. he lets go of your hand so you can continue tapping out the beats.

"can you guess what it was?" you ask, once the song ends.

"hm. kinda fast paced, and there's only a few of those on there. breaking the law?"

"nope."

"rock with you?"

you shake your head. "did you really add one of your own songs on there?"

"hey, we make good music, too."

"never denied that."

vernon shrugs. "i don't know."

"marry me."

vernon freezes noticeably under your hand, before pushing it away and sitting up, staring at you.

it's just you and him and the silence in the room. his eyes have you trapped in place, unable to look elsewhere.

"by ellegarden!" you blurt out, suddenly realizing how your words could be misconstrued. "it's..." you scroll through the playlist. "the first song you ever put in there."

"oh," is all he says, but he's blushing. he's blushing. you made your famously stoic boyfriend blush.

"vernon? did you think i..."

"...maybe?"

you let out a small laugh at that. "do you really think...have you ever thought about getting...y'know?

"married?" he asks, smirking. "you shouldn't ask me about it if you're so shy."

"i didn't—!" it's a losing battle. of course you've thought about it, and of course you're shy about it. spending the rest of your life with the person who means the most to you sounds like a dream, and you're living in it right now. halfway there.

"if it's any consolation," vernon says, slotting his fingers with yours, "i've thought about it."

"and?"

"i like it."

it's nearing six in the evening. vernon has his head on your chest again, listening to a song with you this time. you're going to have to listen to it again, the way your brain is clouded by thoughts of him and you.

it can't get better than this.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi

[searchingforserendipity25]

universal constants.

spoilers for star trek lower decks.

'but you love arguing, darling.'

'i do not!'

'indeed you do. about books, of course, and experimental xenobiology theories. although i do think your proposed treatment plan for the vulcan sexual fever really is too experimental - '

julian spluttered. 'that's not arguing! that's - that's chatting, conversing. you know, establishing a lively debate, a repartee, in a context unrelated to, oh, i don't moving across the multiverse for the foreseeable future -'

'you can hardly blame me for enjoying myself. cardassians flirt by arguing, as you may know.'

'there is a time and place for flirting, garak!'

'naturally, naturally. but there is an extreme circunstance you are failing to consider.'

julian lifted his chin, arms crossed in the way that never failed to make garak's blood warm.

'which is?'

he smiled, sly and slow, in the way that never failed to make julian lean closer to catch his eyes.

'you are wonderful to aggravate, my love.'

flaring nostrils, and a mouth that nearly managed to stifle its expression.

'flattery will get you nowhere.'

'historically false. if i may say so.'

'you may not. and i know what you are doing, the way.'

lifted hands, an universal gesture in every universe: an offer, an humble request. 'would you enlighten a poor fool?'

julian stepped around him. closer, closer, until he warmed the air around him.

garak's scales shivered with the most welcome static. every time it was a sensation like no other. reality insisted on his husband's existence: pressure, warmth, and a pulsing energy that was his own only.

such a light in his eyes! no one could doubt the truth of him, beneath that arch glance. light turned into matter making itself stubborn and kind and aggravating all the time, with a will like no other, and garak could not credit his fortune, sometimes, he really couldn't.

'i may not be made of carbon, elim garak,' julian reminded him, rather smugly. 'but i can feel the physical alterations, shall we say. such an acceleration of muscles and blood flow! terribly wound up with all this battle rush and shameless teasing, aren't we? it is very flattering; but this cardassian's husband argues by arguing, on occasion. take that into consideration, dr. garak.

'duly noted, dr. bashir,' garak said, tilting his head diffidently. 'however can i make it up to you?'

garak was a surgeon, and not just a surgeon. he was happily married, for one. not many of his fellow elim garak's could claim such a privilege, in their dealings with julian bashir.

any universe, as long as they were together. as long as he could see this happen again and again, the moment julian's eyes crinkled for him.

the thrumming in his bones where julian leaned his weight on him, a real weight, the realest thing in all the worlds.

'you can argue with me a little more, a little better,' his husband said. sly, and slow, fingers pressing lightly on his back, careful of his bad shoulder. 'for a start'.

[sunlightmurdock]

You just put apocalypse dbf!jake in my head and now I won’t be able to think of anything else for foreseeable future.

It’s not a want but a need

okokokok so!! in a situation where dbf!jake is still exactly that, he’s just your dad’s best friend when this shit all starts. He’s the first person you run to when the news starts advising everyone to go home and stay there, since your parents are away.

Jake knows better. He always knows what to do. You made the right choice in going to him. He’s calm and collected, telling you to pack light and don’t open your front door until he comes to get you. Even when you’re panicking about being able to ever find your parents again, Jake is taking your face in his hands and drawing you in close, swearing to you that he’ll get you back to them if you just trust him.

And so you do. He puts you in his truck and loads the bed with a few light supplies. You make it out of the city early on the first afternoon, and drive out to your dad’s little cabin in the mountains — it’s safer to hole up out here than in the city, Jake says. The communications don’t go down right away. They go down at 3am, while Jake is sitting awake on the couch with one hand on his gun, you sleeping in the bedroom behind him. All of the news and radio stations at once, just static.

Of course, this makes things feel all the more dire, but he can’t keep it from you. The first day is the worst. Being so far from everyone is a good thing, Jake says, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. You can see him bristle at the sound of every car on the road a couple of miles away. Sound carries up here.

The whole ‘sleeping in shifts’ thing doesn’t quite work when Jake won’t sleep, either. Not when you can’t protect yourself. He sleeps in maybe forty minute intervals, if he’s lucky. He spends almost all of the first three days awake, watching over you, watching the supplies he brought start to dissipate.

There’s a lake that’s fishable, and a stream with water that you can boil. Jake doesn’t let you out of his sight, but he does teach you how to fish.

Your first encounter with one of the infected comes after maybe a week up there, some hitchhiker who had died on the highway and wandered through the woods. Miles out of the way, neither one of you were expecting to be found quite so quickly. It happens when Jake is storing the boat and you’re walking off ahead of him, hauling your bounty back towards the cabin.

Jake hears your scream and his heart drops. He races up the makeshift path to find you on your ass, scrambling backwards as the torn up thing claws at your boots. He kills it in front of you and puts you on your feet again. You’re in shock, really. It’s the first one you’ve seen up close — you almost died — this is all so real.

Back at the cabin, Jake holds you while you cry until you fall asleep in his arms. He lies awake with the realisation that he cares for you in a far deeper way than he should. When he thought he lost you earlier… it wasn’t just because he feared losing his friend’s daughter.

In that moment, he knows he’ll do anything to get you through this, no matter what that takes.

[falling-star-cygnus]

somebody reblogged my appleradio post and tagged it as "not a ship" ...

anyway, budding qpr Lucifer and Alastor because i love them :D Duckie Deer pt.1 {pt.2}

{Lucifer is hunched over his new desk in Charlie's hotel, his grin bordering on maniacal as he puts the finishing touches on his newest rubber duck. In a flourish, he holds the little thing high- or as high as he can feasibly reach anyway- in the air}

"Now presenting..."

{The King of Hell pauses for dramatic effect, despite not actually having any audience except the judgmental stares of his scattered ducks}

"The Wendigo Peace-Offering Red Radio Rubber Duck! ...That switches hands!"

{Lucifer grins a bit more genuinely as the little thing teleports from one hand to the other, twisting into the shadows between his fingers and out to his palm. The more tolerable version of it's intended recipient, he thinks}

{For the sake of Charlie, he had begrudgingly decided to try and befriend the agitating Radio Demon. After all, if they were going to be sharing the space here for the foreseeable future it only made sense for them to get along, right? Or at the very least, try to tolerate each other}

{And what better way to do that then with a rubber duck?}

"Heh heh heh..."

{The king chucks the duck at the door}

"Who am I kidding, nobody wants a rubber duck look-a-like. That's weird, it's a weird gift!"

{As Lucifer rants, he fails to notice the rubber contraption nailing the object of his ire in the forehead. It bounces with a squeak into red tipped hands}

"I'd argue talking to yourself is weirder, your highness."

{That familiar mocking drawl and static covering, the sarcasm on his title, it causes the king to whirl around. Alastor is indeed standing in front of his door, pinching the horn of the duck between his claws with a raised eyebrow}

"Alastor! Just the annoy- uh- just the demon I wanted to see. At this exact moment. ...How much of that did you hear?"

{Smooth. Totally nailed that.}

{One of the hair tufts upon Alastor's head twitches in his direction, confirming Lucifer's suspicion that they were, in fact, ears. It's embarrassing how much effort it takes to stifle the coo that wants to erupt from him at the subconscious movement}

{He has a feeling the Radio Demon wouldn't take kindly to it}

"Hm... Is there any particular reason for this... look-a-like, as you called it? I can't imagine anyone in either of circles would appreciate a duck of my visage."

{Oh good. So just the last part, then. He could still salvage this}

"It's for you!"

{…Damnit.}

{Lucifer sounded too eager. Waaay too eager, actually, if Alastor's steadily raising eyebrow was anything to go by. The king clears his throat}

"Ahem. Uh- it's for you, actually. A peace offering! Since we're going to be around each a lot more often, I figured- well, we might as well try to get along- right? For Charlie's sake. Not- not because you're tolerable. Or because I like you. Heh. No."

{The deer demon blinks slowly, raising the rubber duck up to his eye by it's horn. His perpetual smile- seriously, is that thing stitched on or something? -looks painfully strained.}

"Is that so?"

{His voice is less staticky then usual, which encourages the King to keep going. Lucifer nearly lunges forward, grabbing Alastor's hands and adjusting the duck to rest in one of the Radio Demon's palms}

{He feels a little bad for the flinch and hitch if static that comes with it, but he ignores it for Alastor's sake. He'd like a comment about that even less then a comment about his adorable ears}

"What are you do-" "It switches hands!"

{Alastor quiets at that, his glare softening just slightly around the edges with a blink. Again, Lucifer takes the small allowance and runs with it. He uses his thumbs to push against the joint of Alastor's fingers, furthering flattening his palms; an awkward laugh spills from him}

"Hah- Give it a try! Just- think about it switching and-"

{The duck slinks into Alastor's other palm before the king can finish his sentence. It goes back and forth a few times, filling the deer's eyes with a sense of unguarded wonder that has Lucifer's breath hitching}

{It's gone as soon as Alastor remembers his company}

{The Radio Demon pulls his hands away from Lucifer's, keeping the duck tucked securely in his hand. The king tries not to mourn the loss, both of his surprisingly warm fingers and of the glimpse into his head Lucifer was so graciously privy to today}

{Baby steps, he reminds himself. Something dangerously hopeful stirs in his chest}

"I see..."

{Alastor looks, on some level, like he's lost his footing. He came in here expecting to trade insults like usual, no doubt, especially after getting bonked with a rubber duck of all things upon entering}

{And instead he's left cradling a gift made in his image}

"Well! It'd certainly be rude to refuse such a thoughtful gift from his majesty. Even if it's a silly one."

{It's a feeble attempt at regaining control at best, they both know it. Lucifer sticks his hand out with a flat expression.}

"If you don't like it, give it back."

{Alastor's smile tightens, just like his grip on his rubber duck}

"Now, now, I just said it'd be rude to refuse. Surely your manner aren't lowering themselves to your height?"

{And just like that, normalcy is restored as Lucifer sputters at the jab. The king stomps forward, maybe childishly but no one who matters is around to judge him-}

"What did you even come up here for? If I recall, your 'radio tower' is on the other side of the other side of the-"

{The deer demon had stepped on a wild rubber duck in his subtle attempt to keep distance between them and with a burst of static, Alastor had begun to fall backwards}

{Lucifer acts on instinct and summons his cane,- he's pushed his luck with touch already today- bracing it behind the wendigo's back.}

{It leaves the two in an... awkward situation to say the least. Alastor's long legs pulled out from under him and his lanky torso held up purely by the thin rod of his staff.}

{It leaves Lucifer looking down for once to make eye contact}

"...who's the short one now?"

{Alastor melts into shadows, still holding the rubber duckie look-a-like in one hand as he reappears behind the king. He can feel the radio demon's hand on his collar preventing him from falling flat on his face.}

"Still you, my friend."

{...friend. Lucifer could get used to that.}

[lilacargent]

Here we go again,

Puzzles/ jigsaws would confuse Aliens so much

Set on the serpentine, beginning of the humans tenure

Important crew:

Primoz, captain -Limoyh a four armed species-Krag, second in command (brother of Primoz)

Kit, dokter -avian, bird like, she has feathers like a swallow-

Ortez, ASR (all species resources, human resources in space) -kiltak, insectoid species, think ants but exoskeleton-

Lugea, helmsperson (does the steering) -rock like alien-

Artex, engineer/mechanic 1 -also Kiltak-

And then our humans:

Kamari, navigator -Eritrean woman- (has cat named Sidra)

Markus, weapons expert (knows how to use them and upkeep, also shields) -Swedish man-

Petrus, mechanic/engineer 2 - Italian man-

Lilly, administrator/note keeper (learns languages for fun)-english woman-

~~~~~~~

Puzzles

The serpentine is on route between trading posts, this is currently the furthest route without proper jump point because of the static energy surrounding the dual planets castor and pollux.

Primoz is getting worried. The humans are becoming increasingly more jittery and Kamari looks like she a pinch away from punch someone, Markus has been ‘humming’ a song that annoys her greatly. Honestly the noises the tall man is making don’t seem that bad but every few minutes her eyebrows twitch which Ortez told him is a sign of frustration.

Before the captain can figure out how to keep them from doing something deathworld worthy, Lilly comes in with precariously stacked carton boxes and Petrus carrying a table. Setting the pile down the smallest human straightens out “look what i brought! Old earth puzzles! This one has a deer and this one has the old world wonders” immediately the humming stops and Markus is at the table with Petrus “oh yes Lilly you are the best! I wanna do the deer one, that is gonna be a challenge”

With the table in the corner of the bridge the tension among crew is nearly gone, as all species try to put the cut apart pictures together, Lilly brought 9 puzzles and at a certain point a competition was forming: after one of the human unit had finished a puzzle the other crew try to make it in less time. They have yet to win.

Looking at his relaxed crew Primoz grins at his brother who is trying to use all his four arms to put pieces together without much succes. Turning away from the competition he taps Lilly on her shoulder “how do you guys do it? Also why did you think to take these things with you.” Lilly looks up from her drawing (the crew bent over the table making the puzzle) “well i knew it was going to be a long trip, Kamari thinks Markus will be ‘professional’ but he can’t help himself” her soft smile when she puts air punctuation around professional makes her look much younger than she is “puzzles are something many humans enjoy, not everyone is as good at them as Markus, but he does this thing where he uses the shape of them more than colours. While he isn’t colour blind, he has real trouble with telling differences in shades. No idea why it works this well but it does, Petrus has already won three nights of free drinking on Castor from betting.” All of a sudden looking bashful Lilly ducks her head “ah eh yes sorry forget i said that we don’t bet on this at all!” Primoz just grins “nobody has broken anything this whole trip, im not going to disrupt the flow you and your unit created. Don’t worry.”

At arrival Petrus has won the whole human crew free drinks for the foreseeable future, and the crew in its entirety hooked on puzzles. While not all species see the colours the same way or understand the patterning in the pieces the feeling of putting in the correct pieces makes it such an enjoyable activity that Lilly brings new puzzles after every holiday back home.

~~~~~~~~~

This one was born out of the confusion my family had when we were making puzzles (jigsaws?) the pictures in pieces… this is where it becomes super clear English is not my first language. Anyway, we had two puzzles out and they were so surprised i could differentiate the positions the pieces needed to be in without context. I had to tell them that the pattern otherwise won’t make sense,

I have the same thing as Markus that colours are fine unless you put several of the same colours next to each other and call them different. This is why the deer one is super hard,

The two puzzles that were described:

[vwv-watching-boy]

Michael sleeping with the enemy?

What a wonderful use of a trope that indicates the emotional turmoil a character is going through.

About the loliness and desperation of a character.

I like calling the trope "sleeping with your enemy" and its been a lot more common in modern day media and TV. It's not the most common thing to see in older media. Mostly because modern media isn't as against to showing it. On the top of my head The Witcher did that.

Sleeping with your enemy is in the sense, sleeping with a person who is directly opposed to you in a way that you can never fundamentally trust each other. Both are you are lying to each other, potentially planning to deceive one another, and for whatever reason you are currently working together. And while doing that you decide to sleep together.

I think its such a good juxtaposition between intimacy and betrayal, because sex is one of the most intimate things in media. And to do that with someone who can and will kill you if the truth is exposed, is such a wonderful emotional shorthand.

Its a wonderful way to indicate a character is so desperate for intamcy that they will use the person who is closest to them. It can also be used as a static in the game they are playing with each other. They sleep with each other because they are desperate for intimacy as much as even during that moment they can never fully let themselves be intimate BECAUSE its still a tatic in the enemy game they are playing.

it also adds layer of drama and emotional conflict. between the two characters involved, yes, but also between everyone else who finds out about it. its like "dude. you slept with the person who want to kill."

i say kill. but it can also really just be betray. The trope is tend to be used in higher stress situations as well as TV where characters are supposed to be morally gray or ambiguous. While there may still be a good guy there is the question of "How far will you go for whats right"

Michael in this situation is isolated from everyone he loves and carers about. To quote my mutual. His friends look at him with pity. Fiona told him its over even tho the CIA mission is his way out. His mom will never fully forgive him for Nate's death. He's on the CIA's leash with no way out for the foreseeable future.

And the only person close to him is someone who would kill him and the person he plans on betraying,

And in this moment of isolation he slept with her.

I wish I had a better name than "sleep with your enemy" because i don't believe thats what its actually called. There is a movie called "Sleep with you Enemy" which I personally have never watched (from the reviews isn't really good)

When you do search the trope by that name you'll see media that's closer to either enemy to lovers or star crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet. Which are lovers who are enemies because of circumstances.

the sleep with your enemy trope is something I would consider you are enemies because of your own personal decisions. And they still chose to do the most intimate things in media.

I wish I had older media on the top of my mind I could draw parrells to but I personally don't have any. As I said earlier I think its a trope you see more in modern media because of the emotional shorthand that is shown between betrayal and intimacy.

I would say it isn't new to media. It 100% would have risen to prevliance as a trope during the film noir era of film because of the genre those movies fell into. Especially movies with femme fatales and the detectives hooking up.

The trope tends to be in dramas, mysteries, thrillers. Shows that have a sense of danger to them.

I guess this is all to say, what a wonderful use of that trope. Bravo to the writers, the actors, the directors. I think it was really well done within the show.

I personally really like the trope. You don't need to sit down for 30 minutes discussing the emotional conflict of characters. You can just have them sleep together and then its all subtext and left unspoken. And now there are layers of drama and stakes added to the show that wasn't there minutes ago.

@jackalopc

[yukidragon]

I love RPGs and otome games so much! Will you make an Undertale and Deltarune comic book series based on these games? Can you draw Sunny Day Jack's own psyche (inner world) from the deepest depths of his mind?

Well, I haven't made a comic series, but I did create the art and half the writing on this ask blog for Undertale called @risenchild. Sorry to say that it's on hiatus and will remain so for the foreseeable future.

As for Jack's drawing Jack's psyche... that's pretty tricky. If we're talking about an artistic medium, then making representations of what's going on in his head are pretty subjective.

Personally, I think, given how warped Jack's sense of identity is, it might look a lot like a studio set, distorted like an old VHS recording and with static along the edges of that world. The sunny world of the SunnyTime Crew Show would be overtop things that represent Joseph and his world. Pieces of Cloudy Town and the other cast members, kids in the audience, childish crayon drawings for more distant backdrops or on walls.

Underneath the child-friendly brightly colored paints would be more messed up visuals, especially influenced by his death. Jacktor's death was clearly a very traumatic one, and the fact that Jack has convinced himself that he is the character means that there are a lot of negative associations with Joseph Cullman/[Redacted] Haberdae. I imagine once peeling back the candy coated shell, there will be some truly horrifying things underneath.

I could try to take a crack at drawing this. I mean, it's not the first time I've drawn a warped character's twisted mindscape, but sadly I'm not sure when I'll be up for drawing again. I hope this description I painted with my words will be a good enough substitute.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

[scientist-in-orbit]

[ The overall quality of this particular entry is much worse than any of the others seen thus far. It's obvious whatever it was recorded on had to have been in poor condition. ]

A somewhat blurry figure can be seen as the recording device is set down and adjusted, seemingly mumbling to himself as he finishes setting everything up.

" Okay. Hopefully this thing still works... "

As the figure takes a few steps back and away from the device, an ID badge briefly comes into focus though the image isn't clear enough to read what it says. Not that it matters as the man comes fully into view and beams at the camera before speaking at a more normal volume.

" Perfect! I wasn't sure if this old thing would actually stay on, but so far it seems promising. Let's get started then! My name is Rae Morningstar, I'm the head of research- "

Static fizzles through the audio, cutting off the remainder of his sentence.

Turning on his heel, the researcher grabs a clipboard off the counter behind him. There's a moment where, as he flips through the few loose papers, the image freezes. Only when he finally addresses the recording device again does it resume.

" This will be my first official project log and, hopefully, it will be something I'm able to continue doing for the foreseeable future- "

Static again.

He continues to speak, although the audio no longer picks up most of his voice. A few words breaking through the distortion every now and then, but not enough to piece together anything coherent.

The researcher grabs a pen from one of his lab coat's pockets and begins to jot down something on one of the loose pages as he rambles on. Though it doesn't continue for much longer as the feed grows more and more glitchy.

[ Both the audio and video continue to cut in and out in bursts of heavy distortion until eventually the feed dies. ]

[hyenasfnafaus]

So! How about a quick post about current fanfic plans? Right now, my goal is to finish AWLB part 2 and get it, and the remaining chapters of Remnant's that fill the gap between parts 1 and 2 posted, but what next? After AWLB part 2, I plan to move onto the following: What Was Lost, What Was Found AU (WWLWWF AU) will be the next main focus fic, and will receive the most attention from me until it's completion, but! I also plan on being a bit less rigid with writing projects once AWLB part 2 is done. So what does that entail? Basically, it means while you'll be seeing me focus mainly on WWLWWF, that there will likely be random "As I've got something done/As I feel up for it" updates to the following: -"Remnants" style chapters between parts 2 and 3 of AWLB (Part 3 of AWLB itself eventually too!) -Work on a re-write/updated version of AWLB part 1. (The overall story will remain the same, I just want to flesh out some scenes, maybe add in a few, and re-work the original bits about Roxy from this fic that are discussed more in an upcoming chapter of Remnants and part 2) -Work on "The Hand That Holds The Knife", an AWLB Prequel taking place well before AWLB's first chapter. (some events are talked about through part 2 and another upcoming Remnant's chapter.) -Work on "Through the Static", another AU of mine. While there is an overarching story planned for Through the Static, this one takes on a more "Slice of Life" and laidback story to the others, so I foresee this fic being a bit more all over the place and "episodic". Lending itself well to being something I can work with when I just need a break from the others. -Fazbear's Fantastical Circus is something else I hope to give a bit more attention to with some lil fic snippets and art. But it does take more of a backseat to the others. Aside from doing my best to have at least one chapter of WWLWWF AU a month once posting begins for that fic, I've no set scheduled for fic uploads and work once AWLB part 2 is done. Just an idea of where my "main focus" should be, and what projects I can play around with when I need to shift away from the main project to avoid burnout. At any rate, I hope that regardless of the AU being posted about and updated, that those reading will enjoy! I've got so much rattling around in my head and so much I hope to improve on with my writing through practice with these fics. Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read AWLB so far! And I hope you're looking forward to future updates.

[sonicasura]

…

…

…

…

[Incoming Call: Her (Mirei Mikagura).]

.

.

.

[Call Declined by User Penumbra.]

[Reason: In the presence of non-combatants. The Rescue Bots have enough issues on their servos without having to speak to you.]

…

[Her: …Acknowledged.]

[Her: Hudiemon has already spent enough resources combing that universe for you. You will not be able to request Hacker assistance through me for the foreseeable future.]

A “light” punishment for Mirei’s own incompetency during the Unicron threat.

[Penumbra: With all due disrespect, we both know you don’t give a damn unless digimon are in dangerous or Eaters grow too numerous.]

[Penumbra: Leave me be to do my job. Which I have continued to do despite my body feeling like it’s ripping itself apart.]

[Penumbra: In other words—screw off!]

[Contact: Her (Mirei Mikagura) has been blocked by User Penumbra.]

——————————

Though most of the others were out on patrol, Optimus answered the incoming call from Team Sigma Seventeen—the Rescue Bots. A few formalities were exchanged before the team explained the situation. Penumbra had willingly come with the Burns family back from an incident involving a VR simulator. Thus far, she had remained in their company in order to explain the situation young Cody found himself in. Another Digimon who was seemingly bonded to the youngest Burns.

Ransom was certainly an… interesting name.

Moving on, for the past few hours Penumbra had appeared to grow extremely agitated by something. The cyber sleuth remained mute and had her digimon tucked away into her own Digivice so the monsters couldn’t be asked. Fearing a similar situation to when she became half cyber and remained a sleuth—Prime was about to ask if the Burns could host her for a few days while she recovered a bit more.

Penumbra took the decision out of his servos. “Do not patronize me, Prime.” Her voice suddenly popped up over the comm link spooking the cybertronians to varying degrees. “I can handle going to your base.” Was her only other words as the connection cut off on its own. Optimus saw Chase look at somewhere in the background of the comm line, shaking his head as if disbelieving of what just happened.

Well. That was curt.

“Yup. Definitely the no-nonsense voice I heard when reduced to my spark.” Cliffjumper commented from the medbay, still in recovery.

———————————

The Jasper Trio walked into the base to see an admittedly briefly familiar face being fussed over by Ratchet. He was running his scanner on Penumbra, who seemed to be doing her best to not pay attention to the beam… Then, her entire body glitched like an old video game disrupting the scan and making the medic swear. His tone at least made them all think he was swearing.

“I imagine Prime doesn’t tolerate that kind of language around the kids and now Chival who can understand you, hmm?” She teased though her voice was a cold monotone. “Also, again—I can’t exactly control the distorting avatar…”

“Are you truly unable to stabilize yourself for a few minutes straight?” Ratchet lightly snapped, but his tone was more concerned than angry.

Her expressions darkened for a brief moment then slipped into a carefully bored mask. Pen’s eyes closed, then her avatar(?) fell away to reveal the digital body beneath. The area where her chest was shifted slightly though it was extremely hard to tell with data coming off her. “When I don’t have to render my body, I can.”

Her voice had a tinge of static to it.

Without any further delay, Ratchet took the scans he needed and the cyber sleuth rendered her avatar with no further comments.

…

“…Does that hurt?” Raf timidly asked, then elaborated when everyone else’s eyes/optics snapped to him. “When you don’t render it?”

.

.

.

“No. I can’t feel much of anything whether I hide it what’s been done or uncover it…”

Looks like Mirei refuses to admit that she fucked up. Thus instead of taking the L, she just makes things harder for Pen and her allies. I smell a massive shitstorm for Mirei in the future as she's building up a lot of negative karma.

[jackstingy]

# JACKSTINGY – an independent, mutuals only, 18+ roleplay blog following the semipiternal woes of a) some nerdy english kid waffling between uni and an internship at the local retirement home and b) the maleficent spirit of a machiavellian drunkard now attempting to permanently possess the body of said nerdy english kid. triggering content such as religious theming + imagery, references to alcohol use + physical violence, and dissociation will make frequent appearances. rules below the read more, though saint peter and satan have one little thing in common and that’s knowing quite thoroughly that the spirit of old stingy jack isn’t reading through shite. 

(you probably should, though. shutting up isn’t quite a part of either of their personal dictionaries, and neither is using parentheses in the manner they were meant to be used.)

THE PLAYER'S HANDBOOK – THE RECORDS IN THE BASEMENT – THE CEALLACH SCRAPBOOK – THE CAT RANDOMIZER

INTERACTING. will not be open to bigots, white-washers, or fetishisers. it will, however, be open to any and all mutuals (which is a status reserved for anyone and everyone who is a cool, respectful, talented writer – id est, you!), regardless of plotting status and whether or not we’ve talked ooc. feel free treat memes as starters, reblog memes and prompts from me instead of the source without sending anything in, delete anything from me that you’re too busy to answer; i’m really just here to have fun and find new people to write with, so as long as you respect my rules and i respect yours, we’re cool.

WRITING. will be tagged with applicable triggers as “trigger tw”, posted using beta editor, and mainly occur in two modes: anxious third person rambling from j.d. and atrocious first person misanthropy from jack with an italicised and bolded transition between them. while my writing may look lengthy, you are in no way obligated to match word count or force replies out quicker than you can handle. basic etiquette applies: no godmodding, no metagaming, and no powerplaying without discussing the parameters of any of these acts beforehand. all this being said, roleplaying is a hobby, and if you ever want to drop a thread or get something a little shorter in your notifications, i am more than willing to oblige you.

SHIPPING. in terms of romance will happen selectively and exclusively with j.d for the foreseeable future, be based on chemistry after a substantial amount of threads and plotting, and in no way be forced on you. i love pre-established relationships of the platonic or hostile kind with reckless disregard for my characters’ established timelines, though, so i’m always open to editing plot points in and out as development happens and stories are made. i’d rather not write smut on this blog, but suggestive content will be tagged as such and fade to blacks may happen.

UNFOLLOWING. will be done with a heads-up through private messages and a softblock on my end unless you’ve stated prior that you’d rather be hard blocked. of course, i don't expect a heads-up from anyone who wishes to unfollow or block me; do what you need to do to keep your corner of the internet comfortable!

FORMATTING. will be minimal, with small text, single spacing, italicised words, and 100x100 static icons. if there is anything you’d like me to change about how i format my posts, please let me know via tumblr ims or discord.

OOC. talk will be attempted! i’m seb, 23, he/him, now kicking it in gmt+11, with ‘it’ being the metaphorical bucket that is writing. i love commenting on posts (i know most of tumblr hates it, but i truly do believe that the reply function was made for me and me alone), sending in asks, and falling to my digital knees at the sheer quality of writing and emotion to be found in this community. i am slightly terrified of returning to indie roleplaying after a long stint in just group rp sectors, but hopefully j.d. and jack can bring some existential fear and festive cheer to you all!

[radioiaci]

The emotion present in Vox's voice had been the one thing he had made active efforts to avoid. Cruel or no, Alastor had never wanted to hear such pain; such apparent reality in the hurt words that he was spilling now. This was not what he'd anticipated having to explain when he'd peeled Vox up and off the pavement. And there was not much stopping him from walking away again.

His eyes shifted to the door.

He could. He could just.

Take a few steps and let Vox figure out his own way. Forget he had said anything. Leave the rift between them as the cavernous yawn that it was. And then what? Abandon what he knew to be an opportunity at mending what had been so viciously broken? To what end? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

All he knew was that his gut was twisted. In hunger or pain or some blend of both.

When he spoke again, his own voice was laced with more static than he knew how to keep at bay. Vox did know his telltale signs of distress. But what more could he gain by trying to make a futile attempt at controlling them?

"You make the false assumption that walking away did not feel like just as many knives to my throat as it did to you. You pretend as though you were the only one to suffer as a result of what happened that night."

He rounded on Vox then, gaze hard, but tone unmatching in its severity and stability.

"You were growing. Changing. You were looking to the future where I could not foresee there being symbiosis. And you looked at me like -"

Alastor was not certain of the words he wanted to use.

"You were looking at me different. You like every other forsaken Sinner in this blasted ring who have ever expected me to be, to act, to feel all the things that I am incapable of." Justification, in his mind. To break the bond and make himself the villain, instead.

"I left - " That night. That night. He had to clarify it in his head, lest Lilith think she meant the long absence they'd taken together. His throat felt tight - but he remained able to breathe.

"I left because I wanted you to move on. Because I knew you would be capable of it."

His claws flexed; agitated and... upset at even having to give this much away.

"But you-

You had been my friend."

It was difficult to put into words. He did not have friends. No one had bothered to settle in that close - to learn who and what he was and to stick around anyway. To see him for his desires; passions. Not just the radio demon.

But Alastor.

"I am under no illusion that you owe me friendship again after so long. I hardly think I am even capable of it anymore."

Something about the way Alastor wouldn't even look at him left a sour taste in Vox's mouth. The Radio Demon was hiding. Vox knew him well enough to notice the little tells. The way his ears twitched, or when his smile was strained. Alastor was hiding his face.

Those few short lines were not enough. Vox had been searching for answers for so long. He needed to know. Needed to understand. Why couldn't Alastor just spit it out? A damn radio talk host who couldn't put anything into words.

He had wanted more. But, he could have been content to just be partners. They could have ruled the damn ring together. Vox screwed his eye shut, ignoring the way it stung. He was not going to fucking cry.

"Why didn't you just tell me? You left me behind, Alastor! Do you know how much it hurt?" Static was beginning to creep back into his voice now. A manic grin formed on his face as he gripped the side of his head. "I was lost without you! I had to reinvent who I was- what I was!" A harsh hiss of feedback left him. Fuck.

Vox took in a deep breath and rubbed at his eye. "I don't know what we are anymore. I don't know what you want us to be. Enemies? Friends? You're really fucking with my emotions here, you know."

[the-consortium]

( from @cult-of-embers )

++ Fabius Bile ++ the mental communication begins. ++My name is Aldus Trazyrae. Formerly of the Thousand Sons. I am sure you are well aware of what my brothers call the "flesh change", and how Ahriman royally fucked us by turning most of the Legion into soulless jars of dust. This, of course, did not solve the problem. ++

There was a brief pause.

++I have been researching a new way to circumvent this issue. As a man of science, I am sure you are well versed in the creation of simple augmetics, as well as...less popular crafts such as cloning. I believe that the use of a surrogate body crafted from synthetic materials may be the key to my problem.

Is this sufficiently interesting to allow your cooperation? If so, please allow me to visit you at a location and time of your choosing that we may discuss further.++

The cut is precise. No tremor, not even in the molecular range. The world has narrowed to the tiny section under the glass. The steel table a magnifying glass, the anatomical theatre the galaxy. Fabius loves these moments. The complete focus. Nothing matters but his skill. His perfection. He believes in no gods and yet in these moments he is the master of all he sees. The creator. The destroyer. The duality of every fairy tale humanity has ever told itself to explain everything greater than apes walking upright. Tissue separates. Makes itself ready for what he has chosen for it. Seen from the outside, from the darkened tiers of the theatre of operations, Fabius stands in a realm of light and warmth. Oleander, sitting on one of the high tiers in this darkness, leans forward. Observing and learning. What it is to be part of the Consortium. Fabius likes to lecture, but the real lesson is to watch him as he devotes himself to his own projects. It is a static dance when Fabius and the Chirurgeon attend to a body. Everything is perfection. As third legion as you can get. All the more surprising when Oleander sees Fabius suddenly freeze. Straightening up and staring into space. Briefly, anger is reflected in the Chief Apothecaries face. Oleander hears him hiss, "Damn …. Mutants …" Then he continues to operate as if nothing has happened. An extremely surprising statement for someone who watches every form of mutation with relentless interest. Oleander frowns. He will approach his mentor very carefully about this later. Fabius bites his lower lip. Is angry with himself for allowing himself to be rattled by so …. … to let something like that upset him. He can still feel the presence and makes a point of feeling his displeasure clearly. His mental response is every ounce as caustic as a literal response would be. "Well, since our legions have had similar problems there, and I've already done some thinking about amplifying instability with the psyker mutation, I'm sure an exchange can't hurt. Especially since, of course, I have had little access to research material in this direction over the past millennia. There is only one individual left in my legion with the curse, so I am definitely interested in acquiring more tissue samples and possible new approaches. Currently I am on Urum for the foreseeable future. I'm not known as a particularly attentive host, but of course I'm happy to make an exception for a fellow researcher." With this final thought, he tries to make a conscious point to be alone in his head again. Annoyed, he stares at his work. Getting back into the zone of meditation is not going to be easy. Not even for a god.

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Obbligato (Chapter Seven)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Off to the races with no time for nights gone wrong. Being at a wit's end deserves a reward, one of teasing breaths and words, adding to the stories the hallway could tell. Vulnerable words pinned to the wall and kissing it all better.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 7187

***

The morning was awkward, to say the least. Y/n had woken up first and before she could even look at the man beside her, her phone started ringing, management was calling. So she was off to work. No time for the thoughts that were still running around in her mind. No time to process.

They didn’t get to talk, she and Damiano. Both of them were hurrying to get packed up and get the others woken up to then get to the airport. It seemed impossible to find a quiet minute with just the two of them, some privacy, some peace of mind. The call from that morning was their manager, who had already been up for two hours ranting about some of the changes that needed to be made. Today it was going from zero to one hundred with no end in sight.

She had hoped things would calm down as they reached the airport, but chaos seemed to follow wherever they went. It started with Victoria panicking because she couldn’t locate her jacket anymore - she made sure to let everyone in the greater vicinity know that it was her absolute favourite and she had worn it in Rotterdam and she could not go anywhere, much less fly to London, without it. Luckily this ended up being one of Y/n’s easiest tricks that day. After retracing their steps throughout the terminal the jacket was quickly reclaimed from a lovely barista at a café who had collected it for safekeeping.

Y/n was hoping to catch her breath for a moment, but then Chili was being an absolute nuisance. Contrary to her normally chill and relaxed state of being, she now insisted on being cuddled and petted and having all the attention on her. Unfortunately, no one’s but Y/n’s attention would do, so she was stuck with a wriggling fur ball in her arms for the foreseeable future. It didn’t help when Ethan ran up to her in a panic, having realised that his hairbrush was missing. She wanted to calm him down, explain that there were more than enough shops to get a new one in London, but apparently, there was no hairbrush quite like it as if it was the magical reason behind his shiny hair. So with a sigh and Chili pressed against her, she called the hotel in Amsterdam requesting for them to look for the missing item and please send it to London. Express. They would be there for three days and it better arrive during that time. The confused receptionist promised to do her best.

When Y/n heavily fell into her seat on the plane she was looking forward to either a quick nap or a chance to talk to Damiano, who she conveniently chose to sit next to, but all plans evaporated as soon as Thomas claimed the aisle seat, excitedly chattering away. She could tell he was looking forward to getting back to London and having some free time there on top of it, but she really didn’t need to hear the story of how they all lived there for a while yet again. Damiano sent her a pitiful look, but all she could do was shrug. Shrug, lean back, and let Thomas’ talk lure her into sleep, hopefully.

***

Luckily, the flight wasn’t as bad this time around. Y/n still held tightly to her coat on lift-off and landing, but that seemed to be the extent of her uncomfortableness. Damiano kept his eyes on her, on the bandage around her wrist, as if waiting for it to come undone and her right along with it. It didn’t happen. They touched down in London within less than an hour.

Heathrow airport was crowded with fans. For the first time on that tour, it had gotten really bad. Security managed to keep people at bay though as the band and crew made their exit, not stopping for photos and full of apologies for having to leave. The shouting, the reaching hands, and the flashing cameras seemingly did nothing to improve Y/n’s mood, Damiano thought. Her face remained neutral, but he could see the little signs underneath. A short cab ride later, and the usual busy atmosphere of arriving at a hotel for the first time engulfed them. People moving luggage, figuring out rooming arrangements, crowding the lobby. Damiano stayed out of it, smoking a quick cigarette with Thomas and Ethan outside, before heading inside as well.

Damiano didn’t notice that anything was wrong until Y/n started raising her voice. It wasn’t like her. In the past two weeks of working with her, he had encountered her in a number of stressful situations. Enough that would make him lose his mind, but she was calm and collected, the type to take a deep breath instead of shouting at someone. So the way she was currently staring down the receptionist at the hotel that they were checking into both intrigued and bothered him. Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he got closer to the scene, fumbling with some of their luggage standing next to the desk, just to listen in more closely.

“Check again, please,” Y/n requested, politeness nothing but a necessary feature in this conversation. “I do not have the time or the patience to deal with this mistake at this current moment.”

Damiano could see she was at her wit’s end, yet the need to stay professional was obvious.

“Bloody hell... You’d think after all of today at least one thing would go well. But no, I am stuck dealing with a broken computer and missing rooms.”

The man behind the counter sent her a slightly panicky look, hands shuffling between papers and typing on the keyboard in front of him.

“I can only apologise, I will do my absolute best to rectify this mistake,” the receptionist stated, voice much less steady than Y/n’s. She shook her head slightly, pulling out her phone and starting to type something into it. Probably updating their manager on what is happening.

“I sincerely hope that this is the last of the mistakes your hotel will be committing. We’re paying good money for this hotel, but London is big and I don’t think anyone would hesitate to book us somewhere else next time if the service here doesn’t suffice.” The air around her felt like static electricity, everything was prickly and on fire. “Now, please check again and then either have the correct number of rooms waiting for us or figure out another way to solve this problem. I know this probably isn’t your fault, but this needs a solution.”

The man standing in front of them quickly understood what was being asked of him. Y/n's body had remained creepily still through this, her eyes never leaving the person in front of her.

It was over as soon as it hard started. The receptionist handed her the keys and quickly mumbled something about the rooms being on the fifth floor and to the left. Y/n nodded, not necessarily happy, but visibly glad it was over. Turning around she faced Dami with an indescribable look on her face. He couldn’t believe what just happened, and how it was handled by their assistant. Looking at her right now she was agitated, sure, but whatever power she had just possessed? Damiano wanted to see it again.

***

The band crowded into the lift, and with each ding passing a floor Damiano’s need to do something grew. Attention was an easy thing for the singer to come by. Most of the time it was freely given and even then tenfold due to - well, Damiano being Damiano. But wanting attention was different, and wanting her attention, in particular, was a relatively new concept.

“Fifth Floor,” the monotone voice announced. Y/n made quick work handing everyone their room keys until she was only hanging to her own and Damiano’s. He took his chance.

“Can I walk you to your room?”

“Sure,” she answered, but the look in her eyes told him she was a little suspicious of his actions.

As they got closer to the door Damiano saw his chance. Reassuring himself that the hallway was now deserted of his bandmates, he quickly grabbed her - healthy! - wrist, turning her around and pressing her against the wall next to the door. Her expression was one of shock and surprise as he moved in closer, keeping her wrist against the wall and trapping her between his arms as he leaned against his hand on the other side of her head. Her breathing quickened noticeably and he couldn’t suppress a grin as he watched her look into his eyes, before flickering down to his lips and back up again. There was very little doubt concerning what she was thinking about. He had her in the palm of his hand. Right where he wanted her.

“You know, seeing you getting all hot and bothered down there… Very sexy.” His voice was low and gravelly. He was doing his absolute best to get her to falter under him, not shying away from employing all the tricks in the book. He moved in even closer now, only breaking eye contact when the angle made it impossible. His mouth to her ear, not quite touching, but close enough that he was sure she could feel his breath on her skin. “I should thank you… for all the… hard work you do.”

He resisted the temptation of pushing into her, letting his body collide with hers, letting her know exactly what he was talking about. Not now, not yet, he told himself. Instead, his hand carefully let go of her wrist, travelling down her arm, her side, across her body, with the softest touch, until he reached her other hand, which was grasping tightly onto the remaining room key. In a flash, he had snatched it out of her palm, backed away from her, and with a wink and a smirk that hopefully told her all she needed to know, he turned around to make his way to his room.

“Damiano! We still need to talk!” Y/n whisper-shouted. One look at her face was enough. Her skin had turned that favorable shade of red that Damiano had grown to love so much. She was still leaning against the wall, apparently not trusting her feet to carry her just yet. As he made his way to his room he couldn’t help but notice the bubbling of pride in his chest. Whatever she wanted to talk about, he was convinced it was going to go his way.

***

There was one person in this entire world that would be able to help sort out the mess in Y/n’s head. Stepping out onto the balcony, she quickly clicked her best friend’s name. One, two rings, and the familiar face popped up on her screen with a wide smile.

“Hi, love! How- oh my god, what is wrong?” Y/n’s face had always been much too easy to read for her friends.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Y/n protested, but the way her friend raised her eyebrows let her know that she would not get away with it. “Fine, that was a lie. Couple of things have gone wrong actually. Starting with my wrist!”

Y/n held the offending body park up into view, speech getting quicker as she continued.

“Fell onto it trying to escape Damiano and a private conversation he had with Victoria that I probably shouldn’t have heard. But I did, and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it, and it’s bothering me quite a bit actually, which is silly, because all I’m supposed to do here is my job, right? But now I think that he doesn’t want to be in the same space as me, which is a problem, to say the least, but at the same time he does? He literally just got all up in my space actually, so I don’t know what’s happening?”

“Wow okay, take a breath and start from the beginning, please.”

And so Y/n did, catching her friend up on every single detail of the past days, every little look, every single word uttered, every movement made. She didn’t spare a single detail or blush-inducing moment.

“I don’t know what to do, or think, or say. I think I know what is happening, but then he turns around and does the opposite of what I’m expecting. It's infuriating.”

“Ah yes, let me guess. He’s constantly around, whatever you do? Checkin up on your, catching your eyes, always happens to sit next to you?”

“He does… Why do I feel like everyone here knows what is going on but me?”

"Y/n, listen. You're my best friend, but you're the dumbest human being I've ever encountered. It is so obvious that he likes you, it's almost painful to hear you talk about and not realise. Look at the way he is taking care of you, the way he tries to make you laugh, how he constantly wants your attention on him - why on earth do you think he's doing that? You need to talk to him, seriously."

“But I overheard-”

"You didn't hear shit! You don't even know the context of what he said! Now listen to me: You like him. He likes you. If I'm wrong about this, I'll personally allow you to come back home and beat me up ok?" A sigh came through the line, her friend's voice getting softer. "I know the past years have been hard on you. And I know you don't like letting people in. But you've got to take a chance every now and then and Damiano sounds like he'll be worth it. From what you've told me, it sounds like he sees you exactly for what you are: brilliant, clever, caring, beautiful. Don't let this go to waste, love."

"You know I hate it when you're right. But you probably are." Y/n felt much calmer already, even though the mere thought of having that talk with Damiano made her feel slightly queasy again. "I should talk to him. My head will never stop spinning otherwise."

"Well, I love it when I'm right! So I'm hanging up right now so you can go talk to him, bye love!"

Her face disappeared from the screen in an instant.

***

“She’s right, you know? You should talk to him.” Victoria watched as Y/n almost jumped at the sound of her voice. She had concentrated so hard on whoever she was video-calling that she hadn’t noticed her enter the balcony next door. Now, Vic hadn’t meant to listen, but privacy on tour was a fickle thing and as soon as she realised what - or who - the topic of conversation was, she couldn’t help herself.

“Oh! Hi, Vic. Sorry, what?” Y/n asked, quite obviously startled. “I’m assuming you heard most of that conversation then.”

“I did. But that’s okay, please don’t worry about it. You know, I’m saying this as your friend as well as Damiano’s friend: Talk this thing out, whatever it is. We’ve all been watching you dance around each other, but one of you needs to have the guts to make a move. I know Damiano seems like a cocky know-it-all sometimes, but if you get down to it, he’s just as insecure and shy. So I think this is on you. Invite him over, order some room service, have a talk. If it goes poorly, you can always text me and I’ll come over. And help you finish the food.”

Victoria was glad to see Y/n let out a small giggle. Over the course of the whole tour, she had never seen her quite this stressed out. Sooner or later it would impact her job performance - just as it was starting to affect Damiano’s. She’d long noticed how distracted he was. It didn’t even matter whether Y/n was in the room or not, his thoughts constantly seemed to be spinning around the same thing. The same person, rather. At this point, it was in everyone’s best interest to get these two to talk it out. She trusted them to be sensible enough about it not to let it affect their work if it went wrong. At least not the way their mutual obsession with each other was doing now.

Y/n nodded.

“Thanks, Vic. What do I have to lose, right? I mean, a lot, technically, but you know. Thanks.”

Victoria watched as Y/n shot her one more worried look, before turning and getting back to her room. She made sure to shout after her just before the door closed.

“Tell me how it goes!”

***

“It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be fine, this is going to go my way, I’m going to say my part and it will all be fine,” Y/n mumbled to herself as she paced back and forth in her hotel room. Time and time again, she found herself checking her phone, needing to convince herself she had actually sent the message to Damiano, inviting him to her room for a conversation. He hadn’t replied, but the little blue check marks told her he had read it.

Okay, keep calm. You're going to have a conversation about this, like the adults that you are. You ask to clarify what you overheard and you'll stay calm, whatever his answer is. At the end of the day, this is work. And if you need to cry, you can do it once he's left. Easy.

A knock on the door interrupted her thought process. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. Pretending like she wasn’t there. But that wasn’t going to work, was it? Not forever, anyway.

“Y/n, you said you wanted to talk?” Damiano’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Time to face the music, I guess, Y/n thought to herself. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped to the side to let him in. Damiano hesitated for a second, as if contemplating how to greet her, but then simply smiled at her before stepping in. The nervous energy engulfed both of them immediately and she caught him looking around the room for a moment before deciding to take a seat at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t even think about sitting down. Instead, she was pacing the room like a caged animal.

“Um, so, I called you here for a meeting.” Y/n picked at her nails looking anywhere in the room that wasn’t at Damiano.

“A meeting? Y/n, really?” He chuckled. “If these meetings involve me visiting your hotel room, feel free to invite me over for them more often.”

“Damiano! I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Sorry, sorry, go ahead.” He waved at her to continue as he leaned back on the bed. He looked delectable, and Y/n had to actively tear her eyes away to focus on what she had meant to talk about with him.

“I overheard you and Vic talking at the second-hand shop. Something about you not wanting me around? Before I overthink this even more than I already have, I should probably ask you what that was about.” She stopped pacing and quickly looked at Damiano waiting for a reaction.

“Wait, you heard that?” He suddenly sat up again, urgency visible in his face. “Did you hear the whole thing or… only me saying that?”

“Only that apparently ‘I'm everywhere you look’ and you can’t seem to get rid of me.” She forced a scoff, although she would rather cry at the memory if she was being honest. “I know I shouldn’t have heard that conversation, but I did. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. That's why I ran out of the shop.”

She watched as Damiano buried his head in his hands, making a sound that was something between a laugh and a groan. “Seems like you missed the important part.” A deep sigh rattled through his chest as he looked up at her. “What I said before that was that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About kissing you. That’s why it’s so hard to see you everywhere, to have you around so much.” He slowly stood up, walking over to her in tentative movements. “It’s because I want to kiss you all the time.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Anything to protect herself, to keep up some sort of composure. Letting her guard down too early was the worst thing she felt she could do. An expression that was both alarmed and confused flashed across her face. “You - wait … no, that's not - hold on.” She squinted her eyes at him trying to figure out if there was any hint of deception in him. “You wouldn’t lie to me… would you?”

He stood in front of her now, eyes staring her down with nothing but honesty. “I like to joke around but not with things like these, okay? I would never put you in that position. But when we accidentally kissed in Amsterdam? I wish it hadn’t been accidental at all.” His hand was reaching out to her, softly touching her arm, as if to test the waters. To see if she would pull away.

She stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity. Yet, she didn’t move away from him this time. “I’m sorry... for how I acted at the hospital. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with you most of the time it seems.” A small smile flickered on her lips, unable to keep it at bay. “I’m sorry, I’m… not all that good at being vulnerable. In case that hadn’t become obvious yet. But I agree, you know. Kissing you should be on purpose.”

“It’s fine, it was a rough day. Now that I know what you heard, even more so for you,” he smiled back at her. His hand was wandering up her arm now, softly resting on her shoulder, just inches away from the bare skin on her neck. She was sure she could feel his warmth there already. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah? Starting with an actual kiss? On purpose?”

She blinked at him, before looking down at his chest, slowly grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Playing the fabric between her fingers, anything to keep her nervousness under control. “Yeah, that would be good. Gotta test it out, right?” She looked back up at him, a pink tint growing across her cheeks.

“Yeah, just a test,” he mumbled, coming closer still. His hand wandered further upwards, tingling along her bare skin, before softly grabbing her neck to pull her into him. He was moving slowly, almost tormentingly so, as his breath fanned her face, eyes wandering back and forth between her own and her mouth. Her heart was beating impossibly fast now. If he wasn’t going to do anything soon, she would collapse, she was sure of it.

“Just kiss me already.”

And then his lips were on hers, soft and gentle, but with a force behind it that let her know he meant it. It was nothing like the kiss in Amsterdam. This was a kiss with purpose, long-lived desire finally being realised, feeling poured into every move they made. If this was a test, they were passing it with flying colours. Everything felt simply right. His lips against hers, his hand tangling in her hair, her arms wrapping themselves around him. Any doubt whether this was the right thing to do, whether this was what she wanted, ceased to exist. She couldn’t tell how long they were standing there, kissing, exploring, enjoying each other, but when they finally parted, she found herself catching her breath. Silly smiles painted on both of their faces. She buried her face in his chest, almost a little embarrassed now.

“That went well,” she giggled, unlike she did in Amsterdam. This high was different.

Damiano’s hand pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear, tender touch lasting on her face a little too long, but she wouldn’t complain. He quickly pressed another needy kiss against her lips, before pulling her to sit on the bed with him. “So, now what? Not that I wasn’t enjoying that, but we should probably talk about where we’re gonna go from here.”

She nodded. “Well, work comes first. Not that I wasn’t having fun either. But, both of us know that the most important thing is you performing the best you can. I guess we go with your plan. Figure it out together. I don’t want to force anything.” Always trying to ground herself back into reality - it was the way she was built. A moment of insanity, yes, but never more. “Though, on days off… if you...” Her mouth opened but no more words came.

“I like the sound of that,” Damiano grinned, seemingly unable to stop himself from stealing another kiss from her lips. “And on days off...? Say it, Y/n, no need for shyness here.”

“Ah!” Grabbing a pillow off the bed, she smacked him playfully. “I was trying to have a semi-serious conversation here, Dami!” Her face screwed into a pout, before transforming into a teasing smile. “If you’re gonna be like that, you won’t hear my idea at all.”

He immediately let go of her, hands in the air in surrender. “Fine, woman, no more teasing from me… for now.”

She leaned in closer. “Is that a threat? Or a promise? I was gonna say we could go out on a date. But,” she shrugged, “up to you.” Standing up she walked over to the phone on the desk, picking up the room service menu with her other hand. “Do you want anything? If we are gonna figure this out, we might as well have food.” It was no secret that she was trying to create space between the two of them. A little distance, a little chance to breathe, too afraid of a fire being set ablaze if they stayed any closer.

“Whatever pizza they have, please. It won’t quite be like home but even bad pizza is still pizza.” He watched as she picked up the phone, quickly muttering some words he didn’t understand down the line. “And then come back here. We should probably talk some more.”

She nodded, quickly finishing the conversation on the line, before sitting back down on the bed next to him, backs resting against the headboard. “Alright, so, talk about what? I know there are things to discuss but, what are you thinking right now?”

“How do you want to go on about this?” He asked, taking her hand and playing with it absentmindedly. “Do you want to tell the others anything?”

“We have to tell Vic, probably. She’ll never get off our case otherwise. Apart from that... I assumed that we would sort of make up for lost time. Be a bit more open, affection-wise. Or at least not feel like we have to hide it when I wanna kiss you. I don’t want to say we are dating. I don’t want to put a label on something that's this new. Rushing into something like this is just a recipe for hurt.” She found herself staring into the distance for a moment, thoughts running away with her, before turning back to him. “Do you want to tell people? I mean if you did that would be fine. I’d manage, you know.”

“No, actually. I���m quite fine with as few people knowing as possible. I just… There’s no need to get everyone involved in something that we’re literally still figuring out ourselves, right? And I definitely don’t need the fans to know. At least not yet. If that’s okay with you?”

“Dami, you do know that, if this becomes a long-term thing... They will hate me. It won’t be just your fans either. Management, event organisers, they won’t want me there, people will tell you to break up with me all the time. There will be a lot of rude comments. People will edit me out of pictures. Because that's how it is. Are you sure you’re okay with all that? This won’t be easy and I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your success. The band's success.” She wasn’t making eye contact now, nervously picking at her nails instead. This was his chance to step back, to change his mind, and she was more afraid of it than she let on.

“Well, first of all, they can all fuck off, okay? No one gets to talk about you like that, not in front of me. If they don’t see you the way that I see you - or at least respect it-, they’re no real fans anyway.” He reached out, softly holding onto her chin and turning her face towards him. “I don’t care about anyone but you in this, okay? If anything, you’re the one pushing me to go farther, work harder, be better. Yeah?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Her hand went to the one holding her face, kissing his palm and then pressing it into her cheek. “I mean it though. It will be hard and confusing, and I am not that good at communicating my feelings. You could have anyone in the world and you picked me which I will never understand, but I’m thankful for it. Both of us are workaholics. It won’t just be you having a busy schedule. Are you absolutely positive? Because if not...”

Taking her face into both of his hands now, he made sure she was looking at him. “I am more than positive. I want this, I want you, I want it all. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes for you to believe that.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, warm and inviting, and she was sure she could feel every single one of his emotions in it. There was nothing but love. Coming up for air, they let their foreheads meet, a moment of unspoken agreement.

“We will do it together, yeah?” She whispered as she pressed a kiss onto his lips once again before her face broke out in a grin. “Fuckin hell… Sorry, I just realized that we can kiss and hug and everything all the time now and without it being weird.” Grabbing his hand and interlacing their fingers, she rested her head on his shoulder. Both of them simply content in the silence of the room and the company of each other. After a while, Y/n looked up at him again. “Do you have any concerns though?”

“No real worries. Just... I don’t know. I just want to stare at you for a bit. Do you even know how crazy you make me? Throughout this whole tour I have been losing my mind!” His eyes flickered over her face, down her body, and back up. He kissed the top of her head. “Y/n you have no clue what you do to me. You remember when you body checked that guy into the wall in Germany?” She nodded as he lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Cold showers did nothing for me that night.”

Giggles rattled her chest as she hid her face in her hand, feeling a slight blush coming on.

“Hey, no hiding that face from me!” Grabbing at her hands, he tried to pull them back down, but she resisted through her laughter. Desperately trying to pry her hands away, Damiano pinned her down onto the bed, back flush against the mattress, but he still wasn’t succeeding. In a last-ditch effort, he straddled her ample hips. The surprise of it all had her removing her hands on her own immediately, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Now, was that so hard?”

In one quick move, she locked her knees under his and flipped him over, making her sit on top of him. His body thudded into the mattress, jaw dropping, and a little hint of a blush appearing out of nowhere.

“Sorry love, won’t happen again,” she grinned, sending him another wink, before getting off of the stunned singer.

Y/n jumped up off the bed and started to rummage through the mini-fridge. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of Damiano’s phone vibrating. And again. And again.

“What’s going on with that thing?” She asked over her shoulder, unable to hide a grin. Damiano sighed heavily, reading through the messages that seemed to keep coming.

“It’s Vic.”

“What’s she saying?”

Another buzzing sound interrupted them.

“Asking if we’re making out yet. Letting us know that she can hear us laughing. Wanting to know if we’ve fucked yet. Complaining that I’m not answering her messages.”

Damiano’s speech was, in turn, interrupted by Y/n’s phone letting out a similar buzzing noise. With a frown on her face, she gathered it from the nightstand, only to erupt into giggles at the message displayed on her screen.

“What’s so funny?”

“Vic has written, and I quote: ‘As happy as I am that this seems to be going well, I was actually looking forward to indulging in room-service food with you’ with a lot of frowny emojis added.”

Forming a fist with his hand, Damiano roughly hit the wall behind him - the one he knew connected the room to Victoria’s.

“Go get your own room service!” He shouted, and the laughter on the other side, paired with a flurry of emojis reaching both of their phones shortly after let them know she had heard.

“Oh stop it, whatever will you do without a bassist if she starves!” Y/n laughed. “Wait, how’s this.” Y/n coughed, preparing to change her voice into the best impression of Victoria she could muster. “Dami, you bastardo! Give me food!”

A knock on the door - much too polite to be Victoria’s - caught their attention, and Y/n scrambled to open it. A little wagon full of silver plates adorned with various meals greeted her. Not even caring about the confused look on the waiter’s face, she made quick work of grabbing most of what was on the tray and carrying it over to the desk, until only a few things were left.

“Would you mind bringing the rest to the woman next door? Thank you very much.”

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, she caught Damiano’s gaze, wide smile on his face.

“Whatever it takes to make Vic happy, hm?”

Y/n grinned. “Whatever it takes to get Vic to leave us alone.”

***

Y/n had no idea where she was when she woke up the next morning. It only lasted for a moment though - until it all came crashing down on her, the talk with Damiano, the kisses they'd shared, how they had spent the rest of the evening watching trash tv and stuffing themselves with food, until he had left for his own room, placing one last lingering kiss on her lips. She couldn't contain a smile at the memories. For a minute, she allowed herself to lay in bed, reminiscing about the way his mouth felt on hers and how she was now allowed to do that all the time. But work called, and the usual routine caught up with her. Getting ready for the day, re-checking the busy plan for the day, waking up the band. It was only in front of Damiano's room that she faltered a bit, before shaking it off and entering.

Damiano looked peaceful, fast asleep, the blanket only coming up to his waist. With quiet footsteps, she walked over to the bed, taking the view in for as long as she allowed herself. Her usual wake-up tricks would include pulling back curtains, gently talking, stealing blankets, a little shake if necessary. But the turn of their relationship was now providing her with new possibilities. Leaning down, she blew a bit of air against his cheek, watching as his eyelids fluttered but not quite opened yet. A little kiss followed on his cheek, just barely touching his skin. Then a kiss on his inviting lips. She almost pulled back, when a strong hand held onto the back of her head, Damiano suddenly wide awake and kissing her back.

"I could get used to these wake-up calls."

“Well, be a good boy and get dressed and you might be getting them more often,” she grinned, already halfway out the door. She knew if she didn’t leave now she probably wouldn’t for a while, and they did not have time for any delays.

“That better be a promise!” Damiano shouted after her, and she giggled, all the way back to her room, never having looked forward to a day of work quite this much.

***

The day was one of their most hectic ones yet, jumping between the hotel, the venue for soundcheck, dinner, a radio station, and back to the venue. Yet, for once, Damiano didn’t mind in the slightest. Not with the way he was now allowed to stare at Y/n all the time. No more worries about having to hide it, no more being afraid of being caught in the way his eyes kept lingering on her whenever she was nearby. Never mind the fact that he enjoyed teasing her.

He was well aware of how important her professionalism was for her, and he’d be the last person to slack off work because he was smitten. But, in the little moments in between, the waiting to go on air, the walking along a hallway, the little breaks and breathers, he simply couldn’t help himself. Especially not with the way she kept blushing and scolding him.

It was the small things. Brushing past her when he walked by. Letting his hand rest on her waist a little too long, always threatening to move lower, but never making the jump. Winking at her with the meanest smirk when the radio host asked a particularly spicy question. Texting her with the suggestion to unbutton her blouse just slightly more to keep him motivated. The latter was met with a stern look and her hands buttoning up the blouse a little more instead. Yet, throughout the day Y/n seemed to be more relaxed, while keeping up the impression of ‘everything is normal’. Well, she did the best she could when Damiano wasn’t giving her a hard time.

Victoria seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world, constantly watching the two of them and snickering to herself. When Damiano told her to mind her own business - just for once - she only became more curious. Ethan and Thomas hadn’t caught on yet. Well, Thomas definitely hadn’t. Ethan had looked at Damiano a little strangely, eyebrows raised in question, when the singer had stared at Y/n a little too long, trying to catch her attention, but he hadn’t mentioned it.

Now it was less than an hour until showtime, everyone gathered backstage, and Damiano couldn’t remember the last time he had been quite this excited to play. London being their biggest gig on this tour certainly played a part, but the butterflies in his stomach every time he laid eyes on Y/n surely did the rest.

The dressing room was a mess, clothes everywhere, stylists and make-up artists scrambling to get their work done in time, which was proven increasingly difficult as Victoria and Thomas kept starting tickle fights. Damiano was sure the crew was ready to murder them at this point. Still waiting for his own turn to get dressed up, he let his gaze wander over to Y/n, who was sitting with Ethan, the drummer patiently painting her nails black.

“There,” he concluded. “You’re becoming more like us every single day.”

Damiano watched as she held up her hands, admiring the way the colour contrasted with her skin. Walking over to her, he let his hands rest on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

“And you’re barely even flinching anymore when one of us gets naked,” he grinned, shooting a glance at Victoria, who was running away from Thomas in a shirt and panties only. He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Unless that one of us is me, I hope.”

The smack on his arm landed harder than expected, Y/n once again a blushing mess, but Damiano couldn’t help but laugh. As long as he still had that kind of hold over her, he’d gladly make use of it.

***

Y/n took her usual seat, sending smiles to the crew and band as they readied up for the show. The crowd outside was deafening already, volume only increasing when the lights were slowly starting to dim. One by one, the band members came up to her, ready to get a last wish of good luck, but Damiano made quick work of shoving them away, giggling as he reached her first. Without a word of warning, he grabbed her head, planting a deft kiss on her lips, before letting go of her with the biggest grin on his face. Her eyes closed as soon as she felt his lips on hers, an involuntary reaction to the feeling of having him close.

“Are all of us gonna get some good-luck kisses like that now?” Victoria giggled from behind them, and Y/n couldn’t help landing yet another smack on Damiano’s arm that day.

“Nope,” he replied. “Singer privileges.”

With the proudest smile on his face he finally bounced on stage. The others quickly followed and Y/n was left in her seat, shaking her head. That man was going to be the death of her, she was sure of it. They hadn’t even gone official, and he was already clouding her mind every single second of the day. She watched him as he ran around on stage, energy higher yet than all of the other shows on that tour, thinking about how he never failed to amaze her, both as a performer and as a human being all in itself. She wasn’t quite sure what the future held for them, what the rest of this tour would bring them, but as she stared at him, she decided she was going to be fine with whatever it was. Despite her anxiety about the future, he would be there. As long as she could have a piece of him, a smile, a touch, a kiss, every now and then, she was going to be fine. Right? Watching him on stage was a blessing and a curse. She was so proud of him, of the band. As much as she loved them there still left a small voice of fear. How much was she willing to let them see? Let him see? The rest of the tour was still there, but she reminded herself of what he had told her the day before in her hotel room. They would figure it out together.

***

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitersmoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @rainbowmarta @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @fanfictionandfluff @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @navs-bhat @etaerealboyv @tryymebitch @fenhakwe @solacestyles @softforlukescurls @vicsangel @theimpossiblehologramtree @alina-exe @cherricola66 @onlykissystyless @dannasixxworld

[jesusology]

as much as i love Mikoto, theorizing what’s going on in his MV/what his crime is... it’s more difficult. but here we go, step-by-step! 

apologies in advance if this makes like. no sense at all 

to me, this environment looks sort of like an office. the couch looks hard and sturdy, hardly something someone would want to sit in at their own home... the walls are rather bleak and professional. 

i feel like the sky is meant to represent “freedom”, with the walls crumbling around him. perhaps Mikoto feels “trapped” in his job and he really wants to break free from all of it. it’s an unrealistic desire and he realizes as much.

a crescent moon - and i believe that a crescent moon shows up later, as well. it’s interesting that parts of his MV have this static effect like watching from a TV. could be that his brain feels like static or it could show how he believes this isn’t real. what he’s seeing can’t possibly be true, it isn’t him - so it’s like watching a TV show.

it’s interesting that he’s just standing out here, seemingly waiting for his “victim”. i say victim in quotations because i’m really not sure what is going on with this. 

hmmmmm. 

i feel like what he’s seeing here isn’t what actually happened. i feel like this could be a fantasy to him. a very dark fantasy that he doesn’t want to believe himself capable of in reality - but it’s something that lingers in his thoughts. 

i mean, i think he’s done something bad, no doubt. but i don’t think what’s depicted here could be considered what it is. 

i’m not going to entertain the DID theory here because i don’t think that’s what’s going on and i’m hoping that it’s not because it seems sort of like a tastelessly cliché theory and i want to have more faith in the leader writer. it very well could be what’s going on, but for this theory, i’m not going to further mention it

anyway, back on track here - this line could also make sense with dark fantasies. i feel like Mikoto is hiding his true self... especially when it comes to his job. there’s plenty of hinting that there’s more to Mikoto than what you see on the exterior. and what you see on his exterior is mostly an agreeable smile.

boy how are you laying your head up against that hard wood..... talk about waking up with neck pain 

is Mikoto into this sort of thing, like tarot cards? has he relied on them to sort of foresee his future because it seems to be very bleak? hmmmmm (take a drink everytime i just type “hmmmm”)

so like. here’s why the serial killer theory doesn’t hold up especially well to me personally: i’m not sure why he would kill someone and then throw their body in the dumpster as if he doesn’t want them to be found? this isn’t the case for all serial killers of course, but most of the time it seems like they want their “”work”” to be seen. for the attention of it and the sick perverse sexual thrill of it. but it doesn’t look that way from here with Mikoto? 

in fact, he doesn’t seem to feel anything. he has a blank, empty stare and yet again i feel like what he’s seeing isn’t the “truth” of what occurred. i think there’s so much more to what meets the eye here. 

maybe something happened in his job and - to him - it was essentially “taking out garbage”? like he killed someone regarding his work or FOR his work... 

“Take a good look at me Until you find me” could, yet again, depict how people see him from the outside but don’t ever get a glimpse of his actual thoughts nor what his personality really is. it’s like a performance, that sort of thing.

and since we get a good look at his shirt (which is apparently meant to depict the major arcana’s The Hanged Man) it seems to be in reverse position which would indicate something like “egotism, inability to change, missing an opportunity”.

god i love how he sings this part. AHEM so here is the Devil upright which means something like “bondage, enslavement, fear, feeling trapped, materialism, temptation”. again i return to work being his driving factor for whatever his crime may have been. he felt trapped in his job, he was lacking identity because of his job. 

i’m not sure if “accusations” being brought up here is regarding his interrogation in general and his denial or if this is something that happened to him outside of this prison? like was he being accused of something? does this tie into his current denial?

this line is interesting but i was also too distracted by how much i like this image. it’s just. it’s really good

again, is this about accusations? has he done something really wrong and it’s haunting him no matter where he’s going (whether this just be personal or about work). this line is just... a lot to think about here. would love some insight into this from anyone because it’s just really curious to me.

this entire sequence is so good. i like the sound of the bell (is it a bell? i think it’s a bell) each time we see the frame switch. he looks really listless here and i wouldn’t be surprised if this was him coming home from work. he seems drained and empty. his posture is hunched, his movement looks like it’s lacking any energy.

his place looks so plain and impersonal. the television static is an interesting touch in the bg. we can’t even see his face here, what his expression is. but just from body language alone (and the ominous bell noise) it’s obvious something is vaguely wrong.

he looks completely hopeless here. now, usually when i’m upset and i’m going toward my bed i’ll do that sort of pose too - with my knees on the floor and my arms hiding my face in the bed. so i’m guessing he’s upset here or just totally exhausted. maybe the bells are meant to be a “for whom the bell tolls” kind of thing. it signifies “death” and perhaps this is “death” of the “self”

going to have to separate this into two posts because i had a whole lot written here but it got deleted so! expect it soon! 

part 2

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [19/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Nothin’ to report Cap’n

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

From the smell alone, you could tell this mysterious house of antiquities Heimdall had whisked you away to was no ordinary place. Well, ordinary as you’d come to know given the fact you lived on Asgard and had special gifts.

The room felt stuffy, even with the healing blindfold covering your eyes. Everywhere your seeking fingertips touched found a surface to greet back. Glass, cold metal, hot metal, ceramics, leather, paper and even textures that felt similar to magic—a push to them, as if not wanting to be touched, static and crawling along the ridges of the hairs on your arms. There was this unsettling prickle on your nails, it was like a homing beacon, like magnetite to birds, directing you towards a power source, or perhaps something less sinister, to a person with magic as well.

Heimdall and Sif conversed with a man that had the most eccentric fluctuations to his voice. His vibrato held a flair to it, fantastic and wise hiding behind comical flamboyance. They never mentioned him by name, but they referred to him as ‘The Collector’ before you entered the premises.

“Ah, Bestla’s fabled amulet. A jewel to be sure, rarest kind, dwarvish if I recall,” The Collector hummed in approval, holding knowledge of what Heimdall sought after. Then he let out an exaggerated sigh, you could almost imagine him putting on a face. “Sadly, you’ve come a long way for nought, friends.”

“Don’t patronise,” Sif said with little patience in her voice. “We came to trade. If anyone in this quadrant would know of what became of the amulet, it’d be you.”

The Collector laughed, “I suppose an appropriate proposition could persuade me, but I have many items to manage, too many to keep a count of. If I did indeed possess such a rare and valuable item—”

“Would this suffice?” Sif asked, cutting him off from finishing his well-polished hagglers’ speech. One he’d perfected over countless trades no doubt.   There was a thud of something heavy hitting a surface, you assumed it was the belt from the change in The Collector’s tone. He was intrigued but held back his awe.

“Is this what I think it is?” The Collector spoke more to himself than to the room. “Bor’s Belt? The very one that was used to contain his might? I hear no mere being can wield it. Is it true that is why Odin himself rides into battle without it?”

“It’s best not to speculate on the Allfather’s reasoning,” Heimdall said. “His ways remain elusive to all.”

The Collector giggled in glee, “Of course, of course, I meant no disrespect. Yes. Pretty piece. Hmmm… I’ll have to authenticate it first. Many bring counterfeits here you see. No insult intended.”

Sif sighed and there was an uncomfortable pause in the room. A whisper carried itself to you from the west, away from the group. It sounded faint but lyrical.

A child of the sky, here? Why? What brings you here? The whisper said.

You turned your head from side to side, as if you could magically see all of a sudden. Then you paused, surprised that no one else seemed to say something or react to the sound.

You leaned closer to Hogun, tapping his shoulder to garner his attention. “Did you hear that?”

He stayed quiet in response, at first. You imagined it was because he shook his head out of habit, and then later remembered you couldn’t see. “I hear nothing but the haggle,” he replied.  

True enough, Heimdall and Sif still conversed with The Collector. Sif was growing more and more impatient, Heimdall kept his tone from fluctuating, ever the nonchalant bastion. Hogun was quiet, impossible to detect besides the close proximity to his form.

They cannot hear me. No one can. It has been nearly a millennia since I last spoke and someone listened. The whisper held a faint sadness to it, mournful.

You wanted to ask it questions, ask who it was and why you were the only one in the room that could hear it, but you were afraid that might alert the others to the fact you were hearing a strange voice in your head. Heimdall had already warned you to act normal, so you simply moved about, trying to get closer to the sound while remaining calm. Hands searching out as if curious to touch more.

You mean to ask me who I am?

You nodded, not aware if the whisper could see or if it experienced awareness on a different plain. 

I have no name, and many names. Some call me a thing, others a being, I do not know which it is myself. All I know is that I am Oracle, and past seer.  

An oracle, one who could foresee events just as your mother did, and just as Dagna did about your father’s ill-fated love with your mother. The future seemed to haunt your family; or maybe it was fate. A voice in your mind told you to turn your head and let your body follow as you returned where you came from. But providence had led you to this moment in time, would it be wise to turn away now? Besides, this oracle that called out to you and only you, could know of a way to wake Loki. So, despite the dizzying feeling sloshing in the pit of your stomach, you kept following after the voice.

Ah, you come forward then. It has been a while since one has sought after me.

You swallowed, loudly.

“Can you sense anything about me?” you whispered so low it was barely audible.

Strange… I sense you have a future. I sense you seek to be reunited with a man. A dark prince. I sense devotion, heart. You are in love… and I suspect, so is he.

“You see us together?”

Yes.

“In the future?”

Yes.

“Then you can tell me how to save him.”

There was a pause, the voice took a span of three breaths to speak again, all the while, your heart thundered.

I see you do not have a past. What are you?

You were close enough to the voice to feel the vibrations of the words ripple onto the hair of your arms like the feather-light sensation of an ant crawling up to your elbow. Then, suddenly, an arm yanked and you spun on your heel.

“I wouldn’t touch that,” The Collector said with a stern edge. A warning edge.

“What is it?” you asked.

“A curse,” he answered.

“And what price does the curse require?”

Your blindfold was taken off just as Heimdall began to protest. You blinked away the blindspots peppered across your vision. Everything stung and seemed beyond white.

“My, my, my,” The Collector toyed with his rings on his fingers. “I haven’t seen eyes like those in… Well, I’ve never seen eyes like those.”

You glanced over to where the voice came from, it was a book, thick with paper that looked like skin. It was placed on a stand in front of three mirrors. The mirrors only showed one reflection despite there being four people standing before it. It was yours. One mirror showed you as you were, standing in the antiquities shop, frightfully thin with dark circles under your eyes that began to regain that lively swirl of magic and molten gold.

The one on the left showed nothing, no reflection at all, even of the room.

The mirror on the right showed a version of you with longer hair, braided along the sides as some Asgardian women wore them. Armour that shone with the spectacular polish of a thousand stars. A stain of red growing under the armpit where the armour showed a weakness. Eyes blinking lethargically. Lips with a line of blood.

“Do you see that?” you asked the room.

The Collector sighed, “We all see ourselves, such is the working of the Mirror of Fate.”

“It spoke to me,” you revealed.

The Collector raised a brow, seemingly taken aback by your words. “Curious.”¨

“I want to know more.”

“And you shall, for a price.”

“What is it you want?”

The Collector looked over your clothes, then turned to look over your companions. Bor’s belt proudly displayed behind a glass case already. Bestla’s amulet peeking out of a pouch hooked onto Heimdall’s leather straps.

The Collector stroked the back of his hand against your jaw bone, peering hungrily at your eyes. With a smile, he said: “An eye.”