#especially when she uses programming language for tone indication

[bragganhyl]

I have recently obtained a new space grandma

she's pretty mean at times

[ikeservant]

How would the ikesen boys react to an mc who is blind but can take care of herself?

This took forever but I finally finished! 

MC has been blind for a good chunk of her life. She adapted quickly though through her sense of hearing and echolocation along with vibrations, being able to detect walls, objects, and people around her. She got sucked into the wormhole and BAM! Sengoku era! 

Nobunaga: She could smell and hear the fire around her and also..someone coughing? She followed the sound until she found the source, remembering the path she took so she can get out, and dragged Nobu’s butt out of the flames. “Do you know who I am?” “Well I can’t see you so nope.” When he realized that she was blind he was very impressed. “Men with all their senses in tact don’t have the bravery that you have. You are indeed a lucky charm.” He took her to Azuichi and told her that she could just laze around and have others take care of her if she wished, but mc is an independent woman that is able to do things herself so she immediately tells him to give her a job and she’d be able to accommodate to it. He admires her ambition and sets her to work. When she isn’t working he invites her to sit with him and chat bc he wants to get to know her as a person as well as how she’s able to adapt to the world without the sense of sight, intrigued with the clever methods to manage on her own. He feels inspired by her to create an education program for his citizens affected with physical limitations and how to help them live a fulfilling life while feeling capable just like mc.

Hideyoshi: His suspicion of mc decreased dramatically when he found out, as a matter of fact, she is blind. Suspicion immediately turned into concern and pity, making him really hesitant of Nobunaga letting mc do chores since she wanted to earn her keep. He was silently watching her with her rag and bucket, ready to step in the moment he sees her struggle. Instead, he sees her stepping around the perimeter of the outside hallway, mentally mapping out the length and width of the hall. Then, picking up the rag, cleaned the whole hall without a problem. Afterward, he approached her and told her about his concerns and worries of her struggling. She reassured him that she was able to live on her own for the most part where she came from, and as long as she made a mental map of the castle and heard when she was getting close to a wall or object, she would be just fine. He’d still insist on going to the market with her since it’s hard for anybody to navigate by hearing and mentally taking notes when there’s a huge market crowd. VERY protective and VERY mama hen Hide around mc to the point where she nags at him to give her space bc she doesn’t want him to worry about her as much as he does.

Mitsunari: Very helpful while also being very curious about how mc strategizes her everyday life. While giving a tour of the castle, he could tell she was taking her time while using her other senses to get a feel for each area. When he talked about her possibly having a helper maid to take her from place to place, mc answered “No need. I now know the area. I’ll ask somebody if I get lost but I’ve got a good mental map of the area.” “Very impressive, mc!” Mitsunari would beam. Mc can take care of herself better than he can, making that the staple point that the others drive into Mitsunari so he actually starts taking care of himself. They often brainstorm of ways to help mc do errands. Like with delivering scroll letters, cutting off a small little square at the bottom in a certain area so she can tell who is getting what letter and travel accordingly (ex: cut in left corner is Nobunaga’s letter. Cut in right corner is for Hideyoshi. Square cut in the middle on the bottom of the scroll is Ieyasu, etc.) Thinks mc is smarter and has a stronger willpower than anybody he’s ever met (besides his “friend” Ieyasu) bc of how she’s able to think and adapt to compensate for her lack of eyesight to survive and be capable and on equal footing as everyone else.

Masamune: He found out when trying to flirt with mc. “Hey I’ve had my eye on you this whole time, lass.” “Wish I could say the same. But that’s physically impossible.” “Ha! I see you have a sense of humor. I would have said I had my EYES on you but that would be only half true.” Both would probably joke about their eyes and brush it off as no big deal. Impressed that by her second day he saw her in the halls carrying supplies by herself, already aware of the area. “Masamune, is that you?” “Yeah it is! I’m impressed! Your senses must be very on point.” “That or the fact that you always smell like spices and walk kinda funny.”mc laughed. Likes how free and independent mc’s spirit is, admiring how she doesn’t let her disability stop her from doing what she wants to do, finding ways to adapt to things. Since boi really likes to write letters but would have to have someone else read it to her while he was away, she taught him braille. Giving him a guide with a scroll listing the indents/holes that indicate different characters, he was able to give her flirty messages while he was away and imagine her blushy face while she’s reading the letter herself.

Mitsuhide: Could tell almost right away that mc was blind. Would secretly be watching over her to see if she was having trouble. Every time he would walk up to her with a “Are you lost, little mouse? It must be hard for you.” in a condescending tone to tease her while also being slightly concerned. “No. I know I’m in the right hallway to go to the cleaning supply room. Just two more lefts then a right and about 10 paces to the left.” He actually was shocked for a second but felt like praising her for having a sharp mind. Tries sneaking up on her but she can always tell he’s near due to just sensing his presence and hearing just the slightest glide of his feet on the hallway, calling him out. Sees a bit of himself in her, being mentally prepared and alert of their senses to adapt and compensate for their shortcomings. When deciding to teach her because he wants her to survive and thrive in this cruel world, he realizes he’ll have to read everything to her and verbally quiz her. However, she introduced him to braille, intriguing him and inspiring him to use it as a new secret code language to send info. Also feels like it’s a special bond between them.

Ieyasu: Would be against mc doing chores or going around by herself because she’ll just be an inconvenience (not because he just doesn’t want her to get hurt I write sarcastically). Would make him stand up and follow her as she gives him a whole tour of the castle, remembering every hallway within one week. He’s glad that mc can’t see how embarrassed his face is that she’s better adapted than he thought. He’d still lowkey be like mama hideyoshi, silently watching her and trying to tell her that she should still be careful. He draws the line at her planning on going to the market on her own because things are constantly shifting and changing there and the noisy crowd might throw her off, leaving him no other choice but to escort mc. As thanks, mc would buy him something spicy, using her nose and advice from others to get him the gift. Normally mc is able to go through the day fine, but sometimes she’ll accidentally tumble, causing Ieyasu to lightly scold her while checking her bruises and letting her see Wasabi. She was SHOOK finding out that she was petting a cute lil deer since she could tell it was a smaller 4 legged animal with lil hooves but didn’t know that it was a baby fawn. Ieyasu would also give mc a walking stick to help her navigate better, especially in unfamiliar areas or areas with possible obstacles in the way.

Kenshin: Was at the bar minding his own business when he heard a cane tap a seat next to him. Mc sat next to him, ordering something to drink. “If you were to try to find a woman, how long would it take to find her in this bar?” she’d ask, hoping that she could get some free time away from an overbearing escort. “Depends on the target. Why? Did you start a fight? If so, can I get in on it?” “Oh nah. I want a break from being smothered with attention and feeling like I need help. If I can go to this specific bar blind then that should be proof that I don’t need helpers for short trips.” He was surprised a woman, much less a blind woman, was confident in her abilities to get from place to place while being sure of herself. Mc and Kenshin met quite a bit after that and the more he heard her complain about her work, the more he realized she was working for the Oda. Not trusting the Oda and not wanting her to face a horrible fate if someone overtakes the Oda first, he convinces her to move into his castle. She memorizes the area quickly and feels less crowded with warlords, but the closer she gets to Kenshin the more he is overbearing and protective over her safety. She gives him several demonstrations of her doing tasks by herself to convince him that it’s very low risk and that she enjoys feeling independent and capable. Although overprotective, he thinks she has the most determined spirit of anyone he’s ever met and will cut down anybody that makes her feel weak or helpless because she’s far from that in his eyes, even if he still worries about her.

Shingen: Shingen was well aware that almost all the women at the tea shop were swooning over him, all except mc, who was eating sweet buns and drinking tea in the corner while waiting for some of the warlords to come back from their long in-town meeting. He tried winking at her, but she just kept staring off and making no expression change. He decided to walk up to her, feeling curious. “Whoever smells like woodchips and cologne that is walking up to my table, please state your business.” Since he’s very intuitive, he’s able to realize mc is blind by now. He decided to have a normal conversation with her, learning how she’s able to stay strong and manage w/o sight. When he saw the other warlords coming back he bolted, but realized she was working for the “terrible” Nobunaga. Since in his mind he thinks the Oda are going to hurt/take advantage of her, he makes an elaborate plan to take her away. When she got to Kenshin and Shingen’s place, she was FUMING bc of being kidnapped. However, Shingen explained everything about how the Oda overtook his homeland and all the horrors he’s seen them do and how he wanted to save her from facing that same fate. Mc pretty much told him that it isn’t his choice to make that call but understands from his voice that he’s being sincere so she decides to stay for a while. He’s very impressed she knows the whole layout of the castle and can tell when he’s walking up to her because he has a “flirty saunter”. When she does feel a little down about being blind he helps her find silver linings like how she’s been able to be braver and determined to adapt, and how she is able to look at someone’s character and words instead of being thrown off by physical appearances. Although he is chivalrous and offers to help her with tough tasks, he will ROAST anybody that calls her weak or fragile because she’s the strongest, most resilient goddess in his eyes. Would make a beautiful wooden cane for her so she can look stylish while walking around outside.

Yukimura: When mc freaked out and ran away, running straight for the cliff, Yukimura caught her. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING RUNNING OFF A CLIFF LIKE A WILD BOAR? ARE YOU BLIND?” “Actually yeah.” Yuki went o_o before trying to scold her more for running aimlessly w/o knowing where she’s going until Sasuke swooped in, recognizing she’s the person from the present and offers they take her in. Yuki agrees, not wanting anybody to get hurt cuz he’s a caring boi. Since he didn’t want her to trip on anything and could tell she was exhausted and overwhelmed at the moment, he gave her a piggyback ride to the castle. When showing her around he keeps awkwardly asking if she needs help or assistance and gets more embarrassed when she says she can do most things on her own. “Of course I can feed myself. I have hands, dummy.” Is glad she’s capable of doing a lot on her own so he doesn’t have to keep worrying about her safety. Lowkey forgets she’s blind at times but is glad mc can laugh it off and says it makes her happy that she can go about life so normally that people don’t notice her blindness. When mc talked about seeing eye dogs being a thing, lowkey he’s thinking about making Muramasa a guide dog if mc ever wanted to go explore so he can guide her and pull her along. Also embarrassingly asks Shingen to teach him how to carve wood so he can make her a walking stick with their names carved on it and will blush like crazy when mc feels the names on it and tackles him in a hug.

Sasuke: Found her running in the woods the night she landed in the Sengoku era. Since she was overwhelmed and scared for her life, not knowing what the heck was going on, she was stumbling and tripped, making a branch snap loudly. Sasuke, who was nearby, used his ninja hearing and went to investigate. She could hear him approach and turned towards his direction. “I HAVE A WEAPON AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT” she threatened, gripping her walking stick while whipping out a pocket knife. He noticed the red band around the white stick, which was the noticeable sign of a blind person’s walking cane. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” “You sound like the guy from the temple before that big lightning strike. What the hell is going on?” He explained to her the current predicament and how they’re back in the Sengoku era. “I guess that explains why I teleported into a flaming building and just heard a bunch of warlord names and felt like I was in a historical reenactment.” Sasuke helps her go to Kenshin’s place, explaining to Kenshin her predicament and Kenshin agrees as long as Sasuke duels him every day for a month (RIP Sasuke). Is impressed how she’s able to remember how to get around the castle after just 2 days and makes Kenshin give her a job and proving that she’s plenty capable, earning Kenshin’s respect. He has faith that she is plenty independent and capable of living a decent life in the castle, but he still offers assistance in unfamiliar settings and will always come up with good ideas to help when mc asks for advice on how to get around certain tasks.

[rayatii]

A (somehow both very biased and not very opinionated) review of the Met orchestra musicians concert “Song to the Moon” from February 21, 2021:

I had been bothering my Tumblr followers with my excitement over this event yesterday, so it felt only right for me to stop procrastinating and give an attempt for a review of the whole thing; I think this is actually my first time writing a lengthy review ever, and it will probably sound naïve and be an embarrassment for me in the future.

It started around 10 PM where I live. I sat in my bed with my computer while eating chocolate in order to stay awake throughout the whole thing, and trying not to spill any pieces on the sheets, excitedly waiting for this event, having actually bought myself a fifteen-buck ticket about three weeks prior with my parents’ credit card (they didn’t bat an eye when I asked their permission), happily knowing that the money was not going to end up in the pockets of the undeserving Met management.

Given the shitty Lebanese Wi-Fi and the fact that this was a livestream, I had been worried that I might miss significant chunks and get upset over the fact. The stream did glitch a few times for me during the first number (mainly because I had my computer on my constantly-moving knees, before settling it down next to me on the bed), but otherwise it never failed me.

But let’s get on with the review. The livestream began with a title card representing an animation of a lunar eclipse, displaying the title “Song to the Moon”. The concert started with a performance of Antonín Dvořák’s String Quintet No. 2 in G Major, Op. 77 by members of the Met orchestra. (actually, given that this is a Met musicians concert, I feel that they ought to be rightfully credited; Nancy Wu, 1st violin [for this piece], Bruno Eicher, 2nd violin [for this piece], Désirée Elsevier, viola, Kari Jane Docter, cello, and Leigh Mesh, double bass.)

I actually listened to a recording of this piece in preparation a few days prior, just so you guys know. Obviously, there were a few slightly flat notes that were played, but overall this was quite a pleasant rendition, and I still have the theme from the 2nd movement stuck in my head as I’m writing this. What I also liked was that at one point (i.e. when I was actually paying attention in that area) I could actually hear the notes being played by the double bass quite clearly, at least compared to the other recording that I had listened to.

Next on the program, the musicians were joined by soprano Angela Gheorghiu (i.e. my main reason for actually purchasing the ticket), who performed all the way from the Athenaeum of Bucharest, Romania, [1st instance of Raya uselessly gushing] looking ethereal in that shot that was shown of her just walking inside the building wearing that white dress and flowing cape, before the actual performance. Just a warning for you guys here; I love Gheorghiu (actually, it’s a bit of a celebrity “crush”), so please expect a little bit of somewhat controlled gushing here and there (partly physical appearance-wise, which are indicated by the bold, and which I deeply hate myself for). This part of the review is causing me even more anxiety for that reason.

She performed on the stage of a theater that was practically empty besides the pianist. She sang in two languages I do not understand at all, which helped me a bit with not getting too distracted by pronunciation. [2nd instance of Raya uselessly gushing] Before I get into what y’all actually came for, I just wanted to get it out of my system about how she had this appearance that defined “has aged, aged really well”. She had this kind of mature beauty, especially with her makeup, that seemed to give me the overall vibes of a pleasant middle-aged auntie. (well, this was very difficult embarrassing to write) Even her singing voice had this sound that can be described as having this sort of “mature” quality blended with the whole fact of her overall sound being “hers”. I hope I have made myself clear.

Okay, gushing finished for now, let’s move on with the review!

Apparently the footage taken in Bucharest and the one taken in New York were both filmed separately. I found it really mind-blowing how the audio of both got synchronized so perfectly.

The first gem Gheorghiu sang was an arrangement of “Tatăl nostru”; basically an early-19th-century musical setting of the Lord’s Prayer by Anton Pann that is still used to this day in the Romanian Orthodox Church (totally NOT reading off the PDF for the program notes provided on the website). I had obviously never heard this piece before; I had tried to (VERY lazily) look it up a bit, but to no avail. I unfortunately don’t remember much from this performance apart from everything mentioned before, but what I do know is that was rendered really epic thanks to the participation of principal Met percussionist Gregory Zuber alongside the string players.

Next was performed the aria after which the whole concert was named, the incredibly famous “Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém” (aka “Song to the Moon”) by Dvořák again, from the opera Rusalka. This version was actually arranged by the violist Elsevier, who is among the musicians who retired from the Met during the pandemic. And it was indeed a beautiful arrangement! Now, unlike “Tatăl nostru”, which I virtually knew nothing about, I love this aria and know it quite well, so I did pay attention to some of the pronunciation; but then again, I do not speak Czech, so it didn’t matter much. Overall, Gheorghiu’s rendition was not perfect (I thinnnnnnnnk there were some notes that were a little bit out of tune? but there was vibrato that also touched the right tone and so I couldn’t tell), and I would certainly not imagine it within the full context of Rusalka the opera (see what I noted above concerning the quality of her voice), but that did not stop me from finding it quite beautiful.

It felt so weird not to hear any applause after each number, and so I could not help but clap after each gem, even though no one could hear me.

After the concert wrapped up, the audience got to watch a chat session between Gheorghiu and Met horn player Barbara Jöstlein Currie, where they talked about how this whole thing came to be (so apparently there was Instagram DM’ing between the two that was involved in the preparation?), before the five string players (which actually include two married couples!) whose music we heard earlier joined in. So unlike the concert, which was all pre-recorded, this was a Zoom session being streamed live. [3rd instance of Raya uselessly gushing] Gheorghiu’s speaking voice sounds radically different from her singing voice, and I can tell English is not her primary language, but that’s just something useless I wanted to include, on which I have zero strong feelings. In contrast to the pre-recorded concert, here she was responsible for me writing in The Balcony Seats Discord server earlier today about how “you know you have aged well when you end up looking a bit like Morticia Addams”, especially with the makeup. [gushing done]

The whole discussion hinged on the concept of “Met family”, and I found the whole interaction between Gheorghiu and the musicians just very very sweet, a star singer and musicians in the pit seeing each other as equals, as family. It’s not every day that I see that (but then again, my background is severely limited, so what do I know). Among the relatively unimportant things the convo touched on that stick with me, in no particular order, are:

Gheorghiu apparently married on the stage of the Met because the guy from the City Hall lost their papers and I never knew that??? (but then again, I never directly research info about my hyperfixations because I get overwhelmed) Everyone had a nice laugh at that recollection.

She got into this whole profession mainly to sing at the Met. Also the whole deal of her making L*vine cry and making her debut at a young age for a star singer.

Everyone relating to the feeling of going home at night after a concert, and not being able to go to sleep because you still have adrenaline flowing through you. As someone who does performing arts, I also relate to that on a moderate degree.

Family life talks.

Gheorghiu mentioning how she can’t work with a director who’s like “your character does that because that’s what I decided” because something something harmony? I can’t remember; I’m pretty sure I’m misquoting. But that’s basically the equivalent of “my house, my rules” (”my production, my interpretation” in that case, lol) imo, so can’t object too much.

Something about playing the finale of Götterdämmerung led the musicians to humorously throw in the idea of Gheorghiu singing Brünnhilde as her next role, and she went all “nah” to that, also humorously.

This led to her admitting that she’s not the biggest fan of Wagner’s music (though she would consider singing Elsa); saying that she’d travel back in time to tell Wager to stop writing these interminable phrases, to just get to the point (I’m not really into Wagner either, so I don’t completely disagree). Also, she believes that Wagner is difficult to sing, and that singers who nail Wagner tend to end up singing only Wagner (here, I think it depends, but there is a point somewhere in here).

She doesn’t seem to like singing acapella/without music very much, which also led her to record some sAcRiLEgiOuS versions of Orthodox worship songs, which you’re apparently not supposed to sing with music.

She sang something like “goodnight, goodnight” (idk) at the very end, it was cute.

To go back to the important stuff, Gheorghiu apparently wrote directly to the Met donors, asking to help in any way, because she wanted to set an example for other people by doing the right thing, and to help what she sees as her “family”, as mentioned above. I had heard some stories about her diva reputation (and she does seem to enjoy attention and stuff, from what I’ve seen myself), but overall she seems like a pretty good person. Mainly mentioning that because as y’all know I’m autistic and can’t tell intricate body language and stuff, plus my very strong belief that good person >>>>>>> great performer. (but my dear friends say that loving her is valid, so I guess I’m safe from too much disappointment. what am I even writing).

And that’s it for my incredibly long and uselessly detailed and almost incoherent and somewhat gushy review, which took me nearly 3 hours to write (and for which I may or may not have replayed a little bit of the stream just to get one bit of info right), and which will, again, probably embarrass me for the rest of my puny life, but which I could not not let out into the void of operablr.

(There were also moments earlier today where I was fantasizing about being interviewed on that very Zoom meeting for the scene-and-duet I composed back in January in response to the Met’s poor treatment of its musicians)

I guess what I can take from this post is: never write a review again, Raya!

[touchingoldmagic]

Day 24 - Jillian Holtzmann Being Weird

Day 24 of the 30 Day Ghostbusters Challenge!

Author’s Notes: Takes place after the Crossing Over storyline of the comics. Warnings for Ron's use of language, as usual. Mentions Ron x Bryan.

"What are you doing here!?" Bryan Welsh blurted out, then immediately looked contrite. "Er, I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

Jillian didn't seem to take offense. "Hello, Windy City!" she said by way of introduction. Bryan was standing behind the front desk at the Chicago Ghostbusters HQ. She reached across the desk and shook his hand. "Jillian Holtzmann. I think we met briefly while keeping the multiverse from collapsing. Please, don't trouble yourself remembering who put that little ball in motion. Ha."

Bryan still looked a little dazed and turned to their administrative manager, Kim, for help. She was seated at the desk, studiously typing up a report on their last case and staying out of the entire conversation.

Bryan hated when he had to awkwardly look for words. "Yes, ah, Dr. Holtzmann, I remember you. I--we didn't expect--aren't you from another dimension?"

Kim raised her eyebrows almost to her hairline but did not look up from her keyboard.

"I'm here for a visit. It's scientific. Perfectly legal. Mostly. Besides, I have a chaperone." The blond physicist hooked an arm around the smaller woman who had entered the building with her.

"I'm not a chaperone," Kylie grumbled. "I was coming here anyway and she tagged along. There's an estate sale this afternoon downtown, some guy who was a big name in occult studies. I'm here to see if I can pick up some books for the boss."

"Oh, the Pickering Estate?" Bryan asked. "I think Dani was going to go, too. Maybe you two could go together."

Kylie looked surprised. "I didn't know Dani was interested in the research aspect of the biz."

Bryan shrugged. "Well she said we didn't have anyone to do it and we should, and she seems to be taking it pretty seriously so far. Our spare room has two bookshelves full now."

"Oh yeah? Anything good?" To say books were one of Kylie's interests was a bit of an understatement.

Bryan shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Oh, I guess? I dunno, really, but she'll be back from lunch soon and you could ask her."

While the two were talking, Jillian took one careful step backward, then another. Then, seeing as no one had any reaction, she turned and hurried down the hall that led past the front reception area and deeper into the building.

The short hall had three other doors and a stairwell. "Women's intuition is telling meeeeee... this one." Jillian pointed at the first door on the left and pushed it open without knocking.

Inside the small office space was a desktop covered in broken pencils, paperwork, schematics, tools, loose screws, and bits of oily spare parts leaving stains on the desk blotter. Behind the desk was Ron Alexander, feet propped up on a desk drawer that jutted open and hat pulled down low over his face to cover his eyes.

"Boo-yah," Jillian said with satisfaction.

Ron looked up. "Oh fuck, you," he sighed in recognition.

"I decline," Jillian returned immediately, making Ron look confused for a moment, but she continued before he could get a word in. "Thought I'd stop by and say hi. Nice city. So how're you doing, Ronny?"

"Call me that again and I'll kick your ass."

"Great. Listen, Ronny," Jillian plowed on without pausing for breath. "You remember anything about the thing in New York? I mean, obviously you do. We both do. But the details? The notes we scribbled all over the walls of your friend's place during the planning stages? Remember any of that? Anything specific?"

Ron put his feet down and sat up, as it seemed getting the talkative blond out of his office wasn't going to be as easy as just ignoring her. "Nope."

"Me either." Jillian tipped her head and narrowed her eyes at the wall over Ron's head. He didn't have anything hanging there, so he assumed she was thinking about something. Though with her it was hard to tell. "It's possible rapid and multiple crossing of dimensions might impair localization of long-term memory or something," she admitted.

"Or something," Ron muttered, a lot more suspicious than the physicist, and therefore a lot quicker to jump to conclusions. "I have a feeling those losers in New York had something to do with it."

"Those are my friends," Jillian pointed out in a careful tone (which was interesting to hear, as she hardly ever sounded careful in her life).

"I was talking about the ones with dicks," Ron said.

Jillian considered that for a moment. "Those ones are also my friends," she decided.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Look, I don't remember shit and the notes are gone, so that's it. I don't even care, it was more trouble than it's worth. I'm not jumping through hoops again the next time the universes decide to collapse. Or spending another week in the hospital." His hand reflexively went to his chest and then he quickly put his hand down at his side again. "So if that's it feel free to leave, and don't let the door smack you on the ass on your way out."

"Wasn't here for that," Jillian insisted. "Just curious. My plane's not leaving 'til tonight. We've got time. We could get lunch." Jillian warmed up to this idea and her speech sped up. "In fact, we should all go. That lady at the front desk looked like she could use a breadstick. Possibly two."

The idea of spending several more hours with Jillian Holtzmann, when she wasn't distracted by complex equations and jury-rigged machinery, was a terrifying one. "And why would we do that?"

The physicist looked honestly perplexed. Her team ate lunch together all the time, she honestly couldn't picture it any other way. "Uh? Team building? Group bonding? Sharing unlimited soup and salads at Olive Garden? We could make it a lunch date. You're dating the jittery one out front with the little upturned nose, right?"

Ron sucked in a breath so quick it triggered a coughing fit. "WHAT?" he gasped out as he fought for air.

"He's cute, I mean, I assume." Jillian shrugged. "What, is workplace fun not allowed? No worries, your secret's safe with me. Unless you have something I want, then I'm going to blackmail you. Ha."

Ron stood up and pointed a finger at her. "Listen here you little b--"

"Anyway! This is for you." Jillian all but bounced forward, leaned across his desk, and dropped something onto Ron's outstretched index finger, still pointing in her direction. Ron froze and stared at it. Gingerly, he lifted it off his finger and turned it around.

It was a baseball cap. Dark blue in color, and on the front, embroidered in white, was the letter U with a nail going through it.

Ron looked at the hat, then raised his eyes to look at the pendant hanging from Jillian's neck, then lifted them up to her face. "What," he said succinctly, "the fuck?"

Jillian leaned against the front of Ron's desk with one hip, folding her arms across her chest. "Remember when you said we were friends and I declined?"

Following conversations with Jillian Holtzmann was like programming code. It gave him a headache. "No. I think I said we hit it off and you said 'eh.'"

"Right, look, Ronny, I've been thinking." She ignored his growl. "What I said before, about how I didn't really click with anyone until Abby and Erin and Patty and Kevin? I've been thinking that searching through an infinite number of dimensions for people who think like me was a bad idea. Not that it's not cool to meet alternate me's. Especially hot secret agent alternate me's." Ron's lip curled in disgust. "Anyway," she continued, "I think maybe instead of being so focused on finding people like me, I'm gonna work harder to be friends with people who are different. And we did make a pretty good team."

Ron snorted. "Dunno about that," he said, but he leaned over and placed the cap in the desk drawer that he'd been using to prop up his feet before she came in, and slid the drawer closed.

Then he straightened and leveled her with a look. "We're not going to the damn Olive Garden. I have standards. And I'm not paying for your lunch."

Jillian gave a hiss of triumph and launched herself toward the door, eager to start in on convincing the cute secretary to come to lunch with them. "Wouldn't dream of it, Ronny. I can't wait to inflict chaos on your economic structure by slipping some alternate dimension currency into the system. Mwa ha ha. You have President Downey Jr. on your twenty dollar bills, right? Kidding! Or am I?"

"Holtzmann," Ron said.

She stopped short of the door, leaned back on her heels and pivoted around to face him. "Hmm?"

"How did you know? About...?" He tilted his head toward the door, indicating the front of the building.

Jillian smirked. "Didn't. Guessed. Your freak out was telling. Also you have a little doodle of a ghost on the corner of your desk and you don't seem like the doodling type."

Ron looked down at his desk and cursed and Jillian slipped out into the hall to wrangle up the Chicago Ghostbusters for lunch.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Were you invited to a free dinner? Did it change your life?

‘Influence’ by Professor Robert Cialdini could explain some things.

Robert Cialdini is a Professor of Psychology at Arizona State University and has spent many years devoted to the scientific investigation and research of persuasion techniques.

In his Introduction to Influence, a book that has sold three million copies and been translated into over thirty languages, Robert Cialdini admits he had aways been an easy mark for salespeople, peddlers and fundraisers. It had never been easy for him to just say ‘no’ when asked to donate money.

An experimental social psychologist, he began wondering about the actual techniques that are used to make a person agree to do something when normally they would not be interested.  As part of his research, Cialdini answered newspaper ads for various sales training programs so he could learn first hand about persuasion and selling techniques. He penetrated advertising, public relations and fundraising agencies in order to glean the secrets of the 'psychology of compliance’ from its professional practitioners.

The result is both a classic work of marketing and psychology that shows us why we are so vulnerable to persuasion, in the process telling us much about human nature.

Getting our tapes to play

Cialdini starts by discussing the mothering instinct of turkeys. Mother turkeys are very protective, good mothers, but their mothering instinct has been found to be triggered by one thing and one thing only: the 'cheep-cheep’ sound of her chicks. The polecat is the natural enemy of the turkey, and when a mother turkey sees one she will instantly go into attack mode; she will do so even at the sight of a stuffed version of a polecat. But when the same stuffed polecat is made to make the same 'cheep cheep’ sound that her chicks make, something strange happens: the mother turkey becomes a devoted protector of it!

You may think: how dumb are animals. Press a button, and they act a certain way, even if those actions are ridiculous. But Cialdini tells us about turkey behavior only to prepare us for the uncomfortable truth about human automatic reaction. We also have our 'preprogrammed tapes’ which usually work for us in positive ways – for instance, to ensure our survival without having to think too much – but they can also be played to our detriment when we are unaware of the triggers.

Cialdini identifies half a dozen 'weapons of influence’, ways of getting us to act automatically that sidesteps our normal rational decision making processes. Psychologists call these easily triggered behaviors 'fixed-action patterns’ – know the trigger, and you can predict with reasonable likelihood how a person will react.

A more accurate but longer title for Influence may have been 'How to get automatic reactions from people before they can think rationally about your proposition’. Cialdini’s six basic 'weapons’ that compliance professionals use to get people to say 'yes’ without thinking include: reciprocation, commitment and consistency; social proof; liking; authority; and scarcity.  

He recently added a seventh, unity, the idea that we share an identity, or commonalities of identity, with someone else. And we are much more likely to say ‘yes’ to such a person. LINK

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1.    Rule of Reciprocity

According to sociologists and anthropologists, one of the most widespread and basic norms of human culture is embodied in the rule of reciprocity This rule requires that one person try to repay what another person has provided. By obligating the recipient to an act of repayment in the future, the rule for reciprocation allows one individual to give something to another with the confidence that it is not being lost.

This sense of future obligation, according to the rule, makes possible the development of various kinds of continuing relationships, transactions, and exchanges that are beneficial to society. Consequently, virtually all members of society are trained from childhood to abide by this rule or suffer serious social disapproval.

The decision to comply with someone’s request is frequently based upon the Rule of Reciprocity. Again, a possible and profitable tactic to gain probable compliance would be to give something to someone before asking for a favor in return.

The opportunity to exploit this tactic is due to three characteristics of the Rule of Reciprocity:

1.     The rule is extremely powerful, often overwhelming the influence of other factors that normally determine compliance with a request.

2.     The rule applies even to uninvited first favors, which reduces our ability to decide whom we wish to owe and putting the choice in the hands of others.

3.     The rule can spur unequal exchanges. That is, to be rid of the uncomfortable feeling of indebtedness, an individual will often agree to a request for a substantially larger favor, than the one he or she first received.

Another way in which the Rule of Reciprocity can increase compliance involves a simple variation on the basic theme: instead of providing a favor first that stimulates a returned favor, an individual can make instead an initial concession – that stimulates a return concession.

One compliance procedure, called the “rejection-then-retreat technique”, or door-in-the-face technique, relies heavily on the pressure to reciprocate concessions. By starting with an extreme request that is sure to be rejected, the requester can then profitably retreat to a smaller request – the one that was desired all along. This request is likely to now be accepted because it appears to be a concession. Research indicates that aside from increasing the likelihood that a person will say yes to a request, the rejection-then-retreat technique also increases the likelihood that the person will carry out the request and will agree to future requests.

The best defense against manipulation by the use of the Rule of Reciprocity to gain compliance is not the total rejection of initial offers by others. But rather, accepting initial favors or concessions in good faith, while also remaining prepared to see through them as tricks should they later be proven so. Once they are seen in this way, there is no longer a need to feel the necessity to respond with a favor or concession.

_________________________________________

1. Reciprocity. We are obliged to give if we have been given something.

2. Scarcity. If it's scarce, we want it more. Use this by highlighting the Benefits, Uniqueness and Possible Loss.

3. Authority. We are more likely to comply with a request if it is coming from a perceived authority/expert.

4. Consistency. We want to be consistent with our past commitments, even if the initial commitment is much smaller.

5. Liking. We like people who are similar, who give us compliments and who co-operate with us.

6. Consensus. If others (especially similar others) are doing it, then we are more likely to do it ourselves. [Social pressure]

7. Unity. Robert Cialdini recently added a seventh, unity, the idea that we share an identity, or commonalities of identity, with someone else. We are much more likely to say ‘yes’ to such a person.

_________________________________________

Video: Science Of Persuasion

_________________________________________

conformity

Bending Truth – Cognitive Dissonance

Cult Indoctrination – and the Road to Recovery

Sun Myung Moon’s theology used to control members

_________________________________________

VIDEO: Terror Love and Brainwashing ft. Alexandra Stein

Chris Shelton: This week on Sensibly Speaking I have Dr. Alexandra Stein, social psychologist and author of the book Terror, Love and Brainwashing. We discuss various aspects of cult behavior and psychology.

Comments: This is an outstanding piece of work that I will go back to several times. It has provided me with a degree of clarity hitherto unknown. Now, what do I do with it?

Some brilliant information, again, thank you. I found the part about separating from ones emotions and not allowing yourself to process them particularly interesting. Having been brought up in a Scientology family, I still struggle with dealing with ("low tone") emotions.

Dr. Stein's entirely justifiable reaction to Chris’s mentioning the dread James R. Lewis and J Gordon Melton et hoc genus omni (24:36 onwards) was worth the price of admission alone! ;) May Eileen Barker, Massimo Introvigne and all the other 'New Religious Movement' merchants and cult apologists be consigned to the dustbin of history as soon as possible.

_________________________________________

[mymarvelbunch]

Be Your Own Hero - Steve Rogers x Reader (part 8)

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve lost all your family and most friends in The Decimation. Refusing to believe their deaths are permanent, you dedicate years to find a way to reverse it. Upon finding something that might help, you search for the Avengers’ help. It’s Steve Rogers x Reader, but in reality it’s mostly Badass!Reader. Also, Non-American!Reader

Warnings: violence.

Note: Y/Co = your country. Y/Ci = your city; Y/N/L = your native language.

Previously (summary): Y/N gets captured by Thanos. After Bruce reversed the Snap, all the Avengers set course to 2014 to rescue Y/N, who had already fled to Asgard, thanks to 2014 Gamora and Nebula’s efforts. Steve realizes he’s in love with Y/N and is desperate to get her back safe and sound.

Part Eight

You woke up to see... Nebula?

She wasn’t an exact clone of the one you knew, which meant you were still in 2014. Beside her, a green humanoid female stood. You remembered seeing her frame in Nebula’s transmission, so she must be Gamora.

You were tied down, arms and legs, and gagged. The room around you was purple and black, and cold. You looked down to see your damaged timer still there.

“Thanos ordered us to... interrogate you”, Gamora began. “And we will... but we have a proposal first.”

2014 Nebula spoke. “First, you have to promise you won’t scream.” You nodded. Of course you weren’t going to scream, and Gamora’s words and body language indicated that whatever proposal she had in mind could truly benefit you. Nebula took your gag off. “The Nebula you were with... she betrayed Thanos before his death, didn’t she?”

You nodded. “I don’t know all the details, but I know she had already turned on him before the Decimation.” At Gamora’s frown, you proceeded, “It’s what we call the event in which Thanos killed half of the universe’s living beings. He was killed soon after, and my Nebula was the one to give his location away. Willingly.”

The two sister exchanged glances. “Where am I?”, Gamora asked. “In your future?”

You bit your lip. “Dead. Thanos sacrificed you for the Soul Stone.” You weren’t completely sure of it, but you firmly believed that theory. And Thanos did kill Gamora, whatever his reason had been.

“Is there any way this can be changed?” Past Nebula asked in a tone that reminded you of the one you sent back to 2021. You let a half-smile slip.

“This is... an alternate universe. Not mine. Whatever we do here won’t affect my present, only your own future. We... have our reasons to be here, reasons I’d rather not say in this ship.”

“We have a suspicion”, Gamora replied, “but you have a right not to confirm it. What is your name?” You told her. “So, Y/N, here’s the deal: you tell us all you know about our future and how we escaped Thanos’ grasp, and in exchange we will aid your escape. No one can watch or hear us in this room; we’re safe.”

“We have no intention of seeing Thanos’ plan through”, Nebula added. “He wants to repair your watch and send us to your year. We know it’ll only lead to destruction.”

You suspected their determination to sabotage Thanos was strengthened after you told them of Gamora’s death, but you didn’t question anything. You simply nodded. “What else do you want to know?”

.

Their interrogation lasted shorter than you expected. You told them what little you knew about Gamora’s last four years of life, especially about the Guardians of the Galaxy, and about the Soul Stone.

Gamora’s final question was, “Are your companions coming to get you?”

You shrugged. “My Nebula wanted to, and I think the rest would like to come back as well. I’m not sure if they will able to, though.” You remembered Stark saying that they had a limited supply of Pym Particles, which was why it was so important they got all the Stones at first try. You didn’t know if there were enough of them to make another trip.

Besides, this was an alternate timeline. It was possible that, if they tried to go back to 2014 again, they’d just end up in another 2014, in which you and Nebula hadn’t arrived at. You hoped it wasn’t the case.

“Regardless”, Nebula said, “we can’t let you stay here for long. Sooner or later Thanos will find out we didn’t do what he told us to do, and it’s best if you are already out of this ship by then.”

“We have untraceable escape pods, don’t we?”, Gamora asked her sister. At the later’s nod, she said, “Then we’ll put you on one to a place where your watch can be fixed and you can safely go back to your own time, without our father breathing on your neck.” She then knelt and untied your legs. “We’ll keep your arms tied for now, in case we are seen.”

You nodded. “Can I go to Asgard?”, you asked as you stood up.

Gamora frowned. “I thought you’d want to go to Earth. Wasn’t you watch built there?”

“Yes, but in years from now. I don’t know if my companions have the resources required to repair it today. Besides, there is another me there at the moment. I don’t want to draw attention.”

“Someone from Earth in Asgard is bound to draw attention”, Nebula said.

“If I recall correctly, it wouldn’t be the first time.” Thor’s story left unclear if Jane Foster had been on Asgard while possessed by the Reality Stone, but where else would they have been able to remove it?

“Then we’ll program the pod to take you there”, she replied with a nod. Then Gamora unlocked the door and grabbed you by the arm. “Act as a prisoner”, she whispered. You tensed, and it wasn’t all acting.

For a moment, you wondered if the two hadn’t lured you into a trap. You were completely at their mercy, and your timer could be easily snatched away. Nebula’s and Rocket’s stories let you think that both sisters were already thinking about deflecting in 2014, but what if they hadn’t yet?

They didn’t ask a single thing that could actually help them on repairing your timer, but maybe they had already figured out a way to travel in time while you were unconscious. How, you couldn’t imagine, but it was possible. If that was the case, they were simply trying to discover what was waiting for them in 2021 to go more prepared, and now that they were done with you, you’d be killed.

You mentally revised what you told them. There was next to no information on anyone aside from the Guardians, and since you barely knew them, there wasn’t much to tell. But... oh no. You said your ‘companions’ could come to your rescue.

It meant more timers to steal and figure out its use. Timers that didn’t require repairs. If your fears were true, you truly would be better off killed for them.

Was that it? Were they taking you to your freedom, or to your death?

Consumed as you were by your thoughts, you didn’t notice you three had been caught until a couple aliens started shooting. Gamora quickly led you to another corridor, while Nebula stayed behind. “What...?”

“Don’t look back, just come!”, Gamora whispered-shouted as you two ran. Eventually you arrived in a section full of tiny ships. More slowly this time, the green woman inspected each ship carefully. “Here”, she finally said. “This one.” She opened it and untied your arms. Then she typed a few things you didn’t understand. “It’s on autopilot, so you won’t have to do anything. Let’s just hope no one will get in your way. Farewell, Y/N. Stay safe.”

“You too”, you replied. “Thank you for everything.”

She gave you a small smile. “You’re welcome. Goodbye.”

Then, she closed the ship, and it landed off. 

.

Thanks to the multiple space jumps at light speed, you ended passing out, and you had no idea how much time had passed when you arrived at Asgard. It was pure luck that you managed to wake up in time to see the flat planet from above.

It was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, but you barely had time to admire it, as the pod landed fast on a bridge.

As you got out of the pod, a man ran to you. “I’ll have to take you to Allfather”, he announced.

“Oh, great”, you said. “He’s the one I’d like to talk to.”

As the man led you inside the huge castle, you tried to remember how Loki looked like. Thor said his friend Sif had disclosed the location of the Reality Stone only to Loki, so you guessed he must have been the king at the time it happened. Also, he said Loki retrieved the Tesseract upon escaping 2017 Asgard. How else would he know where it was, if he wasn’t king?

At least, that was what you thought, until you saw an old man sitting on the throne. Odin?

“Thank you, Skurge”, the supposed king said as the guard awkwardly introduce you - he had forgotten to interrogate you, so he had nothing to say. “I’ll take it from here. Please, go back to your post.”

‘Skurge’ nodded and hurried out. You turned to the man and said, “I’m honored to meet you, Allfather, but I was actually looking for your sons, Thor and Loki.”

The man frowned. “What do you want from them?”

“I am from the future, Your Highness. Seven years from now, to be more precise. I’ve met Thor, and he spoke much of his brother, and I firmly believe the two of them can help me go back to my time before Thanos captures me again.”

The king frowned at the mention of Thanos, and asked you a more detailed story. You told him about how, in your time, half of the universe had been wiped out with the power of the Infinity Stones, and how you and a team of experts had figured out how to travel in time to undo all the deaths. You also briefly explained how you ended up caught by Thanos, who wanted your timer to go to your present and destroy your team and stop your efforts.

“It’s urgent that we take you out of this time, indeed”, he said at the end of your speech. “However, I’m afraid we can’t contact my sons. Thor is in Midgard as we speak, and Loki died last year.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but Thor was very clear when telling us that Loki died in 2018. That’s four years from now.”

The king adjusted himself in his seat. “How can you be so sure of this?”

“He said Loki died protecting the Space Stone from Thanos. A hero’s death. And before that, a woman named Sif told him where she hid the Reality Stone after taking it from Jane Foster, a Midgardian. Honestly, I came here assuming he was king.” You deeply hoped you weren’t spilling away any secrets.

The king seemed stunned for a moment. “Follow me, lady.” You obeyed, following him to a room near the throne hall. As he closed the door behind you, a bright light surrounded him, and in the place of the old man was one you instantly recognized as Loki himself. “I suppose there is no point in hiding”, he said, more to himself than to you.

You blinked. “What?”, was all you could say.

“I have my reasons to do this”, he replied, seemingly offended. “Now, you said you were looking for me and Thor to repair your timer.”

“Yes. It was built on Earth, or Midgard as you called, but Asgard is more technologically advanced, and I guessed it would be safer to come here than to my obvious birth planet.”

He nodded. “A wise decision. I suspected you were not from this dimension since you showed up. My mother would probably have sensed exactly what you were, but she died before she could teach me more advanced magic. I will see how can I help you.” A pause. “Thanos kidnapped me once. You must know of the Chitauri invasion, since it was on your planet.” You nodded. “I won’t say I was innocent, but under a right mind I’d never try to destroy Midgard and rule it. Thanos used the Mind Stone on me, in a refined and twisted way. Mother spent months working on cleaning my mind off his influence. Point is, I know how destructive Thanos is and wants to be. One of my goals as king is to strengthen Asgardians forces to defeat him, but I suppose this doesn’t happen in your future.”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what happened to this planet, but it was abandoned in 2018. There is little left of your people, and they live on a settlement on Earth. The last defense against Thanos before he used the Stones were the Avengers, and an army from Wakanda, which is a country on Earth.”

He frowned. “Only one army fought against him?”

“Earth wasn’t aware of the threat until it was too late.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand. Well, we can’t let him reach you again. You said you were told you escape pod has no track inside, but I don’t think we can rely on that information. We need to act fast.”

A knock was heard. Loki assumed his disguise again and opened it. Skurge was panting. “An army arrived at the bridge. Thor seems to be with them, but he looks... quite different.”

“Let them come”, he said solemnly. Skurge nodded and hurried back. “I suppose they come from your future. How... different is Thor?”

You sighed. “He suffered a lot from losing you... and losing everyone else. He’s depressed, and it took a lot of effort to even bring him to battle.”

Loki’s Old Man face was sad as he left the room and led you back to the throne hall.

Steve must have seen you before you saw him - or anyone else -, because he hurried to you and hugged you before you could even wave at the team. “Thank God you’re okay”, he whispered. You hugged him back as tightly as you could.

“Thank you for coming”, you replied. He broke the hug and looked at you.

“Are you kidding me? I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”

Your heart skipped several beats at his words, and you were sure your cheeks were red.

“Hey, hey, let the poor girl breathe a little!”, you heard Stark say, and tilted your head to see him approach you. At the back, Loki had already dropped his disguise, and seemed to be having a heartfelt talk with Thor. You also noticed, with great delight, that there were many faces you didn’t recognize, meaning Nebula followed your wishes and brought everyone back before coming. “I brought you a new timer. It’s quicker than trying to repair this one here.” He gave you the timer as you took the broken one off. Just as you were placing the new one on your wrist, the castle started shaking - you almost let the timer fall, but you held it tight.

“What’s happening?”, you shouted.

“Thanos is here!”, someone you didn’t know (an Avenger brought from the ashes, you guessed) exclaimed. “Shooting at us!”

Your eyes widened. “I thought the escape pod was untraceable!”

“And it is!”, someone exclaimed. Gamora was there? “I don’t know how they found out!”

You saw Steve turning to her with anger in his expression, but Nebula - your Nebula - jumped in her sister’s defense. “Was 2014 me aware of where the pod was going?” Gamora nodded. “Then Thanos checked the footage of her eye upon retrieving her body.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears. 2014 Nebula had died aiding your escape, then. And you feared she was lying to you...

Steve sighed and turned to you. “All the more reason to get you back to our present”, he said. “Put on your timer on. I’ll go with you.”

You wholeheartedly agreed with him. You just wanted to go home. “But what about the rest of the team?”, you asked. “They all carry timers that can be stolen by Thanos.”

“Don’t worry about that”, Thor said, hand raised in your direction in a weird manner. “This Asgard can defend itself.”

“Okay...”, you said, “but what exactly are you doing? This doesn’t seem to help anything, with all due respect.”

“Sometimes it takes time to get here”, Loki replied casually, as if you were supposed to know what he was talking about.

You imitated Thor’s gesture to see if it helped you understand. When it failed, you asked “What takes time to-”, you were interrupted by an impact on your hand.

You screamed.

“WHY IS THERE A HAMMER IN MY HAND?”

You felt hands on your shoulders and heard a laugh. Too tense to drop the hammer down, you turned to see Steve smiling. And half of the audience carrying surprised expressions on their faces. “What?”, you said.

Thor laughed loudly. “A worthy sister-in-arms!”

Loki frowned. “Since when does a Midgardian fits Odin’s spell of worth?”

It was your turn to frown. The ground began to shake more. “What spell of worth?”

It was a woman warrior who answered, “'Whosoever holds this hammer, if be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor’. I think you should stay and battle, after all. Thor already has Stormbreaker.”

You looked at Steve. “If that’s what you want”, he said. “I’m pretty sure you are capable of fighting at this point.” He was still smiling, as if he was proud of you. You made a mental note to ask more on that later.

There wasn’t much to think, though. The hall fell down, and while everyone managed to escape the ruins, Thanos and his army approached. You adjusted your new timer and prepared yourself, weapon in hand. Steve raised his shield.

.

The power of Thor was awesome. It came intuitively, as if you were born to hold that hammer, and it was beautiful to see.

However, it didn’t make you invulnerable to attacks, and the hammer wasn’t that good at defense. Thankfully, Steve was always by your side, and his shield helped a lot. A few knives on your pocket helped as well - thankfully, Gamora and Nebula didn’t empty your suit.

Speaking of the sisters, from a distance you saw the two of them uniting to kill Thanos. Most of his allies flew off after that, but his most loyal - and powerful - ones stayed and kept attacking. “I think we’re done here”, Steve whispered.

“I agree”, you said. “I’m okay with leaving.”

You dropped the hammer and activated your suit. There was no place for goodbyes as you and Steve turned the timer on.

.

Avengers Headquarters, 2021

You felt dizzy as you saw the time machine controls around you. You heard Banner’s voice ask where everyone else was. “They’ll come back anytime soon”, Steve replied as he held you. “I’ll take her to rest”, he added, and picked you bride-style. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck.

All exhaustion from the day (God, it all been only a day) overwhelmed you as Steve took you to... a room. Your eyes couldn’t keep themselves open enough for you to see if it was yours or not.

You felt yourself being laid down on a bed, but couldn’t bring yourself to let go of Steve just yet. He was so warm... “Y/N?”, he prompted.

“You’re warm”, you said simply. “Warm...”, and darkness came again, but this time you welcomed it.

Next

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

Action all packed, now it’s only fluff ahead! I decided against detailing the battle because of the following reasons:

It would be hard to describe the battle from the POV of someone who had no experience in fighting and would have little idea of what was happening.

This chapter was long enough already.

I didn’t want this fic to have too much graphic violence.

The person who announced Thanos’ arrival is Strange. The ‘woman warrior’ who recited Odin’s spell is Sif (in part 7, Sif is brought to fight after coming back; in canon she died in the Snap).

Taglist (open!): @autobotgirl15-blog​ @starstrucknature @cheeseburgersstuff​ @aamzter2013

[anghraine]

“the jedi and the sith lord” - chapter six

It’s short, but ends where I wanted it to!

Last chapter:

Amidala, Lucy thought blankly. Amidala was her mother?

A senator? A founder of the Rebellion?

A protégée of the Emperor’s?

This chapter:

Yet again, she wondered how he’d come by Padmé’s possessions. She had no difficulty imagining him seizing anything of value to him from anyone, dead or alive, but why these? Why—

Obi-Wan never told you about Padmé? 

Lucy exhaled, not wanting to give in. But this might be her only chance. She said,

“Did you know my mother?”

chapters: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker– prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten; The Imperial Menace–chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven; The Jedi and the Sith Lord—chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five

-

Lucy woke blearily, her thoughts immediately skittering between Padmé Amidala and the Rogue One team. She could still hardly believe that she’d seen Captain Andor and Jyn Erso and all the rest, and yet it seemed scarcely more incredible than knowing her mother’s name. 

Amidala. Queen, senator, Rebel. 

No, Lucy thought. Padmé. If Vader could go around calling her by her first name, so could Lucy. 

Shadows flickered around her. Still sleepy, Lucy just blinked. What had Padmé thought of her, in those first unremembered minutes? What had she expected for her daughter? Hoped? 

What about Andor and Erso and Rook and—loyally, she tried to recall each face. The blind monk whose name she still didn’t remember. The burly man whom she suspected might be his husband. The shapeshifting droid. Lieutenant Sefla. They’d wanted to see her. What had they thought, as she babbled about Vader and her captivity and all of it? They hadn’t seemed disappointed, or … they’d wanted to help. So many people did. Padmé, too, in her last days.

Lucy had no memory of Padmé or what she might have said, but she focused tightly on the team whose sacrifice had led to her victory. 

Remember who you are. 

Be ready.

Don’t spend your life without reason.

You can always do more alive than dead.

You are never alone in the Force.

There’s someone who can help you—

Who? Where?

One of the shadows, roughly human-shaped, drew nearer to her, blotting out the lighter ones around it. How odd. Lucy’s thoughts drifted from her vision and her past, to the present moment. Was she still asleep?

“Who are—”

With a click, the shadows all slightly lightened.

“Good morning, Miss Lucy!” 

Lucy squinted at the human-ish shadow. “Tuvié?”

“Can you visually identify me?” she asked. “Are you going to jump again?”

“No,” said Lucy. “That is, not at the moment. And I can’t see … but I can see something.” 

She turned her head right and left, reaching for tendrils of the Force to make sense of the blurry shapes around her. She had to close her eyes, slow her breathing, and try several times to manage it, but when she looked around again, her sense of the objects around her matched up with her muddled vision.

She pointed across the room at something tall, broad, and rectangular. “That’s the wardrobe, right?”

“Why, yes!” said Tuvié. Something about her voice struck Lucy as a little strange. Not very, just … off. Was she lying? “How wonderful! You’ll be fully recovered in no time!”

It didn’t feel like no time. Lucy almost itched for the day when she’d be what she was before the carbon-freeze. But that could bring its own danger with it. Vader might well be less tolerant of her resistance once she could see. He certainly might if she kept reaching for the Force—whatever he’d said, she knew he wanted her to turn to the Dark Side so he could use her for his own ends, whatever they might be. He didn’t really want her to be a Jedi. Certainly not a proper Jedi, walking in the Light.

Lucy didn’t know how much Tuvié had been told of the real situation—clearly not much—but perhaps some part of that knowledge had percolated through her circuits. Or maybe something else was bothering her.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Lucy said. “Tuvié, are you all right?”

Tuvié went absolutely silent for several moments. Then she said,

“Yes! I always am! My programming, equipment, and component parts are all of excellent quality.”

“Right,” said Lucy.

“It—it is very kind of you to ask,” Tuvié went on, her tone lowering. “Especially when I will soon be providing such limited services to you.”

Lucy had told herself that she couldn’t trust Vader’s droids. She had no business developing attachments to them. Nevertheless, she burst out,

“You’re leaving?”

“Leaving? Not at all,” said Tuvié. “But once you have full command of your senses, you will require much less assistance from me. I shall continue to guard and protect you to the utmost of my capacities, of course.”

She sounded positively morose. It might be an act, or a limitation of her knowledge or programming, but— 

There’s someone who can help you, Lucy remembered the monk saying. No, that wasn’t quite right. There’s someone there who can help you. Who will, if you follow your feelings.

Someone here, in the castle. Had he meant Tuvié?

It was, in all honesty, difficult to imagine him meaning anyone else. Still, even free droids were usually loyal to their programmers, and Tuvié seemed devoted to Vader. How was Lucy, a mere … guest, supposed to break through that in time to achieve anything? What could Tuvié even do for her, anyway?

Lucy concentrated on the anxious swirl of her emotions. She couldn’t quite pick them out, not as she had the night before, and the Force was slipping out of her grasp. But she liked Tuvié. Was that the kind of feeling she could trust? Could she trust Tuvié?

“I’m sure I’ll still need your help,” Lucy told her, and managed a faint smile. “At least with Sen—with Mother’s clothes.”

“I hadn’t considered that!” said Tuvié, her tone brightening. “They are quite complex. Yes, you’re correct.”

Lucy paused, then replied, “Ei-yanà.”

“I didn’t catch that, Miss Lucy,” Tuvié said.

Lucy couldn’t hang onto the smile, but she made sure her voice was firm as she dropped from the bed to the floor. 

“That’s how we’d say it.”

Tuvié gave a loud squeak. “In the mystery language?”

“Alsaraic,” said Lucy, heading towards the fresher. 

“Al-sa-rai-ic,” Tuvié repeated dutifully. “Ei-yanà. You are correct. Valiya. Maker. No—you said it was closer to ‘mother’ in typical usage, yes? And then you said that both your valì and valiya had been terminated. Valì is … father?”

“That’s right,” said Lucy, peering around at the muddled shadows of the fresher. She nearly jumped when Tuvié stepped forward and began methodically unbraiding her hair, even though she’d grown used to it, or thought she had. Lucy didn’t quite have the heart to tell Tuvié that she could do it on her own.

She couldn’t, however, figure out the controls on the sonic shower on her own; they were too blurry to even distinguish as separate objects. Teeth gritted, Lucy stepped into the shower stall and waited.

Tuvié only turned on the cleanser after a very cold second.

“But what would you call yourself, Miss Lucy?”

Kavashti, thought Lucy, though she’d almost never even heard the word, only the Basic equivalent. 

Freeborn. 

On Tatooine, or at least the part of Tatooine that she knew, freeborn didn’t mean just anyone free from birth. It referred to the ones who would have been born into slavery, if luck had not intervened—the children of freed slaves and of slave families. Among the people Lucy had known, it was as often an insult as not. But Beru said that kavashti was a term of honour and joy among the Alsarai, that Shmi had told her so when Beru admitted that her grandfather was freeborn.

She didn’t feel like explaining it all to Tuvié, and the sound of the shower at least gave her an excuse not to. She didn’t even know why it had come into her head.

When the roar of the cleanser and its vibrations against her skin stopped, Lucy stepped out, shivering, onto the floor. 

“Da,” she said at last. “That’s I.”

-

Once she was dressed, Lucy hurried out of her bedroom with Tuvié, determined to pick up whatever details she could with her dim new vision. Following the half-familiar path that she took everyday, she peered at the blurry dark shapes all around her while offering words and phrases to Tuvié, who seemed even more delighted than usual. 

They were nearly to the dining hall by the time it struck Lucy that, if she’d been able to sense Vader when she connected herself to the Force, he might well have sensed her in return. She guessed so, at any rate; there was a lot she still didn’t know about how the Force worked. 

Well, she wasn’t going to cut herself off just to hide. Lucy couldn’t see what else she might do about it, except ignore the clench in her chest.

She straightened. 

“Mm,” she said. “Is that breakfast? It smells delicious.”

She had only just sat down and reached for something she presumed to be a fork when she felt the darkness of the Force in the place sharpening into something weightier and more mingled. Vader. 

Lucy’s fingers tightened on the utensil. 

“Is this a fork?” she asked Tuvié, as lightly as she could. 

“Yes,” said Tuvié, adjusting her grip. “There you are, Miss Lucy. Do you need further assistance in manipulating the meal?”

“Maybe,” said Lucy, not quite willing to trust her management of the fuzzy object on her plate. “But I was asking for you. It’s a kila.”

The heavy presence drew nearer.

“Kila!” Tuvié repeated happily. “That is how you say fork?”

“Yes. My aunt used to say savà kilad—that’s ‘use your fork.’ I didn’t like them for some reason when I was little.”

“Ah, so possession is indicated by—”

The door slammed open.

“Lord Vader!” exclaimed Tuvié. “Good morning! As you can see, Miss Lucy is nearly prepared for an enjoyable and fulfilling day!”

Vader’s steps thudded forwards, until he stood almost immediately behind Lucy. Her muscles twitched. She tended to think he’d kill her face-to-face, but sitting with her back to Vader, entirely defenseless, was not something she’d recommend to anyone. More nervous than she would admit, Lucy stabbed the thing on her plate. It was unexpectedly fluffy. 

“Let us hope so,” said Vader, his tone dry enough that Lucy suspected even Tuvié would notice it. “Well done, F-2VA. You may go.”

“Of course, sir.”

As soon as the door shut behind Tuvié, Vader strode past Lucy. In her newfound vision, he was a towering shadow, even more so than in the Force. She swallowed, but refused to betray herself otherwise, instead shoveling Arren’s latest delicacy into her mouth. Eggs, she thought. Better than Aunt Beru’s. He probably had better ingredients to work with, though, here on … wherever.

Vader continued to the end of the table, but didn’t sit. It was hard to imagine, really, outside of a starship. 

“Lucy,” he said, then halted for some reason. 

Lucy ate another bite of eggs. “I’m not turning to the Dark Side.”

Predictably, Vader ignored this, but just loomed, making no sound except for his mechanized breaths. Lucy had almost entirely lost her appetite, but kept eating, doing her best to concentrate on the tastes. That was what her mother would do, wouldn’t it? Or something like that. 

“You will. It is your destiny,” he told her.

“I don’t have a destiny,” replied Lucy. “Everything’s just choices and consequences.”

“You believe that now. But soon, you will learn otherwise.”

Some part of her urged her to ask what he meant by soon. Maybe he just believed that this destiny would come knocking. But maybe he knew something, or intended something. Lucy set the fork down on the edge of the table, nearly jumping when it instead clattered to the floor.

“No, I won’t,” she said, and glanced over at him. “You do know this isn’t going anywhere, right? I’ll never turn, no matter how nice the food or whatever you do or don’t do to me.”

Vader seemed to look down at her. He didn’t move, at least, and the top of his shadow appeared tilted towards her.

“At your age, I thought like you,” he said. “You will come to understand what I did.”

Lucy glared at the shadow. “We’re nothing alike!”

But the memory of the Dark Side cave on Dagobah thrust itself into her mind. She’d reacted just as Vader would have done, hadn’t she? But she’d learned her lesson; he never had. She could be better than her worst instincts.

“You may believe that if it gives you comfort. For now,” said Vader. “Your vision has returned?”

“No,” she said.

“There is no point in lying,” he told her. “The Force reveals the truth.”

“I don’t see why you bother asking questions, then,” said Lucy. “Anyway, it’s only a little. Everything’s still blurry, and mostly just dark.”

“You will almost certainly recover before long,” he said.

“Thanks,” she replied, her tone as dry as his had been. “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that it wouldn’t be almost if you hadn’t, I don’t know, stuck me in carbon-freeze and carted me off to only the Force knows where!”

“Bast Castle,” said Vader.

That meant nothing to her. Lucy shrugged it off, and braced herself for whatever would come next. But Vader said nothing more.

For a good five minutes, Lucy remained stubbornly silent, glancing around the dining hall and folding her hands on Amid—Padmé’s skirts, fingers and teeth clenched. 

Yet again, she wondered how he’d come by Padmé’s possessions. She had no difficulty imagining him seizing anything of value to him from anyone, dead or alive, but why these? Why—

Obi-Wan never told you about Padmé? 

Lucy exhaled, not wanting to give in. But this might be her only chance. She said,

“Did you know my mother?”

Vader gazed down at her, his outline perfectly still. Several seconds passed.

“Yes,” he said, and stalked out of the room.

[kuriquinn]

I want to punch my teacher

On my giant list of pet peeves when it comes to being on the student end of things and dealing with someone else’s teaching, the thing right up there with group work is being forced to memorize something and present it word for word in front of a classroom full of people.

I’ve had an issue with this since high school when they forced us to memorize and present poems. Like, give me a speech? No problem, I can ad lib that as needed. Read out loud in front of 500 people? You got it, I’m good with that.

But ask me to memorize a text, whether it’s English or a foreign language I’m learning, and present it in front of a group of people? Yeah that’s not gonna go well. My anxiety levels go through the roof and I will mess up every single word I guarantee you.

Especially when I know for a fact that the exercise itself is useless. You do not learn a new language by memorizing a chunk of text and regurgitating it back up, in front of people or not. You learn through immersion, through conversational practice and spontaneity that forces you to recall the stuff you learned.

So when my new Chinese teacher (who the university randomly decided to switch into out class halfway through the term and who has been teaching the same way and the same curriculum for thirty years and should be retired by now because he’s a crap teacher) decided randomly to add an oral presentation component to the course (even though the course outline was set in September and YOU CAN’T JUST CHANGE YOUR COURSE OUTLINE ONCE IT’S BEEN POSTED), I was already planning to nope out of it. Marks be damned I’m doing well enough in the rest of the course to blow off a useless assignment like this.

Then he decided it was to be done with partners. Which. Still, would have blown it off, but my friend in class needed a partner because the marks matter to her so I was like fine, I’ll do the damned project.

He tells us last week we have to memorize and present a dialogue from the book. Okay, no problem. Then he says ABSOLUTELY NO NOTES / CUE CARDS allowed. Pain in the ass, but fine. My partner and I learn our parts, all is good.

Then he tells us tonight just before class we have to do BOTH parts. Which just. Is a dick move.

At this point I could care less about this shitty oral, decide I’m just going to go up there and do my best and fuck the results. I’m only doing it for my friend anyway. So we hurry to learn each other’s parts as best we can.

And while we were practicing on our own, we were killing it. Remembered all the words, got all the tones right, even added some play acting to the dialogue for flair.

But the minute we got up there in front of everyone? Totally lost it. And when one of us lost our place, the other would lose her place. We did the first run through okay while doing the parts we had prepared for specifically, but when we swapped? Nah. Things got shitty.

Now me, I passed into the IDGAF mode the minute he said we had to do each other’s parts. So if I floundered, whatever; I knew the words I just needed a few extra seconds to remember and screw him if he decided to take marks off me for that. I know my linguistic capabilities and the stuttering mess that I managed is not an accurate indication of my concersation level. I Don’t care what he thinks of me, I will stand there all day glaring at you til you let me sit down if it was just me up there.

But that would mean leaving my partner who was reacting to the whole thing a lot worse than me. She also has ADHD like me, as well as anxiety speaking in front of an audience and needs to have something in her hands to focus herself but wasn’t allowed to because we weren’t allowed to bring materials up, she’s choking up. The girl’s on the verge of tears or a panic attack because she can’t recall the next bit of dialogue, and I’m trying to prompt her and give her the next words so we can just get the fuck back to our seats while the entire class and the prof are just watching her struggle and just.

I was ready to full on mama-bear and freak the fuck out at this professor for making us go through this, for keeping on changing the rules, for not giving enough time to make alternate arrangements since public speaking is a huge trigger for some people and, on top of all that, telling us once the oral was over that IT WAS ONLY FOR 5 % instead of the 15% he told us it was initially.

My friend spent the whole rest of class while the other students were presenting tense as hell, fists clenched and clearly trying her best not to burst into tears of frustration. I barely had a chance to ask her if she was okay when class was done because she beelined out of there.

All for a lousy fucking 5%.

I’m just so pissed off at the whole thing I can’t even. Like, I was forced to go through all that teacher training about how not to evaluate students and how to accommodate different learning styles

And just because some asshole has tenure he doesn’t need to do any of that and can run his course as he sees fit.

TL;DR My Mandarin teacher is an asshole and if he wasn’t the chair of the program and in control of my marks I would be ripping him a new one. Or several new ones.

Just

Argh!!!

[lovemesomerafael]

No One Else                              Chapter 3:  Turning Up The Heat

Source: @sherrykinss​

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Read It On AO3

It takes three days, but the guy on trial is convicted. He gets two consecutive life sentences. It’s a stunning victory for the prosecution and it makes great headlines, which means that the DA, One PP, and a whole lot of people with “Chief” in their titles are happy.  The big shots get to take a victory lap in front of the national press and the FBI, and they’re making the most of it.  They find as many cameras as possible in time to make the evening news, and by five p.m. there are a lot of satisfied people around Foley Square. They take over Maxwell’s.  Because it also happens to be a Friday, things get a little out of hand.  Even Vanessa Hadid overindulges a little bit (to be fair, she hasn’t been sleeping or eating much, as usual for her during a trial) and Sonny finds himself standing in front of DA Jack McCoy’s table with Ms. Hadid’s arm around his neck.  It’s uncomfortable in a number of ways, not least of which is that he’s a lot taller than she is, so his choices are to bend over or be strangled.

“This guy,” she enthuses to McCoy, planting a sloppy kiss on Sonny’s cheek.  “He’s gonna be a star.”

McCoy is only marginally less uncomfortable than Sonny, but Sonny sees the comment register with him.  “Well done, Mr. Carisi,” McCoy says.  

Holy shit, the DA knows who I am!  I can’t wait to tell Kate about this.  He wonders again where Kate is, and hopes she’ll make the party.  They’d decided to wait until the verdict came in for her promised post-trial visit, and she’s due any time.  She didn’t know when she’d be able to leave the station, so the plan is for her to toss some clothes at Sonny’s apartment and meet him here.  

Sonny sees Olivia Benson and Dean Porter through a break in the crowd.  He wonders again whether there’s anything between them and has a split second to register their very friendly body language before the crowd blocks his view and Ms. Hadid drops an F-bomb.  She’s not drunk enough to miss the looks on some faces at the DA’s table, so she mercifully lets go of Sonny to excuse herself to talk to someone across the room. Sonny excuses himself awkwardly and leaves the table, too.

He thinks he’ll say hello to Benson and Porter, so he’s making his way toward them when he spots Kate, just inside the door, looking helplessly around for a familiar face.  Her hair is in a knot at the back of her neck and he really likes the way loose tendrils have escaped around her face.  She looks so pretty standing there, he’s sure he would have noticed her even if she were a stranger.  She’s wearing a casual dress made of some soft material in a muted green pattern he really likes, and he especially likes that the dress shows off her long legs and has an open neckline that is just slightly on the right side of appropriate.  She sees him when he gets to within about ten feet of her, and slips around a group of people to meet him with a hug and a kiss. He wants to kiss her more, and he plans to, but first he wants to show her off.

Sonny leads Kate across the bar, which takes some time due to the raucous crowd, toward a table where some of his colleagues and a number of the support staff from his office are laughing and carrying on.  Most of them are younger than Sonny and Kate are, but it’s clear they really like Sonny.  He introduces Kate to everyone, a proprietary arm around her waist.  When he gets to Mary Duderon, Kate tries to be as friendly as possible, making sure she knows that Kate recognizes her from their previous meeting.  It doesn’t work.  Mary minimally acknowledges her and doesn’t make eye contact.  Kate sees a couple of guys standing close by exchange an amused look.

Sonny introduces Kate to them last, because they’re standing next to him, at the end of the circle of people he’s just introduced to Kate. She despairs of remembering any of their names, but these two guys she’s heard of, because they’re the guys with whom Sonny shares Mary as an assistant.  The three of them have also bonded over the long hours and pressures of being fairly new ADAs.  

Maurice Mikhail is the shorter of the two.  He’s dark-skinned, but his ethnicity isn’t readily apparent from his looks or his name.   His wide, open smile makes him look like a guy who is always looking for a laugh, and Kate thinks he looks just like Sonny’s description of him.  Scott Lam looks a few years older than Maurice, and seems a bit more serious.  His features have a definite Asian look, although he looks like he’s multiracial. He shakes Kate’s hand and looks into her eyes as he greets her.  Somebody taught this guy nice manners, Kate thinks.  

Sonny leaves Kate with Maurice and Scott and goes to get her a glass of wine.  Maurice starts right in.  He looks over his shoulder to see that everyone around the big table has resumed conversations among themselves.  None of the individual conversations is discernable from the others in the din of the packed bar.

“So how do you know the Dude Ranch?”  He asks, amusement all over his face as he tosses his head to indicate the table.  

Kate knows he’s talking about Mary.  Sonny has told her that, around the office, Mary’s surname has been turned into a nickname of sorts behind her back.  Many of the more junior ADAs call her Sister Mary Dude Ranch, because she really does bear many of the stereotypical characteristics of the type of woman who used to be called a spinster, including the fact that she has several cats.  But Kate is offended on Mary’s behalf and doesn’t appreciate the casual cruelty, especially toward a skilled woman whose job makes theirs possible.  

“I beg your pardon?”  She asks, her tone intentionally icy.

Scott breaks in.  “Don’t listen to him.  He’s an imbecile.  He’s part of the DA’s program for special needs lawyers.  What he means is, it seems like you know our assistant, Mary.”

Kate smiles at Scott, hoping that in some way, she’s sent a bit of a signal.  “Oh, Mary.  We met a couple of weeks ago.  Sonny says she’s pretty good.”  

Maurice elbows Scott in the side, and Kate revises her estimate of his age down a bit.  

“She is.  We appreciate her,” Scott says, ignoring Maurice.  

They begin to ask Kate about her job, and their questions make it clear Sonny’s been talking about her.  It’s also clear they have a lot of mistaken ideas learned from cop shows. They’re especially interested in Kate’s version of the story of how she and Sonny met.  Sonny appears with drinks for himself and Kate just as Maurice is exclaiming, “I wouldn’t have thought Carisi had that kinda badassery in him.”

Kate is glad to see Sonny.  She’s also glad to see a glass of alcohol with her name on it.  Running into a gunfight to save Sonny made her less nervous than having to hold her own in a room full of strangers she wants to impress for his sake.  Taking a healthy drink, she happens to glance over at the table of Sonny’s coworkers, and notices Mary glaring at her with an expression that reminds Kate of something. It takes her a second to realize that it’s the look on the face of a perp with a low opinion of women when she slaps the cuffs on.  Kate shivers and turns away.

Sonny feels ten feet tall.  He has just won his first big case – OK, he was only second chair, but still – and his bosses are pleased with him.  His SVU squad is proud of him, too.  He feels like he’s on his way, like he may have successfully made the transition to the DA’s office and, until this moment, he hadn’t realized how frightening that leap really had been.  And then there’s Kate.  He still can’t believe she’s here, back in his life, back in his plans, back in his arms. He hasn’t taken his arm from around her all night.  Yes, he wants everyone to see his beautiful girlfriend.  But it’s much more than that.  It’s just so right that she should be here to celebrate this first big win with him.  Having her by his side feels like… He can’t even explain it to himself.  It’s like his life was VHS before, and now it’s Blu-ray.  Or whatever comes after that.  And he’s insanely proud when people recognize her name and comment on her reputation in the NYPD.  It’s a very good night for Sonny Carisi.

They stay at Maxwell’s until after midnight, when the party has pretty much wound down.

Sonny and Kate flop down on his couch immediately upon finally making it to his apartment and pull off their shoes.  They’ve been standing for hours, talking and celebrating and networking.  They’re exhausted and, although they aren’t drunk, they have been steadily sipping drinks all night.  For a few minutes, they just slouch, side by side, heads back on the cushions.  

“That was…  somethin’,” Sonny says.  “I never saw so many mucky-mucks in my life.”

“No kiddin’.  And they were all there to celebrate your win.”  

Sonny chuckles skeptically.  “A small cog in a big machine.”

“Bullshit.  You were sitting right there at the prosecution table.  You questioned - how many witness was it again?  You’re a regular big deal, Baby.  Get used to it.”

Sonny puts a hand on Kate’s thigh.  “I loved havin’ you there tonight.”

Kate puts her hand over his and turns her head where it rests on the cushion to look at him.  “I loved being introduced as your girlfriend.”  

“Was that OK?  I didn’t mean to get ahead of things…”  

“I mean it, Sonny, I loved it.  I wanna be your girlfriend.  And I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“I already am, Katie.  I’m yours.”  

Sonny reaches for her and they don’t come up for air until quite some time later, when Kate has Sonny’s shirt open and untucked, and Sonny has Kate’s dress on the floor.  

“Do you think you can stand any more good news today?” She asks, running her fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to get it back under some control.  He is lying on top of her, looking down at her and playing with her hair, too.  

“I dunno.  It’s been –“ Sonny is on the point of making a joke when he has a thought.  “Holy shit, Kate.  Your transfer came through?”

“You’re making out with the newest Detective in Manhattan South Narcotics.”

For the next five minutes, Sonny stumbles through excited half-sentences, alternating with kisses and hugs, punctuated by excited shouts. He feels drunk in several ways, and finally has to sit up and hold his head in his hands, trying to assimilate all that has happened today.  “This is too much.  I feel like I’m havin’ a dream and I’m gonna wake up in the crib in the SVU squad room with midterms in a week.”  He looks over at her.  “And you in Brooklyn.”

“Nope.  It’s all real.  You’re a big shot and I’m a traitor to Brooklyn North.  The guys stole everything that was in my locker and then filled it with paper from the shredder soaked in beer.”

Sonny laughed.  “That’s cop love.”

“I know.  I’m gonna miss them.  But you’re worth it.”

“I’m gonna remind you of that when you’re in the middle of moving and I break something.”

The rest of the night is a happy blur.  When they get to bed, Kate tells Sonny to lay back and spends what feels like hours touching, stroking, kissing, and licking him everywhere, all the while murmuring compliments and love.  She gives him a spectacular climax, curling a finger inside him; Kate is the only woman he’s ever trusted enough to let her do that.  Sonny has to smile at the memories evoked when he pulls her in to spoon with him and, together, they finger her to orgasm.  It’s a compromise they made back in their Brooklyn days.  She doesn’t always have to come; she likes the idea that sometimes she wears him out. It’s kind of a compliment, actually, if he can’t keep from falling asleep.  But he has a thing about making sure she’s satisfied, too, and this way is quick and efficient, and they’re both happy.  It takes him less than two minutes to fall asleep afterward.  

 *************

Sonny doesn’t find the picture of himself and Kate at Forlini’s.  After a while, he forgets about it because Kate gives him a framed picture of them at Maxwell’s on the night of the verdict celebration.  It’s a great picture, and it’s a reminder of one of the best nights of Sonny’s life.  Unfortunately, it gets knocked off his desk and the glass gets broken.  He assumes it was the cleaning people who broke it, and means to replace the glass, but just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.  He has other pictures of them, too, as the desktop background and screen saver on his computer, so it’s not that big a deal.

Besides which, he has the real Kate, who will be moving to Manhattan this weekend.  They’ve decided that “no pressure” includes not moving in together, at least not now. Neither of them really thinks they won’t be successful in picking up their relationship again, but it kinda makes sense. Besides, Kate was able to sublet a tiny studio apartment from a cop Sonny knows at SVU who’s just moved in with her girlfriend and has most of a year left on her lease.  It’s more expensive than her one-bedroom in Brooklyn, but it’s not too bad, and she’s not expecting to be there much, if things go well with Sonny.

Sonny’s never been one to hide anything, and his friends at work don’t mind hearing about Kate’s impending arrival.  Scott is married and his wife is expecting their first baby, so he’s kind of blasé about the whole thing, but Maurice thinks Sonny is the luckiest SOB on the planet.  He sees Kate as somewhere between Wonder Woman and Beyoncé and, since hearing the story of how they met, has a little bit of hero worship going for Sonny, as well.  The problem is Mary.  Any time she hears Sonny talking about Kate, Sonny has to endure stony silence for the rest of the day.  It’s annoying, but she does a good job, and Sonny doesn’t want to get her into trouble by complaining.

He did once try to talk to her about it.  He asked her to have a seat in one of the chairs before his desk, closed the door, and sat on the edge of his desk, looking down at her.  His intention was to be kind of fatherly, although she was at least his age.  The look on her face as she gazed up at him was almost beatific, which made him even more uncomfortable that he had been to begin with.  But when he began to explain that he’d noticed she sometimes became silent and standoffish with him – he’d decided not to mention Kate – she started to cry.  He tried to console her while standing his ground. She looked at him with puppy eyes awash in tears and a trembling lip.  He tried again, soft-pedaling as best he could.  She wailed.  He said maybe it was his imagination.  She began to hyperventilate.  He panicked, shoved a handful of tissues in her hand and began to apologize profusely and, in the end, promised that he, Sonny, would try to behave better in the future.  

Sonny knows women.  Sonny grew up with three sisters, and they’re all close.  But for the life of him, he can’t figure out how to deal with Mary.  So he doesn’t.  Instead, he avoids talking about Kate when she’s likely to be around and tries to keep as much distance as he can.  Which isn’t easy when Mary is in his office a hundred times a day, on one excuse or another, and brings him coffee and treats no matter how much he tries to discourage her. He tried telling her he was trying to cut down on caffeine.  She brought him decaf.  He told her he was trying to cut out sugar and carbs.  She brought him horrible sugar- and carb-free treats he wasn’t even sure were actual food.  But he had to eat them, because she checked.  He saw her look in the trash to make sure he hadn’t just tossed anything. She is relentless.  When he actually finds himself sprinkling crumbs on the napkin on his desk and going to another floor to throw a particularly horrible fruit bar in the trash, he gives in and casually mentions he’s back on caffeine, sugar, and carbs.  It’s easier to just let her bring real coffee and real treats and just eat the damn things.

***********

Anything that can go wrong with Kate’s move does.  For some reason, the moving truck company thinks she cancelled her reservation and doesn’t have another truck, which means she spends valuable time chasing down another available truck on no notice.  The keys aren’t where the previous tenant left them, so she has to get a locksmith to make new keys.  When she does finally get in, she’s hit with a terrible smell that comes from a dead rat under one of the windows.  That is somewhat of a mystery, because the rat is well decomposed, but Sonny’s friend only vacated the apartment a few days before.  Being so far behind schedule, however, Kate doesn’t have the luxury of time to worry about it.  Especially since she has to get moved in before the sun goes down, because there is no electricity, and won’t be until at least the next day.  Somehow, Con Ed is also under the impression that she cancelled her appointment.  

A couple of Kate’s cop friends and their spouses help her and Sonny with the move, and they take it all in stride, which helps Kate stay calm.  Besides, she and Sonny are pretty much delirious to finally be at this point.  Neither of them has forgotten what it was like to be apart, aching for each other, trying without success to get over one another. There’s not much that can dim the joy of this day.    

Kate finds herself staring at Sonny sometimes.  He’s only gotten better looking over time.  She decides she really likes the silver in his hair, and she’s captivated anew by his mouth – she’s always had a thing about his smile.  He has the best smile she’s ever seen, and he’s smiling more than usual today.  Sometimes he catches her looking at him with a sort of deer in the headlights expression, and it gets to him.  She looks at him the way he feels about her.    

They get Kate’s things moved and she takes them all out for pizza and beer.  It’s been a good day, regardless of the problems.   They laugh and drink to the future and it feels like Christmas morning. Sonny has a plan; he tells Kate he wants them to stay in her new place tonight.  She looks at him like he’s lost his mind, but she can’t say no to him, especially today, and they go back to the little studio with no electricity, nothing unpacked, and the bed not even put together yet.  

Earlier, Sonny put the box holding Kate’s bedding in one corner so he could find it again.  He also took some candles out of a box marked “candles” and lined them up on the windowsill. Now, by candlelight, he pulls the mattress and box spring down from where they’re leaning against a wall and makes a nest of blankets and pillows.  There, he makes love to Kate slowly and thoroughly by the light of one candle sitting nearby on the floor and it’s like electricity would only have gotten in the way of this perfect moment.  

 **********

It’s taken a while for Kate to get used to Manhattan South. They have a different way of doing some things, and she’s careful not to make any “that’s not the way we did it in Brooklyn” comments that will get her ostracized.  Her partner is a good guy who seems to be happy enough to be partnered with her.  He smooths some of the rough edges and teaches her what she needs to know without treating her like a moron.  She thinks they’ll do well together.

She’s long since moved into her studio, small as it is, and for the most part she likes it.  There are two things she’s not crazy about.  First, she comes home sometimes to find dead things in there.  Rats, mice, a snake once.  And they’re always decomposed enough to smell.  Which leads to the second thing.  Someone comes into her studio when she’s not there.  She’s almost sure of it.  She doesn’t think there is any other way for the dead things to get in there; the apartment’s so small, she thinks she would have known they were there if they crawled in themselves.   And things are just slightly off sometimes. A drawer messed up.  Things moved on a shelf.  A favorite picture of her and Sonny at Coney Island taken years before fallen to the floor and the glass broken.  She spends more time at Sonny’s, however, than she does here, so she can’t be absolutely sure.  So she doesn’t ask the Super to change the locks, or say anything to Sonny.  

There’s not much that could make her regret the move, though.  After three months in Manhattan, God knows she’s happy, and she thinks Sonny is, too.

She’s right about that.  Sonny’s starting to wonder how long he should wait before he asks her to move in with him, or whether he should ask her to marry him first, or how this should go.  He remembers their “no pressure” agreement, and he doesn’t feel pressured by Kate at all. But the agreement goes both ways, and he doesn’t want to pressure her, either.  His sister Gina counsels patience.  She says to wait until it’s been at least six months.  She also gives him shit about being like a puppy when it comes to Kate, but it’s all just sibling teasing.  All of the Carisis are glad to have Kate back.  

Sonny feels like, even as hard as he’s working, his life couldn’t be better.  Ms. Hadid is letting him handle arraignments and even motions now.   From the beginning, she’s deferred to him when it comes to questioning defendants.  She knows talent and experience when she sees it. He’s looking forward to sitting first chair at his first trial, which will necessarily have to be something small, but it’ll be huge to him.  

The one dark spot continues to be Mary.  She’s become overtly flirtatious now, in a way.  She never calls him “Sonny” anymore.  Now he’s “Sweetie” or “Honey” or “My Dear.”  It’s totally inappropriate, but in every other way, she does a great job.  It’s time to have another talk with her.  It’s past time, actually, but he dreads it.  He’s sure it will end up like the last time, but it has to be done.  Between the treats and the nicknames and the fawning, if he doesn’t address it, he’s complicit or, worse, leading her on.  

He chooses a Friday afternoon, because that way if she gets upset, she can go straight home and have time to recover.  He says a prayer to St. Michael the Archangel as he’s waiting for her.  A conversation with his assistant shouldn’t require him to ask a sword-wielding seraph to defend him in battle, but it does.  

Mary walks into his office.  Her pink dress is a bit oversize, like all her clothes, and does her figure no favors.  She’s smiling the smile Sonny’s come to think of as creepy and she stands leaning against the front of his desk expectantly.  

“Go ahead and have a seat, Mary,” Sonny says, getting up and closing the door.  She watches his every move, her hopeful simper maybe burning just a bit brighter at the idea of being alone with him behind closed doors.

“You said you wanted to talk to me.  What is it, sweetie?”

Sonny goes to sit back behind his desk.  “Well, um… that’s just it.  You and I are colleagues in a professional environment, and it’s important to behave that way.  So I wanted to ask you to call me Sonny, not anything else, like sweetie, or honey.”

Tears well in her eyes and she goes first pale, then bright red and blotchy.  “Don’t you like me?”

That question is wrong in so many ways, Sonny shouldn’t be prepared for it.  But he is. He has actually role-played this conversation with Kate.  They covered this precise question.

“Mary, I think you are very good at your job, and I appreciate working with you.  I have no complaints at all, except that I would like you to stick to calling me Sonny.”

“But we’re friends, right?”

Another question he’s practiced.  “We’re friends and professional coworkers.  That’s how we should treat each other.”

“It’s that Kate, isn’t it?  She’s jealous of us.”  This one they didn’t practice.  Sonny would not have foreseen the sudden venom in Mary’s expression and her voice. Her brown eyes were swimming in tears a moment ago, but now they’re narrowed and her lip is actually curled. Out of reflex, Sonny moves his hand to his holster which, of course, isn’t there anymore.  

Right away, he recognizes that as the overreaction it was, and tries to take a deep breath and return to the script.  “We’re talking about you and me here, Mary.  The way you and I treat each other here in the office. All I’m asking is that you don’t call me anything except my name.  OK? That’s it.”

The venom is gone as fast as it came, and now it’s time for tears.  Tissues have been prepositioned on the edge of Sonny’s desk for just this purpose, and Sonny and Kate have decided that not reacting to the tears is the way to go.  

“Sonny, I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to make you feel bad.  I’d never do that.  I just really like you, and I like working for you, and I thought you liked me back.”

“I like you just fine, Mary.  I’m just asking for this one thing.  One professional to another.”

“Is that all we are to each other?  After everything I’ve done for you?”  

Sonny thinks about that robot in that old show that used to flail its arms and yell, “Danger, Will Robinson!”  He had actually done that, sitting on his bed in his boxers, role-playing this conversation with Kate, who was wearing the shirt he’d taken off to go to bed.  Kate had actually predicted this, word for word.  

“We’re coworkers.  I think we have a good working relationship.  All I’m asking for is to be called by my name.”

She’s in full weeping mode now, having helped herself to the tissues placed before her.  Sonny braces for hyperventilation, like last time.  But instead, Mary does something that really creeps him out.  She pulls herself together.  After about three minutes of eye wiping and nose blowing, she looks at him with eyes that are red-rimmed, but calm.  Still, there’s something there…  The detective in Sonny wouldn’t trust a perp who looked at him like this.  She’s angry.  He’s sure of it.  

“I understand.  Maybe I shouldn’t call you by your first name at all.  I know some of the assistants use ‘Mister’ or ‘Ms.’  I could do that for you.”

“Sonny is fine.  I’m not a ‘mister’ kind of guy.”

“All right.  Is there anything else?”

“No, that was it.  I’m sorry you’re upset.  I just want us to be appropriate and professional.  That’s all.”

Mary gets up and leaves, that unnatural calm still pulled over her like a camouflage tarp.  Sonny shivers.

 ***********

When Kate finishes her shift on Sunday night, her partner drops her off at Sonny’s office.  Tom Hensler is a dedicated cop who enjoys ribbing Kate about dating an ADA, given the continual strain between the NYPD and the DA’s office over cases and evidence.  In truth, however, he and Sonny actually get along well.  Tom and his wife, Kelly, have been out together with Sonny and Kate a few times in the months that Kate and Tom have been partners, and they all have quite a bit in common.  Kelly is a police dispatcher and mother of their three-year-old twins - little boys who, since meeting Sonny, constantly ask their parents when Sonny can come back to play with them.

Sonny is waiting just inside the building, having finished the work he’s come in to do and ready to go home.  He gives Kate a smile that lights up her world and they begin to walk together to Kate’s apartment, enjoying the nice evening and just being together.  Upon reaching Kate’s building, they can immediately smell something when they come in the front door.  There’s no smoke, but it’s definitely a burning smell.  

“Should we call the Fire Department?”  Kate asks, concerned.

“There’s no smoke,” Sonny answers.  “Let’s go talk to the Super.”  

They knock on the door of one of the apartments on the ground floor, which is almost immediately opened by a thin, white-haired man in his sixties, looking as though he’s had a long day.  “Oh, there you are.  Let’s go take a look,” he says.  

“Did something happen?”  Kate asks, trading surprised looks with Sonny.

“You could say that.  C’mon, let’s go.”  The Building Superintendent steps out, yells back into his apartment, apparently to his wife, that he’s going upstairs, and closes the door.  He leads the way down the hall to the stairs.

Sonny and Kate exchange another look.  “Where are we going?”  Kate queries, a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.  

“Your place.”

“Shit.”

The door of Kate’s third-floor apartment is open and fans are blowing out the window, although it’s a cool night.  

“We hadda get rid a’ all the smoke, so I hadda put fans in here, I hope ya’ don’t mind,” the Super explains, leading the way into Kate’s small studio, where a charred, series of bent springs and other unidentifiable debris fills a hole that comprises about half the mattress.  

“What happened?” Kate shrieks.  Sonny immediately begins looking around the room as though at a crime scene.  

“I dunno.  Weirdest thing.  The fire alarm never went off.  Abe Taylor across the hall smelled smoke, and he came out and saw it was comin’ from under your door.  So he ran down to get me, and I ran up here with a fire extinguisher.  But here’s the really strange part.  The fire was already out before I got in.  It looked like somebody put it out, everything’s all soaked.

“What’d the fire department say?”  Sonny asks, in full cop mode now.

“Nothin’.  We didn’t call ‘em.  It was out. I tried to call you, Kate, but you didn’t answer.”

“That’s right!  I’m sorry, I got your call, but I was in a briefing, and I actually forgot about it until right now.  This is no accident.  I’m calling the Fire Department.”

Sonny nods and starts asking questions of the Super as though he’s just naturally fallen back into detective mode.  The Super has asked the other people on the third floor, but no one has seen or heard anything, and no one has seen a stranger in the building.  

“They’re on their way.  They’re bringing the whole show, I’m afraid.  I couldn’t talk them out of it,” Kate says.

Half an hour later, the street is full of fire equipment and flashing lights, surrounded by onlookers who don’t stay long when they see there was no flame.  Not even any smoke.  Just a burned smell and a lot of people standing around.  

Kate is rattled.  She’s unflappable at work, but this is her home, and it feels like an attack. Sonny stays at her side, always touching her in some way – holding her hand or with an arm around her, sometimes just putting a hand on her back.  She answers all the questions she can, but she really doesn’t know anything because she wasn’t there.  There is one question, however, that both she and Sonny can answer.  Neither wants to, but the answer is fairly obvious.

“Do you know of anyone who would want to do something like this to you?”  The arson investigator asks, taking notes in a little notebook that Kate notices is covered with smudges that she assumes are ash.  

Kate looks at Sonny, who looks back with an equally troubled expression.  

“I think we do,” Sonny says to Kate.

“We don’t have any proof.  We don’t know it’s her,” Kate replies.

“Tell me,” the investigator says.  So they do.  

Somewhere during their explanation of what’s been happening with Mary Duderon, one of the inspector’s technicians comes down the front stairs of Kate’s building, a bag filled with what looks like charred sticks in her hand.  She holds the bag out to the inspector, who squints at it.  

“Picture frame,” he says.

When he says that, Kate sees unburnt edges of the sticks, suddenly recognizing the sticks as being from the frame around the picture of her and Sonny at Coney Island.  She feels sick.

“It’s taking some time to separate out, but it looks like there are two or three more.  Looks like there were pictures in frames on the bed while it was burning,” the technician says.

Kate looks at Sonny.  They both know there are, or were, a few framed photos of them scattered around Kate’s apartment, including a copy of the picture of them at Maxwell’s hung on a wall.  

“Can I go look?  I think they could all be pictures of the two of us,” Kate says, her voice weak. She doesn’t realize how tightly she’s holding Sonny’s hand, and he doesn’t mention it.  

“Why don’t you let me do it?” He asks, wanting to spare her if he can.  “I’ve probably been here almost as much as you have.  I know what was there.”  

“You can both go up,” the arson inspector says.  “I want to know exactly what’s missing.”

Two framed pictures, one of Kate with her family and one of Kate and Ahmad Washington and the rest of her Narcotics squad in Brooklyn, still sit on a windowsill, untouched.

What’s missing is every picture of Sonny and Kate that was displayed in the apartment.  All of them have been piled on the bed and set on fire.  

[my-love-peterp]

A Part of Your World pt. 2

Word Count: 1505

Fic Summary: So this is a work based lightly on the movie First Daughter. It’s a Reader Insert sorta. If you’ve never seen that movie, you should absolutely watch it if you have the opportunity. Peter Parker/Stark!Daughter fic. Rating may change depending on if I’m feeling the smut route (I probably will). Expect updates once a week (as soon as I figure out what day would be best to do it on. They may be more frequent here at the beginning just because the story is really flowing right now. Thanks!

Chapter Summary: I don’t really have one because I’m impatient and I’m taking my partner to see Hozier in a few hours. But Peter does exist in this chapter. Surprise.

Warnings: none! maybe language, I’m honestly not sure.

If you would like to be tagged, reblog/comment/message me and I’ll start tagging you in future chapters. 

“I’m too sober for this,” (Y/N) said, plopping down on to the horrifically springy, undressed mattress that was on top of a wooden bed frame. Her bed frame now, she firmly reminded herself.

“You don’t even drink,” Morgan responded, a lot less winded and emotionally drained than (Y/N). She’d always admired her sister’s ability to remain unruffled in the midst of tense or new situations. And yeah, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to ditch the elevator and take the stairs to her new home for the year, all the way up on the sixteenth floor. But she couldn’t stand the feeling of brushing shoulders with what felt like hundreds of people who stared and lifted their phones to take pictures, or to see one girl turn to someone else and hit them to get their attention and not so subtly pointing to her and Morgan when they had it.

“Yeah, well, maybe I should start,” (Y/N) answered noncommittally. She flopped down on to my future roommate’s bed right across the room. She hadn’t taken the time to read their profile as she’d been emailed it. She wanted to go into this experience blind. And yeah, with her father’s resources and connections, she could’ve known every single aspect of the mystery roommate’s life if she’d wanted to. But (Y/N) wanted to go in blind. Be a normal kid for once. Especially with Mom doing what she was right now.

Suddenly, the door burst open behind them. Lugging in a mini fridge and two bags, Happy grunted and panted as he nudged his way inside. Morgan sat as if to help him but as soon as he saw her move to sit up he barked, “No, no stay where you’re at! I’ve got this, it’s nothing.” His red face indicated he was definitely lying. But nothing came between Happy and his pride.

“It’s not every day,” he said, pausing to pant after setting the fridge down on the countertops, “that your goddaughter goes off to college.”

“Yeah you’re right Hap, it’s not every day that a girl is escorted to her dorm room by her family’s Forehead of Security. Or has to avoid reporters pressing their faces against their lobby windows. Or has the seclude herself until her mother and father and their Secret Service protection detail can join them, since no one was currently on ‘daughters watch’,” (Y/N) made air quotes with her fingers, grumbling about the debacle that had occurred earlier today.

“I don’t trust him,” Morgan remarked from her couch as (y/n) scrambled to get everything she could possibly fathom needing in her dorm room packed into her father’s latest invention. It was basically a play on Dum-E, but with storage that the robot packed her things into itself, to maximize storage efficiency.

“Well, of course, you don’t trust him,” (Y/N) replied, “He’s on the Bachelor. That’s like, a parade of red flags right there.

“(Y/N),” Morgan scoffed, scandalized, her head popping up and over the back of the blue cushions, “it’s the Bachelorette, not the Bachelor, we’ve been over this. Plus, we personally know someone on this season, you should be watching!”

“I’ve seen Pietro make enough stupid decisions in my life to know that this doesn’t rank in the top three, and as such, I will not be acknowledging it.”

The sun had just barely begun to trickle in through the windows, and the watch she’d made herself showed that it was just past 6:15. Why she had procrastinated packing last minute, she couldn’t tell you. Maybe it just felt like the end of something fragile. Or whatever. Her watch caught the first true rays of sunlight and bounced refracted light straight into her eyes. (Y/N) winced but paused to admire her creation. The main metal straddled a fine line between her father’s favored cherry red, and the more toned down rose gold that was all the rage just a few year’s ago. Accented along the outside of the watch frame were little webbings of ice blue, too intentional to be called marbling but too non-descript to look like a spider’s web. Every other accent on the watch was a pearly white.

All of a sudden, Morgan’s phone started blaring the most awful noises she’d ever heard, causing (Y/N) to jump what felt like five feet in the air. She could hear Happy’s exasperated voice shouting into his receiver even halfway across the room. It seemed that she and Morgan were late for fittings and makeup for an impromptu morning press junket.

Those were happening more and more frequently these days, ever since her mother resigned as CEO of her father’s company, relegating it back to him, which he handled begrudgingly, and running for the US Senate. That was ten years ago. Now, her mother, Pepper, was the current frontrunner for the presidency. As if her life wasn’t high-profile enough as one of two daughter’s of the most powerful couple in the world probably.

It seemed that, due to Pepper’s skillful negotiation tactics, dozens of political prisoners were being released back to the United States today. And that meant the mother of all press conferences. On the day that she was moving into her new home for the next several months.

(Y/N) and Morgan were then harried about to get ready by FRIDAY, and AI program her father had invented long ago, in the form of the original JARVIS. Unfortunately, his coding and learned personality were lost when an earthquake struck southern California and shook the Malibu mansion off its cliffside seat and into the murky depths below. Okay, that may be a bit dramatic, but sue her, something needed to spice up the story of life in perpetually sunny SoCal.

Within thirty minutes she and her sister were presentable and ready to head down to where Happy was waiting in the car.

And to make a long story short, (Y/N) had managed to not only nearly knock down the lectern on the stage where her mother would be speaking shortly, but in the fall, she twisted her ankle all the way around. Nothing was broken, campaign medical staff had assured her, but any dummy would know that that footage was right then being broadcast on every phone, StarkTech or otherwise, throughout the nation. So in reality, her ego was bruised and battered more than her ankle was.

What got to her the most, though, was her constant characterization as cold and unfriendly. Of course, the reputation was probably well deserved, as she’d spat in a reporter’s face when she was just fifteen years old. But over time, she’d learned how to stop engaging, how to tamp down her temper. She’d learned that, when her mother was that age, she was quite the spitfire herself. Aunt Peggy would always tattle on her.

So it stung to know that she’d made progress in order to become a more ‘press-perfect’ daughter, just for them to turn around and make jokes about the stick up her ass or that she’d been replaced by an android of her father’s own creation.

And now here they were, hours later, as her mom had to make one last campaign stop before taking the presidential shoes off and trading them for her mom sneakers.

“...I’ll just uh… go get more of the bags from the car then,” Happy stammered, quickly excusing himself from the room.

Silence, comfortable and relaxing silence, filled the space between (Y/N) and Morgan. Of course, you could still hear the bustle of the New York streets below, but her floor seemed to be deserted.

(Y/N)’s eyelids began to droop, growing heavy after such an early morning, but she was abruptly shaken awake by a crashing sound outside her door, that only got louder as the door swung open.

In tumbled a brunette boy with wavy-ish hair and a toothy grin-turned-grimace. His hands were full of what looked like salvaged electronic parts. “Sorry about the noise,” he gasped out between breaths, “I didn’t want to make more than one trip and it seems I overestimated my grip.

Behind him wheeled in a huge suitcase. A few steps after that and an older lady stepped inside. His mother, (Y/N) assumed. Standing up from her spot on her unmade bed, she approached the woman, asking if she needed a hand. She was swiftly turned down and told to relax but (Y/N) didn’t miss the flare of recognition in the woman’s eyes as she put two and two together.

(Y/N) quickly spun around as the boy dumped all of the metal pieces and wires on to his desk before turning to face her and sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Peter. Peter Parker. What’s your name?”

(Y/N) grinned back. She hadn’t had to introduce herself in a long time. But something nagged her from the back of her mind. Peter Parker sounded awfully familiar.

[houkagokappa]

Sarazanmai Main PV analysis

Third time’s the charm. With Sarazanmai airing tomorrow I finally want to go through the main PV and give you my thoughts and impressions and observations from it.

The timing hasn’t been too bad since the official English subbed trailer came out yesterday when Crunchyroll announced they would add Sarazanmai to their simulcast for Spring 2019.

I don’t really have any authority to comment on the translation. It’s professionally made and it’s good. There are some translation differences to mine (I never translated the main PV, but they reuse a lot of the phrases I’ve translated in the past). For the most part I’ve been more literal (mainly so that I can retain as much original information as possible, even at the cost of it sounding chunkier).

Japanese is a very contextual language with room for many interpretations, especially when the full context is missing, so seeing differences in the translations are to be expected. The only difference I find eye-catching is the phrase “Suck out the greed” since they clearly use 欲望 desire/lust. Maybe the translator knows something about the upcoming episodes that I don’t? 

The PV starts with the same beautiful gloomy music from the Tsunagaru PV and Kazuki jogging/running in Asakusa. He’s wearing the matching bracelet he shares with Enta around his ankle. We specifically see shots of the red Azuma Bridge as well as Tokyo Skytree and Asahi Beer Hall in the background on the other side of the river. The stage is Asakusa alright.

Then there’s this wild spark in the middle of Kazuki’s melancholic narration about wanting to connect but not being able to.

Pink’s an unusual colour for sparks but plays on Ikuhara’s typical use of colours. It seems to be revealing a grid of some sort. This also feels very Ikuhara, he has a habit of combining the whimsical with the mechanical and technical. Think about the whole “ROCK OVER JAPAN” sequence for example.

The tone shifts, the upbeat ending theme “Stand By Me” by the peggies starts playing and Sara greets us cheerfully. She looks like an idol with her sparkling starry eyes and own TV program. The ア is everywhere. It seems to be used in her show a lot. There’s still no indication what exactly it stands for though.

This screenshot is pretty interesting. The text under “Fortune of today” says “lucky selfie divination”. Is Sara a fortune-teller? Are these her mysterious powers in action? The smaller text says “dish. I can’t see regular people. SARAtto report + Looking for the Prince. Characteristics are [ikevo?] a good smell and fair complexion”. Is that going to be Keppi or the mysterious figure from the last chapter of the manga? Or are they the same?

The focus shifts back to Kazuki. He’s talking about only needing three rules in his life, which could be good or a bad depending what those rules are. Okay let’s face it this is Ikuhara they’ll be bad. 

First he’s on his phone like in the earlier PV’s and then we see him with the kappazon cardboard box in his hands walking among other people. We get a quick glimpse of a weird golden kappa statue that makes the same kind of pose I assume the boys will do when they transform. What looks like a phone strap with Sara’s kappa-like creature swings by. It’s probably Kazuki’s and he’s a fan of Sara. There’s also a not-so-hidden ア that’s just on a tile on the pavement, showing us that they really are everywhere.

Next up we have Tooi. We’re shown a calendar (that I think is hanging on a classroom wall) with an overview of July and August (covering the summer vacation). Is that when Sarazanmai takes place? The illustrations for the calendar are of kappa. One highlights that kappa like/need water in their “sara” plates, the cavities on top of their heads. The other one depicts their love for sumo-wrestling. These are both typical kappa things we know from having studied the lore!

Tooi himself is along the river talking to his older brother Chikai. “Let’s get this over with. You and I aren’t very different”. There’s also one of the funniest reveals yet when we see Tooi’s weapon up close and it turns out to be a ruler. As a final touch there’s another ア to be seen right next to the brothers.

Then we get Enta’s presentation. At first he’s playing soccer by the river and then we see him holding on to the bracelet he shares with Kazuki. The in-between frame shows us a fish shop. What’s remarkable about it is that all the signs on it say “kiss”. Then we get a kappazon.co.jp box that flies away. Enta talks about having a strong bond that can’t be easily broken. Based on what we know it’s safe to assume he’s talking about Kazuki.

Then things get weirder when it’s Keppi’s time to appear on screen. He’s holding on to a cucumber, which is another thing that kappa love. He tells the boys that they’ve been turned into kappa and that they need to get the zombie shirikodama in order to turn back. We see the boys all slimy and gooey in their new kappa forms. Kazuki still has the box, so it might be something that happens during this walk of his that we’ve been seeing the whole time.

This is a very interesting frame. The pictograms behind the kappa boys look like ghosts. Are they supposed to be the boys’ souls or something like that? Or are they actual spirits wandering around? Story wise them being the boys’ makes more sense, but from an artistic viewpoint I think it’s weird to suddenly draw something that’s part of the main characters in the style that’s deliberately simplified and created for background characters. There’s also the “DO NOT ENTER” sign with the otter symbol and a cross over it. Clearly the otter is unwanted, that’s been confirmed by the Reo and Mabu’s keeponly1luv twitter account as well.

The PV continues with its interesting imagery. The next shot is of this circular shape with the words “no start”, “no end” and “no connection” getting revealed. We’ve heard these words before so they’ll be important.  They all tie together, but we’ll have to wait and see just how. It’s possible that they each apply to one of the three boys. Kazuki can’t connect, Enta doesn’t want to let go (end) and Tooi doesn’t want to uhh... get involved and start anything?? I’ll have to think about this more another time, or please send me your theories!

The background isn’t the same as it was for the spark earlier, but it’s the same style. I wonder if it’ll have anything to do with what the cops are up to because they’ll be introduced soon and they were the ones talking about no beginnings or endings.

The PV continues and there’s a small explosion hiding the boys in a cloud of black smoke while they let out a surprised scream.

Then there’s a pling, which I think resembles the sound an elevator makes when it reaches the right floor and opens its doors. The background is a metallic grey so it might as well be where the scene plays out. Reo and Mabu appear with their weird new catchphrase “Suck out the greed” (or desire!) and there’s some mechanical action that starts. Lights get turned on, gauges reach their max and a bunch of signs with the kanji 吸 “suu”, to suck or inhale appears.

I guess this is their machine for sucking out the greed? Or desire. I’ve pointed out the heart in the upper right corner before but it’s worth pointing out again. Earlier I wondered if this machine was somehow alive, but now I’m thinking that it might just stand for “desire”.

This is all controlled by the otters, the next cut shows us otters decals that are peeling. The otters seem to be controlling some circular objects, not unlike the construction we saw light up earlier.

Then there’s the “desire extraction” that covers all of Asakusa. The cops throw their hats. Celebrating their success? In an attempt to be dramatic? You decide.

Next up the opening there “Massara” by KANA-BOON starts playing and we see the three boys striking poses while in their kappa forms. I’m guessing it’s from the actual OP although it might be part of their transformation sequence.

Following this there’s a scene where the otter symbol all over Asakusa (or Sumida where Tokyo Skytree is located) burning red. It definitely looks like a bad infestation. There’s also a spiral with text reaching down from the heavens. The text is the same as we got in the first teaser PV’s and says “CHARGE” and “desire”. As something new there’s also ハコ which is the word for “box” written in katakana. I think this is a reference to the Box Zombie which is supposed to be the first zombie we’ll be introduced to. There are certainly boxes everywhere in the following shots while the zombie seems to have a lust for more cardboard.

Are the otters summoning the zombies? There’s definitely a connection between them.

Then we see Keppi run with a cart (or whatever it’s called) where the kappa boys sit. They seem pretty chill so I wonder if this is after their fight with the zombie? Next up we see one of these legendary shirikodama balls. It’s a ball with the kanji for butt on it. Then the three kappa boys are flying around, apparently connecting through the sarazanmai. They managed to connect in one way at least by holding on to each other’s hands.

I also find this next image interesting, it really plays up the “connection” part of Sarazanmai. We get the ア again and what looks like a mobile signal. It’s a very modern and a very literal interpretation. Ikuhara has mentioned the era of the internet and how easy it is to connect through the use of smartphones and apps several times when he’s talked about the inspirations behind Sarazanmai. Old vs. new has been another topic and this highlights that as well.

After this we see another shot of the Asakusa Sara TV program. The text is the same as previously but this time the image is of a traditionally drawn Japanese woman. Is this where the “old” is brought in?

Then this is another one of my favourite shots! It’s the Niimi Yoshokkiten kitchenware department store, that’s also the building where Reo and Mabu’s “Asakusa Sara Kouban” is located. Their police box/station is the red structure at the bottom of the building and I think we can see their silhouettes inside of it. What I really love about this image though is the otter that’s next to the giant chefs head on top. To be clear, the chef’s head is actually there in real life actual Asakusa while the otter is something the anime added there. I think this highlights the fact that Reo and Mabu are working under the otter (literally! - pun not intended).

The signs on the building are a bit difficult to decipher, but I see ウソ a lot which means lie. There’s also something about the world and food/eating? The text on the top that says “kawau” is probably in reference to “kawauso” which means otter.

As a side note I want to point out that the second teaser PV that featured the otter symbol had a narration about lies and otters. Could it be about Reo and Mabu? Who’s the one with the strong desire…

Right after that split second image we get this one. That’s an otter! Clearly controlling/ordering all the other otters around! Mabu makes a comment that someone tries to get in their way, which we can assume will be the three boys. Are they confirmed villains now? I feel like a lot of people aren’t buying it. With Ikuhara first impressions are often deceiving and characters can have good reasons for their seemingly horrible actions, so I wouldn’t count in it.

Next Asakusa Sara TV reports on flying boxes. The text that is show on screen is absolutely horrible to read and full with silly puns on Sara’s name and her using “dish” instead of “desu”. It’s cute as long as you don’t have to translate it yourself. The time here is 19:00 which makes me think that this PV covers the entire first episode and will end here with this (it was 7:55 at the start).

Reo and Mabu have their little quasi villain speech and then Keppi talks to the boys and says “you’re as dead as you are alive”. Does this have to do with the “turning into kappa” process and the “ghosts” I mentioned earlier? Are the boys’ actually half-alive, half-dead? Isn’t that what zombies are? Suddenly things are starting to make more sense!

There’s quite a lot going on visually. Keppi’s eyes look terrifying. They’re large, read, black and purple. He seems to clapping, so I’m guessing this happens after the boys have dealt with the zombie successfully. One of the ア signs falls down and is heavy enough to break the pavement. There’s a close-up of Kazuki’s face where he looks kind of frightened and surprised and then in classic Ikuhara fashion there’s a shot of hands trying to hold on to each other but not being able to do so. However, unlike in his previous works there are now three of them. It’s most likely for the three boys, although it could also be one boy using both of his hands.

Then there’s text on the screen that says “even if you connect”. Tooi fills in that he “won’t let you have it”, Enta says that he “doesn’t ask for anything else” while Kazuki “can’t bear to lose his connection”. Tooi’s just angsting in front of the lockers, Enta’s shown where he was practising football, but what’s interesting is that he has a kappazon box right next to him. It looks like the one Kazuki was carrying. Could it be the same? Could it have been for him? Kazuki’s chilling somewhere (at home?) out of frame with his phone in his hands. He has the Sara strap on it and a tiny otter icon appears on the screen.

Then the most mysterious thing in the PV happens with all these ア signs flying around and uhh... through Kazuki? The pink things look a little bit like buildings, are they perhaps reflections? The sparkles and the rainbow give this image the impression there’s something reflective. I really don’t have that much else to say although I’d love to be able to do so.

The PV ends with the three boys appearing as kappa yelling “sara” and “sarazanmai”. The final shot shows us the iconic look over Asakusa and Sumida with the tagline “Don’t let go. Desire is your life.” The ア’s are everywhere.

[lalunaunita]

Lucky Shot, Chapter 2: Duck and Cover

New chapter of my Shieldshock fic! Read it here and on Ao3.

Rated Teen for language.

Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, Shieldshock, MCU

Chapter 2: Duck and Cover

Darcy let her teeth chatter a bit after Cap - no, Steve - jumped out his own window like a maniac and took off toward the danger. She rolled her shoulders and shook out her arms to release the nerves and adrenaline still rushing through her system. She thought she’d put up a pretty good front - and she wasn’t lying, anyway. She and Jane had been through a lot worse than a couple guys with guns. Still, facing mortality was never pleasant, in a way these superhuman types couldn’t understand. Darcy hated feeling so helpless. Jane always worked the problem - it was her go-to solution when shit hit the fan. Darcy felt more like a duck-and-cover sort most days. Hide under a desk and cower in fear. Or sit in a secure apartment and go through Steve Roger’s watchlist.

Geez, everything on here is old, Darcy thought. Ooh! White Christmas!

She went to the kitchen to find a snack, then settled in and pressed play. Darcy had already texted Janie, with no response. She wasn’t worried, though. Jane was off presenting at a fancy science conference for the whole week, well away from upstate New York.

The movie opened at the end of World War II and she immediately thought of Steve. Her thoughts meandered back to the prior month - the last time Captain America had done something heroic to save her life.

One month ago -

Darcy had long since gotten used to the famous faces around the New Avengers Facility. Earlier in the year Tony Stark, on Erik Selvig’s recommendation, had offered Dr. Jane Foster a bit of lab space and all the tech she could want for various projects. Unlimited budget and no oversight? Darcy had been skeptical, but Tony assured them that the only catch was they had to live in the swanky apartments provided on-site.

Jane and Darcy dropped their prior commitments and came running.

They worked steadily on astronomical observations for nearly three months - nothing flashy, just data. Darcy steered clear of the New Avengers program. Several other scientists she met frequented the tall windows over the New Avenger’s training wing on their lunch breaks, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Scarlet Witch in action, or Cap tossing his shield around. Darcy’d had enough adventure being around Thor during the Convergence.

So when she ended up on an elevator with Steve Rogers, she gave him a quick side-eye and pulled her phone closer to her face. The man exuded confidence in waves. No doubt he had important business, like meeting Tony about defense systems for the compound or something.

“Which floor?” he asked politely, his finger hovering over the buttons.

Darcy opened her mouth to reply when the lights flickered. The comforting hum of the elevator powered down, leaving the pair of them in darkness.

“Uh...what the shit?” Darcy muttered, tucking her phone in her bag.

“Nothing to worry about, ma’am,” Cap reassured her as she grimaced. “Stark tech is the best in the world.”

“Ma’am,” she grumbled to herself. Come on! She wasn’t the one in her nineties!

The elevator made an eerie guttural creak and she edged closer to the geriatric beside her. She couldn’t see, so she just guessed and then accidentally hit Cap in the arm with her face. Embarrassed, she backed off.

“Sorry, Cap, didn’t see you there.”

Darcy blushed as she remembered her phone. She pulled it back out and switched on the flashlight app just in time to see Steve pop open the emergency phone panel.

“Hello?” he said pleasantly, like it was a social call. “Yes. Elevator 3B. Yes. Well, I can open it, sure, but would that damage it? Okay, then. Okay. Got it.”

Steve hung up the phone and turned to her.

“They said I can just open the doors, so we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”

Darcy nodded and did her best not to pull a face at him. She was sure the kindly attitude was meant to put her at ease, but it felt patronizing.

“Ooookay, Cap. Lemme know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Hold the light?” he grunted as he placed his fingertips to the seam of the elevator doors.

Darcy rolled her eyes. Well, if there was one thing she’d learned to do while working with Jane, it was effectively hold a flashlight. She raised her phone up high over his shoulder, doing her best to ignore the way his muscles bunched as he applied outward pressure to the doors. They slid apart inch by inch to reveal… a concrete wall and a few wires dangling here and there.

“We’re between floors,” Darcy said, lowering her phone. “That sucks.”

“Yep. Won’t be getting out that way,” Steve replied, brushing off his hands.

He glanced up and around, standing on tiptoe to test one of the ceiling panels. It gave way and he pushed it aside.

“How do you feel about climbing?” he asked Darcy, who was now shining her flashlight up through the hole he’d created.

“About the same as being stuck in an elevator, so it’s not really an improvement,” she replied.

Another straining whine sounded and Darcy sucked in a breath as the floor shook.

“I take it back, I love climbing-”

A loud snap cut off her words. The pair were flung from their feet as the elevator dropped several inches. A meager beam of light shone through a two-inch crack at the bottom of the doors, but it wasn’t nearly enough to crawl through. Darcy scrambled to her feet and put the phone away again, hauling her bag around to rest at her back.

“We gotta go,” Steve said, leaning over and cupping his hands for Darcy.

She stepped onto his fingers, not quite sure how she would reach the ceiling even with his help. With a startling quickness, Darcy felt herself rise through the air. She clutched at Steve’s broad shoulders to steady herself. Steve lifted her easily up above his head and halfway through the ceiling of the elevator; she nearly flew out of his hands as she came waist-high out of the compartment. She leaned over and grabbed for anything that was bolted down, then hauled her legs out one at a time.

“You, uh, need a hand up?” she called once she was clear of the opening.

The elevator shuddered again and Darcy hung on to the nearest piece of machinery, resisting the urge to just lay down flat on the unsteady surface. Steve jumped, gripped the framework of the ceiling, and fluidly pulled himself up and over the edge.

“Now what?” Darcy asked.

“Now we go there,” replied Steve, pointing to a set of doors five feet above their heads.

“Stupid Stark and his stupid fancy high ceilings,” Darcy muttered under her breath.

She thought she heard a snort and looked suspiciously at Steve, but she couldn’t make out his expression in the gloom. Darcy released her death grip on the elevator’s metal parts and cautiously stood up.

“Okay, come here to the edge. That’s it. I’ve got you,” Steve murmured as Darcy picked her way across the top of the elevator.

His outstretched hand was warm and calloused when she took it. Maybe the patronizing tone wasn’t so bad after all.

The elevator gave another yawning sigh. Darcy felt Steve’s fingers tighten minutely over hers and she suddenly realized he could probably crush her hand to jelly if he wasn’t careful. She reached the edge of the elevator, her toes coming right to it, her free hand touching the rough concrete of the elevator shaft. That was when the floor disappeared.

Darcy’s stomach dropped into her feet. She screamed, fully expecting to free-fall into a busted nest of twisted metal and electrical wires at the bottom of the shaft. She couldn’t feel anything other than Steve Roger’s hand clutching hers. Then her shoulder whacked into the concrete wall, scraping hard enough to rip her cardigan and draw blood. Darcy looked up, eyes wide with confusion.

Fucking Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers leaned out from the wall like a modern-day Tarzan, gripping the lip of the shaft opening with one hand and holding tight to her with the other.

A deafening crash shook the elevator shaft and Darcy hiccuped out another little scream. A surge of air raced upward, blowing her hair into her face. The smell was metallic mixed with old mustiness. Darcy sneezed, her fingers tightening.

“Hang on, ma’am. Someone’s here to open the door,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Sure,” Darcy choked out. Her arm protested, pain shooting down its length. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire.

A few loud bangs and a pop heralded the opening of the door above their heads. Darcy looked up again just in time to see her rescuer grin, haloed by the fluorescent light that spilled out of the doorway. Despite her discomfort, Darcy smiled back. Steve Rogers was way too handsome for his own good, especially when he was in his element.

“Darcy,” she sighed, taking in his ruddy cheeks and warm blond locks.

“What?” Steve replied.

“I’m not ‘ma’am’. My name’s -”

“Darcy!!”

The shout startled Darcy out of her reverie and she dropped her spoon.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered looking down at the smudge of ice cream on Captain America’s couch, then back up as his door burst open.

“Darcy, you’re not safe here. We’ve got to - hey, is that my New York Super Fudge Chunk?!”

Steve stood in the doorway, his chest heaving and his hair mussed. His T-shirt was ripped right across his pecs, but he appeared otherwise uninjured. She leaned forward, casually covering the ice cream stain with one hand on the armrest.

“You said I could raid the fridge, Steve. It’s not my fault you don’t hide your stash better.” Darcy tried to surreptitiously retrieve her spoon from beneath the couch cushion as she defended herself.

Steve stamped in, grumbling. “I thought a wall of frozen dinners around it would indicate what was off limits. Anyway, grab your shoes. I was wrong about their target.”

“Oh?” Darcy put the ice cream pint on Steve’s coffee table and tugged on her boots.

“Yep. You need to get out of here.” Steve rifled through a low cabinet in his kitchen, tugging loose a black duffel bag. He slung it over one shoulder, not bothering to check the contents.

“Is that a ‘go’ bag? So you mean out of here as in out of your apartment, or…”

“...out of here as in off-site,” Steve confirmed. “You’re the target, Darcy. This building is compromised. They know our security protocols and all kinds of hidey-holes.”

“Okay, well, that’s stupid,” Darcy replied, not slowing as she stood and pulled on her cardigan. “I’m not even the best hostage material in the building. There’s Jane...Pepper… hell, I think Alan in the mail room has a higher clearance than me.”

Her lips thinned as she lined up behind Steve at the door frame. He peered out, glancing back and forth before motioning to her to follow. The hall had that quiet hum Darcy usually associated with safety. Now it sounded ominous in her ears.

“He doesn’t,” said Steve as they walked swiftly to the stairwell.

“Who what?”

“Alan. He doesn’t have a higher security clearance.”

“That was a joke, Steve. I make jokes when I’m nervous.”

Darcy paused as Steve raised his arm for silence and quietly pulled open the stairwell door. He nodded to her and they passed through.

“There’s a helipad on the roof,” Steve murmured.

Darcy wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. He fumbled in a side pocket of the duffel for a moment, then passed her an earwig. Mystified, Darcy put it in. He pressed his own and Darcy got a double-dose of his voice as he spoke.

“Maria, can you get us a helicopter? I have the target with me: Darcy Lewis - she’s Dr. Foster’s assistant.” 

He started upward, Darcy following, but paused on the second step as the response came.

“No go, Cap,” Natasha answered. “A couple of these assholes have rocket launchers - you can’t leave via the roof.”

“This is awfully flashy for a hostage grab,” Steve replied, grumbling.

He turned and Darcy stumbled back, out of his way. They went down instead. Finally, Darcy thought.

“So we take a car, right?” she murmured, trying to minimize the echo that bounced around the stairwell. Her boots stamped a betraying clatter on the concrete steps.

“Yeah, I think that’s our best option,” Steve agreed.

They descended the rest of the way in silence, stopping only when they reached the parking level. Steve paused, interposing his shield between himself and the door, then gently pulled it open. He glanced around quickly, then nodded to Darcy as he passed through.

She tiptoed in under buzzing fluorescents, stifling the urge to hang onto Steve’s free arm as he strode confidently forward. He held his key card up to a box mounted on the wall and it released with a click, revealing a few dozen sets of keys. Grabbing one, Steve pressed the key fob and a pair of headlights flickered with a beep.

Darcy heard the squeak of a sneaker before she saw anything.

“Steve!” she shouted, ducking just as a bullet whined over her head.

Steve turned his shield in the direction of fire and grabbed Darcy around the waist, tucking her between himself and the vibranium. Goons in the underground garage fired off more rounds as the pair ran, crouched, to the getaway car. Steve yanked the door open and pushed Darcy in.

“Go!” he shouted.

She crawled over the driver’s seat, flinching as more bullets impacted the vehicle. It hardly even shook. Surprised, she settled into the passenger’s seat and realized the sleek sedan was bullet-proof as more gunfire sounded. Steve chucked his shield into the back and slammed the driver’s side door. He twisted the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Steve reminded her as he peeled out, tires squealing.

Rolling her eyes but not an idiot, Darcy did as she was told. She lifted the flap of her purse and rummaged around, sighing with relief when she found her chapstick. Muffled impact sounded behind her and she twisted to see more bullets spraying the back window. The sight made her flinch, but the bullets just plinked off like pea gravel and her fear dissipated. Grinning to herself, Darcy shot the finger at the two men running behind the vehicle. Turning back around, she adjusted her seat and yanked the belt into a more comfortable position. The roar of her pulse abated as she looked up at her accidental protector.

“So where to, Cap?” she asked.

“Not sure,” he replied. “We’ve got to get clear and then find someplace safe for a bit while the Avengers figure this thing out.”

His reply was conversational, like he did this all the time.

He’s not even winded, Darcy thought to herself. Jerk. She watched as he flipped switches on the console; within moments, the Black Widow’s garbled voice could be heard.

Darcy’s righteous indignation drained away when they emerged into daylight. A peek in the passenger side mirror made her gasp.

“Steve!” she hollered just as the pair from the garage fired an actual rocket at their car.

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

~luna’s chai fund~

[literati42]

Batfam Fic: The Family Martyr

Title: The Family Martyr

Rating: PG 13 for a tiny bit of language

Characters: Tim Drake and Cass Cain, with Bruce and Damian Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth

Genre: Fluff, mild angst, h/c, family bonding

Description: 100 theme challenge 23: Overwhelmed. By request from @thelittleredheadedmusician . Tim is the go to guy in the Wayne family. Unfortunately, that sometimes means the requests stack up. Even the best detective in the world can get overwhelmed sometimes.

Note 1: Still taking requests!

Note 2: Check out my batfam masterlist for more fun 😊

            The problem with being the family’s go to guy to put out fires was, the Waynes always had more fires. Tim growled at the Batcave’s massive computer, his fingers flying over the keys. He could feel the crick beginning to form in his neck, but Bruce was swamped with the current case, and someone had to fix the wide-scale malfunction occurring with the computer. Meanwhile, Dick’s comm sat beside him, occasionally making electric sputters, which it started doing after Nightwing took it for an unplanned dip in the sewer system. The comms were water proof, unfortunately, they were not a direct hit from the Croc proof.

           A message lit up the screen and interrupted his flow of progress as Bruce’s baritone came through. “Red Robin, I am sending a sample back to you. I need you to analyze it.”

           “On it,” the teen replied shortly. He moved the message off the screen to focus back on his work until the package arrived. He began typing again, then Pennyworth—the cat not the Butler—crawled across the keyboard. “Hey, get out of here,” he said, attempting to push the cat off. It took this as a sign of affection and wrapped its fuzzy frame around his arm. “Not now, Pennyworth.”

           “Master Timothy?” the Butler’s voice came across the comms. Apparently, he was also logged in so he could hear what occurred from wherever he was in the mansion above.

           “Not you Alfred,” Tim said, trying to keep his tone from sounding short with his adoptive grandfather, “Cat Pennyworth.”

           “You better not be mistreating my cat, Drake.”

           “Damian, get off the comm unless you have something important to contribute,” Tim snapped in return.

“Preventing cat abuse is important.”

“I am not abusing your cat, even if it is a devil like you,” Tim said as the creature leaped onto his lap, proceeded to walk a circle around his legs, and start kneading. A package flew through the cave, carried by one of the fist-sized drones he had previously programmed for Batman. It dropped the package beside him. Tim paused his work, taking out the sample Bruce sent his way. He placed it into the computer’s scanners and set the machine to run through a series of tests while trying to move as little as possible lest he dislodge the cat that had settled into a sudden purring slumber. Tim strained to reach over and grab his coffee but glared down at the mug. Empty. He set it back on the desk with an offended huff. “Alfred, are you still listening in?”

“More coffee is brewing, Master Timothy.”

Tim smiled slightly despite himself, “You, are a lifesaver, Alfred.”

Another message activated on the screen. Tim sighed and selected it. “Go ahead, Oracle.”

“Tim, I’m picking up some activity in Crime Alley.”

“And Bruce is across town,” he said, pulling up the map that indicated the location of the caped family patriarch and his youngest and only biological son. “I’m on it.” Tim slowly removed the cat from his lap, earning himself an angry meow. He felt another sigh rumble up. “Hey Alfred, keep that coffee warm for me, alright?”

“Are you certain you should be going out, Master Timothy? It has been 36 hours since you last slept.”

“Who's counting,” Tim replied. He ran a hand over his eyes, trying to brush off the exhaustion.

Two hours later, Tim dragged back into the cave. His boots stuck and released from the floor with a sickening squish. “Drake…” Damian’s voice came from inside the cave now. The youngest Wayne and Batman both froze when they saw him. They watched him walk across the cave trailing crimson and the stench of rotten flesh behind him. “Oracle,” Tim said, leaning over the computer controls.

“Go ahead, Red.”

“I have the Pyg situation taken care of, and he is back in Arkham where he belongs.”

“Did you roll through a slaughterhouse, Drake?” Damian asked at the same moment Bruce said, “Is any of that blood yours?”

“No, and no,” Tim said, sinking into the chair with an audible squish. Damian cringed.

“Wonderful, Drake, now  we’ll have to burn that chair to get the smell out.”

Tim swiveled the chair back in a flash, eyes dark. “I am fixing the Batcomputer, working on Dick’s comms, and running tests for Bruce and all of it without any damn coffee! Now back off and let me get all the damn work done.”

Damian began to reply, but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, shutting down any words with one decisive shake of the head. Tim turned back to the computer. He did not hear his family members leave, but he felt the absence of them in his airspace. He focused on typing. The screen seemed to burn his tired eyes, and he felt the eyelids give a little twitch in solidarity with his shaky hands.

Then a gloved hand grabbed his and removed it from the keyboard. “No.” Cass’s voice was quiet, but her frown was undeniable even though her face was hidden. Tim looked up as she used her free hand to pull back the cowl.

“No?” he asked.

“No. You need coffee and a shower. No excuses.”

“Cass.”

“No excuses.”

“Cass…”

She shook her head. Then she pulled him up, stepping in ignoring the blood that got on her suit, and hugged him. Her arms were strong and tight around his shoulders. Cass grounded him in his body, making him aware of the aches from the recent fights and from the long nights. He felt the tension in his shoulders. “Let me be your strength, Tim.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against his sister’s shoulder. All of a sudden he was shaking, all of a sudden he was crying. He hunched in on himself as if to hide the weakness, but Cass would not let him go. She held him firm and her fingers twisted in the back of his shirt.

After a long interlude, he lifted his head, and Cass rested her forehead to his. “I see you, brother. I see everything you do. I appreciate you, little brother.” The words chipped away at the resentment and pain that had been growing in him. He realized at once how long he needed those words without realizing it. She pulled back and smiled slightly.

“You get a shower then come down to the kitchen. No excuses.”

A warm shower later, Tim slipped on the clean clothes Cass had laid on his bed and headed down to the cave. He would go to the kitchen as she requested, but not first. He walked in expecting to witness the chaos he left and stopped.

The cave floor was clean of blood, the computer chair sparkling. Dick’s comm was gone, and there was a sticky note stuck to the Batcomputer that said, “Fix this later -B.” Tim went up the stairs to the kitchen. He found Cass at the table with a cup of hot chocolate in front of her. She pushed a mug his way, and he knew at once it was coffee. Alfred glanced at him and smiled softly, “You look refreshed, Master Timothy,” he said, “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” Tim nodded and walked over to take the spot across from Cass. He could not find a word to say. Bruce came in next.

“B, did you…I mean I was coming back to sort out the cave…”

Bruce stopped, “All I did was leave the note.” He smiled slightly, getting himself a mug of coffee.

“Then who…” Tim looked at Cass, but she shook her head. At that moment, Damian came in and marched over to inspect Alfred’s work. Tim glanced at Cass and saw her smiling. He mouthed ‘Damian?’ to her, and her smile just grew. Bruce came over to them, letting his hand drop onto Tim’s shoulder.

“You do go work, Tim.”

Tim stared up at him. It was only five words, but the moment and the meaning stretched beyond what the short sentence would imply. “I expect you to go to bed as soon as dinner is over,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow, “I know how long you’ve been up.”

“I’m not a child, Bruce,” Tim said, but he couldn’t find much heat for the comment in that moment, especially when Bruce smiled in response.

“Good, then you will be responsible and go to bed like an adult.” Bruce squeezed his shoulder and walked over to speak with Alfred.

Cass reached across the table and squeezed his wrist, smiling. “We love you, Tim,” she said, and the warm fondness in her eyes punctuated the words.

[the-record-newspaper]

The killing of Rhonda Hinson: Part III

Judy Hinson, the mother of Rhonda Hinson, shows the dress worn by her daughter at her senior prom. It was the only time Rhonda wore the dress. Record photo by Larry Griffin

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

…I just finished my trig exam and I was thinking about you.  I love you!  Please don’t let those exams get you down.  OK?  You’d better be happy or I’ll get you.  (remember [sic] I have a shotgun)  Just kidding….—Greg McDowell letter to Rhonda Hinson

 Rhonda Hinson was changing.  Her family noticed.  Her friends and acquaintances noticed and said as much.  And from the tenor of his notes, cards, and letters to his girlfriend; Greg McDowell noticed.

“During her senior year, Rhonda started struggling in school,” her mother, Judy Hinson recalled. “I don’t remember what all she was taking; however, she did have French, I believe—she didn’t like it. Rhonda had always done well in school before; but her last year was different.”    

Rhonda’s best friend, Jill Turner-Mull, was surprised by that observation.  “I personally didn’t notice anything unusual about Rhonda’s performance at school—neither of us was a straight-A student; but, we did well.  Usually, it is the junior year that is the toughest academically—not your senior year.”  Ms. Turner-Mull mused that maybe it was something else—perhaps stress related to her relationship with Greg McDowell.

But other of Rhonda’s acquaintances—in general—noted an alteration to her usual happy-go-lucky demeanor.  Her levity of spirit became more serieux, and the ease of social interactions, for which she was noted, devolved into disease.  Her friends remarked that she became more distant, less spontaneous—even sullen—and the ubiquitous smile she readily radiated appeared infrequently.  

Characteristically, when something was troubling Rhonda she rarely talked about it; when asked, she tended to be reserved.  

“She built a glass wall (much like some people build a brick wall)…but with this thick glass wall, you could see her, and you thought that you knew her; but, you didn’t know what she didn’t want you to know.  She just didn’t talk about feelings or what might have been bothering her,” averred Rhonda’s first cousin, Dr. Christina Hardin.  

Rhonda and her cousin, ‘Christy,’ enjoyed a very close relationship.  They grew up together, played together, shared mischievous childhood adventures, and held sacrosanct the concomitant secrets about them.  For instance, when Cousin Christy and family visited the Hinson home, the two girls would exit the house through the back door and follow a path through the woods that lead to a berry patch.  

“I don’t remember why, exactly; but we were not supposed to do that; of course, we did it anyway and kept that secret between us. Rhonda and I could communicate without really using words—the way she stroked her hair, facial expressions, and body language were the ways we communicated.  But during that last year [she lived]—especially that summer—something changed,” recollected Christina Hardin.  “The change was subtle and unspoken and you couldn’t put a finger on it or describe it.  But things were different—just different.”

But there were some notable behavior changes that her cousin recounted during a telephonic interview.  “Rhonda became less talkative—she usually was very chatty, always having something to say.  And her word choices tended to be less…optimistic and—though not exactly dark—tended toward the dark side.  That just wasn’t the way she typically talked.”

Mother Judy Hinson recounted a time when Rhonda confided in a minister whose church provided daycare services for the community and, at which, she and her daughter were employed.  “I was working at the Valdese First Christian Church Daycare and Rhonda worked there after school her senior year at East Burke.  I noticed, one day, that she approached the minister of the church, Rev. [Richard] Blackwell, and talked to him for a good while. To this day, I don’t really know what was troubling her or even the topic of conversation.  Maybe she was talking about her struggles with school or even her relationship(s)—I just don’t know.  But that [talking about her problems with someone] was just not like Rhonda.”

Rhonda’s boyfriend could not help but notice the alterations in her behavior—especially the disappearance of her smile—and commented often in his communiqués.  In a couple notes, he fabricates ‘smiley-faces,’ using round, orange stickers upon which he drew eyes and broad smiles.  In one letter, Greg reminds his girlfriend that she can unburden her troubles upon him:  

…Please don’t ever forget that I love you and if anything [writer’s emphasis] is ever bothering you, please tell me so we can talk about it, OK?  

PS. Now that you’ve read this mushy letter, how about a kiss and a smile?

By every indication, Greg persisted in his subtle subterfuge to encourage Rhonda to write notes to him during the school day—a behavior that, much to his consternation, he had failed to inspire in her. “It’s lunch so I thought I’d drop you a line.  (Hint, hint, you can do the same for me sometime, the cards are in my locker!)”

As troubling for her boyfriend was Rhonda’s failure to arrive at school in time to see him prior to the homeroom bell—even when she promised to do so.   And Greg commenced to comment frequently on that shortcoming—at first playfully before assuming a testier tone.  On one note card that he left at her locker, Greg writes:  “…Well, the bell just rang and my HONEY is not at school yet.  What am I going to do with you?”

With frustration seemingly escalating, he subsequently complains:  

Well, the bell just rang and you’re not even [writer’s emphasis] here.   I’ve been waiting to see you since 8:00 but what can I say?  I guess I’ll see ya when you get here.

Love always (even when you’re late),

Greg

With the dawning of Spring 1981, the thoughts of the graduating class of East Burke High School turned toward graduation—before that, however, there was the excitement of prom night.  

“Rhonda had placed her dress on layaway at Melville’s in the Valley Hills Mall in Hickory,” Judy recalled. “Bob and I went down and surprised her by getting the dress out for her.”  To this day, Judy has her daughter’s prom dress carefully preserved in a box.

Rhonda and Greg attended the senior prom, as did their friends Jill Turner-Mull and Mark Turner.  The quartet spent considerable time together, double-dated on more than one occasion, and ventured out on trips. 

Greg McDowell and Rhonda Hinson on their way to their senior prom. 

As her friend had done, Jill purchased her dress at Valley Hills Mall and recalled assisting Rhonda as she prepared for the stellar event.  

“To my recollection, prom was held in April…and we must have gotten dressed together that evening, because I recall doing her hair and makeup.”  

Rhonda rarely wore makeup—her mother remembered as much.  “She told me that when she was wearing makeup, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. In fact, I can only recall three times in which she wore makeup—prom night was the first.”

Of course, the Hinsons captured that rite-of-passage moment-in-time with their Polaroid after Greg arrived to pick up their daughter.  

On Tuesday June 2, 1981 at 8 p.m., East Burke High School conducted its graduating commencement in the Cavalier’s football stadium.  In excess of 300 seniors received diplomas during the ceremony—among which were Rhonda Hinson, Greg McDowell, Jill Turner-Mull, and Mark Turner. (Ironically, this writer was one of the congregants within the considerable congregation of family and friends who had gathered to witness the graduation of their young women and men—among whom was my sister, Jackie Griffin Berry.)

Interestingly, the top 11 honor students for the Class of 1981 were listed in the program.  Greg McDowell, who had served as the only male Junior Marshall in 1980, was not among them.  

In the late Summer of 1981—subsequent to graduation—Rhonda, Greg, Jill, and Mark journeyed to Myrtle Beach to celebrate.  Mark Turner remembered that trip.  He recalled staying at his grandfather’s mobile home in Lakewood Campground and that Greg drank Budweiser beer to excess.  “He put the cans or labels up on the refrigerator,” Mark recalled of his friend.

During their holiday, Turner recounted Greg’s attempts to entice Rhonda to have sex with him—she rebuffed his overtures.

“Greg went out on the beach and tried to pick other girls up for sex.  Rhonda caught him and an argument ensued.  He or maybe Rhonda threatened to walk back home.  I do not recall Greg ever hitting or pushing Rhonda.  They did argue quite often.”

But the Summer of 1981 correspondence that passed between the young couple suggests that their relationship was devolving from amorous into abusive, both physically and emotionally—the evidence of which was referenced in a rare, terse handwritten response penned by Rhonda Hinson.  In it, she breaks her shielded silence to protest Greg’s treatment of her:

Since I am such a liar, I ain’t saying nothing.  Thank you for hurting my lip and jaw where my tooth hurts.

No longer your,

Fuzzy Lassie

[fancymuffinparty]

Prelude

Rating: T; for language and suggestive material.

Pairing: Levi x Mikasa, RivaMika

Summary:  Written for the fifth RivaMika Jam! The story of how an aspiring musician meets and falls for his muse. My partner was @zerolr and my prompt was: “Mikasa is an ordinary person working at a grocery/supermarket store and Levi is a famous musician/actor. He sees her and finds himself attracted/interested in her. So while she checks out his purchase, Levi leaves her his phone number.” I kinda deviated a little from the original premise, but I hope it still turned out okay! :) This was fun to work with and I’m glad I signed up this time around!

Word Count: 3873 (a little long lol oops)

Music is one of many ways people are able to express themselves.

Soft, slow melodies from jazz or classical styles evoke calmness and serenity. Heavier themes can be conveyed through powerhouse ballads of the rock n’ roll variety. Regardless of the genre, there’s almost always a message or meaning to these intricate works of art, crafted from some sort of stimulus.

Some musicians draw inspiration from everyday life and personal experience, travelling and exploring new sights, or through the release of pent up emotions; a coping mechanism for dealing with hardships and complexities of this cruel yet beautiful world.

Aspiring musician Levi Ackerman fears he’s lost any and all inspiration. He has talent, that much is true. However, he recognizes that plenty of other ‘up-and-comers’ and ‘desperate hopefuls’ have talent. His music has hit a plateau, unsure where to take his current career aspirations or how exactly to get where he wants to be. He yearns for a stimulating experience; something to pull him out of this awful rut and set him apart from others in the highly competitive and cut-throat industry, riddled with unoriginal material and blatant narcissism.

Enter Mikasa, and the spark comes back.

She’s a quiet, reserved cashier at a small grocery store he frequents on a weekly basis. Always calm, smiles politely to every customer, and tends the same checkout stand every time.

Every other week-night. From six to midnight. Like clockwork.

Levi’s newfound muse is exactly what he needs as a source of inspiration.

It just so happens that he’s conveniently run out of a few basic necessities, prompting a trip to the grocery store on an unseasonably warm Thursday night.

Before long, he’s face to face with her, setting his gathered items on the counter in a meticulously neat array.

As Mikasa begins ringing up his purchase, she can’t help but engage in harmless conversation.

“That’s… a lot of cleaning supplies.” She suppresses a small chuckle, swiping the items along the scanner to a steady rhythm of beeps.

Levi, the ultimate clean-freak, feels no shame in what he considers a redeemable quality. He also seeks to use the situation as a means for something a bit more meaningful.

“My roommates,” he explains, “can be a handful.” That’s one way to put it.

“I can definitely relate,” Mikasa drawls, nodding her head. “Take on most of the responsibilities, right?”

“For the most part,” Levi replies. “They might be terrible roommates, but I can’t exactly get rid of ‘em.”

Still ringing up the last of the items, Mikasa coyly turns her gaze directly his way. “Some sort of obligation?”

Levi lists off the generalities of his living situation. “Longtime friends, band-mates…”

To his surprise, Mikasa pauses and expresses interest in pursuing the matter. “Band, huh?” A hard-to-read smile perches on her lips. “Is it more of a hobby? Like a side thing?”

He’s used to these kinds of questions, therefore he’s more than willing to answer. “Started out as a hobby, until we started booking gigs and performing here and there.”

“Seems as though you like it enough.”

“The extra money is nice, especially when it’s for something I enjoy doing.” Levi pulls out his wallet, preparing to pay for the cleaning haul. “Some venues are better than others. Some crowds are tougher than others. It’s hit and miss sometimes.”

Upon finishing bagging up the items, Mikasa briefly changes the subject, reverting back to the task at hand. “I might’ve asked you last time you were here, but any chance you’re interested in signing up for our new rewards program?”

Levi knows it’s a part of her job to ask every customer. Hell, the manager probably keeps tabs on which employee has signed up the most people per shift. He himself once worked in retail, so he can relate to working in an environment where employees are pressured to fulfill such menial assignments.

Either way, he’s still reluctant. “What would that entail?”

Utilizing her charismatic skills to their full potential, Mikasa makes an effort to reassure any concerns. “It’s free to sign up. All we need is an email and phone number.” Aligning her gaze with the mountain of cleaning products, she quickly adds, “And given that you’re here every week to stock up for the apocalypse, I think you’d benefit from it.”

Levi ultimately relents. “Well when you put it that way, it sounds reasonable.” A smirk creeps along the corner of his mouth as he begins filling out a sign-up sheet. “I thought maybe you were just playing it cool, trying to get my phone number.”

His attempt at flirting certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed and Mikasa finds it impossible to suppress the surge of red rising to her cheeks.

“Just… doing my job,” is all she can manage.

Thank god it’s a slow night and there’s no one else in line behind him, or this might have been a thousand times weirder. She accepts both the small slip of paper and his form of payment, finalizing the transaction in one fell swoop.

“Have a good night,” she says, handing him his receipt.

Levi, assuming that’s the end of it, nods and moves to grab the plastic bags full of his purchases, thanking her before turning away. Suddenly, and so unexpectedly, Mikasa’s voice pipes up and momentarily stops him from leaving the checkout stand.

“You should let me know when your next gig is,” she states casually. “I’d love to hear you play some time.”

Levi wasn’t sure what he had done to have been rewarded this many 'good karma’ points, but he accepts his lucky break nonetheless. Keeping his tone as casual as hers, he responds with, “Well now that you have my number, maybe you should call me when you’re free.”

Mikasa contemplates his sly remark, shaking her head. “I have a better idea.” She pulls out a pen and small piece of paper, using the counter as a flat surface while she scribbles something down. Once she’s finished, she extends it towards Levi, encouraging him to take it.

Levi gladly accepts, and discovers the contents of the pocket-size note feature her phone number.

“How about you call me when you get the chance?” Mikasa’s clever witticisms are yet another reason Levi is convinced his taste in women is anything but questionable.

He keeps a firm grasp on the slip of paper, as though it’s a prize-winning lotto ticket. “I will.”

And he certainly does.

Levi doesn’t get nervous.

He and his band-mates have performed enough times to get a feel for what the crowd likes and wants to hear. The venues are usually small, local, and full of college-age spectators. The stages rarely ever differ, offering the bare minimum amount of lighting above a sturdy wooden platform.

It’s not the first time he’s performed at this bar in particular. By now, he’s familiar with the amiable staff and finally on a first-name basis with management. Levi and co are a crowd favorite at the popular Colossal Bar, having won the hearts of the locale’s regulars which in turn generates an influx of business for the establishment. It’s a win-win for all parties involved.

There must have been roughly a hundred people in the joint but just as Levi was set to perform his second song, a loose rendition of ‘When You Were Young’ by The Killers, his gaze falls upon a sight that seems unfathomably surreal.

Mikasa is standing in the center of the crowd, a faint smile adorning her face. With one hand occupied, holding her drink of choice, she raises the other and waves.

Levi still doesn’t get nervous. It only fuels his desire to perform his best.

Amid the vast sea of unfamiliar faces, some more sober than others, some more enthused than others, some even singing along, Levi only wants to look at her.

Halfway through the song, the energy of the crowd seems to magnify, with someone in the back whistling loud enough to be heard over the intensity streaming from finely tuned guitars and drums.

Cheers follow shortly after the well-received rendition comes to an end, transitioning to a brief interlude as the band prepares to end the performance with their last song for the evening. This time it’s an original, not a cover.

Levi’s foot taps against the floorboards to the opening of the song; the song he wrote after seeing Mikasa for the first time. Granted, she doesn’t know that…

See it on the people’s faces everywhere

Black ‘n blue but they won’t throw the towel in

And let go of a dream

Man, woman, child, prepare to bleed

The band had initially been weary of the how the audience would react to their original piece, but the reassurance comes flooding in as soon as hoots and hollers from the crowd adorn their ears in tandem with the palpable beat and lyrics.

Levi keeps a level head through and through, eyes still locked on Mikasa, seemingly holding an intense staring contest with the raven-haired beauty that blocks everything else out.

Do you believe that we can conquer this?

Can’t delete all the mess that I have seen

Fall in the fire but these burns will heal you

The array of lights overhead flicker as Levi backs away from the mic. At long last, they complete yet another successful gig. A round of applause echoes from every corner of the establishment, indicating the patrons are more than just satisfied with the evening’s performance. He and his band accept the riotous praise hailing from newfound fans of their music, waving to the plethora of enthusiasts.

Bidding his mates farewell, Levi hops off stage and scrambles among a few tipsy spectators in search of one particularly lovely guest.

Several girls are ogling him from every angle, to which Levi is hopelessly oblivious. Completely uninterested in their advances, Levi finally spots Mikasa at the bar and pulls up a seat in the stool right next to hers.

She’s the first one to speak, greeting the arrival of the band’s front man.

“Seems to me you underestimate yourself, Levi,” she mutters, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

“How so?” he asks, curiosity brewing.

She blinks lazily, resting her elbows on the counter. “When you told me you were in a band, you failed to mention you guys were actually really good.”

Levi’s glad he doesn’t give her the impression he’s a cocky asshole. He hates cocky assholes who talk up a big game, finding it beyond amusing when their pride and inflated egos are their ultimate downfall.

He accepts the compliment without getting ahead of himself. “’Good’ is a subjective term, but I appreciate it.” He orders a drink and while waiting for the bartender to devise the concoction, he carries on with the conversation. “I’m really glad you came out tonight.”

“That makes two of us,” Mikasa replies, studying him with intoxicating bluish greys.

The bartender sets Levi’s whiskey and coke on a coaster, to which he’s quick to take a hearty swig. The alcohol helps take the edge off, though he’s not much of a drinker and is enjoying the social interaction regardless. He’s about to say something when Mikasa nudges him gently on the shoulder.

“Don’t look now,” she mumbles, “but I think you have a fan.“

Levi only scoffs at that. “Oh yeah?”

“A few tables behind you. Toward the back.” Mikasa chuckles. “She’s been checking you out this whole time.”

Levi doesn’t heed her initial advice and looks over his shoulder to pinpoint this interested fan of his.

Bingo.

Copper colored hair. Large hazel-brown doe eyes. Possible candidate for a one-night stand.

‘Doe eyes’ winks at him, the look on her face begging him to join her and her circle of friends for some chit-chat.

Levi instantly looks away, leaving Mikasa equal parts confused and intrigued.

“She’s cute,” she hums.

“She’s not my type,” Levi affirms. “Besides, I’m right where I want to be.”

Levi and Mikasa eventually make their way to the back of the room, loosening up on a couple of beige lounge chairs as the alcohol only mildly kicks in. There’s about an hour left until closing, most of the noise dying down as the evening fades into the deathly early hours of the morning. A few winks from interested college girls still dart his direction, but right now he’s only focused on the way Mikasa perks her lips every time she’s about to say something. He can’t be half-assed to care what happened to 'doe eyes’ or his band-mates, not while he has Mikasa in front of him.

He learns that she’s not from the area. That she was adopted at the age of three and grew up in a small town a few hours away. Aside from working at the grocery store, she’s a full-time college student, majoring in criminal justice.

Levi on the other hand, admits he’s never really been anywhere else. Small town guy hailing from humble beginnings, content with how his life is turning out.

“Maybe that’ll change,” Mikasa insinuates. “One day when you make it big, you’ll be able to go to all sorts of places.”

Levi huffs at that. “’Make it big?’” He sounds disdainful, as if musicians who only strive for fame and fortune aren’t true musicians at all. He vowed never to be a sell-out long before setting foot on-stage. “Not sure that’s the direction I want to take my career.”

Mikasa half-smiles. “Like I told you. You underestimate yourself.”

“I don’t know,” Levi shrugs. “I think I would grow to hate that kind of lifestyle fairly quickly.” Always on the road, lots of airports and hotels, lots of loud obnoxious people. The exact kind of shit he can’t stand.

Mikasa has always been a realist, so she understands where he’s coming from, but that doesn’t stop her from offering her own perspective. “That’s one way to look at it,” she begins, “but what about the message you’re trying to send? What about the people who look up to you? Your music is more than just an artistic way of expressing yourself. It could inspire the hearts of thousands, bring them all together, and make this messed up world just a tiny bit better.”

You could use your voice for so much more…

Levi blinks a few times, almost at a loss for words until he finally manages to think of how to respond to that. “Forget criminal justice, you should look into becoming a motivational speaker or something.”

“You have to accentuate the positive in life sometimes.”

“That’s funny.” Levi rubs his chin in thought. “I’ve definitely heard that somewhere.”

“You probably have.”

Levi smirks, contemplating his next move when his eyes wander to a mark on her wrist. It’s dark, a couple inches long, and vaguely resembles some sort of symbol. Without hesitation, he bluntly asks about it, the thought of whether or not it’s an inappropriate question never crossing his mind.

“Is there a story behind that scar on your wrist?”

Mikasa merely shakes her head, unmoved by the sudden query. “Only a relatively boring one.”

She leans closer to where he’s sitting, extending her arm and allowing for him to trace along the small indentation. “It’s a… family thing,” she says, breaking the intermittent silence.

His fingers continue lightly tracing along its short length, smooth to the touch. Funny how he’s never noticed it before.

Strange, he thinks to himself. Now he ponders the possibility of penning a song about it.

“So,” Mikasa whispers, drawing him out of his momentary daze, “when you do make it big, are you going to write a song about me?”

Okay, now she’s flirting. Teasing him rather with such irresistible charm ringing in her voice.

Levi realizes he hasn’t let go of her hand yet, and regardless if it’s the buzz or just his attraction to her, he’s not sure he wants to.

He suppresses another smirk. That’s right. She doesn’t know; that he’s written a few songs about her already.

But he doesn’t tell her that. He chooses to keep that to himself, replying in a low quiet voice.

“Maybe,” he finally mumbles, looking up at her, his gaze landing on the scar below her eye. He’s noticed this one in particular on a few occasions. It grazes just above the cheek, resting beneath dark lashes and wisps of jet-black hair. He’s unsure if he should ask about its origins, but something about the way she’s looking at him with seemingly innocent curiosity urges him to fulfill his desire to get to know more about her.

Levi ignores the tension growing tighter and tighter throughout his body, realizing no one has ever made him feel this way. He struggles trying to put it into words, frustrated that he can’t properly articulate the sensation raging beneath his calm demeanor.

“What about… this one?” he asks, reaching out to stroke the scar nestled below her eye.

Mikasa slightly shudders, but surprisingly doesn’t pull away. She lets his hand hover over the scar, his fingers tracing gently along as he had with the mark on her wrist.

She could cop it out to them being alone, secluded in a corner with dangerously low lighting. She could blame it on the alcohol, mere tipsy antics.

But she’s not naïve.

“Story for another day,” comes her response in a smooth, sultry voice.

Levi nods, understanding.

He wants to kiss her. He’s never been more hell-bent on kissing someone in his entire life, but he likes to think he has some semblance of self-control and patience; unlike his rowdy band-mates.

Then, to his ultimate demise, she does something that drives him absolutely crazy.

She bites her lip, as if in suspense, and he pretty much loses it.

He closes the already tight gap between them and presses his mouth against hers, indulging in the incredible warmth. She responds almost immediately by parting her lips, inviting his tongue to slide inside. She tastes like lime, and something unidentifiably sweet. It spurs him to pull her in closer, sliding his hand up to her jaw, cupping her face in his palm.

Somehow he feels dizzier, and her wandering hands and the way she bites his bottom lip playfully further intensify this heated lip lock.

They’re still kissing like long lost lovers when the clock strikes two in the morning. Patrons start to file out through the exit one by one. The bartender begins wiping down the counters. The remaining staff members commence the usual closing routine.

Mikasa pulls away, playfully chastising the both of them for staying out well past their bedtimes. “Can’t believe I’ve been here all night,” she sighs. It’s almost a gasp, though she doesn’t appear too shocked.

“Got a curfew?” Levi deadpans, eyelids heavy. He finds it amusing that she’s more concerned over something as trivial as the hour rather than drunkenly kissing someone she barely knows.

Although during their heavy makeout session, it honest to god really felt like he had known her forever.

Mikasa rolls her eyes. “No, I’m just never usually out this late, is all.”

“Ahhh.” Levi exhales, expecting her to bid him goodnight and promptly ditch his ass without further ado.

He’s taken aback when she grabs him by the hand and begins hauling away for the exit.

What was she thinking about? What was she planning? Levi has a guess, but decides not to assume anything just yet. They awkwardly stumble out onto the street and Mikasa makes an attempt to hail a cab right there off the main drag.

“What’s on your mind?” He feigns uncertainty.

“I was kind of thinking I wanted to take you to-go,” she replies softly but oh-so-sure of herself. “Unless you had other plans…”

Levi merely nods his head, the words straining to dispel from his mouth, only to be suppressed by the tender look in her eye. The lights of cars zooming by hone in on the enticingly dark and mysterious features sheathed within.

Ultimately, he wordlessly agrees to follow, figuring nothing else needs to be said.

Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.

Years later…

When Levi does make it big, he seems to be the only one out of his small circle of friends that’s surprised. Many were certain it was his calling; that catching a lucky break and garnering all the fame and recognition had been predestined.

From his own perspective, however, he’s simply doing what he loves, and insists on keeping himself grounded.

Maintaining a low profile is nearly impossible for the musician especially with the recent release of a new album, spawning a surge in popularity among fans from coast to coast. People stop and fawn all over him when he’s just trying to take his dog out for a walk, or when he’s making a coffee run in the early mornings before recording at the studio.

He hates it. He really does.

But like someone once told him, he uses his voice for more than just the purpose of entertainment. He advocates for causes he has strong beliefs in and vocalizes support for various organizations that strive for the betterment of society as a whole. It’s one of the few things that keep him sane, convincing him the fame isn’t a total nightmare. Sure, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, but he’s grateful the opportunity to help make a difference is there.

A blinding flash jolts his senses back to the present. Today marks the first day of his nation-wide tour, commencing the long trek from home over a span of three months.

As he’s done far more times than he can count, Levi steps up to the microphone, other band members setting up behind him. Unlike the small suffocating venues from before, he’s standing on a giant outdoor stage, unmoved by the masses of screaming people shouting their praises in anticipation for the upcoming concert.

The crowd’s ready, but he’s still getting in the moment, the wild ruckus blurring into low distant hums.

Before he gives the nod to his fellow mates, Levi takes a moment to let out a deep breath, eyes roaming about the entire stadium.

It’s another giant sea of faces; people with names he’ll never know, with lives he’ll never learn about.

He’s taken back to that fateful night at the Colossal Bar. The night Mikasa came to watch him for the first time.

He’s disappointed that her face isn’t among those in the crowd like it was then. None of this would have been possible without her; it’s all meaningless to him otherwise. He glances down at the silver wedding band fitted on his left ring finger, thinking a part of her is still with him even when he’s away on tour.

A half-smile fades as quickly as it appears. He’s ready for the long night ahead of him.

Mikasa, his beautiful muse, his best friend, his wife, might not be there to watch him and his band perform all the heartfelt and deep songs he’s written about her all these years, but he’s immensely satisfied to know that she’ll be there when he finally comes home, waiting for him like she always does.

It’s the only thing that matters.

[gabrieljarvis1992]

Can Early Bloomers Grow Taller Eye-Opening Ideas

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Protein X Can Increase Height

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