#if i run out of room in the relevant spaces...pop-up time

[brawltogethernow]

There is so much empty margin space in the Dracula Daily book. I basically HAVE to treat this as a scrapbooking project to paste in key/favorite posts that didn't make the marginalia cut. >:}

[lemondoddle]

what happens when you type into the computer (BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

HELLO THE WEBSITE HAS UPDATED and different things happen when you type things into the computer on the screen. if a character/word isnt relevant the computer gives a red X. so far i've found:

stanley: takes you to an ebay search for brass knuckles, entering his name repeatedly will take you to various grunkle-related eBay searches until you get to bill's wheel of shame with much more to click

mabel: adds stickers to the set. you can keep hitting enter until the the room has been "fully mabelized"

ford/sixer: a case file on ford's extra digits

soos: a long set of notes about how soos is doing running the mystery shack

dipper: a note presumably from bill to dipper "informing" him that he can decode messages by staring into the sun. if you enter his name multiple times bill urges you to keep looking with words of encouragement as each note becomes progressively blurry and splotched with black until the entire notecard turns black

bill: this youtube video (and no it's not a rickroll)

gideon: an audio recording plays of gideon humming/scatting to the tune of "we'll meet again", ending with a whispered message of "i love you, mabel"

wendy: a note pranking you with the the 👌 emoji

mcgucket/fiddleford: the cotton eye joe music video

pacifica: a warning note about the book of bill mabel made her write

robbie: chat messages between him and thompson as they prepare to summon bill (as mentioned in tbob) with an image of their encounter

tad strange: the computer plays clips of bread being sliced set to jazzy instrumentals. this enables the glowing red button on the computer to turn green to switch the bread videos on and off at will

blendin: a message appears on the screen reading "time agent lost and presumed incompetent"

weirdmagedon: a newspaper page from the gravity fall's gossiper utilising the "nevermind-all-that-" act and stating "nothing happened" that day

axolotl: text onscreen appears: "you ask alotl questions"

T.J. eckleburg: text onscreen appears: "never mention that name again"

cipher: links to a wikipedia page about triangles

blanchin: pulls up a youtube tutorial on how to blanche vegetables

triangle: one half of a parenthesis appears on the computer ")", will also pop up with "tri harder"

dippy fresh: links to this image

mystery shack: links to a google search for confusion hill

gravity falls: text appears onscreen reading "never heard of it"

portal: text appears onscreen reading "portal.exe has been deleted. i bet you could build one"

theraprism: a notice sign appears- "in case of (coded words) do not use elevators" with a graphic of a person and a cthulu like monster on stairs

blind eye: an eye chart utilising the same string of letters- "WKHBOOVHH" that gets smaller each line, paired with blocks of color- the cursor turns into a "zoom in" tool that actually just makes the page blurrier with each click

creepypasta/horror: an entry on the urban legend "the always garden"- a liminal space/backrooms style restaurant anomaly

alex hirsch: links to a google search for flannels

toby determined: links to a google search for restraining order

dorito/chip: a dorito slowly enlarges on the computer screen and then becomes a jumpscare of a toothy bill, who periodically screams for a bit before the video finishes

love/boyfriend/romance: pulls up the parody romance novel, clicking starts an audio recording of the book

death: text appears onscreen: "life's goth cousin"

book of bill: text appears onscreen: "hide it under shirt during pledge of allegiance"

life: text appears onscreen: "life: 72% complete. now loading: death"

baby/lalala: an ultrasound of a baby bill in a womb and a message congratulating you

pines: text appears onscreen: "a good family tree"

weird: a video of weird al yankovich appears on the screen, he's confused and shouts for bill to get him out of there

waddles: links to a pig adoption website

mickey/disney: text appears onscreen: "rat.gif censored for your protection"

ducktective: text appears onscreen reading "ducktective stars in 'love, quacktually', coming to 'oi, it's the cockney channel innit?' this fall"

mason: a note from dipper about ford teaching him anagrams, plus a coded message with that technique

tyrone/clone: a picture of the janky dipper clone with a message that he's yours now

matpat/game theory: a video of matpat and a conspiracy board, he turns to say "hello internet, you're on... you're own... good luck" as he holds the book of bill

skeleton: text appears onscreen: "the one with the sword! he found you!"

scary: pulls up a parody goosebumps book "spookemups", clicking on it starts an audio recording of neil cicierega reading a section

divorce: pulls up a logo for "o'sadley's'"

music: enables you to click the dial, clicking the dial plays loud static

math: bill recounting an encounter he had with plato

conspiracy: a video of charlie day in a tin foil hat rambling about the website's previous state, holding the book of bill

okay that's enough from me, there's SO MUCH MORE that I just can't keep up with!! Happy searching!

[pomegrnteseed]

raspberries

He wasn't sure when he first noticed it, but now it was unmissable.

Hermione Granger was not alright.

Draco had found her habits endearing initially; the lopsided piles of books on her desk, the mountains of paper piling up around her, the three quills stuck in her hair as she frantically patted down her pockets searching for something to write with.

The way she always took notes, handwriting spilling off the page in near-illegible scribbles as her brain failed to keep up with the thoughts running a mile a minute in her mind.

Her stomach always rumbled in staff meetings because she never ate breakfast, often worked through lunch, and pressed the beginnings of a dehydration headache from her temples as Robards rumbled on.

She was a meticulous researcher, loved the intricacies of laws and precedent, past cases she could help the aurors and magibarristers with. No one could crack her filing systems, but the evidence was always solid, always compelling. She was a talented woman, despite the barely contained and near-tangible chaotic energy that fizzed around her.

But three months ago, Draco noticed a shift.

Her blunt responses to McLaggen's idiotic requests in meetings were replaced with a chewed lip and silent bob of her head in acknowledgement. The stacks of papers and books now overwhelmed her small office, the door couldn't be fully opened when he popped his head in to see if she was ready for the briefing with Potter and Thomas at 3 o'clock.

He'd found her crunched in a ball in her seat, right leg bouncing, as she squirmed in the chair, completely engrossed in the notes she was writing. Two puddles of ink had been left to coagulate on her parchment, the fabric turning to mulch and slowly tearing a large hole in her work.

He coughed, but she didn't respond. Eventually, he called her name and she jumped with surprise.

"Malfoy, sorry, I was- doesn't matter. Is it that time already? Merlin, let me find-"

Her volume petered off as she mumbled to herself, hurriedly searching for the relevant documents, before growing frantic.

"M- my wand isn't- Malfoy I can't find- what a stupid woman, so careless, so lazy!"

To his horror, tears welled in her eyes as she tore through her desk, the wand in question nowhere to be found.

She gripped her thighs tight, nails digging into the material of her trousers, face red and torso rocking as she tried to calm her breath.

"Granger- Hermione, I need you to breathe."

She whimpered and Draco finally managed to curl his way round the door, finding a space to fit his feet between boxes and books and files.

He crouched, meeting her at her level, a tentative hand reaching out but slowly receding when she flinched.

"Hermione? I'm going to reschedule the meeting with Thomas and Potter. They're free tomorrow at the same time. Let me send a note to them. And then we'll figure out where your wand has rolled to."

She's chewing on her lip and he's sure it must be bleeding, but her small nod is all the permission he needs to rip a corner of parchment and send the note to Potter, who he urges to give her space til the following day. The man is infuriatingly protective of this witch, and the room really doesn't have space to fit another body among the file boxes and tomes. Especially with his tendency towards the dramatic.

Note sent, he surveys the woman before him. Her hands are now in fists, arms tight at her sides, and her shoulders are rounded. He senses shame in her and doesn't understand.

"Before we begin, have you eaten today? Do you need some water?"

She peers up at him, questioning gaze as she nods, tentative and skittish. He smiles gently.

"Go and grab yourself something from the tea cart in Meeting Room 3, it's empty but there's plenty leftovers. And then nip to the bathroom. I'll draw up a search plan."

She considers his words, eyes back on the floor as she weighs up her options, and acquiesces. As she slips out the door, he tells her there were definitely cheese and tomato sandwiches left. She nods in acknowledgement but carries on out the room.

He surveys the damage of her frantic searching, righting precarious leaning towers of books, replacing stationary, tucking her glasses away in their case. He brightens the light in the room a little, cracks open the window to let a little air in, and tries to determine a way forward, since his own Accio Granger's Wand was unsuccessful. Not that he was questioning her wandless casting or her ability to cast wandlessly under emotional strain. Draco Malfoy learned long ago not to underestimate this woman.

She returns with her food and water bottles for them both, stopping suddenly and frowning at the room.

"You brightened the light."

He nods.

"I thought it would help us search better with more light in the room."

"I don't- not that I'm ungrateful, but I can't have the light this bright. It hurts."

She trips over her words and apologies for inconveniencing him, tries to explain she can push through but he's already fixed his tampering. He goes to the window and closes it too, her wry, self-deprecating smile telling him his instincts were right.

"The noise," she explains with an apologetic shrug, "it gets too much sometimes. But the fresh air helps. I always forget to air the place out."

"Before we disrupt your filing system and double your workload in fixing my poor attempts to follow it, can I ask when you last remember using your wand?"

She closes her eyes, corners of her mouth pulled down.

"I can't remember."

He hums.

"Take me through your morning."  

She does, and her eyes shoot open as she explains she'd made a second trip to the archives for this afternoon's meeting.

"I hadn't factored in the time, you see, so I was rushing. Was worried because the meeting was in 3 hours so I needed to get down and back so I could try and get lunch, but the lift was slow and there was a Disposal team at the Department of Mysteries again, so I had to take the long way round. There weren't any cheese sandwiches left, so I took the stairs but it made me even later so then-"

Draco nods along, following her out the door as they retrace her steps, her chattering all the while.

"Did you know the last time the Lestrange manor was raided, Burke's grubby little assistant stole Harry's glasses? I read it in his report. Absolute nuisance that girl-"

She stops suddenly, blushing and apologising.

"I don't realise I do it, you know. Talk, that is. I mean, obviously I know I'm talking but I don't realise I'm /still/ talking until suddenly I'm aware and I'm very embarrassed. Please do tell me to shut up. And if I don't listen, remind me I asked you to intervene."

Draco takes in this woman, her shining eyes trained on her fingers as she picks at the skin of her right thumb repeatedly. He gently reaches and she lets him pull her hands apart, watches him soothe her raw skin slowly with his cooler hands on her clammy ones. Her breath catches.

"Why are you being so nice?"

He laughs, but stops immediately when she frowns, turning to him before the Archives door.

"I'm serious. Why?"

Draco sighs.

"You take your tea with one sugar. You never have more than two cups a day. Your notes are embarrassingly messy, but you know exactly what you mean. You wear the same outfits, but sometimes you have on different socks and I /know/ those days are hard on you because you kick your shoes off and grumble about the carpet. You are remarkably talented and you have never let us down, but you are clearly exhausting yourself and are wholly unsupported in your role. I'm completely bewitched by you, Hermione Granger, your quirks and your inability to ever return a book to the library, even when it's not useful because One Day It Might Be. You forget to eat sometimes, and it's okay to ask for help. But I want to help even when you don't ask, or don't realise you need the reminder."

He lets out a huff.

"You stopped being snarky to McLaggen, and honestly that was the final straw. You always have a good comeback for him."

She's slackjawed.

"He told me I was weird. But his face was so twisted when he did it. It felt like school again. I've tried so hard to fit in. To do well. And mostly I think I'm good. But that day I'd missed a memo from Robards and I cried because it felt like failure and Cormac laughed. It hurt. And I got so flustered I couldn't speak. My jaw just wouldn't open. I never let people see me like that. But that night, I crawled onto my bed and the twist of his mouth played over and over. And everything slowly started slipping after that. Like I'd dropped one marble and the rest rolled out the bag, dropping to the floor."

Draco watches her, the sagging of her shoulders. He doesn't understand her perception of failure, but it clearly weighs her down.

"It's pasta night tonight, yes?"

She nods, baffled by the change of conversational direction.

"I happen to make a great tomato sauce. And homemade garlic bread. Will you join me for dinner? If not tonight, maybe next week?"

She twists her fingers, weighs up her options. He waits patiently.

"Tonight works. If you don't mind me going for a twenty minute walk after."  

"20 minutes is enough time for me to prepare the fruits for dessert. No raspberries, naturally."

"They pop wrong!"

He laughs, recollecting her diatribe on the insult to her tongue the meek raspberry posed. Then he nodded to the Archives door.

"You'll likely find your wand in the last box you searched. Since you summoned it to the sorting table."

The o-shape of surprise her mouth makes is utterly tempting, but he wants to do this right.

"You're not a failure, Hermione Granger. You're remarkable. And you're human. And I think you're the most intriguing woman I've ever met. The way your brain works, the connections you make - I will never replicate, but I could watch you work for hours and still be bewildered the following day. Have dinner with me. Let me learn what helps you feel safe and comfortable and capable. Let me get to know you beyond the Ministry. I think you're something special. It would be an honour to learn you, as best I can."

She hasn't looked him in the eye so long before. He knows because he counts the seconds each time, falling into the depths of her caramel irises.

Her smile is slow to build but when it reaches full grin Draco finds himself unsteady on his feet. She's radiant.

"You really do see me, don't you?" she asks him, glowing at his confident nod.

"Yes Draco Malfoy, you can cook me pasta for dinner. And I'll try your raspberries."

- - -

I was inspired by Ivie over on twitter to explore neurodivergence in this fandom, and used my own recent discoveries about myself. I have no dx so I don't label anything here. I just wanted to explore soft Draco being gentle with overly hard on herself Hermione because it was cathartic for me on a bad day to imagine what that kindness and patience could look like.

[hualianff]

Hua Laoshi

Thinking about Professor HC. He’s like late - 30’s, total dilf, but really well respected and liked - students really love his classes. He makes history enjoyable to learn, after all. 

He’ll go on wild yet profound tangents and has great PowerPoints. Sometimes a random gif will pop up here or there because he forgot to take them off; they were just for jokes oops but hey at least the students find them funny.

There’s a reason why HC leaves his notes to the powerpoints. Mans can barely write his name legibly, much less use the chalkboard for anything besides drawing. However, his maps are actually insane - he could actually be a map-maker. 

HC’s assignments entail lots of writing and some group work, plus participation points are a must, but it’s to be expected because his courses are usually for upperclassmen. 

The new incoming students are always blown away by the sheer amount of knowledge HC has AND that he is articulate enough to teach in a way that all his students can actually learn.

Many students see Hua laoshi in and out of the library, checking out numerous books at a time and if a student asks for help in furthering researching a topic, HC is diligent about guiding them to relevant resources or even having the university order the texts themselves.

HC is fluent in seven languages, and can understand basic conversations in even more. Thus, if some students think they can gossip in another language, HC will eventually let them know in the slyest ways that nothing gets past him.

HC’s wardrobe is refined with plenty of statement pieces and accessories. This includes the fancy pins on his suit jackets, the most commonly worn ones being a butterfly and a flower. On numerous occasions, he’s been voted as the most stylish professor on campus.

His office is also one of the best designed, with comfy chairs and lots of desk space, traditional paintings hung everywhere, a few plants lining the window sill, several mugs labeled with “student tears,” etc. On his desk sits all his devices neatly plugged in, a picture of his black cat (E’Ming), and a picture of him and his husband on their wedding day. 

Yes, even with all the rings HC wears on all his fingers, the polished silver band on his left ring-finger never goes unnoticed. 

It’s really no secret how much of a romantic sucker HC is for his husband. 

Once, on the first day of classes when HC was connecting his computer to the projector, his desktop photo was revealed on the big screen: a photo of XL mid-laugh, laying next to HC when they had one of their picnic dates. 

Or another time when HC meant to freeze the screen that had instructions for a small in-class writing assignment but didn’t, which exposed the document HC was writing on with ideas on what Christmas gifts to get for his husband.

Another year, at the start of the second semester, HC began his lecture with, “So, no one asked what I did over break but-” he makes a show of pressing the clicker, and a photo of HC ice-skating pops up. “-yes, I did ice skate for the first time, and yes, I did out-skate everyone on the rink.”

He nods with a complete deadpan. A series of chuckles ring across the room.

“Except my husband, of course.”

The slide switches to a picture of XL skating (taken by HC, obviously), the warmest smile on his face. 

“See how cool he is.” :)

HC keeps going with pictures and even videos of XL skating, the class occasionally breaking into choruses of “ooohs” and “ahhhs.” They don’t need to know that this is the part of the powerpoint HC spent the most time preparing, but with HC standing at the front with the biggest fucking grin on his face (#proudhusband), the students could probably guess that was the case.

Here Hua laoshi is, starting the semester off by showing off his husband, as he should. 

Some students have had the privilege of running into HC and XL during their date night !! As in, sitting at a table far enough away where they can see XL talking enthusiastically - waving his hands in large motions and swirling his glass - while HC listens and nods with the softest smile. 

Honestly, anyone with functioning eyes wouldn't help but be able to gush over how cute the couple looks. 

One of the students actually crosses paths with XL in the bathroom. They washed hands side-by-side and then XL used a paper towel to open and hold the door open for them! Back at the student table, the lucky soul proceeded to whisper-scream about how pretty Hua laoshi’s husband is. 

XL subbing for HC’s class once in a blue moon - basically XL going through HC’s PowerPoint and thoroughly explaining everything because HC talks about his lessons so much.

XL: “ahah I’m your sub for today, serves me right since I’m the one who got your professor sick” 😅

XL reading over HC’s notes: “hmm, ok, your professor also wrote down that-“

A random student: “wait a min, he can read hua laoshi’s handwriting?”

A second student: “hmm, makes sense, they are married after all”

A third student: “opposites do attract i guess”)

     2. Also, XL frequently uses the chalkboard and students are like 😱😱he writes beautifully!

XL messing up: “oops lemme erase this-“

The students: “NO ITS FINE”

     3. One student: “ahh, I see Xie laoshi is wearing Hua laoshi’s lucky tie today”

XL, looking down at the crimson dragon printed tie: “huh? this is mine though…San Lang wears it…?”

The students: “Oop exposed”

Which alludes to how seldom XL seems to wear ties.

(HC when XL gets home and nonchalantly begins loosening the tie: “holy shit, i married THAT”

     4. The students zero in on the red coral earring XL dangling from his right ear lobe, the match to HC’s who either wears it on his ear or attached to his braid. 

***

Incidentally, the first time HC hears himself being referred to as a “dilf,” he’s that meme with the lady who has the math/science equations in the air. They think he’s a WHAT? Is it the way he dresses? Or talks? Like what is it about him that makes him a “dilf?” Because HC in his life has never-

Oh wait. Hang on a second.

HC arrives home and sees XL working on the couch, glasses on, hair in a half-bun, tight-white shirt, sipping on some tea.

HC may actually be familiar with the feeling…!!

《II》

[lazypanartist]

Tye Longshadow x Artist! Reader HCs

BRAINROT

Was doodling on myself and this popped into my head. Please, take it.

Notes: I know YJ isn't Earth 27, but the only theorized birthday I could get for him was Sept. 7. It'll be relevant later (look for aster and sapphire; the birth flower and gem!)

-----

To preface this Mess™, you were another of the Runaways

The group was already incredibly close because of the shared trauma, even if everyone showed their emotions differently

Some of you just happened to get closer than others

Powers or no; you had a metagene

And Tye'd be damned if the Reach got their hands on you again

He carried you from place to place, astral form or no. He just wanted to make sure you stayed safe

Now that that's out of the way

You guys have quite a bit of downtime

All you really do is run errands for Luthor and destroy Reach property n adverts 🤷🏽

So wherever you're at, there's a lot of free time

Ofc you and your boyfriend want to spend as much time together as possible

Even if you're both just doing your own thing next to each other

He likes watching you draw

Sometimes he asks you to draw on him

And SOMETIMES that leads to 'projects' like this..

---

Tye mumbled beneath you, tensing slightly as your pan ran over his spine. You ignored the movement, staying focused on the task at hand.

You sat on your heels at his tailbone, one leg on each side of his torso. Two reference pictures were pulled up on the shared laptop, sat next to his head; an aster (almost a blue-purple daisy) and a faceted sapphire crystal.

He sighed softly as you repeated the motion, running over the facets of the sapphire in the middle of the flower's petals. Running the pen back and forth, you darkened the faces of the crystal where it would be sat into the aster.

Running a hand down his shoulder blade, you smiled as he relaxed with your touch; practically melting into the bed beneath him as you continued your linework with the distraction. Tapping your fingers against his ribs, you ran the pen over the same area on the other side of his back, laying your palm flat and almost petting his side when he tensed again.

The only sounds in the room were those you two made; his gentle sighs and mumbling, your fingers against his back, and your combined breathing were the only noises filling the small space between you two.

It was nice like this. Calm.

And really, what more could you ask for?

[cupidsdescendant]

Mercs X Sweet Tooth G/N!

Hey yall! It’s been a while since I wrote a short head canon list for the mercs and so I decided to write this! I really have been getting into writing actual one shot stories instead of lists so that’s why my posts have been so slow  ^___^ I’m thinking about making a version of this one for the creepy pasta characters to go back to fanfic roots ;-; anyways, g’day! Mwah XOXOXO

Scout:

-Very happy

-“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite one? Really! Mine too!” He takes out your favorite candy in response 

-You both like staying up at 3 am eating random sweets

-The sugar rush hits both of you SOOOOO hard. Running across the fort, double, fuck it, triple jumping all around and screaming violently.

- You both literally laugh at almost every thing the mercs say even if it’s not funny or relevant and both laugh at each other laughing so hard. Your laughs become even wheezier when you both cannot speak and it’s both of you mumbling and laughing and your mumbling.

-Just as much as the rush gets you the crash hits harder than the market crash of 2008. Both of you are literally so tired you guys can’t even get up. Eyes sore, legs weak, body tired, everything hurts after literally sonic speeding everywhere. You both wake up holding each other or spooning <3.

-Instead of a hot steamy cup of coffee in the morning you wake Scout up by sitting on top of him and feeding him lemon heads and sour gummy bears. 

-You like to throw gummies and candies into his mouth during fights just to play around and it helps with a speed boost 

-Although Scout loves candy his favorite is of course: B o n k 

-And you both drink it religiously! At this point you both have it in an IV put up into your veins. 

-Scout and you have so much fun with candy. You both go to candy stores together and have fun picking out candies and sodas. Once you both get home you guys would eat eat eat, lose your mind and sleep for the rest of the night ^___^

Soldier: 

-He doesn’t eat a lot of sweets, but once you give him one he goes a little crazy 

-Once, you gave him a chocolate bar and he rocket jumped to space and didn’t come back for at least 3 days

-Soldier finds you alone eating a 12 pack of mini cupcakes to yourself and he gasps “Dear god!” 

-“mfwhaht-?” Y/N said mouth full of white cake and frosting. CANNIBALISM!!” He screams pointing at you in horror

-“HoW!?” Y/N yelled out, Soldier ran over and ran his hand on Y/N’s chin “My cupcake is eatin’ a cupcake!”

-He loves a good ol' fashion American Cherry pie

-Coke is his favorite drink

-He mostly enjoys milk chocolate and whoppers

-Always makes sure they're made in America

Pyro:

-you know em, Pyro is a maniac for that typa shit. Way even more than Scout

-Give them a jolly rancher and he'll spend half of the time rolling around in circles laughing and banging his head on the wall

-her brain is already filled with sunshine and rainbows but once you add candy- it's full blown candy land

-they like to make you dance a lot when he's hyper on candy! Always spinning you around and around <3

-He likes hoping around too. He acts kinda like a little bunny ;w;

-Pyro and you basically just run around setting everything on fire without a care in the world

-His favorite candy...? All of em! Lollipops and sour-sweet ones are his favorites.

-They propose to you with a ring pop

Demoman:

-he can handle some sweet things but he's not a big fan

-But when you mix a sugar rushed Y/N with a drunk Demo it's alllllllll chaos.

-You both love doing karaoke when you're out of yall's minds, screaming violently to songs or crying to sad ones

-Probably have a super duper upper crazye rap battle too

-When you both crash you find each other on the other sides of the rooms but when you both wake up you go and cuddle.

-You both try and get sober from your addictions but fail and the next weekend is the same lol

-Like I said, Demo doesn't really like candy. The only ones he'd eat is going to be mixed with alcohol or root beer ones

Heavy:

no comment. these are his favorite

Engineer:

-being from the south, he loves moon pies and other pies in general

-Engi loves maple taffy and whenever it's winter time he makes them with the mercs or just enjoys them by himself

-He loooves taffy and Rocky Road!!

-Pie is also his favorite, Pumpkin pie specifically. He always likes to eat it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream

-All of the sweet things he eats are always warm and relaxing and so you both like to cozy up together and eat together

-Engineer always has to hold you down when you get a little hyper and he has to tell you to relax

-Gets overwhelmed trying to calm you down and eventually gives up but you decided to sit next to him when you can't find him

Medic:

-always warns you about cavities and tells you not to eat so much sweets

-He usually hides the fact that he eats soo much candy.

-Considering Medic is German he eats mostly German candy and chocolates but he's afraid to admit he likes American candies a lot

-He likes to eat sour candies but his taste in things is a lot more "luxury" and so he eats mostly dark chocolate

-Def the kind of guy to say he's not eating chocolate or candy and have stains all over his clothes and mouth

-Medic's manic-ness and your hyper-ness when you're on a sugar rush is. terrifying. Both of you don't stop and you both cannot.

-Both of you go on the most crazy adventures. Once you both woke up with your limbs detached and the other time you guy's switched bodies

Sniper:

-Sniper doesn't eat sweets. periodt.

-He usually just watches you go coo coo through his rifle and chuckles to himself

-even though he doesn't eat anything sweet he think it's so cute that you love sweets so much

-He goes out his way to always buy you candy when he has the time and his favorite part is holding it while you chomp into it

-Once he saw you eating oreos and he called you cookie monster and you didn't know how to feel

-He's very neutral with everything tbh..

-You always try to convince him to eat it but he just can't do it

-So he'll eat something savory while you eat something sweet so he can interact and hang out with you

Spy:

-He loves chocolate croissants...okay sorry for the french joke lmao

-seriously though he's french! France has the most bomb fucking sweets and desserts ever

-He loves Macarons, Éclairs, Profiterole and crepes

-He also really loves to tell you the history of those desserts and loves sharing his culture with you!!! <3

-He tries to calm you down whenever you have a sugar rush and usually forces you to sit down and eat desserts while he reads to you

-Loves to wipe off the cream or frosting off your face and say some horny french bullshit

-You alwaysssss beg Spy to make French pastries and he reluctantly agrees

-You both spend hours in the kitchen making food together and flirting. It's a really cute moment.

-During breaks or lunch you both eat your pastries together <333

okay so it's been a while since I posted. Hey yall! Hope you like this one <3 stay cute! Mwah xoxoxo

[broodsys]

weird and vivid dreams are p common for me but this one was remarkable lmao

pt.1:

entered a weird dilapidated building that was somehow associated with that old candy mountain meme? went there with a few friends. there was a speaker/mic thing in the top of the room that welcomed us with... smth that definitely wasn't part of candy mountain but in the dream it was so anyway. but we got the response right and the voice actually fucked it up which was funny. all this to get into a memey hotel?

pt.2:

once inside the hotel was weird. we were warned that bathroom doors don't rly lock (lovely...) and everyone but me was shown to their room and at first it was just me, my brother, and my friend - like, in the whole hotel, just the three of us.

pt.3:

more ppl started to show up at that point and i finally had to ask for directions to my room bc we were all just hanging out in the common area but it was becoming crowded. however the person running the hotel had changed seamlessly via dream logic to someone... who was kinda unsettling. this young bubbly woman who kept getting everything wrong but insisting we keep all her attempts (like little notes of her trying to figure it out) for some weird sentimental reason? and when my friend did the math the right way and ignored her attempt, she came over and very sadly pointed at it like oh... i hope you fill this out later... keep it going! like it was So Important to her it was weird. she was like that about everything. p unsettling after a while.

pt.4:

the ppl who showed up were... also weird, altho it only showed slowly. for quite a while it was just a vague sense of wow this might've been a mistake. then they started getting creepier - they'd bring us up endless flights of stairs and as long as we were bright and happy about it everything was fine, but if we complained (the rest under a cut bc it gets creepy/graphic at this point - but long story short, they were all demons!)

so if we complained they'd start threatening and attacking us. little cuts and things. so we stopped complaining p fast, even though going up endless stairs was exhausting. passed other ridiculously cheery looking ppl and began to wonder which of them were trapped like i was and which were the ones trapping them

pt.5:

at one point the guy i was walking with cut my leg enough to bleed and i jumped on criticizing him for staining my yellow pants. like, look at how obvious you made it! surely your boss won't like this, you're supposed to be subtle, right?

so he got real frustrated and we were by elevators (that ofc everyone was refusing to use) and he... just gave up and laid between the elevator doors and let them slice him in half (???) and i was like oh shit oh fuck okay BYE im OUT im DONE and began running down the stairs

pt.6:

turns out demon parts are still mobile and sentient!

so like... fucking demon viscera keeps getting bigger and chasing everyone and killing them. like this guy is fed the fuck up. i dart into some weird opening that puts me into a restaurant that hasn't realized yet, pop out from under a table, surprising a bunch of ppl (?) very much but i'm just flat out running now like idc. and fleshy bloody extensions keep moving across the floor and ppl are slowly starting to realize what's happening

pt.7:

end up encountering some Big demon woman and being like fuck fuck fuckkkkk im dead but she was busy killing other ppl (very graphically!) and there was a tiny bit of space around her so i just took the most ridiculous opportunity and while she was splitting some guy apart i just ducked around her and ran

much later realized she was actually on our side? or at least, not on the demon's side? so she had been killing one of the demons, but i had no way of knowing that at the time

pt.8:

dream really took a turn here. ended up in a group with... superheroes? like vaguely reminiscent of wolverine and gambit and two others i can't place. but it barely matters bc none of them were rly relevant except the unknown guy who gave me portal guns (am i chell now????) to try and get us all out of there but they didn't really work lm a o. they'd open portals but like, i could maybe put my fist through one and that was all. not! helpful!

pt.9:

reunited with the group of surviving humans from the hotel and it was so weird... trying to figure out what to do and where to go from here and communicating about which demons were on our side - or at least, killing the other demons instead of attacking us. then there was a weird commercial that played in the background that had a rly subtle nod towards someone having two dads and i was like 'ah that's nice' ?????????? ? ? ? ?

[numberonecatwinner]

https://www.theverge.com/2022/12/22/23465042/elon-musk-tesla-ceo-compensation-trial-full-transcript

The transcripts of Musk on trial are pretty funny, but here are a couple highlights.

1. Musk’s claim that he is not a conventional CEO who runs the business side of things, but rather a boygenius engineer who personally designs the rockets, cars, etc. himself, an absurd lie:

A: Yes. I was running SpaceX. I should say the CEO role at SpaceX and also at Tesla, it’s less about the CEO but, rather, that I am the one driving the technology. So at SpaceX, it’s really that I am responsible for the engineering of the rockets; and at Tesla, for the technology, you know, in the car that makes it successful. So CEO is often viewed as somewhat of a business-focused role, but in reality, my role is much more that of an engineer developing technology and just making sure that we develop breakthrough technologies and that we have a team of incredible engineers who can achieve those goals. And it is my experience that great engineers will only work for a great engineer, and so I — that is what I — that is my first duty, not that of CEO.

Musk is the consummate “ideas guy”. He would do things like hire the costume designer from Star Trek to create mock ups of how the space suits should look, and then cycle through teams of materials scientists and other engineers hoping to find someone who could make the design functional. I’m sure in his mind this constitutes “driving the technology”, when in reality none of the actual work was done by Musk and in fact his contribution -- insisting that engineers figure out a way to make a costume work as a functional spacesuit -- is asinine.

2. Musk tries to claim that he is not bound by the consent decree because he agreed to it under duress, and he is a Very Smart Boy who understands the law:

Q. And am I correct that the consent decree that you entered into with the SEC provided that you would not “take any action or permit to be made any public statement denying, directly or indirectly, any allegation in the complaint or creating the impression that the complaint is without factual basis.” Do you recall that as one of the obligations in the consent decree? A. The consent decree was made under duress, so I believe that — Q. I — we can get to that. I just want to know whether you recall that as an obligation. A. An agreement made under duress is not valid as a foundation of law. Q. Okay. Can you tell me whether you know — are you trained as a lawyer? A. I have some familiarity with the legal system. Q. I suspected that might be the answer. You know, once upon a time, you could read the law and become a lawyer. Even in Delaware, it was not so long ago that you didn’t actually need a law degree. So maybe you’re on your way. A. I mean, if you’re in enough lawsuits, you learn a — you pick up a few things along the way. Q. There you go. Well, putting aside the lack of bar admission, anyway, perhaps legal training is there, but the bar admission isn’t, I just want to know whether you’re aware of this obligation. I don’t really want to hear about what you think about it. I just want to understand whether you’re aware of the obligation, yes or no. A. Yes.

Exchanges like these are littered throughout the transcript, and it’s so fascinating to see Musk have to respond to people who are actually empowered to push back against his grandiose nonsense. He’s so clearly unprepared for it. He’s on the stand in court and he’s trying to offer up his opinions of laws, US regulatory agencies, the history of electric cars, and whatever else pops into his head as if it’s important and relevant to the proceedings. And these lawyers -- and at one point the judge -- have to remind him that actually, his opinions aren’t the most important ones in the room right now.

He’s been so rich for so long, he lives in a world that contorts itself to his preferences and struggles in a situation where things won’t warp for him. No wonder he thinks we’re all living in a simulation. It’d be hard not to fall into solipsism if that was your lived experience.

[bugdotpng]

it look me nearly 30 years but i’ve finally started doing things that make my life easier. incrementally, of course. i didn’t start doing all of this overnight. anyway, here’s some stuff i’ve learned:

i buy pre-washed/pre-cut fruits and veggies when i can so i’m more inclined to actually eat them (vs. having to wash/cut them beforehand)

also: frozen and canned fruits/veggies are good. if they fit with your lifestyle and get you to eat things that are good for you, do it

actually using the reminders app because i made it even easier for myself by adding a widget on my home screen (general rule: if you have a mental block to doing something, see if you can remove steps)

i keep notepads and sticky notes in every room in my house so i can write down things (usually groceries i need) as i remember them

i keep a bunch of plastic bags at the bottom of my bathroom and desk trash cans so i can replace them easily

i keep cleaning supplies in multiple, relevant places in my house so i’m more inclined to use them (i.e. carpet cleaner in my bedroom; sanitizer in my bathroom, etc.)

i place a bunch of small trash cans around my house where i tend to make more trash (laundry, desk, etc.) and i line them with grocery bags so i can take them out quickly when it’s trash day

my biggest organization tip (that doesn’t sound all that impressive, really) is making sure everything has a designated space. i use a lot of clear containers so i can see what’s inside and so everything has its own space, even in drawers or shelves

noise-canceling headphones are a godsend. doing laundry and dishes are excruciating and exhausting because they’re both too damn loud. i started wearing noise-cancelling headphones and i have so much energy afterward and i don’t lament the idea of having to put away my silverware lol also if i’m overstimulated from a long day of work, sometimes it’s nice to just not hear anything :^) it blew my mind how much shit my stupid brain was processing without me realizing

i have meds that are more effective if i take them at the same time every day so i set a repeating alarm to take them. that wasn’t always working so i started putting my meds in a daily pill organizer. i take them every day now because i don’t have to remove them from their various containers every time lol. every sunday i make a note to refill them for the week! and the individual days pop out so i can just grab the days i need if i’m spending a weekend away

i’ve tried to recognize where i’m imposing bizarre arbitrary rules that make my life harder. ex: for some reason i convinced myself i’m only allowed to do laundry on weekends and i’m not allowed to run small loads. that’s simply not true lol

in that vein: there is no rule that says you’re not allowed to sit down while cooking. my knees are much happier when i take a chair into the kitchen with me.

sometimes i get so depressed i struggle with hygiene. when i’m not feeling so shitty i try to stock up on things that’ll help me feel better during that time like dry shampoo, oil blotters and baby wipes.

i keep a little hygiene bag with my medical/emergency bag. it has hand lotion, chapstick, nail clippers, a small hairbrush and other things i might need to make myself more comfortable while i’m out and about (think: hangnails, chapped lips, dry skin, etc.)

i’ve struggled for a very long time with flossing because it’s awkward and difficult and sometimes painful. at the guidance of my dentist, i bought some individual flossers. still didn’t use them. wanna know why? the stupid plastic packaging was too loud. i took them all out and put them in a little glass jar so i can grab one super easy. sometimes i’ll even sit on the floor while i floss to give my knees a break.

there are literally no rules. do what you can to make things easier. there’s no one watching you, judging your every move and calling you lazy. and if anyone does call you lazy for trying to make things easier or even more comfortable, they’re not worth listening to. anyway i hope my ramble list helps at least one person lol

[hotwings0203]

as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

 It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

 You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. 

 Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

 ¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

 ¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

 ¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

 ¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

 ¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

 At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

 He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

 ¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

 Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

 ¨No way.¨

 ¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

 ¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

 ¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

 You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

 ¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

 It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

 ¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

 ¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

 You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

 Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

 Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

 When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

 So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

 The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

 Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

 You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

 Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

 Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

 Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

 Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

 Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

 You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

 After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

 Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

 Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

 From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand. 

 ¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

 ¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

 You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

 Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

 Damon barely acknowledges you.

 He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

 You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

 Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

 And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

 Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally. 

 Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

 Everyone except Damon Albarn.

 The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

 ¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

 ¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

 Until he spoke.

 ¨Is this your first time playing?¨

 You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures. 

 ¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

 ¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

 But nonetheless, you don't back down.

 ¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

 ¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

 ¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

 ¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

 The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

 ¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

 You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

 ¨I didn´t-¨

 ¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

 You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

 The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

 Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

 He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

 It's quiet for a moment.

 ¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

 ¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

 You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

 ¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

 Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

 ¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

 ¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

 Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

 You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

 Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

 Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

 You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

 Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

 The obsidian glass rolls down.

 ¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

 Oh.

 ¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

 ¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

 ¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

 ¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

 ¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

 ¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

 You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky. 

 He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

 You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

 The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

 You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

 ¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

 ¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

 ¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

 Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨ 

 He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

 You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

 You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

 ¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

 The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

 Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

 ¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

 You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

 ¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

 Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

 Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

 But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

 ¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

 ¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

 What a save.

 *******************

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

 But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

 ¨You´re late.¨

 ¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

 ¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance. 

 The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

 It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

 During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship. 

 Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

 Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

 Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

 For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you. 

 Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

 ¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

 ¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

 Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

 ¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

 ¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

 His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

 ¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

 ¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

 Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

 ¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

 Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

 ¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

 You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

 The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

 Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

 Take right now, for instance.

 As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

 You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

 Weather-2

You-0

 You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

 And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

 The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

 All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

 ¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

 Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

 Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

 You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier. 

 ¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

 Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

 He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

 ¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

 He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

 He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

 For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

 ¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

 He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

 ¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

 But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

 ¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

 Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

 ¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

 You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

 ¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

 ¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

 There it was again, pretty woman.

 You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

 ¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

 Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

 He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

 You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

 ¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

 He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

 ¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

 He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

 But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

 ******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

 So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

 The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

 No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

 ¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

 ¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

 You feel your smile drop a smidge.

 ¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

 But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

 Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

  Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

 ¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

 ¨Damon!¨

 You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

 The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

 Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

 ¨Get out.¨

 ¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him. 

 ¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

 Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

 You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

 It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

 ************

 It's nighttime.

 The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

 Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

 Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall. 

 The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

 Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

 ¨Looking for something?¨

 You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

 ¨D-Damon?¨ 

 ¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

 You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

 ¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

 ¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

 You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

 He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

 You can´t help the scoff that escapes you. 

 ¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

 He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

 It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

 ¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the  door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

 A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

 ¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

 You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

 His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

 ¨You smell so good.¨

 ¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

 He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

 ¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

 You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

 ¨We can´t.¨

 ¨Sure we can.¨

 You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

 ¨You´re not worth this.¨

 ¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

 And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

 You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

 ¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

 You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

 But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

 You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

 He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

 ¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

 You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

 It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

 ¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

 ¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

 He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

 But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

 His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

 ¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

 You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

 With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

 You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

 ¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

 Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

 Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

 You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

 He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

 ¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

 Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

 You want to run your hands through his hair.

 ¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

 ¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

 Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

 ¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

 Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

 He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

 You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

 It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

 And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

 He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

 Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

 ¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

 Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

 You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

 It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

 He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

 For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

 He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

 ¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops. 

 You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

 ¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

 ¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

 ¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

 He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

 It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

 You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

 ¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

 He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

 ¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

 ¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

 ¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

 ¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

 Halfway?

 Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

 Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

 His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

 He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

 Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary. 

 You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

 It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

 You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

 ¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

 ¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

 It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

 Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

 He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

 Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

 Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

[pistachoz]

Hi! can I have a The Man Who Fell to Earth Headcannon , and your just best friends with him and you teach him about birthdays?

Btw I love your blogs aesthetic!!!

A/N: aaaah sorry for taking so long in answering! this was going to be a short headcanon but i got a bit carried away hehe. Also, thank you sm 🥺 🥺 It took me a while to make it all matching and aesthetic. Anyway, i hope you like it!

BEING THOMAS JEROME BEST FRIEND AND TEACHING HIM ABOUT BIRTHDAYS

You met Thomas while working as a maid in the first hotel he stayed in when he arrived on earth. 

The first time you saw him, with his black sunglasses and sharp black suit all you could think of was that he was as lost as a fish out of the sea because how the fuck did someone like him ended up in a hellhole like this?? The hotel didn’t even give you spare soaps! The man looked like he could afford a whole ass hotel floor but well you weren’t one to judge because of appearances.

So, you were the first to go straight to him and help him with his bags (even if he insisted he didn’t need help, you were paid to do that anyway). You tried to break the ice through the whole journey but he would simply stare deadpan so you took it as a “shut-up-im-tired-please”, however, when you stopped talking, he said he liked the random-weird facts you sputter about.  So, you got to the conclusion that he was simply dry as fuck.

The first days knowing him was… well, something else. He wouldn’t crack a smile for any of your jokes (and you considered yourself hilarious, welp there goes your dream of being a stand-up comedian) and was always immersed in his world but something about him made you keep coming back to his room and spending at least 5 minutes with him. You felt as if there was just something he was hiding and curiosity always got the best of you so you set your mind to figuring what was it.

It took him a while to open up, but when he came clean about his provenance and why he had come to earth, you swore to yourself you would do anything in your power to help him out. This man -well, alien- was just looking for a way to save his planet. It also warmed your heart that he trusted you enough to tell you that. 

“You are the only person I trust here” 

“Are you serious? Aww, stop it E.T. you are making me blush!”

”E— Who?”

“Oh boy, you really gonna need some classes in pop culture” 

After you knew, this was what was bothering him, things got so much easier in your friendship, now you knew you were actually funny and the problem was him! 

He said he knew about your planet and the most relevant things about it because of T.V. FUCKING T.V. So, you made it your personal goal to teach him all you could teach about earth's popular traditions and must-do’s (man had never eaten cotton candy before!!11¿!).

Trying to teach him about the daily, normal things humans do like running errands or going sightseeing for the simple reason of watching a pretty landscape made him so confused, and for you, it was like taking care of a 5-year-old. 

He would ask about everything and when I say everything I MEAN IT. That man had no boundaries when it came to satisfying his curiosity; he would pick up everything that appeared interesting or intriguing, no matter where you were which sometimes was a pain in the ass because he really needed to stop grabbing things randomly from stores, you are banned from at least 4 near your house because of a 'steal attempt'.

"What's this?"

"Don't touch it! It's a tampon, where do you even find it? Stop grabbing things from the street!"

Yeah, sometimes it was like watching a kid trying not to get himself killed.

One day you were laying on the couch, teaching him the wonders of Jimi Hendrix when something you hadn't thought before crossed your mind.

"I never asked but when is your birthday?"

"My what?"

"Your birthday, it’s, well- when you celebrate the anniversary of the day you were born, people usually make parties or they treat it as an occasion for being self-indulgent. It’s a big thing here on earth."

"I don't think anyone on my planet has ever done anything remotely like that."

"Really? No birthdays? Well, you are here so we have to do something, with balloons and gifts. You know, compensating the ones you haven’t celebrated."

You decide to not make something too big because you didn’t want to overwhelm him. So, you plan to make a picnic and then spend the day sightseeing. At night you were going to make a small gathering with a couple of your closest friends, you knew a party wasn’t really his scene but you thought presenting him people you really cared about would acclimate him more on earth.  

When you asked him when was the day he was born, he answered that the date could not be calculated in the human calendar bc a ‘year’ represented a different amount of time than 365 days; so you stated the day he came to earth as his official birthday.

When the day came you were excited as a child with a lollipop, he just followed you around and marveled at what you showed him. 

For the picnic, you made him pancakes which you had realized was one of his favorite earth meals (he literally make it his 24/7 meal after the first time he tried it, he didn’t eat anything else in a week 😭). Then, you went sightseeing the places you noticed he had liked more.

You hadn’t told him about the plans for the night because you had wanted it to be a surprise, so when you told him that it was time to go back home (yes, you were roomies), he didn’t have a clue ab what was going to happen. When you entered your place, the whole living room was decorated with balloons and the whole atmosphere looked v aesthetically pleasant (your friends helped you decorate while you were gone), on the table was the birthday cake you had prepared for him in the morning with frost saying “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPACEMAN XXXX YEARS” (bc u weren’t sure how old he actually was and by the floor a couple of presents.

 He was shocked. He had never celebrated anything like this before, the “holidays” he had on his planet were more formal and not personal and intimate like this. He had a hard time trying to figure his emotions but overall felt so content of having met a human like you.

“What are you waiting for, cut the cake alien boy”

And then you proceeded to smash your part of the cake into his face. 

“What? It’s tradition” And then he went and did the same, and for the first time you saw him smile for more than a couple of minutes. (he was so happy and smiley 🥺 🥺)

You spent the whole night between laughs, drinks, and karaoke.

After, the whole trying-to-launch-a-spaceship-full-of-water-to-space and the government locking him up thing, you went to visit him. They wouldn’t let you see him but you eventually did and helped him escape. 

Your birthday was close but it was the last thing in your mind, too tired and consumed with worrying about thomas safety, so it was definitely a surprise when you woke up and the breakfast was already done, a big cake (made by himself “I even made the cake look” he had said) with frosting saying “HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N” on top. It brought tears to your eyes and you gave him the biggest hug you could muster.

For the first time in a long while, you spent the day carefree, enjoying the presents and surprises thomas had made for you.

[erazonpo3]

WOWM

so What Once Was Mine came out and I read it.

My General Thoughts are that this book was something of a rollercoaster but in like a pop up carnival with dubious safety regulations and diseases in the DIY log flume water kind of way. I had some fun reading it but I also feel like I picked up a rash.

If you're like me and you enjoy picking a book apart for morsels of interesting concepts then you might enjoy it, if you think holy shit why the fuck is a literal real historical serial killer in this book I need to see this then you might enjoy it, if you care about engaging plots and character beats then you probably won't.

If you want to ask me anything specific go ahead, but otherwise for more in depth thoughts: spoilers ahead

Basic Summary of the Plot

Okay so here's the deal. The story has the framing device of two siblings in a cancer ward, where one tells the other a story. I'll get into that later, but that's how it starts. Our actual story starts with a pretty long prologue: We learn that the King & Queen got the Moonflower thinking it was the Sunflower, Rapunzel was born with silver hair, and then baby Rapunzel kills a maid who accidentally hurt her when brushing her hair.

Oh, by the way, Max is a human man named Justin Tregsburg. Yeah.

Anyway, the royal family puts out feelers for legit witches who can safely take care of Rapunzel because the baby is too dangerous, and Gothel shows up to take her away. Queen Arianna visits Rapunzel once (but is only allowed to watch through a peephole) and decides watching another woman raise her child is too painful and throws herself into restoring the kingdom's orphanages instead.

Now we're in the present. Rapunzel is nineteen and she wants to go and see the lanterns (a mourning tradition of the Dead princess in this story). She tries to argue with Gothel but gets shut down, and Gothel makes her kill a chicken to prove the point that she can't go outside because she's too dangerous. However we as the audience already know Gothel plans to sell Rapunzel off as a bride or a servant or a weapon to some other nobles, because she's evil.

Also by the way Gothel still has access to our Sundrop Flower and is using it to live forever that's just a thing that happens in the background.

When Gothel is gone Rapunzel watches as a man (Flynn) stores a satchel in a tree outside of her tower, and that motivates her to leave the tower for the first time. Then she goes back inside the tower with her prize of a crown, and a skink she found and named Pascal. Rapunezl and Gothel have another spat, and Rapunzel decides she will run off to see the lanterns and she will find Flynn and make him her guide.

She ends up at the Snuggly Duckling and she doesn't find Flynn but she does find Gina, a young career criminal girl looking to break the glass ceiling. Gina agrees to help her find Flynn. They find Flynn, and he agrees to help guide Rapunzel to see the floating lanterns for a split reward of the crown with Gina.

The Snuggly Duckling gets burned down by Countess Bathory (yes that Elizabeth Bathory) and the Pub Thugs are pissed about it and also they're helping Rapunzel even though she didn't sing the I've Got A Dream song don't worry about it. We learn that the nobles that wanted to buy Rapunzel are now hunting her down so she can go to auction.

Gina takes them to her adopted mother's cottage. Gina's mother is a white witch, who goes by the name of Goodwife. She doesn't get an actual name she's just The Goodwife. Anyhow, the cottage is a magic safe space (for now) and Goodwife teaches Rapunzel that her hair isn't inherently evil and may not even be all that deadly! Rapunzel learns that her hair has other powers too, like the ability to turn skink Pascal into a sentient Chameleon. Yeah.

Also Goodwife tells Rapunzel she's the dead princess but this isn't like, an immediate call to action. Not a lot happens until we get this story's version of the Mother Knows Best Reprise where Gothel finds Rapunzel again but has to flee, but this Rapunzel has a bigger support network and isn't buying it. Flynn and Gina decide the safest course of action is to bring Rapunzel to the castle, but along the way she gets kidnapped by the Countess.

Gothel is pissed because she still wants the money for Rapunzel, so she rallies the armies of all the opposing bidders. Flynn and Gina convince Max the Man to send for his troops, and he joins them in going to the enemy castle. Flynn tries to sneak in, gets caught, and meanwhile there's a bloody battle out the front between the noble armies. Max jumps into the fray, Gina turns around and rallies the Pub Thugs.

Rapunzel uses her shrinking magic (!) to disappear half the castle and escape with Eugene, and the Pub Thugs arrive and basically end the battle. The Captain is dying but it's okay! Rapunzel turns him into a horse :) Also Rapunzel sees Gothel and tells her to fuck off.

The story ends with a tearful reunion between Rapunzel and her parents, Eugene and Gina are implied to be biological siblings, and things are good but of course in direct parallel to Cass Gina leaves at the end to become an adventurer. The end.

(There are a few other smaller plot beats, but you get the idea.)

MY THOTS

So here are my thoughts™.

Framing Device

I'll just state that I didn't like that the story was told via the vehicle of an older brother telling his 16 year old sister a different version of the Tangled Movie in a cancer ward. From what I've heard it also isn't normal for the Twisted Tales series to use a framing device for the AUs either.

I sympathise with the author's personal story, of course I do. That doesn't mean I'm stirred with compassion every time the flow of the story is interrupted to remind you to be sad because this is a story being told to a girl sick with cancer. It feels more than a little tragedy-porny rather than emotionally touching, and maybe that's because I'm too burnt out on real life tragedy to waste emotional energy on fictional cancer patients but we don't need to do Fault In Our Stars discourse again.

Real World References

This story goes heavy with Real World references. And another issue with the framing device as above is that you do feel like this is a story being told by someone namedropping every historical figure they know which makes it harder to get into the story.

There's like... a lot of references to Christianity, particularly in the prologue. There's a priest that thinks Rapunzel's hair is the work of the Devil or whatever. It's a lot. The Patriarchy is a thing. And that's not even getting into the Countess. I put it very succinctly in my notes so I'll paste it here:

I wish she’d just been an OC who could exist to chew scenery because the fact that she was a literal historical serial killer is super. Off putting. Like, she could have been an obvious reference to Bathory, but it feels like Miku Binder Hamilton levels of uncomfortable to me.

I miss Lady D.

Which basically sums up my problem with trying to take the setting of Tangled and put it somewhere in the Real World and somewhere on the Timeline. Who thought this was a good idea.

Misc. Thoughts

So, I used the five highlighter colours my ipad allows to organise my thoughts and organised them accordingly: Yellow for out of place IRL references, Blue for worldbuilding/character points that aren't plot relevant but still interesting, Pink for when something I find personally amusing happens, Purple for when the story feels like it's trying to 1-up the movie in some kind of way and Green for Heterosexual Nonsense. I'll touch on those last two in the Character sections but be prepared.

Also: for a book about giving Rapunzel killer hair, her hair isn't very dangerous. I wanted to see Rapunzel kill someone, and I'm disappointed that I didn't.

Characters

I'll do a deep dive into my thoughts about the characters before wrapping it up. I'm starting with Gina because she's honestly the easiest to get through.

Gina

Gina is a new character introduced for the story. She's a young woman trying to make it as a career criminal but keeps hitting that glass ceiling. So here's the down low, for all those who want to know: Gina is basically Cass, only not really. She's implied to be Eugene's biological sister, as previously mentioned, but you can imagine she's Cass the entire way through without breaking your immersion because if you imagined Cass if she were adopted by a Goodwitch rather than the Captain and had a looser, more wilderness survivor than trainee guard upbringing then you get Gina.

I liked Gina! I think she's fun as her own character too, and her best moments are when she's interacting with her mother Goody Goodwife, and she of course picks up a natural sibling rivalry with Eugene, but I was disappointed with how little she really bonded with Rapunzel because she needed to make room for Eugene and Rapunzel's romance.

Rapunzel

Okay, here's our protagonist. There's a notable effort to make Rapunzel more active in her destiny and whatever, and sometimes it works but sometimes it doesn't. I was worried they'd try to go full butt-kicking girlboss with her but I was pleasantly surprised that Rapunzel was pretty useless in most scenes, genuinely love to see it.

With a more intimate look into Rapunzel's psyche through the medium of prose, we see Rapunzel really questioning Gothel's behaviour even before she leaves the tower, and while I appreciate that she can develop her own cynicism I feel it starts unnecessarily early. This is my purple colour; the movie needs to be "fixed" by showing the readers that this Rapunzel is quicker to distrust Gothel. She's also quicker to hatch a plan to go outside of the tower on her own, and she makes a plan to make Flynn her guide for the lanterns even though he never stumbles upon her in the tower- and even though she has a perfectly rational reason not to trust him which is that he is a stranger and a Wanted Thief.

In the moments where it does work is when Rapunzel is surrounded by her new support network: Flynn, Goodwife and Gina, who encourage her to question Gothel's sincerity, and Rapunzel comes up with her own defences for Gothel so that she can poke through them herself.

I have some other thoughts about Rapunzel's hair and her powers, like how the story provides the interesting concept that her hair gets different powers with the different phases of the moon, but a lot of the powers are uhhh stupid and also I feel like it really robs the story of the whole gripping conflict of "Yes I'm Rapunzel Yes my hair kills people what of it".

In as far as just Rapunzel herself though, she still felt pretty in character nonetheless, and maybe that's all I can ask.

Flynn Rider / Eugene Fitzherbert

My boy I am so sorry. They neutered my boy.

Long story short: Eugene in this story is the sexy lamp. He contributes nothing to the plot except to be there for Rapunzel to drool over. And of course because he won't get any character development, he starts from the very beginning as a sweet soft boi with none of the Flynn Rider characterisation from the movie because we don't have time for that, he needs to be husband material stat.

His whole character is the colour green for Heterosexual Nonsense.

So, here's the problem. In the movie, there's not a lot of time for ~friendship~ between Rapunzel and Eugene because they kind of immediately see each other as a romantic prospect. And whatever, it's a movie and there's only so much time. But this book had the opportunity to take things a bit slower and instead chooses to make Rapunzel get jealous whenever Eugene and Gina interact and for her to be constantly wishing he was holding her hand.

Say what you will about Lost Lagoon, but it tells a good romance story just by virtue of not intending to be a romance story, because the author is trying to convey a strong bond between Rapunzel and Cassandra without using "and they kiss" as a cheatcode. What Once Was Mine says "he was a boy, she was a girl, could it be any more obvious?" and leaves it at that.

Now as for how this all pertains to Eugene's character? Well, it just robs him of any flavour. In the movie there's a clear distinction between Flynn and Eugene, when we learn Eugene's real name about halfway through. We see a clear difference between the Flynn we knew- kind of an asshole, wanated to drop Rapunzel off at the Snuggly Duckling and get rid of her- and Eugene, who is sincere and chooses Rapunzel as his New Dream in opposition to his Old Dream of living alone on an island with a bunch of money.

This version of Eugene is basically Eugene all the way through, because the plot doesn't really need Eugene there but he has to be there because it's a Tangled AU so there's no Rapunzel rescuing Flynn from the guards and healing his hand scene, he just loves her immediately and that's that. They have a little spat at one point but it's cleared up later and not because they actually communicate but because they kiss.

Rapunzel only learns Eugene's real name at the very end of the story, and gives a speech about how Eugene is the real him, but it's just so flat because 'Flynn' has been sincere this whole time? Anyway he does nothing of value for the entire story except be there for Rapunzel to lust after. Eugene I'm so sorry.

Gothel

Gothel's sort of the Big Bad and is characterised as an abusive asshole, the usual. I wish there were a bit more nuance to her character but then again in this story she's not just being passively evil- taking care of Rapunzel for selfish reasons but nevertheless maintaining the status quo- she's being actively evil in trying to sell Rapunzel off.

It's notably funny that Gothel sees the Countess Bathory and is like "what the fuck".

Anyway Gothel in this story also feels very weak in part because this Rapunzel is more critical and in part because this Rapunzel has a new support network. It's for that reason the Mother Knows Best Reprise scene doesn't really work, because the original has Gothel pit Rapunzel against Eugene, whereas she can't do that here so it remains a Gothel vs Rapunzel thing.

She gets a boring death as an epilogue addendum that someone rips out the Sundrop flower, which tbh? lame. It would be a lot more fun if it were open ended but I am also preferential to Rapunzel actually using her killer hair to kill someone. Please

Captain Justin Tregsburg

It's Max. He was a human but then he got turned into a horse. what the fuck you guys

[escapewithbts]

Secrets in a Foreign Language (Part Four) - Jungkook

<<previous _ next>>

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

A few weeks later you entered Jungkook’s apartment with your heart feeling full. You had felt so lonely these beginning months in this new country of South Korea but seeing Jungkook every week had become a sort of comfort, especially now that you knew the feeling was mutual. Once you had gotten the awkwardness of questioning why the place was already clean whenever you got there, you used the time to just hang out with each other. You got along so unbelievably well and frequently had to remind yourself he was literally one of the most famous people in the world right now. It often blew your mind. Maybe it was because his face was all over the city, the tv, the grocery store, maybe because wherever you went you heard his singing voice in songs, or speaking voice in interviews, but the concept of fame was just something you had never thought about; the media giving celebrities an almost unrealistic and ethereal standard to look up to. But that was just it. Idols were people, too. Regular human beings, just like yourself. Jungkook was your living proof. And you really liked that about him.

He wasn’t in the living room nor the kitchen when you got there this time.

 “Kook?” you called out, using the nickname you had begun to refer to him by.

You went further into the home, down the hallway towards the bedrooms. As you got closer to the master and peered inside, you saw the adjoining bathroom door open and could hear the sound of the shower running.

Ah. So that’s where Jungkook was.

You retreated back into the living area, helped yourself to a bottle of water from the fridge and decided to sit on the couch while you waited for him to return.

And he did just that.

You were browsing Instagram on your phone when his voice startled you.

“Hey, (y/n)!”

You took a swig from the water bottle right as you looked up to respond to him, immediately choking on the liquid as you did so, for Jungkook had appeared in the room in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his glistening upper half on complete display.

You learned early on that one of Jungkook’s hobbies was working out, but damn you never thought you would be a witness to all the hard work he put in. The pictures of his abs on the internet were definitely not photoshopped, an eight pack clearly visible on his abdomen. Prominent pecs, and muscular upper arms, the right one covered by a whole sleeve of tattoos. Oh my god, the tattoos. Holy shit. You had seen some of them from the days where he wore short sleeves around you, but now they were all on display, and they were just as beautiful as you had imagined.

The pants he wore were sitting low, (dangerously low) on his narrow waist, deep chiseled v shaped muscles along his hips; you attempted not to think about where they ended.

Finally, you looked up at his face. His dark hair was still wet from the shower, it was pushed back from his forehead. He had a blush on his pale cheeks, but a smirk on his thin lips, clearly aware of how flustered you had become. You cleared your throat and looked away in embarrassment, suddenly feeling guilty for staring at your friend like he was a piece of meat. But he was just so damn attractive, and you were only human, and it had been so long since you had seen a man shirtless, let alone naked… oh god, no, you were not going to go there, not with Jungkook like this in the room with you. Focus, focus on anything else.

“How-how are you today?” you stuttered.

Smooth.

Jungkook strolled over to the kitchen island and grabbed an oversized black shirt that was laying on the back of the stool. Fortunately (or was it unfortunately?) for you, he pulled it up over his head and let it fall at his sides before shaking his damp and messy hair. Then he smiled at you and walked over to the large couch, taking a seat right next to you. The smell of a masculine body wash and fabric softener wafted into your nose, instantly making you want to curl into his side and rest against him. You swallowed hard, trying to shake those thoughts from your mind.

It was just because he smelled nice, right?

“I’m good. We shot an episode of Run! BTS this morning and we were running around a lot,” he chuckled to himself, “it was fun, but I felt gross after. Sorry for being in the shower when you were here.”

You shook your head.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you were. I wouldn’t want to hang out with you if you were stinky.”

You plugged you nose and made a grossed-out face at him and he laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well then hopefully I smell okay now.”

Ah if only he knew.

Jungkook grabbed the tv remote from the coffee table and handed it to you.

“You pick what we watch today.”

You shrugged and turned on the tv.

“Okay.”

You didn’t immediately go to a streaming app, you wanted to see what kind of things were on live tv at the moment. You secretly loved watching shows with commercials because while they were on it gave you and Jungkook a chance to talk more.

As you scrolled through the channels you weren’t hopeful for anything exciting as it was 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon after all.  

But suddenly, something caught your attention. The mention of Jungkook’s name. You paused your channel changing for a second to listen.

It looked like a trashy show, much like TMZ in the United States, where random people seemed to think they had the right to gossip about celebrities.

 “…Jungkook of BTS and idol soloist Kim Cho-hee are still going strong it seems.” One of the reporters commented.

“Yes, did you see that picture of them cuddling close at the restaurant they frequent in Gangnam? Sources say they were there for hours!”

A picture of the two of them popped up on the screen, sitting close in a corner of a dimly lit restaurant booth.  

“I even heard they shared a kiss when he dropped her off at her place!”

With that you felt your stomach flip and your face get hot.

Uh oh.

Oh no.

Did you perhaps feel... jealous?

Fuck.

“You think they’ll get married? Be together forever?”

They all laughed.

“(y/n) …” Jungkook mumbled from next to you.

“… way too young, but only time will tell!”

“(y/n),” Jungkook repeated while shaking your shoulder gently, startling you out of your thoughts and snapping your attention away from the screen, “do you mind… um, changing it?”

You fiddled with the remote in your now sweaty hands.

“Oh, sorry, no, um, I’m sorry.”

You complied with his request and moved to the next channel, something about wild animals native to the continent of Asia.

There was silence from Jungkook, and you didn’t dare look at him, your heart pounding inside your chest. It felt awkward now, like the elephant that had been in the room throughout your whole friendship, or whatever this was, was now making an unavoidable appearance. You were debating in your head whether you should finally ask him about it all when he spoke up first.

  “We’ve never kissed,” he started quietly.

You ran a hand through your hair, realizing you did not want to hear about it after all. You wanted to stay in this state of naïve bliss.

 “Jungkook…” you trailed off.

Plus, no matter how curious you were it still wasn’t your business.

He placed his hand on your arm surprisingly, making you look up into his worried looking eyes.

“Please, I really would like to talk to someone about it and since you-you already know it’s not real, and no one else really does- “

“Do your members?” you interrupted him.

He shook his head and looked down.

“No, they think it’s real.”

You took a deep breath, now even more shocked he had trusted you so easily with such seemingly confidential information those many weeks ago.

You closed your eyes tightly, the question you’ve been dying to ask on the tip of your tongue.

 “So can I ask... why? Why you’re in a fake relationship with her?”

He let out a sigh and looked down at the ground.

 “It’s complicated. Cho-hee has, um, she’s not known for being the kindest person, er, idol in the industry. She doesn’t have the best um, I’m not sure of the word in English…” he paused to pull out his phone’s translator app, “…repu-reputation is the word in English,” he sighed again, “So obviously as BTS, we’ve been very successful recently, and our managers are great at making sure our reputation stays good. So, her company contacted mine, her company has a lot more media influence in Asia, and asked if one of our members pretends to date her and help boost her reputation, they will help get BTS more attention in the Asia countries,” he paused and hesitantly peered up at you, “so… yeah, that’s basically the small explanation.”

You stared at him in both shock and confusion, so many follow up questions flooding your brain.

 “BTS doesn’t have enough media coverage in Asia?” was the first one to come out of your mouth.

“Well, not necessarily,” Jungkook replied, “but the K-pop competition is a lot bigger in countries like China and Japan because it has been around for so long here and there, unlike in areas like North America and Europe. You know, people in America or the UK or other non-Asian countries might instantly think of BTS when you say ‘K-pop’ these days, right? But here it can be different. Any other act could appear at any moment and take that spotlight, and Cho-hee’s company has more ties and relationships in Asia, more than our company HYBE, because they’ve been around a lot longer.”

You thought for a second before responding.

“So, you’re telling me… her company helps keep BTS relevant throughout Asia, in exchange for you pretending to date her in order to convince the media she’s a good person and keep her out of trouble?”

Your head was absolutely spinning at all this new information.

Jungkook nodded.

Your eyes went wide as you stared off into space in disbelief.

“Wow… I-I don’t know what to say…”

Jungkook buried his face in his hands and then ran them through his hair.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do it. She has that reputation for a reason. We get along fine, but she’s just so… controlling? Controlling is the word, yes? Sometimes I think she forgets we aren’t actually together.”

You frowned at him sympathetically.

“And what if,” he continued, biting his lip nervously, “what if I meet someone I do want to be with. What then? I can’t be with them?”

Your eyes met at that moment and you felt yourself catch your breath in your throat, you heart feeling like it did a somersault.

You looked away quickly.

“Yeah I don’t know. That certainly does makes things… complicated…”

Jungkook hummed in agreement.

There was a pause as you sighed.

“God I’m… really sorry, Kook, that you have to be a part of all this.”

There was a silence between you two. He just fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

Finally he said softly,

“Me, too. I’m sorry you have to be a part of it, too.”

You cocked your head in confusion.

 “What? Me? Because I know your relationship isn’t legitimate? You don’t have to worry about me, you know I won’t tell anyone about the two of you or- “

He cut you off.

 “Not just that,” he paused and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

You allowed yourself to take in his handsome face from this up close: his smooth skin, the mole on the bridge of his nose, the deep scar on his left cheek. He was just so exquisite; and when he opened his big brown eyes to meet yours, he looked more nervous than ever.

And when he began to speak you suddenly understood why.

 “It’s also because I… I like you, (y/n). I’m really… starting to like you. As more than a friend or-or someone I just hang out with one day a week,” his face turning red as he went on, “And if you don’t feel the same way I under-”

But before he could finish you placed one hand on the side of his neck and the other on his cheek as you leaned into him and pressed your lips against his in a tender kiss. He relaxed into you and wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you close, practically sitting you on his lap. You finally let his comforting scent completely engulf you, running your hands through his soft hair and nibbling on his bottom lip.

 Oh, yes.

This certainly made things very complicated indeed.

*

next>>

Masterlist

[lokislittlesigyn]

// loki spoilers

This is basically a huge infodump on my thoughts about the first episode, because I doubt y’all want to sift through my trauma-ridden ramblings. I’ll make another post for the rest. This is just everything not related to the IW stuff/my reaction to that. It’s general thoughts, theories, musings.

1. When Loki gets first taken into the TVA. Is that Peggy Carter in the background? Others have suggested it might be. What would that mean??? Will we see the TVA fix the mess the Russos made with Steve/Peggy (not likely) or is it just a lookalike? Who knows..

2. A skrull at the main intake desk! Idk not super relevant just interesting!

3. I’m kind of glad they changed the... uncomfortable scene... with the robot burning his clothes off. He gets more time to react to seeing the machine itself, and he seems more shocked (”Now.. H-hang on just a minute.”) than angry (”Now hang on just a minute!”) i still feel.. horrible for him, i’m glad nobody Saw him and that the machine didn’t grab the clothes off, but still. Ehhh.. uncomfortable.

He is beautiful though, don’t get me wrong - I’d just prefer a shirtless Loki scene where he wants to be shirtless? let him do what he wants with his body?? he’s probably felt so out of control of his body, from being jotun to falling through space that any invasion of privacy like that hits extra deep...

That being said, I recognize the utility of the scene for the narrative - his lack of control, his literally being stripped of what he was before.

4. WHO IS THE MAN WITH THE CAT. What is his name. I love that he has a mug with his cat on it. But I want to know more. Who is he?

4.1 WHY DIDNT YOU LET LOKI PET THE CAT Please,,, I am begging you,,, let loki pet the cat and have something react kindly to him and purr all happily at his scratching behind their ears plea s e

5. The info sheet. Now this is just a little nitpicky tidbit, but in a previous promo they listed Loki’s height as 6′4 ft and weight as 525 lbs. This is taken directly from the comics if I’m not mistaken. However, in the actual show he’s listed as  6′2 (Tom’s height and Loki’s presumed height) but I don’t remember if his weight is the same. Is Loki 6′2? 6′4? please let me know i want to know how smol i am in comparison

6. His little aggressive shaking of the ticket at the guard makes me giggle each time.

7. The fact the turnstile hits so low on him reminds me,, I am short compared to him. Those things hit my stomach/waist. That one hit his legs. I am once again asking Loki to pick me up.

8. The cartoon with Miss Minutes introducing the TVA is wonderful, I love the art style especially. But it raises questions about Variants... I guess Variants can just, pop out of nowhere? Any action could be the wrong one? And then once you commit the wrong action you either get returned or pruned? Yikes??? And THIS ties into another thing later!

9. The trial scene. I have a hunch - a feeling, a suspicion. That one of three things may be true.

A. The Time-Keepers never actually existed. They’re fabricated, and now whoever runs the TVA is actually using the excuse of “The Time-Keepers decree it so!!!” to carry out whatever They think is right. The fact we haven’t seen the Time-Keepers makes me.. suspicious...

B. The Time-Keepers existed, but they have since passed on, however that may have happened. Now someone is doing the same as above, using the excuse of the Time-Keepers apparent dictations to run things.

C. The Time-Keepers do exist, and do run the timeline/TVA, but maybe they’re not infallible? Maybe the TVA info video is lying or incomplete in some way? Idk I just feel like, something about the TVA and how they run things has to be wrong. It has to? Something is off. Again, this will tie into another thought later...

I have no idea if any of these are actually true! But Loki’s questions of “Who’s in charge here? What do they do? What do you do?” punctuated by laughter leads me to believe he’s suspecting something too, or perhaps just trying to figure this mess out.

10. Seiðr/Magic. We see in this scene, Loki’s magic (”powers”) don’t work in the TVA. (and a quick side note, did he have to Flex like that? do you have to make me see Loki’s bare arms Flex like that? be still my heart. anyway please get that collar off of him and let him rest for five minutes) This makes me wonder.. Why isn’t Loki in his Jotun form? His pale skin and blue eyes are decided by magic, are they not? I suppose this is 2012, so perhaps Odin’s magic is keeping Loki looking like that. But if magic doesn’t work in the TVA, why would his spell reach so far? Clearly Loki’s magic isn’t what’s doing it. How is Loki not appearing as a Jotun? Is his Jotun form repressed - is pale skin his default now, rather than something hidden by magic? I need answers!

11. he sounds so scared about being “reset” please dont hurt him,,

12. cALLING LOKI A PUSSYCAT? (lokitty confirmed) I think Mobius was goading him (Mobius strikes me.. As extremely clever. He’s trying to push Loki’s buttons to see who he’s dealing with. At least, I hope so. Because if he really meant that “You were born to cause pain and suffering and death... All so that others can achieve the best versions of themselves.” and that line about killing Frigga??? No no no he is not guilty. He had no way of knowing what would happen. It wasn’t right to send Algrim up to Asgard (i think algrim wouldve found the way up anyway) but there was no intent to hurt Frigga. I really hope you’re trying to goad him, Mobius, because if you believe that I trust you much less. anyway i digress) but wow is he pushing Loki’s buttons a lot. I can’t... Blame him entirely, I understand he’s trying to make sure Loki’s on his side, maybe I’m just too soft for Loki idk. But some of that was very cruel to say. /:

12.1 AND ANOTHER THING ABOUT MOBIUS. That scene with the girl in the church?? Did that little girl kill the men? Is that young Sylvie? Or is she using an illusion to make herself look young and innocent? What’s going on!!!!

13. LOKI SNATCHING THE LITTLE TIME-TWISTER DEVICE AND STOWING IT IN HIS POCKET.... POCKET....... sorry sometimes i get so caught up about loki that i just say random words in between little noises and squeals,,, i am a silly thing

14. CASEY. CASEY??? That whole exchange is funny. Poor Loki, just trying to intimidate this guy so he can escape but - Casey doesn’t know what a fish is. to be fair.... thor doesn’t seem to know what a raccoon is... right?

15. That bit with the infinity stones is kind of funny until you realize

A. Natasha died for a paperweight

B. Tony died from paperweights

C. Loki was tortured for paperweights

D. Oh, and Gamora died for a paperweight too. And Vision. Need I go on?

Then it becomes less of exclusively “haha funny” and now it’s a mix of funny and pain and gosh, is that a good way to sum up being a Marvel/Loki fan sometimes...

16. Loki gazing at the timeline all “Is this the most powerful thing in the universe?” or something, i’m sorry i don’t remember exactly... made me think of a meme and i shall make it presently.

17. I love that Loki got to see examples of how his family loves him but the fact he’s all “I can’t go back.” really just breaks me. It’s like he can finally see they love him after all of this mess, and now he doesn’t have the chance. Please, please let him be happy. Give him some relief. This is the Loki that just came off finding out about being Jotun, falling from the Bifrost, encountering Thanos, attacking Earth, facing defeat, and now he’s being thrashed around in this wild place and has just found out he inadvertently caused Frigga’s death (he did not kill her: his actions, by mistake, lead to her murder, let me be very clear) AND Odin will die AND all the rest... And he wants to be with them.

18. Loki’s reaction to Thor suggesting the hug makes me soft. Please I want to hug this little mischief man so so so bad-

19. Skipping over the iw parts! That’s for another post because this one will be grossly long anyway.

20. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.” and “It's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear. A desperate play for control.” was all so, so validating. I’ve been trying to argue on Loki’s behalf for almost a solid decade. Seeing the show recognize that Loki’s not all just violence and hurting for “fun”, that he’s not unhinged and bloodthirsty.. Is so nice. It’s just so, so comforting. and it gives me hope for future episodes that they won’t go the route of “oh haha loki bullied and mistreated and stabbed thor for years!!! :)” loki cries during basically every fight with Thor and you want me to believe he stabs Thor for fun? absolutely not.

21. Theory.. Just another hunch.. So we know a fugitive variant, aka Loki, is running amok. Refer back to 8 and 9.C. What if the Time-Keepers never actually fixed the timeline into a single timeline? What if there are other timelines, and these different Loki variants have hopped over to the current one? Or, maybe the Time-Keepers did fix the timeline into a single one, and these Lokis are remnants from that huge time-war at the beginning? Time runs differently in relative spaces, they may have Just Left that war from their perspective!

I say Lokis and not Loki because we’re pretty sure there’s Female/Lady Loki, Old Man/King Loki, and possibly Young/Kid Loki. That’s at least three. From the peeks of Asgard and NYC we’ve seen from the trailers, I think we’re also getting an Asgardian King!Loki and Midgardian King/Vote!Loki. (unless our dearest variant is hopping into timelines and situating into them, but I doubt Mobius would let that happen..?) That’s five.

To further support this, keep in mind, I believe recently six (i think 6 regular and 6 rare...) different funko pops were announced for the series? I’m not sure if they’re in addition to the Loki and Mobius already released. If they are, there’s enough room for each Loki and maybe a TVA agent. One of the pops is supposed to have a buddy/companion I think? Maybe they’re making the cat guy into one, or maybe there’s something else (Throg, anyone?).

22. That is totally Lady Loki/Sylvie at the end by the way. Has to be. But why does she want the reset devices? Why did she snatch that TVA Hunter? Again, WHAT’S GOING ON

ANYWAY this was a very long post if you made it this far, I commend you.

[luckyspacerabbit]

Subjective takes on Zaeed?

fun bry lore i own the zaeed rp twitter @ ytwarcrimadvice but i block anyone who follows me and someone who runs a jack rp has kept trying to follow me and i keep blocking them? anyway that feels relevant (i will literally just softblock if u follow it that's my guilty pleasure but also i have no hard feelings so it's like i just push you gently away)

Subjective Takes on Zaeed

You cannot convince me he doesn't walk around in the nude in his little corner of the ship. Like you cannot convince me he doesn't just pop out of the showers in a towel only and just takes the elevator down dripping water everywhere bc he can't properly dry himself off for some guddamn reason

People walk into his room to space garbage all the time. He usually just grunts and is like "leave it on the table," because he takes joy from spacing garbage.

His room is littered with fast food garbage bags? Like there is no time when you walk into Zaeed's room and it doesn't vaguely smell of a Mcondald's medium fry.

He can't be bothered to remember anything's name and he makes it part of his personality. For example, he's like "He's playing that dumb pad midge or whatever you call it" (pacman)

Once he woke up stripped naked hanging upside down to a hotel room chandelier and he tells the story constantly because he's really proud of the "discount i fucking rubbed off them"

There's no way he has all his organs. If you hit him in the stomach I think it sounds like when you accidentally kick a pile of metal pipes and they all clatter onto the ground.

He has a buffalo wild wings credit card. Platinum member. I can't explain it it writes itself.

[elen-aranel]

Golden/Alone

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For: @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. I am aware that today is Thursday; this was longer than I expected! Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: violence, references to violence, drug use (kind of), minor character death WC: 7.3k words Tag list: @jusvibbbin - to be added to my Pike x Reader Taglist please let me know <3 A/N: The Engineer is back! And why does she go on away missions? WHY? I genuinely had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy!

“If I were piloting, Number One, I would have flown us through the eye of that storm cell. We would have gotten here quicker,” Chris jokes to Number One as they unstrap themselves from the co-pilot and pilot’s seats, respectively.

“And that is precisely why I was flying and not you, Captain. We may have been slower, but I got us here in one piece.”

“Lieutenant, back me up here. My flying was great in that speeder on Eloma.”

“You kept us ahead of our pursuers, yes sir,” you say with a smile.

“And staying ahead of pursuers is not a valuable skill in an atmosphere like this one where we are not being pursued,” Number One states with some finality, as she presses the control to open the back of the shuttle and extend the ramp.

You are on Caylara, for what you hope will be a boring mission. The captain and Number One, along with security officer Ensign James, are here to open negotiations for Caylara to join the Federation.

You are here because of the atmosphere – it is notoriously difficult to traverse. You can’t transport living things through it, unless you want them to be merged, dead, or both, and even flying through it is a challenge because of the electrical storm layers. There are windows of time when it’s safer, when shuttles and communications can get through, and windows when they can’t.

At Louvier’s instruction you had prepared a shuttle (and a backup – you don’t like to take chances) to travel through the atmosphere. Standard procedure for Caylara was to have an engineer accompany the shuttle to perform any repairs needed on the ground. You had tried to argue your preparations were good enough that you wouldn’t be needed, but Chris had seen straight through you.

“You find diplomacy boring and you don’t want a repeat of Eloma. That’s what’s really going on here, isn’t it?” His mouth had twisted into that smile you found irresistible, and even though you pouted, adopting your best puppy-dog expression, he had just laughed. “It’s all right. I won’t make you go to the reception. I won’t even make you wear your dress uniform. You can stay with the shuttle.”

You hang back as the captain and Ensign James pass you, Chris brushing his hand against yours as he passes. You smile a little, and get your tricorder out – you need to check to make sure the shuttle didn’t get damaged and will be all right to make the return trip. You look down the ramp as you scan, seeing the Caylarans for the first time as their delegation greets the away team.

They are very tall. You estimate the shortest is well over two metres and they tower above the away team, even over Ensign James who is tall for a human. But given the slightly lower gravity of Caylara their height isn’t surprising, you think. They have skin varying from very pale through to olive toned. Their faces are smooth but they have scales around their hairline extending down to the rest of their bodies. Well, their hands, at least. They are wearing long robes.

Your tricorder beeps as the away team starts to move away; there seems to be a charge buildup in one of the EPS controllers, but that’s all and it’s an easy fix. You pop the relevant panel and discharge it, without shocking yourself for once, and replace the panel.

Then there’s nothing left to do but wait. The reception is due to last two, perhaps three hours – short enough that you’ll be able to make your return trip through the atmosphere with time to spare before the current window closes.

You’ve brought some reading, of course, but first you want to get to the bottom of why the EPS controller picked up a charge. You take it as a personal insult, really – you were sure you had accounted for everything from the data you were given to prepare. However, when you compare the preliminary data with the scans the shuttle took as it went through the atmosphere you can clearly see the discrepancies. You’re puzzled for a moment – but of course you had enhanced the sensors to the latest specs when you adapted the shuttle, and you don’t know how old the original readings you were working with were. You almost wish Chris had piloted you through the storm cell; then you would have more data to work with.

You busy yourself combining the shuttle’s readings with your existing model, and calculating how much it was off by. After some time you are pretty sure you’ve got to the bottom of where the charge came from, and you modify the shuttle so that it doesn’t happen again.

You also think you may be able to make predictions with your new model, and perhaps refine your timings for the atmospheric windows. The Caylarans know the timings pretty accurately, but you aren’t at the stage of sharing data on that level as yet.

You run a new set of scans, and frown – there’s only ninety minutes until the window closes. You compare with the original estimates and—

Hang on. When did it get so late? You were supposed to be on the way back by now.

“Shuttle Hubble to away team? Come in please?”

Silence.

“Shuttle Hubble to Captain Pike?”

More silence.

Silence when you try to call Number One and James, too.

“Enterprise to Hubble. Come in, please.”

“Shuttle Hubble here, Lieutenant Spock. I was just about to call you – I have lost contact with the rest of the away team. They should have been back here by now, but they aren’t.”

“I have also tried to contact the captain but to no avail. Three unknown craft have appeared in the system, and have locked weapons on to us and the planet. They are not responding to hails. I have placed the Enterprise on yellow alert and raised shields. We cannot get a sensor lock on individual life signs through the atmosphere, and—”

“They’re firing some sort of energy weapon!”

“Taking evasive action!”

“Lieutenant, I—” Spock sounds uncharacteristically strained as he’s interrupted by what sounds like an overloading console.

“I understand. I’ll look for them. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Enterprise out.”

That’s it, you think.

You’re on your own.

You take a deep breath: what do you need? Communicator. Tricorder. Emergency medkit.

Phaser.

You put the medkit in a backpack, and since there’s space you add a water bottle and some emergency rations. You clip the tricorder to a utility belt, and holster the phaser, set to stun. Your communicator goes in your pants pocket; you’ve got your usual tools in your jacket.

Then you remember your terrible luck with communicators, so you grab a spare and shove it in your backpack. That should do it. You can’t carry the kitchen sink and you don’t have time to keep second guessing yourself.

Okay. Plan: find the away team, bring them to safety.

You exit the shuttle and shut the ramp – you don’t need strangers damaging it.

You take in your surroundings next. The shuttle has landed in the grounds of a large building, elevated on a hill in the middle of a city. It’s only three or four storeys high, but quite wide, and you think it extends back a long way. There are decorative metal accents spaced at regular intervals – lightning conductors, you realise, as you head toward the most important looking doorway – you see burnt grass at their bases. This building isn’t tall, but it is the tallest around; the atmosphere must affect Caylaran architecture, you think.

There’s no one around, which surprises you; shouldn’t there be guards?

You push the door and it opens with a whisper. Inside is the most ornate room you have ever been in. The walls are gold coloured stone, there are dozens of columns in mottled golden marble, and there are decorations finished with real gold leaf everywhere. There are bronze statues and hundreds of warm coloured lights. The ceiling is as decorated as the walls, and the whole effect is beautiful. Imposing. Stunning. Overwhelming.

But again, no one is here. You get your tricorder out, but you can’t resolve anything. Perhaps something is blocking the scan? You look at the stairs. The steps are high, designed with Caylarans in mind, and go up before dividing. There are flights down, too. There are corridors to the left and right, and you have to take a moment to weigh all your options. The largest doors are ahead, though, up the main staircase and over. Perhaps that’s where you would take guests that you wanted to impress?

You think back to what you read on Caylara in your mission briefing as you climb the stairs. Their head of state is Crown Princess Nanren, but although the title remains the same, a princess many generations ago passed laws to end the hereditary monarchy. Now a new crown prince or princess is elected for life when the previous one dies, and you think they have an elected senate too.

Beyond that, you don’t really know anything, you think as you reach the top of the stairs. You cross the landing, trying to stay aware of your surroundings. And as you look down the stairs, you lock eyes with the first person you’ve seen.

A guard is sitting on the ground next to the doors. He’s armed, and the stairs in front of him show signs of having been fired on. But he’s slumped back, his green-blue swirled eyes staring up at you.

“Why’s it so dark? I can see you in the dark. Why did you bring the dark with you? You shouldn’t—” he tries to lift his weapon, and you draw your phaser, but his head lolls and he closes his eyes, dropping the weapon in front of him.

That was unsettling.

You proceed slowly down the stairs, but he doesn’t move again. You kick his weapon away and get your tricorder out. You’re not a medic, this isn’t a medical tricorder, and you don’t know much about Caylaran physiology, but you do have field medic training and you can see that something is terribly wrong. You scan him, and then the air. It seems like there are traces of a molecule around that your tricorder program flags up as having features in common with known hallucinogens. It didn’t flag up on your general scan so it’s probably dissipated enough that it won’t affect you, but still you wish you’d put on an EV suit. There’s no time to second guess yourself now, though.

You put the tricorder away in favour of the phaser, and you gently push the next door open.

If you thought the foyer was large, this room is even larger. It’s all gold again, and should be as beautiful, but it looks like there’s been a fight in here and furniture is in haphazard piles on the floor. It makes you think of playing forts with your cousins in your grandparents’ house as a child. You’re not a strategist but you can easily see that these piles aren’t much better than that – they provide barely any cover.

You pick your way over gilded chairs and past carved wooden tables inlaid with gold, keeping an eye out. About a quarter of the way into the room, under a table with two chairs on top you see a Caylaran. She looks young, wearing what looks like it could be a staff uniform – it’s a plain warm toned brown dress with an embroidered hem, far less fancy than the delegates who had welcomed the others of your team. She’s staring straight ahead, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. She pays you no attention as you kneel down by her.

“What’s your name?” You ask, softly.

“My name is Lararen and I’m going to kill the queen, going to kill the queen, going to kill the queen. My name is Lararen and I’m going to kill the queen, then the Genai are going to kill me.”

She smiles broadly as she finishes her little song, still staring vacantly straight ahead, and you shudder. You shake her shoulder and she blinks, slowly, but she doesn’t move.

You straighten up, thoughtfully, wondering what the Genai are. Some sort of bogeyman, or an alien race? Not that it matters.

Next you find a pair of guards, asleep, holding hands. You move their weapons out of sight and continue through.

But then you find a dead Caylaran. He looks like someone important, but his red robe embroidered with a golden floral patten has a scorch mark right in the middle of his chest. You’re not sure if that killed him, because there’s a pool of blood beneath him too. Either way, you think as you close his grey-purple eyes, he probably didn’t deserve whatever it was. You take a moment to pay your respects before moving on.

You don’t find any more dead bodies in this room, but you find several more Caylarans, either sleeping or talking nonsense. One male asks you where your flowers are, and tries to give you some from a fallen flower arrangement, but most of the rest are just scared.

You think they probably have good cause, as you push another door open. You pick it because the largest number of guards were close to it, so you figure it probably leads somewhere important.

It leads on to a stair well, small but lavishly decorated with tapestries, depicting Caylarans standing in outdoor scenes, sometimes with animals you don’t recognise. They deaden the sound of your footsteps as you climb the tall stone stairs.

Then two things happen: you pause as you notice one of the hangings is moving a little at the bottom, as though in a breeze. And then you hear voices above you.

“She’s not up here,” says a female voice, annoyed. Lucid.

“Well she’s definitely not down there.” The second voice is male. Defensive. “I’ve got a message from Alara. She wants us to look again.”

“Fine. But I want it noted for the record that this is a waste of time,” the first voice says, sounding suddenly quieter – she’s probably passed through a doorway.

“Like anyone cares, Nerela,” the second voice says. You risk a peek up the stairwell. You don’t get a good look as the second person disappears through the door, but they are definitely not Caylaran – he has blue skin.

You lean against a tapestry. There are aliens here, separate from your away team. There are aliens in orbit, too. The odds are good that they’re the same species. And “she” must be the crown princess. But what are they planning?

Regardless, you still need to find your people. It’s been half an hour; you could get back to the shuttle faster if you went straight there, but there isn’t much time left in this window.

You eye the tapestry again. You’re definitely not going to follow the aliens, and this breeze must be coming from somewhere. You push it aside.

This door is the first plain thing you’ve seen in the building. It stands slightly ajar – hence the breeze – and it’s painted beige to match the stonework, but otherwise it’s featureless. It swings as quietly as all the other doors when you push it, but it has some kind of bolt on the other side. Interesting. You try to work it, but you can’t. You think of the tools in your jacket; you could probably figure it out, but no. There’s no time. You push the door to, making sure it’s as shut as it can be, and continue.

You must have entered the service part of the building, you think, as you walk along a corridor. This is functional and plain, like the door. You feel a little more comfortable here; if you’d been interested in fancy, you would have joined the command track. Or Diplomatic Corps. You get your tricorder out again, but it doesn’t show you anything still and you didn’t expect it to. But then you approach a door, and hear whimpering from the other side.

You have your hand on your phaser as you push the door open. It’s dark compared to the rest of the building; there is a small window but there’s not much light coming through the Caylaran atmosphere right now. You take a moment to let your eyes adjust, then head toward the whimpering.

The room is small; some kind of office, perhaps? There’s a desk in the room, and behind it—

“Number One?” She’s crying. Number One is sitting on the floor crying, hair a mess, dress uniform dirty, cradling Ensign James in her lap.

You can barely believe it, but you squat down, reaching for your tricorder. You can see James breathing, at least. You look around, but Chris isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Number One?” You scan them both. They both have traces of the drug in their systems, but a lot less than the guard you scanned earlier. As your eyes adjust you can see though that James has hit his head; there’s blood in his hair and on Una’s uniform. He’s also been hit by a energy discharge, but to the side.

“Una? What’s wrong?”

“I failed everyone. I didn’t protect my captain. What first officer doesn’t protect her captain? They’re going to throw me in the brig. They’re going to court martial me. I lost my captain, and he’s dead, I—”

Suddenly you’ve had enough. You slap her, hard. “Number One!”

“Lieutenant! What did you just—”

“Oh my goodness! I’m sorry, I—you—” You breathe. “Are you all right?” You strip your backpack off for your medkit. You’re going to need to try to bring Ensign James round.

“I—I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened; everything was normal and then suddenly it wasn’t. I was so scared, Lieutenant. It was—I can still feel it. But it doesn’t feel like me.” She shakes her head, eyes still a little wide, and you pass her the water bottle. She takes a drink as you inject Ensign James with a hypospray. He starts stirring immediately, which is good, but you still think he needs a proper exam to rule out any brain problems.

“Una, you’ve got fifteen minutes to get back to the shuttle with Ensign James. There are alien ships attacking the Enterprise, and I’ve seen aliens here too. I think they may be called the Genai. You go down the corridor, down the stairs, through the big room, through the foyer, and out. Do you think you can do that?”

“Back to the shuttle. Genai.” She shakes her head again, blinking a few times. She squares her shoulders. “Yes, I think so. I can. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find the captain. You can tell the computer to run on autopilot, if you need to – I updated the climate model, so the computer should be able to handle it.”

Together you help Ensign James to his feet.

“Do you have your communicator still?”

“I don’t,” James is still groggy as he pats himself down.

“I do,” Number One brings her communicator out and opens it. “Number One to Enterprise, come in please.”

Static.

“I think there’s a blocking field throughout this building. The tricorder isn’t working for some things either. You’d better get going.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks. You too, Commander.”

You put your medkit away as Number One and James leave. You’re relieved that they’re both okay, and you’re confident in Una, now she recognises her fear isn’t hers.

Back in the corridor you check the door to make sure Una shut it. You push it, but it’s locked. Weird. You could probably unlock it, but you don’t want to go that way anyway.

You turn your back on the door and continue along the corridor. Number One had said the captain – had said Chris – was dead. But he can’t be. She wasn’t, and you think she only had blood from Ensign James on her uniform. But... what if he is?

If he is, you do your duty as a Starfleet officer first. Find his body. Survive. Get out of here. Then mourn him second.

You pass three locked doors on the corridor, but the last opens to more stairs. Still functional, but just going down this time. You go down, listening, hand on you phaser.

Back on the ground floor – you think, but it could be a mezzanine level – there are several rooms that are open.

You go into the first one, hand still on your phaser. It’s a bedroom, and there’s a Caylaran male cowering in the corner, wearing the service uniform.

“Have you come to end it?” He asks, staring past you. You don’t answer, but your heart aches; you think he means his life. The next room is empty, bed neatly made up.

You listen at the door to the third room, and you think you hear breathing. You push the door open slowly. You don’t see anyone at first, but as you head into the room you see the edge of a gold robe, protruding out of what must the en-suite. You think you’re getting a feel for Caylaran fashion, and this is easily the fanciest thing you’ve seen so far. The robe is made of gold fabric, whereas all the others you’ve seen have been colours embroidered with gold. This one has gold and silver embroidery, and multicoloured gemstones picking out the centres of the flowers.

“Crown Princess Nanren?” Your pitch your voice low. Gentle. You remember how Chris spoke to you on Earth in the past, when you were panicking, and try to convey that calm, that confidence, to her. And in that moment you know you can no longer focus on looking for him. If this is the crown princess, more hinges on you looking after her.

“Crown Princess? I’m a Lieutenant from the Enterprise. From Starfleet – the Federation. I’m not a dream or a nightmare. I’m here to help. Will you come out?”

“The Genai are here. They’re going to kill me. I—I can’t—”

“We will find somewhere you can call your people. I will look after you. We will call in your people and they will deal with the Genai.” General Order One doesn’t apply here, you think. Not if the Genai are already interfering. Not that you care about diplomacy anyway. You’ll do what’s right now, and face the consequences later.

“I don’t—Why aren’t they here already?”

“I don’t know, Crown Princess. But we will figure it out. Please trust me.” You put all your belief into your tone, all the hope you still have left... and she steps forward.

She looks every bit the princess. She is tall, even compared to the other Caylara you’ve seen, and her dress is as exquisite as you expected from the tiny part you’d seen. You wonder, briefly, how many she has like that and how many months, perhaps years, it took to sew. She has a gauzy golden cloak hanging behind her, also embroidered, and her dark hair is braided and pinned up into an elaborate style. The only things that are not Princess-like about her are her purple-blue swirled eyes. They are wide, and anxious.

You recall your briefing notes, and bow. “Princess,” you say, staring at the floor.

“Arise,” she replies, and there’s the ghost of a command tone there. Good.

You straighten, looking up at her again, and pause. This is not how you dress if you might need to make a run for it.

You exhale, surveying the room. It’s a bedroom – a staff bedroom.

“Princess, I can get you out of this, I think. But first... you need to change.”

You find staff robes in the wardrobe that fit her, even if they’re a touch short. And sensible shoes. You have to sit her on the bed to take her hair down, but, you reflect with a little smile that she can’t see, taking her pins out is not unlike taking tiny components out of a circuit board.

“You get used to it, you know,” she says as she stands after you’ve finished. “The pomp and ceremony. The robes. People expect it of their princess, and you get used to it.”

“They are lovely,” you say, following her gaze to where her robes are hung up. “But we should get moving. Where can we call your people?”

“That sort of thing is in the wing on the other side of the Room of State,” she says. Right. The other side of that big room. Of course. And there’s a locked door between you and it.

Even so you retrace your steps. She’s much faster up the stairs than you, and you think bad thoughts about differing alien physiologies. But then, she would find the chairs on the Enterprise a bit small, you think. And the beds.

Soon you’re on the corridor with the door at the end, and you finger your jacket’s zipper as you get closer – it’s time for you to brush off your lock-picking skills. You hope the lock is easy like the ones on Eloma.

But the princess pushes the door and it opens with a whisper.

You can’t say anything. But you thank your lucky stars for small favours.

“Let me,” you say, as you approach the bottom of the stairwell. “If anything happens, go back the way we came.” You look the princess in the eye and she nods.

You crack the door open the tiniest bit, and you hear a voice.

You turn back to the princess, reach out and take her hand. You know it isn’t protocol but you squeeze gently, feeling the scales on her skin and a ring round her finger, hoping the touch will keep her calm.

You push the door open again.

“—everywhere. Yes. Me personally. I don’t care what you—yes I know scanners aren’t working. I wish you hadn’t got voice comms back. But she’s not here; she must be on your floor. Fine, Nerela. She could be in the south wing. No don’t come down here, you idiot. Go round. Ugh. Put Yaima on. Yes tell Nerela she’s being a pain. No, they’re still with our vessel, so she can’t be in the garden. It’s the storm cycle; of course we can’t—To the East, yes. I’ll see you there. But tell Nerela she’s done after this. No I don’t care. Alara out.”

You hear footsteps stalking down the room, getting closer. Your heart is in your mouth, one hand on your phaser, as you hold your breath. The steps falter slightly... and then they continue. You stay frozen until you can’t hear them anymore, then you give it a minute after that before you move the door.

The Room of State has changed since you saw it last; almost all the furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, apart from a chair cushion in the middle of the floor; that’s what made Alara miss her step.

You take a step forward, and the princess follows, still holding your hand. She gasps, and you follow her gaze; at the end of the room are rows of Caylarans, lying on the floor. You look around, but the coast seems clear. You take your tricorder out one-handed, and you scan them. From here you can pick out their life signs – they may be unconscious but they’re still alive.

“They’re okay. They aren’t dead. Probably stunned with an energy weapon.” You feel the princess relax, and you drop her hand. “We can take care of them later. You need to show me where to go.”

She nods, and you follow her across the room and through the door on the other side. You have time to check on the way across: Number One and James aren’t there. Neither is the captain.

The stairwell on the other side is like the first, except this has paintings rather than tapestries, and your footsteps are louder as you climb.

“I don’t know who any of them are,” the princess says, looking at the paintings on your way up. “I suppose I should, but... they’re not my ancestors, I suppose. Just... predecessors. In a way.”

You resist the impulse to shush her.

On this stairwell a painting opens to the service corridor. You take the lead going through, but the corridor is empty. And when the princess shuts the door, you hear its lock click.

You walk along the corridor, listening carefully, but you can’t hear any signs of life. You have to hustle to keep up with the princess, but you push a couple of doors as you pass them. They’re both locked.

The stairs down at the other end of the corridor carry on further than they do on the other side, and your calves are beginning to ache when you reach the bottom. Your discomfort doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. It’s cooler down here, and you think you must be underground. Some kind of bunker.

“My real office is in my suite. My ceremonial office is downstairs, but this”—she opens the second door you reach—“is for emergencies.”

The office is dark as you go in, but she presses a control and it lights up. You close the door behind you and look around. Unlike the other rooms off the service corridors, this one is lavish once again. The wallpaper has gilded highlights, and the desk is made of a golden brown hardwood and is intricately carved. There’s no window since you’re underground, but the light fittings are made of bronze and remind you of the statues in the foyer. You realise the room is probably this nice in case the princess needs to do an emergency broadcast – her surroundings will still look the part.

The princess sits at the desk, pressing her palm to a sensor. A computer apparatus lifts up, and she enters some commands. You walk round the desk and stand a little way to her side, as a Caylaran man appears on the screen. His expression is blank, confused.

“Is this some kind of joke? At such a time? Using Princess Nanren’s—wait—”

He frowns, tips his head to one side.

“Your highness, is—is that you? The Genai—we were sure they’d killed you. That’s what they said. And the blocking field is on so we couldn’t scan—we had no idea—I—” He closes his eyes and bows his head.

“I am so sorry, your highness. I didn’t want to risk your people on a dangerous mission with no intelligence if you were already dead. But I should have trusted in you, and not believed the Genai without proof.”

Staff robe or not, Crown Princess Nanren straightens up and looks every bit the princess once again.

“Arise. Guard Leader Daymen, I am glad to see you. Please do not apologise; the time for analysing our decisions and learning from this situation is not yet here. First I must survive, and you must take back the palace. The Genai are still here; they have a vessel in the garden and people throughout the palace. Our people have been drugged; most are in the Room of State, but there are likely others dispersed through the palace.”

“They have three vessels in orbit too, I think,” you say, quietly.

“They have vessels in orbit too, although”—she presses a control, and a little data window appears—“they won’t be able to send any reinforcements through the atmosphere for a few more hours. What do you need to retake the building?”

“I will bring my guards now, highness. If you could turn the blocking field off it would make things safer, but—no. You are the most important. Enact the safe-room protocol, and remain where you are until we secure the building.”

“I may be able to lower the blocking field. But I shall keep safe. Do you have any news of our Federation guests?”

“Their shuttle left before the window closed. I was unable to talk to their ship at that time, but...” his expression goes thoughtful. “We use a limited range of communication frequencies. The Genai in orbit could have blocked them.”

You nod to yourself; the Caylaran frequencies had been in your briefing, and they were very different to Federation ones. The blocking field in the Palace was wide-band, but it would take too much power for a block like that over a bigger area. Much more sensible to just block the Caylaran frequencies.

“Thank you. May the skies protect you, Guard Leader.”

“May the skies protect you, highness.” He bows once again and cuts the connection.

“Lieutenant, thank you for all you have done for me so far. May I ask this last favour?”

“To take down the field? Of course, your highness. What do I need to do?”

She slides a ring off her finger and hands it to you. It’s a very narrow band of gold with a small red stone set on it. It’s big for you, though, so you slip it on to your thumb.

“You can use that to gain access to the systems. The security office is down the corridor to the right.”

“Lock the door behind me, your highness.” You smile as you turn to go.

“May the skies protect you, Lieutenant.”

“And you too.” You go through the door, closing it behind you. You hear a loud thunk a moment after you do; it sounds like more than a lock – probably blast doors. At least she’s safe, you think. Even if that means you’re alone.

You wonder about Chris, and where he could be. You have to hold on to hope, don’t you? You can’t think... no. You mustn’t. Instead you think about what he would do in your place. You think he’d be cautious. You’re nearly at your goal, but if you don’t succeed people could get hurt if the Caylaran Guard can’t tell who is who, or where they are. You’ve heard people complain about security officers being trigger happy; you think it’s probably the same for the Guard.

And you’re in a strategically important part of the palace; you don’t know how many Genai there are but they’ll probably find this area eventually. You draw your phaser, and make sure you walk quietly.

There is only one door left between you and where the corridor splits, when you hear a voice. The door opens a little, and you freeze. The voice is familiar – one of the Genai.

“—last time, no. I genuinely, and I am completely sincere on this, do not care what Alara thinks. Not even a tiny little bit! She missed this entire section! Yeah whatever, Yaima, you go tell her what I said. But when I find the Queen—Crown Princess, whatever, and she doesn’t, she’s the one that’ll get fired, not me! Nerela out!”

The door slams open, and Nerela stomps out. It’s her or you, but you are ready and she is not. Her black eyes widen as she sees you, and her weapon is in hand, but before she can aim you shoot. She grunts as she falls back, stunned.

Happily, Genai are shorter than Caylarans, although Nerela is wearing high heeled boots which make her look taller. You drag her back into the room she came out of, take her weapon and communicator and leave her lying in the recovery position. You shut the door behind you and it clicks a second later.

You shake your head; the doors are one mystery too many. You put Nerela’s weapon in your phaser holster, and tuck her communicator into your belt. Then you head to the right, toward the security office.

The first thing you notice as you push the door open are the screens. Dozens of them. The second—

“Chris?” He’s frowning, pointing a phaser at you. He looks at you like he can’t believe his eyes. Like you’ve stepped out of a nightmare.

“Chris it’s me. I’m real. I’m really here.” You take a careful step through the doorway, keeping eye contact with his bloodshot blue eyes, letting the door close behind you.

“You don’t need to be afraid any more.” You think about what Number One had said. “This fear... it isn’t really you.” You stoop down and put your phaser on the floor. You take Nerela’s weapon and put that on the floor too. And as you do, something clicks into place in your mind.

“Chris, you’ve been helping me, haven’t you? Locking doors to keep me safe? To help me get where I needed to go?”

“I’ve been so... afraid. I—I needed to keep her—to keep you safe.” He relaxes his grip on his phaser a little, and you reach for your tricorder.

“You were drugged, Chris.” You scan him. “Number One and James are safe, they got a lower dose than you.” A much lower dose, you realise, looking at the numbers. “I sent them back to the shuttle and they returned to the Enterprise. I’m going to end all this, get us home. But I need you to stop pointing that phaser at me.”

He looks at his hand, holding the phaser, then back at you.

“But is she—are you real?”

Your heart melts for him. You haven’t said these words, but you’ve felt it for a while. And—you worried, you genuinely worried, that you would never get to say them. This may not be the moment you planned, but he has to believe you.

“Chris, I love you. I’m real.”

“I—” he drops the phaser, and it clatters to the floor. The next thing you know you’re in front of him, arms around him, holding him. You can’t think; you can speak. You just hold on, letting your body feel his warmth, his solidity. You may not have been drugged, but you had been so afraid

. After a moment he puts his arms around you, too, and you just stay there for a moment more. Holding him. Letting him hold you.

As much as you’d like to forget everything else right now, you still have a job to do. You pull back, take hold of his hand, and look at the security console. You can see feeds of the Room of State, the foyer, the other rooms you’ve been in, and other places, too. Beneath the monitors is a schematic; this is how Chris was locking and unlocking the doors, you realise. But how did he have the credentials to do so?

You look at the desk and see a ring like the one the Crown Princess gave you, nestled in a groove.

“How did you get that?” You ask.

Chris frowns. “I was in that big room, but I was so afraid. I came through the door. Went upstairs. Along the corridors. Looking for somewhere safe enough. I got here and the Caylaran... we struggled, he tried to shoot but I took his weapon.” You follow his gaze to an energy weapon on the ground. “Then he ran. And I stayed. I could see everything. Not get caught out. And then I saw you.”

You squeeze his hand, and work the controls with your other hand. There is a glyph that looks like a shield; you turn it off. You check your tricorder – finally you can detect life signs. Both Caylaran and Genai. As you do, Nerela’s communicator chirrups to life.

“Nerela? I swear, if this was you—! You have the worst timing! The Caylaran guard are here. Put the blocking field back up immediately. That’s an order! Nerela? Nerela, answer me! Ne—”

It lapses into static for a moment. Then silence.

“The Guard are here, Chris. As soon as the atmosphere clears we can go home.”

*

When you return to the Enterprise you go to the captain’s quarters. You know he won’t be there, but you need the sense of his presence. His smell.

Chris had to stay on the planet to complete the original negotiations and help deal with the Genai; the drug’s effects had faded by the time the atmosphere was passable again, and you’d got some water and rations into him. Spock came down and stayed, but you had only left Chris because he ordered you to.

You have a shower, put on one of his sleep shirts, and curl up on the sofa under his throw blanket to write your report.

*

“Sweetheart?” You wake up to Chris kneeling in front of you, hand on your shoulder. His hair is damp and he’s out of his uniform. Your brow creases for a moment – you don’t remember him using that endearment for you before.

“Chris,” you say, stretching. Pushing the throw away, and leaning into his touch. “You’re back.”

“I am.” His mouth quirks into a smile. “There was a lot to sort out; it seems the Genai and the Caylara have a dispute over a world on a system between them. The Genai thought if Caylara joined the Federation, we would take their colony from them. They thought if they disrupted the negotiation and killed Crown Princess Nanren, either we would give up, or the Caylarans would be too afraid to continue.” He moves his thumb along your shoulder.

“Spock put the fear of God into the Genai in orbit. I’m not sure how,” he adds, at your incredulous look, “but they and the Caylarans have requested mediation. And now the Genai want to work towards joining the Federation, too.”

“I wish they’d chosen to talk to us first,” you say, frowning. Thinking of the dead Caylaran. “These breakthroughs always seem to come at such a cost.”

“They do,” he says, gathering you into his arms. Holding you against him.

You stay in his arms for a while, just breathing. But eventually he pulls back, and moves to sit beside you.

“You were amazing today. You’ll be getting a commendation, but Crown Princess Nanren wanted me to convey her thanks, too. You saved her life.” He reaches into his pocket, then leans forward and fastens a chain round your neck. It’s delicate, golden, and from it hangs the ring that she had lent you for the computer. That you had given back before you left. “She wanted you to have this. But she thought a necklace might work better.”

You shake your head, taking hold of the ring. “Saving her was as much you as me, Chris. Locking those doors.”

He looks at you, thoughtful. “I don’t think so. I—I have never felt fear like I did today. Now I look back at it I can tell it wasn’t real, but at the time, seeing you on those screens, moving with purpose, helping our people and the Caylarans... you gave me hope.”

He pauses, blue eyes meeting yours. Hand reaching out to touch your face.

“When we were down there... I remember what you said to me. I love you too.”

You lean forward, meeting him for a kiss, gentle at first but it goes passionate almost immediately, both of you pouring your feelings for each other into the connection between you. You didn’t know it could feel like this, you think, before he pulls you into his lap and thoughts flee away.

*

“Lieutenant, I want to thank you.” Number One says, sitting at her desk. “I was not myself down on Caylara, but you did yourself proud. You saved us.”

“You’re welcome, Commander.” You smile. “I’d say any time, but right now I’d be happy if I never left the ship again.”

“That being said, if you tell anyone—”

“If I tell anyone you were crying, I can expect to spend the next month of duty shifts degaussing the transporter with a microresonator?”

“Oh that’s a good one. I must remember that. Yes. You will be degaussing, Lieutenant.”

“Understood.”