#there were lots of good points about female artist being pushed down or forced into marriages that killed there art careers

[vexx-the-egg]

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[felassan]

Dragon Age development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

Some really tasty factoids here.

Cut for length.

Dragon Age: Origins

The continent of Thedas was at one point going to be named Pelledia, a name initially floated by James Ohlen

“Qunari” was a temporary name that ended up unintentionally sticking, much like “Thedas”

Mary Kirby wrote the Landsmeet. To this day, nobody understands how it works, except possibly her. If she’s “really really drunk” she can explain how it works. There’s as many words in it as Sten’s entire conversations put together

Concept art for Thedosian art - as in in-world art - draws heavily on Renaissance-era portraiture, the Art Nouveau movement, religious styles and media like stained glass, and favorite pieces from the golden age of illustrations in the early 20th century

Andrastianism in-world (art-wise) is depicted in wildly different methods depending on who in-world made the art in question. “One religion, 3 different lenses”. There’s the Chantry take, the Orlesian take and the Fereldan take; each with its own different interpretations, different mediums and different stories

The stained glass images were drawn by Nick Thornborrow for DAI, to decorate religious spaces in that game “and beyond”

irl Viking art influenced Ferelden

Greek and Italian art influenced Orlais

The book also had other insights into and anecdotes from the development of DAO, but I’ve transcribed them recently as they’re essentially the stories DG has recently been relating on the awesome Summerfall Studios DAO playthrough Twitch streams. (On those streams he provides dev commentary while Liam Esler plays through DA. The ones with DG are currently once every two weeks. Check them out! Here’s a calendar where you can check when the next one is) Instead of repeating myself I’ll just provide the link to the first transcript. From there you can navigate to the subsequent parts. Note these streams are ongoing. At this point I will also point you to a related post which is cliff notes of the Dragon Age chapter in Jason Schreier’s book Blood Sweat and Pixels.

Dragon Age II

DAO had the longest development period in BioWare history. In contrast DA2 had the shortest

Initially DA2 was going to be an expansion to DAO. A few months in EA said “Yeah, expansions like these don’t sell very well, so let’s make it a sequel.” So it suddenly became DA2 and they had to make it even bigger, although they still only had 1.5 years of time in which to do this

Production of DA2 officially lasted only 9 months, and at the time the team was still supporting live content for DAO! They finished development that January after the design team crunched all the way through the holiday period that year. Then it went to cert 9 times

The limited time they had is why the story takes place mostly in and around 1 city, and over 7 years (so it was temporal, rather than over physical distance, because a more expansive world would have taken more irl time to make)

They had no time to review even the main plot. Mike Laidlaw pitched the idea of 3 stories taking place at different points in the PC’s life, tied together by Varric’s recollections of events. DG rolled with this and made 1 presentation on the idea. This presentation was then approved and off they went

As they were writing DG realized that there was going to be no oversight and that everything was going to be a ‘first draft’. “Because nobody had time.” He sat down with the writers and said “Look, here’s the conditions we���re working under. A lot of what we’re putting out is gonna be raw. We’re not going to get the editing we need. We’re not going to get the kind of iteration we need. So I’m going to trust you all to do your best work.”

Looking back, DG has mixed feelings on DA2. “A lot of corners were cut. The public perception was that it was smaller than DAO. That’s a sin on its own.”

Despite this he thinks DA2 has some of the best writing in the series, especially character-wise. The DA2 chars are his favorite

The pace with which production progressed may in some ways have helped. “When we do a lot of revision, we often file away [as in buff off] some of the good writing as well. Somehow DA2′s whirlwind process resulted in some really good writing”

The pace meant chars landed on the writers in various stages of completion. For example Isabela was fairly defined due to appearing in DAO. In contrast Varric at the start was just that single piece of widely-shown concept art

Varric was conceived as a storyteller not a fighter. His skills are talking and bullshitting. Hence the question became, so what does this guy do in combat? The direction was to make him as different as possible to Oghren, so not a warrior. He couldn’t be a dual-wielding rogue in order to differentiate him from Bela. But you can’t really picture this guy with a bow. “For a dwarf, it would probably be a crossbow. We didn’t have crossbows, or we only had crossbows for the darkspawn. And they were part of the models. We didn’t have a separate crossbow that was equip-able by the chars. They had to like, crop one off a darkspawn and remodel it. And that became Bianca” (quote: Mary Kirby)

“Dwarven mages are exceedingly rare.” [???]

If DAO was a classic fantasy painting, DA2 was a screenshot from a Kurosawa film or a northern Renaissance painting. (Here Matt Rhodes was commenting on art style)

John Epler: “In any one of our games, there’s a 95% chance that if you turn the camera away from what it’s looking at, you’ll see all kinds of janky stuff. The moment we know the camera is no longer facing someone, we no longer care what happens to them. We will teleport people around. We will jump people around. We will literally have someone walk off screen and then we will shift them 1000 meters down, because we’re fixing some bug.” John also talked about this camera stuff in a recent charity Twitch stream for Gamers For Groceries. There’s a writeup of that stream here

Designing Kirkwall pushed concept artists to the limits of visual storytelling, because it has a long history that they wanted to be present. It was once the hub of Tevinter’s slave empire, so it needed to look brutal and harsh, but it also then needed to feel reclaimed, evolved, and with elements of contemporary Free Marches culture

The initial plan was for DA titles to be distinguished by subtitles not numbers, so that each experience could stand on its own rather than feel like a sequel or continuation. (My note: New PCs in each entry make sense then when you consider this and other factoids we know like how DA is the story of the world not of any one PC). Later, DA2′s name was made DA2 in a bid to more clearly connect the game to its predecessor. For DAI they returned to the original naming convention. (My note: so I’d reckon they’d be continuing the subtitle naming convention for DA4)

DA2 was initially code-named “Nug Storm”, strictly internally

The Cancelled DA2 Expansion - Exalted March

This was a precursor to DAI

It was meant to bridge the gap between DA2 and DAI

It focused on the fallout from Kirkwall’s explosion, with Cory serving as the villain

Meredith’s red lyrium statue was basically going to infest Kirkwall and it would end up [with what would end up] the red templars taking over Kirkwall and essentially being Cory’s army

To stop him Hawke would have recruited various factions, including Bela’s Felicisima Armada and the Qunari at Estwatch, forcing Hawke to split loyalties and risk relationships in the process

It was meant to bring DA2′s story to an end and end in Varric’s death. DG was very happy with this because all of DA2 is Varric’s tale. The expansion was supposed to start at the moment Cassandra’s interrogation of him ended in the present. “And we finished off the story with Varric having this heroic death.” It tied things up and would have broken many fan hearts, something BioWare writers notoriously enjoy. But between a transition to the new Frostbite engine and the scope of DAI, the decision was made to cancel EM, work any hard-to-lose concepts into DAI, and in the process save Varric’s life. DG has talked about the Varric dying thing before

Concept art for EM explored new areas previously not depicted in the DA universe, with costumes that reflected next steps for familiar chars. Varric was going to war, what would he have worn? With Anders, if he survived DA2, the plan was to present a redeemed Warden

A char that vaguely resembled Sera in DAI was first concepted for EM. This fact was mentioned near this concept art (see the female elf) and this concept art of Bethany with the blond bob

The writers sketched out plans to end it with Hawke having the option to marry their LI. This included alternate ceremonies for party members like Bethany and Sebastian if the player opted not to wed. There was even a wedding dress made for Hawke. This asset made it into DAI (Sera and Cullen’s weddings in Trespasser). The dress can also be seen in DAI during an ambient NPC wedding after completing a chain of war table missions

The destruction of a Chantry was explored in concept art as it might have happened in EM. This idea ended up carrying over to the beginning of DAI. (My note: Lol, the idea that DA2 could have had 2 Chantries being destroyed in it 😆)

World of Thedas

Sheryl Chee and Mary Kirby started with “a disgusting little dish called fluffy mackerel pudding”. In the middle of DAO’s busy dev period one of them (they can’t remember who) found a recipe online for this, scanned in from a 70s cookbook. “I don’t understand why it was fluffy. Why would you want fluffy mackerel pudding?” MK says. “We loved it so much we included it in a DAO codex.”

This led them to create more food for Thedas, full recipes included, like a Fereldan turnip and barley stew from MK and SC’s Starkhaven fish and egg pie. The fish pie became Sebastian’s favorite. “To me it made sense for it to be fish pie because a lot of the Free Marches are on the coast”, SC says, “It was something that was popular in medieval times, so I thought, let’s make a fish pie! I looked at medieval recipes and I concocted a fish pie which I fed to my partner, and he was like ‘This is not terrible’”

For WoT the whole studio was asked to contribute family recipes which might have a place in Thedas. SC adapted these to fit in one Thedosian culture or another, including a beloved banana bread that localization producer Melanie Fleming would regularly bake to keep the DA team motivated. “Melanie’s banana bread got us through Inquisition”

DAI

It says part of DAI takes place in or near the border with Nevarra [???]

This game was aimed to be bigger than DA2 and even DAO in every conceivable way

The first hour had to do a lot of heavy lifting, tying together the events of DAO and DA2 while introducing a new PC, new followers etc in the aftermath of the big attack. DG rewrote it 7 times then Lukas Kristjanson did 2 more passes

DG: “Our problem is always that our endings are so important, but we leave them to last, when we have no time. I kept pushing on DAI: ‘Can we work on the ending now? Can we work on the ending now? Can we do it early on?’ Because I knew exactly what it was going to be. But despite the fact that it kept getting scheduled, whenever the schedule started falling behind, it kept getting pushed back... so, of course, it got left til last again.”

“The reveal of the story’s real antagonist, Solas, a follower until the end, when he betrayed the player”. “Solas’ story remains a main thread in Inquisition’s long-awaited follow-up” [these aren’t DG quotes, just bits of general text]

Over the course of development they had 8 full-time writers and 4 editors working on it. Other writers joined later to help wrangle what ended up being close to 1 million words of dialogue and unspoken text. While many teams moved to a more open concept style of work for DAI, the writers remained tucked away in their own room, a choice DG says was necessary, given how much they talked. All the talking had a purpose ofc as if someone hit a bump or wall in their writing they would open the problem up to the room

As writing on a project like DAI progresses, the writers grow punchier and weirder things make it into the game. This is especially the case towards the end of a project (they get tired, burned out)

Banter and codexes require less ‘buy-in’ (DG has talked about this concept a few times on the Twitch streams) from other designers. DG liked to leave banter for last as a reward because it was fun. Banter begins as lists of topics for 2 followers to discuss. These may progress over time or be one off exchanges. One banter script can balloon to well over 10k words. “The banter was always huge because we were always like, laughing, and really at that point, our fields of fucks were rather barren, so we would just do whatever”

The bog unicorn happened pretty much by accident. It was designed by Matt Rhodes and was one of his fav things to design. They needed horse variations and he had already designed an undead variant which was a bog mummy [bog body]. irl these are preserved in a much different way to traditional mummies. When someone dies in a bog their skin turns black and raisin-like. The examples we know of tend to have bright red hair for whatever reason. It’s a very striking look and MR wanted to do a horse version of this as he thought it’d be neat. 5 mins before the review meeting for it he had a big ‘Aha!’ moment, quickly looked up a rusty old Viking sword, and photoshopped it through its skull like that was how it died. “And I was like, ‘I just made a unicorn. Alright, in it goes!’” It got approved. “So we built the thing. It fit. It told a little story”

With the irl Inquisition longsword, one of the objects they tested its cleaving ability on was a plush version of Leliana’s nug Schmooples

The concept art team explored a wide variety of visuals for the Inquisitor’s signature mark. It needed to look powerful and raw but couldn’t look like a horrific wound. In some cases, as cool as the idea looked on paper, they just weren’t technically feasible, especially as they had to be able to fit on any number of different bodies

Bug report: “Endlessly spawning mounts! At one point during development, Inquisitors could summon a new horse every time they whistled, allowing them to amass a near infinite number of eager steeds that faithfully followed them across Thedas. “You could go charging across levels and they’d all gallop behind you,” Jen Cheverie says, “It was beautiful.” Trotting into town became an epic horse siege as a tidal wave of mounts enveloped the streets. Jen called it her Army of Ponies”

The giants came from DA Week, an internal period when devs can pursue different individual creative projects that in some way benefit DA. They also had a board game from one of these that they were going to put in but they didn’t have time. It’s referenced though. It was dwarven chess

Josie’s outfit is made of gold silk and patterned velvet, with leather at her waist. She carries “an ornate ledger” and she has “an ornamented collar sitting around her neck, finished by a brilliant red ruby, like a drop of Antivan wine in a sunbeam”

Iron Bull’s armor is leather. His loose pantaloons and leather boots give him agility to charge

On DAI in particular, concept artists took special care to make sure costumes would be realistic, at least in a practical ‘this obeys the laws of physics and textiles’ sense. “While on Inquisition, we thought about cosplay from a concept art perspective. Given how incredible a lot of [cosplays] are, I now am not worried about them. In fact in some cases in the future I want to throw them curveballs like, ‘All right, you clever bastards. Let’s see if you can do this!’”

2 geese that nested on the office building and had chicks were named Ganders and Arishonk (it wasn’t known who was the mom or the dad). Other possible names were Carver Honke, Bethany Honke, Urdnot Pecks, Quackwall, Cassandra Pentagoose, the Iron Bill, Shepbird, Garroose, Admiral Quackett, Scout Honking, HChick-47 and Darth Malgoose

Bug report: “The surprising adventures of Ser Noodles!” DAI was the first time the series had a mount feature, meaning this had a lot of bugs. A lot of the teams’ favorite bugs were to do with the mounts. There was a period of time where the Inquisitor’s horse seemed to lose all bone and muscle in its legs. They had a week or so where all quadruped legs were broken. It was a bit noticeable in things like nugs and other small beasties but the horse was insanely obvious. “The first time we summoned the horse [for this] and started running around, the entire QA exploration room just exploded with laughter.” Its legs flapped around like cooked fettucine, leading testers to lovingly nickname it Ser Noodles. At galloping speeds the legs almost looked like helicopter blades, especially when footage was set to classic pieces such as Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries

For DAI the artists were asked questions like “What would Morrigan wear to a formal ball? Can Cassandra pull off a jaunty hat?”

On DAI storyboarding became the norm. John Epler: “Cinematic design for the longest time was the Wild West. It was ‘here’s a bunch of content, now do it however you want’, which resulted in some successes and some failures.” Storyboarding gave designers a consistent visual blueprint based on ideas from designers, writers and concept artists

Quote from a storyboard by Nick Thornborrow (the Inquisitor going into the party at the end of basegame sequence): “Until Corypheus revealed himself they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. A magister and a darkspawn combined. The ultimate evil. So evil. Eviler than puppy-killers and egg farts combined.”

A general note on concept art:

In the early stages of any project, before the concept artists are aware of any writing, they like to just draw what they think cool story moments could be. It’s not unusual for the team to then be inspired by these and fold them into the game as the project progresses

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[lokiskitten]

Tom Hiddleston | nice acting skills

Pt2 : the changing room

Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader

Author’s note : I never originally planned to write a second part but I was being held at gun point so here’s pt2 of the “nice acting skills” imagine KSKSK

plot : after going through this rather peculiar moment, you unexpectedly bump into Tom in one of the changing rooms. From there, things take an unexpected turn.

warnings : smut ( with /legal/ age gap ), unprotected sex, extremely light and discreet spanking.

You were pulled out of your daydream session again by the exhaustingly familiar sound of the director throwing around new orders, setting you and Tom free from set as this scene didn’t necessarily needed to be filmed twice. You were now sent off to the makeup and costumes room which was located nowhere far from the place you currently sat. Tom wasn’t meant to be changing nor getting ready in the same room as you did, which was totally understandable due to the fact that you didn’t share the same gender nor age. He therefore took a different turn than you did, feet leading him to the left as you were accompanied on your right.

You were allowed in your personal changing room, the makeup lady arranging her stencils which laid on the table before the mirror. However, she suddenly seemed to remember about an important detail which she seemingly needed to be getting on the instant. You were therefore left alone with nothing but the costumes and cold cup of tea to keep you company. Sighing tiredly, you sat down on the chair which faced the mirror, eyes falling on your own tired reflexion. However, you were now able to hear the sound of the door opening again, a forced smile appearing on your lips as you expected this person who just walked in to be the makeup artist.

“Did you find what you’ve been looking fo-“ you began, eyes diverting upwards only to land onto Tom’s familiar yet unexpected silhouette. He closed the door behind himself, leaning against the wall as his strong arms crossed against his bare chest. You were now trapped with him. However, it was far from being a bother. But your naturally strong mindset forced you to put up a mask and pretend as if his naked upper body wasn’t something which disturbed your mind and senses. “Oh, it’s you.” You spoke bluntly, trying you best to hide any emotion which could’ve been a threaten to your reputation as a young and serious lady.

Tom smirked. “Yes, it’s me.” He answered, his deep voice which carried a beautiful British accent rolling off his tongue perfectly. It never failed to make your heart and crotch melt. Finally getting up from the door, the older man slowly moved towards your seat before his veiny hands decided to take ahold of the leather material. His ocean blue eyes stared at your reflection in the mirror, yet he wasn’t making eye contact but simply admiring how beautiful your body was. Gently, his hand moved up to your hair which he dragged back behind your ear, fully revealing your beautiful face to him.

“You’re beautiful.” He affirmed, making sure to regulate both his voice and tone in order to guarantee that he would look as attractive as he possibly could- even tho he wouldn’t have needed any of these forced artifacts to seduce you or anyone else. You had caught him red handed through his game, though- again- it was far from being a bother. In contrary, you enjoyed it. However, the little voice in your head couldn’t help but beg you to deny his offer whilst the other part of yourself desperately wanted you to give in his flirts. Your body easily became a battlefield for those two separate opinions to fight and argue endlessly.

Face to your lack of answer- and that mostly because you were lost in your thoughts- Tom tilted his head before moving his hands down to the opening of your robe, gently starting to pull on it in order to reveal your bare chest. However, your own hand was soon to move up to his wrist and take a firm hold of it, asserting dominance and stopping the older man through his track. Face to this hostile move, the actor couldn’t help but grow confused. He frowned and accepted to respectfully pull his hand away. “Do you not want this? I beg your pardon, I thought you shared those same feelings which previously took possession of my body.” Tom explained, referring to how he felt whilst shooting the infamous scene barely a couple of minutes ago.

“No no, I do.” Your responded, your main priority being to make sure that he wouldn’t feel like he was in the wrong nor inappropriate. You finally agreed to get up from the chair you have been sitting on, still unfortunately remaining shorter than your screen partner who towered above you. “But isn’t this... not such a good thing? I mean, I always hear people brag about not mixing your love life with coworkers.” You explained, remaining aware that Tom surely didn’t work that way, which was easily noticeable if you bothered to take a look at the female casts from the movies he’s played in and link it all up with his never ending list of ex romantic partners.

Upon noticing that he didn’t seem to truly pay attention to your words, but more to your face, you stopped yourself through your speech. He was adorning those flirty eyes of his, which no woman could potentially resist to. No matter how hard you fought, in the end, you’d always fall for him. “Can you- stop looking at me like that, with your eyes and.. eyebrows.. and all of it.” You ordered, hands gesturing towards his face. Hearing those satisfying words, Tom accentuated his facial features game. “Looking at you like what?” He responded, slowly moving closer to your body until his hands could finally wrap around your waist. It felt like a huge victory to him.

Before you could know it, Tom’s lips pressed against yours, the man offering you a genuine and intense kiss which honestly resembled the ones he’d give you on set. But for now, this didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were sharing a wanted and needed moment with your screen partner. His hands moved down from your cheeks to your shoulders, pushing off your robe which fell off your body with ease. Unlike him, you didn’t adorn any form of underwear and was therefore left naked for the older man to cherish and enjoy. The kiss progressively intensified, both of your lips parting in order to allow each other’s tongue to come in.

As he embraced your figure, Tom slowly started to push you towards the nearest wall, the two of you stumbling upon a couple of objects before your back could finally collide with the hard material. You moaned against his mouth, knee moving up to his hip which allowed you to feel his hardening bulge against your sensitive core. Your clit was throbbing, begging for sexual satisfaction coming from the man. Feeling your leg suddenly raise against his hip, Tom’s hand moved underneath your thigh and made sure to hold it up there, offering you some free support so you wouldn’t have to carry the heavy member on your own.

Tom cared a lot about the feminine pleasure- probably more than he did care for his own- which would surely guarantee you a good time spent with him during this early afternoon.

Upon feeling that you were now wrapping your arms around his neck, Tom decided to take the initiative to pull his boxers down- setting free his hardening member which had yet to grow to its full size. He was now able to fully pick you up, hands wrapped underneath your thighs in a cautious manner. His tip wouldn’t stop colliding with your soaking hole, visibly begging for entrance without ever truly daring to cross the step. Thankfully, you knew that Tom had always been a very determined man who usually reached out for the stuff he wanted instead of waiting for people to give it to him.

Therefore, it didn’t take long for him to carefully sit you down on his cock, being able to feel that you were now wet enough to painlessly welcome in his prominent member. You guys moaned together, his forehead pressing against yours as his girth was progressively coated with your love juices. Once he reached balls deep, the actor decided to take a couple of seconds in order to allow you to adjust to his size, ocean blue eyes looking up at your face which he admired and praised more than anything in the world at the moment.

Kissing your lips, Tom began to move again, hips gently and cautiously thrusting forward and retracting backwards repetitively until he felt like he could now fasten his pace. Meanwhile, you found yourself lost through pleasure and bliss, forehead firmly pressed against his as you decided that it would probably be wiser for you to keep your mouth shut and avoid to attract anyone else’s attention. Besides, you only wanted and needed his. Moaning out loud would’ve been a great risk to take as the two of you remained aware that you were in a studio filled with thousands of working people. Therefore, Tom regulated his pleasure by wincing and hissing silently whilst you decided to carry on humming sensitively.

Your arms remained wrapped around his neck as he carried on pleasuring your cunt as well as his own member, lips praising your neck which in some way also helped him through the restricted moans process. His girth rubbed past every single sensitive spot of yours, g-spot going wild and swelling out of pleasure due to the man’s perfectly appropriate actions and mannerisms. However, and without giving you a warning, Tom suddenly pulled out in order to flip you around- you chest now facing the wall as you were soon to understand that your job was now to bend over for him. His arms had probably grown tired of carrying you, which you acknowledged and understood.

Before he decided to bend you over, his large hands moved up to your breasts from behind your back, caressing and squeezing them with a lot of lustful care before he retracted his hand back to your spine, pressing his palm against your flesh and forcing you to slightly bend over. There wasn’t much space between you and the wall, which therefore only allowed you to fold a little bit. Your own palms collided with the wall as Tom’s hand caressed all the way down to your bum, giving the flesh a gentle slap before allowing his digits to take ahold of his own girth. He guided his tip to your entrance again, taking time through his actions to make sure that he would execute them properly and painlessly. Even through lust, Tom remained a gentleman.

Feeling his hardness slide inside of you again made your legs tremble, yet Tom made sure to hold you up by giving your hips a gentle and reassuring squeeze. The muscles he had developed through the intense hours spent at the gym contracted as he began to move in and out of you as you tried your best to once again remain silent and discreet. Though, a couple of moans eventually had to escape your lips. Tom shushed you respectfully, giving your bum a light spank which stood as a punishment face to your risky behavior. Yet you refused to complain, smile appearing on your parted lips as the older man continued to pound your core.

Eventually, his hips began to stutter, thrusts gaining in sloppiness which was due to his nearing orgasm. This once Tom didn’t manage to hold back his own moans, hums and groans escaping his lips as he respectfully pulled out right before white strings of sperm could be projected against your cervix. Instead, the thick liquid landed on your back, staining your flesh. “Fuck..” he praised, taking a deep breath in before exhaling loudly. His hips continued to gently rock against yours, shaft rubbing against your upper bum as Tom wished to fully get over his orgasm.

You were left emotionally shattered, body still recovering from the intense amount of emotions and sensations which had previously taken possession of your body- brain still attempting to figure out wether this was right or negative for both of your careers.

Y’all asked : I deliver. I hope you managed to enjoy it! Requested tags : @lokis-leah @marianastudiesart @fa-me @lokistoriesblog @sunshineyrosie @delightfulheartdream ❤️

[ Every single share/comment/like means a lot to me as a writer! Please never doubt that! I acknowledge and praise each one of those interactions as they also help to motivate me. Love you guys💜 thanks for the support. ]

[castielle-deanna]

Destiel fanfic masterlist

My Destiel fanfics in decreasing word count order:

Hold me tight or don't (Explicit, words: 37,677)

Tags: Canon Compliant up to 15x13 // First Kiss // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker // Conversations in the Impala // falling!Castiel // New Relationship // First Time // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love //Art Embedded //soundtrack

Summary: With Jack’s soul now back, the four inhabitants of the Bunker are working on establishing a new routine. Between hunts, God’s wrath hanging over their heads and Castiel’s dwindling grace, the angel is not particularly eager to mention his deal to the Winchesters. With everything that’s going on, allowing himself to be happy sounds impossible anyway, right? Wrong…

With art by the fantastic @lizleeships

“Why now?” The angel asked quietly, taking a small step back.

Dean's fingers tightened on the tie he'd been holding onto as if it was a lifeline. “You said we were real. I want to believe it.”

“Even if it ends in pain?”

“Cas, everything I do ends there, eventually. There is always a bigger, heavier, smellier shoe waiting to drop. Holding back in fear of it doesn't make it any smaller, lighter or... or... “

“Less odoriferous?” Cas offered.

“Is that even a real word?”

“It is, indeed.”

“Sometimes you sound like you eat dictionaries and Victorian novels for breakfast,” Dean shook his head, grinning.

My unintended (Explicit, words:10,202)

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending // Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On // FUCK CANON! // Saving Dean Winchester - Retconning the finale - The fangirl business // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex // Slow and Romantic Sex // Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester

Summary: At first, Castiel is ready to honour his part of the deal with the Empty, but then Jack shows up with distressing news...

With art by the fantastic @jeanne-de-valois

Cas heaves Dean into a bridal carry, struggling under his weight, but still he shifts slightly when Sam moves closer to help. He knows he needs to stop keeping Sam away, because it’s not fair, and it’s not what Dean wants anyway, but Sam accepts it and simply hangs back with a nod before he speaks again.

“I also know it’s not my business, but… do you think you could talk to Dean once he’s up for it? I’m not blind, or stupid. You two have to stop only holding each other like that when one of you is hurt or dead.”

Love me right (Explicit, words: 2,436)

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Porn with Feelings // Dean Winchester Wears Panties // Light Bondage // Panty Kink // Wing Kink // Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester // Light Dom/sub // Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester // Light BDSM // Dean and Castiel watch porn then recreate it

Summary: Dean asks to be tied up - who's Cas to say no to that? Written for a prompt by @winchester-reload on Patreon: "Thee Pink Panties"

“I want you to tie me up,” Dean blurts out one morning, closer to being asleep than awake still. He has no idea if Cas is even in the bedroom with him - for once, the angel is not curled around Dean with his whole body, their limbs entwined to the point where they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins, cliché as it is.

There’s no reply, so Dean lifts his head and blinks the grogginess away to look around. Cas is in the room, sitting cross-legged on the green couch by the wall with an open book in his lap but he’s staring at Dean with eyes so comically wide Dean would think it humanly impossible if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“For fun,” Dean adds in hopes that Cas catches his meaning. The angel looks slightly less taken aback at that, but he still appears confused and tilts his head as if a slightly different angle would help with unraveling the mystery of Dean's words. “During sex, Cas.”

Rewind the exit (Teen And Up Audiences, words: 2,408)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Fix-It // Grief/Mourning // Angst with a Happy Ending // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Grieving Dean Winchester // Grieving Sam Winchester

Summary: "Rewinding the exit wound, I'm holding on to you 'Cause I need words like anyone, and I need love like everyone With those words I'm strong enough, and I need love like everyone." (Rewind the exit by Volbeat) Obligatory 15x18 fix-it.

The Bunker is haunted. It's haunted by two faint apparitions of humanity who mostly pass each other by in the corridors like ships in the night, silent and distant.

Dean prays. Every morning, every evening, and most waking hours between the two, he prays. He doesn't know if Cas can hear him, but the faith that he can is all Dean has, so it has to be enough.

It's not enough. Yet Dean clings to it, because if he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything.

Bite me (Mature, words: 1,407)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence // Vampire Dean Winchester // Mild Blood!Kink (comes with the territory) // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: After Dean gets turned into a vampire during S06E05 - Live Free or Twi-hard, instead of going to Lisa's, he prays to Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Vampire!Dean having a Cas snack"

“I can get you through this, and then we’ll burn any other bridges as we get to them,” Cas says earnestly.

“That’s not how the saying… you know what, never mind. I don’t want to get through this! I told you to kill me!” Dean pushes Cas away, but the angel holds onto both of his shoulders to stabilise him until Dean shakes him off in defiance. “Fucking stubborn angel, why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“Because I’ve decided to disregard stupid orders!” Cas shoots back, and his previous stoicism is gone entirely. His eyes flare faintly with the light of his grace as he shrugs off his trenchcoat and goes to work on loosening his tie.

I wanna get you back again (Mature, words: 1,176)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Canon Divergence // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: Dean breaks into the Empty to save Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Come on and lay it down/I've always been with you/Here and now/Give all that's within you/Be my Savior"

“Am I wrong in assuming that our friend who has the fashion sense of a flasher wasn’t the only one in love?” Balthazar smirked.

“Huh?”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we? You know what, don’t answer that,” he shrugged, rolling right over Dean’s indignant splutter. “I’m talking about Castiel.”

“I know!”

“So which part of my question was confusing then?”

“Fuck you, Feather Boa, the Empty is trying to push me out and you want to chat?” Dean scoffed, trying to stomp his way past him.

“Your trenchcoated boyfriend is that way,” Balthazar said dryly, pointing to his left.

Forward is just the way ahead (General Audiences, words: 1,091)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor // Baby Jack Kline // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester // Single Parent Castiel

Summary: Tattoo artist Dean falls for client. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Cas getting tattooed by Dean (or the other way around)"

“So,” Dean began, “It’s a simple black design, correct? Four rows of symbols?”

“Yes. It’s actually a warding-slash-protection spell in Enochian, the language of Biblical angels. There’s… well, there’s a story to it,” Cas chuckled.

“Is part of that story that you were named after an angel?”

Cas’ chuckle changed into full-blown laughter. “Yes. I have to say I wasn’t expecting you to know that. In fact, all my siblings have angel names, except for Luke, but only because they wouldn’t allow my parents to officially name him Lucifer…”

Waffles or kisses (Mature, words:1,026)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural)

Summary: Cas tries to make breakfast for Dean - it doesn't quite work out... Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Great British Bake Off contestants with fewer clothes and lots of flour!" I have nefariously tweaked the prompt to allow me to play in the canon!verse.

“You look like one of the Great British Bake Off contestants, but with fewer clothes... and lots of flour, what the hell are you even doing?” Dean guffaws.

“Is that Dean?” A slightly tinny female voice comes from somewhere underneath the bowls, and it takes a moment for Dean to recognise it.

“Hi Jody!”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. Dean finds that his behaviour is not unlike Miracle’s after the dog got caught chewing Sam’s 3rd pair of slippers to shreds, and the comparison draws another laugh out of him.

“Hi, Dean,” Jody says warmly. “Nice to hear your voice, though it would be even nicer if you were the one calling, rather than hijacking a conversation between Cas and I…”

Dean ducks his head as Jody’s “mom voice” tries to work its magic on him. “I’m not hijacking anything! Can someone explain why my kitchen and my… Cas are head-to-toe covered in flour?”

“I was trying to make waffles for breakfast,” Cas replies barely audibly, looking down, shoulders drooping.

With those words I'm strong enough (Mature, words: 703)

Tags: Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy // Dean Winchester's Birthday // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Non-Explicit Sex // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Dean Winchester Says "I Love You" // Pillow Talk // Dean Winchester Lives // fuck 15x20

Summary: It's Dean's birthday and Castiel doesn't waste a single second to wish him a happy one (Utter finale denial and slight sap below.)

“Where did you go, my love?” Cas asks, ruffling Dean’s hair, curling a longer-than-usual strand of it around his index finger.

“Thinking.”

“Uh-oh, that’s never a good thing,” Cas deadpans and Dean whacks his upper arm with very little force. “Ow.”

“Sarcastic asshole in one moment, drama queen the next,” Dean grumbles, and he fully intends to kiss it better, but before he could get around to it, he’s pushed onto his back and there’s a former angel of the Lord straddling him with a grin on his face.

Domestic (General Audiences, words: 462)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Fallen Angel Castiel // Suptober 2020

Summary: Middle-of-the-night Destiel chat. Just a lightning-quick ficlet as my first and possibly only entry to Suptober 2020. The prompt was 'domestic'

“Of all the human things, the constant need to urinate is the worst,” Castiel complained as he slid under the covers with a yawn.

“The worst?” Dean huffed in sleepy amusement. “Being shot is worse. Broken bones. A toothache…”

“They are worse, but they are temporary. Urinating is permanent. I will have to put up with it for the rest of my life.”

[that-shamrock-vibe]

Movie Review: Cinderella (Spoilers)

Disclaimer: I am posting this review the day after the movie airs on Amazon Prime, so if you haven't yet seen it don't read on until you do.

General Reaction:

It is slightly weird to think of another movie studio taking on one of the classic fairy-tales that isn't Disney, because, as I am sure is the case for a large portion of the mainstream audience, Disney have almost claimed fairytale adaptations as their own.

However, as identified, Cinderella, is a fairy tale and one created long before Disney came about. As such, other studios are allowed to put across their own interpretation of these classic stories that we have seen a lot of times adapted at this point.

That being said, we have seen many different adaptations of Cinderella at this point from the classis Disney Animation version and it's live-action counterpart, to modern-day reworkings like A Cinderella Story of the mid-noughties starring Hilary Duff.

It's quite an easy story to tell and adapt to a variety of different settings, and what this 2021 retelling does with the story blends the old-fashioned with the modern. Does that mean it is set apart from the others? Well in my opinion yes and no.

While this is a Sony movie, it plays a lot like a Disney Channel Original Movie. From the comedy to the settings to the costuming and the music, it plays like the best of those types of movies. I'm talking the High School Musical franchise and the Descendants franchise. It is by no means bad or corny, but it isn't even on the level of the 2016 live-action Cinderella.

While that version was pretty much a straightforward live-action version of the original animated version, the style of the movie outweighed the substance.

Here however, there is a great blend of both style and substance. The story takes the classic elements of the original Cinderella fairy tale but tries to inject a modern and feministic twist that the recent live-action Beauty and the Beast tried to do.

In terms of whether this version of Cinderella stands out in the crowd of Cinderella movies, I would say it does. Not only is the titular character race-bent and the setting she is in seemingly plays into that, but the reworking of the Fairy Godmother as the Fab G as well as giving the Stepmother a more humanised backstory allows for a more compelling take on a classic.

Cast:

Because this is just the one all-in review I'm not going to do an in-depth character analysis and instead group the characters as who were my favourites, who did a passable job, who was bad and who were for some reason just there.

Favourites:

I have a top 3/4 favourite characters in this movie. Idina Menzel's Stepmother Vivian, Billy Porter's Fab G, Minnie Driver's Queen Beatrice and additionally Beverly Knight's Queen Tatiana.

Idina Menzel was always going to be fantastic in this movie, but to see her portray what is traditionally the villain character in the movie as a sympathetic character as part of the movie's feminist agenda was an interesting twist. No cat for a start, I don't know if Lucifer was a part of the original fairy tale but of course in the Disney adaptations Lady Tremaine is always accompanied by her faithful feline, but also the fact that her backstory parallels Ella's current story and the fact Vivian was so willing to have Ella reject her passion to do what is expected of her just as was forced on her was actually great motivation.

In truth I have only ever seen Billy Porter in one other thing aside from this movie and that was American Horror Story: Apocalypse. I have never seen Pose though I have heard good things, but from what I understand, Billy Porter only really has one speed. However, as the character's name states, that speed is fabulous. I loved Fab G in this movie, the fairy godmother is usually one of my favourite characters in the movie and every interpretation I have seen has brought something different and memorable. If this version of Cinderella is remembered for anything it will be for this very modernised take on the Fairy Godmother, not only gender-bending and race-bending a traditionally white female character, but with Porter choosing to make the character non-binary and that outfit speaks for itself, Fab G was simply a fabulous character.

In both Disney adaptations, I have never heard mention or reference to Prince Charming having a living mother...or a dead one for that matter. So to not only have the Queen being in a chunk of this movie, but also having her own story branch tying into the feminist agenda running through the movie and being portrayed by Minnie Driver, I was in love with this character.

Pretty much similar to the Fab G, if you've seen Beverly Knight's one second in the trailers you've pretty much seen her in the movie. She contributes to Ella's story in the movie and only appears in the latter half of the movie in 2 maybe 3 scenes but she makes an impact because she's Beverly Knight. My only gripe with her is she does not sing in the movie, you have Beverly Knight with not even a solo in a group number?

Passable:

Unfortunately the star of the movie Camilla Cabello is just passable in this movie as Cinderella. She does have some humour about her and her singing is great despite maybe being autotuned because I know how she can sing, but she doesn't feel like Cinderella to me, it actually feels more like a version of what Emma Watson was doing with Belle in the live-action Beauty and the Beast rather than Cinderella but at least she tried.

As for Nicholas Galitzine, he's definitely more engaging as a modern-day Prince Charming, Robert is definitely more engaging a character than Ella unfortunately, which to be fair is still good as the 2015 Cinderella is the only other adaptation to really make the Prince interesting, but I can't quite put my finger on exactly which movie it is but there is another movie I have seen where the Prince Regent doesn't want to be king but the Princess does and has to fight for her right to be it...that's pretty much this story for them.

Also Pierce Brosnan as the King, despite jokingly singing towards the end, did a great job at being the archetype of old-fashioned values with his on-screen wife Minnie Driver's queen pushing him into a modern-day thinking.

Bad:

As for who's bad, I have to say it pains but the British comic relief characters really let the side down in this movie.

In the three mice defence, Romesh Ranganathan and James Acaster are somewhat funny but unnecessary. James Corden however is abismal in this movie. I get he produces it, but particularly after Cats I do not understand 1) Why he'd want to portray another CG animal or 2) Ever think that one shot of him changing back from human to mouse with his head on a mouse body was funny...it was terrifying.

Also this movie is supposedly a family-audience movie...so why include a crass joke of Corden's character talking about peeing out of his front tail?

Additionally to the three mice, Rob Beckett has a surprising role in this movie as a potential suitor for Vivian's daughters, but he simply portrays such a creepy, cringe-worthy character it's almost uncomfortable to watch.

New Additions:

So as well as the two queens and the British comic relief there is also the addition of Princess Gwen to the movie who is the sister of the Prince and the one who wants to be ruler. It's kind of the same story as Jasmine's in the live-action Aladdin as wanting to be Sultan but being a woman isn't taken seriously, however here it is treated more comedically as every time there is a serious moment with the King trying to force Robert to grow up and be King, she always tries to interject with "Would this be a bad time to tell you about an actual real reason why I would be a good ruler" and they make sense but she's always dismissed until the very end.

Then there's a town crier, who is also inserted as a musical number while he's reading his proclamations but as a rap. Honestly I don't know Doc Brown as an artist but I did happen to enjoy what he contributed.

Music:

Which brings us on nicely to the music of the movie as this is a musical and I usually break down the songs. Again this time I will be doing groupings of best to worse.

Honestly my favourite number is probably "Shining Star" mostly performed by Billy Porter with verses by Camilla Cabello and, unfortunately, James Corden.

I also enjoyed the two original songs of the movie, "Million to One" which is Cabello's "I Want" song of the movie and used a lot through the movie, and then also "Dream Girl" which is Idina's main other song but also sung by basically the women of the movie, it's Idina Menzel if you don't give her an original song it's an insult.

Idina's other song is a cover of "Material Girl" and honestly it is a lot of fun, Nicholas Galitzine's rendition of "Somebody to Love" was also fun and surprising as I did not think this guy could sing that well.

The group numbers were fun and well choreographed but they are also somewhat forgettable. The song at the ball of "Whatta Man/Seven Nation Army" was probably the most memorable but still just mediocre.

Recommendation:

So with all that said, would I recommend watching Sony's Cinderella? Honestly I would say it is worth at least one viewing, and I do recommend watching all the way through just to get the full experience. I do think it will do better as a streaming movie than it would have done as a theatrical release, but I cannot pinpoint a market for this movie.

I don't think this will go down as one of the great adaptations, but there are moments and aspects of the movie that sets it apart from the crowd.

Overall I rate this movie a 7/10, it's not as fantastic as I feel the trailers were making it out to be, but having seen the movie twice there are definitely elements of the movie I looked forward to watching the second time around.

So that's my review of Sony's Cinderella, what did you guys think? Post your comments and check out more Movie Reviews as well as other posts.

[captlok]

Pacifism Isn’t A Character Trait

Or: MLK Day is Upon Us so Let Me Do You a Learn

Or: As An Aang Stan I Got a Bit Over-Zealous But Lemme Explain Why For A Hot Minute

Plus some History and Tumblr commentary that even non-ATLA fans can chew on

And by ‘hot minute’ I do mean this is going to be a long meta, so strap in.  For those of you who just might be tuning into this debacle, I, a person who has not used Tumblr, much at all, except for the last half year, ran into some trouble. 

If you wanna skip the whole TLDNR interpersonal stuffs and get straight to Why Aang is the Best Thing Since Sliced Bread, I will embolden the relevant parts, and italicize the crit of Korra, if you want that alongside.

I was excited that ATLA was seeing a resurgence due to the Netflix remake. I wasn’t even trying to apply any steep expectations for it. (learned not to do that the hard way with the last live action adaption, and to a much lesser extent, ATLOK, since it had good . . . elements, *ba dum tsshh*) 

So, these are a couple aspects of the issue: (1) Even on the internet, I am extremely introverted and until recently mostly came for content, not socializing. My main online interactions thus far have been in forums and artist-to-artist on DA. Tumblr is still very strange to me because it splits up its ‘threads’ so you can’t see all the replies if a certain pattern of users responds in their own space. I’m not even 100% sure it’s in chronological order, and replies are not nested next to each other so you can look in the comments and someone will be replying to something you can’t see in that window. And also since it is a bizarre hybrid of a blogging system, posts are somehow considered ‘owned by’ or an ‘extension of’ OP in a way forum threads are not. (2) ATLOK was good in a cinematic and musical way, to be sure. It also had some good concepts. I can go into it just appreciating it for the worldbuilding and be somewhat satisfied. But the execution was terrible. I was on AvatarSpirit.Net for years, and If I had maintained my presence on ASN to current day and had gotten around to downloading their archive now that the forum is dead, I would include some links to other peoples’ detailed analyses on just how flawed both the plotting and Korra’s frustratingly flat learning curve was especially in the first two seasons. But, that is a task for another day, and only if people are interested. 

No, what I’m addressing today, on the issue of Korra as a writing exercise, is how Mike and Bryan said specifically they wanted to make her ‘as opposite to Aang as possible’ and in so doing, muddied the central theme of the original ATLA series.

Now, again, I was mainly an art consumer for my first major round of ATLA fandom. Tumblr is an alien beast to me. But, after I write my first major Aang meta, talking about how amazing it is that he has the attitude he does, and how being content in the face of this overwhelming pain and suffering is an ONGOING PROCESS and an INTENTIONAL DECISION and not a simple PERSONALITY TRAIT, I start hearing that Aang gets a lot of hate from the fandom. Now this would be bad enough if it were merely people not liking his crowning moment of pacifism because they don’t understand the potential utility (I’ll elaborate on that in another post) or the ethics involved.

Aang is easily the most adult member of the Gaang. But he apparently gets hate for his few moments where he actually acts his age, a preteen, and maybe kisses a girl in a historical timeframe in which ‘consent’ discussions were probably nonexistent. Even in the present day, we are still practically drowned in movies that reinforce this kissing without asking trope. And even some female bodied people complain that asking kills the mood! But somehow he is responsible and reprehensible for this, even though the first time she kissed him back. I’m only going to get into the pacifism discussion today, but that was just another layer of annoyance bouncing around in the back of my head.  Other peoples’ crit of Korra that was stewing in my subconscious, plus this Aang bashing, which thankfully I had not directly read much of, made up the backdrop of gasoline for the match that set it off.  Even that seems a pretty melodramatic way to phrase what I actually said, which was: Aang, on the other hand, lost dozens of father figures and was being steamrolled by Ozai who was gloating about genocide TO HIS FACE, yet he still reigned in all that quote, ‘unbelievable rage and pain’ (The Southern Raiders). We Stan Aang, the Superior Avatar. No I did not f**king stutter. #AangSupremacy In another meta, someone complained that I was too defensive of Aang as a character and didn’t apply literary analysis enough, which I quickly rectified.

What set this off? Someone was kind of indirectly praising the line from Korra,  “When I get out of here, none of you will survive” To them it was emotionally resonant or whatever, and I have to point out that no, it was a martial artist not having control of their state of mind, as is the bedrock of the practice. It was never addressed by the narrative, which is a severe oversight.  I had a conversation with someone in the chats, making this distinction between Korra’s character traits and life philosophy. If she were to kill people while enraged and she was fine with that, that’s one thing. But if she regretted it, that’s a whole other kettle of fish. People argue that she comes from a warrior culture, unlike Aang.

Never mind that warrior monks are a thing. That’s what Shaolin monks are. You can be a pacifist and skilled at fighting. Those things are not mutually exclusive, which is the whole point of Bagua, Aang’s style.  And also, Katara’s style. 

That’s one reason I like Kataang so much- their congruent styles. Both of their real world martial arts are dedicated to pacifism, even though ATLA specifically doesn’t spell that out for Katara and her learning arc. 

There was a meta where someone briefly tried to argue that knowing “martial arts” is against pacifism. No. Quite the opposite. I’d argue that you are not a true pacifist unless you know exactly how to handle yourself if someone attacks you.  If you are not in a position to make conscious decisions about how much force to use, rather than merely operating on survival instincts, that is not pacifism. Or at least, not any energy or effort towards pacifism as a practical everyday tool.  I’ve made a few attempts to learn some tai chi and aikido, and it’s improved my physical and mental health, but some other things have gotten in the way. #lifegoals

I’m not going to tag the unfortunate soul whom I was replying to, because they’re probably tired of all this, but I’ll be sending them a PM to say that I’ve made this into a different post, because as I mentioned before, threads are somehow considered “owned” by OP, so it’s been pointed out to me that I should separate it.  I also said, I have basically ZERO respect for Korra uttering violent threats when the writers already minted a far more emotionally devastated and yet still resilient and centered character earlier in their franchise. People always try to excuse away people who genuinely like Aang more.  As if it’s just nostalgia or whatever. For me, no, it’s absolutely not. It is respect for a character who stands toe to toe with real people who are kind in the face of overwhelming injustice. (I have another meta on that). 

Both OP and people in the chats try to make excuses that she wasn’t raised as a pacifist, and that would be fine if they had addressed it with Tenzin and she had stated outright that she was rejecting pacifism and mind training. As it is, we are left with this nebulous affair where the lines between ideology and personality traits are blurred. 

We are told she “has trouble with spirituality” but what does that even mean? Does she have trouble with focus? Does she have trouble relating to the canonically real spirits? And pacifism specifically nor inner peace that it flows from is never even talked about as an extension of spirituality, which is canonically tied to airbending.

“Aang didn't have to deal once with the loss of his autonomy in atla” OP claims.

This was after I had noted that Aang was getting kicked around by Ozai and was most likely going to die.  Similarly, someone in the chat rejected the idea that a 12 year old trapped in a stone sphere that is heating up under a cyclone-sized blowtorch feels powerless. 

Sorry but that’s flat out ridiculous.

No one wants to admit that both of these people were faced with similar situations, and when push came to shove, one showed his LIFE PHILOSOPHY through conscious effort, and the other was abandoning the basis of martial arts, which is, no matter what the situation, keep thinking. Hold the panic at bay. Non-attachment would have served her well in this situation. Tenzin should have told her this. Before, or afterwards. It should have been addressed in the writing.  

People see this as “bashing” Korra, and oh well, can’t help that. If I think the writers didn’t follow through on their themes, that is my concern.  OP said I was “offended.” No, not really. 

I wasn’t offended by the post itself, or its commentary. Thought I made that pretty clear.

This is not dramatics. Let me be blunt.

As a ideological pacifist, and an actual practitioner of meditation, based on Buddhism, NOT just the fan of some show, I am for calling out writers who write one way from the survivor of genocide, and then stray from that ‘thoughtless aggression is immoral no matter HOW hurt I am’ to ‘let’s not address this character’s aggression in the narrative whatsoever.’ OP attempted to derail by accusing me of being racist or sexist against Korra. Also ridiculous. It honestly should have set me off more, but it didn’t. 

Meditation is about reigning in your emotions. Managing your anger when it gets out of hand, and digging down to the roots of it. Being responsible for your own behavoir. Acknowledging ownership of your own actions. Not blaming anything YOU DO on anyone else or any circumstances in your life. Like an adult, or should I say, an enlightened adult.

Or at the very least, that is the ideal ypu strive towards while being imperfect in the present.

. . .

Now.

I’m going to quote a passage in a Google Doc of mine, even though I’d really prefer if you asked to read the whole thing, with context.

“What do humans do when it is necessary to, or greed makes a nation want to recruit?

They go to the army to get trained, right?

Granted, having someone scream and get spittle on your face is, in the grand scheme of things, poor preparation for having bullets whiz past your chest and grenades shatter your ears. And, what do you do to prepare you for the pain of getting your leg blown off? Hopefully, nothing. Like taking a test where you only got half the study guide. But, it’s about the most ethical way to go about it, right?

Not everyone even sees action. So any more more extensive mental preparation for physical pain than that, and you’d have people definitely protesting.

Well, as it turns out, pacifistic protestors themselves, if they were in the right time and place, also very intentionally do this type of mind training. Except, when they did it, they actually did sit still and took turns roughly grabbing each other and throwing each other down and in some cases, even kicking and bruising each other.

Turns out, those pacifists are, in some ways, more hardcore than the army.

Why is this?

Because a pacifist’s aim, unlike a unit, who wants to gain the upper hand in a situation, is to grit their teeth and grind their way through all those survival instincts, and totally submit.

In this, they aim to get the sympathy of the public, who clearly sees they are not aggressive, or a danger, no matter how much the footage is manipulated or suppressed.

In this, they hope to appeal to their attacker’s better nature.

Make them stop and think, wait a second, are these people a threat like we’re told they are? I’m attacking someone who’s letting me beat them up. Or a bunch of people. All forming a line, and letting us peel them off. Or sitting, and bowing their heads. If I’m on the ‘right’ side of things, the law, why am I doing this?

It’s not like a bully, who’s just a kid.” They’re more self-aware.

And might I add the situation influences a pacifist’s actions too. There’s no reason to let a single or a few random attackers beat you up if you can evade or disable without permanent damage.

Pacifism is a dynamic set of responsive actions informed by values. Not a proscribed set or a checklist.

But in terms of organizing against state power, and recording wrongdoing, which unlike during the Civil Rights can happen from all angles from smart phones nowadays, these are the motivations.

“So, the pacifist knows this, and that’s why they go through all that trouble of training themselves to, not only submit, but not turn tail and run, either.”

See, a character trait is something like being a morning person, or ways of handing information, or a given set of emotions a character feels. Once you cross over into actions, you must make the distinction of whether an impulsive character agrees with their own uncontrolled actions, or is embarrassed or remorseful. Those are life philosophy. Now sure, one type of person or character may be more likely to subscribe to pacifism, but there is no gatekeeping on what you have to feel or how you look at things. You can be easygoing, or feel all the rage in the world, but as long as you at least attempt to have a handle on those desires and feelings to where they do not cross into actions, you are still doing the work of metacognition, which is what martial arts and its accompanying mind training are for.

It’s what we see Aang do.

He’s informed us, during the Southern Raiders, on how much rage and pain he feels.

Pain points, TRIGGERS, that were directly struck at when Ozai gloated over him.

He joins with all the past Avatars for several moments, and just like every other time he is in the Avatar State, he is enraged. He wants to exact revenge on the unrepentant grandson of a baby murderer.

We see it when he turns his head away, face still screwed up in anger.

For another example, I could cite my difficulties in being aware and reining in my tongue sometimes. I know the roots of these issues and I seek to let them go.

It’s just that process takes way longer than Guru Pathik would have us assume.

In fact, I would even say that Aang’s portrayal throughout the three seasons is not strictly a realistic representation of at least the sad side of grief. I addressed that a little when I talked about real life figures. But what it IS, is a metaphor that cuts very deep to the heart of pacifism. As I showed in that Doc . . . There is no limit of suffering a pacifist is willing to go through, internal or external, for the preservation of peace.

This was demonstrated during the Civil Rights, and with Gandhi and all his followers beforehand, inspiring them. The pacifists’ method of swaying hearts is probably the reason BLM exists in such numbers as it does today. Will the types of narratives that correspond with their full stories of the way they collectively planned and trained for and approached conflict make it into fantasy media? I’d say, probably not. For a host of reasons.

It could be hoped for, I guess.

But we DO have Aang.

As for myself, whether speaking sharply is an “action,” per se is up for debate- certainly it doesn’t seem to violate the non-aggression principle put forth by the vision of a “stateless society.”

For another example, let’s take my explanation at the beginning. I am examining how circumstances affected my actions, and now am attempting to fix it, if indeed it needs to be fixed. 

At least one person said that it not so much what I said, but how and when I said it. I don’t actually think I’ve said anything “wrong” per se. So I have to figure it out. 

[I’m considering splitting up this next part into a second post, as it only slightly relates to pacifism itself and is just kinda some more commentary on Tumblr itself- Tumblr discourse, as it were]

[I’ll put more brackets when I’m done in case you want to skip this part as well]

An interesting social difference between Tumblr and other places is this command you often get, “don’t chat/reblog/message me back.”

This is interesting for several reasons. For chats and reblogs, other people may be following the “conversation,” so it’s actually pretty rude and presumptuous to tell a person not to respond to whatever you said, because other people watching still may be interested in your take.

In a forum setting, if someone involved in a conversation doesn’t have anything left to say, usually they just don’t respond.

This method would work perfectly fine for Tumblr, but for some reason, maybe its super odd format, probably due to the “ownership”/“extension of self” I mentioned at the beginning of the essay, people don’t tend to do this.

Now, in comment sections, sometimes you’ll run across an amusing sort of “mutually assured destruction” where two people both say this to each other. You’d better stop responding. Omg just give up. Why are you still arguing. Etc.

But see, no matter where this behavoir pops up, and no matter who starts in on it, those who do this usually want to have the last say on the matter.

Instead of merely not replying, they want to assert verbal control over the conversation.

Tumblr, in its weirdness, is also sort of like a mutant comments section. You can post comment section threads as your own post.

Which is one reason why I’m puzzled when people say ‘don’t read the comment sections’ when Tumblr is so popular.

I’m an oddball in that I browse comment sections for fun.

Probably due to alexithymia, I didn’t really comprehend the emotional toll it takes on many people, so the warnings to “stay out of comment sections” read to me like “hey don’t eat that dessert.” After I’m done with the ‘meal’ of an article or art, I like to see what lots of different people have to say about it. The fluff. Anything vitriolic I either blip over, or extract anything useful, or if I judge the person is reasonable enough, I might engage.

Sometimes I mis-judge on how reasonable someone is, and I shrug and move on after being cussed out or whatever.

In this, I suppose I succeed much of the time in being a verbal pacifist.

[But let’s get back to the more serious stuff.]

We’re talking about what is done in life or death situations, here.

For myself, I may in the near future be working more with dangerously mentally ill people. I’ve had a little exposure to it through various means. Nurses are obligated not to retaliate against patients, and those who have, have been fired in some situations. Again oddly, this is not primarily what triggers my anxiety. Unfortunately enough, this requirement has also resulted in nurses getting seriously injured and violated. I hope to influence whether “no harm” techniques such as tai chi and aikido and arm locks may be allowed. The voluntary philosophy I was luckily already on board with is enforced by bureauacracy, directly relevant to my potential profession.

Were someone to get involved in a dangerous profession, such as a police officer, their moral duty would also be to own up to any spur of the moment anger or fear they acted on. 

It’s just that their bureaucracy acts differently, in excusing their actions.

Ideally, they would be taking steps far in advance, to avoid this often-cited fear of death reaction. As training pacifists like Aang do. 

And yes, army people are trained differently than police officers because the army, often, even when threatened, is supposed to avoid engagement or deploy deterrents that are non-lethal almost all costs, unless ordered otherwise. Whereas American police are given pretty much complete discretion and often not taught de-escalation techniques. Even police from other nations are better trained in that regard.

Enter the ironically named @avatarfandompolice whose account description should really speak for itself. Combative, dismissive, and their attention-hungry bread and butter is to find people they think it’s acceptable to ridicule.  They basically tried to say trauma was a valid excuse to take out your anger on other people, and in this situation, potentially kill. 

Now, does this hold up in the real world? Yeah, sometimes. Especially if some law breaker or law keeper has not been given the anger management tools, they perhaps could be excused, or better yet, rehabilitated.

But especially if anyone finds themselves in dangerous situations, or intends to put themselves in such, it falls to them to do this preparation.

As an aphant, I am at a bit of a disadvantage, compared to an average martial artist, being unable to visualize an attacker. But I still attempt it.

As the main “police officer” of the world- the coincidentally blue clad figurehead that is supposed to keep order, it is apparently fine for Korra to not do the work Aang did to keep level. To blow it off as too much trouble: clearing the First Chakra of fear. For herself or others. And its resultant anger. Had she had access to the Avatar State, the authority figure pretty much would have killed people.  This is what the “fandom police” and a certain chat goer ultimately support. Maybe they didn’t understand it that way, and since the second had blocked me, they will also never see this explanation. Unless I were to share it in Google Doc form I suppose.

So, I responded. “Remember kids, you are not responsible for your own behavior if you have the excuse that someone else did something bad to you.” A frighteningly common sentiment on this site.

When it’s low stakes like CAPSLOCKING or internet fights, that’s not such a big deal. But what happens if this attitude leaks into the real world? This isn’t even about Korra or Aang anymore, it’s about toxic mindsets. I didn’t know fans taking pro-Korra posts as anti-Aang was a common in the fandom. I’ll say again I’ve only just gotten really active on Tumblr like the past few months. This is about pacifism itself. MLK and his hardworking, training followers (yes some of them sixteen and POC and not super-powered like Korra) facing down firehoses and staging sit-ins long trained for would shake their heads at this defense of reactionism. 

Pacifism is not a Personality Trait.

It is deliberate actions and preparation taken over a period of time.

Then the “fandom police” tried more of this, and these two conversations ensued, the comments with another user resulting in the title and main thesis of this essay:

https://captlok.tumblr.com/post/638777472806273024/avatarfandompolice-response-to-my-independent

https://captlok.tumblr.com/post/638806142933467136/the-plight-was-not-what-i-was-getting-at-it-was

[sorrelchestnut]

EVERYBODY’S PICKIN’ UP ON THAT FELINE BEAT, PART 37

holy shit I finished a scene.  We’re really close to the end now, y’all.  That being said: this definitely ends on a cliffhanger.  Fair warning.

Part 1.  Part 2.  Part 3.  Part 4.  Part 5.  Part 6.  Part 7.  Part 8.  Part 9.  Part 10.  Part 11. Part 12.  Part 13.  Part 14.  Part 15.  Part 16.  Part 17.  Part 18.  Part 19. Part 20.  Part 21.  Part 22. Part 23. Part 24. Part 25. Part 26.  Part 27. Part 28. Part 29. Part 30. Part 31. Part 32. Part 33.  Part 34. Part 35. Part 36.

Title: everybody’s picking up on that feline beat Author: Sorrel Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Mature Warnings: None Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor Series: Part 3 of everybody wants to be a cat

Coffee helps; fresh air and sunshine helps more.  For someone who spends a significant majority of her life inside, underground, nocturnal, and/or just generally skulking around in the shadows, Whisper can be surprisingly solar-powered at times.  By the time they're over the river she's in almost obnoxiously high spirits, singing "Anything Goes" in a squeaky falsetto that makes him think longingly of the roll of duct tape in his pack.

"The world has gone mad today, and good's bad today, and black's white today, and day's night today-"

"Whisper, I swear to God-"

"And that gent today you gave a cent today once had sev-er-al chateaus!"

"Alright, Cole Porter, that's enough."  She grins wider and opens her mouth, and he hastily slaps a hand over it before she can start the next verse.  "No."

Her lips tickle against his palm as she grumbles, "You're no fun."

"What, because I like living?  You're going to bring down every raider in the greater Boston area, the way you're caterwaul- ow!  Fuck!"

She tucks her thumbs in the straps of her pack and gives him a cheerful, empty-headed smile, showing off the pearly white teeth she just sunk into the base of his thumb.  "Talk shit, get hit."

"Jesus, you're aggressive."  He studies his hand but doesn't find any sign of bleeding, just a neat row of stark white tooth marks rapidly flushing back pink.  "Whatever happened to licking my hand to gross me out?"

"Sometimes I can really tell you were an only child," she informs him, shaking her head faux-mournfully.  "You gotta go big or go home, that's my motto."

"Good thing we're going home, isn't it?"  When she squints at him, he smiles sunnily and holds his injured hand a couple inches above her head.  "I mean, 'big' isn't exactly your strong suit, so..."

She launches herself at him with a war cry.

Bickering aside, they straighten up when they come into sight of Diamond City, falling into character as a pair of road-weary mercenaries coming off an all-night hike and desperate for a shower and some sleep.  (Which, to be fair, isn't that far off from the truth, all things considered.)  They're both in costume already, not that that took long.  All Whisper had to do was slick back her hair and throw on a pair of sunglasses and hey presto: Olivia Bailey, ruins-rover extraordinaire.  Next to her all Deacon has to do is look suitably grizzled and road-weary, so he pretty much just tossed the least-disgusting raider's jacket on over his travel clothes and smeared some dust artistically through his stubble and called it a goddamn day.

It certainly works well enough on the second-shift gate guard, a pockmarked woman with nicotine stains on her fingers.  She waves them through with a disinterested nod, already going back to her book before they even clear the gate.  Deacon squashes down the contrary impulse to make some kind of scene and just nods back, professional and cool, as he wraps an arm around Whisper's shoulder.  She gives him a little sideways look that says I know what you're doing but doesn't bother to pull away until they're in the tunnel.

Deacon looks around and then back to her, pointedly.  Whisper huffs a laugh.

"What now?"

"Nothing," he says, and waggles his eyebrows.  "It's just… here we are again.  Where it all started.  Back to the site of our fateful first meeting."

Her eyes narrow.  "Weren't you the one who said-"

"Mm, yeah, but I've had time to think about it, and I think you made a compelling point.  First contact is definitely the first one that counts."

"You just don't want to 'fess up on just how long you were following me around."

"Why, partner, I'm hurt that you would think of such a thing," he says, and moves swiftly on before she can call him on the obvious evasion.  "You know, you keep bringing me back here, I'm going to start thinking you've got a secret romantic streak."  She gives him a look.  "Very secret."

"That's me, all hearts and flowers," says quite the most ruthlessly practical woman Deacon's ever met.  "Besides, if I was going to start up with romantical remembrances at this late date, that wouldn't be the one I'd pick.  I was so sleep-deprived I'm lucky I remembered my own name."

"Couldn't tell to look at you," Deacon says, in massive understatement.  She was all easy swagger and magazine-cover grin, on her way to bigger and better things.  She sure as shit didn't look like she was running on the ragged edge of her endurance - but then, he knows better than most just how well she can lie with a smile.

She glances over at him as they break out of the tunnel, her gaze shrewd over the rim of her shades.  "You remember it pretty well, huh?"

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there.  "Your hair was longer," Deacon says, tweaking the end of one of her curls in a transparent bid for distraction.  "I remember that for sure."

"Well, yeah," she says, ducking neatly around a kid that seems really intent on wherever she's running.  "You told me to cut it."

"I did?"  He definitely doesn't remember that.  "When?"

"When we were prepping for the Covenant op.  You said blonde, I said I had to grab some bleach, and you gave me that 'oh honey' look you do when people are being particularly stupid and told me to just cut it off, you had a spare wig lying around someplace."

That does sound like him.  "And you just did it?" he says, because Whisper is a lot of things, but 'obedient' sure as shit isn't one of them.

"You were brandishing a knife when you said it," she admits.  "It seemed easier to give in than argue."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like him.  Especially then: that must've been, what, their first week together?  Back then everything was one long haze of exhaustion, staggering from one crisis to the next with barely enough time to take a shit.  Hauling her into the Covenant op was a desperation play, pure and simple: he needed backup, and anyone had to be better than Glory.  He hadn't known, then, what she could do with nothing more than a smile and a little room to work.

Though he figured it out pretty damn quick.

"I'd say it worked out," he says, and tweaks her dark hair again.  "You do make a fetching blonde."

She gives him a look over the tops of her shades, knowing and a bit amused.  "They do have more fun."

Aaaand now he's thinking about their first time, that silver dress pushed up around her thighs, blonde wig spilling across the mattress above her and blue eyes begging him in the dark.  He clears his throat.  "You want to go talk to Valentine?"

"In a bit," she says, and wraps her arm around his waist.  He automatically puts his arm around her in turn, and she leans her head on his shoulder, a picture-perfect image of a lovesick spouse.  "Need to make the rounds, hit up a few of the merchants first.  It'd be weird if I didn't."

"God forbid we look weird," he agrees, and laughs at her elbow in his stomach.

~*~

She does break off eventually, slips away to discuss things with Valentine and leaves him with a key and strict instructions to take care of dinner.  Deacon makes a quick loop of his own, touching base with the runners they placed last time and offloading some of their scav while he's at it.  Myrna's girl has been promoted to working the afternoon shift solo, and is more than happy to take a few extra minutes dickering in order to fill him in on the local gossip.  He rounds it off with a visit to the Dugout where the cocky one is still serving drinks - Deacon makes a note to collect the ten caps from Whisper later - and picks up some dinner to go on his way out.  Never let it be said he can't follow orders when it suits him.

He's setting out the plates when Whisper follows him in just a few minutes later with a slammed door and a cheerful, "Hallo the house!" from the far end of her little warehouse.

"Kitchen!" he calls back, and a moment later she appears, weaving her way through the stacked boxes and dropping a noticeably emptier pack on the floor by the stove.

"Need a hand?"

The food's pretty much done, so he tilts his head to the table with a hopeful, "Something to drink?"

"I've got just the thing," and she grabs her pack again, fishing around inside until she comes up with a couple bottles of Bobrov's homebrew.  "I tried to catch you at the Dugout but Vadim said you just left.  Good enough?"

"We-ell, everyone knows a dry white pairs best with seafood, but for day-old mirelurk I suppose it will just have to do."

"You're trying to ruin my appetite but it's not working," she informs him, nose in the air.  "I'm so hungry I'd eat a mirelurk raw."

He laughs and nudges in behind her as she turns to grab a bottle opener.  "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that.  You know it's only the best for my girl."

"Flatterer," she says, nothing in her voice now but laughter.  "You talk any sweeter, I'm gonna be forced to check those lips for honey."

"Aw, babe.  You say the - ha ha - sweetest things."  He buries his nose in the back of her neck and inhales.  "I get the cigarettes, but why do you smell like one of Tom's experiments?  Hot metal and burnt wiring," he clarifies, when she gives him a truly weird look.

"Oh, I stopped by Piper's after I talked to Nick," she says, all offhand as if she's not talking about the biggest gossip in the Commonwealth.

Deacon unpeels himself from her back and takes her by the shoulders.  "Whisper," he says, seriously.  "Do we need to have a conversation about operational security?  Because I feel like you may have been out that day."

"Oh, so you want her to come by and harangue me in person?  Because that is one hundred percent what she'd do if she heard I was in town and didn't go see her first."

Okay, so maybe she has a point.  The thought of Piper fucking Wright showing up at his door - well, Whisper's door, whatever - demanding to know his intentions toward her friend… Yeah, no.  That's gonna be a haaaard pass.

Whisper grins at him, the devil in her eyes.  He knows that look.  "Whisper-"

"Ohhhh, I see what this is about."

"Fear," he assures her, trying to head whatever this is off at the pass, "this is a very healthy and reasonable level of fear," but she's on her way to a punchline and won't be deterred.

"You're a fan!" she declares, over his groan of protest.  "Aww, sweetheart, why didn't you say something earlier?  I could totally arrange an introduction for you."

"Ahhh, no thanks," Deacon manages, through the bolt of terror that thought inspires.  "Little-known fact, spies are in fact allergic to reporters?  Like, clinically.  The hives are brutal."

She takes pity on him and gives way with a laugh, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.  "Don't worry, babe, I'll protect you."

"You're the best."

"And don't you forget it."  She pops open one of the bottles one-handed, handing it off to him with a cheery flourish.  "Besides, you don't wanna bitch too much about my girl Piper.  Her caps bought you this booze."

"I take it back, she's my new favorite person.  After your radiant self, of course."  He takes a swig and passes it back, enjoying the flush of boozy heat down through his chest as he turns back to the stove.  After a moment's consideration, he adds a couple extra tatos to the pan.  If they're drinking Bobrov's then he definitely wants to lay down a hearty base.  "Something interesting afoot?"

"Mhm?"

"Your payout from Wright.  Anything I should know about?"

She wobbles her flat hand side-to-side, a wordless eh.  "Not really.  Just a side project I've been working on."

Interesting.  It's not as if they tell each other everything they get up to - he certainly has any number of moving parts at any given moment she's not read in on, and this business with Hancock gave him a good idea about how much he doesn't know about her adventures - but the fun stuff, yeah, that's usually share and share alike.  Then again, maybe it's a leftover from her little enforced vacation back in August.  He's mostly kept his nose out of whatever she was up to those weeks in hopes she'll do him the same courtesy, so there's a gap in his intel.

"Very mysterious," he teases, nudging a little.  "C'mon, not even a hint for your faithful partner?"

She refuses to be nudged, only smiles faintly and hunches one shoulder into a lopsided shrug.  "You can read it in the paper tomorrow like everyone else."

"Way harsh."

"That's me, cruel and unusual."  She passes him back a plate with an absent kiss to his scruffy cheek.  "C'mon, quit fondling that pot holder and get me some supper.  I'm starving."

~*~

It's a good night, maybe the best he's had in a while.  Deacon sort of figured she'd be distracted, mind on her mission tomorrow, but instead it's the opposite: for the first time in what seems like weeks, he has her full and undivided attention, and he basks in it like winter sunshine.  They trade stories and quips, mostly things they've told each other a dozen times over but still fresh, still funny, still so much fun to watch her trying out a new spin, a new angle.  She's so fucking good at that, always has been.  Yet another thing Deacon never needed to teach her, but damn does he never get tired of watching her reinvent herself on the fly.

Deacon, for his part, finds himself mugging shamelessly for her attention, chasing her approval as fervently as any junkie he's ever pretended to be.  And unlike a junkie Deacon gets what he's craving in spades, because she's as generous with her smiles as she is with her stories, lounging back in her chair with her glass in her hand, thighs sprawled wide and her voice gone syrup-slow with that insinuating smirk that only ever spurs him on.

Later, he doesn't entirely remember how they end up in bed.  The booze turns everything smeary and soft-focus, like light coming in through a stained-glass window, and his memory preserves only a series of snapshots: pulling Whisper into his lap, her startled yelp of laughter muffled with his mouth.  Making out on the landing, one foot braced a step down to put him closer to her height, his fingers busy on her shirt buttons and hers on his belt buckle.  Tumbling into bed in a snarl of limbs, laughingly disentangling them until Whisper tugs him up over her in the dark.  Burying his face in the sweat-slicked curve of her neck as he works his cock inside of her, her blunt nails scoring lines down the length of his back and her heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him on.  The flicker of the candlelight playing across her lush mouth and her dark, shadowed eyes, her damp hair clinging to her forehead as she tosses her head back against the pillows.  The low breathy rasp of her voice, "Deacon," murmured against his ear, "Deacon, Deacon, please-"

And then when he wakes up, he's alone.

The radio downstairs is playing “The Wanderer,” and Deacon lies there for a moment, listening to the clatter of the rain against the windows, experiencing an overwhelming surge of deja vu.

Then he hauls himself out of bed, picks up his boots, and goes in search of his wayward accomplice.

Unlike last time, there's no pint-sized partner clattering around in the kitchen, cooking breakfast and dancing around like temptation on two legs.  The room is cool and dim, only the faint mid-morning sunshine straggling in through an upper window to light the way, and the only sign of habitation is the soft strains of the radio.  Deacon does a quick check in the warehouse section just in case - have the boxes been breeding back there? - but the only sign of life in here is him.  Most damningly of all, Whisper's pack is gone from the hook beside the door, leaving his looking lopsided next to the empty space where its partner used to be.

Do not project onto an inanimate object, Deacon my lad, he tells himself, and checks the counter next to the radio, where he previously saw a pad and a pencil half-buried under a precarious stack of ammo boxes.  Sure enough, there's a note there, torn loose from the pad and folded into thirds with John scrawled across the front in unfamiliar handwriting that must belong to Liv.

She's just keeping cover, not stupid enough to write anything else out here in the open where anyone could walk in and see it, but Deacon still stares at it for a long moment, that single syllable knocking around somewhere at the bottom of his ribs.  Then he shakes his head at himself, reaches out, and unfolds the note.

hey handsome, you looked so peaceful i couldn't bring myself to wake you.  at least one of us should get to sleep in, and nick had me up with the sun.  (you know what he's like when he's on a case!)  shouldn't take long though, just a quick run down to goodneighbor and fingers crossed we'll be back by supper.  take care of my best guy while i'm gone.  xoxo, liv

The radio changes to “One More Tomorrow,” and Deacon glares at it as he folds up the note.  Reading between the breezy, heavily fictionalized lines, it's clear enough she decided to handle this Kellogg business solo.  Which is… fair enough, he supposes, but something about it doesn't sit square.  Did she think he would have told her no, if she asked him to stay put?  He thought he made it pretty clear the whole thing was hers to handle or not as she saw fit.  Or maybe she just thought it'd be too awkward, having him up in her business like that?  Maybe after their last op, she's about had her fill of personal.  He couldn't blame her if that's the case, but he hopes she knows the last thing he'd ever want to do is make things harder for her.

Well, there's not much he can do about it either way, not with her at least a few hours ahead of him, judging by the sun, and definitely not with her clear instruction to sit tight.  Waiting isn't much his favorite part and he didn't really plan to be hanging out in Diamond City all day, but Deacon's an adaptable fellow; he'll find a way to keep himself occupied.

The market is bustling at this hour of the morning, and Deacon lets the crowd carry him along, thinking vaguely about picking up some noodles for breakfast and then maybe having a wander around.  It's not great for his cover to spend so much time out and about on his own, but with the right sidelong look most people will probably assume she's sleeping off a wild night, which would be great for his ego, at least.  Besides, there's really no substitute for market gossip when it comes to keeping a pulse on the goings-on in the Commonwealth, which is what he plans to tell Dez if she gives him shit for the wasted day.  Not that she will, because if Deacon has his way she'll never hear about any of this, but he likes having a contingency plan in place.  Makes him feel all nice and comfy.

It's when he's looping around the counter in search of an open stool that he catches the familiar sound of Piper Junior hawking her wares at full volume.  Which is funny, 'cause by his calculation they're not due for another issue for at least a week.  Normally Piper's pretty regular with the print, except-

Deacon gets a sinking sensation in his chest.

-except when she has something too juicy to wait and damn it, Whisper, what the hell are you up to?

Normally the last place he wants to be is anywhere near someone named Wright, but since his partner has been up to shenanigans without bothering to inform him first, he figures that in this case 'better safe than sorry' means getting out ahead of whatever nonsense Whisper's been cooking up rather than running the other way.  He makes sure to pull his cap low over his eyes, hitches his pack higher on his shoulders, and sidles over towards the Public Occurrences like he just doesn't have anything better to do.

"Extra, extra, read all about it!  Minutemen General has the tell-all of the century!"

Oh, it's Minutemen business.  Geez, why didn't she just say so?  If she's running some propaganda job for Garvey, the last thing he'd want to do is get in her way.  It was obvious they needed something after the trip to the Slog the other week, and throwing Piper at the problem is probably the most efficient way to get the word out.  Half the damn Commonwealth reads her paper at some point or another, even if it's just so they can tell themselves how wrong she is.

Still, Whisper did tell him he'd find out today, so she probably expects him to read up on whatever it is.  He snatches a paper off the top of the stack and flips it over, scanning for the headline.

Woman out of Time: Savior of the Minutemen Tells All About Life Before the Bomb!

"-not the current General," Little Wright's saying, when Deacon manages to stop staring at the paper and drag his attention back to the real world.  "The first one, the one that retook the Cast- hey!"

Deacon finds the paper snatched right from his hands, a pint-sized version of a familiar glare beaming up at him.  "You gotta pay before you read," Little Wright informs him.  "We're not running a charity here!"

"Uh, right," says Deacon, who still feels like he's hearing everything underwater, slow-motion and echoing strangely.  "What's the deal with this General, then?"

"Didn'tcha see the headline?  She's from before the War!  Vault froze her in cryo, right here in the Commonwealth!"

Vault 111.  Oh, fuck.   Ohhhh fuck.

"So you gonna buy or just stand there and stare?"  Little Wright brandished the paper at him.  "Hot off the presses!  Only ten caps, and you can be the first to know!"

[redhoodssweetheart]

Mom Down

Genre: Fluff

Relationship: Dick Grayson x Female!Reader 

Requested: Yes by Anon (REQUESTS ARE CLOSED BUT I WILL TAKE SUGGESTIONS FOR FICS YOU’D LIKE TO SEE)

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Fluff, Reader passes out

Description:  You’re stressed when the League decides to make a visit to see how you and Dick have been doing running things.  As the mom of the group you have a lot more stress on your shoulders than the others.  Because of the stress you pass out right as the League visit is in progress.

A/N: Anon, I hope this is what you had in mind.  If you’d like an actual Mom!Reader x Dad!Dick then just let me know and I’ll totally do that.

No one questioned that Y/N and Dick were the mom and dad of the Titans.  It was a running joke amongst the young Titans that Dick and you were practically married to one another at this point.  Damian was especially vocal with Dick about this.  He took every opportunity to tease his older brother about the apparent attraction between the two of you.

You weren’t sure when the title of ‘mom’ had been slapped on you.  And to be honest you didn’t really care either.  If it meant making sure the kids under your leadership stayed healthy and safe then hell yeah you were a mom.  Dick was your co-parent of sorts.  The two of you working together to keep the Titans in tip top shape.

You had been fast friends when the two of you were Titans.  Dick had always been a natural born leader.  He had the charisma and charm to be a leader and get people to follow orders.  He commanded respect and the Titans listened to him.

And you weren’t gonna lie, it was incredibly sexy when he went into leader mode.  You had to remind yourself that there were others present and you shouldn’t be having those types of thoughts with teenagers present.

Especially the really perceptive ones like Damian Wayne.  

Being the son of the world’s greatest detective was a good and bad thing.  Good because he caught things that sometimes you and the others didn’t.  Bad because he knew everything.  He once got you a CD by your favorite artist and you had no idea how he had known since you barely talked about them.  He also knew when you were feeling down and brought you your favorite sweets to cheer you up.

Sometimes he would catch you staring at Dick and give you that smirk of his and you felt insanely embarrassed that you had been caught ogling his brother.

Right now you were preparing the Titans for a visit from the Justice League.  Visits from the League were rare, but they liked to drop by sometimes to see how the younger generation was coming along.  Those visits were stressful for both you and Dick as you tried to make sure the Tower was in tip top shape.

Lately you had been feeling more stressed because Garfield had been injured on a previous mission and you were making sure that he was all right.  He had broken it when one of the bad guys had managed to catch him off guard.  You had been there in an instant making sure that no other harm befell him as the rest of the Titans came to your aid.

On top of Garfield being injured Raven had been having nightmares recently.  She had been coming to you for comfort in the middle of the night when she was awoken by the particularly scary ones.

“Hey,” the sound of Dick’s voice made you jump and you turned to see what he needed.  “They’re about to arrive, are you ready?”

You gulped, praying that your anxiety would subside, and nodded your head.  “Yeah, is everyone waiting in the main room?”

“Yeah, I just came to find you,” he offered a reassuring smile.  “It’ll be okay Y/N.  We’ve been doing really well, and they’re just making sure that we’re not slacking off.  They have faith in us.”

You let out a sigh, “I know, I know, but I still worry that they’re gonna think that there’s something wrong with the way we do things.”

“I’m pretty sure the Titans will fight tooth and nail to keep us in charge here,” Dick chuckled.  “They like us too much to let the League replace us.  And trust me, Damian would make Bruce’s life a living hell if we were replaced.  He would deny it of course because he has an image he needs to keep up, but he totally likes us.”

You laughed, “It’s the little things he does that tells you he’s not as tough as his facade makes him out to be.”

The two of you made your way down the hall toward the main room of the Tower to wait for the upcoming arrival of the League members.  They had specified which members it would be, but you had a feeling Batman would be one of them.  Bruce wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to see either one of his sons.

The boom tube opened and Wonder Woman, Batman, Superman, and Flash all stepped through.  Dick stepped forward with a smile on his face, “It’s nice to see you all again.”

“Dick,” Bruce said courteously before shaking his hand.  You wanted to roll your eyes at the stiffness and tease them and say to hug each other like they meant it.  But given that this was a formal meeting you kept your mouth shut.  You stepped forward next and greeted the other members as well and soon the introductions and greetings were out of the way.

Dick and you walked alongside the members, Dick doing most of the talking about what had been happening recently and how training was going.  The first stop was the training room where Superman asked for a demonstration on the training exercises that the team would go through on a daily basis.  You stepped into the middle of the room and motioned for Damian to join you.  He obliged and the two of you began the training session.  

You corrected Damian a few times when you noticed something off about his stance.  Damian was a perfect fighter, but he sometimes was more offensive than defensive.  You were working on him with that though, helping him see the bigger picture than just winning.

During your fight though Damian noticed that you were sluggish in your moments and his concerns grew when you staggered a bit.  The rest of the group saw it as well.  Dick stepped forward, his breath catching in his throat.  “Y/N,” Damian said your name, but it seemed far away.

You collapsed to the group, Damian catching you before you could hit the hard floor.  Dick and a few of the others came racing over.  “What happened?”  Dick demanded.

“I don’t know,” Damian said truthfully.  “She was fine a moment ago and then she started to slow down.  I was just about to voice my concerns when she collapsed.”

Dick looked at Raven, “Check her.”

Raven nodded and used her powers on you to see if there was anything major going on below the surface.  When she was finished she said, “She’s just exhausted.  She’s been pushing herself a lot harder lately.”  She looked down guiltily, “I feel partly to blame.  I’ve been having nightmares and she’s been there to help me through them.  Plus with Garfield’s injury she’s been spreading herself a bit thin these days.”

Bruce put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, “Take her back to her room so she can get some proper rest, the Titans can show us around the rest of the Tower.”

Dick agreed with Bruce and carefully lifted you into his arms and carried you back to your room.  Garfield followed after the two of you as quickly as his leg would allow him too.  “Go back to the others, I can stay here and watch over her.  If anything happens I’ll come find you.”  Dick was hesitant to leave, but he nodded and headed out of your room while Garfield transformed into a dog and curled up beside you. 

A few hours later you woke up in your room.  It was dark out by this point and you felt a little disoriented.  The last thing that you remembered was training with Damian as the League watched, then everything had gone black.

You looked over and discovered Dick asleep in the chair beside you.  “Dick?”  Your voice drew Dick out of his not very restful sleep.  He blinked his eyes a couple of times trying to adjust to the dark room.  “What happened?”

“You passed out when you were training with Damian.  The others are worried sick and blaming themselves over this,” he informed you as he joined you on the bed.  You snuggled closer to Dick.  “Why didn’t you tell me that you were feeling stressed?”

“Because I didn’t even really realize just how stressed I was,” you admitted.  “I just thought it was because the League was visiting and then of course Garfield being injured and Raven’s nightmares.  I thought I could handle it.  I’ve handled a lot worse before.”  You looked up at him, he could see the worried expression on your face, “What did the League say?  Are they upset?”

He shook his head and stroked your back, “They aren’t upset.  Bruce gets it.  He knows how stressful watching over a bunch of kids is and then on top of that having your superiors coming for a visit can always create tension.  No one is blaming you for this.  They all know how good you are at your job.  They did recommend taking a few personal days just to recover and relax.”

“But--”

“No buts,” Dick said, his leader's voice coming out.  “You’re taking a few days to rest and relax.  Maybe take a little trip, stay in a nice hotel, go to a spa, whatever you need to do to unwind.”

You sighed knowing that you weren’t going to win this one, “Fine, but I don’t like being forced out.  The others need me.”

“They will all still be here when you get back.  I’ll make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.  No wild parties or using powers unsupervised and all that jazz.”  He kissed the top of your head, “Now get some more rest and we can plan where you’re gonna go tomorrow.”

“You mean you’re gonna decide where I go and then shove me into a taxi and wave goodbye as I stare longingly out the window as the disappearing Tower,” you scoffed.

“So dramatic,” Dick chuckled.  “Get some rest, Y/N, tomorrow will be good for you.”

You wanted to protest some more, but you were still feeling tired and held onto Dick a little bit tighter as you drifted off back to sleep.

[longitud-de-onda]

come back home

pairing; the mandalorian | din djarin x female reader summary; it’s been three years since you’ve seen din after leaving him on a distant planet. rating; m warnings; a panic attack, unintentional gaslighting, heavy angst, a bit of light sex (no smut or anything very nsfw), some gunshot wounds, alcohol. don’t worry it’s not all angst there’s some happy stuff. word count; 11.3k a/n; so this pops around a lot with timing, but it should be fairly clear. every big line break switches perspectives between din and the reader, and every section is a bit of present and then a flashback. the flashbacks are chronological. also, it’s long. it’s so long. taglist; @bonkybaaarnes​

It was a busy day. People had been wandering in and out of your shop since you turned the sign in the window to ‘Open.’ There probably hasn’t been a span of more than 5 minutes where you didn’t hear the sound of the doorbell tinkling, signaling the entrance of one or more of the planet’s upper echelon, art students, or just interested visitors. Running an art gallery and dealership was possibly one of the most peaceful things you could do during this age of the New Republic. Especially when you lived on a Core World.

An old looking Neimoidian who had been wandering the space for the past hour or so approached your desk.

“That piece there, with the scene from the Clone Wars, how much is it?”

You looked over to where he was pointing. It was one of the larger pieces you had at the time, a beautiful war painting. Realism wasn’t as common anymore. Neither, you supposed, was painting. You got the piece directly from the artist a few months back, entranced by the historic materials and the mastery of the battle scene. It reminded you of your teenage years, back during the war. It was sad to see it go, but you knew you couldn’t keep the pieces and were happy it would have a home.

“Thirteen thousand credits,” You smiled at the man. For the Neimoidians who came and went, your reputation, and the size of the piece, it was a good price. He knew it too. His subtle nod indicated he was interested, and you put the order into your system. One of the gallery droids sprung to life behind you to retrieve the piece from its spot on the wall and bring it to the back room where it would be packaged for shipment. You pulled out a datapad, handing it over to the Neimoidian who began to fill out the credit transfer form.

“Your reputation precedes you,” He mused while typing, “You run a lovely shop here. It’s nice, with the Empire over. Peace, art, business. It’s all flourishing.”

“It is,” You smiled, “it’s great for business.”

“Indeed it is,” He looked up, handing back the datapad with the complete form, “I must thank you, it is a great honor to work with you.”

“The honor is all mine,” you say, reviewing the form. 13,000 New Republic credits. Not good for much outside the Core nowadays, not that you had any plans on leaving.

“I collect war art,” he began, an unusual admission for a Neimoidian, “Honoring those who fought. I just imagine... must be difficult, out there on the battlefield.”

-o-o-o-

“It must be difficult...” the Mandalorian said, startling you from your thoughts. In the 17 hours since you met him, he hadn’t said more than 20 words. “... living job to job, no help.”

You turned to face him, or rather, to look at the small gap in his helmet.

“What do you mean? Isn’t it the same for you?” You got the current job together from some guy in a bar in the backwater outer rim planet you were spending the day on. He said it would be too difficult, too risky to just have one man on the job. Two was insurance.

“I’m a guild member. Who do you have?” You knew he was just trying to make small talk, but it felt like a slap on the face. You had practically nothing. You’d been wandering the galaxy ever since the fall of the empire, nothing to do. Your only skills were fighting, flying, and formulating battle plans. Without a war, you had nothing.

Probably should have joined the guild at some point, you thought to yourself. But that never felt like the right option. You still had your loyalties. And bounty hunters, well, bounty hunters have no loyalties other than the guild. Imperial heads and Rebel ones had the same price if you had the right buyer.

“It’s been this way for a while now, I don’t mind it so much,” you responded. You had only just met the Mandalorian anyways, hadn’t known him long enough where he deserved to know really how you felt. It was still difficult, not spilling out your entire backstory to him, something about the way he cocked his head and the few words he said that let you know he was always intensely listening to you.

You had the feeling that after another 17 hours he would have only racked up another 40 words while you’d have revealed almost every detail of your life. He had that effect on you. Kind of scary if you were to admit it, but you knew in only an hour or so the Razor Crest would be landing and the fight would start and hopefully end in only a matter of minutes and you’d return to the money and go your separate ways. No need to fret over some guy. Even if that guy was a Mandalorian.

Din Djarin had landed the Razor Crest about a 50-minute walk from the city, enough to remember that it had been a year or so since he spent any time traversing tough terrain and began to regret not docking closer.

It was a force of habit. The ship wasn’t registered so it flew under the radar, but any attempt to land at a New Republic port would be dangerous, but he supposed that landing 20 minutes away wouldn’t have been so bad. It didn’t really matter now though, as he was coming up to the first signs of civilization.

He only had a faint idea of where he was headed, somewhere closer to the center, but not too close. With his luck, probably the side of the city furthest from his ship so he’d have to cross through the center if he wanted the quickest route.

The most efficient route used to not matter so much. He used to be able to afford to skirt around the edges. Now, nearing the heart of the city, he was tired enough to know he needed to stop. He’d been walking for over 3 hours.

It was unusual, being on such a populated planet. Everyone moved around him, not sparing him even a glance. He wasn’t used to that at all.

Din saw a small but interesting looking cantina a few doors down and slipped inside. It was filled with smoke and music and laughter. Nothing like the empty-feeling outer rim bars. The people here had all sorts of masks, just not the physical kinds: fake smiles plastered on to fool a lover, guises of aggression formulated purely to intimidate, the facades of disappointment dealt expertly to tug at heartstrings. There was something completely and utterly alive in this place, but that something was also a farce.

A barstool opened up about two-thirds of the way to the back wall, and Din pushed through the crowd to snatch it up. A sleek looking droid slid his way to take his order before gliding back down the bar to help a young couple pay for their drinks.

Another droid showed up in front of him, setting down the hot drink, with a yellow and red swirling appearance, steam rising off the top.

He raised the glass to his mouth, and took a sip, relishing in the feel the alcohol had, instantly spreading through his body, soothing while simultaneously lighting him on fire.

-x-x-x-

Fucking desert planets, Din thought to himself. Somewhere in the galaxy, someone was probably laughing at him: a Mandalorian in the desert. Thick black wool covered with beskar armor had to be the absolute worst combination for a planet made of sand and heat. He had been sitting behind a rock formation for the better part of the day, the local star’s hot light beating down on his body.

The camp was small but Din knew there were at least twelve stormtroopers and two Imperial high-ups. There could be more. He had been watching the four tents all day, and each one could probably hold around 15 people quite comfortably, but his infrared sensors weren’t working well, probably sand lodged in some panel, and he couldn’t figure out how many people he was up against.

The binoculars on his helmet zeroed in on a figure behind the furthest tent. Someone was out there, moving quickly between a couple of rocks. At the same time, one of the tent flaps opened, and a couple of stormtroopers popped out. Din had to break his gaze from the mysterious person and watched the two walk from one tent to the next. He was fairly sure they weren’t new, only the same guys who walked in 30 minutes ago.

Upon arrival at the next tent, one ducked in while the other stood guard. A few seconds passed and then the white helmet peaked out of the tent again, this time followed by another 3, and an Imperial officer. The five troopers flanked the man as he returned to the tent the troopers originally came from.

“What are you doing here?” a voice sounded from his left. Din whipped around while pulling his Amban rifle from his back, pointing at where the voice came from.

It was the fighter from the job back off of Comra. She had leaned back enough to keep her head from being lopped off by the rifle and her hands were up.

“Sorry, Mando, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, her voice slow and vibrating in her throat.

Din lowered the Amban, and peaked back at the imp tents. There was no activity occurring anymore.

“But seriously, what are you doing here?” she sounded a bit frustrated. Her face was reddening, but he couldn’t tell if it was just the heat. She was slick with sweat, shining in the sunlight. He figured if he had any skin exposed it would look the same. He was sweltering, but couldn’t tell if wearing anything lighter would have helped. His skin hadn’t seen the light in a long time, and a smarter outfit for the heat might just be his downfall.

Din reached into his pocket, pulling out the puck he was working on. He turned it over a few times in his palm before turning it on and holding out the holo to show the woman. The blue bust spun around and her eyes widened.

“It’s him,” she breathed. After a long moment, she broke her gaze from Din’s assignment and looked right at him, “you’re going after him?”

“Yes, if you don’t ruin my chance. He’s in there,” Din gestured over to the tents.

“I know. He’s got a bounty of his own on my head,” the admission took Din by surprise, and he realized that the woman was bowing her head; in shame, frustration, or something entirely different, he couldn’t tell.

“Then why aren’t you running?” he knew it sounded too harsh, but sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, his emotions got ahead of him and he had to ask the burning questions.

“I was. That’s why I’m here,” she said, panting a bit. Where they stood was in direct sunlight, and it was only getting hotter. “I was running from him, planet-hopping, was here for about a week, and the fucker showed up this morning, set up camp less than a kilometer from where I was. I thought I was done for. I was trying to get a good last look at him before I either made it out or was killed, but then I saw you behind the rocks. Figured if I was destined to die, then, well, you were probably here to kill me anyway.”

Din cocked his head, “I’d never take a job from an imp.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said. She attempted to laugh, but the heat was too much and the topic too heavy that it came out more like a couple of shallow breaths before stopping entirely.

The two turned to look at the camp again. Nothing was happening. Din didn’t have too much of a plan until he knew how many stormtroopers he was up against.

“I, uh, I fought for the Rebel Alliance, way back when,” the woman said, still staring at the tents, “I wasn’t even 14 when I joined. When the New Republic formed there wasn’t much left for me. I knew war, and I wanted the imps all gone. I’ve sort of been on the run since, taking out stormtroopers and officers whenever I get the chance. I suppose it all caught up to me.”

“14 is pretty young for a fighter,” Din said, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t used to people being open with him.

“Not where I’m from, it’s not,” and when Din looked over to see her finish the sentence he saw something in her eyes that shook him to the core. Some sort of raw pain and loss and desperation. He was going to kill the commander, and take down anyone else in the damned tent.

An hour and ten minutes before closing you began pre-close procedures, as usual. The shop was mostly empty, save for a couple of Bothans who appeared to be making some final decisions on what pieces to purchase, and a few young faces you had learned belonged to the students who would pop in weekly to see the art, never buying anything. You didn’t mind. Art was meant to be appreciated.

You had made quite a few sales and were satisfied with the day’s profit. Someone bought out almost your entire collection of small prints by a Corellian artist, and you were pleased to have sold the rather violent series of holosculptures, and you already had the droids put a more calming piece in their spot.

A droid began going around sweeping the space, and another was sent to the supply room to start restocking packaging materials that had been used up during the day.

You kept your eyes firmly on the door, feeling like the current inhabitants were fairly safe, no need to worry about any of them harming the art. Or yourself.

This morning, you woke up and turned on the television just in time to see the news reporting on the threats: some unidentified group with a vendetta against anyone who fought for the rebellion. You supposed living on a Core planet, where the New Republic held plenty of power, you should be safe, but that didn’t stop you from wearing your most battle-ready outfit that could still appear formal enough for your store.

The Bothans’ discussion seemed to quiet down when the bell rang again and a tall looking man walked in, dressed in tactical pants and wearing a jacket that could hide any number of weapons. You reached down beneath your desk, hand grasping for the blaster you kept there. You didn’t like the look of the guy.

“I was told this was the place to go if I needed some advice,” the man walked directly towards you, and you inhaled quickly.

“What sort of advice?” you asked.

“My daughter, she likes art, I don’t know what to get for her. She’s getting married next month.”

You dropped your blaster and let your shoulders fall a bit.

“Well, I can certainly help you with that.”

-o-o-o-

Your blaster was pointed directly at the head of one of the guys, finger on the trigger, rage in your eyes. It took less than a quarter of a second to squeeze your hand and the target’s body went limp.

Thwump.

It felt a bit like you had been kicked in the stomach, and whatever it was had you flying through the air for a moment, and sometime during that instant, suspended midair, you felt a brief stinging sensation spread across your lower leg. Then you hit the ground.

Lying there, you watched the blaster fire zoom over you. You couldn’t really feel your leg anymore, so you supposed that was better than feeling whatever had happened.

Your stomach was sore, so was your back. Really, everything hurt. Your vision was a bit foggy around the edges, so you stared up at one of the moons, however faint it appeared in the daylight.

It was admittedly very dumb to accept this sort of job. You had to hand it to Mando, picking out the stupidest shit to get involved in to pay for gas money. The two of you were supposed to be on the run, caring for the Child, staying out of trouble. Not getting shot while being paid to fight for some local clan dispute. There were probably thirty or so fighting. And you two.

You weren’t really sure how much time had passed with you on the ground. All you knew was that wherever you were hit on the stomach hurt more than almost anything you’d ever experienced. The hand clenched over the wound felt slick with what could have been blood, but was maybe just sweat. At some point, the sound of the fighting died down, and the dust began to settle.

A shadow fell over your face as the sunlight was blocked, and you blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness. It was Mando, kneeling next to you.

“I’m fine,” you croak out, knowing fully that it was a lie. Mando probably knew that too, because he pulled your arm off of your stomach. It didn’t take much effort, you didn’t have the energy to protest.

His gloved hands grazed over the wound, gently, and you thought you heard a sound through his modulator that could have been him sucking in his breath. If it had been highly distorted.

“You need to protect yourself more,” he said, roughly.

“I was!” you protested. He was using the same tactic you had used on many others on the battlefield before: outrage the victim so they stay awake long enough to get help. You needed to remind yourself to thank him when you were back on the ship.

Mando’s helmet moved to indicating that he was surveying you for further damage. His gaze stopped at your leg. You know what he’d found. You had begun to suspect it. Blaster fire might not appear too deep, but if set to kill it had a nasty burn that singed off all nerve endings, so you couldn’t even feel the wound as the impact took root deep under the skin.

Suddenly, cool air flooded underneath you and you realized the Mandalorian had scooped you up, cradling you in his arms. He was clearly very strong, but you hadn’t realized how warm he’d feel, even with all the armor on.

Din set down the now empty glass and placed the money next to it. He signaled to the droid that he was done and stood up. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, moving through the growing crowd. Big bars and busy planets made him feel much more vulnerable than he was used to, and while the stop was necessary, it was definitely time to leave.

Why the hell did I come here, Din found himself wondering as he felt his panic rising. His step quickened and he became frantic to get out of the establishment.

There were too many people. Too many colors. The sounds were everywhere, people laughing, people talking, someone was singing. He heard the tapping of someone’s fingers on the bar table and the beeping of some sort of device. The live band seemed to be getting louder. Din spun around, no longer sure of where the exit was. His eyes widened and he looked around for some sign of fresh air. He felt like he was suffocating.

Someone walked right in front of him, breathing hot air onto his face. Din gasped, turning, desperate for escape. He was inhaling smoke and alcohol fumes and the stench of sweat and the collision of food from too many different planets. He pushed by whoever was in front of him, and then another, and another. A chorus of protests occurred as he parted the crowd but the division just closed behind him, their faces forgetting him the moment he disappeared.

The light from outside was finally in sight. Din thought he saw a way out but a second later it closed up again. He paused for a moment, trying to breathe as deeply as possible, and out of the corner of his eye he saw it. His reflection.

Din pivoted on his heels to face the mirror. And there he was, face ragged, hair unkempt, facial hair untamed, and above all, it was out there, for anyone to see.

And Din couldn’t help but realize how unappealing he looked. There was safety in keeping his face covered, safety that no longer existed. He didn’t want people to see how he looked. He wasn’t used to the way people judged. The way people look at his face and make assumptions, or worse, read him like a book.

Din’s reflection blinked back at him in unfiltered vulnerability, but his stare was broken as someone else pushed into him, and another walked in front of the mirror.

-x-x-x-

Somewhere in the lower deck the sound of clattering metal rang out along with a stream of expletives, followed by a very prompt, “It’s all good, I’m fine! Everything’s fine!”

Din chuckled to himself, staring off into the emptiness of the Unknown Regions. Thousands of millions of stars without habitable planets. Or with habitable ones, if only the New Republic could touch them.

After visiting every planet in the known galaxy, they hadn’t found a single other creature like the Child. Din looked over at the kid, and it looked back at him, cooing happily. Needing to find its home planet was the only priority, thus the entrance into the Unknown Regions, the lesser explored half of the galaxy.

Din realized he might be the first person looking at some of these stars from this angle, from this distance. The Razor Crest was likely the first ship to pass anywhere near where it was right now.

It was incredibly beautiful.

“Mando!” she called from below, “Food’s ready! You better come down here and eat or I’m gonna rip your helmet off and force feed you.”

“Don’t worry,” Din called back. She had the right to be worried. A few months back she discovered that he wasn’t eating to save rations. They didn’t know how long they’d be out here, didn’t know how long they’d need to make the food last. As soon as she found out, though, running out of food was the least of his worries. She took over all food prep and made sure every day all three of them were eating.

A couple weeks ago they ran across a small habited planet, one of the few ones littering this part of the galaxy, and were able to restock. Even with enough food to last another 6 months in space, Din knew she still worried.

It was nice to have someone who worried about him, not that he would admit that to anyone.

Her head popped into the cockpit, two plates balanced on one hand as she finished scaling the ladder with her other.

“Your plate’s below,” she smiled at him. She said the same thing every day. And she smiled every day, like nothing was wrong or weird about their situation.

Din watched as she set down one plate on the dashboard and knelt with the other in front of the Child and began feeding it. He could tell she had really grown to love the kid. It was sweet to see the two; the kid adored seeing her face, and she was so good at getting it to listen to her.

Din took one last look before jumping down into the lower deck. This was the usual ritual. He would listen to the soft words and sounds exchanged above as he took off his helmet below and began to eat. She knew not to come down until he said so. Din trusted her.

He raised his hands to the sides of his helmet, gently pulled it off, and relished in the feel of the recycled air against his face.

Din loved the feeling without the helmet, but the moments when he got to remove it were rare. Beyond showers, there wasn’t really any time to do it. They slept in too close of quarters to risk taking it off while asleep. The only constant was mealtime.

With a heavy clink the helmet was sitting on the bench next to him, and Din grabbed the plate of food. He ate in silence, as always, listening to the chatter and giggles coming from the cockpit.

Usually this was a pause to eat something, not think too much, and just rest, before getting back to business. What business was when they were floating around aimlessly through unexplored space with no idea where their destination was in the galaxy, Din couldn’t say. But there always seemed to be business.

However, today, when he set down his helmet, it was turned to face him as he ate, and it felt like it was staring right back at him. It was rather menacing. Emotionless. Din felt a chill down his spine as he realized that that was all that anyone knew him by. That was all she saw. Perhaps there was some life in it when a head was inside, but still, that was the face she spent all day staring at.

Din missed being around the other Mandalorians. Seeing all the other masks made it feel like he was a bit more human. Knowing there were other humans doing the same thing. He supposed, though, that the need for a status quo was what made him human.

And, for the first time in years, Din had the urge to climb up to the ladder, helmet left behind, and look at her face to face, take off his gloves, and hold her hand, hold the Child, just touch things with his own skin.

He shook his head as if to try to clear the thought. It scared him, how easily he could break his Creed when left in isolation. He spooned the last bite of the meal into his mouth, and, as quickly as possible, placed the helmet back on his head.

Usually around this time, about 30 minutes before the store closes, the last customer is wandering the rooms, about ready to buy something or leave. Sometimes there’s a final straggler to the end. Maybe, on a holiday, there’s a steady stream and you have to kick people out at closing, but a day like today? A normal day, the middle of the week, nothing special happening? The constant flow of customers was certainly unusual.

It was good for business, and it was nice to talk to the many scholars who had stopped through today, but you were ready to take down the ‘Open’ sign and replace it with the lovely ‘Closed’ one that meant you got to go home.

You desperately wanted to be alone for a bit. You had once gotten completely stir crazy and that want for people led you to this planet. Sometimes you wished you had chosen some Mid Rim planet, but usually that thought was stamped out as you remembered how your stability of life decreased as you furthered from the Core Worlds.

Further out generally meant less New Republic protection, and more potential Imperial influence. As a former fighter who just wanted some peace and quiet, sometimes you had to choose someplace a bit loud.

A young couple burst through the door in a fit of laughter and you looked up to see the two getting rather handsy with each other. It was sweet, and nothing inappropriate enough to deem needing to be broken up. You had paintings more explicit hanging on the walls.

You smiled to yourself at the looks of the other patrons, a mix of disgust, annoyance, and sadness. But there were a few others looking at them with the appreciation of innocent kids in love. Either way, the couple seemed to be there for the art. One pointed at an illustration and the other got incredibly excited, going off chattering about it. The pointer just gazed at the speaker with love in their eyes. No one could be mad at something like that.

-o-o-o-

You lay in one of the small beds, the sheets underneath you disgustingly scratchy and sweaty. You had spent almost a year now on the Razor Crest, drifting through space, and laundry for the sheets was not really a priority for water usage.

You could pretty easily forgive the sheets though, as you were pressed up next to Din, completely naked, sweaty and still slightly shaking in the haze of afterglow. The sex was unforgettable. It was so warm in the ship all the blankets were pooled at the bottom of the mattress. Din’s feet were playing with the fabric lazily.

His condition for this arrangement, starting all those weeks ago, was that you had to be blindfolded, which you couldn’t really complain about. It would have been amazing to take away all restraints and look at Din in the face, but you knew that would never happen, so you figured you’d take what you could get. And the one night turned into two, which turned into so many nights and days you couldn’t even count.

Din’s breath was hot on your neck. His arm curled around your waist, and your back was pressed against his chest. It was something out of a dream. You never once thought you would feel safe and at home enough with anyone to be this vulnerable, but here you were. Din was wrapped around you and you could still feel the ache of him between your legs.

You realized he hadn’t said anything in a while. Ever since you started sleeping together, Din liked to talk. He knew how much you liked hearing his voice without the helmet on. It was a sexy voice, or maybe you just thought anything about him without the armor was sexy because it was so forbidden.

You wriggled a bit and flipped over to face him. Your legs intertwined between his, and you were practically face to face. If you weren’t wearing the strip of black fabric wrapped around your head, his eyes would be right there, staring back at you.

You were a bit jealous of Din. He got to look at you. All of you.

You every day, working around the ship, picking up the Child, singing to yourself or reading on your bed. And these past few weeks, all of you, spread out on his bed, wrapped around him, leaning into him.

All you got were little glimpses of skin when he was careless with his armor or back before the Unknown Regions, when you were both getting injured almost daily, having to patch each other up.

You leaned your forehead against his.

“Din,” you whispered. It still felt like an incredible privilege to get to use that name.

You hand reached up to touch his cheek. He leaned into your touch, and you caressed his face. Your hands felt the curve of his jawbone, the rough brush of a mustache, his soft lips. You trailed over his nose and his brow bones. If you couldn’t see him, you were going to memorize every line and curve of his face. You didn’t know the colors, but you had a pretty good idea of what he looked like.

Your hands joined forces as they moved down his body, first across his neck, then his chest, and his waist, then, teasingly, right back up to his face again. You had him moving slowly in tandem with you.

You rolled your hips into him softly. There was no intention of a round two, you were both too exhausted for that, just the need for him to be closer. To feel him.

“Din, talk to me,” you said, in between soft kisses to his face, “you’re being quiet.”

His hands shot down to your hips, pushing you back. He rolled off the bed. You weren’t sure what to do. You weren’t sure what you did.

There was a thump on the ground that sounded a lot like his shoes. Din was putting his clothes on. You could hear the rustling. Then the hiss the helmet made when he put it on his head. The door opened, but the closing sound never happened. The methodical sound of feet and hands on the ladder came next. He had gone up to the cockpit, leaving you on the bed.

You rolled onto your back, unsure of what to do next.

Usually, Din would tell you when it was good to look. Usually, he would reach around your head with his gloved hands, gently pushing back your hair. Usually, he would carefully untie the fabric, making sure none of your hair got caught. Usually, you would open your eyes to see him with the helmet, and you could always imagine the smile that lay underneath.

You knew he was gone. He had just up and left you in bed. You reached up to remove the blindfold. You blinked a few times to adjust to the light. The cold air drifting around the room reminded you that Din hadn’t even thought to close the door behind him. You looked around for your clothes, finally seeing where he had likely threw them in the heat of things. Slowly, you got dressed.

The fabric of the blindfold was draped over your hands, and you folded it over itself a few times before setting it down in the center of the bed.

Din wasn’t used to planets with this many paved roads. The years on Nevarro and running around the Outer Rim had gotten him used to dirt alleyways and uneven ground. He found himself enjoying the luxury of not having to worry he would twist an ankle. It was helping distract him.

Even outside the bar, it still felt like there were too many people. He was sweating, his legs were shaking, and he was feeling a bit dizzy. After about 5 minutes of walking he wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the panic attack that were causing the feelings, or the nerves of where he was going.

A friend had told him where he would need to go, right down to the turns to make on every street. He never imagined that when he was this close he would be regretting even coming.

Din shook his head. He took a deep breath in, he only hoped he had the right place.

-x-x-x-

It had been 10 long weeks. Din could count the number of words she had said on his two hands.

Every day he would wake up, and she would be either holed up in her bed, reading or writing, or up in the cockpit, sitting in the pilot’s seat, staring into the galaxy. As soon as she realized he was there, she’d get up, and leave the room. Probably go to the bathroom. She’d spend an hour playing with the Child. Then go through the whole ship, checking for damage. Not that they’d ever sustain anything. They never encountered anyone. Every time they found a planet within the habitable zone, scanners would show it as too dangerous for even the Child to survive.

After scanning the ship, she’d go back to the kid. Then make food. If Din was lucky she’d leave a plate for him. The two times they found a planet to stop, refuel, and stock up, everything was done in silence. Sometimes she’d disappear for an hour, probably just to run and stretch her legs.

He’d often catch her staring at a spot on the wall, tapping her fingers or bouncing her leg. She’d sit like that for impossibly long periods of time. He knew the isolation was getting to her.

Every so often, she’d walk into his room, or up to the cockpit where he was flying, and look like she was about to say something, but stayed silent.

The first week of this, Din blamed himself: if only he hadn’t allowed them to get so close, then he wouldn’t have had to call it off. But in the end, he figured this was inevitable.

Calling their arrangement off was truly for the best. The guilt had increased to an unhealthy level, and Din knew it would eventually kill him.

In just a few weeks, he had broken the Creed so many times. Once or twice, sometimes even three times a day. He swore, years ago, to never take off the helmet in the presence of a living being. Even if she was blindfolded, it didn’t really matter.

Din wrote his own behavior off as just a reaction to the months of loneliness, the lack of other people. He never really considered she would be struggling with the same thing.

The sound of her steps alerted Din to the presence of someone else in his quarters. She stood in the doorway, leaning as if to take another step, but unsure if she could. The Child had followed her down, and was standing at her feet, looking up at her face.

“Refueling. 20 minutes,” she said. Her voice was quiet but hoarse. He supposed that after so much lack of use, that was to be expected. She disappeared back up to the cockpit.

Din got up to see this planet she spoke of. Standing upstairs, the whole universe taking up most of his vision, Din felt it was almost normal. The three of them were there, watching their destination come closer, the Child standing on the dashboard, Din standing silently, and she was sitting, flying the ship with a gentleness rarely experienced.

Down on the surface, the planet was stuck in time. It appeared to be a Galactic Republic station, stuck almost 50 years in the past. Aside from the feeling they were walking around a scene from a documentary, it was practically the same as an Inner Rim planet.

Din wandered around with the Child as she went off to restock on food. He visited shop after shop, asking around if anyone had seen a species like the kid. No luck.

After a few hours, Din walked into a cantina, hoping to find some fresh food for the kid, but upon realizing she was already there, turned around to leave. There was no use trying to talk to someone who had chosen to isolate herself from him for almost 3 months. Before he walked out the door, he couldn’t help but notice the way she was talking, happily and smoothly, smiling at some girl she was sitting next to. She looked almost completely normal again. Din smiled to himself. That was good.

Their other refueling stops had allowed them to stretch their legs, and maybe see about 10 other sentient creatures. They hadn’t gotten proper socialization in over 6 months.

Din returned to the Razor Crest, letting the kid play around in the dirt with some scrap metal lying around at the docking station. He sat on the edge of the open cargo door.

She showed up after a while, boxes in tow, and began loading them back onto the ship. No words were spoken. Din stood up to help, but she just brushed by him.

“Hey,” Din said, desperate for answers as this point, “what’s wrong?”

She froze. She slowly set down the boxes where she was, standing on the deck of the Razor Crest, looking down at Din.

“What.” she said, it wasn’t a question. It was empty.

“What’s wrong with you?” Din shook his head, “You were all excited and normal in the cantina back there. And here, with me, you’re silent.”

It was like a fire had been started, and Din could see it in her eyes.

“Why did you walk away?” she said. It was calm. Too calm, almost deadly.

“What?” it seemed like Din was always the one confused.

“Why did you walk away? We were fine, happy even, and you stood up in the middle of it, and left,” her voice steadily rose as she spoke, by the end she was yelling.

So it was about me, Din realized. “Did you really think we could keep doing that? Being like that?”

“Did I think we could keep doing that? Of course I did! I… I thought we had something, and you just pushed me away!” She had walked down the cargo door, and was now standing in front of Din.

“I had to push you away!” Din yelled, “I couldn’t keep doing that, what we did, I can’t do. I’m not allowed to!”

“You’re not allowed to? What kind of utter bullshit is that?” She spat at him, “We were alone in the fucking galaxy, on your fucking tiny ship, with nothing to do, and you weren’t allowed to? Says who?”

“Says the Creed,” Din was glad he wore a helmet at times like this, so people couldn’t see the tears threatening to spill out. He knew he was losing her, but he wasn’t going to just let her go so easily.

“Your damn Creed isn’t an excuse to just fucking disappear without any explanation, and if it is, than it’s shit... You’re shit,” she was only getting started, Din could feel that. But she insulted the Creed, and she couldn’t get away with that.

“The Creed isn’t just what I follow. It’s who I am. And if you can’t deal with that, then you shouldn’t have even gotten involved with me in the first place,” he didn’t realize what he had said until it was out of his mouth.  

“Well maybe I regret getting involved with you,” her words were like alcohol on an open wound, “I regret every single touch, moment, and word. I lie awake at night wishing I could scrub my body clean from the memory of you.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Din was incredulous, and increasingly mad, “I want nothing more than for that time together to have never happened. To have never met you. To have never had to help you deal with the fact you can’t even handle a few months alone in space. I wish I didn’t have to help you by doing things I never wanted to do. By doing you.”

At that, she took a step back. Something switched off and her body seemed to deflate.

“So that’s why,” she whispered under her breath, just barely loud enough for Din to hear, and his heart broke.

He hadn’t meant it. Din wanted to take it back, to pull her into his arms and never let go, but he knew he had just lost the right to ever touch her again.

“I can’t do this anymore, Mando,” she said, and his breath hitched at the sound of that name. It was only used by strangers and acquaintances who didn’t realize there was a person underneath the beskar.

“I can’t do this,” she continued, “not when it’s killing me.”

She turned around and walked with as much strength as she could, walked straight back into town, leaving Din standing, back against his ship, staring until she had faded from his view, only sliding down to sit when he realized he’d never see the more important person in his life again.

10 minutes until closing. You were sitting at your desk, across the room from the front door, tapping your fingers rhythmically on the table. You wanted to go home. It had been a long day. But, true to the sign on the door, you would be open for another 10 minutes. Minutes that seemed to be passing as slowly as imaginable.

People seemed to keep coming in and no one was leaving. It was your worst nightmare. The bell rang. Some woman walked in. It rang again. Three students entered as a guy left. It rang again. Some sort of wookie-like creature walked in. You almost groaned out loud. Standing up, you turned around to check the back room. The droids in the gallery would be fine for a few seconds.

The back room was clean. The droids were talking to one another, and had no more work to do. You could only spend so much time in the back room.

Back out in the main space, you sat down, checking the time. 8 minutes and 30 seconds. This was actually the worst. You stared at the datapad you used to get customer information. After about two minutes of staring intently at the ‘Given Name’ box, and the doorbell ringing about 4 more times, hopefully for some customers to leave, you felt a presence in front of the desk.

You looked up. It was some guy, tall, sort of bulky, but strong looking. His hair was a mess, and his facial hair was worse, the only well-groomed thing was the mustache. He wasn’t familiar, definitely not a regular, probably not even from the planet. You couldn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. It was one you had never seen on someone in an art gallery who wasn’t looking at a piece. It was rich with emotion, pain probably, and he looked incredibly distraught.

Why would a guy, looking like that, be entering your shop and coming straight to the desk?

“Can I help you?” you asked, looking into his face.

-o-o-o-

You spent a solid 3 hours crying in an alleyway after storming off. You had watched the Razor Crest take off in the distance after the first hour, and watching everything you knew and loved soar into the sky and out of the atmosphere only brought on more tears.

The sun had set and the light was growing dim when you finally found yourself shakily standing up to find someplace to sleep. The cantina you were at that morning had a few rooms, and you spent half of all the money you had on you for food and a bed for the night.

The room was huge, as was the bed. After over a year of knowing nothing but narrow, hard bunks, it should have been an undeserved luxury, but as you lay in the center of the mattress, you knew you would give anything for the small room you called home.

Your heart ached for Din, and the Kid. You were already regretting leaving, but the regret tears quickly turned back into those of hurt when you replayed Din’s last words in your mind.

Had you really made him feel like you had forced him to have sex with you? Was your relationship founded upon any actual emotions on his part? Clearly everything you thought was true was a lie. All those nights, him holding you so tenderly in his arms was nothing more than him feeling like he owed you a service.

The pit growing in your stomach hardened. You felt sick. You felt dirty. You had hurt Din in ways you didn’t even realize, and when it all was too much for him, he left you in your solitude for weeks. Looking back, you supposed you deserved it for what you had done to him.

You had loved him. You knew that. The fact you were realizing this in the midst of what you could only describe as a breakup only caused you to shake with the sobs that overcame you once again.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but at some point the tears turned to heavy breathing as your eyelids grew heavy and you slipped away into the night.

You didn’t sleep well, but the rest was needed, and in the morning you took a long shower, wiping yourself clean of the dried up salty feeling that covered your face and neck from the tears. As you ran a cloth over your body, you remembered your words from the day before. I lie awake at night wishing I could scrub my body clean from the memory of you.

If only you could snatch those words from the air where you spoke them. Maybe if you took them back, Din wouldn’t have said what he had. You could have just gotten back on the ship in silence. It would have killed you to keep going, but it couldn’t have been worse than this. It couldn’t have been worse than knowing how Din really felt.

You trudged down to return your key and grab something to eat. Sitting at the bar, you decided that, at least for the day, you would forget about Din. The day was about figuring out how to get back to civilization. However you could, you would return to the half of the galaxy you knew. Mourning and moping could wait.

With some bounce to your step, you headed right to the port, straight into the offices of the stationmaster.

“What can I do for you?” an ambiguous voice said as soon as you entered. You looked around to see where it was coming from. A head popped up from under the desk, followed by the rest of the body, “Sorry, fixing something.”

You smiled. The stationmaster looked incredibly friendly, and you figured an appeal to her sense of humanity would probably work best.

“I um, I was travelling with a guy,” you started, putting on a slightly sad face, making sure your words dripped with loss and longing, “and he abandoned me here. I, uh, I need to get back home. I can do anything. I’m—I’m good at fighting, and I can pilot a ship, and fix things, whatever. I don’t have much money, but I can work. I just want to go home.”

The woman frowned, extending an arm out to your shoulder, “Darling, I’m so sorry. That’s an incredibly rough thing for a lady like you to go through. I’ve got some captains docked here that might need some help. But may I ask, where is home for you?”

You paused. Home. Home was the Razor Crest. Home was travelling. You hadn’t been back to where you were born for over 15 years. You didn’t know if you had family left, but you figured it was better than nothing. Higher education there was good, you could move somewhere else if things didn’t work out, or if you found a job elsewhere.

You nodded at the woman, “Naboo. My home is Naboo.”

From the moment he reached the door, the only thought in Din’s brain was to turn around, to go back. He had hurt her, he knew that. It was his fault she left. He drove her away. The guilt of that was worse than anything else he had suffered.

Opening the door, he briefly hoped that it wouldn’t be her, that he was on the wrong planet, and had gotten some bad info. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

But then he looked into the shop and she was right there, staring down at the desk. She looked exactly like she did when she walked away, 3 years ago.

He took a deep breath, and walked up to her. Sensing his presence, she looked up, giving him a quick once over. No recognition lit up in her eyes, and Din didn’t even realize that was what he had expected until it didn’t happen. She asked him if he needed any help.

“To think you’d recognize me,” he mumbled under his breath. This was definitely a mistake. He’d kept her in the dark for so long, she didn’t even know what he looked like.

-x-x-x-

It had been 13 months before Din found the rest of the galaxy. 13 months without her. After the first three, the navigation system in the Razor Crest broke, and Din had no idea how to fix it. She probably would have known how.

A month of completely blind wandering led him to a planet where he found a small village of the little green creatures that the Kid belonged to. Seemed like they had been missing the little thing.

He knew he should have been happy. Happy that he finally found the planet. Happy for the Kid. Happy for its family. But lifting off from there, after hugging both the Child and its relatives farewell, he felt empty. He had no idea where in the galaxy he was, if he was still even in the galaxy, and without current coordinates he couldn’t plot a route home. And he was completely alone.

Now, after 9 months with no human contact, Din could officially say he had lost it. Wandering the Razor Crest, no armor on, for hours, course set to keep going in one direction until a barrier appeared on the sensors.

He would pace for hours, talking to himself. Replaying the conversations he had with her in his head. Sometimes, he would look up at the door to what used to be her room, and he would think he saw a glimpse of the yellow sleeves of her favorite shirt, and he would dash into her space, apologizing, before collapsing on the floor upon realizing she was gone. Din lost count of the number of hours he wasted crying next to her bed.

Sometimes the ship would stop, having detected an asteroid belt or an uninhabited planet. Sometimes Din would land the ship, and upon confirmation of breathable air, he would walk out and wander the barren surface.

He would wonder why no one had explored this part of space. Why no one came out here to terraform. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? So many of the planets were already halfway there.

A couple times he was lucky to find some edible plants. But now Din was running out of food. He hadn’t planned on so much time without contact, without the nav system, without people. Rationing began after two months, back when he thought he’d find the civilization he knew within another month or so. He was so wrong.

He was sitting in the corner of the ship, almost directly underneath the ladder to the cockpit, where he had been for the past 2 hours. He was scratching patterns into the walls, mumbling to himself. There was not much left within him that could be called human. That had been left behind a long while back.

The ship lurched to a halt, and Din startled out of his semi-unconscious state, jumping to his feet. Scrambling, he climbed the ladder, revealing what had stopped the Razor Crest. It was right in the center of view, through the windows of the cockpit.

A planet.

And not just any planet. This was one he knew. One that lay on the Outer Rim, considered the Last Stop Until Nowhere. He cranked the speed up, and set course to land at the largest city.

As soon as the cargo bay door swung open, Din was running out, wearing nothing but a pair of black pants and a grey shirt.

First stop was a cantina. He practically flew in, startling the bartender and the clientele, but when they realized it was just another guy, the stares turned back towards drinks and food and conversational partners.

Din asked for a drink, any drink, and a lot of food, which he wolfed down, much to the horrified look of the staff.

Two drinks in, Din was finally smiling, happy to be looking at the faces of real, live, sentient beings.

Three drinks in, Din was talking loudly with some guy who had lots of good stories of some dramatic happenings from the marketplace that morning.

Four drinks in, Din was sidling up to a nice looking girl.

Five drinks in, Din had his arm around her, whispering into her ear.

Six drinks in, the two were stumbling out of the establishment, the girl giggling, hands all over him.

He hardly remembered that first night back, just an orgasmic haze full of hot touches and passionate kisses. The next morning he was back in the cantina until he got kicked out, and moved to the next.

A week passed in a blur of alcohol, sex, and food.

Until one day he woke up, completely sober, completely naked, in a bed full of prostitutes he didn’t remember meeting, and remembered everything.

He slipped out as quickly as possible, leaving his entire bag of credits for the women. Upon return to the ship, he closed the door and let go of the body-wracking sobs he was holding in.

She was gone, he was alone. She was gone, and he had just had sex with an unidentifiable number of people, and none of them smiled at him like she did. How could he have forgotten that smile?

He spotted the pile of his armor, a pile tossed aside months ago, hardly touched. The mask sitting on top, staring at him with it’s empty, black, linear excuse for eyes. The feeling in Dins chest felt like it was pounding at his ribcage, wanting out before it exploded.

He stood up and walked to the heap of beskar. He couldn’t destroy it. Beskar couldn’t be destroyed by any normal means, so he powered up the ship and took off.

The Razor Crest groaned. He knew it was on its last legs and if it didn’t get repairs soon, it would be gone from his life too, just like everything else.

Up in high orbit, Din jumped back down to the cargo bay. Ships had mostly lost the need for airlocks, but he did have one for disposal purposes.

In his rage, he put his armor into the small space, pushing it as hard as possible to get it to all fit in, and closed the interior door. His finger hovered above the green button for a fraction of a second before pushing it as hard as he could. There was little sound beyond the creak of the outer door opening and closing.

Din wanted to yell. He wanted to scream in anger at everything that had led him here. All he could do was fall to the ground and sit in silence for a while.

When he stood up, he knew he had just opened a door that closed him off from everything he knew.

“Excuse me, sir, but we’re closing,” you said, as the guy just blinked back at you and mumbled something. You were planning on closing right on time, but this guy sort of freaked you out, the way he stared at you. You were closing a few minutes early if it meant he would leave and you could go home.

“Sorry,” he said, with a voice that tugged at something deep in your memory, something you couldn’t place, “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Were you looking for anything?” This was definitely the weirdest interaction of the day. While the guy wasn’t exactly unusual, he just didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t here for the art, it seemed.

A slight breeze brushed against your back as one of the droids slid behind you, the air cold on your bare skin. Your top was hardly covering your stomach and back, which while leaving you exposed, did help you fit in a bit more with the locals. Unfortunately, you weren’t outside where it was warm, and you couldn’t help the jerky shiver that overcame you.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, frowning. His eyes had trailed down your body, and were now very obviously lingering at your midriff, probably noticing the scars from all your fights and blaster wounds. You felt exposed. His gaze wasn’t violating, but it felt like it should have been.

“What?” you asked. Sorry was a weird way to start a conversation with a stranger. Unless he was apologizing for coming in a few moments before closing.

“For coming here,” he said, sounding incredibly hopeless. He made to turn around, but you felt the need to reach out.

“Wait, who are you?” you asked. As weird as the guy was, you wanted to know why he had shown up. What he needed.

He took a deep breath before speaking again, “I found the kid’s home planet.”

Holy shit.

Your eyes widened. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Din?” you asked, your voice coming out as barely more than a whisper.

He nodded.

At that confirmation, you were overcome with the anger you felt last time you looked at him in the eyes. Before you knew it, you were stood up, leaning over the desk. All you could think of was him telling you how he didn’t want to have been in the relationship you had. You raised your hand, and swiped it across his face. Hard.

He didn’t even try to stop you. Even with the obvious wind up. And that’s what broke your heart. You ran around the desk separating the two of you, so you were standing right in front of him.

There was still pain in his eyes, but there was a whole lot of innocence. You had never looked at his face, but it felt a lot like you had seen it, hundreds of times before. You raised your hand to meet his cheek, where the red from the slap was blossoming.

Holding his cheek, you stared into him, and all he did was stare back, too afraid to say something. Too afraid of what you might say.

His face felt the same as you remembered. His eyes were darker than you expected, and his nose wider than it felt, but it wasn’t as shocking as it should have been. It took those few moments standing there to really understand: the man standing in front of you really was the man you walked away from.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug, and only then, when your face was hidden from his, did you let out a few tears. You buried your face into his shoulder. He still smelled the same, the mix of sweat and a faint bit of alcohol and spices from a distant planet. He was the same man you left, and you felt some violent crying threatening to erupt if you didn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back.

You pulled back, blinking a few times to clear your eyes, “Where the hell have you been? 3 years is a long time.”

He looked down at the floor, then back up at you.

“Enough for you to start a business.” He said, with a weak smile.

You scoffed, “Enough for you to break your Creed, what happened?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted, “Wait, stay right there. Let me just close up the shop.”

You paused a moment, holding his shoulders down, as if to try to glue him to the spot. Then you walked around the shop, making sure no stragglers were left wandering the room. The droids did a good job of kicking everyone out, but you could never be sure. You walked over to the door, pulling a key out from your pocket to lock it, and flipped the sign to show ‘closed.’

You rushed back to Din, who was still staring right where you left him, looking lost and small. You took pity on the guy. No matter what he had done, he was here, in your shop, looking absolutely ragged, and you couldn’t help feeling like you were looking at him naked, his face felt like forbidden material. You reached out to his hand, holding it in your own.

“Come on, let’s sit down, I want to hear all about it,” you said, leading Din to the backroom. All your droids were gone already, as they usually were just after closing, so you were left finally alone. You pulled out a couple chairs from the edge of the room, dragging them to a table. He sat down slowly, and you noticed the slight shine in the corners of his eyes that only meant tears.

“So, what happened to you, Din?” you asked.

“Well, after you left…” and Din started talking. He told his story, and you sat across from him, watching the pain and longing. You found yourself crying with him, and you reached out and set a hand on his thigh, soft and comforting. He was beautiful, you noticed, haunted and cautious with every action, but when you looked past the beaten down outer shell, Din was nothing but gentle and caring.

Your quick check of the time revealed you had been talking for over an hour. You had shared your story, or as much of it as you wanted to share, and you were realizing the conversation was ending, and you didn’t know what was next.

You hoped, for everything it was worth, that he would stay, but you didn’t know why he had even come, or what he might ask of you. You had set up a life here, one you never expected, but that you loved. It would break you if he asked you to come with him again. And the worst part was that you knew you would drop everything to fly away with him in a heartbeat.

You had fallen silent, and Din had seemed to notice it.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I know you probably h—I messed up. I didn’t mean a thing I said to you.”

You felt your heart stop. All the anxiety, the doubts, the concerns you have about your past relationship—how much you had given to Din, how much you felt you had stolen from him—they were all gone. Somewhere in the past hour, you had begun to understand that that was true, but his words confirmed it.

“I’m sorry. I was mad, and scared,” Din started again. This was a rare display of pure personal openness from him, and you were frozen, staring at him, clinging to his every word. “I left the bed that day because I knew I had broken the Creed, and my guilt had overcome me. I know I should have told you, but I was scared as hell.”

“Scared of what?” you breathed.

“Scared of how I felt. About you,” he glanced down, “I felt like if I told you why I’d left, I’d have to share everything else too, just to explain it. And if you felt the same way, what that would mean… we’d never have gotten to be with each other the same way again.”

He stared at you, and looking into his eyes you knew what he meant. What he had just said, just not with the same words. I love you.

You reached out to hold his cheeks again, this time your thumb grazing across his facial hair, and traced over his lips. You felt his hot breath, slowly passing over your fingers.

You wrapped your other arm around his waist, and with a surge of confidence, you pulled yourself into his lap, straddling him in the chair. Your chests were touching and you leaned your head in. He matched your motion, and your lips met.

You shuddered as he pulled you in, his tongue teasing you open. He held you around the waist with one arm, the other tangling in your hair, his hand warm against your head. You melted into him, sinking into the ease of it. His lips were warm but chapped, the roughness matching the mustache you felt on your upper lip.

It was like finally drinking water in the desert where you met the second time, soothing and easy and perfect. His hand on the small of your back slipped down lower, pulling you closer and you moaned into his lips. It was everything you never let yourself dream of.

You pulled away, slowly, staring into the warmth of his eye, both of you wanting so much more. Your breath was ragged and uneven when you opened your mouth.

“I would have done anything for you, Din,” you said, “I just wanted a life with you.”

I love you too.

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Bulgaria brings a mentally reassuring anthem to Rotterdam 2021

I’ve said so that VICTORIA herself sort of agreed to have done “Tears Getting Sober” if she was allowed to, but for one I have to thank that EBU said that the artists can’t have their 2020 songs back? You’ll see why when I get to the review after two boring paragraphs of text with technical info, for the country that is Bulgaria!

ARTIST & ENTRY INFO

Victoria Georgieva (or VICTORIA, but I can’t be arsed to continuously capitalize her name so I’ll just say Victoria from now on) was born a singer, for she started to sing at the age 11, went to a specific school of angel voices (no really that’s what it was called), and tried to go to the X Factor while a liiiiiittle too young until realizing that she needed to wait for a few years, and wait a few years she did, and went on to the X Factor again.

She didn’t win, but she still got to sign a contract and sing some stuff in Bulgarian before she decided to rebrand, started singing in English, and completely decided that ballads is her style. She cannot really do upbeat most of the time. So you can’t really have a bop from her in the future. (Well except that there’s a couple of songs in her discography that I personally classify as “bops” but they’re more like... idek sad bops?? but they can be danced to, but I get her, she doesn’t do anything that’s more loud and upbeat and clubby and summery kind of - in short, nothing you can go “YAAASSSS QUEEEEEN” over to.)

The entry she ended up singing, “Growing Up Is Getting Old”, is what I can describe to be about overcoming the emotional twists and turns inside of you as you grow older, because as it turns out, it ain’t what you thought it would be - but if you push just a little further, you realize that if you’re growing up, maybe the life isn’t so bad, afterall - you are able to get up. Somehow. It was written as part of Boris-Milanov-led songwriting camp held during summer, and a lot of people seemed to be a part of it because multiple different folk have songwriting credits on the potential Bulgarian entries this year.

REVIEW

Let’s get this out of the way immediately. I prefer “Growing Up Is Getting Old” to “Tears Getting Sober”. The former sounds a lot less irritatingly underwhelming and a lot more positively overwhelming you with warm emotions and sunglow. “Tears Getting Sober” was a song I could never really connect with - maaaaybe the last chorus is much better on there, but it doesn’t do much for me either, I guess.

Their 2021 forray however is a much different kind of thing - once again, going for lyrical non-cliches, Victoria tells a tale about her inner turmoils and continuing in life, in a way that’s personal to her and also kind of relatable to all of us. We all have these moments of fear and anxiety and nervous systems aching. If only there was someone who’d tell us that we’re worth saving... thanks a lot Victoria, you’re the MVP. Filling in the void that Netherlands from last year had brought us but not anymore - another personal song about getting old and having those kind of feelings inside - and doing a great job at taking the baton in the right way (even with featuring the word “grow” in both of the titles, neat coincidence).

Not only the lyrics feel like a hug, the song just emulates ray of sunshine and golden glitter coming down from the sky, Molly Sanden style. The violins in the G major key playing so precisely, building up momentum throughout the entire song, slowly but surely - starting with the ticking clock in the first verse that may have subtle violin in there; and the first chorus is just so simple piano, and then the second chorus has a tinge of electronic something, and the last chorus goes full in with the backing vocals boosting the song, after Victoria performs the quite magnificent bridge... now I don’t have synesthesia but I associate music keys with colors, and to me G major would always come across as something yellow or orange - “Growing Up Is Getting Old” is a perfect example of why’s that for me. And obviously, Victoria’s love for harmony-humming (even if there’s just one instance of it after she sings “star crossed soul”) complements the song to a T.

And it turned out to be a much better choice than last year’s. Maybe finally a female ballad I am getting behind.

Now I wanna know why the bookies don’t appreciate THIS entry as much as last year?

Granted, now it’s 2021 and the environment is so much different, and the songs have changed, and the dynamics have changed, and now there’s suddenly more competition at stake. And for Bulgaria it fares quite much more underwhelmingly - well, at this moment they’re like 6th, which isn’t bad, but there’s a lack of sung praises coming its way, not quite a feat that “Tears Getting Sober” actually achieved, being the bookies fave right before the cancellation of last year. In general the year has been pretty dry for the previous winner picks like Iceland, Lithuania and this, but I can’t say that the previous winner bets from 2020 are all that dead either? Though I gotta say that Bulgaria wasn’t gonna win 2020 anyway, so it’s a lose-lose in this case.

Also I just can’t at that music video being a little dramatic at the beginning, with the cancellation of Eurovision being presented as if it were a worldwide disaster during which we all shall lock ourselves into bunkers and wait until the better days, eventhough the panini is not war and war supplies kit is not just enough to survive it. But it seems like that the world is quite literally falling apart, as evidenced by Victoria going through all kinds of pathways away from her living room, meeting a  (presumably) mini version of her somewhere in between, and literally surrounded by the shaking environment by the last moments of the song

before we realize it was just reality recursing from the TV’s point of view that Victoria was watching all along, and then she leaves the living room again, but in her world, everything is normal and she could just go wherever she wants by car. Even I can’t come up with a storyline ending that’s somewhat intertwined and all plot-twisty and more confusing than that. But props to her team I guess

Approval factor: Let’s say I somewhat approve this message. Follow-up factor: For the sake of argument let me just say that Bulgaria is moving on a great path, eventhough the former entry leaves me cold, at least the current entry keeps me warm at all times, like a cup of cocoa and a good blanket. Please Bulgaria, never run out of sponsors. Qualification factor: I’ve seen one or two people throw around the “surprise NQ” tag for this song and I don’t get why??? There’s no way that the tense atmosphere of semifinal 2 would sure-fire-ly kill Bulgaria, even if they have a lot less chances to win this year than they had the last one. There can be some shock NQs indeed though, and if there are, I am paging... uhhhhh Finland? Idk why but you might see what I mean if I ever get around to reviewing “Dark Side”. Bulgaria? Never. It may not win the semi but it will cradle around the top 7 somehow.

INTERNAL NF CORNER

That’s right, Bulgaria managed to do both.

At the time when one other of Bulgaria’s songs got released, within the *Special* Eurovision September 1st-onwards range, people naturally succumbed to their primal instinct of asking whether that’s her Eurovision song... only for Vic to probably announce this early on that no, it’s just *one* of potential ESC entries she’s harbouring. And the remaining potential ones were all on her debut EP. Who actually got a more well-orchestrated schedule for everyone to follow, and yet, people were much more keen to cling on the first EP song out of the gate, “Imaginary Friend”. Now I get that the fans of that song were super upset at the revelation that IF is not going, but it is a technically strong song for the sake of being a technically strong song, and I don’t want to think that Victoria is only forced to choose the songs that can win for her, so she’s such a sweetheart for gravitating towards a song she could dearly care about. So props to her team saving the initial winner for last to be revealed, lol.

Though wasn’t her personal favourite a Billie-Eilish-lite-upbeat-kinda-track Phantom Pain?

Which was also my personal favourite?

Look, I know that favouring the only non-ballad in the whole lineup (well “Ugly Cry” is also not quite a ballad but its beat is kinda so-so, so I tend to ignore it) is kinda sus, also, y’all are sick to death to Billie Eilish comparisons, but I do believe that Billie would never be able to do an “Imaginary Friend” while Victoria could do a “Lovely”. This makes me remember the cover art of Billie’s debut album where she sits on her bed, dressed in white, and so is Victoria on this very MV, with strange shit going on behind her in the mirror. To the mirror, her reflection acts creepy, back again.

The other 2 I don’t feel like caring about enough, sure they got their cred, sure there’s one entry properly crediting Milanov (who seems to not have an actual entry this year that’s purely attributed to *him*, as opposed to 3 last year, 2 of which were performed by acts that returned this year????), sure there’s the funny thing about having a funeral song where out of this and Finland only Austria managed to send a quote unquote “funeral” song, but I think the funeral song would’ve sounded better if the pre-section of it on the “Phantom Pain” video was THE “funeral” song itself, and not whatever was that other funeral song.

In between there was a public sort of survey where people could submit feedback and positive words to Vic’s choices to help her decide - I didn’t get to vote but I feel fine with the winner eitherway, and that counts for something! And the end result was revealed at the very end of Victoria’s very own rooftop concert.

The colors on the circle thingy of this, they were meant to symbolize all Bulgarian entries up to Victoria’s 2nd one, in pictograms that kind of reminded me of Coldplay attributing every song on ‘Mylo Xyloto’ its own little symbol.

The concert was not only full of music and also adverts for the inaugural sponsor iCard (that also included some element of foreshadow in between the suspense, you’ll see why), but also the Bulgarian folk talking before each song, saying all the positive nice words they can for Vic; that she’s talented, and that they were so excited that Bulgaria was doing well in the odds last year prior to cancellation, bla bla bla... also some people were proud of voting for Bulgaria outside Bulgaia, and they made puns about the forthcoming songs on the concert that they were introducing, and so on, and there was also someone called Dara, whom I really want to be sent by Bulgaria one day to show off that they’re not afraid of doing trashy-esque bops that don’t necessarily win

Also they reminded me that Lucy from No Angels (aka the sole reason Bulgaria 12′d Germany in 2008) still exists.

Also Azis.

There was also an intermission where Eurovision 2021 acts could say all the nice words to Victoria on their own part. And several artists chose to... how shall I put it... use up their several seconds rather interestingly. Like how The Roop would say something real quick only to delve into more of their usual “let’s dance, let’s discoteque! *hand scissors* ;P” self-promo, and Senhit carelessly being allowed to say whatever she wants in Italian without subtitles <3 Sorry sis, they’re only given to people from another white-green-red flag-color country.

About the iCard foreshadow... so there’s their advert about Victoria waiting in the line to get something in the Soft Vocals Store, and people ahead of her giving her money the standard oldfashioned way, and the old lady at the counter is... slow, to say the least. After a good amount of time spent waffling around, Victoria finally pulls out the iCard application and pays for the imaginary items she wants, then narrates some stuff about said application, and a Eurovision entry of hers plays when the old lady is at home, spending time in front of TV enjoying the music. Before the concert, the song that played was “Tears Getting Sober”. The advert played once more before Victoria’s big entry decision and entry MV reveal, and in place of the 2020 entry, “Growing Up Is Getting Old” was the one that sounded out loud... Now you may think that there were attempts at some sort of spoilage here, but after that ad before the concert EP NF result, there was this other advert starring Victoria that played “Imaginary Friend” at the end, a last-ditch effort to trick viewers into going “see? just because that ad played the chosen song doesn’t mean it’s the chosen song!! this song could as well be a chosen song as well!!” yeah no shut up GUIGO IS the chosen song kthxbyebye.

ANY LAST WORDS?

Having said all that praise, I actually have “Growing Up Is Getting Old” fairly low on my ranking. It’s just because the year is so damn good and I have a lot more songs to care about more than this, but I appreciate the gesture that this singer is sending very much. Good luck on your road to conquer Europe, Victory-ia, I’m sure you get the best of the experience and all, because you would deserve it.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter eighteen: narcissus staring at his reflection

Another few weeks and another few weeks worth of having her ears blown out by the sheer amount of shows that took place before her, and Sam truly felt herself to be part of the music world as well as the art world. Every night, all the way until the final date in San Antonio, about a week before they had to prepare for the flight up to Oulu, in Finland, Charlie asked her to make a little sketch for him before he went up to the stage as sort of a good luck charm. He lent her a little blank notepad which he had found from the glove box in Anthrax's van, and he always made it specific, as well: they had to be in a sketchy style with strictly a black ink pen.

“Why exactly that?” she asked him one evening while the Cherry Suicides were setting up for their opening gig, and he gestured for her to move in closer to him.

“A little bird told me that Louie got one before I did,” he replied in a low voice.

“Zelda!” she hissed.

“Nah, not Zelda,” he assured her. “I did see it in the front window of Testament's van, though.”

“Oh, I see. Propped it up within their sight so everyone could see it.”

“Exactly! I'll get you more paper, too.”

“Yeah, I'm kind of starting to run low on this notebook paper, if I'm honest.”

But nevertheless, she sprung right to it: a little scratchy drawing of Charlie upon the lined paper, complete with the black curls all around his head. Sometimes, she drew a little drum kit before him to make it look as though it was in fact Charlie there: this was one of those times. Within a few minutes flat, she finished it and signed her initials at the bottom of the page, and then she handed it to him for good luck.

“You ought to compile all of those together in a collection of sorts,” she suggested.

“Like a little book!” He then snapped his fingers; from underneath his bangs, Sam made out the twinkle in his dark eyes. “There's an idea for you.”

“An art book?”

“Yeah! Something to do some day when you're out of school and you've made it big at some point.” He flicked his bangs back and he flashed her a little wink.

“Not soon? While you guys are over in Scandinavia with the girls and with Metal Church?”

“Nah, it'll take too much of your time, if I'm honest. Even I can tell you that. By the way—you heard this from me—” He glanced around him before he returned to her. “—we're gonna be with Ozzy, too.”

“No way!” Her face lit up at the sound of that.

“Yes way! But—” He leaned in closer to her again and he lowered his voice a bit. “—please don't tell Zelda, though. Scott and I want it to be a surprise for her. We got her and Minerva both into Ozzy and Randy Rhoads shortly after the announcement was made that we would be going to Finland. As far as the two of them know, it's just gonna be us with them and Metal Church.”

“Okay—” Sam was cut off by Frank and Dan skirting past her with their guitars in hand. She then glanced down at the notepad in her hands: two pages left, and of course not nearly enough to tithe her over until they left for England at the end of August.

“Also, Zelda wants to talk to you,” Charlie picked up again, that time with a slight clearing of his throat.

“About what?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Dunno,” he confessed. “She just told me earlier over breakfast that she wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Well, where is she?” Sam wondered about that especially since she had bunked with the Cherry Suicides every night on this stint of the tour. She could have easily spoken to her about it at some point during one of those nights.

“She and Morgan are both signing autographs right now, believe it or not. I guess those girls are getting quite the fan base now. You know it's only a matter of time before they go Testament's route and start their own fan club. Morgan and I were talking about that just this morning over breakfast and I was like 'yes! You totally should at some point. Eric'll probably help you out with that, too, because he's the driving force behind that.'”

“What they get for thrashing all around,” Sam chuckled.

“Right! In fact, I've been seeing a lot more women in our crowds now because of them. Definitely more of the punky type of women given their music—lots of dyed mohawks and black leather and studs, but women nonetheless. From a mile away, I can tell they're all women. Not only do I have to owe it to the four of them, but I want to hand it to you and—” He cleared his throat. “—Marla and Belinda especially. Our first real big female fans.” Without a moment's hesitation, he put his arms around her and Sam returned the favor.

She then tucked the notepad into her pocket and before she could step away, Charlie spoke again.

“Did—Marla move into her new place by chance? I know it's been a while. I'm just—you know, just kinda curious.”

“I think she did?” Sam recalled: every night seemed to melt into itself, despite the new surroundings each and every time. “I'll have to ask her when I see her tonight, because I'm not too sure if I'm honest. I called her from the room last night and she told me that she's waiting for a direct deposit from me. And I promised her I'll get it once you guys run off to Finland, 'cause that's when I get the money from Jon.”

“I see. You know, I, um—” He cleared his throat again. “I still think about her from time to time.”

Sam squinted her eyes at him, and she flashed back on the night in which Marla came with her and Joey to her parents' house.

“She told me—you guys broke up because you have feelings about someone else.”

“And I do,” he answered, frank.

“Do you mind me asking?” She lowered her voice enough to where only he could hear her over the commotion around them. He nibbled on his bottom lip and he gazed off to the side.

“I won't tell anyone,” she vowed. “I promise. I'm not like Belinda—I'll keep a secret.”

He chuckled at that, but then his expression turned serious once again.

“Rosita,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded at her. “She's just—she's a babe. She rocks, too. Just the way she plays bass, man, it just—it kind of reminds me of the way Frankie plays bass and the way Cliff used to play bass, too.”

Her heart skpped a few beats at the sound of Cliff's name.

“Real friendly and just—” He shook his head again. “I've tried to ask her out but I just never got the courage to do so yet.”

“You ought to,” Sam told him. “Cliff did and we just clicked from that point on. For all you know, she might be the one for you.”

Charlie sighed through his nose and he nibbled on his bottom lip again.

“It's a long flight up to Helsinki from here,” he said. “That's a long time to think of the right words. I just don't really like being put on the spot like that. When I asked Marla out, she and I were all alone. It's just—finding that solitary moment, you know?”

“Yeah. 'Cause we're surrounded by people constantly.”

“Right. Exactly, yeah! I can always pull her aside—like when people are getting off of the plane. I'll ask her right there.”

“You should.”

“I don't wanna make any promises, though, 'cause something always come up. Things always come up, especially while on tour.”

“Right...”

“But I'll give it a shot, though,” he told her. “That's the only promise I can genuinely make is that.” He sighed through his nose and he glanced down to his hands. “And thank you for this, by the way.” He flashed the little sketch to her.

“Just—an artist to another artist.”

“Exactly!” Charlie peered over his shoulder to the other side of the room to the front doors and he knitted his eyebrows together. “Time is it?”

“I think it's almost noon?”

“I think Zelda might be on break. Why don't you go talk to her?”

Sam then nodded her head and once she tucked the notepad into her purse, she ambled over to the stairs at the edge of the stage; she padded across the narrow strip of carpet before the stage and then she made her way up one of the two aisles that split the rows of seats into neat thirds. She reached the double doors at the top there and she pushed open the one on the right: indeed, right in the front lobby of the theater was Zelda and Morgan seated at a low white table with felt tip pens in hand. The former had combed her back into a slick pompadour upon her head while the latter had on a bright red cowgirl hat and red lace gloves on her hands, complete with a red and black lace brassiere under a red lace bolero.

Zelda then turned her head and her face lit up at the sight of Sam.

“Hey, there she is!” she declared. “We were just discussing special outfits for tonight's show, given we're in Texas and whatnot.”

“Kinda makes me wish I had my black hat with me,” Sam confessed with a pat of her own head.

“We could be dead cowgirls,” Morgan said with a smirk on her face. “With nooses around our necks and splatters all over our hats.”

“Dead punk cowgirls,” Zelda corrected her with a nod. She then returned to Sam. “So what's up?”

“You wanted to talk to me about something?”

She hesitated and then she gasped and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, that!” Her expression then turned serious. “Been meaning to tell you this for a couple of days now, and it just keeps slipping from memory. Just because I have other, important things to worry about and remember.”

Sam lingered next to her, and the edge of the table.

“Another reason to be nicer to Alex the next time you see him,” Zelda started again as she held the pen in between two fingers.

“What's that?” Sam asked her, and she hesitated once more.

“Do you ever notice how bullies tend to travel in packs,” she pointed out, and Sam stopped right in her tracks.

“What do you mean?”

“They travel in packs and the ones getting picked on are usually solitary.” She turned to Morgan. “Wouldn't you agree, Mo? That bullies travel in packs and their prey often stands alone?”

“Oh, yeah. And it's always a sign of vulnerability, too. They won't admit it, though. But why do you think—cowgirls—punks—metalheads—all travel in packs? Same mindset. Bullies have a similar mindset, but they refuse to admit it.”

Sam frowned at that as Zelda returned her attention to her.

“They travel in packs because they know they're weak on their own. So—my suggestion, Sam.” Zelda twirled the pen in between her fingers. “The next time you see him, like when we're out in California when we get home from Finland—talk to him. And really talk to him, too. That boy deserves it. He just looks—lonely to me. I don't really know his full story, other than what Louie, Zetro, and Greg have all told me about him, but I feel like he's an easy target. So—the little blow up you guys had makes me wonder if he sees you in a shitty light, and I know you're not like that at all. But he needs to know that. He needs to know that you're of good stature. I know it's gonna be hard, given he's so hard himself but—he's still just a young buck, though. We've met a few teenagers signing autographs in here—and it's just so cool to see. These young girls—a lot of boys, too—”

“The girls come for the music, the boys come for something else,” Morgan joked.

“Right!” Zelda burst out laughing, and then she straightened herself out. “But—we've been seeing these kids coming through here in Texas—and there were those kids in Portland, too. And I think it was that bunch—in Tacoma and also in Portland, that got me thinking about Alex again, because he's still just a kid and we haven't seen him in a few weeks 'cause they're with Overkill right now. And I just think—he's legally an adult, but he's still just a boy, though. So—try to talk to him if you can. Let him know that he belongs with the whole gang and everything.”

“It's a little bit hard for us,” Morgan filled in, “because we're punks. We're a punk band. A punk band opening for a metal band, so it just feels a little weird with us and whatnot.”

“But we think that,” Zelda continued, “—since you and him actually have a little bit of history with Cliff especially—you could do it better with him than any of us can.”

“Why us, though? Don't you think one of the guys from Testament could try and talk with him?”

“Because they're dudes,” Zelda replied with a flutter of her eyelashes, “they're not good with feelings like us. I actually tried doing that with Louie once and he was struggling with it, I could tell. One of the things that drove me nuts about him was how it almost felt like I couldn't talk to him about anything on an emotional level.”

Sam thought about that night in Boston, where Louie confessed that Zelda was his affair, and she tightened her lips at the very thought of that. Yet another secret to keep under wraps.

“Anyways—if you could do that, he could probably be a little more—present, I'd say? I was actually talking to Louie just last night and I guess they've been struggling lately.”

“Why's that?” Sam asked her.

“I guess they've been kicking serious ass with the music lately but—they're sorta lacking with the presence. Alex moves around a little bit but he's like stilted, though.”

“They're getting accused of being too much like Metallica, too,” Morgan added.

“Yeah, that's another thing! Chuck apparently sounds way too much like James which is horse shit to me. There's a little parallel there given they're all from the San Francisco Bay Area, but I don't really see it to be honest.”

A knock on the glass door to up the lobby from them caught their attention. Sam recognized that head of fiery red hair in the midday sun outside as she peered in through the smoked glass pane. Fiery dyed red hair coupled with large brown sunglasses, a white camisole over a matching long skirt, and a big shabby hand bag.

“Hey, it's Marla!” Sam called out; she padded over to the doors but before she reached Marla there, she returned to Zelda and wagged a finger at her.

“I'll remember that,” she vowed, and Zelda nodded her head at her. Sam then opened the door and she was greeted by a blast of hot humid air in stark contrast to the air conditioner around her.

“Hey, you!” Marla greeted her and she stepped inside the lobby and shut the door behind her.

“I was wondering when you'd get here,” Sam replied and they embraced one another.

“So Bel and Aurora helped me move my things into the new place in Hell's Kitchen,” Marla started again as she took off her sunglasses, “I just need the other side of the first month's rent and the deposit, too.”

“Well, this is the last date of the tour before they—” Sam gestured back to Zelda and Morgan at the table. “—head up to Helsinki next week. That's when I get paid.”

“Okay, good!” Marla then reached into her hand bag for something and she took out her big Polaroid camera.

“Hey, I remember that.”

“Oh, yeah, we got together at L'Amour—many moons ago, and you made that drawing of me and Charlie. And you used that Polaroid, too. I decided, eh, why not have it again?”

She turned back to Sam again.

“You wanna get something to drink? I'm like dying of thirst right now.”

“I'd love to.”

“You ladies wanna join us?” Marla called to Zelda and Morgan.

“We're shooting the rock star bullshit and signing autographs,” Zelda replied. “We should be seeing more people coming through here in about ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I saw a bunch of people standing out in the shade around the corner here. I thought maybe they showed up early for will call.”

“Nah, it's for them,” Sam told her. “They're actually starting to make serious headway in the music world now.”

“Right on! Anyways, there's a juice bar right up the street here. We can sit in the shade, too, and I just heard that we're not too far from the River Walk and the Alamo, either.”

“So you can literally call me Sam Houston now!”

Zelda and Morgan laughed out loud at that.

“Right!” Marla chuckled. “But anyways, it's actually not bad out—it's just the sun is hotter than holy fuck is all.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam returned to Zelda and Morgan. “I'll see you girls later—”

The two of them stepped outside to the sun as it hung high in the clear blue sky over their heads. Indeed, it wasn't that hot out, but the contrast of the air conditioner and the sunlight on their heads and the sidewalk around them made Sam wish for one of those large oak trees to cover their heads all the way up the block to the corner.

“So we've got a nice view of the water,” Marla told her.

“And it's close to school, too, I remember you telling me that.”

“Yeah, it is! No more taking the stinkin' subways so much. And by the way, Bel told me to tell you that, yes—we will help you. We kinda have to help you.”

“I moved cross country,” Sam recalled, “with the help of my parents, and almost by sheer luck, I met Frankie and Joey, but yeah—I could definitely use a little help.”

They reached the juice bar in question and Sam took to the table right before the front door, right underneath an oak tree and a pair of short stubby palmetto trees, and she set her purse down before her. Marla offered to buy up for her given she hadn't a lot of money on her at the moment.

“I'm just gonna use the bathroom real quick, though,” she told her as she set her purse down on the table before her. Sam nodded her head as she watched Marla head inside of there: that cherry red hair as bright as the very sun itself. Sam gave her hair a toss back and a light breeze came up from behind her. Still not enough to beat the intense summer sun, and she reached into her purse for a ponytail holder.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something by the corner to her left. As she tied up her hair, she looked over and spotted Joey at the corner of the building. He was looking at something, but she couldn't tell as to what he looked at there.

She set her hands down on her lap and she watched him. He stood before the glass and he leaned back a bit. He was looking at his own reflection.

She had an idea.

That in and of itself could act as her newest painting, and she would put more thought into it this time around. She knew he would move at some point. He turned his back to her right then. She had nothing with her but the little notepad and the ink pen in her purse.

But then again, Marla's camera stood right there on the table next to her. Without a second thought, she picked up the camera and she pointed it in Joey's direction. All the times she thought of making a stained glass window about his likeness.

Slim and delicate, almost elegant in fact. The black curls sprawled down his back towards his thin waist. The white shirt he wore only accentuated the thinness of his body and the richness of his curls.

She took out the camera and she took the cover off of the lens. She peered in through the aperture and there he was, right within her line of sight.

“C'mon, Joey, turn to the side again,” she muttered to herself; she rested her finger on the bottom on top. For a second, she felt like a genuine photographer. “The other side. C'mon, Marla's gonna be back soon.”

Like magic, he turned to the right side. She pressed the button and the flash dissipated with the midday sun so he couldn't see it. The camera spat out the Polaroid and she took it before anyone could see it for themselves. She waved it about so the ink would settle in on the paper.

His slim body was as flat as a washboard, and his curls sprawled down towards his waist like tentacles. He had slightly bent his legs at the knees all the while, but she knew she had the perfect subject to work with no one was looking. The decision now was between acrylic paints on canvas once again, or to go forth with the stained glass idea. If she carried out the latter, she would have to take a better shot of him, or he would have to sit still for her again, and she had no idea as to when he would do that again for her.

But she chuckled to herself as she looked on at the photograph in hand. She glanced up and she recognized Marla's head of cherry red hair on the other side of the glass, thus she quickly slipped the camera back into Marla's hand bag and she stashed the Polaroid into her own. Joey then strode away from the glass reflection and towards the front door of the juice bar for himself.

Some day, she would carry out that stained glass idea with him. It was a matter of when and how. Add to this, as she peered into her purse once again, she spotted that little plastic bag at the bottom there. A little more inspiration was all she needed, courtesy of Joey himself. But she had no lighter to do that just yet.

She took another glimpse up to the front door of the bar, and Joey had made his way inside; Marla then doubled back outside, right past him and towards the table once again. She squinted her eyes against the hot summer sun.

“So they've got all manner of smoothies and good stuff for us.”

“I'll take blueberry if they have it,” Sam told her.

“The special for today is blueberry pomegranate.”

“I'll have that then!”

Marla opened her bag for her wallet and frowned at what she saw before her.

“What happened here?” she wondered aloud.

“What do you mean?”

She picked up her camera and she delved about the bottom of the hand bag for something.

“The cover came off of the lens.” And Sam shook her head at that given she merely tossed the lid in there. Marla stuck the cover back on and then she returned for her wallet.

“It is getting kind of long in tooth, though. I've had it a long time... anyways, I'll be right back. And Joey's in there, by the way!”

“Oh, boy!” Sam felt her face grow warm at the sound of that, and Marla returned to the front door once again. The sight of Marla putting the cover back onto the lens made her think of Zelda's words to her. She could keep a secret, and yet she needed to heed by that promise as well. She reached into her purse again, and that time for the notepad and the pen.

The last night of the North American stint for the time being and she could fill in the next two pages there with some other things. She lifted the penultimate page and then she set the pad down on the table before her.

“'Talk to Alex,'” she muttered to herself as she wrote the words down on that final page of the notepad. Now she had something else to live to, especially since Marla knew nothing about what had happened that morning in her own city.

[bxllafanficc]

What lies within our voice

Part one.

Summary: The hottest current singing competition in your country; Beyond The Voice, is taking contestants for this years new season. And you’re competing, something you’ve dreamed of since you were a little kid. Your best friend Natasha joins you on your audition day with the assurance that everything’s going to go just as planned. As in; you preform, get all the standing ovations from the jury and then you go out to celebrate. But it doesn’t quite work like that, does it? Especially not when a handsome blue eyed singer with angelic pipes (and dare I say, jackass?) enters the competition and gives you some serious problems; both on a competitive and on a personal level.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: implied smut, smut later on as the story progresses, Bucky’s kind of a prick at first glance, Natasha being cringeworthy,

Anyone will have to believe you when you say that you’re meant for this.

“Girl, you’re going to kill this! You’re the best singer here. The judges will find you irresistible!”

The stage and the cheer of a crowd is where you feel at home. Like you could do anything you put your mind to. If you only got the chance to show the world what you got to offer. That you belong on stage, to please a crowd.

That’s why you’re here. At the large entrance hall of the largest arena in your country, ready to perform your heart out at this years season of the hottest contest currently in the making; Beyond The Voice. The competition that will be your awakening as the artist you’ve dreamed to be for so long. Because already as a little girl, you used to sit in front of the tv with your best friend since diapers; Natasha. And oh, how you loved B.T.V. From the first season ever all the way to where you’re standing now. Here, ready to be a part of something you’ve set as a goal since years back. And so you have come here and along with you, brought your best friend so that you can live the dream together now all grown up.

“I have a hard time believing that, Nat. There are so many talented and attractive people here who want this too. And I don’t doubt for a second that there will be a lot of people putting on their best efforts here tonight.”

You scan the large groups of people in the hall, some pacing around nervously, others sitting down on benches and some awkwardly attempting to put on their best sides of themselves as the camera team sneaks through the crowds to shoot some interviews with the contestants.

The camera team has already been filming their interview with you, and if you should say it yourself, you had done the best possible out of the situation. To be yourself. No faces and no strained jokes, just plain you, unlike some of the other contestants you had seen earlier who seemingly failed to acknowledge the fabric of their shirt hiding their cleavage noticeably sliding down their shoulders until the producers felt the urge to cut because they ‘would need to censor that out’ somehow.

“Puh-lease! No one wants this as much as you do. And sure, there may be great singers here today, but no one has the pure and raw talent like you. Most of the people we’ve seen so far is clearly showing in their voices that they’ve taken dozens of singing lessons, and some not at all. Everyone here started out as a rookie but not you. You were born with it. I can confirm since I’ve known you so long. See, the only other people here skilled enough to put you up for a challenge is that guy performing for the jury right now. Look! He’s like the hunkier more brooding version of Josh Groban!”

You look towards the big screen displaying everything that’s going on in the auditions room. Right now there’s a guy in a deep blue suit performing “Being alive” originally sung by Stephen Sondheim from the musical Company; a classic and and a regularity when it comes to audition songs. Not a choice you would’ve gone with because of everyone before this man who’s chosen the song on previous seasons of Behind The Voice. But maybe his choice might just make this performance a success. That voice is unlike any other contestant you’ve seen today and those blue eyes are definitely moneymakers on their own. A handsome man to be sure, Nat wasn’t joking around with her comparison. And the look on the female judges faces reveals that the sexy mysterious persona he’s putting on is working its magic on them.

“Make me confused, mock me with praise. Let me be used, vary me days.”

“Goodness, that vibrato is to die for! There’s no effort displayed on his face what so ever and completely free from strained vocals or any muffled sounds from accidentally switching back to using his nose as support!”

“Right?! Maybe he’s good enough for my best gal right here? Why don’t you give it a try?” Nat elbows you and makes a rather inappropriate finger motion with her hands as her eyebrow raises and sinks in a provocative manner.

You quickly squeal with disapproval at her and slap her hands away, afraid that someone in the hall, or worse, the camera crew, had caught her little message.

“You know I’m too busy with focusing on my career for that kind of stuff. And he’s most likely to be my most skilled rival so far!”

“Somebody crowd me with love, somebody force me to care. Somebody let me come through, I’ll always be there, as frightened as you, to help us survive...”

The song finishes and the crowd in the hall is overwhelming with cheers and blowing whistles. It’s four yes out of four possible from the jury; a crystal clear win.

The man who just performed and the jury can clearly hear the crowd’s chanting from inside the studio, because everyone is glancing at the door with a low snicker.

“Next up, contestant #70!” One of the managers shouts from an opened door in the hall.

Your number is #71, which means your up after the shocked young girl beside you who were too caught up in the man singing just now that she completely forgot to prepare herself.

You stand up as well and make your way towards the door leading into the corridors of the audition’s studio, just to prepare yourself a little extra. Nat follows along and whispers encouraging nothings into your ear. She pats your shoulder and bumps into your crimson colored les paul hanging strapped inside its case on your back.

Right, you failed to mention your own audition song in the interview (and the genre you’ll be singing.)

You like to label yourself as a rock singer who also plays the electric guitar in the songs you perform. So you’ve carefully chosen the song “Anastasia” made by Slash, Myles Kennedy and The Conspirators. You’ve requested the assigned go-to band for this song because it simply can’t be done by just a guitar and a voice. Your song of choice is also going to give the judges the full feeling of how a concert later on with you as their star would look like. The vocals are great, showing off a lot of control but not too complicated so there’s room enough to blow the crowd and judge’s minds later on in the competition. The guitar isn’t essential for a singing competition like this but to aggregate with playing the guitar and singing at the time always gain some extra points since the judges will understand that your multitasking abilities will come in handy if and when a casual error or scene malfunction occurs in the life as an artist.

Of course you sing other genres as expected from you in this competition, but rock will forever be your go-to genre if you’re out to bedazzle the crowd or just want to dance your heart out in the living room (aggressive head banging is included).

But in your current situation, you had been so caught up in your own plans and preparation that you failed to acknowledge the man standing in front of you until it’s too late and you bump into something broad and rock hard.

The stranger gets pushed forwards and his friend catches him before he tumbles too far. A pair of blue eyes turns around to glare at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry! I was just-“ You stop and silence yourself. It’s the previous contestant with the angelic voice; and he does not look pleased.

“Shouldn’t a person competing in such a high prestige competition be aware of their surroundings always and watch where they’re going?” The man speaks up and turns to face you entirely, his blonde friend standing right beside him. Nat comes to join your side when she senses the tension going on.

“I... excuse me, I was just so caught up in my on thoughts that I didn’t notice you. People make mistakes and I’m sorry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

You fold your arms and try to flash a genuine smile at the stranger but he doesn’t seem affected by your words.

“So you’re a little self absorbed, you say? That’s not a personality trait I would go with in a competitive area like this but you do you, I guess.”

Is this man for real? He seemed like such a genuine and open guy when he sang but now when he’s in front of you, he’s just an asshole. Guess that’s what they call on point stage presence then.

“Hey now handsome, Aren’t you being a little rude to my friend? It was actually nothing more than a simple mistake. There’s nothing to feel personal about if your feelings got hurt. Happens to anybody.” Nat joins in and defends you, but she’s not paying attention to the blue eyed prick in front of her, but she’s eying the tall blondie beside him with careful eyes.

“Yeah, whatever.” The man answers with a huff and leaves, his friend following right behind him. As you watch them go, Blondie seemingly scolds his friend about something, though you never catch the response of your now-rival.

“Well that’s a waste. A beautiful brunette with magical eyes but on the inside he’s just a bastard with low-dick-energy.” Nat mumbles and snorts, pushing you towards the corridors you originally planned to make your way to. You giggle in response and bite your lip.

“With an attitude like that to a lady, he couldn’t possibly afford having a small dick, Nat. It must be pretty huge if it’s gonna make up for his frame of mind.”

Well, at least it’s not a must to befriend the other contestants, because then you would be forced into some kind of team building exercise with Mr. Jackass. The last thing you needed right now was excessive negativity in your life.

“Yeah, you go (Y/n)! Dab on them haters!” Nat yells and proceeds to do the dabbing motion with a cheerful expression.

The crowds standing near the two of you suddenly fall silent and eyes you with a judgements stare.

“Don’t you ever do that in public again or I will-“

“Contestant #71, you’re up!

The crowd stops glaring at you and shifts to clap their hands with encouragement, some even shouts stuff like ‘You can do this!’ Or ‘Go inside and kick some ass!’

You’re heart immediately takes two turns and beats like crazy in your chest; something it always does right before when you’re about to preform. Much to your gratitude, it always rolls off of you like a waterfall the second you start to sing.

‘This is your chance, (Y/n). You have to prove to everyone in the hall, to Nat, to yourself, to Jackass Ocean eyes, and most importantly the judges, that you’ve earned your right to be on this program and on television. Tonight we focus on getting the judges’ approval, tomorrow, a new goal will be set.’ The internal speech you go through with yourself echoes through your eardrums as you step into the audition’s studio and into the camera’s view.

[genogenocrazycatman]

Milkshake - Finn Balor x OC

Milkshake [Archive of Our Own, FanFiction.Net]

Progress: 1/1

Characters: Original Female Character, Finn Balor, Bayley

I know a place.

***

“You're quiet today,” Finn said. “Trying to focus,” I said, shading one of the teeth on the demon. “Distracted?” My eyes flickered up to Finn’s. They were closed, but I didn't have to see them to know that when they opened that they would be reflecting the same playfulness as the smirk he was wearing. “You’re not dry. You're going to crease if you keep smirking.” I was a cosmetologist. I had gone to school gotten a basic understanding of every area in the field and then gone off on own to really learn the various disciplines, earning all of the certifications that came with. However that isn't what I wanted to do. While your standard beauty care was fun and it paid the bills, I really wanted to work in special effects.  I wanted to transform people into monsters and aliens for the movies and TV. I didn't pursue it like I probably should have and got stuck in a rut of smoky eyes and wearable looks. When the opportunity came to work at NXT I jumped. Sure it wasn't what I wanted, but it was a good platform. Then came Finn Balor and the demon. Seeing as I was the only member of the team with legitimate body painting experience, I got the job of painting him anytime the demon was to make an appearance. Body painting is a very intimate thing, no matter how professional you are. You spend hours in their personal space pouring out your imagination and artistic heart on to their skin. You have to talk to pass the time, and you get to know your canvas. Considering the frequency that I had to paint Finn, I knew him well. And it escalated. The better I got to know him the more lines got blurred. Casual talk turned into deep conversations. Forced formality gave way to teasing and flirting, but it never left the chair. Until last week. I was finishing up the last touches on Finn’s back, adding a bit more shading into the eye to make it pop.

 “Why don’t you ever come out with us after the show?” he asked me.

 “Because I like sleep and hate alcohol. Watching a bunch of people get drunk isn’t my idea of fun.”

 “What about milkshakes?” he asked.

 I paused my actions and looked up at where he was trying to look back at me. “What?”

 “Do you like milkshakes?” he repeated.

 I shook my head at him. “Yes, I like milkshakes.”

 “Then will you go and get a milkshake with me after the show?” he asked.

 I bit my lip, thinking it over.

 “There’s this place nearby that makes the best. They’re hand spun.”

 ‘What the hell?’ I thought. “How can I say no to the best? Will they’ll even be open?”

 “Open until two,” he said.

 I nodded, giving his back one last look over, before moving to face him. I gave him one last once over. “Done,” I told him, before taking a step back and stretching. I had been hunched over painting for hours and god my back hurt.

 Finn checked himself out in the mirror. “Brilliant as always,” he said.

 I smiled in response. Grabbing the cleaning fluid so that I could clean out my air brush.

 “Thank you, Lucinda.”

 “You’re welcome, Fergal.”

 “I’ll meet up with you here after I shower and change.”

 “See you then,” I said, watching as he disappeared through the door.

 A couple of hours later, putting the last of my things back into my kit, when he showed back up now dressed in a dark grey suit with a black shirt and black shoes. I couldn’t help but stare for a moment. I mean he was an attractive man. 

 “Cin?” he questioned, gaining my attention.

 I covered and quickly. “Four hours of back breaking labor, down the drain with a little soap and water.”

 He chuckled. “On the bright side if you miss it so much, you get to do it again.”

 “Joy,” I deadpanned. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you in this chair and paint something fun.”

 “Like?”

 “I don’t know yet.”

 “Well, while you figure it out, would you like some help with those?” he asked, referring to my two rolling cases.

 “I got it,” I answered. “But opening the doors for me, that would be much appreciated.”

 I drug the two cases outside. Once we made our way out, he gained the attention of the fans. I put my stuff in my trunk while he interacted with them.

 A short while later we were sitting at the counter of this diner type restaurant, each of us with a milkshake in front of us.

 “You’re right. There are the best,” I said, shoving another spoonful of my rice crispy milkshake. It was vanilla ice cream, blended with marshmallow topping and rice crispies and rainbow sprinkles. There was whipped cream on top more sprinkles and rice crispies and a cherry. Finn had one that was banana chocolate and peanut butter.

 “You sound surprised. Do you really have that little faith in me?”

 “You’re Irish. You eat weird crap, like blood pudding.”

 “I eat weird crap?! What was that you were eating the one day? Chit- Chit?”

 I snorted out a laugh. “Chitlins, and touche.”

 He scrunched his face up in disgust.

 “It’s soul food, and they’re not that bad when they’re fried and covered in hot sauce.”

 “Whatever you say.”

 We went back and forth arguing about food and where we’re from. Conversations always flowed easily between us and that was true now even without it being a necessity of the job.

 “Turn your head,” he said at one point.

 “What? Do I have something on my face?” I asked, wiping at the area around my mouth.

 “No.”

 “Then-“

 “I just wanted to see your face.”

 I couldn’t help but shy away from his gaze, turning my attention back to my milkshake. I tipped the glass to finish it off.

 Fin chuckled.

 “Look at me.” He tilted my head so that was facing him and then ever so gently wiped away at a spot on my face.

 He didn’t let go though, and eventually I forced my gaze to meet his. The small smile on his face faded and he closed the space between us, stopping just before his lips could touch mine. It was an out.

 I didn’t take it, instead, I closed the distance between us.

 It was soft and timid, neither of us willing to push our boundaries any more than we already had.

 “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Fin admitted, when we pulled apart.

 My heart was sounding off in my ears like the beginning of his entrance music. “I kind of want to do it again,” I said, before my brain could really process how stupid that sounded. Finn smiled, before obliging and connecting our lips once more.

 That was a week ago. NXT had gone on a tour of the Pacific Northwest in that time, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to see or even talk to Finn outside of text messages. Then by the time he got back, I had been on set for a music video two consecutive all day shoots.

 This was the first time that I had gotten to see him, and for some reason I was nervous. The stupid butterflies in my stomach weren’t helping things any. When you’re painting someone, it’s easy to see them as a canvas, something to paint. It makes it easier to ignore the fact that this is a person and that you are ridiculously close to their body. When you’ve been pressed up against the side of your car in a diner parking lot with their tongue down your throat, it’s hard to see them as just a canvas. Instead I was hyper aware of the distance between his skin and mine. The more coated he was, the easier it got. Needless to say this was one of my fastest paint jobs to date.

 “I had fun last week,” he said.

 I had known this, it having had come up in our conversations via text.

 “I did too,” I replied, not even trying to hide the grin on my face.

 “I was wondering if you would go on a real date with me.”

 I looked up. His eyes were now open, even more piercing in contrast against the black paint. “I would love to.” I stood back and gave him a once over. “You’re all good.”

 He checked himself out in the mirror. “Bril.” He grinned. “Thanks, Love.” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze, all he could do given the amount of pigment that I had sprayed onto his skin.

 “No problem,” I said. “Now get out there.”

 “I’m gonna try to swing back here again, before you go. If not I’ll text you later,” he said.

 “Alright. See ya.”

 I stared out the door, with a small smile, which turned into a full blown grin, when Bayley walked in.

 “Demon all done?” she asked.

 I nodded. “Yep. You wanna pick my brain, while I get everything ready?”

 Bayley hopped into the chair that Finn had previously occupied, while I got everything sorted. Bayley had really taken to the NXT makeup classes and actually came to me for more help. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the process as much as she did.

 She had already competed and showered, and I was done with everyone for the time being.

 “You’re smiley today,” she said.

 “It’s been a good day.”

 “And does that have anything to do with a certain demon?” she asked. I looked at her in the mirror. She was giving me a knowing smirk.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

 “Sure, you don’t. That’s why your smile got wider.”

 I turned my attention back to the airbrush that was now cleaned out. “And if I do?”

 She squealed. “That is adorable. I wondered who he kept texting on tour. Finn isn’t one to keeping worrying about his phone,”

 “Nothing is adorable yet,” I responded. “We haven’t really gone out yet.”

 “Are you going to?”

 “Yes, but we haven’t made the plans yet-“

 “Don’t matter. Still adorable.” She hopped out of the chair and hugged me.

 I rolled my eyes, but hugged her back. How can you not hug Bayley? She doesn’t really give you an option in the matter.

 “I’m so excited for you,” she said.

 “It is just a date, Bay.”

 “Sure now, but I can totally see you two being a legit thing.”

 “We’ll see,” I told her. “Now, what do we want to work on today?” I asked.

 “So what do you think he’s-“

 “Contouring,” I decided, pulling out the appropriate products. I was gonna do her eyes first and then she was gonna do her face afterwards. Contouring was the thing that Bayley found the most confusing.

 “Don’t think I’m going to stop,” she said.

 “Cream contouring,” I said, knowing that she was gonna have to focus more and talk less.

 “Well played.”

 “I try.”

 “Now, what do we start with?”

 “Primer,” she replied.

 I nodded, leaning against my work table, so that I could watch her work.

 Bayley started to work in the primer in. The entire time, she kept speculating.

 I had been hoping that her obsession with improvement would be enough to keep her focus on her makeup, but apparently not.

  “He’s probably going to take you out to dinner,” she said as she dusted the last of the powder off of her face and turned around to look at me.  She did well. It could have been a little more blended, but it wasn’t really noticeable.

 “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Finn said, still in his paint. “Friday at eight?” he asked.

 “You are so cute,” Bayley said, before slipping out.

 I rolled my eyes at her.

 “That’s fine, but one thing.”

 “What?”

 “No blood pudding.”

 He chuckled. “No blood pudding.”

 “Then, I’ll see you Friday,” I said. “And congrats on the win,” I said, nodding towards the belt that he had managed to retain.

 “Thank you. I’m thinking about going to celebrate.”

 “What are you going to do?” I asked.

 “I’m thinking milkshakes.”

 I smiled and shook my head at him. “You know, I know a place. This really attractive Irishman showed it to me.”

 “Oh really? Where is it?” his grin matched my own.

 “How about I show you?”

 “That sounds ace.”

 “Good. Meet me back here after you’ve showered.”

***

After Party 

***

Master List | Mobile Version

[aquariusrunes]

The Superfriends AU (part 9)

The flashes were blinding and the large lights heated the room like a sauna. His palms were moist with sweat as he reached up and pulled at his collar. Colin had not been this nervous this morning. And Damian of course, said he had nothing to be nervous about when he had started to feel anxious. But he did. He’d obviously been too tired to properly panic when Violet dropped off the outfit he was currently wearing, this morning.

It had started when he unzipped the black garment bag. The intricate details embroidered on the expensive fabric immediately caught his eye and sent up the most alarming red flags. He’d never worn anything so expensive. Not even the suits Mr. Wayne had gotten tailored to his form for the handful of galas Damian had taken him to, cost as much as his current outfit. 

The next anxiety laced arrow to hit him was when Damian had pointed out that Colin and Edna had yet to hold a real conversation. Their interactions with one another had completely ceased after his boyfriend’s introductions were finished. 

And then there was Edna’s ability to influence Damian. She was one of the few members of his family he let himself be pushed around by. He willingly did her bidding as well as valued her opinion. And Colin had thought making sure Marinette had a good opinion of him was important, only to find out that Edna’s had more weight. 

Now he stood sandwiched between the small woman who essentially invented fashion and one of the richest men in the world. Bruce had pated Colin on the shoulder when he first walked up to the two, a silent reassurance to the obviously panicked boy. The intimidating man now stood straight, shoulders squared with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were not on his son, who was currently up on a platform surrounded by fake trees, instead his dark eyes had a strange shadow cast over them, reminding Colin of the man’s alter ego. He was carefully surveying the room, analyzing everyone who fell under his intense gaze. 

On Colin’s right stood his boyfriend’s great aunt, her stance near identical to her nephew's. Her eyes were trained on Damian, unlike the boy’s father whose gaze was roaming the room. However, her glare was no less intimidating or fear inducing. Though, Colin couldn’t exactly blame the woman for her current enraged expression. 

His eyes went back to his boyfriend, Damian was dressed in a top that resembled a toga, the one strap tank consisting of billowy semi-sheer fabric, tucked into slim dark grey pants, that Edna had whispered to him were a cigarette style. He also wore a well fitted silver blazer, the material of which was lighter than the pants. His face covered in metallic silver and soft brown makeup, he was too far to really see the details the makeup artist had done, but he could see an intricately drawn crescent moon done in silver eyeliner on Damian’s right cheek, as well as the matte midnight blue lipstick. 

His hair had been wetted and dried a number of times before it was curled to Edna’s satisfaction. Now every time there was a pause in the camera’s flashes, a tall blonde woman would step up onto the platform and use a spray bottle to dampen Damian’s hair and then restyle it. Every time she tried to touch him though, he would aggressively react both physically and verbally. Colin had picked up on a few older female oriented insults, his boyfriend had a knack for talking like he just time traveled from Victorian London. The darker skinned boy eventually resorted to batting the bottle out of the woman’s grip as well as slapping her hands away. 

Beyond the problems he was having with the stylist, Damian was also getting difficult with the photographer. Not necessarily on purpose, but Edna was still less than pleased. 

Damian was a very handsome boy, not exactly what one would consider classically handsome, but his features were undeniably attractive. His naturally neutral expression was extremely attractive, and gave off an air of aloofness and mystery that most girls their age found irresistible. But very few people were aware of just how stunning the boy’s smile could be. Not the fake polite one he showed interviewers or those he couldn't be bothered with but had to interact with often enough to the point that forced him to be courteous. His real smile was absolutely breathtaking. 

The photographer had been trying to get that breathtaking expression for about ten minutes. Colin could see how the man was grating on his boyfriend's nerves. Edna and the photographer were becoming increasingly frustrated as well, which was totally understandable in the redhead's mind. But he was sure that if either of them snapped at Damian the boy would storm out in a frustrated huff. 

Poor Angel, he really was trying. He just had difficulty relaxing to the point where his natural smile could be displayed. He carried far too much tension around for sixteen year old, even with all his extracurriculars. 

Colin watched the blonde woman fight against Damian once again, his bangs had fallen into his eyes and she needed to correct them. His boyfriend’s palm raised, slapping the purple spray bottle out of her hand, it bounced off the platform and rolled towards Colin, Edna, and Mr. Wayne. 

It caused Bruce to let a low chuckle break from his lips, which took Colin far too much by surprise. He’d actually forgotten that his boyfriend’s father had been standing there. The wealthy man looked down at his Aunt’s unamused expression. “I did warn you about working with him.”  

“Yes.” She grumbled. “Forgive me for having faith that a sixteen year old could stand not to act like a child for thirty minutes or so.” Her arms crossed tightly over her body. “Honestly, why are your boys always so difficult?” 

“They aren’t difficult,” Bruce defended. “Just...different.” 

Edna rolled her eyes at the man.

“Different, sure.” She huffed. “Luckily, I planned for Damian’s ‘differentness’ and have a solution at the ready.”

Bruce cocked his eyebrow, giving his aunt a questioning look. She smiled up at him before her gaze lowered to Colin, the boy’s face coated in just as much confusion as Bruce’s. “Colin dahling.” The woman walked forwards several steps, leaning down and picking up the purple bottle. “Come here please.” She motioned at him with a curl of her fingers and he was quick to follow her, doing as told like a little soldier. 

“Yes ms-” He stopped himself. “Edna.” He finally said. 

She smiled, patting his hand. “Colin could you be a dear and go help Damian with his hair?” The ginger tilted his head, looking back at the blonde woman as she stomped off the platform. Another series of flashes fired, as Damian positioned himself in whatever way the photographer told him to. 

“His hair?” Colin asked. “I think it looks fine.” Truthfully he did. He wished Damian would wear it curly more often, but knew how unprofessional his boyfriend felt when he did. 

“Could you just go push his bangs back and use the spray bottle to help his hair curl a little more. Please dahling, it would be a big help.” Edna held the bottle out to Colin.

“Um…” Colin looked back at Damian as another flash went off. “I guess?” He questioned. “Right now?”

His hands slowly took the purple bottle. “No no, in just a moment, when I walk over to look at the shots we have so far.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Colin turned from the woman, facing Damian’s platform. His perplexed look melting away and being replaced with a smile as he saw Damian push his own bangs back, only for them to fall back into his eyes without the assistance of his ever precious hair gel. 

He only had to wait a moment before Edna patted him on the shoulder before swaggering over to the photographer. Colin was quick to hop up onto the platform and over to his boyfriend, who looked less than pleased. His face was set in a scowl and his arms were tightly crossed. The closer Colin got though the more of the makeup he could make out. Damian’s eyes were traced in metallic off white eyeliner, the shade only varying slightly from the moon drawn on his cheek, and a range of soft browns were used for his eyeshadow. The color pellet suited him extremely well. 

“You know,” He began, getting Damian’s attention. “You’re making this way more difficult than it has to be.” 

Damian didn’t respond, he just rolled his eyes, directing his gaze elsewhere. 

“It’d all go a lot quicker if you cooperated. It’d also be less painful too.” Once Colin was properly in front of his boyfriend he took note of the glitter highlighting his cheekbones, as well as a chain earrings that had been hooked onto his right ear, and a thick silver choker that resembled something out of the greek myths themselves around Damian’s neck. 

Damian gave Colin a rather dry unamused look. “If that woman would stop touching me, everyone would be in less pain.” 

“Dames,” Colin breathed. “She’s a stylist, it’s literally her job to touch you.” He rested his free hand on his hip. “She is getting paid to come up here and make sure that you continually look perfect throughout this shoot.” 

The boy only huffed turning his head away once again.

“Your aunt is getting a little frustrated with you as well.” Colin’s gaze drifted across the room towards the woman. She was sitting in front of a computer with the tall balding photographer, neither seemed happy with the shots they had so far. Edna’s eyes slowly traveled up, locking onto Colin’s. It nearly gave him a heart attack. 

He turned his attention back to his boyfriend. “I’m gonna spray you with this,” He held up the bottle. “And mess with your hair.” Damian’s eyebrow quirked up. “If you slap my hand, I will punch you in the face.” 

Damian’s shoulders visibly tensed when the mist fell over him, but he relaxed once Colin moved to brush his bangs back. While a little less tense, the boy still stood incredibly still, almost like a statue. Colin’s hands moved quickly, doing his best to mimic how the first hair stylist had shaped Damian’s hair before the shoot had started. It didn’t look perfect but it looked better than it did when his bangs were hanging in his face. In fact, once Colin was done it started looking more messy, resembling the boy’s rare bedhead after a sleepless night. But it looked good, at least in Colin’s opinion.

He couldn’t stop his laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He snickered, running his fingers through Damian’s curls, repositioning them. “You should really consider wearing it curly more often.” He whispered.

“Absolutely not.” Damian was quick to refuse, but couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from quirking up. “Why are you up here anyway?” He asked.

Colin smirked as he continued his work. “Board of me already babe?” 

Damian rolled his eyes, gaze dropped to the ground as he willed his blush to fade. He wasn’t great with nicknames, not when Colin used them. Shortenings of his name was fine, but it always got to him when more traditional pet names were used by his boyfriend. “No.” He muttered. “Just curious, after all Edna was rather clear about you and Jon not interfering while I work.”

“Your aunt asked me to come fix your hair.” Colin shrugged. “Probably because she knew you wouldn’t be near as cranky with me.” 

“I am not being cranky.” The boy bit back, earning an unamused look from his freckled boyfriend. 

“Dames.” 

“I don’t like people touching me Colin, she knew this when she asked me to be her model.” Colin rolled his eyes, hands moving out of his boyfriend’s hair.

“Yeah, but you're also very mature for your age and should be able to suck it up for thirty minutes or so.” Colin crossed his arms. “Seriously Dames, this isn’t like a crowd of Wayne Ward Fangirls trying to grope you on the street. That woman is trying to do her job and by you being cranky, it’s making everything run very inefficient.” 

“Are you implying I’m a bad model?”

“Course not.” The redhead sighed. “I’m implying that you’re acting like a child and it’s not cute.” He gave a small smile. “But other than your attitude, you’re doing a very good job.” Colin leaned forward and peck Damian’s cheek, the one not coated in eyeliner. “Just smile a little more.” 

Colin turned, hopping off the platform, and turning back to watch once he was far enough to not be in the shot. He flashed the mixed race boy a blinding smile once he was out of the way and gave him a thumbs up. Damian returned the gesture with a soft smile, not noticing the flashes of the camera as he watched his boyfriend who, after a few minutes, started to make utterly ridiculous faces. 

Edna and Bruce watched from their previous spot. Positions the same, backs straight, shoulders square, hands clasped behind them. Edna’s face cracked into a self satisfied smirk. Bruce’s eyes watching the scene before him critically. 

“So that’s why Colin’s here.” He finally said.

“Fail safes are important dahling.”

“What would you have done if Damian hadn’t brought him along?” 

“Please,” Edna looked up at her nephew. “Who do you think gave him the idea to invite the boy?”

… 

Marinette watched her cousin and his boyfriend retreat down the hallway, Colin’s arms wound around one of Damian’s. The boy had mentioned in the elevator that he needed to go feed Titus and would be down in the cafeteria once he was finished. Colin quickly volunteered to go with him. Marinette assumed it was because of how moody Damian had gotten towards the end of the photoshoot. She could practically see the negative energy radiating off the boy. Jon and Chloé, who had also been in the elevator went straight to the Mode cafeteria. Marinette and Adrien had gotten off on the floor with all of their rooms like Colin and Damian. Marinette making the excuse that she needed to call her mom and Adrien saying he forgot something in his room. 

Once she saw her cousin’s form round the corner of the hall she turned back around to look and see if Adrien had gone into his room yet or not. The door with a large number seven on it was firmly close, the blonde nowhere in sight. She turned back to her own door, took in a large breath to steal her nerves, then turned the knob and walked into the suite.

The room was large with a queen sized bed against a wall of floor to ceiling windows, the sheer black curtains were drawn currently. There was a fireplace in her room on the opposite wall, the one that her door was on. It was an electrical insert and so didn’t require a chimney. There was a flat screen tv above it and two red chairs in front of it. A silver rack was against the mainly empty wall, holding her mass of black garment bags. The west wall was mainly taken up by a large dresser vanity combo, which her accessory trunk was currently in front of. 

Her room had been mostly left undisturbed since she first arrived, save for the bed, which she had messily made that morning. Mostly everything in the room was well organized, especially her garments and accessories to make things a little less stressful for her during the hectic week. 

The large white comforter of her bed was wrinkled and had been pulled towards the center of the mattress, creating something that resembled a nest. In front of the mass of blankets, propped up on a couple of pillows was her tablet. Her nerves were on fire, but she still managed a smile when the head of her kawami popped up from behind the piece of technology. The small creature was quick to pause whatever video she had been watching, most likely a telenovela she had found on one of the streaming services Marinette’s family subscribed too. The girl had discovered relatively soon after becoming the wielder of the ladybug miraculous that the creature had a bit of an addiction to the television genre. 

“Marinette!” Tikki beamed, flying up to her holder. “How is the photoshoot going?”

“Well…” Her smile tightened. “Well.” She reiterated. “I think it’s going well. Aunt E is unbelievably specific.” Marinette’s hands clutched the fabric of her sweatpants before releasing it, she repeated this process a few times. “She made some intern repaint a handful of leaves on a fake tree because it wasn't mossy enough. She also made a girl cry this morning, sooo we’ve been off to an interesting start.” 

“Did you have to take your earrings off?” The tiny god asked, eyes large, searching her wielder’s face. She didn’t sound angry, necessarily, but Marinette knew she would be if she lied. 

The bluenette bit down on her lower lip, gaze fluttering down to the floor. “Yes.” She said, voice laced with a heavy sigh. “But only for thirty minutes or so.” 

“Marinette...” The kawami sighed. 

“Edna was insistent I wear her earrings!” The girl quickly defended. “I tried Tikki, I really did but she was so-so...insistent.” 

The small god stared at her obviously anxious choice. “That was very dangerous Marinette.” Her voice was still very gentle in nature.

“I know.” Marinette kept her eyes on her feet. “And I’m sorry, really sorry.” 

Tikki was quiet for a long moment before letting out a large breath, flying a little closer to the girl. “You’ll have to have them off again for the rest of the shoot, won’t you?”

“Again, I am so sorry.” 

“Marinette, having the earrings off is very dangerous.” Tikki reiterated. “Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Of course I do.” Marinette scrunched her hands into her sweatpants again. “But I did think up a plan!” She added quickly. “Since I have to take them off again, I’m going to hide them here in my room. That way you can watch over them and they aren’t floating around in a room full of strangers.” 

Tikki floated back down onto the bed. “I suppose that would be the best option. Do you know where you’ll hi-” A very solid knock came from her door, just two taps, but Marinette already knew who would be behind it. She walked to the door, then turned about to tell Tikki she wouldn’t need to hide, but the god had already vanished. 

She opened the door, revealing one Adrien Agreste, a sheepish smile on his face. “Is yours half as mad as mine?” He asked as Marinette stepped aside, letting him into the room before shutting the door behind him. 

“I’d say more disappointed, but I haven’t told her everything yet.” 

Adrien winced at her words. “I can come back later once you have.” He offered, to which Marinette gave him a look. 

“Definitely not.” 

“Damn.” 

“What happened to pretending it didn’t happen?” Suddenly Tikki was floating in the middle of the room again. “Acting like you didn’t know?! Not discussing it directly!?” The Kawami huffed. “Marinette there are only so many loopholes we can go through before you blatantly just break the rules!” 

“I’m sorry!” Marinette whined. “But I didn’t know what to do!” She took several steps forward. “Edna made me take off my earrings and I had to give them to someone! I couldn’t just set them down somewhere and risk them getting stolen or falling on the floor or something! And yes, Edna offered to hold them or suggested I let Uncle Bruce do it but, full disclosure I don’t know if I trust either of them with a miraculous. Like Uncle Bruce is very curious and I just couldn’t risk it!” Both Adrien and Tikki were becoming mildly concerned with how red the girl was getting, her speech increasing in speed with every shade her face deepened in color. “And Edna well I just don’t think I could ever in good conscience hand the earrings over to her! I mean yes she knows but she doesn’t understand. And in the moment, I mean you have to agree that under those circumstances Adrien was the best option since we weren’t taking photos together. But we’ll have to after lunch so I told him I had a plan and so I’m going to hide our mirac-” 

“PIGTAILS!” Marinette physically jumped back, colliding with the dresser. A small black cat like creature floating before her. “Take a breath girl.” He said. “Seriously, you’re going to pass out.” The creature turned his head towards Tikki. “Does she do this a lot?” 

“It’s not a common occurrence, but it isn’t necessarily uncommon.” The red god replied. 

“Good grief.” The black creature mumbled. “Look Pigtails, we aren’t mad. Under the circumstances, you did the best you could. Sometimes unpredictable stuff like this happens. I’m honestly surprised the kid’s pops hasn’t made him take the ring off during a photoshoot yet.”

“Marinette,” Adrien finally spoke. “You remember Plagg, right?” 

The girl’s eyes were still wide, her heart rate still slowing form the shock that had just pulsed through her body. “Y-yeah. I remember him.” 

“The two of you being aware of one another’s identities and interacting with each others miraculouses as civilians, it complicates things and if the past is anything to go by, makes things exceedingly more difficult. It’s why we find it better to keep personal things a secret. But I’m sure the guardian's already talked you through all of this stuff.”  

Marinette nodded her head, taking a step forward. 

“But,” Plagg let a breath out. “This is where we are now. And what’s most important is that the miraculouses are safe while the two of you can’t wear them. So, where’s this genius hiding spot of yours?” 

“I-I’ll get it.” She mumbled, quickly darting across the room to where her portable sewing kit was. 

Adrien and Tikki both kept their eyes locked on Plagg.

“That was surprisingly very insightful Plagg.” Tikki said, flying up to her partner. 

“I can be smart!” He retorted. “I understand the importance of our miraculouses! I don’t just think about Cheese.” 

“You just mainly think about it.” Adrien responded, pulling the tin of camembert out of his pocket and setting it down on the dresser. 

“Well yeah.”  

“Okay.” The three’s attention was directed towards Marinette as she sat down on the end of her bed, setting her now open sewing kit in her lap. Held tightly in her hands was a handmade Chat Noir doll. 

“What is that?” Plagg asked. 

“This,” Marinette held it up. “Is what I’m going to hide the miraculouses in.” She smiled, grabbing the small scissors out of her portable kit she flipped the doll on it’s side, looking for the seam before moving to cut it open.

“I-” Adrien’s head tilted. “I’m so confus-is that the doll Manon stole when she got akumatized?” 

Marinette looked up at him, the doll’s side already open. “Yeah.” She blinked before digger her fingers into the doll to pull out some of the stuffing. “I didn’t really know what to do with them afterwards. I couldn’t just throw them away, so I put them all in a trunk. I let her play with them whenever I babysit. Well, Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t live in the trunk. They’re usually either on my desk or the shelf above my bed.”

Plagg had flown over and was now hovering above Marinette’s shoulder, Tikki sitting on her other one. “You’re going to put them inside of it?” The small black creature asked. 

“Yup.” 

“I have never seen either of those dolls in your room.” Adrien said, sitting down on the arm of one of the red chairs.

“That’s because I hide them when you come over.” She glanced up at him. “Last thing I needed was a nosy kitty teasing me about my dolls.” 

“I am not nosy.” 

“Adrien whenever Chat Noir is in my room about seventy-five percent of what he does is rummaged through my things.” She shot him a pointed look. 

“I’m curious.” 

“Your nosy.” The girl set the doll down in her lap on top of her sewing kit, she then reached up and carefully pulled out her earrings. She let out a sigh, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders as she slipped the jewelry inside the doll. 

She then looked up at Adrien expectantly. 

He stared at her for a long moment with blank eyes, blinking rapidly before finally asking. “Why’d you bring the Chat doll with you?” 

Marinette’s cheeks tinted pink as she looked back down at the doll, she put some of the stuffing back in, that way the two miraculouses would be seperated. “I have my reasons.” She whispered. 

“Sometimes when she’s trying to think things out she’ll talk to it.” Tikki supplied from Marinette’s shoulder. “The whole identity thing has been on her mind a lot lately so she’s been talking to him quite a bit.” 

Marinette’s face grew more red as Plagg laughed. “That’s hilarious!” The creature cackled. “This one just confesses his undying love to the poster he has on the backside of his closet door.” 

“Okay!” Adrien stood quickly, slipping his ring off his finger and placing it in Marinette’s waiting palm. “Let’s just hurry up and go get lunch.” He turned away from her quickly, trying to hide his own blush behind his hand. 

Marinette silently slipped it into the doll, then replaced the rest of the stuffing. She was quick to thread a needle with some black thread then set to work repairing the doll. 

Both Kawami’s watched the girl closely. “This is actually a pretty sound idea pigtails.” Plagg muttered. “Unless of course someone obsessed with dolls get akumatized. But Hawkmoth should be out of range so, we should be fine.” 

Marinette hummed in agreement as she finished her stitch. “Good as new.” She whispered, twisting to set the doll in the middle of the small nest Tikki had made. 

“Should we be worried that there aren’t any heroes in Paris right now?” The god of creation asked, unknowingly inciting panic in her chosen. 

“Oh my god.” Marinette’s eyes widened. 

“I didn’t have a lot of time before I left,” Adrien turned. “But I was able to get a message to Master Fu with Plagg’s help. So he knows we’re both gone.” Adrien stuck his hands into his pockets. 

“If there’s trouble, then he’ll probably just call on one of the random holders you’ve been using every now and again.” Plagg added. “But I doubt Hawkmoth will try anything, and if he did, he'd probably call the akuma back once you two didn’t show.” 

“That’s true.” Tikki whispered. “Not much use terrorizing Paris when the objects your after aren’t even there. Still though, now that you two are aware of one another’s identities, I implore you to avoid being out of the city at the same time in the future. Just in case.” 

“Well it’s not like I planned on leaving.” Adrien said. “I found out like barely an hour before I boarded the plane to come here.” 

“Just a tip for the future.” Tikki added. 

“Are we watching Yo soy Betty, la fea?” The three looked back at the nest where Plagg had obviously made himself comfortable. “I love that show!” He looked up at Tikki excitedly. “Where are we right now?” He asked. 

The Kawami sighed. “He’s staying here then?” She asked, looking between the two humans. 

“We figured you’d both want to stay close to your miraculouses.” Marinette explained. 

“And we also thought that since you two hadn't seen one another in awhile, you’d want to hang out and catch up.” He smiled sheepishly. “Do you mind?” 

Tikki let out a small huff and rolled her eyes at the excited kitten rolling around in her nest. “I suppose not.” She slowly flew down and situated herself next to him. “But no cheese in my nest.” 

“Ahh! Tikki! That’s not fair!” 

…

It was so strange. Chloé Bourgeois, one of the most difficult and least liked people on the planet, a self given title, had only made two friends throughout her entire life. The first was Adrien, the two had known one another practically since they were in the womb. Literally. Emilie was pregnant on her wedding day, not that anyone save for maybe four people alive knew that, and Chloé was conceived after the reception. They’d always been pushed together, the girl’s mother lobbying hard for a relationship to bloom between the two. But Adrien was her oldest and dearest friend.

Sabrina was her second friend. She’d met her when she was ten. Chloé had made a girl at the park cry. The way Sabrina stared at her, eyes wide, drinking in the scene and raw emotions of anger and sadness radiating off the other two was one of the creepiest things Chloé has ever seen. So of course, she had yelled at Sabrina, she didn’t like the way she was being ogled at. The next day Sabrina had transferred into Chloé’s class. The ginger latched onto her, becoming a constant companion. Until Chloé tried to be better, then Sabrina moved on to Lila. 

Yet, in under twenty-four hours Jon Kent had proclaimed himself her new best friend. She’d opened up to him more than anyone else she’d ever known, even her therapist of three years didn’t know as much about Chloé as this random boy from Kansas now did. And everytime she said something bad about herself he would correct her. Everytime she said something bad about someone else, he forced her to list three things she liked about them. She’d never known anyone like him. The strange spell he had over her was so confusing. She honestly had no idea how they had gotten here in such a short period of time. But she didn’t hate it.

She sat across from him at one of the circular tables in the Mode cafeteria, now dressed in her sweats with her hair up in a clip. The metallic makeup still decorating her face. Her lipstick stained the rim of the white mug she sipped her coffee from as she watched the boy across from her animatedly rant. 

“Seriously though!” Jon banged his fist against the table, making both of their trays of food shake. He had been ranting about flannel the whole time they’d been in line. At this point, Chloé didn’t think anything was going to get him to stop.

“Plenty of high end designers resent the material, it’s got a stench of the midwest and middle class reeking off of it.” She sat her cup down. “My mother finds it personally offensive. She’d probably disown me if she ever saw me in it.” 

Jon stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and blank before he finally spoke. “I’m going to buy you so much flanel, what’s your favourite colors?”

“Gold, yellow, baby blue, and duke blue.” She crossed her arms. “Please God, don’t buy me anything. Especially flanel.” 

“I’m gonna get you a yellow and blue one.” Chloé let out a large groan as the Kansan beamed at her. 

“Hey Chlo.” She looked up, making eye contact with one Adrien Agreste. His smile radiating that pure sunshine he was famous for. “Hi Jon.” 

“Hey Adrien.” Jon smiled back, sticking a spoonful of chocolate pudding in his mouth. 

“Mind if we join you?” Chloé’s eyes immediately flicked behind the blonde where Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood, partially hidden behind the tall model, tray in her hand.

“Course not!” Jon chimed after a thick swallow. “Got a big table because I figured all six of us would want to sit together.” Adrien walked around the table to sit between Chloé and Jon, while Marinette sat between the two on the other side. 

Chloé quickly noted the lack of earrings on her person. It was strange seeing her without them, she honestly couldn’t remember the last time she saw the girl’s naked lobes. Her eyes then darted to Adrien’s hand, now resting on the table. No ring. 

They must have stashed the jewelry away somewhere safe before coming down. She was more than a little relieved that an anxiety inducing scene like the one this morning would not be repeated. She swore her heart rate quickened every time she saw the two slip their miraculouses into one another’s hands. But the idea of two of the most powerful things on earth being left unguarded somewhere in the Mode building was somewhat unsettling as well. She’d just have to trust in the two’s intuition she supposed. Not much else she could do anyway.

“So, what were the two of you chatting about?” Adrien asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the table as the four began to eat their meals. 

“Oh.” Jon perked up. “I was just talking about how I was gonna buy Chloé a whole bunch of flannels.” He smiled at her cheekily. “Then we can wear them around and match so everyone knows we’re best friends.”

“Definitely not.” Chloé snapped quickly as Adrien began to laugh. 

“I think I would honestly give you one of my kidneys if you got this girl into flannel.” The blonde continued to laugh as he began cutting into what looked like chicken. 

“It’s not the worst material in the world.” Marinette said, voice somewhat quiet. “It’s just hard to work with when your designing for people willing to pay millions.”

“Exactly what I said!” Chloé shouted. 

“You said it smelled like the midwest and middle class.” Jon corrected.

“Yeah,” Chloé crosses her arms. “It’s the smell that makes it difficult to sell to millionaires.”

“I don’t even want to think of what my father would do if he saw me in flannel.” Adrien added before taking a bite of his food.

“Geez, what is with y’all’s parents?” Jon asked. “My dad wouldn’t have the slightest problem with me wearing flannel.”

“Does your dad regularly wear flannel though Jon?” Chloé asked. 

“Well yeah,” the boy stirred his spoon around what remained in his small bowl of pudding. “But my mom kind of hates the fabric. But she doesn’t get mad at me when I wear it!”

“Ah, but you see young one,” Marinette interjected. “Your parents care about you.”

“My father cares!”

“That you look good.” Chloé snorted. “Seriously Adri, it’s okay that your dad doesn’t love you. In fact, I think I’ve been doing much better since I accepted the fact that my mother can’t stand me.” The table went silent, Chloé preoccupied with her coffee didn’t noticed until she had set her cup back down. “What?” She asked, looking around at the concerned faces surrounding her. 

“Chlo…” Adrien reached out for her hand. 

“She cares Chloé.” Marinette whispered. “On some level, all parents care about their kids.” 

“She’s right.” Jon added. “She may not show it but your mother loves you Chloé.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from Adrien’s. “It’s really not that big of a deal anymore. I’ve accepted it and I’ve moved on.” She turned her face away from the group. 

“Chloé-” Marinette was interrupted by a tray being slammed down on the table. They all looked up to see Damian who was pulling a chair up and sitting down between Marinette and Jon. 

“I hate this.” He said, monotone voice laced with rage. 

Colin quietly pulled up a seat, opting to sit between Adrien and Chloé. “Blood pressure dear.” The redhead mentioned, picking up a white mug that fizzed like a soft drink and taking a long sip from it.

“Hate what?” Marinette asked. 

“This.” Damian’s eyes squinted, hands extending. “Did Enda tell you what she did?” He asked. 

Marinette turned forward, fork poking at the pasta on her tray. “I think we’ve already established that Aunt E shared very little of what was happening during this trip with me.” 

“Alexander Galbaki has these fraternal twins in his family.” Damian began to explain, fist clenched around his fork. “I forget their names, it’s like russian or german though. But their our age, a girl and a boy who are never seen not with one another.” 

“I’m betting on a twincest situation.” Colin piped up, setting his cup down. 

“Does that happen in real life?” Jon asked. “I thought it was just a fanfiction thing?” 

Colin shook his head. “We looked up their instagram while Titus ate, they are like all over each other, it’s seriously nauseating.” 

“What do these creeps have to do with Edna?” Chloé asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on her fist. 

“Edna decided to have Marinette and I be her models for this after she found out that Galbaki is releasing a collection the same night as her runway!” Damian threw his hands out in front of him, his face clearly expressing that they should all be understanding his frustration. 

“And the twins are headlining it?” Adrien finally asked. 

“YES!” he screamed. 

“Oh.” Marinette nodded. “She wants us to compete with them.” She nodded a little faster. “That makes sense.” She twirled some pasta on to her fork. “Why is this pissing you off?” 

“She could have told us!” he stabbed his fork into his salad. “Seriously! If I had known I had a target on this trip I would have researched in advance.” He grumbled as he shoved his fork into his mouth. 

“Vanya and Demitri.” Colin sounded, Damian’s phone in his hand. “See it’s gross,” He showed the phone to Chloé, the screen displaying two very pale teenagers with platinum blonde hair. The girl was in a very skimpy white bikini her long hair straightened and reaching her butt, black headband holding back her bangs and a pair of high end sunglasses covering her eyes. She was seated on the lap of another very pale teenager in a pair of black swim trunks. His almost white hair swept back, sunglasses covering his eyes as well. One of his hands was weaved around the girl’s waist, the other resting on her thigh. 

“Okay ew.” Chloé mumbled as Colin shifted to show Adrien the picture. 

“I mean,” The blonde scratched at his head. “Yeah, that doesn’t look great but it’s just one picture-” 

“They are all over each other in pretty much every post.” Colin interjected. “It’s gross.” 

“So stop looking at it.” Marinette stated matter-of-factly. “No one is making you insta stalk them.” 

“We need to do research!” Damian growled. “I need to be ready to take them down at a moments notice.” 

“Dames is just pissy because Demitri is taller than him.” Colin said with a roll of his eyes. 

“He is a freakishly tall human being!” 

Colin leaned over to Chloé. “He used to be like way short when he was little, even though he’s shot up like a weed he’s still got short man syndrome.” He whispered, the girl quickly covered her mouth to stifle her giggle. 

“Speaking of insta stalking.” Chloé said through her breathy laugh. “Have we gotten any more updates on the drama back home?” She asked, question pointed towards Adrien. “Last I heard Lila was telling everyone she was Damian’s secret girlfriend?” 

“Has she upgraded form unrequited love to secret girlfriend?” Marinette asked, eyebrow cocked as she leaned forward on her elbow. 

“Something like that.” Adrien breathed tiredly. “According to Nino the girls have been asking none stop questions and the story just keep growing.”

“Growing how?” Colin asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Well, for one she’s been referring to him exclusively as Dami-Bear.” 

“Wow.” Damian stabbed at his salad again. “I hate that.” he shoved it into his mouth. 

“And she also told a very long and dramatized story about the two of you in Grease last summer.” Adrien glanced to Colin and then Damian before his eyes landed on his tray of food. “Nino didn’t repeat verbatim, but it apparently wasn’t really family friendly.” 

“Oh I’m gonna break her nose.” Chloé jumped when Colin’s fork snapped in half.

“Blood pressure darling.” Damian quipped, receiving only the dirtiest of looks from his boyfriend. 

“It could be worse.” Jon held up his hand, like he was trying to calm Colin from across the table. “She could be posting this stuff online or something, at least it’s contained to their class, right?” 

“I don't know.” Marinette hummed. “She’s got a lot of followers in school, not just our class.” She looked down at her food, brows knitted together. “Dames, you have international coverage, right?” 

“That might just be the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me.” 

The bluenette rolled her eyes. “Can I texted some friends from your phone?” She asked dryly. Damian only shrugged, gesturing across the table to Colin who still had the smartphone. The boy was quick to pass it over. 

UNKNOWN: You arent gonna believe this

New Contact: ??? 

New Contact: who?

UNKNOWN: Its Marinette.

UNKNOWN: dont freak out

UNKNOWN: but Im textng from Damian Wayne’s Phone

Marinette held out the phone, leaning close to Damian and smiled wide. The boy looked up at his phone, camera app open and focusing on him and his cousin. His face remained expressionless but he held up a simple peace sign as she snapped the photo. Marinette then quickly sent it off to the number she was texting. 

UNKNOWN: proof

New Contact: GIRL?!?!?!

New Contact: WTF!?!!?

_______________________________________________________________________

(part 1)  (part 2)  (part 2.5)  (part 3)  (part 4)  (part 5)  (part 6)  (part 7)   (part 8)  (part 9) - Here  (part 10)

Photoshoot Part 2! I don’t know why I thought I could fit this all into one part. Like seriously, what was I thinking? I also miss calculated how long these three sections would be, the next Incredibles Cameo will be in the next part for sure. Writing has been kind of hard this week but my mind has been racing with ideas. So buckle up y’all cause there are now some big plot twists that have wormed their way into my mind and have been embedded in this fic. I’ll be curious to see if anyone can see them coming ;) Thank you all so much for the comments! They always make me smile and get me motivated to write more! As always if you have any questions about the story or AU feel free to ask, I love getting them and will happily answer any question you got! And if you want to be tagged let me know! 

Can y’all guess who Mari is texting?

@graduatedmelon @northernbluetongue​ @violatiger8​ @bamagirl513​ @vixen-uchiha​ @beaversuenightly​ @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff​ @todaylillypads​ @laurakinneylance​ @vgirl-10123​ @wellcrud-blog-blog​ @silvergold-swirl​ @crazylittlemunchkin​ @an-ahez​ @queencommonsense​ @ladybug-182​ @meganemily231​ @driftingmoonlitpetals​ @kand-roo​ @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry​ @theatreandcomicfreak​ @paradoxal-occurance​ @miraculousl4dybug @thanks-captain-obvious​ @sassydepression​ @multishipper1needshalp @wegan97​ @surprisebishhhhhhhhh  @redscarlet95 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @synnesstra @fandomkitty8 @tired-yeetling @saluteswifties @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dast218 @naclychilli @royalchaoticfangirl @panda3506 @nataladriana9 @shreky-boi @my-name-is-michell @dawnwave16

[smutbymia]

Happy Hour (Mark Lee x Reader smut)

WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT (Alcohol use, no protection mentioned, sexual content), slight dom themes 

Word Count: Around 3.3k

Pairing: Mark Lee x Female Reader 

PLOT: You landed your dream internship at an entertainment production company and have finally gotten the opportunity to impress your boss when he gives you the important role of casting backup dancers for a music video being shot for a new artist. Unfortunately, you aren’t taking on the project alone and are forced to work alongside Mark, who you’ve known since you were in grade school and who seems to constantly be in competition with you.

MY FIRST FIC! Please let me know your thoughts. All criticism is welcome. Requests are welcome too. Please consider following me and I will follow back! I am quite satisfied with the way this turned out and can’t wait to write more. 

- mia rose <3

You tried to hide the disappointment on your face. You had been waiting for months to get the chance to finally prove yourself to your boss, Bishop Banks – the most talented person in the entertainment industry you knew personally. Not only did you work your butt off to graduate from the top communications program in Toronto but you had to go through an intense interview process to land the internship as well. There was no way you were going to pass up the chance to potentially land a full time job at Banks productions. You took a deep breath before responding to the heart wrenching news you just received.

“Working with Mark would be an absolute pleasure,” you said as you forced a smile. Banks didn’t look convinced. He had been mentoring the both of you for the past couple of weeks and knew you and Mark weren’t exactly the best of friends. The tension between the two of you was easily noticed by anyone who spent only minutes in your presence. It wasn’t your fault Mark intentionally tried to push your buttons all the time.

“I know Kioko is a new artist but I need you guys to do well in this casting. His record label has invested a lot of money into the production of his first video and this could make or break his entire career,” said Bishop sternly as he shuffled through pages on his desk, “So, please stay focused and make sure you find the perfect dancers. I have all of their information in these portfolio’s, along with audition tapes and some notes from the director so you should get started if you want to be prepared for tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, Bishop. I can’t speak on behalf of y/n but I got this.” said Mark, as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head, and legs spread apart. You rolled your eyes at him after hearing his comment, and he responded with a wink. Bishop continued flipping through documents and adding final pages to the folders marked with both yours and Marks names on them, oblivious to what had just happened.

You hated how relaxed Mark was. It was as if neither of you had changed since you were kids. He was always the popular kid who never struggled at all. Not only was he extremely good looking, but he was also extremely smart. He didn’t even have to try, which was the most unfair part of it all. You put your blood sweat and tears into everything you did but he seemed to accomplish the same things you did with ease. Not to mention the fact that he seemed to be extremely likeable to everyone else but you. You never saw the side of Mark that everyone else did. For some reason he had always been so tough with you, teasing you and making you nervous whenever he got the chance. It wasn’t until you started University together that he finally seemed to ease up… until you both ended up interning at the same company.

Shortly after, you were ushered out of your boss’ office and finished work for the day. Or at least you should have been. Because the final casting would be starting tomorrow, there was actually a lot of paperwork and footage to go through in preparation.

You found Mark sitting in the common room of the production office conversing with some other employees. Two girls laughed at something he was saying while gazing at him like he was the only man in the world. All girls got like that around Mark. You couldn’t really blame them but you also couldn’t quite understand them either. You hesitated before walking up to them.

Mark was sat in between the two girls on a couch with his legs crossed and his arms stretched across the back. His shirt had the first few buttons undone with its sleeves pushed up to his forearms and his tie from earlier was already off. He clearly couldn’t wait to unwind at the end of the workday.

You stood awkwardly in front of the three of them as they ignored you. Mark was clearly aware of your presence but the girls were too mesmerized by him to even glance in your direction. You cleared your throat and their conversation died down.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we should probably go through some of these documents before tomorrow. The boardroom is free and –“ you began, before being cut off by Mark. 

“That sounds great,” he said, his voice dripping in sarcasm, “but it’ll have to wait until after happy hour is over.”

Almost every day the staff would have drinks in the lounge at the hotel down the street. You had been a couple of times but decided it wasn’t really your scene when you saw how quickly everyone let loose. After a particular incident in high school, you quickly learned that it was best to get drunk around your closest friends and no one else. You had made that mistake before and Mark was unfortunately there to witness it. You knew how to have a good time but you definitely didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of your colleagues.

As if Mark could sense your discomfort, the corners of his mouth turned upwards to form the cheeky smile he always had when he knew he was getting under your skin. You opened your mouth to protest just as your boss walked out of his office and into the common area, stopping to say his goodbyes before heading home for the night.

Mark used the situation to his advantage. He spoke loud enough for the boss to hear. 

“You will be joining me right, y/n? We can get started on the work. Unless you want to put this off for a couple of hours?”

You plastered another fake smile across your face before nodding and turning straight for the exit, not waiting to see if Mark was following you. You wanted to get it over with and at this point you were willing to do whatever it took to get through this collaboration, even if that meant suffering through happy hour.

An hour and a half later you were back at the company with Mark in the boardroom. He had put you on the spot in front of a bunch of other interns and you ended up having a drink or three. Luckily the alcohol didn’t hit you then but you were really starting to feel it now. Mark was clearly drunk as well, but as usual he kept his cool composure. You sat in a chair, spinning yourself in circles as you waited for him to start playing the audition tapes on the television screen.

Even though you had broken your alcohol rule, you had to admit you were feeling pretty good. It had been a while since you had gotten drunk like this and it felt liberating. For the first time in a long time you didn’t feel on edge or stressed out. You reached up and released your hair from the bun it had been in all day. As your hair cascaded down, you met Marks gaze across the room. He stared intensely as you arched your back, chest pushed forward, massaging your scalp.

“Ugh, that feels SO much better.” you moaned, as you lowered your arms and leaned back into your chair. You kicked off your heels, because fuck it. No one was in the office and it was probably going to be a long night anyway. And you slipped out of the blazer you wore over your dress.

Mark moved across the room as his eyes scanned all over your body. He took in every last bit of you, from your stockings and back up again. He sat in a chair next to you, not saying a word as the audition tapes began to play. You both prepared yourselves to take notes on each candidate.

After judging the first few dancers it was clear you guys were not on the same page. The once quiet boardroom was now filled with your bickering voices.

“She wasn’t even that good!” you proclaimed.

Mark groaned in response, “What are you talking about? She’s hot. That’s exactly what we need!”

“Exactly! That’s the problem. She’s just hot. We need people with actual talent!” you started, “You’re thinking with the wrong head, Mark. Even I could do better than that!”

Mark broke out into a fit of laughter. “Y/N, the guys you’ve chosen have only been capable of doing corny hip rolls and basic two steps. And we both know alcohol impairs your ability to make good decisions… even though it does make you a really great dancer.” he said, holding back more laughter.

The alcohol had definitely loosened you both up, but that comment still managed to make you blush. You guys hadn’t talked about that embarrassing night from high school so candidly in years despite Mark finding subtle ways to tease you about it from time to time.

You had gotten really drunk at a small party and may or may not have given Mark a lap dance. For years he had been hate-flirting with you, but that night he really challenged you when he made a comment about your so called ‘lack of sex appeal’. You two had been butting heads all night and you got the crazy idea of putting on a little private show for him, which was interrupted by a group of his friends who stumbled into the room. The embarrassment didn’t hit until the next morning when you sobered up.  

The memories replayed over and over in your head until you processed what he had just said.

“So you’ve finally admitted it then!” you yelled, jumping up out of your chair and standing over Mark. “That whole sex appeal thing was complete bullshit and you were just being a hater!”

You were stood between his legs now but the sudden excitement from hearing his confession and your abrupt escape from your chair caused you to stumble forward. You forgot that you were still tipsy for a second. Before you could come crashing down on top of Mark, he grabbed onto your hips to steady you.

The mood in the room dramatically shifted. Once again, you locked eyes. His grip momentarily tightened and you let out a quick breath in response as the tension rose. His big beautiful eyes were glazed over, and staring right into your soul. He licked his lips before getting up from his chair, not letting go of your body just yet.

You slowly raised your head as he raised himself out of his chair — standing taller than you, making sure to maintain his gaze as his breathing deepened along with your own.

“You’ve always been good at being a tease, you know that?” he said, as his breathing became more frantic. He guided your hips backwards until you were pushed against the boardroom table. It wasn’t until he released his grip that you realized just how firmly he had been holding onto you. It was definitely going to leave some sexy bruises for you to admire in the mirror later.

His hands rested on either side of you, pressed firmly against the surface of the table with your hands pressed up against his chest. You ran your hands over his body before sliding one over his neck and into his dark hair. The gesture made him break eye contact with you as he shut his eyes and lowered his head, meeting his forehead with yours. He groaned and pushed his hips into yours while struggling not to circle them.

You could feel the stiffness in his pants growing, and let out a quiet moan in response. Mark continued to steady himself on the boardroom table, as his other hand began to wander up your thigh, over your hips, and towards your chest.

“You kind of owe me for what you did to me that night. You turned me on, and didn’t even finish dancing for me.” he said. He had moved his head to the side of your face and dropped his voice lower to a whisper before finishing, “And I’ve had to watch you walk around this place for months in these stockings and all of those mini dresses and skirts.”

You could hear the frustration in his voice as he palmed your breasts firmly, and began really circling his hips. Groaning directly into your ear, he continued airing out his grievances while you let out quiet moans.

“Now I’m forced to work with you and you won’t stop complaining about my choices in women as if any of them could ever fucking turn me on the way you do, y/n.” he said through gritted teeth. He fisted your hair, pulling back with enough force to expose your neck before trailing wet kisses down the length of  it as you moaned loudly in response.  

“I-I’m sorry.” you muffled, through the moans. You hadn’t intentionally done anything to hurt him but you knew that you weren’t exactly the easiest person to work with sometimes as well. You definitely were a bit of a brat at times and being so hyper focused on your work had been making you more uptight lately.

“Don’t be, princess.” He said, as he momentarily slowed his pace and dropped a single peck on your cheek. “I’ve been an even bigger asshole to you. But I plan on making it up to you right now.”

With a quick motion, Mark wrapped his free arm around you and lifted you up onto the boardroom table. He pulled your two chairs into position, before placing each of your legs on either one and placing himself between your legs.

He gently pushed back on your chest until you leaned back onto your own hands. He watched your chest rise and fall with every breath, pure lust in his eyes. You weren’t sure what to expect from him anymore. He went from being completely desperate for your touch to being dominant within minutes. He was taking complete control but you loved every second of it.

Mark leaned back over your body, lifting you slightly off the table to hike up your dress and exposing your stockings. He gripped the fabric and tore it right down the middle, as you gasped. He pressed his index and middle finger over your clit as you threw your head back moaning. The sudden pressure had caught you off guard and by the time you had opened your eyes again he was lowering himself onto his knees.

He pushed your panties aside and wasted no time pressing his tongue into you. With a single slow lick up your slit, he had you whimpering throughout the entire room. He continued to play with you for several minutes until you were dripping wet. Suddenly, his pace intensified as his tongue swirled against your clit before taking it into his mouth, suckling until your body began to shake, edging closer to its limit. Your body stretched across the table. You no longer had the energy to even sit up and watch him anymore as you writhed underneath his touch in pure ecstasy.  “Oh my goodness, Mark… I’m going to –“ you began, as your hips began to raise up. You weren’t in control of your own body anymore. You thrusted against his tongue out of necessity. You needed to feel every last bit of him. He reached up to hold you into position.

“Keep riding my face… yeah, just like that. I want you to come for me, Princess.” he mumbled, between your thighs. His words pushed you over the edge as your body began to convulse, finally reaching its orgasm as your hips jerked and twitched against his wet face. Usually you would have been embarrassed to look so hungry for another persons touch but it felt too good to worry about such things this time. 

Mark wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt before standing up again. The fabric of his pants were stretched to their limit, being strained by his hard dick. He palmed himself through his pants.

“You taste like heaven, baby girl. I wish you could see how sexy you look right now spread out across this table.” he groaned as he reached under his pants, stroking himself. He held himself up against the table with one arm as the other one pumped away, with a pained expression on his face.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and the veins in his arms became more prominent with each stroke as his pants dropped lower to expose more of him. The sight alone was enough to send your heart racing. Not only did he take care of you, but the mere sight of you drove him this crazy? You sat up and reached towards him to cup his face.

Your lips slowly and sensually met. It was a kiss long overdue.Your lips parted and you sucked on his tongue, tasting both him and yourself. Mark pulled away as he threw his head back. “Fuck.” he exclaimed as he jerked his hips into his palm. He was getting closer but there was no way you were going to let him finish on his own even though he was clearly too much of a gentleman to expect anything in return.

You leaned back onto the table and slipped out of your dress as marks eyes were firmly shut, focusing on his pleasure.

You spread your legs apart before calling his name, “Mark, it’s my turn to make it up to you.”

You locked eyes before slipping your fingers into your mouth to wet them before reaching towards his member. He released himself immediately and watched transfixed as you jerked him off slowly before directing him to your entrance.

With a quick motion you pushed yourself onto him, meeting his body half way with your own. He cursed under his breath, wrapping both of his arms around your body. He filled every inch of you comfortably stretching your walls and making your legs tremble. His thrust were rough, deep, and slow. With your head thrown back, and his face burrowed in your neck, you both reached your peaks together. With two final desperate thrusts, Mark collapsed onto your body, releasing himself inside of you – with your arms wrapped around one another. Neither of you could believe what had just happened... in the boardroom of all places. 

The following day was eventful. You were completely exhausted from the night before. Before leaving, you hoped that no one would look over the security footage and question why you arrived in the office in stockings and left without them, since mark had completely destroyed your favourite pair. You and Mark may have had fun but you still needed to stay late and finish up your actual work and clean up the mess you made in the boardroom you happened to be sitting in at that very moment with your boss, a director, and the rest of the crew, working out the logistics regarding the video shoot.

The entire time, Mark stared intently at you while glancing down at the table, obviously replaying last night events in his head. You tried your hardest to focus on the meeting but couldn’t help but feel turned on knowing he was both unusually quiet for once and also staring at you.

“Great results from the casting, you two. I knew you would be able to come together and play nice with each other to get the job done.” said Bishop Banks as he wrapped up the meeting for the day. 

Your cheeks flushed red at his comment as Mark stifled a laugh. If only your boss knew how literal of a statement that was. 

[retvenkos]

(PART ONE) Hello! Congratulations on your milestone! Can I request a :fire: for Harry Potter? I’m a straight female, My zodiac sign is Scorpio, I’m also a Slytherin. My personality type is Estp-t. I have big goals for my future such as being an actress. I also play the electric guitar and I also really enjoy skateboarding. My favorite music artists are lil peep, Ghostemane, and suicideboys. My friends say that I am very adventurous and I’m emotionally strong.

(PART TWO) they also say that I’m not afraid to take any risks. I can be a bit stubborn at times, I have a hard time trusting people. My aesthetic is a dark grunge. I am an ambivert, I’m not afraid to dream big too. I am also very passionate about witchcraft. I don’t like too much physical contact. I am very protective of my personal space unless I am with someone I’m very close with. Thank you! <3

Harry Potter:

I ship you with Regulus Black!

now, at first this may not seem like the best idea, but i’ve put a lot of thought into this and can say that this is a good idea

from what i gather about scorpios (astrology is not my strong suit) you are the stereotypical slytherin - bold, ambitious, maybe a little secretive... you definitely have the potential to swing either way on the villain/hero scale. you are sharp and intelligent, and more stubborn than anything else, but none of these qualities are necessarily bad. 

truth be told, a lot of these traits are sirius’ personality traits. you’re very similar to him, and therefore, very different from regulus.

where you are bold, regulus is cautious; where you are ready to jump into battle, regulus is patient; where you are defiant, regulus is flexible and goes under the radar; where you are prone to taking risks, regulus is calculated.... and the list goes on.

on the surface, the two of you look like you would never get along - and i’m usually not a fan of opposites attract - but i have some key points that i want to get through to help explain where i’m going with this.

(1) regulus has lived with sirius for his entire life, and since you are so similar to sirius in personality, he understands you really well. of course, he probably doesn’t like you right away, but he knows how you operate and either the teachers catch onto this and make you partners or some of regulus’ friends realize this and task him with getting you to go help them out.

(2) both of you could become either the villain or hero of the story. regulus is a bit of a tragic character, really, because with the push in the right direction, he could have made a lot of change a lot sooner than he did, and maybe the most cruel thing was the time stolen from him. he’s extremely vulnerable to influence, just due to his personality, and so had he been given someone who believed so adamantly in dumbledore and the other side of the war, regulus really could have been the hero - no need for harry potter to grow up, because regulus could have taken center stage and defeated voldemort himself, with the help of the order of the phoenix. from what i know about scorpio, slytherin, estps, you could have a very similar story. because you have all the determination and ambition to go one way, but you are also transformative and can turn with the right influence, and be adamantly the opposite. both you and regulus are perfect for redemption arcs or bastardisation arcs, depending on what influences you have.

and, since you are the more bold and steadfast, of the two, you would be a driving force in regulus’ turn to the good side - you would supply him with all of the confidence and practicality, and the two of you could have honestly stopped voldemort together, that’s in no way a joke.

(3) you are incredibly forgiving, and this is because you have faced the darkness within yourself, so you are not afraid of it when you it in others. furthermore, you are incredibly perceptive and intuitive, so even though you are slow to trust, you know deep down when you can trust someone and perhaps hold them at bay for a while until you are 100%. but when you’ve seen them, and this usually happens early on, you know. you’re just praying your not wrong. (but girl, trust yourself. you are among the most intuitive slytherins out there, and you are rarely wrong).

(4) you both think big! this is usually rare for an estp, but it makes sense since you are a slytherin. you both have goals and will stop at nothing to achieve them. when you and regulus know what you want, you get it, no matter the cost, and that’s really iconic of you.

something i love about you and regulus is that you will bring dreams to him. regulus has never really had the luxury of foreseeing an ideal future for himself, but you are not afraid to dream, and you can bring dreams to him. it’s definitely one of the reasons why he first fell for you - you talk about the future like it’s something meant to be seized, and you talk about dreams like they’re meant to become reality.

i also think that your stubborn side is good for regulus - he can often be gripped with indecision, but you will take the reins and soldier forth with the idea you know think to be the best. you are bold and direct and original, all of which regulus thinks he is not. you are the person that shows him he is, indeed, all of those things - he’s standing up to the dark lord, after all.

(okay, sidebar, but now i really want to read a series with you and regulus. you are fellow pureblood slytherins who believed in supremacist ideologies because you were raised that way, but in your 6th year at hogwarts, the two of you are forced to become death eaters, and slowly from there, you realize what the death eaters truly were - murderers and thieves and terrible, terrible people who are willing to do terrible, terrible things for no real end. and the two of you decide to leave together. you find the first horcrux and succeed in destroying it, and then the two of you start to fight against voldemort alone, until you eventually join the order of the phoenix and start to take voldemort down. in this version, there is no prophecy and harry potter isn’t the boy who lived because you and regulus take down voldemort yourselves. sirius, james, and remus both join your sides (peter can still be a traitor, or not, it’s up to you. same with snape - i feel like without the harry storyline he wouldn’t swap sides.) and we get the marauders plus you two destroying the horcruxes. can you imagine how great that story would be?)

okay i have rambled too long, let me give you some random headcanons.

as i have said before, regulus listens to music religiously so i 100% see the two of you listening to music while on the run, debating about who’s band is better.

and that’s another thing! you guys have debates like no other - it’s really a wonder the two of you care so deeply about each other, because to the untrained eye, you both look like you annoy the hell out of each other, and it’s very funny when people realize you are such good friends.

(oh yeah, enemies to friends to lovers. although now i get just friends vibes, but i’ve put so much effort into this match up.... friends or lovers. your choice)

i definitely think that the two of you have stargazed throughout your travels - regulus probably told you all about his family one night, when you’re looking at the stars, and you comfort him.

oh! since you want to be an actress, headcanon that the two of you have to go undercover as muggles for a while in your attempts to defeat voldemort, and you end up really falling in love with muggle movies, and after the two of you have a marathon one night (maybe you get a night off or something, idk), you talk about how you want to be an actress. and then, regulus prompts you to dream for him - what would this actress life be like, if when it happens?

and you spin an entire story for him, a dream - a hopeful one - without the war and the suffering, without magic and death eaters, where the two of you are happy - you as an actress, and regulus as a screenwriter, only crafting the most complex of characters for you to play.

and he’s pleasantly shocked that he’s in this dream of yours, and you confidently tell him that no matter where you go, he’ll always be there, at your side. “you can’t get rid of me now, you realize that, don’t you? you’re stuck with me, black.”

and he doesn’t say anything in that moment, but he thinks that maybe that’s not such a bad dream, after all.

okay, i popped off with this one, but now i really want this regulus story to be a THING,,,,,,,,,,, ugh. can you imagine how great it would be? okay, just imagine if it were a mini series and it had the greatest soundtrack ever, and the palate was dark greens and blacks,,,,,, i got carried away but can you imagine.