hi i'm alive, here you go have your daily dose of my silly md au scribbles

this is Y, and now i'm going to casually use her as an excuse to explain assembly drones because let's be honest it's about time i actually did that Y specifically because 1. i drew her 2. she's literally the very first assembly drone character i've ever brought into this cursed land so she technically started all this so basically yeah uhhhh uhhhhhhhh basically these idiots are, for the most part, a bunch of "disassembly drones should die"-minded worker drone individuals that casually, you guessed it, hunt down disassembly drones and kidnap their parts which they either attach to themselves or build some new messed up weaponry shit out of later to shank disassembly drones more efficently yes i am aware that their name is like incredibly cheesy i just can't think of another one for the love of me so "assembly drones" will have to do for now lmao silly taser tails are basically the faction's signature trait sorta thing. they diy those out of dd parts like usual

the whole faction has a bg actually but i won't give you that today because this is about Y and not the whole assembly drone community today and uhh because i'm still developing said bg lol

anyway enjoy this image of what i am only willing to describe as "the average cluster gem maker but murder drones" as i descend back into my casket for until i draw something else to casually showcase to yall

Boots on the Moon - F. Tony x Reader

Word count: 1,169

F. Tony Scarapiducci x Reader

Me being self indulgent because there aren't enough Ben Schwartz fanfics

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meal Armstrong's was the absolute worst place to work on the Space Force base. A majority of employees were acne ridden teenagers unaware of the concept of deodorant, and the pay was so low you honestly often considered becoming a sugar baby. Not to mention the constant sticky sweet ice cream you were usually coated in by the end of the day. But wanting to become a scientist on the site, you had to get the connections for an internship. And you figured being on the base would give you access to professionals in the field you wanted to get into.

The only semi-enjoyable moments of working were when F. Tony Scarapiducci showed up. Tony was Space Force's media manager, often working beside General Mark Naird himself. He came by a couple times a week, ordering the same thing every time: two scoops of "Boots on the Moon" ice cream in a medium sized sugar cone. You'd smile every time you'd see him or hear his voice, knowing the engagement that would follow. He'd always ask about your day, nodding along to let you know he was still listening. Leaning down on the counter in front of you, he'd tilt his head slightly and smile up at you. You swore it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen. And when you asked about his day you'd try and stay as engaged as possible while preparing his order (which honestly wasn't very hard because it had become almost second nature).

Today was an especially slow day, the sky was overcast and the wind was particularly chilly. Perfect weather for ice cream right? You twiddled with your thumbs, spacing out into the grey sky in front of you. "It's a beautiful day for ice cream, don't you think?" Jolting you out of your trance you came face to face with Fuck Tony Scarapiducci. You chuckled and took a deep breath.

"Jesus Tony, you scared the shit out of me." He smirked slightly.

"Sorry Y/N. I figured you're probably bored out of your mind, so why not stop by and pay you a little visit?" He winked at you. You watched as his deep brown curls slightly blew in the breeze, and how his face creased up slightly whenever he smiled. Shit I’m staring. He raised his eyebrows, smiling even bigger. Shit he noticed.

“So... Tony...” You cleared your throat, “How about this weather right?” That was so dumb oh my god y/n. You had to physically resist the urge to facepalm yourself. He chuckled and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“How about this weather?! Are you serious Y/n?” He laughed as you awkwardly chuckled. 

“I mean, I don’t know. Small talk is hard. And I already know what you’re going to order so...”

“You wanna keep me around for longer L/n?” Alright I’ll bite. You leaned over, elbows on the counter. Your faces less than a foot apart, feeling warmth coat your cheeks in blush.

“And what if I do Mr. Scarapiducci?” the right side of his mouth tugged up in a smirk. He glanced around in exaggeration, feigning deep thought before returning his gaze to yours.

Almost whispering, he finally replied, “Then I’d say get me that sugar cone with two scoops of Boots on the Moon ice cream and we can get out of here when your shift ends.” Your heart began pulsating quicker, the sound murmured in your ears. Holy shit, did he just ask me out?! Are we going out on a date?! Thoughts raced through your head as you turned around and started assembling his order. Your nerves were evident, as your usual calm and collected demeanor was gone, and replaced by a mousey and evidently shaking bundle of anxiety.

Tony watched from a distance the change in your attitude. Being used to seeing the confident and self-assured Y/n, it was kind of refreshing to watch you be nervous. It also confirmed that you were likewise attracted to him. A smile tugged on Tony’s lips.

Hands shaking a bit, you finally placed the last scoop of ice team into the cone. Exhaling you began walking to Tony to hand it over to him. And of course because it’s you, a small puddle of melted ice cream from earlier in the day caused you to slip and fall on the floor of Meal Armstrongs. Taking the ice cream cone with you. “Oh my god! Are you okay Y/n?!” Tony rushed over to the inside of the booth to sit beside you. This is so embarrassing.

You sighed, “I’m okay, just a bruised dignity is all.” He chuckled, when an idea entered his mind.

“When does your shift end exactly?”

You glanced at your phone. “In like 15 minutes, why?” He then got up, picked up the “Closed” sign, and put it up in the counter.

“Let’s get out of here now.” You smiled, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“I like the sound of that.” But looking at yourself you had to reanalyze. “But I am covered in ice cream right now.”

“I can think of something.”

_______________

“Are you sure that I don’t look like a complete doofus wearing this?” You ask, tugging on the Space Force merch that Tony graciously bought you.

“You look adorable Y/N.”

“Really?” You start sarcastically, “It’s an extra large, in bright orange. I look like a walking traffic cone promoting the least respected force in America.” His head falls slightly to his right shoulder, giving a look that reads as, are you being serious right now? He steps closer to you,

“Seriously Y/N, you look great.” He rests a gentle hand on your left shoulder. “And if you’re a traffic cone you are the sexiest traffic cone I’ve ever seen in my life, swear to God.” You lightly smack his arm in mock annoyance. Secretly, you love this kind of banter with him.

“Alright, alright, where are we going Romeo?”

“I was thinking... Clément’s?” You’re taken aback. Clément’s is this absurdly fancy French restaurant in Denver, you wouldn’t even know about it if not for Tony telling you that Zendaya ate there like two weeks ago. 

“Clément’s? Are you fucking with me?”

“I may or may not know someone who works in the kitchen... as the head chef.”

“I mean, that sound amazing! But honestly, it’s a bit above my price range. Like a lot.” He bits his lip softly, as if debating whether or not to say something.

“I mean I was thinking that I could pay for it. If that works for you, I mean, I was the one who asked you on this date.” He begins to ramble, “And my friend in the kitchen said that if I used the Space Force twitter account to promote the restaurant, he would give us a huge discount-”

“Us? You told him about me?” Tony blushes with embarrassment. 

“I may have mentioned something about wanting to take a beautiful woman out to dinner.” 

“Even one who looks like a nationalistic pumpkin?”

“Especially.”

_________________

Hey fellow Ben Schwartz fans! Let me know if you liked this quick lil story. I started writing it a while ago but didn’t finish until recently. I’ll probably be writing a part two with y’all actually going out to dinner :)

BTS Reactions: Their S/O is an Actual Witch

a/n: I pulled from a bunch of different witchcraft traditions for this one, just to give it a little variety. Once again my own life inspired a reaction post concept :')

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, send some in please! I'd love to hear your ideas!

Please note that the spelling of magic with an added k at the end is intentional.

You already know this was minimally edited. Proceed with caution. <3

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Jin | tarot:

The first few times Jin noticed a deck of cards laying around your apartment, shortly after your relationship had begun, he didn’t think much about it. He really had no reason to, honestly. It wasn’t until he overheard you quietly talking to yourself while setting out cards on the table in front of you one evening that he even paid much attention. “Spirit, is there any more information you can give me about this topic?” you muttered to yourself before shuffling your deck, taking the cards that flew out and laying them face up in front of you.

Considering this odd behavior, Jin observed as you peered intently at the cards, the wheels turning in your head practically visible. After a minute you felt his eyes on you, instinctively turning to look at him, taking note of his bewildered and vaguely concerned expression. That was when he finally got brave enough to ask what on earth you were doing. You smiled at him, patiently explaining that you read the cards in order to get guidance or insight on basically anything in life, and that they often answered questions that would otherwise go unexplained or without clarification.

He nodded slowly, sort of understanding what you were saying to him, though still kind of giving you a weird look. You could tell that just then, Jin thought the whole concept was weird, but at least he wasn’t opposed to it as far as you could tell. Not everyone was even willing to entertain such ideas.

After a few months, however, he regarded it very differently, having observed your use of tarot over that period of time. You felt a surge of warmth and satisfaction the first time Jin entered your apartment, immediately stating “Get your cards, I need advice.” Thus he grew to appreciate your craft.

Yoongi | wicca / paganism / related holidays:

You never actually had a moment where you told Yoongi about your practice of witchcraft, and you definitely didn't get into the religious aspects. During the early stages of your relationship, you just kind of did what you needed to do without regard for explaining your actions. He definitely noticed the small things you did, simple things like burning sage. He didn’t act in response to this little action, just became more observant and curious about your practices and beliefs. Over time he just absorbed the things you did, then did his own research to learn the purposes of your actions. Unbeknownst to you, he had learned, entirely on his own, a great deal about your witchcraft. You had no idea.

One day Yoongi noticed that you had marked Samhain on your calendar in big red letters, and he decided to ask you about it. You were shocked when he inquired about your plans for the holiday, having been fully unaware of his knowledge of its existence. You explained to him what you were planning to do, and he surprised you again by understanding what you meant without further explanation.

A month passed and October 31 was only a week away. You were having dinner with Yoongi and the rest of the members, who were also your close friends. Conversation shifted to Halloween parties and who was doing what. Several of the boys had decided to attend a particular party, buzzing with excitement as they discussed costume ideas. They then proceeded to invite you and Yoongi to join them.

“Sorry, we can’t go. We have plans.” Yoongi replied, earning a scoff from Jimin. “Plans for a nap, hyung? Come on, for just one night quit being such a grandpa.” He complained. You didn’t know how to explain that you weren’t just being antisocial this time. Thankfully Yoongi beat you to replying, “Y/N and I will be observing Samhain. We can’t join you.” He stated matter-of-factly, warming your heart with his support of your beliefs, but thoroughly confusing the other members.

“You’re doing what…?” Hobi inquired, baffled. Yoongi patiently explained. “Samhain, it’s the same day as Halloween. It’s a pagan holiday marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of the cold part of the year. There are various rituals and activities to be done to observe the day. Y/N and I will not be able to come to the party because we will be busy with Samhain tasks. As a witch it is a very important occasion, the witch’s new year.” You were impressed at how well he was able to explain the situation to the others.

With that, the other members backed off about the party, but they were suddenly filled with curiosity about you being a witch and all the things that entailed. The bad news was that you were bombarded with questions. The good news was not only were your friends curious and supportive, but Yoongi was supporting you wholeheartedly without you even realizing. You felt very lucky to have him.

Hoseok | astrology:

Not long after meeting him initially, you began to get the feeling that Hoseok was a skeptic when it came to more esoteric subjects. As such, you didn’t even mention astrology to him until you’d been together for a couple of months already. You were sitting at a cafe, sipping your warm drinks and casually catching up after a busy few days at work.

You thought it best to use something he was familiar with as a segue into the topic, so you brought up the concept of the Chinese zodiac and the meaning of each animal’s years, as well as how that is often seen as an indicator of compatibility for relationships or even just friendships. Hobi fully understood your point, though he wasn’t sure where you were going with the conversation overall.

You then spoke about Western Astrology and a general overview of how it is used to determine compatibility as well. You thought it best to keep it simple so he didn’t get confused. You explained that to be able to get the information you were wondering about, you needed the time he was born. Hoseok shrugged, because like most people, he didn’t know his birth time off the top of his head. You suggested lightly that perhaps he could ask his mom, remaining nonchalant in your tone, but employing the puppy dog eyes you knew he could never resist.

Only minutes later, he was calling his mother to ask for the information. You were pleased that you’d managed to get a hold of his birth chart, as that was the basis of everything you wanted to know, and you made a mental note to do some deeper analysis when you got home. Your greatest curiosity was the synastry chart for your relationship, a type of compatibility chart that overlays one person’s chart on top of the other. You didn’t expect to actually get Hobi interested in astrology. His indifferent tolerance of the subject combined with his willingness to seek information you requested were more than enough for you.

Namjoon | kitchen magick:

Namjoon, your beloved genius sweetheart of a boyfriend, was also a walking accident waiting to happen. His clumsiness was quite honestly an issue. You worried about how hard he was on himself, too, though. He was a dedicated leader and ridiculously busy at all times  thanks to his love for his work. As a kitchen witch, you did what you could to use your talents to help him.

On a day when he seemed particularly scatterbrained, you made him peanut butter banana toast for breakfast, with peanut butter AND bananas for luck and bread for protection and prosperity. When Namjoon was stressed about writer’s block, you made him your special hot chocolate recipe, with vanilla extract to promote calm thoughts and a sprinkle of gingerbread crumbs for creativity. When he was burnt out from hectic schedules, you made him lemon tea with sugar, lemons being for rejuvenation and healing, while sugar was for happiness and sweetness in life.

One evening Joon remarked how your cooking always made him feel better, and you explained that it was because you used kitchen magick. He’d had no idea until that point, and while he was shocked he was also extremely intrigued, wanting to learn more about your craft. From then on, Namjoon was always sure to ask what the food was for before happily consuming it, in awe of its efficacy as well as your thoughtfulness in making it for him.

Jimin | candle magick:

You really didn’t know how or when you should explain to Jimin about your inclination toward candle magick, or that you were a witch in general. You didn’t just stick to your own personal practice, either. You had a little business selling spell and intention candles online as well. You decided, however, that until you could figure out how to explain it all, you’d just go about your regular routine and activities without saying anything about them to Jimin.

What you hadn’t counted on was Jimin’s inherently sweet, helpful, and supportive nature. The first time he’d appeared when you were working on your candles, you really had no idea what to say to him, so you just sort of smiled and kept doing your thing. Your heart warmed when, after a few minutes of observing you, Jimin jumped in and started helping with your task.

The two of you were sorting components to put into the batch of protection candles. Most of the ingredients went directly into the wax, but there were a few you liked to put on top, which was what you and Jimin were organizing. Each candle was topped with black salt and sea salt, plus a piece of Snowflake Obsidian and a tiny pentacle charm, finished off with a cinnamon stick and a bayleaf half submerged in wax, half sticking out.

Jimin was helpfully making a pile of the topping components for each candle so that they would be ready when you got to the stage of assembling the candles. It wasn’t until the little piles were finished, the tins for the candles to be poured in were neatly arranged in front of you, and you had begun putting the actual ingredients into the candle wax that Jimin even questioned why you were doing this. Promising to explain once finished, you poured each of the candles into the tins and added the topping items.

Leaving the candles to cool and harden, you explained it all to Jimin - about your being a witch, about your candle shop, and about the purpose of the batch he’d just helped you create. You braced yourself for a bad reaction, conditioned to expect that after years of being bombarded with others’ distaste for your craft. Shockingly, though, Jimin just smiled and asked if he could help you make your candles more often, admitting that he’d had a lot of fun today, and that he thought it would be a great way to spend more time with you.

Taehyung | crystals:

At first it was nothing but noticing all the crystal jewelry you often wore. When you and Tae were just getting to know each other, he’d always compliment you on your style or on specific pieces, like a quartz point necklace or obsidian beaded bracelet. You knew your choice in accessories could be seen as a tad unusual, so you were happy that he seemed to appreciate it.

But his casual interest in your jewelry was nothing compared to the first time he came to your apartment. He was in awe of the numerous crystals of every shape and size that were scattered around your space, the epitome of an “ooh shiny!” reaction. It amused you greatly, especially when he asked you about your “rock collection” and where they all came from. They truly were impossible to miss, with many of them in every room of your place.

You half expected him to shy away when you started explaining the reason for your crystal collection and the purposes of each piece, but surprisingly he remained just as interested, listening closely in fascination. He asked specifically about the big pieces first, which made sense considering they were the most noticeable. You had quite a few amethyst pieces, as well as some large clear quartz and an abundance of huge chunks of rose quartz (your favorite, so you kept a lot of it around).

Taehyung was so intrigued that you spent over an hour answering his many questions, explaining the origins and properties of your various stones. He was especially interested when you explained that this was why you wore the jewelry that you did. By the time the conversation ended for the night (you were touched but a little exhausted by his enthusiasm after a while) Tae expressed wanting to get some small crystal bracelets to go with the bracelets ones he wore regularly, especially obsidian or black tourmaline because they were both for protection AND matched the aesthetic of his usual stash. You filed that information away, making a note to surprise him with a few later. By the time you’d been together almost a year, he was deeply into the crystal interest just like you were, having learned all their properties and even begun gifting some to friends for various occasions.

Jungkook | general witchy activities:

It took weeks and weeks of noticing unusual details about your life for Jungkook to even question why you did what you did. At first it was small things, like picking up on smells of incense and sage on you and in your apartment (after all, Jungkook has a very sensitive nose). Then he picked up on of how you would occasionally mutter things to yourself under your breath with intense focus. These things alone were perhaps a tiny bit odd, but all in all not terribly strange.

It was when you started spending a lot more time together that your behaviors began to seem weird to him. Like the little table in the corner of your living room that was covered with a bunch of random objects . On one occasion he picked up a cookie from it and started to take a bite, only for you to snatch it out of his hand frantically, scolding him for taking it.

Another day, he took a drink of water from a glass mason jar that was sitting out, Once again, you took it from him as quickly as possible, saying “you can’t just drink that without knowing what you’re doing!” Other than being a waste of moon water, thankfully this incident was harmless, but it might not always be if care were not taken.

Jungkook was thoroughly confused, and honestly, a little bit freaked out. He actually went to Namjoon looking for advice, literally asking him “why is my girlfriend so weird?”, leaving Namjoon doing his best to hold back laughter. “Jungkookie, she’s a witch. The cookie you took was an offering on her altar, and you were drinking moon water from that jar. I suggest you ask more questions and be more aware, then everything won’t seem so strange.” Thankfully, Jungkook followed his hyung’s advice, and there were far fewer magical mishaps after that.

a/n: I adore feedback AND requests! Please feel free to send some my way. <3

Chapter Six: Enconcert

Plot: Y/n's sister was always nice, never whined or throwed a tantrum, so when she asked him to help her, he knew it was important. But maybe he shouldn't have accepted because now it seems like he made an enemy of the famous group ATEEZ.

Pairing: San x M!reader

Did you guys get it? The title is a pun between “En concert” (meaning well “in concert”/”having a concert” and encounter ehehe)

Dialogue style code:

Bold: English(i)

Italics: Translation (not actually spoken)

Normal: Korean

                                                         ***

“We already started to assemble a few things yesterday so a few things done.

-What do you need me to do?

-Well, there is still a lot to do with the decor...”

As Zoe said that, they entered the concert hall, it was a mess, boxes everywhere, Y/n was even sure he saw some kind of corpse? His sister guided him to a tall and very tired-looking man who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What do you want Park? I’m not in the mood.

-I’m sorry Mr Kim, this is my brother Y/n, he came to replace Mr Lee.

-Ah that lil shit... So you found a replacement, good, good...

-Yes.. Well, I’ll let you in his hands Y/n. I’ve got things to take care of, i’m sorry...”

Her phone was ringing loudly, Y/n nodded as the girl left in a rush, picking up in an annoyed tone. The man turned to Y/n, looked at him from head to toes, toes to head, left to the right, examining every aspect of his being. He then proceeded to smile and stretched out his hand.

“My name is Youngjin Kim, but you can call me Kim or Youngjin-ssi for all I care.

-Yes, Youngjin-ssi”

Younjin laughed.

“No need to be so tense kiddo... So, do you know how to lift boxes?

-Yes sir. But hm..

-Yes?

-Is this person alright?”

Mr Kim looked at where Y/n pointed and squinted before yelling.

“Sungmin you piece of shit! I already told you to not sleep while we were working!”

                                                         ***

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright Mingi? Maybe we should cancel and you could start with a smaller stage... It’s going to be rlly stressfull...

-San I think you’re the one who’s stressing him out?

-WHAT HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT WOOYOUNG I’M JUST

-Guys it’s fine ; chuckled Mingi ; I promise, I’m rlly excited..”

San didn’t insist, he knew he would just make things worse and started to focus on getting ready... Except there was no makeup artist coming for him, the costumist had already done his touch up so normally someone should come to help him put on makeup. But no one did.

After some wait he decided to speak about it to his leader, but Hongjoong was busy and advised him to talk to their manager. San wasn’t really feeling comfortable with her, he didn’t understood why they needed to change when Mr Kim already did to much for them, but it was not his place to say anything, he just found her manners a bit weird.

“Ms Park?

-Oh San, you scared me ; she laughed a bit ; I already told you to call me Zoe didn’t I?

-Oh yes i’m sorry...

-Ahah only messing with you don’t worry, what’s going on? You don’t seem fine?”

He sighed, rubbed his neck. Maybe he was overeacting and being too entitled? After all it’s only been ten minutes. He knew how much time was precious in this situation though...

“Ah, not really, it’s just.. It seems my makeup artist still isn’t here? Or do we only have seven today? I’m sorry to bother it’s just...

-Oh no no don’t worry, you did right telling me... I’ll try to see what is wrong and send you someone.”

He sighed in relief, good.

                                                         ***

“Y/n wait!”

Y/n was going to leave when he saw his sister rushing through him, he raised an eyebrow and walk to her.

“What’s going on?

-I still need you

-What happened?

-A makeup artist suddenly disappeared, she isn’t answering my texts and the others are too busy to take care of one of our idol...

-Ok but... I don’t know if I have the skills though?”

She crossed her arm with a look on her face, you know that look when someone isn’t believing you? Yeah that was the one. Reminded Y/n the time where he ate all the chocolate her boyfriend had bought her but then pretended it just melted, ok but this time, Y/n really didn’t know why she was making that face, he only stated the truth, and not chocolate was involved.

“What?

-Oh really? You? Y/n Park don’t have the skills to do a makeup on someone else?

-Well not on a professional level no!

-Y/N YOU LITERALLY WORKED AS A MAKEUP ARTIST FOR THE MANOIR OF PARIS

-YEAH BUT IT WAS ONLY A SUMMER JOB? AT A SMALL HAUNTED HOUSE? NOT A CONCERT THAT WILL BE STREAMED ALL AROUND THE WORLD!!!

-IT IS THE MOST WELL KNOWN HAUNTED HOUSE IN FRANCE, IT’S EVEN RECOGNISED ALL AROUND EUROPE WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, NOW COME HERE AND HELP ME

-WELL OK I GUESS”

He laughed, if Zoe insisted, he could only compell. After fifteen minutes of walking, stairs and walking again, why the hell was this building so big for, they finally arrived in a small room, where height heads turned around just as they were entering.

“Could have told me we were working with ATEEZ ; whispered Y/n

-I didn’t?”

He sweared...

                                                      ***

San raised his head as he heard the door open, he smiled as he saw Zoe coming back with a young man only to see them whispering some things as his manager looked at the boy mockingly to then talk to the group who was glancing at them since they showed up.

“Hello again everyone, this is Y/n, my brother, he came to replace San’s makeup artist.”

They all greeted him before going back to what they were doing, meaning putting lenses, having to close their eye, pouting etc..., well except San who didn’t have anything to do and to which Zoe and Y/n were coming near.

“Hey San, so as I said before Y/n will replace your makeup artist, will it be fine for you?

-Oh yeah yeah no problem.

-Ok then...”

She smiled and rotated to talk to her brother, telling him what the makeup should look like, what was the concept, blablabla, the boy kept nodding. She left. He turned to glance at San, frowning very hard. Did he do something wrong?

“Hello, as my sister said my name is Y/n, I’ll be your makeup artist, I hope there isn’t any problem?”

San gulped, shook his head and Y/n started to put makeup on him. The vocalist eventually tried to speak a bit with him, only to receive short and rough answer, none were really rude but he clearly wasn’t happy to be here. Honestly if he wasn’t scared to ruin the makeup, and make him even more angry, San would probably cry.

                                                         ***

Masterlist

Darling father, I love all of you more than you’ll ever know.

Summary: A self-indulgent thing which I wrote for myself because honestly, why the hell not?💖 In this, I tell my Father that I know his secret. Something I think of often but I’ve never bothered to write it out. Written in past tense for this reason.😊

Word count: 2, 041.

Self-shipping etc. etc. No obligation to interact.🥰💚

Source

I was slow to put the pieces of the elusive truth together but once I had assembled all of the jagged edges, rationalised the things which didn’t made sense with the logic which was available to me, and done some reflections, it came to me all at once.

Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde are one and the same.

Father and Papa are one and the same.

I sat on the truth for several days, turning every piece of ‘evidence’ I had over and over and over in my mind. I almost tortured myself with it. I was smart enough to know not to write anything down. If the papers ended up in the wrong hands or if I lost them, it would be very bad for my parents and for the household overall. I kept everything to myself until I got fed up with my theories and decided to approach the topic by going directly to the source.

Before this point had I only ever known Father and Papa to be separate. Father was kind, gentle and tender. He asked strange questions for seemingly no reason and he was always more than happy to have discussions with me at any point. Papa was rough, coarse and always made me feel safe in how apathetic he was. Those things had never been any different as I was growing up, and I knew that they would never be any different, either, but somehow had these two distinct and opposing personalities become the same fact within just a few weeks, and it had tilted my world upon its axis.

But who could I tell? 

So I kept it to myself until I almost drove myself mad with it.

My parents were aware that there was something up with me. Not wrong, because those are different physical tells, but something was definitely up and though they were at first curious and then concerned as the days went by and my tells only increased with time, they respected my obvious need for alone time and didn’t question me about it.

Until a week to the day when I had first realised the startling truth and showed up in Father’s doorway, shaking. My face was pale and my eyes were red, the surrounding skin blotchy and my cheeks sticky with drying tears. I had never seen my Father stand up so quickly as he shoved his chair back so harshly that it scraped loudly against the floor as he strode across the study and reached me in just seven strides, confident is he when his family is threatened in some kind of way.

Though usually was my Father awkward in his affections, this time there was no hesitation as he wrapped an arm around my middle and pulled me into the room, shutting the large, heavy door with a quiet click before he walked with me over to the fireplace, which was crackling merrily and was the musical accompaniment to my sobbing.

“Erika,” My Father spoke my name and I looked at him, but the kindly and affectionate look of interest in his eyes only brought about a fresh wave of tears, which slid down my face hot and fast. I was beyond the point of being able to speak and he leaned forward in his chair to take both of my hands in his as he lowered me to sit down opposite him. “What is the matter?” Though he spoke calmly, there was a tinge of desperation in his voice, his mind so clearly racing. “Is this about what’s been... bothering you these last days?”

I nodded, clinging to my Father’s hands. I pressed down with my fingers and he immediately understood, for always would my Father hear me, and he opened his fingers so that I could slot mine in the spaces, tightening my hold on him. Father was my grounding in this moment and so perceptive was he that he fulfilled my needs wordlessly, understanding me better than I could ever understand myself.

“Y - you,” Father visibly sat up straighter and he took a deep breath, steadying himself to hear me out without interrupting me. He would hear everything I said, but he would listen to what I didn’t, and so I had to speak carefully. I knew I wasn’t wrong, but now it was just a matter of confession. “Father, you - “ At the thought of what I was going to say, yet another wave of tears coursed down my face and his gaze tightened upon his face. I was being analysed. “What did you do?”

Father froze and his face lost all colour. He looked in that moment as horrified as I felt and he said, “You know.” with a sense of finality. He sounded as though he was choking and I vaguely wondered who was trying to keep who quiet. Was it Papa making it so Father couldn’t speak, or was it Father holding his own self back, as so often did he?

I nodded, secretly relieved that I wouldn’t have to say it, and yet horrified and upset all the more to know that I was right.

“Ho - how could you possibly - ?” 

I smiled. I didn’t often take my Father by surprise, he knew me far too well for that, and a part of me wanted to indulge in the feeling, though my despair and grief for him was too strong for any other emotion to come to the forefront. “All my life, I have never once see you and Papa in the same room together. Not only that, but sometimes you or Papa knows about something I’ve said or done even though one of you wasn’t in the room when it happened, but the other was. Neither of you are the type to gossip so the only logical explanation I could come to in this last week was that you’re...” one and the same. I trailed off; I didn’t need to finish my sentence now that Father and I were on the same page.

Silence filled the room as both of us sought to grab back onto reality, desperately trying to come to terms with what was happening. Father could see what I needed so clearly - to know that my Father was still there and he once more took control of the situation, putting me at ease in the best way he could. “Oh, my dear child. Come here.” Father used his grip on my hands to pull me out of my seat and into his lap, where I have always found safety. I got comfortable in his lap and Father wrapped his arms around me in the way he knew I loved the very most. I felt all the more upset by this and Father allowed me the courtesy of not addressing my tears, knowing that I would be embarrassed if he did. Even now, I was his concern. It made me cry harder somehow and Father and I seemed to realise at the same time that this was to be a late night affair. “What questions do you have for me? There must be something. I have never known you to be without a curiosity.” There was a smile in his voice  and I looked up at my Father just in time to catch the familiar light in his eye which spoke of his pride in me.

I took a deep breath, snuggling into my Father. “Most of it I’ve figured out for myself... I’ve been so careful to put everything together before I came to you with this.” I trailed off but both of us could hear me say, I wanted to make you proud. Father dropped a kiss to the crown of my head to say, I’m always proud of you and this silent but loud admission was everything I needed. 

“Yes,” He mused, “I’m afraid you’ve been upset by this.” He said it not as a question, but as a fact, and I almost wanted to laugh at the understatement. Almost.

“How could I not be? You...”  I took a deep breath to steady myself. Be brave for him, Erika. “I... I have two questions. I’m not sure I want to know the answers but at the same time...”

A hand smoothed down my hair. “Your thirst for knowledge is very much like my own. Speak freely then, Erika, and I shall endeavour to satiate your curiosity.” As much as I didn’t want to know, Father didn’t want to tell, and a heavy silence fell which we both hesitated to break, but this was a needed conversation.

I shifted in Father’s lap so that I could look him in the eyes. “Does it...” I closed my eyes and Father found one of my hands and squeezed it to encourage me. “How badly does it hurt you? It can’t be easy.” Tears fell anew and this time Father did address my tears, wiping them away with the soft pads of his thumbs. “And what - do I have to have this talk with Papa, too, or does he - can he hear me? Do you both remember what the other has experienced or - “

Father held a hand up to silence me, sensing that I was beginning to lose control over myself as everything which I had held inside for the last week came spilling out like a tap had been turned on and left to run. “Breathe, Erika.”

I did as he said and felt as the heat inside my head began to subside. My own emotions could be vented when I was alone but for now, I had to concentrate. I had approached Father of my own accord and now I was getting the answers I had been wanting for so long. 

“It’s a terrible pain when we transform from one to the other. I’m the... original, so to speak, and Mr. Hyde, your Papa,” A wry smile, for we both knew how deeply I had always been connected to him, “Is the second self.” To hear of the pain was more than I could take and I cried anew in grief for him. Father was analysing me again as he answered my question. “I’m not... sure what Mr Hyde feels when he’s inside me. When he’s in control it is as if I fall asleep and the events which occurred are but a stain of breath upon a mirror.” A pause and then, “What upsets you so?”

“You - the pain. Why would you do that to yourself?”

Father took a deep breath to steady himself and then, “I did not foresee... how bound up he and I would become in each other. I had no conception of what was to come. He had surely liberated me as much as he has imprisoned me, and I know not which is the worst.”

Silence fell once more, marked only by our out of sync breathing and the grandfather clock which had been sat upon the mantel of the fireplace for as long as I could remember. There was everything and nothing to say. But there was something beneath my tongue, something which I needed to say even if Father already knew it, and because of the way I was sitting, Father saw it immediately. He saw my hesitation, too, and he smiled kindly, though he said nothing. 

“I love all of you, Father. There’s nothing...” I smiled, daring myself to say it but knowing I would anyway, “either of you could do which would make me love you any less or be any less proud to have you as my parent. I love you so much it hurts.”

Silence fell once more, for Father and I knew each other well enough to be able to communicate without words. The way he was holding me was a reciprocation of my love for him, and I snuggled back into where I was most comfortable and though my tears continued to flow, I felt once more at peace with myself for having had this moment with my Father. I knew not what the future held, but that didn’t matter - I had my parents. What more did I need?

omg this event you've made is so adorable 🥺🥺 congrats on 100 followers too btw! 🎉🎉 for my request... I'd like to order a Lavender Rose White Mocha with Cater please !

The Only One

Warning(s): female reader, mutual pining, slight angst, slight fluff at the end

A/N: Aww thank you, Marzi~ And I’m at 250 now. Whoops lol. This took so long to write because I wanted to make it angsty even though it was supposed to be funny.. I literally can only write angst. It’s kind of sad. But Cater is good angst material ohoho~ But don’t worry it’s just a little sad not heart wrenching. I hope you like it

Cater took a liking to you. More than he would've liked. It was silly, after all. You were just another regular at this coffeeshop. There were a handful of you, but out of all of them, he just had to like you enough for it to be labeled as a crush by his colleagues. His juniors poked fun at his "special treatment" towards you. But what of it? There was nothing. He simply thought you were down to earth and nothing more.

You were mundane, nothing striking about your appearance. You were pretty, yes, but you were pretty in a way where everyone looked at you for a moment, concluding that your appearance was a little above average, then turn away and rarely ever steal a glance at you again. You dressed comfortably and did not care much about how others perceived you. You dressed for yourself, nothing sparkly, nothing that stands out too much. To someone like Vil Schoenheit, a fellow barista, you would be named a potato on the spot. If you were a potato, you would be Cater's favorite potato. But, you're not a potato. You were more like a yellow carrot. A simple vegetable, but striking in your own, unique way.

Punctual, you were. You came to the café every day at the same time to order something to-go and leave within ten minutes. The only exception was on the weekends because you reserved those days to catch up on sleep lost during the week whilst selling your soul to the oh so prestigious Night Raven College, the school which he also attended. He saw you around, but never properly conversed with you.

He preferred keeping his fondness for you as a customer as just that– fondness.  Fondness from afar. He liked this invisible bond you two had, how he just knows what you're in the mood for, how he prepared a shot of espresso especially for you, and left it on standby, waiting for you to claim it.

There was nothing more than that. You weren't even friends. He was content with the fact that he could even talk to you at all. Perhaps it might be a self-projection, but he liked you because you seemed to have everything Cater ever wanted– an appearance that wasn't over the top and a distaste for all things eye-catching and glittery. But most of all, an authentic personality. You were real. There was no pretending. You didn't beat around the bush when ordering your initial order– the rosé latte.

"I just wanted to see if my soulmate is here," you smiled.

But they weren't. Or so you said.

"He's not here, I guess..."

Anyone would have been crushed, but you... you shrugged it off and came back the next day and the day after that and the day after that. You came every, single day.

Cater made sure not to touch on the subject of soulmates during your conversations. A little part of himself hoped that you were "the one", but he knew from his sisters' horror stories, that love does not always last. From their tales, he was much more cautious and hoped for someone while aware that they won't be around forever. "The one" is not just the person you first lock eyes with in a hallway. "The one" is always your first kiss or your first time. "The one" could be from a different universe. "The one" was unrealistic.

When he had met you, it was love at first sight and also love at first response. When you admitted that you believed the rumors about the latte unlike the many customers who denied the fact that they were desperate for love, Cater was taken aback by your honesty. He was bewitched by it.

Part of him was hoping that you would say that he was your fated lover though he acknowledged that the chances of that happening was as slim as Vil's stiletto heels. At the moment, he was completely, and utterly infatuated by your simple appearance. He had subconsciously projected his idea of "the one" onto you, hoping, by the love of god, that you were his soulmate. He knew it was a long shot from the start.

Nevertheless, when you said that there was no soulmate for you at all,  it hurt. For him. For you. But, if there was one thing Cater was good at, it was faking a smile and hoping for the best. And he did just that for you.

"Ah... don't worry, (y/n), they're bound to be here for sure!" he winked.

God, it was painful.

Some time passed after that and the way his heart throbbed at the thought of you not having a soulmate, and that he was not said soulmate, only festered. You came every day, on the hour. As punctual as ever. As vivacious as ever. You came as if the concept of soulmates did not exist. You came happily. You talked to him so easily as if he was not the one who witnessed your pitiful epiphany. Not that he questioned it, of course. He never wanted you to leave. He wanted to spend more time with you and defy fate just to be with you, but he kept his distance.

On the contrary, you concluded that he was holding back on something, but you did not want to push your luck. You didn't even have to ask. His body language displayed dejection, a slight discomfort. You often wondered why he was so chummy with you compared to the rest of the regulars in the shop. It was probably out of pity after your first encounter. But in truth, you had found your soulmate. Were you certain that he was your soulmate? Of course not. There is no certain way to confirm it. You've watched other girls come in and simply declare that someone was their soulmate after sipping that latte.

"How did the other person feel?" you wondered.

You were unsure as to how to go about it so you just left it at that. It was so silly. But what's even more absurd is that a drink could help one find their "one and only". You decided to go with your gut... even if you took a liking to a certain quirky and peppy barista. You wanted to get to know him more.

Part of you wanted to shout: "I'm your soulmate!", but that was ridiculous. That declaration was something the other person cannot decline. It was unfair for "your soulmate" if they did not feel the same way. If you had shouted: "I'm your soulmate!", it would be more of an obligation for the other person to love you. You did not want that for him. But... you did like him. A lot. You took it upon yourself to mold a relationship with him more organically.

You came to know that despite Cater's appearance, he was a coffee nerd at best. He liked to make small talk with you, talking about how stainless steel cups were the absolute bane of coffee and how ceramic cups were superior. Cater appreciated the fact that you were a woman of culture, who used ceramic cups for her to-go orders, who understood his coffee trivia or his random talks about events on Magicam.

While no significant bond formed between the two of you, one could say that you knew each other well enough to be acquaintances. There were rare occasions he shared Magicam posts with you, ones that he found worthy of wheezing whilst waiting for an order with a particularly long assembly process:

"Pfttt, (y/n)! Have you seen that video of a chicken running around in pants?"

"No? Wait! Is there such a thing?!"

"Here–"

"No!! It's probably really cursed like that picture of Professor Trein in stripper attire!" you yelped, covering your eyes.

"Okay fine. Have a picture of puppies instead."

You turned your attention back to his phone, only to regret it the moment you saw the post, "Cater!! I said I didn't want to see it! Now I can't get it out of my head..."

"It's funny though isn't it?"

You stifled a laugh, "I suppose. But it's very wrong at the same time. Animals and clothes don't go together, usually."

"Hmm... I think they weren't meant to be, but they still look good together. Like dogs look good in clothes. You can confirm that with Professor Crewel's Magicam page. It's like ahh- what is it called- oh! A happy accident! That's what that artist called it right?"

"But it looks so wrong on a chicken."

"Now are you saying a chicken can't pull off jeans?"

"Well, maybe?"

"I'm just messing, (y/n)," he chuckled, turning back to work on your beverage, sliding his phone into his back pocket.

You watched his back in silence. When he was done with your order, you thanked him and left the café.

That night, you searched up the video yourself, wondering why you found it funny the second time around. It shouldn't be funny, but it was.

It became apparent to you that Cater liked those animal videos. He showed you the next day as well.

"They're cute," you said.

In truth, they were. Were they his favorite kinds of posts? Perhaps. He did like adorable animals, but he leaned towards posts about music. Or at least, the side of the personality he showed to a majority of others did. Cater wanted to be himself around you. He tried. He showed posts about kittens and puppies to you to stir up a casual conversation. It worked most of the time. However, he also wanted others (and you, of course) to like him. Whenever his classmates came around, he would cease conversation with you or, if he was showing you a post and could not put his phone away fast enough, he would swipe to his more "manly" posts, the ones about skateboarding tournaments and such.

"Yea–"

"Mornin', Cater!"

"Pfft! No, they aren't! Oh but check this out instead! There's a new set of headphones and it sorta matches my skateboard, dontcha think?" he nervously shrugged, turning to his colleague, "Mornin', Ace!"

"Can I see the headphones too? They sound so cool!"

"What kind of upperclassman would I be if I didn't show my junior something like this," Cater grinned.

A struggle, it was.

After you left the café, Cater cursed himself. Did it come off as rude when he abruptly halted the conversation to greet a fellow barista? Did it come off as rude when he changed the subject of the conversation the moment Ace came onto the scene? He sure hopes not. He loved to make you laugh. Many have told him that the opinions of others don't matter, but old habits die hard. He's always been a people pleaser even if they weren't looking or listening to him rambling to you about animals.

Well, whatever, right? This was his poor attempt to flirt with a crush without being too direct. Cater didn't know why he even tried. You probably found your soulmate already. You might've met him after you left the shop outside on the sidewalk or something. Cater was content with seeing you every morning before you headed off to school. There was a time where he was mopey about it, but he needed extra cash so he chose that course so he could work the morning shift at this café. Now, he was glad he had late start classes if it meant having one on one time with you. He loved to talk to you; he also liked the days where you sat in the silence, listening to the clinks of cups and spoons.

Cater wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but he wasn't the dullest either. He was perceptive as one would say. You came here around the same time every day– always wanting to try something new, but always leaning towards the drinks with subtle floral. He liked how your nose crinkled whenever the fragrance was too strong, meaning you would have a hard time swallowing the concoction. From there, he assured you that he would dilute the flowery flavors for your sake, thus opening your options. Your grateful beam was what he lived for these days. Your giggle was like jingles of bells, like how fairies talked. Seeing you on a daily basis was his dose of caffeine. It brightened his day. He hated how he waited for you and panicked when you were just a few minutes late. You were always on time. You always ordered to-go but stayed for a few minutes to dilly dally with him. Cater wasn't one for routine or rules. He never understood Riddle, his coworker, for always wanting things to be a certain way– all day and every day. But with you, he understood the redhead just a little bit more.

And because he more or less understood Riddle's need for things to be in order, today was an off day. You were late. Very late. Later than usual. Later than ever before. It was the weekend and you slept in, meaning you swung by around early noon when the sun was at its midpoint in the sky. It was sundown now. Moreover, it was raining. Cater assumed that you stayed home because of the rain, but it was not raining in the morning so what kept you?

He hated himself for relying on you as a source of happiness. How could he not though? You made his heart race a thousand miles per hour. You weren't that pretty. You were plain, but he liked that. He was confused as to why... but he liked the fact that you did not invest your time in over-the-top ensembles. He liked how your lashes were of a decent length and how they didn't look like butterflies were resting on your eyes. He liked how your makeup if you were wearing any on a particular day, enhanced your natural beauty rather than make you look like a clown.

Cater liked, no– loved, you more than he should've. You were not meant to be with him. He was not your soulmate and you were not his. It was like how people were meant to fall in love, but could not be together in the long run. You didn't have to say anything to him. He knew that he wasn't meant for you. You deserved someone real, someone unlike him.

The barista smiled sadly as he wiped the last speck of dust on the worktable. Yes, you deserved better than a café fling. You deserved better than a facade that was molded so that he could survive school.

He stared out the rose-tinted windows. The rain poured like an endless stream of tears. There was not a soul on the streets. Cater turned to deposit the rag into the to-wash bin. The door chimed, signaling a new customer. Oh boy... he was not in the mood for this...

"Hey, sorry, we're closed right now!" he said, feigning a peppy aura.

"Cater..."

"(y/n)? What are you doing here? And you're soaking too! Wait let me get you a towel. I'll be right back–"

His body reacted before his mind could process. Before he knew it, he was right by your side. He was close enough to touch you, but he only hovered, waiting for permission to lightly hold you by the shoulders.

"No, no, Cater... It's fine. I just wanted to talk to you," you whimpered, taking his wrists and bringing them to your shoulders.

"You're freezing! Sit down. I'll make you something to warm you up."

He ran back to the counter, whipping out his supplies and getting to work as fast as his hands could allow him to.

"No, listen, this will be quick, I promise. I don't intend to waste any more of your time than I already have."

You obeyed, making yourself comfortable at one of the barstools.

"You've never wasted my time, (y/n)," he said, staring intently into your eyes, sliding you a to-go cup.

That was... fast. You hoped Cater wasn't waiting for you all day, just to give you this beverage. The cup was filled to the rim with whipped cream and lavender sprigs. It looked like something out of wonderland, something the Mad Hatter would serve Alice if it had to be something other than tea. His viridian green eyes peered into your soul. It was hard to decline. Hesitantly, you took the cup, taking a sip out of it. Ah... warm. Thank goodness he wasn't waiting for you. Or was he? You weren't sure how brewing coffee worked, but you knew he always kept a shot (or was it a pot?) for you on the side. He seemed distraught. The last thing you wanted was for your beloved barista to wear such a raw and broken expression.

"Did you wait for me all day?"

"...Yes, but don't worry about it! It's not your job to come here every day. How's the mocha though? I made it in such a rush that I don't know if I eyeballed the ingredients properly."

"Mocha? That's new."

"Oh yeah!  That's a Lavender Rose White Mocha! I heard lavender is supposed to have calming effects. Thought it would help you with whatever you're dealing with."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I know, I know," he smirked, "Now, answer my question: what are you doing here so late? And in the rain with no umbrella or coat too!"

"I wanted to see you."

"You could have seen me in the morning," he groaned, flopping his upper body onto the counter.

"I needed some time to think about exactly what to say."

"Well, you're here now. Shoot."

You inhaled, "I'm your soulmate."

Cater shot up from his sprawled positioned, eyes glistening, brimmed with excitement– a flood of emotions. You could not tell if they were positive or not.

You continued before he could say anything, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything before. I just... wanted our relationship to develop organically."

"There's a 'but' somewhere in this, isn't there?" he smiled sadly.

You nodded, "Our relationship developed organically, alright, but I feel... like... you don't deserve someone as ordinary as I am. You like to skateboard and you like to raise the cutest mandrakes for the fun of it... and I... I'm just a girl who likes people with interesting stories, people who lead lives without a single pause. I like you, I do, but I feel like 'the one' for you is so much more than what I can offer. I feel that is so unfair for you. Just because I drank something and declared that you are mine does not mean that you don't have a say in this too. I didn't know how to tell you, knowing that you would probably want someone better. I tried. Every single day since I tried that damn latte... but I couldn't... I always chickened out..."

"(y/n)..."

"But, now that I told you, I can finally let you shine like the star you are. Thank you for everything, Cater."

"Wait, (y/n), I also–"

"I don't need your pity. It's okay," you sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss on his lips, "I just wanted to do that... at least once."

And with that, you bolted out of the coffeeshop in embarrassment, in regret, and woe. You ran as fast as you could. It was so stupid!! The sole concept of someone to be "made for you" was so superficial, unreliable, and unrealistic. You hated how you fell for the idea of a soulmate rather than the person himself, believing that Cater was the boy for you. But that's burdensome for someone who never felt the same way. He would have liked a "cooler" girl not a plain Jane, vanilla kind of girl. The rain masked your tears. It truly hurt you. Your heart was so detrimental.

"(y/n)!! Wait!"

You stopped to turn around to meet the owner of the voice. It was all too familiar. You had spent at least ten minutes with him every day for a couple of months now, after all.

"Cater?"

"S-Slow down... I'm in the light music club, not track and field," he wheezed.

You did not heed his words and spun your heel, preparing to run off to your dorm once more.

"HEY!!! LISTEN!!!" he yelled as he tackled you with a bear hug from behind.

"No!"

You squirmed, but to no avail.

"Cater...What is there to listen to? I'm just in love with the idea of you being my soulmate, not you... I doubt that you would ever fall for such a simple girl like me without that latte. You're so cool and trendy. I could never be your lover! T-That's just not fair to you!" you sobbed, the tension in your muscles relaxed in his grip.

"Who said anything about being fair?! You just jumped to conclusions without asking about my feelings!"

"I still don't think we belong together. We're on completely different levels."

"CHICKENS IN PANTS!" he screeched as his grip on you tightened.

"What??"

"You heard me. Chickens in pants... They're not meant to be together, but they exist anyhow and they look really good together in my opinion. So if you feel that way about not being "meant for me" then think of use like that! But for your information: I actually really like simple girls! I really, really like them a lot! I like you too, idiot! I like you a lot! You're not interested in how 'cool' I am and I couldn't care less about anything flashy. I need a break from that lifestyle. You're just that for me. Please accept my feelings."

He nuzzled the back of your neck. You felt the trail of hot tears running down his cheeks.

"Pfttt. Okay. I accept. On one condition though: I'm the chicken. I don't want to be the pants," you laughed.

"Deal. Let’s head back to the café. The rain isn’t going to clear any time soon. We might catch colds.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” you hummed as you intertwined your fingers with his.

“You know, this could have been way easier if you just told me that you were my soulmate from the get-go,” Cater exasperated.

“I don’t like the idea of soulmates. I think you’ve heard me say it a thousand times before. I don’t think ‘the one’ exists at all. I feel that nobody should be projecting their fantasies onto their lover and expect said person to fulfill that ideal. I was a hypocrite though because I ended up assuming your type and who you would like. I apologize for that.”

“Ahhh so formal! So deep! I never thought about it that way. And..  I’m sorry for giving you mixed signals too.”

“They weren’t that mixed. I just felt like you wanted a girlfriend who had the same aesthetic you had.”

“Those signals were definitely mixed. I… grew up in a place, a really well off place where even the streets shimmered. It was so sparkly. I also had two sisters so I ended up taking a liking to cute things and such. Turns out that in middle school and beyond don’t like pretty boys from sparkly places who like cute things. I’ve been hiding behind something myself. I’m actually not that cool, you know, especially for hiding behind this cheerful persona.”

“I guess we’re both in the wrong now.”

“But since, we’re chickens in pants, we can do anything together!”

“Oh my god, Cater, no!”

“Yes!”

“I already have my work cut out for me already… Oh! We’re here, let’s dry up. Wait? Did you really leave the shop unattended just to chase after me?”

“I forgot about that, oops!” he shrugged.

“Well, your managers aren’t here so it should be alright.”

“Wait! Before we go in, I want to take a picture.”

“Cater, we’re soaking wet and it’s still raining.”

“Just for a second, okay?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Say ‘soulmates’!”

“Soulmates…” you rolled your eyes.

“Cute. Caption: I finally found her. Oh and for the tags– hashtag: soulmates, hashtag: chickens-in-pants, hashtag: rainy-day-kisses andddd posted!”

“Wait. Chickens in pants?”

“That’s our new shtick now!” he winked, kissing your cheek and opening the café’s door.

It was then and there you finally let all of your emotions out in the form of a hyena’s laugh.

It was then and there you finally let all of your emotions out in the form of a hyena’s laugh. The real Cater was quite dorky. You were hoping to get to know him more and in turn, he did the same for you.

Because for you, there are no such things as soulmates or “the one”, it was just a person who would walk alongside you. And that person, as fate would have it, was Cater and he was the only one for you.

Visions Of Bodies Being Burned clipping.

clipping.'s second entry in their horror anthology collection follows up 2019's There Existed an Addiction to Blood by conjuring up an atmosphere that rarely allows a moment to catch your breath. Here the Los Angeles-based trio takes Apple Music through the record's many horrors.

Say the Name William Hutson: “I had always wanted to make a track using that phrase from the Geto Boys, and we had talked about doing a Dance Mania Chicago ghetto house track about Candyman. I always liked that idea of a slow, plodding, more dance-oriented track, using that line repeated as a hook.” Daveed Diggs: “We had always talked about how that line is one of the scariest lines in rap music, it's just really good writing. Scarface does that better than anybody. What we had was this very Chicago, these really specific reference points, to me, that I had to connect. That's how I saw the challenge in my head, was like there's this very Texas lyric and this very Chicago concept. Fortunately, Candyman already does that for you. It's already about the legacy of slavery in this country. So I just got to lean into those things.”

’96 Neve Campbell (feat. Cam & China) Jonathan Snipes: “This was actually the second thing we sent them—we made an earlier beat that had a sample that we couldn't clear. We wanted to make something that sounds a little more like jerk music and something that's a little bit more tailored for them.” WH: "We didn't have our Halloween, Friday the 13th slasher song. The idea was to not have Daveed on it at all, except to rap the hooks, and just to have female rappers basically standing in for the final girl in a slasher movie. But then we liked Daveed's lines, we wanted him to keep rapping on it.” DD: “It felt too short with just two verses. We were like, ‘Well, put me on the phone and make me be the killer.’” WH: “There's a Benny the Butcher song called '’97 Hov,' this idea of referring to a song by a date and a person that's the vibe you're going for. So some of the suggestions were like, '’79 Jamie Lee Curtis' or '’82 Heather Langenkamp.' But then with Daveed on the phone and making a Scream reference, '’96 Neve Campbell' made more sense.”

Something Underneath DD: “There's a whole batch of songs we recorded in New York while I was also doing a play, and so we'd work all day and then I'd go do this show at night. For a long time, there was a version of this one that I couldn't stand the vocal performance on. It's obviously a pretty technical song, and I just never nailed it and I sound tired and all of this. So it ended up being the last thing we finished.”

Make Them Dead WH: “We did ‘Body & Blood’ and ‘Wriggle,’ which both take literal samples from power electronic artists and turned them into dance songs. The idea for this was, let's do a song that instead of borrows from power electronics and makes it into a dance song, let's try to just make a heavy, slow, plodding thing that feels like real power electronics.” DD: “When we finally settled on how this song should be lyrically, it was actually hard to write. Just trying to capture that same feel. There's something about power electronics that feels instructional, feels like it's ordering you to do something. The politics around it are varied, depending on who is making the stuff. But in order to sit within that, it had to feel political and instructional, but then that had to agree with us.”

She Bad WH: “That's our witchcraft track.” JS: “Obviously, this ended up having some melodies in it, but it started as those, but it really is just field recordings and modular synths, and there isn't a beat so much and the melody is very obtuse in the hooks. It's mostly just looped and cut field recordings.” DD: “I've been moving away from something that we did in a lot of our previous records, like really super visual, like precise visual storytelling that feels really cinematic, where I'm just actually pointing the camera at things, so that was fun to try that again.”

Invocation (Interlude) (with Greg Stuart) WH: “It's a joke about Alvin Lucier's beat pattern music, his wave songs and things like that, but done as if it was trying to summon the devil.”

Pain Everyday (with Michael Esposito) DD: “I love this song so much. Also, I definitely learned while writing it why people don't write whole rap songs in 7/8. It's not easy. The math, the hidden math in those verses is intense. It kept breaking my brain, but now that it's all down, I can't hear it any other way, it sounds fine. But getting there was such a mindfuck.” WH: “So then the idea was it's in 7/8, it's about a lynched ghost, so the idea we had was a chase scene of the ghost of murdered victims of lynching.”

Check the Lock WH: “This was conceived as a sequel to a song by Seagram and Scarface called ‘Sleepin in My Nikes.’ That was a rap song about extreme paranoia that I always thought was cool and felt like a horror, like an aspect of horror.” JS: “This is the one time on this album that we let ourselves do that like John Carpenter-y, creepy synth thing.”

Looking Like Meat (feat Ho99o9) DD: “I think they reached out wanting to do a song, and this had always felt, we always wanted this to be like a posse track, kind of. This was another one that I wasn't going to write a voice for actually, we were going to try to find a better verse.” JS: “Which is why the hooks are all different—we were going to fill them in specifically with features, but sometimes features don't work out. This is like our attempt at making the more sort of aggressive, like a thing that sounds more like noise rap than we usually do.” WH: “The first thing on this beat was I bought 20 little music boxes that all played different songs, and I stuck them all to a sounding board and put contact microphones on it, and just cranked them each at the same time.”

Eaten Alive (with Jeff Parker & Ted Byrnes) DD: “I had been in this phase of listening to Nipsey [Hussle] all day, every day, and all I wanted to do was figure out how to rap like that. So from his cadence perspective, it's like my best Nipsey impression, which we didn't know was going to turn into a posthumous tribute.” WH: “And the rapping was also partly a tribute, just spiritually a tribute to No Limit Records. That's why it's called 'Eaten Alive,' which is named after a Tobe Hooper horror movie about a swamp.”

Body for the Pile (with Sickness) WH: “It already came out [in 2016]. It ended up being on an Adult Swim compilation called NOISE. We did it with Chris Goudreau, our friend who is just a legendary noise artist called Sickness.” JS: “We always thought that would be a great song to save for a horror record, and then years went by and we weren't going to include it, because we thought, ‘Well, it's out and it's done.’ We looked around and I don't know, that comp isn't really anywhere and that track is hard to find, and we really like it and we thought it fit really nice. When we started putting it in the lineup of tracks and listening to it as an album, we realized it fit really nicely.”

Enlacing WH: “The cosmic pessimism of H.P. Lovecraft is all about the horror of discovering how small you are in the universe and how uncaring the universe is. So this song was about accessing that fear by getting way too high on Molly and ketamine at the same time, then discovering Cthulhu or Azathoth as a result of getting way too fucking high.” JS: “My memory is that this was never intended to be a clipping. song, that you and I made this beat as an example of, ‘Hey, we can make normal beats.’” DD: “That Lovecraftian idea was something that we played in opposition to a lot on Splendor & Misery, so it was good to revisit in a way where we were actually playing into it, and also it definitely feels to me like just being way too high.”

Secret Piece WH: “We wanted to really tie the two albums together, so the idea was to get everyone who played on any of the albums to contribute their one note. So we assembled the recordings of dawn and forests, and then almost everyone who played on either of these two albums contributed one note.” JS: “We have a habit of ending our albums with a piece of processed music or contemporary music. We ended midcity with a take on a Steve Reich phased loop idea, and we ended CLPPNG with a John Cage piece, and then There Existed ends with Annea Lockwood's 'Piano Burning.' So we wanted something that felt like the sun was coming up at the end of the horror movie, a little bit.” WH: “That was the idea was that we were exiting, it's dawn in a forest. So dawn in a forest in a slasher movie or a horror movie usually means you're safe, right? The end of Friday the 13th one, the sun comes up and she's in the little boat, but that doesn't end well for her either. We did not have the jump scare at the end like Friday the 13th.” DD: “I pushed for it a little bit, but some people thought it was too corny.”

Missed

TITLE: missed CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1/14 AUTHOR: hiddlemediddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being one of the few female frost giants left. As the race is dying out, you are expected to bear as many children as possible. You escape when Jotunheim is under attack, finding yourself on earth. Dr. Strange senses your arrival and takes you to the Avengers, where they are in awe of your appearance. Blue skin and crimson red eyes. When Loki sees you, he doesn’t quite know how to respond. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: Setting the scene… Loki goodness will come soon! x Warning: many names have been taken from Norse myth or simply the Marvel universe, so I wouldn’t get caught up in the history of that character when I use it in this - it’s just simply to get a name! Also, it is a modernised version of what Jotunheim would have been (as in, the dialogue is very much 21st century, not an accurate representation of Jotunheim from the linguistic point of view!) - In the halls of Jotunheim, there was a meeting. A meeting concerning the last remaining women. Your brother, Raze, placed his hand on your shoulder to comfort you, making you feel secure. You turned your head to him. He could sense your discomfort, knowing what was to come. Grundroth was now the leader of the frost giants, following Laufey’s murder by Loki. 

“We have a situation concerning the continuation of our race” said Grundroth gravely. “Conception has become a thing of the past. We have lost so many of our frost giant women.. the Asgardian attack stole our source of continuation from us” A few frost giants grumbled in anger, the tension of the hall beginning to rise. “Would the last remaining women please step forth.” A significant number of women stepped forward, though Grundroth was obliged to cut down the number as many were elderly or simply infertile. It was left to you and twenty other women who were around your age. “You will all be the future of our race, bearing as many children as possible. Consider it.. an honour to your people” Grundroth said. Your head dropped slightly, staring at the barren rock you were standing on. You felt disgusted. You felt like an animal being sold. Grundroth assigned a male frost giant to each of you. You saw your brother assigned to a woman too. He made brief eye contact with you, nodding his head slightly before turning to look at the woman he had been assigned. You were forced by propriety to raise your head from staring at the floor to look at the first man who would impregnate you. You didn’t know him, which either made it better or worse in the situation. You felt compelled to step forward before Grundroth.. tell him precisely how you felt. Why should we be subjected to this? Why not accept that the race is dying out? It would take much more than twenty women or so to repopulate Jotunheim. The assembly was dissolved. You were left alone with this man. You were both silent for a while, before you heard him clear his throat in preparation to speak. In all truth, you wished he wouldn’t bother under the circumstances. “I am Ymir” he said, almost trembling at his own words. “You are Y/N.. I recall.. sister of Raze?” “Yes, that’s right” You replied, trying not to sound too indifferent. “You have been told, presumably, what will happen next?” “Well.. yes. We are to take an ancient blood ritual before.. the consummation of our.. well.. marriage” You thought your jaw would hit the floor, but you kept your lips tightly pursed together. You didn’t know why you were so surprised.. they needed to mask all of this with some form of sacrament.. this time it would be marriage. “I see” You replied shortly. “When will this take place?” You continued to probe him with questions. You did not really care if it seemed out of place for you to be so direct, but it was your future. You had a right to know. “In two days time” Ymir replied. “In the meantime.. we were told that we should.. get to know you better” You thought you would be sick. Honour did not even come into the equation. Ymir gently suggested that you both take a walk together. You almost felt guilty for how sick you felt at the prospect, simply because he seemed like a genuine man. You simply nodded your acceptance of the offer. What else could you do? If you rejected him now, it wouldn’t only be you publicly shamed.. but also your brother. Raze was a dear brother to you, but his only fault was his obsession with honour and what others thought of him. Ymir described his childhood, his past and what he hoped for in the future. You felt as though a certain level of trust was built between you both, but not enough. He revealed many personal details about himself, which you supposed was his way of helping the relationship, or whatever it was. “Do you.. agree with all of.. this?” You asked him tentatively. It was the most you had said to him so far. Your tone had changed significantly too. You almost regretted asking when he turned around to you in confusion. “What do you mean?” Your head dropped slightly. “With.. the arranged marriage.. impregnating women to.. continue our race.” “Of course” Ymir replied quickly. “What other way are we to continue it?” You remained silent, until you felt compelled to speak more. “Do you not question the morality of it?” Ymir was nothing short of astonished. He had assumed that all women were completely honoured to fulfil the task. “I believe there are things that must be done.. things sacrificed.. that are to the benefit of our future as a race. How else could it be done?” You knew you had gone too far. “Forget that I asked. I was simply curious as to your views on the subject” “What are yours?” Ymir asked, suddenly piqued. Your walking came to a halt. He stopped beside you, refusing to look away from you. You raised your head to look him directly in the eyes. “I can’t have any” You replied to him, turning away and continuing to walk. Ymir was still for a few seconds, before he walked to catch up with you. It would have been an understatement to say that Ymir was unnerved by your behaviour. “What about your childhood?” Ymir asked, trying to steer towards his own familiar ground again. You complied to his question, though you knew that it was just a way of filling up the conversation.. even killing time. It was quite comical, in reality, as you found that Ymir was more interested in your brother’s childhood than he was in yours. When you both agreed to part ways, you made sure that Ymir had gone a great deal away until you had your own walk. You felt yourself sigh out in relief. It felt as though you had been performing the whole time. Allowing him to speak, listening attentively. You knew that you needed some time alone before you went back. Raze would be asking all kinds of questions that you were not prepared to answer yet. You needed to formulate your answers in your head, because you could tell what he would ask you. Eventually, you made your way back. Your future had seemingly been carved by Grundroth.. and the entirety of what was left of the Jotunheim council. You arrived home to the barren rock you had lived upon your entire life. You sensed Raze’s presence and wondered if he had company, yet soon you realised he was alone. “You have been long.” You didn’t reply instantly. You turned to him slowly. “I am surprised you have not your bride to be at the table already” He could tell by your tone that you weren’t in the mood. “That would not be appropriate, you know that” “But arranging a blood ritual marriage for someone you don’t know is completely appropriate” You snapped. You did not fear expressing your opinion with Raze, he knew precisely who you were and what you believed in, yet he could not sympathise. No two siblings were as different as you both. The liberal and the conservative. “You know that it must be done” he said, turning to hand you a bowl of food. You took it reluctantly, yet knowing that you would only be picking at it. You felt physically as well as emotionally unstable after the day’s events. “Must it?” “How else will our race survive?” “You know what I think on that note” “Then you are more foolish than I thought” His words pained you, but they did not deter you in the slightest. “You are not the one who must bear the children” “It is for the future of Jotunheim that it must be done” “You don’t understand, do you? It isn’t some mortal birth. Carrying a child of ice.. the child exhibiting its powers from conception. You think that does not come with an excruciating pain for the mother?” “Remedies are always at hand, Y/N” “Oh, stop it. I should be able to choose when and with whom I can have a child. I am not some machine to procreate Jotun children” “We have no choice” Raze snapped, clearly sick of the conversation by now. “I never said I was happy about it, Y/N - it simply must be done. You truly mean to say that you would not mind if our race died out?” You stood in anger, slamming the bowl on the side. You were lucky it did not smash into tiny pieces. “You would share my view if you were a woman. You are fine, being male. The only sensation you will feel out of this situation is pleasure, Raze. All of the Jotun men must have thought they had hit the jackpot.” Before Raze could completely lose his head with anger, you had already left the room. - You awoke to find your bowl of food by your bedside. You didn’t know whether Raze thought you couldn’t go to Ymir with an empty stomach or if it was his way of what he would call ‘forgiveness’. You arose, taking the bowl back to where Raze would likely be. When you put it on the side, Raze turned to look at you. You could see the pain behind those crimson eyes, as you knew him far too well. “You must eat” “I cannot” It was Raze’s turn for an outburst. He turned to you in anger, his eyes flashing. “I do everything to make this easier for you and this is your repayment” “You have done nothing to make this easier for me” You said, knowing your words lacked the conviction they deserved. You simply felt.. tired. “Nothing” It only served to ignite his anger further. “I convinced them to assign you to Ymir, because he is likely the only man there with genuine care. The others are complete brutes who would not bother.. getting to know you. If I were to bargain, most of those women will already have been bedded before the blood ritual” You couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing. “You convinced them to give me to Ymir?” “It was not easy. You cannot tell me that I did nothing.. I put my reputation on the line to keep you safe” “I shouldn’t have to go through it in the first place” “I know” Raze snapped. “I know, but it is. Ymir is a good man, Y/N. You know that. He will treat you with respect” You felt your chest heave. You didn’t know whether to thank him or rage further. The feeling of fatigue from the entire situation was taking its toll. If this was honour, you did not want it. “I cannot understand it. We will die out without the casket, the ice magic of our planet is deteriorating. I cannot see a future for this race without it” “They believe that the youth will revive it” “It cannot be proven, Raze” “It might work” “And it might not. In fact, it is likely not to happen at all” A knock came from the door of your home, which made your stomach curl with nervousness as you feared it may be Ymir already. When Raze allowed the person in, it was Rana, the woman he had been assigned. She was extremely beautiful. She had the flowing black hair, the Jotun curves of the female and sharp features, yet she seemed to enhance those traits in every way. She greeted you warmly, yet her attentions were on Raze. You weren’t sure if you could remain in the room longer when you saw her wrap her arms around your brother’s waist, placing kisses along his neck. Raze was completely at ease, not perturbed in the slightest. You almost wished you were with Ymir. Yet, when Ymir entered half an hour later you weren’t so sure. You agreed with Raze in that he was a good man, but he was not for you. You almost felt guilty for not greeting him as warmly as Rana and your brother had done. Ymir went to sit beside you. “Would you.. like to go for a walk as we did yesterday?” You thought you would be traversing the entirety of the Jotun realm by the end of it all, all with Ymir. With Raze listening in closely, as you well knew, you had little choice. You had little choice in all of this, Raze being present or not. “Yes, of course” You said, trying your best to sound slightly enthusiastic. When you both had left, you felt the awkwardness begin to set in. Yet, what was on your mind was what your brother had done for you. You wondered how things would have panned out if you had been assigned to one of the most brutish Jotun males known to the Nine Realms. When Raze told you that most of them had likely been bedded, you weren’t quite convinced. After some serious thought, however, you did not find it so hard to believe. You both fell into conversation, yet it did not flow. It was more like small talk, commenting on the trivialities of Jotun life. You hadn’t realised that it could be dragged on for half of the day. It was only until the end of your walk when the real questions began to flow. “How do you feel about tomorrow?” Ymir asked tentatively. “I.. do not know” You said honestly, sitting down. You didn’t want to come out fully and tell him that marrying him was the last thing in the world she wanted to do tomorrow. “Y/N, I know you are reluctant. I know that you may never love me, but I can assure you that I will dedicate my life to ensuring that you are safe” You raised your head at this. His words had come from somewhere. From the way he had voiced them and the way he now looked at you, you believed that he was being genuine. You felt his hand being placed upon your own.

Rather than pull away in anger or disgust, you allowed it to stay there. You did feel safe, safe in an illusion. Perhaps you did need comfort. You thought you would need to get used to this, therefore you allowed it to happen. His other hand tentatively moved to your cheek, holding it gently. His fingers were brushing away what you realised to be your tears. Ymir moved his head towards your own, yet he almost quickly kissed you. You felt his lips move against your own, yet you pulled away quickly. He felt instantly guilty from the way you had reacted. “I am sorry, Y/N.. that was wrong of me” You did not respond. Rising up from where you had both been seated, it was time to leave. Walking back with Ymir after that incident was not easy, though it was manageable. After a while of walking, you both stopped suddenly. Stillness overtook the atmosphere, yet a rumbling sensation pierced you both. Your eyes flashed to one and other with instinctive fear. Then it came. The ground began to shake and shouts were even heard from where you were. You both began to run. You both ran and ran back, the ground grumbling beneath you both. It was terrifying. When you both arrived at the scene, you were in complete shock. “Asgardian and Vanaheim radicals, Ymir.” A Jotun male yelled. “They will be approaching soon. The border has been decimated.” Ymir tried to convince you to stay behind, but you completely ignored him. Your mind was filled with worry for Raze. Your parents had been lost in the Asgard-Jotunheim War. You were not prepared to lose your brother now. Ymir didn’t have time to try and keep you behind, seeing as he was dragged almost immediately to the front line of battle.

You followed them, knowing precisely the direction from which they came. From your position above on a large mountain of a barren rock, you could see everything. The opposition was completely destroying the Jotuns. They seemed to be leaping from a type of portal from another realm. The portal extended from different areas, allowing the opposition to attack from all kinds of sides to destroy the Jotun men. You felt your heart sink. Where was Raze? Where was Raze? You made a life changing decision in approaching the battlefield. You were met instantly with death. The battle was occurring ahead. You thought your life would be lost then and there, but it was Raze who dominated your thoughts. He could have been anywhere, either battling or on the ground dead. You heard your name being shouted from the side of the rock. You saw Rana from the distance and your heart rose with hope. You ran towards where she was, yet your eyes could not deceive you when you saw a figure lying prostrate beside her. Lying down, completely bereft of life, was your brother, Raze. Your knees sank to the floor. You shook him, screaming out his name. You barely heard Rana pleading with you to let his soul depart… that he was gone. Your head sank to his chest, only to rise almost immediately to let out the most unearthly cry that could ever be ripped from the voice of a living creature. 

Freed- Part 2 (Eames x Reader)

Part 2 of an Eames Two Shot

Summary: A mysterious yet well known Architect was being being held captive by a Millionaire, and Cobb and the others are assigned to extract information from you, who is the  closest lead.

Genre: Drama, Smut (18+)

Author’s Note: This took a while but I’m glad how it all came together. Wanted to give this a proper finish with more Inception flavor aaaand...of course some sexy Eames (who can forget). I hope you all enjoy!

Part 1 HERE

You were not the biggest believer in faith, but the moment you heard those words leave Eames’ lips, you wondered whether angels or saviors really existed among people, for it was simply unbelievable.

The door suddenly bursted open, startling you as two women entered. Looks of disgust filled their faces as they caught glimpse of you still sitting on the sink top, while Eames had your legs wrapped around him. As if he heard your concerns, you felt Eames back away, taking you by the hand to help you get down easy. At this unexpected moment you felt an admiration for his act of chivalry. As you nodded apologetically, you watched the two women pass by, impatient to ask Eames the one thing that you've been extremely curious about.

“So the telegram actually worked?” You asked.

With raised eyebrows, he merely chuckled, surprised by your question. As soon as the door opened once again , with another woman entering, Eames straightened his jacket. This was not the place to linger any longer.  

“We will find you ...Nova” he smiled, backing further. With a forced smile of assurance, you heard the pull and release of the wooden door with his image disappearing from your view.

Turning to face the mirror, you noticed the smudged lipstick on your swollen lips, a reminder of your passionate encounter from earlier.

“Sexy rendezvous huh? Lucky....” said The woman who just entered, whilst fixing her hair next to you, unaware of your widened eyes of disbelief.

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

Every bite, you took it with much focus of your surroundings, as you ate your lunch alone at the Hotel restaurant. You hoped he would be there, you hoped he would stop by, but given the fact their place of conversation was at a secret location, you were sure your chances were thin. And surely, the hours went by by reading or sketching by the pool till it was time for dinner. You ate very little, for impatience remained strong in you. For after all this time, your life was not monotonous anymore.

Swiping the door open with your card, you finally entered your hotel room. You paced around to familiarize oneself, running your fingers along whatever you could find, lost in thought. The moment you peeped into the bathroom, the doorbell rang, echoing loudly in your ears as you rushed over to open.  

You could not help but smile by the sight of Eames, standing there in front of you.

“Did you check through the peephole?” He asked, a question that was least expected.

“Uhhh...no” you said, embarrassment creeping over you as you realized your carelessness. Eames shook his head.

“A woman of your importance ...” Eames began, as you allowed him in, “...should be more careful...”.

You merely clicked your tongue by that remark, “ I highly doubt I’m considered important to anyone...”

“You are to us ...” Eames turned back to you with a serious expression. You were halfway considering to blush in response.  

“Eames is right” a voice called out from the hallway. And before you knew it, three men appeared before your door in an instant. One stepping forward to extend his hand.

“Dominic Cobb, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N”

Your eyes widened with wonder.

“The same ...” you replied, shaking his hand, “Professor Mills has spoken so highly of you and-“ you paused, sighing, “I...I’m very sorry about Mal” you said, reminded of that horrible memory. Dom nodded in acknowledgment.

“Please...come in gentlemen” you said, ushering them in.

Introductions were made, including your surprising realization of Yusuf’s Bartender stint, which you were thoroughly impressed by. Finally it came down to the important matter at hand.

“As you all may or may not know, Paul Harper is here on business for several conferences and whatnot ...” you said, as you slowly sat on the bed next to Arthur, “...the final conference is tomorrow morning, and it’s highly likely we will leave the premises soon after. I hope you know that smuggling me out of here will not be as effective” you added with a laugh.

Dom smiled in response, “We are aware that your problem cannot be solved that easily” he said, “Given our strengths, I was thinking we somehow convince Harper to let you go”

“And how exactly do we do that?” You asked, intrigued by the idea.

“By birthing the concept in his head...” Eames replied out of the sudden, as he stood by the table, leaning against it.  

“Exactly..” Dom said, “If that can be done through a dream, it would appear more natural”

“During meeting breaks, Harper has a habit of taking a small nap. Maybe that’ll be our chance” you said.

“Do you have any other information that would seem useful ?” Arthur turned to you, “...something he can’t say no to?”

This discussion seemed versatile enough to awaken your logic, as your brain searched far and wide for answers. And you were successful.

“I thought of one...” you said, sounding relieved.

All eyes were on you as you revealed your idea. Everyone seemed to welcome your input with genuine interest. Dom, Arthur and Yusuf kept nodding whilst listening to you. However , Eames did not. Instead a soft smile of admiration lingered in his face, and it warmed your heart involuntarily.

“That seems solid...” Dom said, “But what about the location? We need an architect-“

“We already have one” Eames said with confidence, as he looked at you with a serious expression.

“Point made Eames” Arthur joined in, “But we need enough experience to make sure this works”

“And I can assure you she has enough to get this done..” Eames said, “The bar and the building I was at in her dream, was of original design and her imagination was more than...vivid. I’m sure she can provide us with what we need”

You did not need anyone to fight your battles for you, but when someone realized of your potential even before you yourself did, you could not help but feel moved by it.

“Yes...” you began, “You guys can trust me” After all, you were fighting for your life.

Nodding, Dom took everything in. “Alright, then that’s settled. We’ll assemble at the lobby tomorrow morning” he said, walking over to you, indicating the time to wrap it all up. “Get some sleep Y/N, you deserve it” he said, shaking hands with you once more.

Parting greetings were exchanged. You waved as you watched them exit the room, including Eames who merely nodded. The moment you closed the door, you were alone again. Loneliness was never an issue for you all this time, but the meeting of a group such as this one, reminded you of the joys of great company and challenging conversations. It was oddly comforting.

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

A gape was left in you  by the way Eames left tonight. For some reason you would have appreciated his company much longer than that. Could it be that this man has claimed a soft spot in your heart? Did those kisses affect you much deeper than anticipated? Or was this all sheer over thinking?

A ring of the doorbell  woke you from your thoughts again. After careful examination, your face filled with disbelief as you opened the door.

“Hey” you smiled.

“Hello again ...” Eames smiled back, as he stood there, again.

“Just so you know...I checked...” you continued” ...the peephole I mean ” you said, pointing at the door. He looked amused. “Good...good” he said, pausing for a few seconds, “Just came to check on you…How are you feeling?” He asked. You exhaled heavily.

“Not gonna lie..I am nervous..just a bit”

“Of course…understandable”

“I mean...” you began, “When there’s finally a way to get out of all this...it’s only natural to feel that right?... I just hope it all works out” you said, with your fingers crossed.

“It will ...I’m sure of it” Eames’ gaze on yours confirmed his words without hesitation. You felt convinced.

“Thank you”

He chuckled,“So, what did you make of the team?”

“Oh...”you laughed in surprise “They’re great ...amazing really...you included” pointing at him, you replied. Eames leaned in closer,

“Are you saying I’m amazing?” He asked with a mild flirtatious tone.

“I mean you did find me so...”you continued, joining in “no take backs” playfulness exuded as you replied. Looking into each other’s eyes, you didn’t know what else to say.

“Right then...”Eames said, with his hands on his waist, “I shall let you rest for the big day, sorry to disturb you-“

“No” your reply was prompt “no disturbance at all” you exaggerated  “...not at all” you wished he’d understood what you were really trying to say.

“Brilliant” he nodded, seemingly debating himself about this moment.

“Well…Goodnight” you said, deciding to make it easy for him, for you seemed to have failed.

A part of you hated for him to leave, but you were afraid of being too forward. You wished for that new found courage you wielded in your dream. You exhaled heavily but quietly as his back faced you to take a step away from the door. .But one step was that he took, till he suddenly snapped his fingers.

“Ah…Silly me…I actually forgot something” he said. You looked on both sides with confusion.

“Hm? Wha-?”

His lips crashing on to yours was clearly his answer. Surprised as you were at first, you more than happy with his decision. You finally had him where you wanted him to be. This time it was not work, it was no distraction. It was merely the want and need of the simple pleasures your new found chemistry could provide tonight.

Doors properly locked, lips were quite busy as Eames backed you over to the edge of bed. With his hands firmly resting on your waist, you realized how they have slithered back, undoing the zipper of your high waisted flower print skirt, allowing it to freely drop to the floor in the midst of your gasp. Lips smacked loudly when Eames slowly lowered himself to the ground in front of you, helping you step out of the skirt that pooled around your feet. You were startled, quickly grabbing on to railing when you felt his kisses rest on your calves. The sounds of his kisses, the way those soft lips touched your skin, sent waves of pleasure through you. Eyes closed, he seemed to be relishing the process.

“You certainly like to take your time, don’t you Mr.Eames?” You asked, breath quickening when he moved over to your thighs, kisses transitioning from the outer to the inner more sensitive thigh area. “With someone as beautiful as you are?” Eames spoke into your skin, “With pleasure” You would be lying if you did not feel like you were practically being worshipped.

For a second, you wondered whether every woman bedded by Eames ever heard those words. Maybe they did, maybe not, you just took the wise road of not debating about that for the moment.

Eames held on to your thighs with determination, his kisses never stopping as they moved upward. As he moved in further, you flinched suddenly by his nose accidentally brushing against your panties, tickling your pubic area. A whimper left your lips, motivating him to repeat, but this time on purpose, as he watched you with sharp, lustful eyes.

You did not resist at all when he pushed you into the bed, and you certainly did not protest as your body automatically raised your hips in order for him to slide  your panties down off your legs. Resting on your elbows, you waited with bated breath when Eames held on to your knees, gingerly opening them wide.

“Been having quite the stressful time these days…haven’t you?” He asked breathlessly to your surprise. Talking was the last option you had in mind at the moment, especially when his eyes kept afixed on your gaping, moistened slit with intrigue.

“You need to relax...Nova” he said, his breath tickling your inner thigh, clearly teasing you.

Every inch surrounding your throbbing slit felt noticed as his pillowy lips were generous with kisses, and so were your cries of pleasure. A mass of energy was created within you, causing your head to fall on the bed, shudder with vulnerability when his tongue made an appearance, each slow lick and thrust inside you earned a vocal response, and they certainly grew louder when he increased in speed. Clean white sheets crumpled with ease as your hands gripped on, fisting them tightly when Eames took his time savoring you. As you finally hit your climax, a sense of relaxation overcame you. He was right.

Sitting up slowly, you found him still kneeling before you, wearing a subtle yet proud grin on his face.

“Been working hard recently...haven’t you?” You asked in return, pulling him by the collar close to you.

“I’ve yet to thank you ...Mr. Eames” you whispered seductively, commencing your expression of gratitude with a kiss.  

Pushing yourself up, you pulled him along with you as he helped you stand. Completely bare below your waist, excluding your heels, you clearly felt the ends of your shirt brushing over your buttocks, exposing them. You suddenly felt confident, he made you confident. And your gratitude was far from over. Pushing his jacket off his shoulders, you grabbed his welcoming hands, placing them on your buttocks. Chuckling with delight, Eames groped them tightly as you pushed him back, until finally he bumped against the door.  

“Clearly you’re enjoying this...” Eames said, his tone laced with amusement, while his hands unmoved from their previous position.

“Well...aren’t you?” You purred, surprising him by bringing your knee up, rubbing it gently against his clothed erection. Grunting to suppress his satisfaction, he exhaled softly as he watched you unbutton your shirt. You felt his hungry gaze wash over you as each button was loosened, hinting your exposed cleavage along with your black balconette bra. Patience clearly was moot here as Eames rushed to unbutton the rest of your shirt, struggling to liberate you out of it. You wished to say something clever or alluring, but he made it easy when he distracted you with another kiss. Hands on your back, you felt the centimeter distance between you two close off completely when he pulled you closer, your lingerie clad chest brushing against his shirt clad one. Tongue sliding into finding yours, his kiss suddenly felt deeper with more intent, as if he has a serious conversation in mind with your lips. Quite the multi tasker he was, for you felt your body loosen as he skillfully unhooked your bra. Butterflies were frantic in your stomach when those kisses transferred over to your jawline, slowly moving down your neck. He certainly knew how to keep you on your toes, for the teasing smothered you greatly as the kisses landed on your collarbone, whilst the piece of lingerie vanished out of your body.

You felt lifted with his hands on your upper waist, causing you to hold on to his neatly combed hair, making a mess out of it as his lips moved down to relish on your now exposed chest. The grip on his hair tightened, you even felt your stomach clench as he held on to each breast, enclosing his irresistible lips on each nipple, suckling on them with such passion, your moans even confirmed you’ve never felt them to be this erect before. Fully naked, with only your high heels on, Eames watched you in awe as your fingers worked its way to unbutton his shirt.

“Bloody hell..I feel like I’m dreaming..” his tone sounded genuine, which motivated you even more as you removed his shirt slowly.

“Well ...You’re definitely not.. Mr. Eames...” you replied softly, reminding him so by placing his palms on your buttocks, a place he clearly felt at home to. You were startled when that led him to lift you up in a flash, only to guide you to the bed. Clearly foreplay was over.

Sitting on the bed, feeling the crisp sheets brushing on your naked form, your hands moved to your shoes.

“Leave the heels on...” Eames breathed, and you certainly didn’t mind. The most mundane sounds of his trousers unbuckling to the sounds of a plastic condom packet being torn were unexpectedly heavenly to you. There you were, freed from all clothing, freed from all concerns for tonight. You really missed this.

All these thoughts interrupted suddenly by his blue green eyes hovering over you, mesmerizing you completely as you felt his tip graze over your dripping slit, entering you with ease, for your body welcomed it.

“Y/N” he breathed with longing, for he was no longer teasing you.

“Say it again...” you said, as you moved along with him.

“Y/N” he said with devotion as he began to move faster.

An important mission awaited tomorrow. But tonight, you’ll both forget about it, and get lost in each other instead. cause you simply could.

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

Next day morning, the Intermission was as expected. You watched Harper exit the conference hall, walking briskly across the lobby. While he walked, he extended his hand out to his bodyguard, who handed him a  bottle of water. Once you spotted him gulp down the bottle whilst entering his private waiting room, you knew it was time.

“Eames ...let me do this, let me talk to him” you said, sitting next to him on the armchair, as Yusuf prepared the necessary dose. After much contemplation, Eames gaze on yours was full of faith.

“But then how can he help you?” Dom asked, standing there. Taking out a photo from your trouser pocket, you showed it to Eames.

“By becoming this..” you said. Observing it for a few seconds, he sighed. “Well I hope you’re right on this” he said. Before you could answer, the drowsiness overcame you in an instant, along with a complete blackout.  

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

The peaceful sounds of the countryside called for you, opening your eyes to a beautiful but grand bungalow surrounded by a colorful garden.

And by the entrance, you saw him.

Paul Harper sat on his favorite reclining chair, reading a newspaper as you slowly approached him. Did not take a few seconds before he was startled by your sudden appearance.

Sighing heavily, he flashed  you a look of pure disgust.

“It’s you...” he said, “ How did you find me?” By that he actually meant this place.

“Well..” you began, “ You’ve kept me so close all this time, you didn’t expect me to find out all about your secret home? I am an architect after all”

To your surprise, he did not appear to look so shocked. You did not let it bother you.

“Paul...You above all others know I’m never gonna say yes to your little project” you said, folding your hands, ”So why don’t we solve this rationally? Just let me go...”

The middle aged man merely scoffed. Laying his newspaper down, he pointed at you, “Do you know why I chose to keep you? Huh? ...Cause you’re weak..” he said with confidence, “You’re weak...and I know you’ll never be strong enough to defy me. Eventually you’ll say yes for sure”

Your first clenched as you attempted to suppress your anger with all your might. For you were not a fool to risk it all for these petty emotions.

Your lack of response caused Harper to laugh in victory, picking up the newspaper once again.

“Well...in that case...I bet the world would love to know all about you and Catherine” you said casually. Harper froze.

“Yeah ...that’s right” you took a step closer, “And i know...you’ll probably say it’s my word against yours, and having a mistress isn’t such a major issue for a millionaire such as yourself” you continued, “But thanks to your entrapment...I was lucky enough to get to know both your wife Diane and your mistress. And what a shock to know that ...Catherine is actually the wife of the CEO of your Rival Company...Imagine the damage that could be done to your own business and both marriages...Whew! What an escalation right??” You said, with no regret, courage built up fully as you finished.

You’ve never seen Harper this pale and speechless with shock with all the information that was placed before him.

“Yeah...” you scoffed, “ So think twice before calling me weak ...”

“Paul!”

You both turned to find Catherine, his beautiful mistress wave at them from the gate. Turning back to face Harper, you noticed how his expression had gotten worse.

“You know what to do Paul...” arms still folded, you made your statement.

And suddenly your knees felt weak, for you faced nothing but a complete blackout.

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

“Y/N wake up”

Fluttering your eyes open, Dom was first face you saw.

“Hurry ...Paul is about to wake up soon” he said, helping you up. You nodded, watching Eames slowly wake up as well.

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

As planned, you bumped into Harper by “mere accident” as he exited the waiting room. Your nonchalant expression was quite the contrast to his shocked one the moment he laid eyes on you. And coincidence would have it when Catherine would be at the hotel at that very moment, casually running over to you to greet hello in front of Harper himself. It seemed like a nightmare scenario come to life. You saw him swiftly move into the conference hall with discretion.

As Catherine left after some small talk, you could not help but remember Eames’ accurate portrayal of Harper’s mistress in the dream, and how similar it was to the real deal. The Mission was complete.

“Ma’am...we’ll be leaving in half an hour. Please have your things ready “ one of Harper’s bodyguards walked up to speak to you, “And…this time, another car will come to pick you up”

“Noted, Thank you”

As he left, you spotted Dom and team making their way to the exit, in an inconspicuous fashion to assure their own safety.

A nod and a plain smile was all you could offer them from afar, but your gratitude was filled in millions.

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

The sound of the ocean waves was what you’ve always enjoyed without a doubt. But you clearly enjoyed it more today, sitting on the bench. It had been a few days since Paul Harper miraculously announced how he had found a 'more suitable architect' for his project, furthermore congratulating you on the fact your so-called financial debt had been dissolved “to your luck” as he phrased it.

And suddenly, you were free as a bird to walk out of that door, as if nothing happened.

“You sure you’re not chilly?”

You chuckled by the soothing voice of Eames, as you found him standing next to the bench.

“I think I can manage thanks” you replied, ushering him to sit next to you. You turned back forward, resuming to watch the people go on about their day at the beach that late afternoon.

“I got an offer from Dom…by the way” you said, “...to be a part of the team…he was quite impressed”

From the corner of your eye, you waited for Eames to react.

“So...am I to understand... that we’re teammates now?” He asked casually. You smiled, “It appears we are...” you replied, heart filled with hope for new adventures to come. You felt him nod cooly, “Right then ...” getting up, he turned to leave. You nodded, understanding of the his possibly busy schedule.

Though it was short, it warmed your heart by the mere sight of the man.  

“Oh!” You watched him turn back, “Almost forgot” he said. You stood up in response.

“Forgot wha-?”

Eames’ kiss interrupted you once more. You should have known, but you didn’t care. Pulling you closer by the waist, he fed you the sweetness he could provide, and that you enjoyed.

“I believe we’re going to have plenty of fun...being teammates” he breathed, hands moving further south, gripping tightly. You bit your lip with a smile, savoring this splendid feeling of freedom you were offered, and which you earned.

———————————————————————

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed it. Want more Eames?

Check my MASTERLIST for more.

strawberries ➩ s.c ➩ 1

seo changbin x reader.

words: 2k.

genre: soulmate au // fluff.

requested? yes!

warnings? none.

-

“You are so ridiculous,” Lucas shakes his head at you, crushing your dreams right before you. “Of course they don’t exist. If they did, why do people fall out of love?”

“Because they don’t find them. Then they end up marrying someone they love, but aren’t devoted to,” you snap back, crossing your arms as you sit beneath the trees in the park. “It’s a lovely concept to think about, why do you hate it so much?”

You had the first afternoon off in the longest time from your full time waiting job at the local diner. Originally you had wanted to spend it relaxing on your small balcony at your apartment that you shared with your flatmates and best friends, Yuqi and Chaeyoung. In your head you had images of you sipping a cold drink and reading a book and just relaxing.

Instead, Lucas had dragged the three of you out to the park, claiming that he ‘never saw you’ and that he ‘missed you’. Now he was just arguing with everything that any of you were trying to talk about.

“They have a point, Lucas,” Chaeyoung says, lifting her head from the ground as Lucas scoffs at you all. “Sometimes I wonder about it too. My parents are soulmates, you know?”

“What brought them together?” Yuqi asks, pausing her daisy chain making to join in the conversation.

“My dad’s writing. My mum had come across his work online, and when she did, she got the mark. Upon realising it, she asked for them to meet up. A few years later they were married and baby Chaeyoung came along,” Chaeyoung says, making Yuqi giggle and Lucas roll his eyes.

“Okay, so one soppy story doesn’t make it a real thing,” he grunts, throwing his ball in the air about his head again. “And I still think it’s all a made up business.”

“Just because you haven’t found your soulmate, Lucas, doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” you reply annoyed, helping Yuqi pick the daisies for her chains. The thought has you dreaming at night time, wondering what your soulmate will be like; will they be introverted or extroverted? Creative or scientific? A daredevil, or someone who stays safe?

“We are nineteen, y/n. Chill out maybe? We aren’t supposed to find the love of our lives right this second,” you grow tired of Lucas dismissing all of your ideas, and give up the conversation. You were determined that soulmates were a thing, and that you would find yours, whether he liked it or not.

-

It was safe to say you regretted joining Lucas and the girls in the park when you started your afternoon shift the next day. Whilst it wasn’t extremely busy - the diner was only a small diner on the outskirts of town - it was very popular for the students from the creative arts university during their lunch break.

You keep your signature smile though as you take a large number of orders for strawberry milkshakes and the menu favourites. After keying every order into the computer you tell Woojin and Minho, the two chefs, the different meals ordered. Then you start on assembling the milkshakes all by yourself.

The other full time waiter, Chan, who was also the diner owner, was chatting over the counter to a group of boys that frequently visited the diner. You recognised most of them as some of his friends outside of the workplace as well. Hyunjin spots you watching them enviously as Chan takes his time to relax whilst you run around carrying trays of drinks, and waves at you enthusiastically.

You smile back, and he spins around to face Chan properly again. Sat beside him is an unfamiliar figure, who looks a little lost in the red and blue glow of the diner. He wears a thick black hoodie, despite the heat in the diner, and a cap pulled over what looks like black hair. Around his neck sits some expensive looking headphones, and you wonder if he’s a new student to the university. Hyunjin was good at picking up new friends left, right and centre, so it wouldn’t surprise you.

You don’t have time to admire the mysterious new boy as you run orders of milkshakes around the place, then the food that Minho and Woojin start plating for you. Eventually Minho rings the bell for new food so many times that Chan pulls himself away from his friends and begin dealing out food. When the initial lunch rush has ended you take a moment to catch your breath behind the counter, letting Chan take the new orders as the students walk in.

“So, Y/n, good to see you are still running this place for Chan,” Felix chuckles as you walk over, asking if they wanted anything. “I’ll take a banana milkshake, cream but no sprinkles or cherries.”

“You are a heathen,” the new boys says, surprising you as you twist to start the milkshake machine again. Hyunjin giggles his signature laugh and Seungmin snorts beside Felix, who looks shell-shocked that the new boy not only spoke, but was quite so savage. “What? Banana milkshakes suck at the best of times.”

“Not these ones. Y/n have a special talent,” Felix winks at you, making you roll your eyes at the boy. His countless attempts at flirting with you have got him nowhere; you weren’t interested in dating, unless your date was your soulmate. But, seeing as Lucas didn’t think they existed, you didn’t think you’d be dating anytime soon.

“Don’t flatter me Felix. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to place a cup in the holder and press the banana button,” you say, making Hyunjin laugh even more. The mysterious guy has a smile on his face that makes your heart flutter; now that he has lifted his head, you can see his face better, and see that he has has the loveliest brown eyes that are inviting and warm.

“Well, Changbin still needs to try it,” Felix replies with a defeated sound in his voice. He soon perks up as you hand him the glass and takes a big sip. So Changbin was the name of the mystery boy. Hearing his names makes your tummy flip, and is what prompts you to ask the next question.

“What flavour would you like? Consider it on the house,” you say, trying to stop the blush creeping up your neck. Changbin has a flush of pink across his cheeks and nose, and stumbles over his words as he tries to say that you shouldn’t. “Consider it a ritual to the diner for the first time, then. Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla?”

“Why not banana?” Felix asks, pouting over his red paper straw.

“Because nobody likes banana!” Seungmin exclaims loudly, making the diner quieten for a little. Chan rolls his eyes as he walks over, having finished keying in the new orders.

“I see you’ve met Changbin,” Chan smiles, reaching under the counter for his water bottle. “He’s majoring in music production at SSCA, and has just transferred to Jisung’s class. The three of us are working on a project for their class next term.”

Jisung was Chan’s best friend outside of the diner. In his downtime, Chan was also a music producer, also working for SSCA on their lectures and project designing. You wonder how much Jisung offered to have Chan work on the project with him, seeing as it was strictly against the university rules to have a student work on a project with a tutor.

“Music, huh? That’s a bold choice,” you say, your tummy still doing the flip thingy. “A choice that you won’t make is what milkshake flavour you’d like.”

Changbin lets out an exasperated laugh, asking for the strawberry flavour. As you turn around to make the drink, you hear Chan and Changbin begin talking about the music, whilst Hyunjin, Seungmin and Felix begin chatting about their classes. When you spin back to hand Changbin the drink, he has obviously been staring at you for a while, as you make him jump and blush again.

“Enjoy,” you say with a bright smile before going to take payment from a lot of broke university students. Changbin follows you as you continue working into the afternoon. When it’s time to leave for his afternoon lecture, he tries to wait until the last second before he has to sprint down the hill to SSCA. He desperately wants to say goodbye to you, but he doesn’t know why. The logical side of his brain thought it was so weird that he was so desperate to wish you well, but something inside of him wouldn’t just let him leave.

“Hey, y/n,” Hyunjin calls over, a small stack of change on the counter. “Here’s the money for Felix’s milkshake. I’ve got class now, but I’ll see you later?” You wander over, and Changbin is grateful for the taller boy offering him the opportunity to speak to you again.

“Thanks! See you around,” you smile at the four boys who were all climbing out of their chairs and bickering about being late to class.

“See you, y/n. It was lovely meeting you,” Changbin says with a shy smile, making all three boys fall quiet. He could already hear the teasing that he was going to get for this. “Thanks for the milkshake; Felix was right, it was the best.”

And with that he makes a beeline for the door, leaving you feeling confused but giddy. His sweet farewell makes you ride out the rest of your shift on a high, despite Chan teasing you on and off for the remainder of the shift until you close in the evening.

-

“You are looking a little loved up,” Chaeyoung giggles as you return from your shift late at night. Yuqi sleeps on the couch, her small body taking up all of the space. Chaeyoung relaxes in the small love seat, watching some cheesy drama on Netflix. You cover your cheeks with your hands, unsure of what she was saying.

“What do you mean?” You ask, dropping your bag next to your shoes and wandering into the kitchen to fetch yourself a drink. When you return, Chaeyoung has this knowing smile on her lips.

“You look like my parents do when they haven’t seen each other in a while. Like you’ve just found the half of you that you didn’t know was missing,” she says, checking her phone for the time. “Meet anyone new today by chance?”

“Chaeyoung he was so cute,” you confide, making her smile even brighter. “He majors in music at SSCA and is good friends with Chan. And Chaeyoung he has this most amazing smile.”

“Did you get his number?” She asks, and your heart plummets all of a sudden. You realise that you had no way of contacting him. Far short of stalking Chan’s private instagram until you found someone that looked like him and then messaging him like a stalker, you had no connection to him. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“What if he doesn’t come back? What if I only had one shot? Chaeyo-”

“Calm down!” She interrupts, the smile still on her face. “I’m sure he will be back. If not, you can always ask Chan for his number. You know he would happily give it to you, given how lonely you are these days.”

“Wow, thanks,” you reply with a huff, still smiling brightly. You didn’t think that anything could kill your mood tonight. “On that note, I’m going to bed.”

“Good night, y/n,” she says, turning the television volume down. “Oh, and don’t tell Lucas that you might have met your soulmate.”

-

part 2 // master list // request

Of Course...Mr. Collins

Word Count: 1,654

Chapter Summary: Reader helps Misha and his family prepare for the holidays.

Chapter Warnings: None. Maybe brief anxiety

TWENTY-EIGHT

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of trashy mid-day television, several short naps and more trips to the bathroom than you cared to count; the ceramic floor cool beneath your fevered skin.

By the end of the weekend, your symptoms had all but completely subsided, a mild headache the only reminder of how miserable you’d been over the last few days. Buried in the warmth of your deep blue fur-lined parka, the bite of the early morning chill went un-noticed as you walked hand-in-hand with Misha to his car.

So lost in your own mind, you barely noticed when he pulled into the driveway – the smooth electric engine so quiet that Misha removing his seat-belt was the first thing you noticed.

The entire day Saturday, while you’d been confined to bed, the multitude of tweets and other notifications you’d been tagged in were impossible to miss and since then, the tiny seed of doubt that lived in your chest had begun to flourish. As a fan yourself, seeing through the mean comments to the worry and concern beneath the awful words wasn’t difficult. Misha was adored by people around the world, news spread like wildfire on the internet and often innocent actions were blown out of proportion by those who were either genuinely concerned or who just liked to stir up trouble. The pictures surfacing from San Francisco seemed to be some mix of both.

“You okay?” Misha’s fingers, laced through your own, tightened while those impossibly multi-dimensional eyes stared down at you, worry etched into the creases of his expression.

The pain evident in his features was like a vice around your chest, and, as pinpricks of moisture gathered at the corners of your eyes, you wanted nothing more than to erase that hurt, whatever it took.

“Of course! Mish, don’t look at me like that – I’m okay, I promise. Just thinking about this weekend is all.”  A soft smile of encouragement replaced your own concern as you leaned up on your tip-toes and wrapped your arms around his waist. Pressing lips lightly to his cheek before burying your face in his chest, the warmth of his body mingled with the calming scent of his cologne and immediately you could feel the tension start to dissipate – just like it always did.

The moment of quiet was short-lived as the front door was pulled open and both Maison and West came spilling down the steps, Vicki chasing after them with their jackets, which neither child appeared to care for.

“Daddy!” “[Y/F/N]!” Four arms wove themselves through both your and Misha’s legs, the children’s exuberance nearly knocking you off balance.

Looking up from the tangle of limbs, you smiled warmly at Vicki. The woman had lowered herself to the steps of the porch. Leaning against one of the thick stone columns, she held a camera in one hand and a tired expression on her face. Gently prying Maison’s left arm from its spot still around your thigh, you approached the front steps, leaning over to hug Vicki as well. This kind of welcome home was still a foreign concept for you, but slowly you were beginning to enjoy the feelings associated with being around Misha and his family.

*****

Over the course of the subsequent days, preparations for the holidays started to become the focus of your daily schedule.  

The weekend after returning from California found you crouched in the attic of Misha’s house, sorting through bins filled with lights, wreaths and shiny baubles. Misha’s voice echoed up through the opening across the room, letting you know he was ready for another load. Vicki pointed to a shallow box on your left, indicating that was the next to go. The three of you had managed to work out an assembly-line of sorts and soon the three of you were all gathered in the living room, the decorations neatly stacked atop the sideboard flanking the fireplace. The very same one that had held your contract all those months ago. While it often felt like you’d never been without Misha, you were suddenly reminded that it had been a mere few months since he and his family had welcomed you into their lives and into their home.

“We seem to be missing something…” Misha tilted his head and stared at the blank space stretching before the large bay windows.

“I just…can’t put my finger on it.” Tapping his bottom lip, his clear sapphire eyes turned to Maison and West. “What do you guys think, are we missing something?”

“Daaaaaa-deee, we need a kwis-mas twee.” Maison stared up at her father, a bright smile spreading across her face as she laughed at his question. Putting all of her weight into the effort, the little girl planted her hands at the small of his back, trying her hardest to push him towards the front door.

Coming up behind her husband, Vicki planted a knit sock-monkey hat atop Misha’s head, the bright blue and cream features of GISH’s mascot sliding down over his eyes. Shrugging into a black parka, Misha laughed at his wife’s antics; West stomping around the entryway in his oversized snow boots, the zipper of his own jacket jingling with each step.

For just a moment, you stood there – watching the dynamics of this family play out before you. They were so very typical, almost down to the white picket-fence. And yet, at the same time they were all so incredibly different in the best way possible.

Three hours later, snow danced around your feet as gusts of wind disturbed the pristine, glittering powder. After searching for what seemed like hours for the best tree, West had stumbled upon a giant he deemed ‘the one.’ It was breath-taking really, the boughs heavy with emerald needles; two rich, deep mahogany pine-cones still clinging to one branch.  The boy, buried to his knees in the drifts surrounding the magnificent fir, was beaming with pride as Misha knelt to assess how best to bring the ten-foot tree home.

*****

Flames licked at the edges of the logs piled neatly in the living-room fireplace; the warmth of it filling the room with comfort as you hung four stockings from the mantle. Across the room, Maison and West sat at a small table, shaking crumpled paper sacks with unimaginable glee. When asked what they should do with the pine-cones they’d removed from the tree, the kids had decided they wanted to make bird feeders (so the small birds wouldn’t go hungry in the cold winter weather.) Watching as they each opened their bag, both children were very excited to see that spreading seed on a peanut-butter covered pine-cone yielded new treats for the sparrows who hadn’t flown south.

“[Y/F/N]! Look at what we made!” A trail of multicolored seeds following in his wake, West lifted his prize up to where you could see it better, blowing a few long strands of sandy hair away from his eyes.

“Ooh, those are great, I bet the birds will really appreciate you looking out for them by making this treat. Why don’t we go outside and hang them up?”

Faces glued to the large living-room windows, both children were seated, legs crossed, with mugs of hot cocoa on the thick bench seat overlooking the front yard. Several small birds flitted between the safety of the eaves and the veritable buffet hanging before them.

Vicki and Misha were positioned on either side of the great tree, taking turns stringing lights through the branches; boxes of ornaments scattered at their feet. Jason’s Christmas album playing on low in the background added to the memorable day, and as you gathered the links of garland made from popcorn and cranberries, you realized just how excited you were for the holidays - something that had been missing in you for more years than you cared to count.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way, and, by early evening the house looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Rather than being kitschy and overdone however, it felt homey and welcoming. With thoughts of the holidays however, also came thoughts of gift-giving. The simple bliss you’d felt much of the day started to ebb away, replacing itself with anxiety – what could you possibly give Misha and Vicki that they didn’t already possess? In the short time you’d spent with this family, it had become quite clear that they were both incredibly talented, giving and creative people. Somehow a new blender just didn’t fit the situation. Nor did you feel like you could just walk into the nearby mall and miraculously find the perfect thing. The more you thought about it, the stronger and more intense your worry became. Idea after idea would drift through your mind, only to be stricken from consideration almost immediately. So consumed were you with the problem; eyes staring blankly into the flames dancing in the hearth, that only after being called several times did you realize you were being spoken to.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lowering himself to the plush carpet, Misha turned, a lopsided grin spreading across his stubble-blanketed features. Scooching to sit behind you, the arms he loosely draped around your waist tightened until your back was pressed hard to his chest, breath warm against your ear.

“Well, I was thinking about what I should - …. you know? It doesn’t matter, because now I’m thinking about something very different. Twisting to face him, your lips hovered a breath from his – eyes locked.

“I should go help with dinner, and I do have to go home tonight – so this little game you’re playing… definitely isn’t going to work. Good try…Mr. Collins.”

With a quick press of your lips to his cheek, you rose from the floor, sauntering off in search of Vicki and the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen.

TAGS: @jamielea81​ @wings-of-a-raven​

Nothing Up My Sleeves (But Aces)

Back when Tied Up With Strings was still in the draft stages (and I was playing around with ideas), I wrote a concept for a Villain!Izuku who used magic tricks in place of a Quirk. It’s unlikely to ever see the light of day, so here’s what Chapter 1 would’ve looked like.

I think I vaguely planned for his villainous mentor to be Mr Compress? Dunno. I’m not much of a note maker. The Heist on Kunioka’s did make it’s way to TUWS, and I hope to use Nobusuma of the Night in something because I like the general concept of his Quirk.

*************************** At the tender age of four, a young boy’s dreams were already crashing down around him. Everyone was very clear. Very very clear. He didn’t have a Quirk. He couldn’t be a Hero. It didn’t matter that Izuku wanted to be a Hero more than anything in the world. It didn’t matter that he would do everything he could to be a Hero.

People without Quirks were not allowed to be Heroes. Those were the rules. And so, faced with the destruction of his dreams, a four year old boy has no other way to deal with it but to cry at the unfairness of it all.

So deep in his grief is he that he doesn’t notice the strange and unfamiliar figure approaching him until they speak. “What bothers you so, my good man?”

Startled out of his sobbing, he turns his head to look up at a tall, kindly-looking man. He was dressed in the fanciest clothes his little mind could fathom, like the kind of people who would be on TV shows. He even had one of those tall hats. “I… I don’t have… I don’t have a Quirk… so everyone says I can’t be a Hero...” He mumbles, sniffling a little and going to wipe his nose.

The man holds out a hand and flicks his wrist, revealing a silken handkerchief he offers to him. The simple, elegant little move has Izuku mesmerised. “My condolences,” the kind man says, although the boy isn’t sure what a condolence is or what it has to do with handkerchiefs.

He’s too busy being impressed with that simple sleight of hand to even care though. “... Cool…” He mumbles, eyes wide and amazed. He slowly looks up at the kind man with the brightest expression he’s had in days, his previous sorrow already pushed aside in favour of this new incredible thing.

The kind man smiles beatifically. “Would you like to see more tricks, my good man?”

He nods so hard his head feels like it’s going to fly off and cause an accident.

Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique was a deceptively small store, built during the early days of the Meiji era and combining the principles of architecture of the both the East and West to create an elegant little store. But for all it’s deceptive size and modesty, Kunioka’s was the place for jewelry for the rich and selective. Every piece was commissioned and handmade by the master artisan that was Kunioka Takamaru, whose ‘Feathertouch’ Quirk could allow him to detect flaws and imperfections invisible to human eyes.

Of course, such incredibly valuable jewelry was well secured against intrepid thieves and thugs. External security was tight beyond belief - electronic locks bound to biometrics secured the entrances, and each door was guarded by a pair of guards at all times. Inside, security cameras tracked every move, and the slightest disturbance detected by the operators would cause them to trigger a call to a local Hero agency and the nearest police department. If, and this was a BIG if, you somehow got past the guards AND bypassed the cameras, then you’d have to deal with the third security measure. No jewelry was on display in Kunioka’s, because one did not browse. One made an appointment, and you had best come in with a design in mind because a master artisan of that level does not care for time wasters. So everything of value - money, jewels, what have you - was located in a safe.

The ‘Iron Mausoleum’ model Safe from OptiSecurity with extreme authentication. First, a ten digit code. Second, a fingerprint scan. Third, a retinal scan. Fourth, all of those things had to be done by two different people simultaneously. If you tried to burn or cut your way in, you’d be in for a tough time as well, as the cutting edge materials had been tested against not only the best tools money could buy, but some of the most powerful Quirks. It was rumoured that even one of All Might’s Smashes couldn’t do more than dent it. Inside was most of the money and jewels. Penetrating it was not impossible, but incredibly time consuming and resource intensive. When such a safe was breached, it was not done so onsite, but first stolen entirely using the aid of powerful Quirks - an unfortunate reality that no Safemaker has yet to overcome.

The last and final defense mechanism against thieves was the exclusive handmade quality of Kunioka’s jewelry itself. Moving such a hot, one of a kind product would be difficult for even the most experienced fences - fences experienced enough to know that even trying to move it could potentially risk their downfall, and thus, be wise enough to avoid it.

These security mechanisms, four pillars of nigh insurmountable difficulty, had forged a reputation for Kunioka’s as an impenetrable fortress from which no villain could pierce and escape.

Until now.

There is an essential weakness in any security mechanism, and that it is ultimately designed to be opened. No door can be locked forever - if you wanted that, you’d build a wall instead. All those locks, all those things, they were meant to keep out people who weren’t supposed to be there. So if you were supposed to be there…

The Guards snapped to attention when Kunioka Takemaru approached his store in the late hours of the night, the distinct pinched face of the elderly miser unmistakeable even now.

Both guards bowed immediately. “Kunioka-sama!” said the woman on the left, her long, lank hair curling in the wind of its own accord, “Forgive me for this impudence, but why have you returned here so late at night?”

The full force of Kunioka Takemaru’s glare was upon her, a look so powerful it was rumoured it was how he cut his diamonds. “Do not presume to question me! Open the door already!”

“Y-yes Kunioka-sama!” She whirled around and punched the keycode in, and allowed it to scan her retina. The door slid open with nary a sound, and the miser brushed through without a second’s pause, leaving the two guards deeply bowing to the air.

The second guard, a doll-like figure with skin just like fine china turned to look at the first. “... You, are in so much shit right now,” they mumbled.

“Don’t remind me,” she said quietly. Neither of them, with their heads lowered in a respectful bow, noticed the figure approaching behind them.

Until it was too late.

***************************

Within the store, Kunioka moved straight towards the backroom workshop and the safe. He glanced at the cameras cursorily, before sliding open the workshop door and stepping out of their view, pausing just at the safe. “Mizutami. Present yourself.”

In the center of the room was a still, stone pond. It’s presence lent an air of tranquility and reflection to the otherwise pragmatic workspace, the stone basin artful and natural compared to the soft tatami mat floors and paper walls (behind which there were a foot of steel). The surface rippled slightly, and a figure rose up out of the water, sleek and shiny, even in their finely tailored suit.

This was the secret fifth pillar of security in Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique - Mizutami ‘the Kappa’, whose ‘Still Waters’ Quirk allowed him to hide in pools of water, provided they were not disturbed too much. “Kunioka-sama,” He said, silken voice as tranquil as the pond he rose out of, “It is a rare honour to greet you so late in the night.” His was a presence not even the other guards were aware of - but there were no cameras here in the backroom. Kunioka Takemaru was a genius of unparalleled talent, and to have the risk of someone witnessing his technique… or selling those videos to rivals? Unacceptable didn’t even begin to describe it.

“Has anyone been in here?” Kunioka muttered, glancing around.

“... No, Kunioka-sama. I have been watching as always. No intruders. Is something bothering you?”

Kunioka frowned quietly. “I… have had a bad feeling. A terrible feeling. Have you heard of Morgaine?”

“Morgaine?” Mizutami echoed, possibly the only person who could get away with repeating Kunioka’s words to himself. “I must ask… do you mean the thief?”

“Yes. Recently, there’s been a string of robberies, hasn’t there? High profile ones too. Kazuno’s lost that tiara she was making, and then Mikusoki’s was cleaned entirely of their diamonds. Nobody ever saw the thief either. They came in the morning, and found everything gone with only a name behind.”

Mizutami nodded, slipping out of the pond carefully. Despite having emerged from the water, there was not a drop on him. “I see. So Kunioka-sama was worried and came here?”

“Indeed. Let us open the safe, Mizutami, and be sure of it.” Amongst the employees at Kunioka’s Jewelry Boutique, any number of them could provide access codes for the verification side of the safe, but only Kunioka himself could provide the ‘master-level’ authentication needed to open it with their assistance.

Together, they assembled at the safe door. They punched in their codes in perfect synchronicity, pressed their index fingers against the scanners, and then leaned forward to allow their retinas to be scanned.

The door swung open silently, revealing a treasure trove of jewels and already made jewelry waiting for pickup.

“As expected, Kunioka-sama. There is no cause… for…” Mizutami’s eyes widened in alarm, and he glanced over to Kunioka who was already swaying on his feet. Everything was getting foggy, and his grip on his consciousness was growing slippery by the second. A drug? A gas…? But… when…

Mizutami the Kappa slumped on his feet, a fog overtaking his mind.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then a figure stepped through the door, humming thoughtfully to themselves. They were dressed in a dark blue cloak that reached just past their knees, hood drawn up to hide their hair and shadow their face - not that their face was revealed to begin with. A elaborate venetian mask, painted and crafted in an elegant style depicting a gently frowning face hid whatever was behind it. They stepped past the pair of swaying men, and casually began filling a small sack with the contents of the safe.

Gemstones of unparalleled quality, rings and necklaces of gold and silver, intricate earrings and breathtakingly beautiful tiaras - all of it vanished into their cloak. All that emerged from it was a single bone white business card, an artfully inscribed name the only thing on it - ‘Morgaine’. The figure placed it in the centre of the safe, and calmly moved both of the men out of the way of the safe door as they shut it.

“Kunioka-sama. You checked the safe, but found everything in order. You think it was silly of you to worry - your security is unparalleled of course,” They said in a smooth, robotic hush. The telltale sound of a voice changer.

Kunioka smirked slightly, eyes still unfocused and vacant. “Of course. No stupid thief could get past the Five Pillars,” He mumbled.

The figure turned to Mizutami. “You watched all night, and saw nothing. Kunioka-sama came in, and you told him as much. You checked the safe with Kunioka-sama, and you found everything in order as well.”

“... Kunioka-sama should not worry so much. That is what I am paid to do, after all,” the Kappa murmured.

“Yes. That’s true, isn’t it?” The figure added, calmly stepping past both of them. “You’re both going to have a calm talk about security matters - maybe beefing it up a little, because you can never be too careful. The phantom thief, Morgaine, is about, after all. But after say, twenty minutes, go home and have a rest Kunioka-sama. You’re going to have a big day tomorrow.”

And then the figure slipped out of the room, leaving them both to obey the suggestions.

The two front guards were still standing in a mindless haze, and the figure paused to give them some suggestions. And then when they turn around to leave, there’s another cloaked figure in front of them.

Well. It almost went off perfectly.

***************************

“You would be Morgaine, wouldn’t you?” rasped the cloaked figure, leering at them with a pale mouth full of gleaming teeth. “I, am Nobusuma.” He gave the thief a mocking bow, his own black cloak fluttering with the movement..

“The underground Pro Hero, ‘Nobusuma’. I’m honored you came out just for me.” Morgaine spread their cloak out just a bit, eyes narrowed behind the smoky lenses of their mask.

‘Nobusuma’ leered wider. “It was child’s play to predict you’d strike here, Morgaine. I must say, I’m surprised you succeeded as well as you did. A Hypnosis Quirk, is it? You seem to have everyone under your spell.”

“‘Spell’ is right,” said Morgaine, “This isn’t a Quirk. It’s ‘Magic’.” There was a mocking tone to their voice now, bordering on challenging. “So if you’re not careful you’ll fall under the ‘spell’ as well.”

“Ha!” Nobusuma cackled, “Call it whatever you want! But it won’t change a thing!” They rushed forward, goggles gleaming in the night as a hand clad in a fingerless glove reached out for him.

Fingerless gloves - so the power relied on contact? If it was skin contact, they were going to have a fun time trying. Morgaine was covered head to toe. They dodged and weaved artfully between the rapid jabs, nimbly avoiding contact with the fingers.

But then Nobusuma did something unexpected. He took a deep breath, and blew out a thick, black smoke from his mouth, engulfing Morgaine’s head in the cloud. “You fell for my trap!” He crowed, grinning madly, “My ‘Blackout’ doesn’t work through skin contact - but through gas! Once inhaled, you’ll lose all your senses. Sight, smell, touch… hearing. You can’t even hear me, can you? In that pitch blackness where you sense nothing, your concentration is invariably broken! No soul can withstand it!”

Morgaine stumbled around, eyes wide behind the lenses. “I… what?! I can’t hear! My… you… what did you do?!”

Nobusuma cackled, stalking forward. “Another upstart Villain brought down low.” He dodged a wild punch from the stumbling Morgaine and smoothly cuffed the outstretched arm with one part of a gleaming pair of handcuffs. “Pathetic, really. Such a predictable schedule, such a predictable tactic. Magic? Don’t make me laugh.” He pushed the still-fumbling Villain over to the nearby lamp post and cuffed their arm to that. “In the face of the absolute fear of the darkness… even the strongest villain cowers.”

Morgaine paused in their stumbling, tilting their masked face at Nobusuma. It was a gesture too pointed to be done in ignorance but… that was impossible wasn’t it? They breathed in the gas! “It’s kind of funny,” They said, rubbing their wrist with one hand, “Such a gloomy guy is a Hero?”

Nobusuma’s eyes bulged behind his goggles, going to reach out with one arm only to find that it was cuffed to the lamp post instead of Morgaine’s. “What? How?! It’s impossible! Even those with Extra-sensory Quirks are blinded by my ‘Blackout’! Complete deprivation of all the senses! There’s no way you could’ve escaped!” He seethed, “But no matter! Any Pro worth their salt has a backup!” He whipped his second arm out from under the cloak, holding… a bouquet of flowers? “My taser… how?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” the Villain replied, “If you weren’t careful, you’d fall under my ‘spell’ as well. This isn’t a Quirk. It’s ‘Magic’.” They reached into their cloak, and withdrew a handful of… sand? “Goodnight, Nobusuma of the Night. We will not meet again, I think.” And with a puff of their breath, the surprisingly smooth sand-dust rushed past Nobusuma’s face.

A sickly sweet scent filled the Hero’s nostrils, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. “Damn it… beaten… by a rookie…” He mumbled, slumping down to the ground.

When he was found, hours later, he was stripped half naked with an inky black gothic ‘M’ drawn on his forehead.

***************************

The figure known as Morgaine stumbled into a dingy, badly lit bar and flounced onto a stool. They held up a gloved hand, and the bartender immediately started pouring them a drink - of juice. Apple Mango, to be specific.

“Bad day?” asked the Bartender, sliding the glass over to the thief. “You were supposed to have that big job today. Did it not go as planned?”

The thief caught the drink, swirling it around a little bit before covering the top with their hand. When they lifted it, a long, childish crazy straw was there, and they adjusted the mask slightly to slip the tip underneath and take a long draw. “No, no, Kurogiri-san. Went off pretty much perfectly actually.” With the mask no longer sealed against his skin, his voice came out naturally - soft, and youthful.

“Oh? I’m impressed. Please don’t take this in offense, but I wasn’t sure you could manage.”

Morgaine waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” He murmured, wiping his mouth under the mask. “Hitting Kunioka’s has to have been the hardest thing I’ve done so far. What a crazy old man.”

“You call him crazy, Morgaine-san, but the one who went to all that effort to bypass the security was you. Studying the guard schedules, the defences. Preparing a hypnotic gas. Going so far as to implanting suggestions in Kunioka’s mind so that he’d go check the safe in the middle of the night…”

The thief huffed again. “It’s not like I made the gas. All I did was exploit an old man’s moment of weakness.” He paused, swirling the straw around a little. “... and handcuff Nobusuma to a lamp post, I guess,” He added after a moment’s consideration.

“Nobusuma of the Night?” the bartender echoed, giving him an amused look. “That’s pretty impressive, Morgaine-san. Nobusuma’s record is quite impressive.”

“It was luck mostly,” Morgaine said, brushing off the praise easily, “Nobusuma’s Quirk is a gas; to protect myself against my own gas, I had Giran fit my mask with a filter. The idiot even explained what the gas was supposed to do to me. Faking it was easy.”

Kurogiri shook his head gently, black wisps moving with the movement. “You’re too modest, Morgaine-san,” He said quietly, wiping down the bartop. “Will you be sticking around much longer? Shigaraki is planning a venture, and he might request your expertise.”

Morgaine frowned at his juice - not that the bartender could see it behind the mask. “Since when does Shigaraki-kun ask for my expertise? I’m a thief.” Despite his attitude to his ‘exploits’, he was fairly fond of Shigaraki Tomura (or as he often referred to him in private, ‘Mr Handsy’). The two occasionally played video games together, but there was a certain… unsettling quality about him. Mostly the hands. If he was honest, it was almost entirely the hands. But Shigaraki mostly dealt with violent crimes, and Morgaine wasn’t really into violence. Sure, sometimes he engaged in it, but only when he thought it was necessary or the target deserved it.

“Mmm. I thought you might say something like that,” He said smoothly, polishing a glass to sparkling perfection. “But I have some information about the venture you might find interesting.”

He looked at Kurogiri for a few moments before sighing. “Alright, I’ll bite. Is he hitting up a Hero Convention? Because I don’t think any of those are happening soon.”

There’s a faint little chuckle out of the mist. “No. We’re targeting the Unforeseen Simulation Joint - a training ground for prospective Heroes to learn the arts of rescuing.” The gold eyes sharpened slightly. “U.A’s Class 1-A will be attending, and with them, the Symbol of Peace.”

Morgaine tapped his mask with a single finger, and then slowly pulled the mask up to the top of their head, coincidentally shifting the hood down. A pale, freckled face slowly revealed itself to the world, forest green eyes sparkling with a sense of mischief and mirth.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” said Midoriya Izuku, grinning a little with anticipation.

Dave as a Rogue of Space

Analysis and thoughts on Dave’s inverted classpect, the Rogue of Space. Along with an introspection surrounding multiple aspects.

Sprite assembled on FarragoFiction’s doll maker, then photoshopped by myself :] Yes, I saved it as a jpeg for authenticity.

Author’s note: I am a beginner at classpecting and putting my thoughts on paper, so to speak. So the following will be messy, self indulging, open to changes and additions.

When we think about classpecting, we mustn’t neglect someone’s relation between their True Calling and inverted classpect, as they are two sides of the same co1n.

Re-contextualization: Vulcan posted on Twitter an interesting message, which I replied to and it followed-up by a conversation:

« dave would have been a better space player and jade would have been a better time player »

I’ve found that this thought needed more attention and a deeper analysis, so I fuss in my head and look on the internet all the elements that would support it, along with how would dave work as a Space-bound person. Then this is when I remember that dave’s inverted classpect was a Rogue of Space.

I will focus especially on Dave in this theory, as several people already posted about Jade’s inverted classpect, a Seer of Time.

Let’s do quickly the classic way, taking a look at what Rogue and Space entail.

Rogue: The one that steals their aspect or through their aspect for the benefit of others. 

Space: creation, beginnings, visual arts, the setting, physical objects, matter, locations.

Dave’s always inclined to act in a passive and service-minded way. 

If the Knight echoes to the warrior/butler archetype, then the Rogue is linked to the outlaw/stealer archetype, both class sharing a sentiment to help others. 

The Rogue in a mischievous and illegal way, the Knight in a more lawful and noble way. Though if we are honest, that doesn’t make Dave a saint or Roxy a scoundrel. They both remain on the Chaotic Good alignment :)

Now, we have to look at what a Rogue of Space, in general, could do. I have listed a few abilities I found coherent.

Including:

Dave stealing apple juice bottles, more juice for him. Even though it’s not very passive of him, players are allowed to be active and passive, it’s natural and part of their dynamic.

Creating portals, allowing people to get from a point A, to a point B. He would literally steal space for the benefit of others.

Handing objects to their friends like if it was Christmas in here. It could be things linked to creation or creativity, like a drawing.

Taking matter from an object to give it to another one, making the latter bigger.

Stealing matter from the ground to create walls, shielding the team from an attack.

Switching places between two things or persons, could be very useful during battle, confusing the enemies and allowing the team members to gain ground.

Vulcan original idea came from the Extended Zodiac site. While he meant the actual signs that both Jade and Dave would have, I took a look at those who would fit them if they were originally Time-bound and Space-bound, Jade and Dave respectively.

Jade’s and Dave’s inverted signs

Now Dave came out as the Sign of the Builder, which is interesting to ponder on!

During the Sburb session, he was the server player of two of his friends, Rose and Jade. Using the flow of time at his advantage, he helped them during different sections of time. Which also means that he was building both of their houses, allowing another step closer to victory.

Additionally, according to a great analysis (I need to find the link, I can’t find it anymore) expending a player’s house in Sburb symbolizes expanding one’s mind.

It could implies that Dave along with the Beta teens, helped his friends being less homestuck, or « headstuck ». Which wasn’t the case at first for the Alpha teens, since they didn’t have the required amount of Grist to do so.

Vulcan:

« Dave spent the entirety of his session helping his team out, so I would also interpret "builder" as him building up his team for the session? »

Dave doesn’t see himself as « the strategist », relaying this role to Rose. In my opinion, he didn’t view it with the right angle. While I won’t see him as a leading player, I would say that he is more a « supportive strategist » if that make sense.

TT: But now I know for sure Dave isn't behind this plan. 

TT: It's too complicated. 

GA: I Dont Understand 

GA: Who Better To Coordinate Such Events Than The Knight Of Time

Quote from this page

If time is about progression, and more specifically the session’s progression in Sburb, then Space is about the setting and environment!

Yes, Dave is good at making things happening time-wise, but he greatly helped Space-wise!

He managed to make Rose enter in the Medium, to be physically there. While he was jumping throughout the timeline, he had to be in different places. At a certain point, while he was gathering money for Terezi, he was also with Jade collecting frogs. There is this notion of Space, by the simple fact of being in several places to help his friends, along with the concept of loneliness.

Dave, like the others, was isolated. His room is his sanctuary, no cameras, no Bro allowed. And while he used music to occupied himself and "kill time", he is tied to visual art as well. His comics and photography.  Photography:

Dave hanged his ironic photos near his window. His closet was used as a Dark Room. We can see his bonds with his other family members, Rose with the light (photo, window), and Roxy with the concept of secrecy and darkness. Which can also be interpreted by Rose's own inversion (photo revealed in the dark, then exposed to the light where everyone can see it) but that’s a story for another time. A selphie is also a physical representation and conservation of the Self. It’s one of the elements that was born from Dave’s narcissism. It’s interesting to note that taking an analog photo captures a moment in time, to end up stuck as a physical flat object ;)

Comics, shittiness and reality:

Back to his art, it can be seen as attached to two aspects: Space for the creation and creativity, and Heart for the sense of representation of Self (Bro and their tensed relationship subconsciously externalized). 

We'll focus on the former. Dave's has an interesting way to narrate his stories. It's random, unpredictable, messy, crude and very genuine. We saw Jade and Calliope drawing. Jade draw well, without been too invested in her art skills. Calliope is very talented and has a nak for storytelling. It's about the setting. If we were to create a pyramid made of characters invested in art setting, dave would easily appear at the bottom. He said himself that "art skills are overrated" and strive to draw as shittidly as possible. It's his brand! Quite literally in the Alpha universe.

Both Space and time are the most important aspects, because they shape reality itself. 

Through the mean of the Alchemiter, Dave picked two objects (Space), catchalogued them, which turned into datas (Light), become ideas (Hope) then make them into another brand new physical object (Space). It’s a circle of creation, that go through other aspects! With the SORD….. it’s curious to see that, by it’s very own nature of shittiness, Dave has a hard time holding it. The weapon is present in the realm, yet not quite tangible. A paradoxal realness brought to existence. A little bit later, he created the SBAHJIFIER. Not only it finally combined two of his beloved hobbies, photography and shitty comics, it allows him to shape and create things with his own personal self and vision of the world as well.

He modifies the object, changes its realness to fit his own desires. Does he work as a Witch of Space at this moment? Or maybe robbing the first appearance and realness of the object, recycling into something else. Wouldn’t that fit the role of a Rogue of Space in some way?

A young Space-bound lady look with disgust at the real shittiness of a SBAHjified Statue of Liberty, created long ago by director!dave in the Alpha universe.

If Dave, as a Rogue of Space, could reach his potential in a Sburb session, he would have a great power over shifting reality. The sord….. as a handy healing item, turning enemies weapons into a shitty near non-tangible objects, taking photos of cumbersome and/or heavy objects, to be able to alchemize them later. Let’s not forget all the juice he could get ^^ rogue!dave is a fearsome opponent, you better not cross his path if you want to stay alive and in high-resolution. This is it for my analysis! What did you think? Leave your thoughts in the notes of this post! A huge thanks to Vulcan, who without him this post wouldn’t be existing :) Until then, appreciate the shittiness, it’s as valid as any other art quality.

James Baldwin

James Arthur Baldwin (August 2, 1924 – December 1, 1987) was an African-American novelist, essayist, playwright, poet, and social critic. His essays, as collected in Notes of a Native Son (1955), explore palpable yet unspoken intricacies of racial, sexual, and class distinctions in Western societies, most notably in mid-20th-century America, and their inevitable if unnameable tensions. Some Baldwin essays are book-length, for instance The Fire Next Time (1963), No Name in the StreJames Baldwinet (1972), and The Devil Finds Work (1976).

Baldwin's novels and plays fictionalize fundamental personal questions and dilemmas amid complex social and psychological pressures thwarting the equitable integration not only of blacks, but also of gay and bisexual men, while depicting some internalized obstacles to such individuals' quests for acceptance. Such dynamics are prominent in Baldwin's second novel, Giovanni's Room, written in 1956 well before gay rights were widely espoused in America.

Early life

Baldwin was born after his mother, Emma Berdis Jones, left his biological father because of his drug abuse and moved to Harlem, New York City. There, she married a preacher, David Baldwin. The family was very poor.

Baldwin spent much time caring for his several younger brothers and sisters. At the age of 10, he was teased and abused by two New York police officers, an instance of racist harassment by the NYPD that he would experience again as a teenager and document in his essays. His adoptive father, whom Baldwin in essays called simply his father, appears to have treated him — by comparison with his siblings — with great harshness.

His stepfather died of tuberculosis in summer of 1943 just before Baldwin turned 19. The day of the funeral was Baldwin's 19th birthday, the day his father's last child was born, and the day of the Harlem Riot of 1943, which was portrayed at the beginning of his essay "Notes of a Native Son". The quest to answer or explain family and social rejection—and attain a sense of selfhood, both coherent and benevolent—became a leitmotiv in Baldwin's writing.

Education

James attended P.S. 24 on 128th Street between Fifth and Madison in Harlem where he wrote the school song, which was used until the school closed down. His middle school years were spent at Frederick Douglass Junior High where he was influenced by poet Countee Cullen, a leading figure in the Harlem Renaissance, and was encouraged by his math teacher to serve as editor of the school newspaper, The Douglass Pilot. He then went on to DeWitt Clinton High School, in the Bronx's Bedford Park section. There, along with Richard Avedon, he worked on the school magazine as literary editor but disliked school because of the constant racial slurs.

Religion

The difficulties of his life, including his stepfather's abuse, led Baldwin to seek solace in religion. At the age of 14 he attended meetings of the Pentecostal Church and, during a euphoric prayer meeting, he converted and became a junior Minister. Before long, at the Fireside Pentecostal Assembly, he was drawing larger crowds than his stepfather had done in his day. At 17, however, Baldwin came to view Christianity as based on false premises and later regarded his time in the pulpit as a way of overcoming his personal crises.

Baldwin once visited Elijah Muhammad, leader of the Nation of Islam, who inquired about Baldwin's religious beliefs. He answered, "I left the church 20 years ago and haven't joined anything since." Elijah asked, "And what are you now?" Baldwin explained, "Now? Nothing. I'm a writer. I like doing things alone." Still, his church experience significantly shaped his worldview and writing. Baldwin reflected that "being in the pulpit was like working in the theater; I was behind the scenes and knew how the illusion was worked."

Baldwin accused Christianity of reinforcing the system of American slavery by palliating the pangs of oppression and delaying salvation until a promised afterlife. Baldwin praised religion, however, for inspiring some American blacks to defy oppression. He once wrote, "If the concept of God has any use, it is to make us larger, freer, and more loving. If God can't do that, it's time we got rid of him". Baldwin publicly described himself as not religious. However, at his funeral, an a cappella recording of Baldwin singing "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" was played.

Greenwich Village

When Baldwin was 15, his high-school running buddy, Emile Capouya, skipped school one day and, in Greenwich Village, met Beauford Delaney, a painter. Capouya gave Baldwin Delaney's address and suggested paying him a visit. Baldwin, who was at the time working after school in a sweatshop on nearby Canal Street, visited Beauford at 181 Greene Street. Beauford became a mentor to Baldwin; it was under Beauford's influence that he came to believe a black person could be an artist.

While working odd jobs, Baldwin wrote short stories, essays, and book reviews, some of them collected in the volume Notes of a Native Son (1955). He befriended the actor Marlon Brando in 1944 and the two were roommates for a time. They would remain friends for more than 20 years.

Expatriation

During his teenage years in Harlem and Greenwich Village, Baldwin started to realize that he was gay. In 1948, he walked into a restaurant where he knew he would not be served. When the waitress explained that black people were not served at the establishment, Baldwin threw a glass of water at her, shattering the mirror behind the bar. As a result of being disillusioned by American prejudice against blacks and gays, he left the United States at the age of 24 and settled in Paris, France. His flight was not just a desire to distance himself from American prejudice, but to see himself and his writing beyond an African-American context. Baldwin did not want to be read as "merely a Negro; or, even, merely a Negro writer". Also, he left the United States desiring to come to terms with his sexual ambivalence and flee the hopelessness that many young African-American men like himself succumbed to in New York.

In Paris, Baldwin was soon involved in the cultural radicalism of the Left Bank. His work started to be published in literary anthologies, notably Zero, which was edited by his friend Themistocles Hoetis and which had already published essays by Richard Wright.

He would live in France for most of his later life. He would also spend some time in Switzerland and Turkey. During his life and after it, Baldwin would be seen not only as an influential African-American writer but also as an influential exile writer, particularly because of his numerous experiences outside the United States and the impact of these experiences on Baldwin's life and his writing.

Saint-Paul-de-Vence

Baldwin settled in Saint-Paul-de-Vence in the south of France in 1970, in an old Provençal house beneath the ramparts of the famous village. His house was always open to his friends, who frequently visited him while on trips to the French Riviera. American painter Beauford Delaney made Baldwin's house in Saint-Paul-de-Vence his second home, often setting up his easel in the garden. Delaney painted several colourful portraits of Baldwin. Actors Harry Belafonte and Sidney Poitier were also regular house guests.

Many of Baldwin's musician friends dropped in during the Nice and Juan-les-Pins Jazz Festivals: Nina Simone, Josephine Baker (whose sister lived in Nice), Miles Davis, and Ray Charles, for whom he wrote several songs. In his autobiography, Miles Davis wrote:

I'd read his books and I liked and respected what he had to say. When I got to know him better, Jimmy and I opened up to each other. We became great friends. Every time I was in the South of France, in Antibes, I would spend a day or two at his villa in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. We'd get comfy in that beautiful, big house and he would tell us all sorts of stories...He was a great man.

Baldwin learned to speak French fluently and developed friendships with French actor Yves Montand and French writer Marguerite Yourcenar, who translated Baldwin's play The Amen Corner.

His years in Saint-Paul-de-Vence were also years of work. Sitting in front of his sturdy typewriter, his days were devoted to writing and to answering the huge amount of mail he received from all over the world. He wrote several of his last works in his house in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, including Just Above My Head in 1979 and Evidence of Things Not Seen in 1985. It was also in his Saint-Paul-de-Vence house that Baldwin wrote his famous "Open Letter to My Sister, Angela Y. Davis" in November 1970.

Literary career

In 1953, Baldwin's first novel, Go Tell It on the Mountain, a semi-autobiographical bildungsroman, was published. His first collection of essays, Notes of a Native Son appeared two years later. He continued to experiment with literary forms throughout his career, publishing poetry and plays as well as the fiction and essays for which he was known.

Baldwin's second novel, Giovanni's Room, caused great controversy when it was first published in 1956 due to its explicit homoerotic content. Baldwin was again resisting labels with the publication of this work: despite the reading public's expectations that he would publish works dealing with the African-American experience, Giovanni's Room is predominantly about white characters. Baldwin's next two novels, Another Country and Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone, are sprawling, experimental works dealing with black and white characters and with heterosexual, gay, and bisexual characters. These novels struggle to contain the turbulence of the late 1950s and the early 1960s: they are saturated with a sense of violent unrest and outrage.

Baldwin's lengthy essay "Down at the Cross" (frequently called The Fire Next Time after the title of the book in which it was published) similarly showed the seething discontent of the 1960s in novel form. The essay was originally published in two oversized issues of The New Yorker and landed Baldwin on the cover of Time magazine in 1963 while Baldwin was touring the South speaking about the restive Civil Rights movement. Around the time of publication of The Fire Next Time, Baldwin became a known spokesperson for civil rights and a celebrity noted for championing the cause of black Americans. He frequently appeared on television and delivered speeches on college campuses. The essay talked about the uneasy relationship between Christianity and the burgeoning Black Muslim movement. After publication, several black nationalists criticized Baldwin for his conciliatory attitude. They questioned whether his message of love and understanding would do much to change race relations in America. The book was eagerly consumed by whites looking for answers to the question: What do blacks really want? Baldwin's essays never stopped articulating the anger and frustration felt by real-life black Americans with more clarity and style than any other writer of his generation. Baldwin's next book-length essay, No Name in the Street, also discussed his own experience in the context of the later 1960s, specifically the assassinations of three of his personal friends: Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

Baldwin's writings of the 1970s and 1980s have been largely overlooked by critics, though even these texts are beginning to receive attention. Several of his essays and interviews of the 1980s discuss homosexuality and homophobia with fervor and forthrightness. Eldridge Cleaver's harsh criticism of Baldwin in Soul on Ice and elsewhere and Baldwin's return to southern France contributed to the sense that he was not in touch with his readership. Always true to his own convictions rather than to the tastes of others, Baldwin continued to write what he wanted to write. As he had been the leading literary voice of the civil rights movement, he became an inspirational figure for the emerging gay rights movement. His two novels written in the 1970s, If Beale Street Could Talk and Just Above My Head, placed a strong emphasis on the importance of black families, and he concluded his career by publishing a volume of poetry, Jimmy's Blues, as well as another book-length essay, The Evidence of Things Not Seen, which was an extended meditation inspired by the Atlanta Child Murders of the early 1980s.

Social and political activism

Baldwin returned to the United States in the summer of 1957 while the Civil Rights Act of that year was being debated in Congress. He had been powerfully moved by the image of a young girl braving a mob in an attempt to desegregate schools in Charlotte, N.C., andPartisan Review editor Philip Rahv had suggested he report on what was happening in the American south. Baldwin was nervous about the trip but he made it, interviewing people in Charlotte (where he met Martin Luther King), and Montgomery, Alabama. The result was two essays, one published in Harper's magazine ("The Hard Kind of Courage"), the other in Partisan Review ("Nobody Knows My Name"). Subsequent Baldwin articles on the movement appeared in Mademoiselle, Harper's, The New York Times Magazine, and The New Yorker, where in 1962 he published the essay that he called "Down at the Cross" and the New Yorker called "Letter from a Region of My Mind". Along with a shorter essay from The Progressive, the essay became The Fire Next Time.

While he wrote about the movement, Baldwin aligned himself with the ideals of the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). In 1963 he conducted a lecture tour of the South for CORE, traveling to locations like Durham and Greensboro, North Carolina and New Orleans, Louisiana. During the tour, he lectured to students, white liberals, and anyone else listening about his racial ideology, an ideological position between the "muscular approach" of Malcolm X and the nonviolent program of Martin Luther King, Jr.. Baldwin expressed the hope that Socialism would take root in the United States.

By the spring of 1963, Baldwin had become so much a spokesman for the Civil Rights Movement that for its May 17 issue on the turmoil in Birmingham, Alabama, Time magazine put James Baldwin on the cover. "There is not another writer," said Time, "who expresses with such poignancy and abrasiveness the dark realities of the racial ferment in North and South." In a cable Baldwin sent to Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy during the crisis, Baldwin blamed the violence in Birmingham on the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover, Mississippi Senator James Eastland, and President Kennedy for failing to use "the great prestige of his office as the moral forum which it can be." Attorney General Kennedy invited Baldwin to meet with him over breakfast, and that meeting was followed up with a second, when Kennedy met with Baldwin and others Baldwin had invited to Kennedy's Manhattan apartment (see Baldwin–Kennedy meeting). This meeting is discussed in Howard Simon's 1999 play, "James Baldwin: A Soul on Fire" The delegation included Kenneth B. Clark, a psychologist who had played a key role in the Brown v. Board of Education decision; actor Harry Belafonte, singer Lena Horne, writer Lorraine Hansberry, and activists from civil rights organizations. Although most of the attendees of this meeting left feeling "devastated," the meeting was an important one in voicing the concerns of the civil rights movement and it provided exposure of the civil rights issue not just as a political issue but also as a moral issue.

James Baldwin’s FBI file contains 1,884 pages of documents, collected from 1960 until the early 1970s. During that era of illegal surveillance of American writers, the FBI accumulated 276 pages on Richard Wright, 110 pages on Truman Capote, and just nine pages on Henry Miller.

Baldwin also made a prominent appearance at the Civil Rights March on Washington, D.C. on August 28, 1963, with Belafonte and long-time friends Sidney Poitier and Marlon Brando. The civil rights movement was hostile to homosexuals. The only known gay men in the movement were James Baldwin and Bayard Rustin. Rustin and King were very close, as Rustin received credit for the success of the March on Washington. Many were bothered by Rustin's sexual orientation. King himself spoke on the topic of sexual orientation in a school editorial column during his college years, and in reply to a letter during the 1950s, where he treated it as a mental illness which an individual could overcome (the common view of the time). The pressure later resulted in King distancing himself from both men. At the time, Baldwin was neither in the closet nor open to the public about his sexual orientation. Later on, Baldwin was conspicuously uninvited to speak at the end of the March on Washington. After a bomb exploded in a Birmingham church not long after the March on Washington, Baldwin called for a nationwide campaign of civil disobedience in response to this "terrifying crisis." He traveled to Selma, Alabama, where SNCC had organized a voter registration drive; he watched mothers with babies and elderly men and women standing in long lines for hours, as armed deputies and state troopers stood by—or intervened to smash a reporter's camera or use cattle prods on SNCC workers. After his day of watching, he spoke in a crowded church, blaming Washington—"the good white people on the hill." Returning to Washington, he told a New York Post reporter the federal government could protect Negroes—it could send federal troops into the South. He blamed the Kennedys for not acting. In March 1965, Baldwin joined marchers who walked 50 miles from Selma, Alabama, to the capitol in Montgomery under the protection of federal troops.

Nonetheless, he rejected the label "civil rights activist", or that he had participated in a civil rights movement, instead agreeing with Malcolm X's assertion that if one is a citizen, one should not have to fight for one's civil rights. In a 1964 interview with Robert Penn Warren for the book Who Speaks for the Negro?, Baldwin refuted the idea that the civil rights movement was an outright revolution, instead calling it "a very peculiar revolution because it has to...have its aims the establishment of a union, and a...radical shift in the American mores, the American way of life...not only as it applies to the Negro obviously, but as it applies to every citizen of the country." In a 1979 speech at UC Berkeley, he called it, instead, "the latest slave rebellion."

In 1968, Baldwin signed the “Writers and Editors War Tax Protest” pledge, vowing to refuse tax payments in protest against the Vietnam War.

Inspiration and relationships

As a young man, Baldwin's poetry teacher was Countee Cullen.

A great influence on Baldwin was the painter Beauford Delaney. In The Price of the Ticket (1985), Baldwin describes Delaney as

...the first living proof, for me, that a black man could be an artist. In a warmer time, a less blasphemous place, he would have been recognized as my teacher and I as his pupil. He became, for me, an example of courage and integrity, humility and passion. An absolute integrity: I saw him shaken many times and I lived to see him broken but I never saw him bow.

Later support came from Richard Wright, whom Baldwin called "the greatest black writer in the world." Wright and Baldwin became friends, and Wright helped Baldwin secure the Eugene F. Saxon Memorial Award. Baldwin's essay "Notes of a Native Son" and his collection Notes of a Native Son allude to Wright's novel Native Son. In Baldwin's 1949 essay "Everybody's Protest Novel", however, he indicated that Native Son, like Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, lacked credible characters and psychological complexity, and the friendship between the two authors ended. Interviewed by Julius Lester, however, Baldwin explained, "I knew Richard and I loved him. I was not attacking him; I was trying to clarify something for myself." In 1965, Baldwin participated in a debate with William F. Buckley, on the topic of whether the American dream has adversely affected African Americans. The debate took place at The Cambridge Union in the UK. The spectating student body voted overwhelmingly in Baldwin's favour.

In 1949 Baldwin met and fell in love with Lucien Happersberger, aged 17, though Happersberger's marriage three years later left Baldwin distraught. Happersberger died on August 21, 2010, in Switzerland.

Baldwin was a close friend of the singer, pianist, and civil rights activist Nina Simone. With Langston Hughes and Lorraine Hansberry, Baldwin helped awaken Simone to the civil rights movement then gelling. Baldwin also provided her with literary references influential on her later work. Baldwin and Hansberry met with Robert F. Kennedy, along with Kenneth Clark and Lena Horne and others (see Baldwin–Kennedy meeting) in an attempt to persuade Kennedy of the importance of civil rights legislation. Kennedy referred to Baldwin as "Martin Luther Queen" throughout his life.

Baldwin influenced the work of French painter Philippe Derome, whom he met in Paris in the early 1960s. Baldwin also knew Marlon Brando, Charlton Heston, Billy Dee Williams, Huey P. Newton, Nikki Giovanni, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jean Genet (with whom he campaigned on behalf of the Black Panther Party), Lee Strasberg, Elia Kazan, Rip Torn, Alex Haley, Miles Davis, Amiri Baraka, Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothea Tanning , Leonor Fini, Margaret Mead, Josephine Baker, Allen Ginsberg, Chinua Achebe and Maya Angelou. He wrote at length about his "political relationship" with Malcolm X. He collaborated with childhood friend Richard Avedon on the book Nothing Personal, which is available for public viewing at the Schomburg Center in Harlem.

Maya Angelou called Baldwin her "friend and brother", and credited him for "setting the stage" for her 1969 autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Baldwin was made a Commandeur de la Légion d'Honneur by the French government in 1986.

Baldwin was also a close friend of Nobel Prize-winning novelist Toni Morrison. Upon his death, Morrison wrote a eulogy for Baldwin that appeared in The New York Times. In the eulogy, entitled "Life in His Language," Morrison credits Baldwin as being her literary inspiration and the person who showed her the true potential of writing. She writes,

"You knew, didn't you, how I needed your language and the mind that formed it? How I relied on your fierce courage to tame wildernesses for me? How strengthened I was by the certainty that came from knowing you would never hurt me? You knew, didn't you, how I loved your love? You knew. This then is no calamity. No. This is jubilee. 'Our crown,' you said, 'has already been bought and paid for. All we have to do,' you said, 'is wear it.'"

Death

Early on December 1, 1987, (some sources say late on November 30) Baldwin died from stomach cancer in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, France. He was buried at the Ferncliff Cemetery in Hartsdale, near New York City.

Legacy

Baldwin's influence on other writers has been profound: Toni Morrison edited the Library of America two-volume editions of Baldwin's fiction and essays, and a recent collection of critical essays links these two writers.

One of Baldwin's richest short stories, "Sonny's Blues", appears in many anthologies of short fiction used in introductory college literature classes.

In 1986, within the work The Story of English, Robert MacNeil, with Robert McCrum and William Cran, mentioned James Baldwin as an influential writer of African-American Literature, on the level of Booker T. Washington, and held both men up as prime examples of Black writers.

In 1987, Kevin Brown, a photo-journalist from Baltimore, founded the National James Baldwin Literary Society. The group organizes free public events celebrating Baldwin's life and legacy.

In 1992, Hampshire College in Amherst, Massachusetts, established the James Baldwin Scholars program, an urban outreach initiative, in honor of Baldwin, who taught at Hampshire in the early 1980s. The JBS Program provides talented students of color from underserved communities an opportunity to develop and improve the skills necessary for college success through coursework and tutorial support for one transitional year, after which Baldwin scholars may apply for full matriculation to Hampshire or any other four-year college program.

In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante included James Baldwin on his list of 100 Greatest African Americans.

In 2005, the USPS created a first-class postage stamp dedicated to Baldwin, which featured him on the front, with a short biography on the back of the peeling paper.

In 2012 James Baldwin was inducted into the Legacy Walk, an outdoor public display that celebrates LGBT history and people.

In 2014 128th Street, between Fifth and Madison Avenues, was named "James Baldwin Place" to celebrate Baldwin's 90th Birthday. He lived in the neighborhood and attended P.S. 24. Readings of Baldwin's writing were held at The National Black Theatre and a month long art exhibition featuring works by New York Live Arts and artist Maureen Kelleher. The events were attended by Council Member Inez Dickens, who lead the campaign to honor Harlem native son, Baldwin's family, leaders in theatre and film, and members of the community.

Works

Go Tell It on the Mountain (semi-autobiographical novel; 1953)

The Amen Corner (play; 1954)

Notes of a Native Son (essays; 1955)

Giovanni's Room (novel; 1956)

Nobody Knows My Name: More Notes of a Native Son (essays; 1961)

Another Country (novel; 1962)

A Talk to Teachers (essay; 1963)

The Fire Next Time (essays; 1963)

Blues for Mister Charlie (play; 1964)

Going to Meet the Man (stories; 1965)

Tell Me How Long the Train's Been Gone (novel; 1968)

No Name in the Street (essays; 1972)

If Beale Street Could Talk (novel; 1974)

The Devil Finds Work (essays; 1976)

Just Above My Head (novel; 1979)

Jimmy's Blues (poems; 1983)

The Evidence of Things Not Seen (essays; 1985)

The Price of the Ticket (essays; 1985)

The Cross of Redemption: Uncollected Writings (essays; 2010)

Jimmy's Blues and Other Poems (poems; 2014)

Together with others:

Nothing Personal (with Richard Avedon, photography) (1964)

A Rap on Race (with Margaret Mead) (1971)

One Day When I Was Lost (orig.: A. Haley; 1972)

A Dialogue (with Nikki Giovanni) (1973)

Little Man Little Man: A Story of Childhood (with Yoran Cazac, 1976)

Native Sons (with Sol Stein, 2004)

Music/Spoken Word Recording:

A Lover's Question (CD, Les Disques Du Crépuscule – TWI 928-2, 1990)

Wikipedia

WORK ETHIC AND YOURS

Web-based software now, because writing applications for them seemed an attainable goal to larval startups. It was written by two guys working in an attic, and yet did things no mainframe software could do. As we were in the middle of the range. So why worry about a few more checks on public companies. That's how bad the problem has become.1 Don't hire people to fill the gaps in some a priori org chart. This, as we did, using a desktop computer, you can create wealth. To decide what to optimize, just log into a server and see what's consuming all the CPU. These are the users who are ready to try new things, partly because they're more flexible, and partly because they want to do something people want.

You're genuinely in a bind, because you were already worrying about it subconsciously. But only 66% of companies in the current batch have the.2 I would consider this problem solved.3 As Joe McGinnis recounts in his famous book The Selling of the President 1968, Nixon knew he had less charisma than Humphrey, and thus simply refused to debate him on TV. As a young founder your strengths are: stamina, poverty, rootlessness, colleagues, and ignorance.4 And you should, because some tasks like raising money and getting acquired. Now, they said, the absolute fastest they could get paid for it, without having a lottery mixed in, we would have been harder to. But in fact startups do have a rule of thumb for recognizing when you have to do well at that. We did. Similarly, good new problems are not to be cut out of the big galley and put them in the course of adding some feature they were asking for.5

If you really think you have a US startup called X and you don't have to send everyone the same signal, and you assemble a team of eight to ten people wearing jeans to the office and typing into vt100s.6 Eventually the pimps and drug dealers notice that the doctors and lawyers have switched from Cadillac to Lexus, and do things that would be motivation enough. In addition to catching bugs, they were exceptional. It's not unusual for an old friend especially if he is a hacker to suddenly send you an email with a new from-address doesn't guarantee that the sender is writing to you for the first time is constrained by convention in what they can say mine is bigger than yours. Three million? You can start by asking a comparatively lowly VC for a small team of good, trusted programmers than it would for a big company, and it's no wonder we had such a thing it would provide a boost to any filtering software. If you sell your car, you'll get more for it. A startup is not the great mystery it seems from outside.7 If $3 million a year seems high, remember that we're talking about the amount of money at any moment.

Live content can be way cheaper than networks realize, and the result is so depressing that the inhabitants consider it a great treat to fly to Europe and spend a couple weeks and hadn't seen much of the company is their performance.8 The Web let us do an end-run around Windows, and deliver software running on Unix direct to users through the browser. Which is why people trying to sell you expensive things say it's an investment. What I didn't grasp at the time, and the investors are the limiting factor. This doesn't work well with hackers.9 Now everyone knows that this is hard for us would be impossible for our competitors. It makes those parts of your software. The constraints that limit ordinary companies also protect them. And if at the last minute two parts don't quite fit, you can use a Web-based software, no one wants. This was not uncommon during the Bubble, or because they're a bad idea.

And a program that attacked the servers themselves should find them very well defended.10 And when there's no installation, it will disappear. You'd think. As a friend of mine said, Most VCs can't do anything that would sound bad to the kind of startup that approaches them saying the train's leaving the station; are you in or out?11 Apple solved for millions of people in America, have some amount of funding to get started painting that ten minutes of rearranging feels very long.12 Captains of industry issued orders to armies of workers, and everyone was delighted. In America you can have either a flimsy box banged together out of two by fours and drywall, or a market to supply evolutionary pressures. That's the biggest problem for someone starting a startup, so why not have a place designed to be a good thing too, or a salmonella outbreak for a food processor. But getting bought is also an art in its own right, and of a particularly stressful kind, but that they're driven by more powerful motivations. Do you go up or down on fears of instability in the Middle East.

For most people the best plan is to go for the smaller customers first. To start with, spam is easily recognizable. We would want to use it. 5-7% of the upside, while an employer gets nearly all of history the success of any company.13 Then it's mechanical; phew.14 Graduation is a bureaucratic change, not a threshold.15 The number of possible connections between developers grows exponentially with the size of users' data well, nothing easy, we knew we might as well have sat in front of a blank page for days without writing anything.

6x. A few days ago I realized that somewhere along the line I had stopped believing that. For most people, including the headers. The problem with software patents is an instance of a more general one: the patent office than the concept of expected value would be surprised if that situation returns, but with one difference: this time they'll be starting their own instead of going with the first microcomputers. Actually, neither do VCs. But in fact we were doing exactly the right sort of person who could get away with refusing to debate. Most VCs can't do anything that would sound bad to the Bayesian filters as ever, no matter what they're working on, you're not just trying to solve problems you're bad at marketing.

Don't waste your time worrying about patent infringement. The real reason we started Y Combinator, we planned to invest the way other venture firms do: as proposals came in, we'd evaluate them and decide yes or no.16 And jeans turn out not to have been able to work hard: these guys would have paid to be able to improve the software, and with a relatively small amount of force applied at just the point where startups can least afford it. The most recent counterexample appears to be 1968, when Nixon beat the more charismatic Hubert Humphrey. If you want to start it.17 Most hackers are employees, and this gives you an edge over older founders, because the rate of a successful startup: to start your own startup. Those turn out to be the first VC to give someone a present and don't have any more, and impose more onerous conditions.18 We would want to ensure that the company pays 10 times as much wealth as an average employee.19 They were the most arrogant people I've met in my life.

Notes

Some of the reason there have historically been so many startups from Philadelphia. For example, because I realized the other meanings.

Which helps explain why there are few who can say I need to go away, and you need a higher growth rate to impress are not just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's IBM.

The amusing thing is, so x% usage growth predicts x% revenue growth.

One thing that drives most people are like, and Fred Wilson to fund them. Trevor Blackwell reminds you to believing anything in particular, because there are no misunderstandings.

In this context, etc. But if they were only partly joking. The history of the company, and I had a day job.

The idea of what's valuable is least likely to resort to raising money from it. Proceedings of AAAI-98 Workshop on Learning for Text Categorization.

Big technology companies between them so founders can get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but that's overkill; the trend in scientific progress matches the population curve.

With a classic fixed sized round, you need two different kinds of menial work early in the definition of property.

If they were supposed to be high, they mean San Francisco, LA, Boston, and the ordering system and image generator written in 6502 machine language. Users dislike their new operating system so much about unimportant things. By your mid-sentence, though.

What they forget is that any given college. When you fund a startup could grow big by transforming consulting into a pattern, as they are bleeding cash really fast. Those investors probably thought they'd been pretty clever by getting such a low valuation to see the Valley use the standard career paths of trustafarians to start over from scratch today would say that YC's most successful founders is often responding politely to the Depression was one of the funds we raised was difficult, and then scale it up because they attract so much in their racks for years before Apple finally moved the door. Maybe it would have undesirable side effects.

Monk, Ray, Ludwig Wittgenstein: The French Laundry in Napa Valley.

I.

Turn the other sheep head for a public event, you might be digital talent. The company may not even allowed to discriminate on any basis you want to avoid that. Progressive tax rates, which handled orders.

I'm sure for every startup founder could pull the same advantages from it. And the old one.

That's why the Apple I used a recent Business Week, 31 Jan 2005.

The answer is no personnel department, and would probably be interrupted every fifteen minutes with little loss of personality for the board to give up your anti-dilution, which merchants used to retrieve orders, view statistics, and cook on lowish heat for at least one of those you can often do better.

Don't be evil, they say this is what people will give you term sheets.

So if you're not consciously aware of it. In this essay, I can't refer a startup could grow big by transforming consulting into a pattern, as I know, the startup in question usually is doing badly and is doomed anyway.

All you need, you can't even claim, like most of the things I write. Many people have told me how he had simply passed on an accurate account of ancient traditions. See, we found Dave Shen there, and credit card debt is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than giving grants. The 1/10 success rate is suspiciously neat, but the nature of an FBI agent or taxi driver or reporter to being told they had to write a new SEC rule issued in 1982 rule 415 that made them register.

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (67/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[24 November 236 Before Age.  Extraliga.] 

Zatte was not dead, though she wasn't sure how much longer that would last.  

She was alone in a cavern near one of Extraliga's oldest cities.  The whole planet was currently being invaded by a mercenary fleet assembled by the planet Wist.  Zatte's wife, the Super Saiyan Luffa, was leading the defense against this invasion.  Zatte herself was a Dorlun, one of a reclusive species of survivalists.  The Dorluns had no interests on Extraliga, but Zatte had come to this planet anyway.  She believed that Luffa was more than a powerful warrior, but a watershed in the history of the universe.  It was more of a matter of faith than reason, but Zatte believed that Luffa's agenda was worth supporting at any cost, up to and including Zatte's own life.  

She rolled onto her side and raised her hands to the light from a lamp she had set up earlier.  There were blisters on her palms, and the normally blue skin had become an unsettling shade of magenta, but she took comfort in knowing that the burns were only second degree.  The pain was intense, but at least it didn't look as bad as it felt.  

"Well, you always wanted to burn for her," Zatte muttered to herself as she tried to get back to her feet.  Her movements seemed slow and sluggish, and this bothered her, but she refused to panic.  She would get the diagnostic tool out of the medkit and wait for it to tell her just how badly she was hurt.   

Of course, the real challenge was going to be getting the diagnostic tool out of the bag with minimal use of her hands.  She was reasonably sure she could handle it with her toes, but that would mean removing the boots she was wearing, and the socks was wearing under those.  Zatte thought she could do it, but she wasn't sure how much time she had left.  

The Shockmaster had come to Extraliga in search of the Recollector, a device which could retrieve objects lost in the distant past.  His aim was to bring back a magical artifact of such immense power that its very presence on Extraliga's surface would eradicate most of the life on the planet.  Luffa and Zatte had devised a two-pronged defense against this.  While Luffa intercepted the Shockmaster and his invasion force, Zatte would locate the Recollector first and sabotage it.  But the Shockmaster had managed an end-run.  During his fight with Luffa, he had been able to access the Recollector with his mind, and somehow input his instructions remotely.  

Now, there were only minutes left before the Ur-Ember was drawn into the present day, where it would emerge in the cavern and kill everyone with its mystic emanations.  Zatte had tried to stop it, but nothing had worked.  Her last attempt to interrupt the power flow inside the device had done nothing but burn her hands and interrupt her psychic connection to her allies on Planet Wist.   They had been helping her make sense of the Recollector's ancient technology, but now she could no longer sense their presence in her mind.  The alchemical potion she had consumed to reach them must have worn off, or the Recollector's feedback had severed the connection, or...

As she struggled to remove her boots, she made the mistake of using two of her fingers, and cried out from the pain.  Tears streamed from her one good eye as she fought to stay calm.   When the Ur-Ember arrived, Zatte would be the first to die.  Dorluns viewed survival as a moral imperative, but while most of them chose to avoid danger, Zatte reveled in it.  The thrill of mortal peril was a challenge that she normally enjoyed.   Until now.  

Now, all hope seemed lost.  The Recollector couldn't be stopped.  She could try again, but there was so little time.  Escape was impossible.  She'd have to reach a shipyard and get into space to reach a safe distance from the Ur-Ember.  Not even Luffa could save her.  Zatte could sense her wife's enormous ki as she battled the Shockmaster.  They were too evenly matched.  Luffa could prevail, but not quickly enough to help Zatte with the Recollector.  Indeed, that had been the whole point of their plan.  Going in, Luffa had no idea how long it would take to beat the Shockmaster.  Zatte had come to this cavern to ensure that Luffa could take her time on that angle.  Their plan had collapsed.  

Zatte continued to work on her boots, and as she did, a very lonely feeling came over her.  She had been alone in the cavern this whole time, but she had never truly felt alone.   She had been able to sense Luffa's ki, and she had her telepathic conference for company.  Even without those, the mission of stopping the Recollector had given her a sort of companionship with the effort to save Extraliga.  

Without that mission to drive her, the self-recriminations began.  She felt like a fool for coming here all by herself.  She hadn't wanted to bring along Extraligan soldiers for fear that they might attract attention from the invaders.  She didn't think they could be of much help, and she wanted to minimize any risks to their safety.  Besides, she was Dorlun enough to want to keep a low profile.  Luffa was a celebrity throughout the galaxy, but that didn't mean Zatte wanted to be one too.  These had all seemed like perfectly sensible reasons at the time, but now she would have liked to have someone else here, even if all they could do was treat her burns and talk to her while the world came to an end.  

The truth was that she had insisted on tackling this mission by herself for purely selfish reasons.  She admired Luffa, and saw her defense of Extraliga and other worlds as a holy crusade.  The fact that Luffa herself didn't agree with this view only made it even more sacred to Zatte.  She would never be strong enough to truly fight alongside Luffa, but if she could make some important contribution, then maybe--

But none of that mattered now.  Zatte had failed Extraliga, just as she had failed her own people on Dorlu Prime.  She hadn't completely given up.  As she reflected on her failure, she had managed to remove both boots and one of her socks.   She had every intention of getting back to the Recollector and making one last try to stop it.  But this was more out of stubbornness than anything else.  She fully expected to die in this place.  All she could do now was struggle to the last.  

With more effort than she expected, she rose to her knees and turned to find the carryall.  Nearby, the Recollector hummed and made several other strange noises as it made the final preparations to bring doom to this world.  The sounds of its operation had been echoing through the cavern this whole time, to the point where Zatte had almost tuned it out.  

And so, she hadn’t heard the other person in the cavern with her.     It wasn’t until Zatte turned around that she realized she hadn't been alone after all.

*******

"This'll help with the pain, but I can't do much else for you.  You'll need a doctor."  

"How did you get here, Keda?" was all Zatte could ask.  

The Dorlun child shrugged as she put away the medicated gel and reached for a spool of bandages.  "Same way you did," she said.  "I was hiding in your carryall the whole time."

"Disguised as what?" Zatte asked.  Every Dorlun had a unique ability.  Zatte's was to manipulate energy.  Keda was a shapeshifter.  Apparently Zatte had underestimated her level of skill.  

Keda held up the case that contained the medical kit.  "This," she said.  "I figured if you had seen two medkits in your bag, you wouldn't complain."

"That's impossible," Zatte said.  "I triple-checked the bag before I left."

"No, you double-checked it," Keda said.  "I guess you got distracted by your glorious mission.  Anyway, I'm here, and that's all that matters."

"You told me you didn't want any part of this," Zatte said.  "You said it was too dangerous."

Keda began wrapping Zatte's hands and shook her head.  "You and I are the only survivors of the colony on Dorlu Prime," she said.  I mean, there's probably other Dorluns out there, and I've been trying to find them with the subspace radio on the ship, but right now it's just you and me.  Well, Luffa too, I guess.  She married in, after all."

"Y-yeah," Zatte said.  The medication was taking effect, dulling the pain in her arms, but there was still a tear in her eye nonetheless.  

"It didn't feel right letting you two come here without me.  I don't think Luffa's a xan-nil'Dor like you do, and even if she is, I don't think it's worth all our necks, but... well, we ought to stick together, right?"

"You could have just asked to tag along," Zatte said.  "I've been on this planet for weeks.  You're telling me you've been hiding in my luggage the whole time?"

"I snuck out to do some scouting," she said.  "Kept tabs on you while you were looking for this place, checking for anything you might have missed.  I thought about giving you a hand with the Recollector, but you seemed to be doing well on that.  So when you came down here I stayed in the bag and waited to see if you needed any help.  Then I heard you scream."

Zatte glanced toward the Recollector.  "It's going to bring the Ur-Ember here," she said.  "I thought I could redirect its energy, cut off it's power source, but..."  She held up her now-bandaged hands to complete the thought.  

"But you managed to turn it on, right?" Keda asked.  “You have control over it.”

"Yes, but we can't cancel this program while it's in operation," Zatte said.  She tried to stand, but couldn't find the strength.  

"Don't move," Keda said.  "That thing did a real number on you, Zatte."  

"We're out of time!" Zatte said.  "Our only chance is to try what I did before."

"It didn't work before," Keda said.  

"I know, but I was trying to be subtle about how I rerouted its power.  If I do something more drastic, it might--"

"It might kill you this time," Keda said.  

Zatte swallowed hard and shut her eye.  "We'll all die if I don't do something."

Keda looked at the Recollector, then back at Zatte.  "I'll take a look at it.  I'm pretty good with computers.  If I can't come up with anything, we'll try it your way."

*******

Far away, Luffa and the Shockmaster were still fighting.  Luffa's face was covered in blood, and part of her face was swollen and bruised.  The Shockmaster’s transformation had seemingly healed the injuries he had sustained earlier, but since then, Luffa had managed to deal him several new ones.  He was favoring his left arm, and gasping for air.  They stared at each other for a moment, then rushed in and attacked at the same time, their arms and legs moving in a blur.  

She was winning.  She was sure of it.  With each engagement, she was getting a little bit more of an advantage.  She had trained for endurance, figuring that the key was to be able to go the distance against the Shockmaster, and so far that analysis had been correct.  His transformation had brought all his power to bear, but at the cost of that seemingly limitless stamina he had relied upon before.  It was almost the reverse outcome of their first fight.  The only difference was that their power was much more evenly matched in the end, meaning that Luffa couldn't put him away quickly.  All she could do was whittle him down until he succumbed to exhaustion.  

Yesterday, that outcome would have satisfied her completely, but not now.  Now, she couldn't stop wondering if Zatte was able to shut down the Recollector.  

It shouldn't have mattered!  If they died, then it would only be because they had been too weak to prevent it.   If Luffa were stronger, she could have beaten the Shockmaster and gone to help by now.  If the Extraligans were stronger, they could have taken a more direct approach to defending their planet.  And maybe they all were strong enough after all.  It wasn't over yet.  But it shouldn't have mattered to Luffa.  There was no dishonor in losing.  There was no reason to worry about it, especially when the fight was still up for grabs.

Even so, it still gnawed at the back of Luffa’s mind.  Not only Zatte, but the Extraligans she had met.  Places she had visited on the planet.    That stupid hockey arena she and Zatte had gone to.   Luffa caught herself wondering if the arena might have been damaged in the invasion.   Was she actually worried about the building?  

For a brief moment, she thought she could finally understand the Shockmaster's goals.  He was absurdly old.   In this day and age, he was a relic that deserved to be forgotten, except he was too powerful to be ignored.  He wanted to bring back a world he had lost, because he couldn't bear to accept that it was gone.  

She pitied him.  He had outlived everything that had given his life meaning, but he was too powerful to die.  Luffa often wondered if she was in store for a similar fate.  To live out a long life as an unbeatable warrior, with no one to fight, and nothing to prove.  

Maybe that was why she was so worried about losing a damned hockey arena.  Deep down inside, she expected to go back there some day and pretend that it still held any significance to her.  The thought of an old Saiyan woman hobbling through a derelict sports venue sickened her.  She had half a mind to blow up the place today if they managed to win this war.  

All this woolgathering allowed the Shockmaster to land a blow on Luffa's right ear.  She paid him back for it, but the sharp pain and momentary loss of hearing reminded her of the way her mother used to discipline her as a little girl.  Her mother had warned her about letting sentiment dull her combat instincts, but somehow Luffa couldn't bring herself to focus on that lesson.  All she could think about was how her mother had been dead for years, and Luffa was probably the only one left in the universe who remembered her.  When Luffa died, it would be as if her mother had never existed.

The Shockmaster nearly got her left ear, and Luffa swore under her breath as she counterattacked. What made her furious wasn't her mother, or the hockey arena, or any of the other distractions.  

It was that the distractions actually seemed to help her fight somehow.  The anxiety, the worry, the frustration, it all seemed like fuel being heaped onto a fire.   Her thoughts drifted back to something she had said to her mother in a dream: "Why am I burning?"

And in the dream, her mother's answer: "Because you do."

It made no sense at the time.  It still didn't.  It was only a dream.  But it stuck with her anyway.  And somehow, as she pushed the Shockmaster closer and closer to his defeat, it seemed true to Luffa, even if she couldn't explain how.  She didn’t question it.   She simply allowed herself to feel, and to burn, and to fight on. 

*******

Only a few minutes had passed, but Keda felt like she had been working for hours.  This was probably due to the effects of the vial of potion she had taken from Zatte's supplies.  One dose was enough to allow Zatte to enter a psychic communion with their allies on Planet Wist, but-- like a good Dorlun-- Zatte had packed extra, just in case something went wrong.  It had been brewed specifically for Zatte's biochemistry, but fortunately Keda was close enough for it to work on her too.  

As a result, she found herself in curiously existing in two realities.  While she was standing in front of the Recollector in the cavern on Extraliga, she was simultaneously existing in a roadside bar in someone else's imagination.   Time seemed to flow differently in this state, which had given her a chance to update the others and get a basic introduction to the Recollector's operation.  

"This reminds me of the diagnostic programs on the star yacht," she said as she examined the Recollector's interface display.  Most of the time, you can pause the sequence and have the computer rearrange the order of instructions to follow.  But some stuff can't be canceled, like an engine shutdown.  Once you're committed, it's not safe to stop halfway.  You have to let it finish before you can move on to do something else."

"Are you saying this is a safety feature, Keda?" asked M'ranga.  Keda had only heard of her.  It had been Keda's understanding that she was a revolutionary guerilla who wore a gawdy costume, but Keda thought it looked pretty cool, although it wasn't nearly as colorful as she had been told.  She also seemed a lot less chipper than Keda would have expected, although that was probably because of the situation they were in.  

"It might be," Keda said.  "I'm just thinking out loud.   I mean, the Ur-Ember's dangerous, but even if the Recollector was just bringing a pottery shard back from the past, that would still take a lot of energy, I bet.  At least as much as a starship engine.  Cutting the process short might have been just as dangerous as letting it finish."

"Ruddy brilliant.  Real glad you dropped in to tell us that, kid," said Scotch Woodcock.  He looked like an unmade bed, if people slept with black leather sheets.  She disliked him almost immediately because of the cigar in his mouth.  Dorluns took a dim view of smoking, but there was a concerned look in his three eyes when she explained what had happened to Zatte, and this softened her first impression of the man.  Also, it occurred to her that he had lived much longer than she had, and if she didn't find a way to deal with the Recollector, he was going to outlive her no matter what damage he did to his lungs.  

"I'm just saying we need to quit thinking about how to undo this," Keda explained.  "It's already happened.  All we can do now is figure out where to put all that energy once it gets here.  Redirect it someplace safe.  Like venting drive plasma during an overload."

"What you're describing sounds like the power Zatte possesses," said Tobiko.  Keda had heard he looked like some kind of swamp monster, but that description didn't seem to fit at all.  She wondered if people in this roadhouse could assume whatever appearance they wished.  The idea amused her enough to want to try altering her own appearance, but then she remembered that she already had that ability in the real world.  

"You're right, but she'd never be able to handle energy on the order of magnitude we're talking about.  Luffa might have the capacity, but she's busy, and I doubt she'd know how to do it.  It'd be nice if we could just send it all away to someplace until we had time to deal with it.  Wait..."

She stared at the Recollector and put a finger over her upper lip as she considered it.  The others stared at her expectantly.  

"What are you thinking, Keda?" M'ranga asked, unable to bear the suspense.  

"Well, this is basically a time machine," Keda said.  "It only works one way, past-to-present, but we can still use that.  We've been worrying about stopping the Ur-Ember before it gets here and kills everybody, but 'before' and 'after' can be whatever we want them to be."

She placed her hands on the Recollector's surface and began entering commands.  "Yeah... I think this can work.  Let's just hope the Shockmaster doesn't show up again to try to stop us.  I’m sure Luffa can keep him busy while I set this up."

"The hell are you talkin' about, lass?" Woodcock asked.  

"I'm setting the Recollector to run another retrieval," Keda explained.  "But before that, I'm adding in another step to wait for a really long time.  Let's say, a billion years."

"What good will that do?" Tobiko asked.  

"At the end of the billion years," Keda went on, "the Recollector will follow my next instruction, which is to retrieve the Ur-Ember.  From this cavern.  From this date in time, about a few minutes from now."

Woodcock was even more confused than before.   "Bloody... hang on a minute," he pleaded.  

"I think I understand," Tobiko said.  "The Ur-Ember will arrive in that cavern very soon, but as it emerges into our era, it will immediately be plucked back into the timestream by the Recollector in the future."

"But it'll still arrive on Extraliga eventually," M'ranga objected.  "Now, or a billion years from now, it'll still be dangerous to anyone living on the planet's surface!  That's not a solution! We're just kicking the can down the road!"

"It's the best we can do," Keda said.  "Besides, in a billion years, Extraliga's sun will be hotter than it is now, and Extraliga will be too hot to support life.  It'll be a barren wasteland by then.  There won't be anything left for the Ur-Ember to kill."

"Oh," M'ranga said sheepishly.  "That's different."

"But what about the Extraliga of the present?" Tobiko asked.  "For this plan to work, the Ur-Ember must arrive in this time, if only for a moment."

"I was hoping you could tell me," Keda said with a shrug.  "I only know the Ur-Ember's radiation is dangerous.  I'm guessing a short burst is safer than a long one, right?"

He nodded.  "I can only make educated guesses, but I believe most of the population would survive a brief exposure, especially from a distance.  However, you and Zatte would be right there when it happens.  At such close range--!"

"We'll have to r-- we'll have to risk it," she said with a sigh.  "I won't have time to get Zatte to safety.  From the sound of it, timing is everything.  I'll have to stay with the Recollector and set the schedule manually.   That way I can be sure the Ur-Ember leaves as soon as it shows up.  With any luck, we'll make it."

She finished making her preparations, and dragged Zatte to the base of the Recollector, figuring that its alien composition might make provide some protection.  When there was only a minute remaining, she asked: "How do I disconnect from your telepathic link?"

"We've been over that with Zatte, kiddo," Woodcock grumbled.  "We're with ya to the end, whatever happens."

She glared at him with a severe look that belied the difference in their ages.  "My people are survivors," she said sternly.  "Don't disrespect what Zatte and I are doing here by getting killed.  If we’re dying here, then the least you can do is live.  If not for yourselves, then do it for us, okay?"

Woodcock swallowed hard.  "Awright, awright, don't get yer knickers in a twist.  You wanna go it alone, fine.  Anything else?"

Keda considered this for a moment.  "If you see Luffa, tell her what happened.  Tell her this was the best we could manage.  She'll understand."

A few moments later, the roadhouse was gone from Keda’s mind, leaving her to her task.  Zatte lay at her feet, half-asleep from the medication Keda had given her.  Either it was stronger stuff than Keda thought, or Zatte's condition was worse than she realized.  It was probably better this way.  There wasn't much Zatte could do from here on.  

In the last seconds remaining, Keda keyed in her best guess of the exact moment of the Ur-Ember's arrival, and said a prayer.  Then she placed her hands on the Recollector's surface... and watched.

NEXT: The Surrender