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sylverstorms · 3 years

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Mother Miranda x Lawyer!Oc ----Tilted Scales

Hello guys :) This is another commission I wrote for the amazing, wonderful @saltwatereulogies

Your support has been insane, I can't thank you enough. Hope you enjoy the story ❣

Three days.

That is how long you've been in the village, after years of studying abroad, before everything turns to shit.

As you slowly blink focus back into your eyes, you try to clear the haze from your mind. It feels as though you've collided with a truck. Your body hurts, your wrists protest in their iron cuffs, stuck to the wall as they are, having supported your weight while you were unconscious.

Desperately, you try to recollect the events that led you here...

A grey sky. A bleak day. One moment you were making coffee for your mother, excited to be able to sit down with her in the mornings again... and the next you heard the echo of screams.

Overcome by adrenaline, you bolted out of your house, only to witness a scene straight from a nightmare; humanoid monsters ripping villagers apart, cries and blood and animalistic growls all blending together into one mad mix.

And before you could even warn your mother...

Damn it all, what the fuck happened!

You suddenly struggle against your bonds, hard enough to rattle your whole frame. Your wrists burn from the grind against metal, but you don't care–

“Stop that. It is pointless and you will only injure yourself.” A cold voice, strangely familiar, says from far to your right.

You peer deep into the shadows, searching for the only other person in the empty room... until you see her. A mask advances on you, gold and shaped like a crow's visage, then wings folded into a cloak come into view.

You would be a fool to not recognize her. The local saint. The village's prophet. The very 'saint' your mother prayed to, for your safe return, all these years. Mother Miranda.

The sound of her heels bounces off the walls until she comes to stand directly in front of you. Looking past the openings of her mask now, you realize....

This isn't possible.

She hasn't aged a day. Not a single day, since you left the village. The years should show around her deadly blue eyes, somewhere, and yet they don't.

“I see you remember me...” she says, while you're still trying to find your voice. “Miss Warren.”

“What is going on? Mother Miranda, what happened to the village?!” you demand.

Her expression shows nothing. “The village is in need of... renovation.” she speaks, even, regal. “Repopulation, even.”

You stare at her with wide eyes.

“Now, don't give me that look. You would not be here if you weren't of the ones I chose to keep.” she continues. “You see, from now on, every single person in my domain will make themselves useful in some way, or they will be replaced. And you... you have been abroad studying law for a while now, yes?”

“I... yes.” you reply, still not fully having wrapped your mind around your situation.

“Excellent. What I need from you is simple. You will make the village independent from the state’s taxes as a religious organization... and you will keep foreign investors out from that point onward.”

What... what part of that is simple?!

“Do that for me and in return I guarantee your mother and you will go back to your house safe and sound. You will have no shortage of Lei for as long as you live, Miss Warren.” Miranda promises.

But it is not the sweet part of the deal your mind stays glued to. “And if...” you gulp. “If I can't work around the law to do that...?”

Miranda blinks slowly at you, like you shouldn't even ask such a basic question. Like the answer is obvious.

“Well. Then I have no further use for either of you.”

It is in this moment that it dawns on you.

This woman is no angel and no saint.

She is a devil.

You spend countless sleepless nights pouring over every single paragraph, every little opening or ambiguity in the law you can use to free the village of taxes.

To keep your mother in the dark about this, you work in the office Mother Miranda has provided for you, in her very stronghold.

Although technically it's her home, you don't see her nearly as much as you initially thought. She is gone throughout the day and returns late at night, not even sparing you a glance before heading for her chambers, at the upper sections of the building.

The days she does come into your office to inquire on your progress are few and far-between, your conversations always short and cold.

This evening is different.

“How is your work coming along, Miss Warren?” the prophetess asks with her aggravatingly nice accent, seating herself like a queen on the chair in front of your desk.

Your eyes are tired, but you force them on hers, through the mask obscuring her face. “I think I've got it. I'll be sending the necessary papers tomorrow and the answer shouldn't take longer than a month.”

“Very good.” she nods, a miniscule curve to her lips.

Icy eyes then drop to the wine in the whiskey glass at the corner of the desk. You think she will make a comment about drinking at work, but instead she says;

“Pour me a glass, will you?”

You will your hands steady as you comply, then carefully slide her drink over.

Miranda takes her mask with claw-shrouded fingers... and soundnessly sets it on the wooden surface. Then she pushes the veil at her hair back, shaking long, platinum locks free.

You do a double take you hope she doesn't notice. Because what the actual fuck.

You didn't think her hair was that long, or that straight, or that it would fall over her shoulders like she's staring in a shampoo ad. You didn't think her lips were shaped like a cupid's bow or that her skin was this flawless and radiant.

The helplessly lesbian part of you could begrudgingly admit she was beautiful before... but now you arrive to the painful realization she's drop-dead gorgeous.

“So. I've heard you won cases others would describe as impossible.” she begins.

“Nothing's impossible. You just need to know where to look.” you reply. Law is your comfort zone and she is not that far above you here. “But how do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

"Nobody truly leaves this village, huh.”

“Not without my consent, no. But I knew you'd come back.” At your slight frown, she elaborates, “You would never leave your mother behind.”

She's right. There was a whole world of opportunities waiting for you out there and yet... here you are.

“Good work, so far. You can take the next two days off. Your eyes could use the rest, Miss Warren.” Miranda speaks, finishing her wine.

“Sarah.” you say. 'Miss Warren' is for clients and she is your boss.

Miranda's lips give a slight quirk that may or may not be a trick of the light.

“I know.” she replies and exits the room, long hair billowing behind her back.

The taxes were only the first challenge. Now that the village is free of them, investors are flying in circles around it like vultures over meat.

In the meantime, Miranda comes to talk to you more frequently.

Lately, it seems she has more free time. You wish that was a good thing, but...

“So... are you like... going to stay here?” You ask after reading the same sentence five times to make sense of it, because her gaze on you is distracting as fuck.

“I'm not getting in the way of your work.” she says. You want to argue she is, but can't quite do that in a way that won't get you killed.

“I'm simply not used to working with company. Isn't this boring for you?”

“No, actually. I find it interesting, even though science is my field of expertise.” she answers. “And the way you take notes is… amusing.”

You try not to blush as you look down at your notebook, filled with different colored markers and post-it squares with tiny stick figures pointing to the more important paragraphs. You have been doing this for so long to sort out information you didn't even realize you were keeping it up in her presence.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asks with a small smile, the first of its kind you've seen.

To your horror, her clawed pointer aims at a particularly silly doodle, barely the size of a pencil's eraser.

“A... bird.” you grimace like you've been stabbed.

“Ah, of course.” Miranda holds back a chuckle but you can tell she's dying to make a comment.

Studying becomes hell for the rest of the time she's there with you, those sharp eyes picking apart every little move you make. At the same time, though, the hours you spend with her make you realize...

She's not a saint, though she may look like one. She's not completely a devil, either, even if she may act as one, at times.

She's human.

Miranda shares nothing about herself when you chat, but she seems to like it when you speak about your time abroad and all the things that left an impression on you there.

Your conversation over wine is cut short, however, when you receive a call from a number you learned means nothing but trouble, lately.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” you tell her.

The one calling you is none other than this month's rival lawyer, trying to dispute your claim over the land for his own boss. He's lost to you before, so it's also personal, but you are confident you have cornered them good with the latest papers you sent them...

And you are proven correct, when, a few seconds later, he is all faux polite on the other line, resorting to offering you money for you to withdraw your arguments.

Miranda comes to stand next to you, listening in to what he's saying.

The problem with that is, the second her arm brushes yours and you catch a whiff of her perfume –which always lingers in your office long after she's left— youare the one who stops listening to him.

Your attention flies to other things, like the inches she has on you, the exact color of her pale blonde hair, the little glint of victory in her stunning eyes.

Oh, no. God, no...

You know what this is, the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Alarm bells go off in the back of your head, as though your own mind is telling your body how foolish it's being.

There isn't a worse thing you can do to yourself than be attracted to Miranda.

Over time, familiarity with the prophetess brings higher levels of difficulty into your 'try to ignore your crush on her' game.

Miranda joins your side and leans over your shoulder, sometimes, to peer down at what you're doing. You don't move and don't breathe until she's within a safe distance again.

Then there are the wayward 'reward' touches, when you turn another investor away from the village. She may pat your back or leave her hand on your shoulder, or even scratch your nape with her claws as a job well done.

You hope your poker face hides the fact you feel her touch on you for far longer than you should, after she's gone.

Tonight, the situation is the toughest it's ever been for you.

There is a rainstorm going on outside; the waterdrops are tapping against the windows of your office as though they're trying to break it. Miranda has pulled her chair next to you so you can talk easier, without having to shout over the cacophony.

“And basically the judge's decision was that—”

You are interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, during which your mind lets you know the stronghold is easily the tallest structure in it's vicinity—

When thunder cracks down the sky and strikes the building, you nearly scream. Your body tenses and you jump; but Miranda's hands come to your biceps and hold you steady, against herself and your desk.

Another flash comes before you really have time to think about your proximity. She covers your ears with her palms before the thunderclap can send you into overdrive again.

“You are with me and you're scared of a little thunder?” she teases when things quiet down and your heartbeat eases.

It's true; Miranda is the more terrifying force of nature. At the same time, however...

You feel oddly safe to be this close to her.

“Well... I'm not scared right now...” you quietly admit.

Her pointer comes underneath your chin and lifts it so you are looking straight into her hypnotic blue eyes. How is this color even real...

“And why is that?” Miranda asks, her wings coming around you both. They're curtains of black, cutting out some of the storm's sounds.

You want nothing more in this moment than to run your fingers through each individual feather.

You lick your lips. That's...not a question you can answer if you want the balance in your arrangement with her to remain.

Perhaps, though, the scales have tilted for you long ago. You just haven't been brave enough to admit it.

You have the courage to face it now when she leans down and covers your lips with hers, warm in a manner you never imagined she could be.

Her wings pull tighter around you and your mouths slide more firmly together. Lipbalm and creamy lipstick mix, tongues brush, tasting of wine. You are shaking so bad on the inside from how much you want this, more of this, the rumbling of the thunder be damned.

Miranda's palm cups your flaming cheek when she pulls back, perfectly composed and staring at you with a little smirk in place.

You dare to turn a little, lay a tiny kiss on the inside of her wrist, beyond her rings and accessories.

You aren't very fond of storms, but...

You willingly walk right into the eye of this one.

#mother miranda x oc #mother miranda #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #creative writing #commission #thank you so much :')

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wehavespikes · 3 years

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I've been really into graphic design lately and I want to start! do you have any tips?

Hey, thanks for asking, I guess I do have some tips

• For absolute beginners I'd recommend first looking into graphic programs and finding the best fit for what you want to create - the adobe cloud is great but to start out there are many free alternatives. If you're into drawing as well I'd recommend checking out Procreate.

• Study the basics - e.g. look at the difference between vectors and pixel graphics, file formats (jpg vs png vs tiff etc.), look up different methods to cut out images as it's something you'll probably need at some point, and maybe also have a look at recent design or color trends (that's always fun, too). Also advisable as a beginner is to study general do's and don'ts (for example working with text, website design or layouting have some clear rules for what works and what doesn't - most people already have a sense of aesthetic but it's always a good idea to prevent creating some graphic design is my passion meme stuff, see r/crappydesign or the likes).

• If you want to create with the intention of publishing your works effectively on certain platforms (like Instagram) it's always clever to look up which formats work best (1080x1080 is standard square for Instagram for example). If you want to create wallpapers look up common sizes and set up your canvas accordingly.

• Find inspiration and ideas - of course you need at least a rough idea about what you want to create. I for example love all things 80s, so for inspiration I look up 80s media, technology, fashion etc. to find things I could incorporate in my designs (e.g. patterns, color schemes, shapes, fonts etc.). An amazing platform for this is Pinterest of course, but I also frequently use unsplash.com (free to use gorgeous photography that you can use right away for your designs), youtube (for tutorials mainly) and lots of tumblr blogs.

• If you want to use photos make sure you know about copyright and fair use - platforms like Pinterest mostly feature copyrighted images, so never just use an image without considering this. Always ask first and give credit.

• Watch lots of tutorials - in the beginning I had no idea about the capabilities of graphic programs and was often wondering how artists were able to create certain things. So of course you need to learn somehow and watching tutorials on youtube is a great way to do so. It’s also fun to just look through random design tutorials until the algorythm shows you something you really like and want to recreate or use for your own works. Like this I also learned lots of basics (advanced working with layers, clipping masks, transparency, layer styles, filters and all kinds of photoshop tools).

• Familiarize yourself with the graphic program of your choice. Check out which tools are available and try to use them. Experiment with shapes, brushes, text, gradients, etc. Set up your workplace according to your needs and look through all options, settings and tabs to see what your possibilities are. Play around with a photo and try to edit the hell out of it. Like this you’ll probably already find some tools or settings that inspire you and ways you might want to incorporate them into your designs.

• Recreate and adopt. Recreating artworks that inspire you or designing along tutorials is the best way to learn in my opinion, as it is with drawing as well. As you learn new techniques you can begin to incorporate more and more of them into your own artworks, your drafting process will change as you’re able to consider more ways to reach your design goal, and you will also gain lots of new inspiration as well. When I discovered the possibilities of layer mixing I began designing with them in mind and just playing around yielded some amazing results; I made note of my favourite styles and now am frequently using them in my designs.

• Draft and save inspiration. I always carry my sketchbook around and doodle things when I have a few minutes of time or when inspiration hits me. You often see things in the real world that strike you as interesting, so make sure you don’t forget about them later when you want to design. This can be posters, flyers or other design works but also nature, people, clothes, etc. Taking written notes also works great for me. For collecting inspiration online I mostly use Pinterest (create artboards for specific aesthetics and pin all images that fit and inspire you in some way so you can look them up later as reference), but I also have lots of bookmarks neatly organized to save images that aren’t on pinterest. I never just copy and save on my computer because I might not know who to credit later.

• Refine your own aesthetic, polish your artworks and take challenges. Try to design outside of your comfort zone (I’m really not a fan of working with Adobe Illustrator for example but need it a lot for my job so I decided to use it more at home for my own art and am now quite fond of some of the tools) and challenge yourself - e.g. you can try to design within a certain decade’s aesthetic, participate in online design challenges, ask for requests from friends or followers, etc. Keep up with design trends (especially if you’re planning to sell your artworks in some way at some point).

• Less is more. Edit edit edit. Something I still struggle with given that the 80s aesthetic I love always screams more is more. Train your abstraction ability (making pixel art or super minimalist things is a great way to practice). Learn what an artwork / layout / website etc. really needs and what can be scrapped. Don't be afraid of blank spaces. Never bedazzle just for the sake of filling space.

That’s all I can think of right now, hope this helps ♡ if you have questions about specific things you can always hit me up.

#ask #ty #♡#design #graphic design #tips #ascz #wehavespikes

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wordynerdygurl · 3 years

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Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note: Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending. Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series! For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while! If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets. My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions. My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys. @sammy-jo1977 , my sister from another mister! Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes! Love you all! Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all! If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye. Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see? Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish! Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing: Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary: Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse. When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings: Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos. I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War. The SNAP never happened because, reasons.

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion. Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling. Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it. By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind. It was dangerous. Weak. And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself.

Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail? What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it? How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property. With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth. Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless. And he felt everything. The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly. Anger. Loss. Lunacy. Loki learned a hard truth in that moment. He was a monster. A freak. A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong. Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further. To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane. Why bother anyway? All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision. What was grief to a goblin? What was horror to a monster? What was love to a villain like him? An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination. A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces. Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance? Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness. In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger. Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell. No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely.

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path. If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad. Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny.

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way. He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother. And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised? He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined. And Loki wasn’t just good at it. He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki. Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary. Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard. When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler. He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister. Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over. They were his people, after all. But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially. What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design. On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure. Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words. And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that Loki had made a commitment of sorts. One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family. This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself. Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time. Patience. Motivation. It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait. Loki was learning to wait everyday. Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet. Was it easy? Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise. Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes. Loki was simply going to be better. Not perfect. No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark. So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem. In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew. That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant. That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god. Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive. You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating. Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises. But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted. You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat. Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same. Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck. “Loki?” “Huh?” Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi! Yes, Pepper can see you now. Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing. Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently. Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you. Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you. His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk.

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.” Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly. Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited? Never! It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.” At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great! I have faith in you both. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki. Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now. Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too. I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome. Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat. And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths. You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small. His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?” It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer. You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were. No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would. He begged. “Please? I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him. Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party. You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj. But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark. And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice. Loki was more lighthearted, more available. He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings. Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him. If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla. It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning. A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again. Loki remembered what you were wearing. He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes. If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala. Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported. The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall. How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom. Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne. It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own. Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean. Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard. Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time. It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop. I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.” Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart. Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound. Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise. Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle. He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it. But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.

"Darling, please. We have to go." Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you? He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always. And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need. Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard. I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive. You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands. Shall we?" With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees. Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready? Darling?"

"Oh… yes. I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work." Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking. In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!" And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth. The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form. All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think? This jacket weighs a ton." Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird. It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest. Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off. The house was empty. Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger. When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime. Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush. He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought. There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore. Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead. He had lost. Captain America had been bested. Beaten. And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night. Steve was alone. Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating. The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy. Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.” Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room. His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes. All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall. Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you. In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays. Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor. The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace. A pretty, ancient, carved cameo, heart shaped locket. He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed. ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up. You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own. It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change. You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-” You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will. I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.” You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight. Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.” It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table. An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated. All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet. There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell. It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky? That you? You back?” Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?” Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before. This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking. This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed. Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel. Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way. Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?” Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t. He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No. Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around. Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat. There’s nothing for her here.” To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you. “That’s not true!” It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back. They left with nothing, Steve. She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-” Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain. We're here for a necklace... the necklace. Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down. Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-” From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal. Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.” The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house. The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve. For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast. How about you?”

“Um… sure. Yea, ok. Breakfast.”

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast? Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…” You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade. That wasn’t enough to stop Steve. He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that. Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-” Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie. You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll. Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less. Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set. Something false and fake. A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly. Clearly he had something on his mind. “Steve-” “No. No. Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver. “When I saw you… No, that’s not right. Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad. It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true. When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life! And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did. I waited years for you, ya know, doll? Years. And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend. An ally. Someone you could trust… someone I could trust. I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me. I just wanted to make you smile again. But she had other plans. Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful. And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick. Like you, I thought that Loki was gone. Missing. Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve. I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out? I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first. That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop. Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures. You would also know… well, everything you know now. That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever. There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away. If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here? And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me. I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed. Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t. It was for me. I wanted you, so, so badly. I didn’t care what strings were attached. And we built a life together, you and me. I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports. Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email. Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve. I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?” With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night. It was going to happen last night. Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me. I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet. He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything. The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival. I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved. I could say that it was my duty. I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve. You really will. There’s a person out there waiting for you. And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow. An illusion. Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches. It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong. Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve. I really do... “ What more could you say? Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now. Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha. At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower. I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.” Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really? And how are you going to breach the building? They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises… Fury is no fool. Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard! I’ll figure it out when I get there. Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door. Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession. Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you; it was enough for Loki to commit murder. He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki. Wait. I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help? I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go. Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-” His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.” Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough. How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh? That’s where you want to go?” Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…” Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom. For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh. But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan. At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after. What did Fury want? How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well? What is it? Weapons? War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.” That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes. Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you. Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next. Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy. An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.” Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening. A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal. Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough. Making enemies of your friends. Threatening the people you loved. Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench. “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me. Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him. Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding. Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember. Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding. The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers. None was needed. Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open. “Look. I know I’m not the guy you want on your side. I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be. Not for you-” Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki. But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.”

Around you the morning gained strength. Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics. Without moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America. Nodding decisively, “I do. I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us. He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that. For now, we trust Steve. Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey. I… I have one other thing to show you.” Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving. Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?” The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed. Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered. In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours. I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know. Still-” “I can’t, Steve. It’s yours. Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid. It’s done. Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno. Think I might need to be alone for a bit. Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote

#loki x reader #loki x you #you x loki #loki smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #mcu smut #MCU fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction

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sams-sass · 4 years

Text

The Others pt. 1

GIF not mine

Hello, I started watching Supernatural from the beginning and I got this idea. This takes place in season 2, I tried to make you around Sam’s age, maybe a year or two younger. I hope you guys like it and thanks for all the love!

Read Part Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six Here

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Summary: You and Sam share a gift that could potentially save your college campus.

Characters: You, your roommate (Jenny), Sam, Dean, Brandon (some asshat)

Pairings: Sam x Psychic!Reader

Warnings: Language, discussions of death, discussions of seeing death, angst

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16 Years Ago

You had just laid down to bed, your mother kissing your forehead and pulling the blanket around your shoulders. You hugged your stuffed rabbit close to your chest and closed your eyes, your body relaxing.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Your mother said as she closed the door to your room, the only light in the room coming from your princess night light. You fell asleep quickly, wrapped in the warm blankets. You woke sometime later, you were freezing, shivering under the covers. Your small hand pulled the blankets tighter around you. You could see your breath in front of your face and you pulled your legs up closer to your chest. You felt a tingle down your spine and the air around you became heavy. You poked your head out from under the blankets, looking around your room with wide eyes as fear set into you. That’s when you saw him. It was a man, he was old, skinny, and tall. He wore a black suit that only made his skin look even paler against the contrast of night. Your breathing became shaky, telling yourself it was just a dream. He took a step towards your bed and your breath hitched in your throat, you slammed your eyes shut and covered your ears. You heard his footsteps coming closer towards you, hearing his uneven and raspy breathing. You felt a pressure against your shoulder, you opened your eyes and saw his hand, grey with purple and blue bruises touching you.

“Button.” He said, his voice was breathy and grumbled in the quiet room. You shot up in bed, looking into his cloudy blue eyes and let out a blood curdling scream. Your parents burst through the door, concern written all over their faces. You were curled into a ball, your small arms wrapped around your legs. Your father picked your up into his arms, you buried your face against his chest and cried from fear. He rubbed your back and looked up at your mom, exchanging a look. Your mom ran her fingers through your hair, helping you calm down.

“What happened sweetie?” She asked you when you had stopped crying so hard. You turned to face her, your little face red and puffy.

“There was a man in here. A old man. He was scary looking.” Your voice was shaky and small.

“Oh baby, I’m sure it was just a bad dream.” Your dad said, his chest rumbling when he spoke.

“No, I saw him. He touched me.” You sat up straighter in your dads lap, looking at him directly.

“Ok. Ok, do you see him anymore?” He asked, brushing your hair behind your ear. You looked around the room, making sure to check the corners. You turned back to him and shook your head. He smiled at you and kissed your forehead before laying you back in bed.

“I think he’s gone for good.” Your mom said, touching your arm. You sniffled and nodded, trying to be brave. They both kissed you again before going back to sleep, reassuring you everything was ok. Once you were alone again, you tried to lay as still as you could. You closed your eyes and managed to drift off to sleep for the night.

Two days later

You were coloring at the kitchen table, a cup of juice in front of you. Your mother lugged a box from the basement and placed it on the table next to you. She began to pull out picture albums, looking through each one. You scooted closer to her so you could look too. Your mother turned the page and your heart dropped in your chest. You placed your hand on the page and pointed to the man in the picture.

“Who’s that?” You asked, looking at your mom. She furrowed her brow and gave you a sideways glance before answering.

“That’s your grandfather. He was a wonderful man, so happy and full of light.” She said, running a finger along the picture.

“He was in my room the other night. He called me ‘button’.” You said, wondering why you had never met him. Your moms whole face dropped and went pale. She stared at you for moment, she was crying. You reached up and touched her. “Don’t cry, mommy.” She turned and looked at you, she was breathing heavy. She looked scared.

“How did you know he called me button?” She asked you, holding your shoulders.

“He said it in my ear.” You were getting upset now, why was your mom so sad? What happened?

Present Day

You were in your apartment, grabbing what you needed for class. You ran your fingers through your hair and hoisted your bag onto your shoulder. Your roommate poked her head out of her room, giving you a sideways smile with only one eye open. You laughed at her hungover state and gave her a small wave, shaking your head. You closed the front door and walked down the steps, taking a bite of your bagel. Your morning class was boring as always, letting you day dream. You doodled into your notebook as your professor mumbled on in the background.

“Hey.” A voice said next to you making you jump slightly. He chucked and sent you an apologetic look. He usually sat near you, Brandon was that his name?

“Hey.” You whispered back, raising your eyebrows in question.

“Got an extra pen?” He asked you, licking his lips and leaning closer to you. You nodded and grabbed one out of your bag, his fingers touched yours as he took it from you.

Brandon looked over his shoulder, making sure you weren’t looking. He crushed the pill with a glass and poured the contents into the drink in front of him. He turned around, handing you the drink and sitting down next to you on the couch. He draped an arm around you, watching you drink.

You blinked back into the present. He was staring at you with a mischievous grin on his face and leaning in even closer. You pulled back slightly and glanced at the clock, thank god class was over. Your professor turned and closed his book, dismissing the class. You shot up and practically ran from the room, your skin was tingling and all you could smell was Brandon’s cheap aftershave. You hated when the visions snuck up on you like that, sometimes you could feel it in the air before it happened. Sometimes it happened in dreams, but other times it overtook your whole body. You were walking back to your apartment, trying to get the image out of Brandon out of your head. When you heard your name being called. You closed your eyes and tried to ignore it, picking up the pace.

“Y/N! Hey, wait up!” He ran towards you, catching up in no time. He grabbed your arm and spun you around, you could feel the evil swarming inside him. Your eyebrows furrowed, you had never felt this much evil coming out of someone before. What was happening? He smiled at you and took a step toward you, making you shrink away from him. “Why don’t you come with me? We can have a good time together.” He was staring at you like a predator looking at its meal. The energy coming off of him was swelling with hate, anger, and agony. You could swear you got a hint of sulfur when he turned his head.

“No thanks, I really have to study.” You turned and tried your best to walk quickly without running, you didn’t want him to know you were scared of him. You walked back to your apartment and closed the door behind you. You closed your eyes and rested against the wood for a moment before going to your room, needing to relax. You laid down on your bed, turning on your TV. You just wanted to forget all about him. Forget his face, his smell, the way he made you feel like your head was going to explode. The TV turned to static and the air around you got thick and heavy. A tingle ran up your spine and you saw your breath in front of you. You wrapped your arms around yourself and put on a brave face for whatever was coming. A girl appeared in front of you, she was wearing a tank top and jeans. She was filthy, her hair a mess. Her mascara ran down her cheeks and her lipstick was smudged. You took in a deep breath and nodded at her, knowing she was here for a reason. She walked closer to you and placed her hand on your shoulder, you saw that she had bruises on her wrists and her nails were broken. You closed your eyes and felt all her fear, pain, and sadness. You opened your eyes, tears falling down your face.

“Find me.” She said, her voice was wet and broken in your ear. She pulled back and looked into your eyes before she was gone. You let out a breath, touching your chest and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. Ever since that night when you were six you had been seeing the dead and having visions. After much research you learned that you were a psychic medium. The dead would frequently find you to pass on a message from the grave. The restless spirits of the world were drawn to you like a magnet. Most were just trying to convey something, others were more malevolent in nature. You could usually tell how someone felt when they died, feeling their final emotions swarm you. Over the years you had learned to just let them tell you what they were going to tell you and they would usually leave you alone. Sometimes you had to be more forceful, telling them to move on, be at peace.

You took large breaths into your lungs, calming you down before you walked into the kitchen. Your roommate was at the sink, a strange look on her face.

“Have you ever heard of Michaela Baker?” She asked you, looking up at you.

“No. I don’t think so. Why?” You said, something was wrong. Her energy was afraid and confused.

“She was in my chem class. She’s missing.” She leaned against the counter, her hair still wet from her shower. She looked scared. Your lips parted and your stomach flipped inside you. Could it be? If you had just seen Michaela she wasn’t missing, she was dead.

Sam was sitting next to Dean in the impala. They had just left some diner heading towards the local college. Girls were missing. Dean didn’t think it was anything, but Sam had a feeling that something bad was happening. He begged Dean to at least check it out. They were almost there and Sam felt something stirring inside him. There was a nervous energy that he couldn’t shake. They pulled up to the campus and found a place to park, looking around for a sign or someone to talk to. It seemed that there was a mass exit, the campus suddenly bustling with people.

You were walking out of class, your bag over your shoulder. It had been two weeks since your roommate told you about Michaela and in that time two other girls had gone missing. Fear was rampant throughout campus, girls were locking themselves in their rooms from the moment the sun set. Curfew was at 7 sharp, all activities cancelled. Guys were offering to walk people to and from any night classes. Every girl you knew carried a whistle with them given to them by campus security. You had frequent meetings about the importance of the buddy system. The police we constantly on campus, weapons ready. It was all consuming. Your head was down and you were racing back to your apartment when you stopped in your tracks. The air changed around you and a tingle ran up your spine. Not in public, please not in public. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to will it away. When nothing happened you popped one eye open. Your face twisted in confusion as you looked around frantically, when you saw him. He was tall, really tall with wide shoulders. His hair was shaggy and curled around his ears slightly. He was wearing jeans, a flannel and a Carhartt jacket. He was beautiful, hazel eyes dancing in the sunlight. There was something about him, something inside you told you to talk to him. You felt drawn to him, you found yourself walking towards him.

Sam was standing with Dean among the crowd. He was looking around, trying to find the best place to start when he saw you. You were staring right at him, a look of confusion on your face that Sam found interesting. He gave you a small smile, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. Suddenly you were walking towards them, he let out a small breath and hit Dean’s chest to get his attention. You stopped in front of them and cocked your head to the side. Dean smiled at you, clearly checking you out, but your eyes remained on Sam.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be weird, but do I know you?” You asked them, looking between the two men.

“No, but you can get to know us.” He said, a smile never leaving his lips. You sent him a small smile before your eyes returned to Sam.

“Uh, no I don’t think we have met. I’m Sam and this is Dean, we are looking into the disappearances here. Is there anything you can tell us?” Sam said, showing you his fake badge. You could feel that he was lying but telling the truth at the same time.

“Right, I honestly don’t know much. I heard from my roommate that all three girls said they were meeting a guy, but I have no idea if that true. The only thing I know for sure is that nothing has been found.” You didn’t know if that was true, all you knew was that all three girls had found you and gave you the same message, “find me”.

“These questions may seem strange, but have you noticed anyone acting strange? Maybe smelt something or seen flickering lights around campus?” You raised your eyebrows and stared deeply into his eyes, without thought you took his hand in yours.

A girl was on the ceiling, her curly blond hair was like a halo surrounding her head. There was a cut running across her stomach, staining her white nightgown. She took a large breath into her lungs and blue flames erupted around her before the entire room was engulfed into flames. Sam woke up in bed, painting and sweating. The girl was lying next to him, just fine. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his body tightly.

You blinked back into the present. You realized why you were drawn to him, he was like you. Your breath was caught in your throat. Both boys were staring at you like you were crazy. Your eyes were wide, your breath heavy, heart pounding. You dropped Sam’s hand and covered your mouth with your hand.

“We need to talk. Follow me.” Your voice was rushed and high pitched. You turned and walked into the closest building, finding an empty classroom. The three of you walked into the room and you turned to face them. “Ok, I’m just going to say it because I feel like you guys might actually believe me: I’m clairvoyant.” There was silence for a moment before Sam spoke up.

“I believe you.” Sam said, he was staring at you with heavy eyes.

“We both do.” Dean nodded.

“Have you ever heard of hunters? Not in the traditional deer hunting sense. We hunt monsters, vampires, ghosts, demons. Its our job.” Sam explained.

“Ok, I thought what I said sounded insane.” You smiled, all three of you chuckling together at your conversation. “So, you really think what’s going on here is monstery?” Sam nodded, looking at you with steady eyes.

“Could be.” Dean said, also nodding. You bit your lip and weighed your options. Should you tell them how the girls had visited you? Maybe they could help or were you just asking for more trouble.

“I have something I need to tell you, but there are too many ears here.” You practically whispered. You were scared. Scared of the missing girls. Scared of what might happen if you were wrong. Mostly, you were scared of how you weren’t scared of them, especially Sam. Everything in you told you to trust him. The boys looked at each other and motioned for you to follow them to their car. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. This was insane, getting into a strangers car because they hunt ghosts? You could see your face on the news now. Dean drove you a short distance to the shittiest motel around and you all piled into the room.

“What is it, actually we never got your name.” Dean smiled at you again, laying on the charm thick. You smiled back.

“Y/N.” You were nervous, twitchy, and restless as you began to speak. “Ok, so the dead they visit me right. Well, I have been visited by all three girls and they all gave me the same message: ‘find me.’ I don’t know if they want me to find their bodies or what, but it’s really starting to affect me. I can’t sleep, I’m falling behind in classes. I just constantly picture their faces so close to mine, their wet and cold voices whispering to me.” You bit your fingernail in between your teeth, hoping this all worked out. Sam and Dean exchanged a look that you couldn’t quite pin point. Sam stood up from the bed and placed his hand on your shoulder, you felt calmer instantly. He smelt like pine, orange peel, and spices. He gave you an understanding look, and a crooked smile that showed off his dimples.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He seemed genuine, like he knew where you were coming from. Dean stood up too, facing you.

“You hungry?” He asked. You blinked at the off topic question, but nodded all the same. “I’ll go get us some food.” There seemed to be a form of nonverbal communication between these two that you wanted to learn. When the door closed, you faced Sam again and decided to tell him what you saw.

“Sam, I know you have had visions. I had a vision of you seeing your girlfriend die.” You were timid, you didn’t want to upset him but you also didn’t want to shut him out. You watched his face fall and all the color drain from his skin. He stared at you for a moment before he cleared his throat and ran a hand down his face.

“Yeah, I still have visions sometimes, but those early ones of Jess will always be the worst.” He sat down at the small table, it looked ridiculous against his massive form. You sat down across from him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine how horrible that must have been. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. I just wanted you to know that I had a vision of you, that’s all.” You tried to keep your voice light. He looked up at you under his lashes, pulling the left side of his mouth into a small smile and letting out a heavy breath.

“Y/N, I know you don’t want to think about it, but is there anything you can remember about how the girls looked when they visited you?” He was slouching in his chair, holding his hands up in a open manner. You told him how they were all filthy and bruised. How they all had tangled hair and marks on their wrists. He nodded, thinking to himself if that meant anything. Dean came back about 10 minuets later, you all ate and the boys questioned you more about the campus and the disappearances.

“Did you know any of the victims?” Dean asked you, taking a sip of soda.

“No, but my roommate did. I can ask her some questions tonight and tell you guys later.” You offered with a small shrug, trying to be helpful.

“That would be really helpful, thank you Y/N.” Sam was talking now, it amazed you that you felt so at ease whenever he was speaking.

They drove you back to your apartment, giving you each of their phone numbers and taking yours so you could stay in touch. You smiled at them when you got out of the car. You unlocked your apartment and walked in, calling your roommates name against the darkness. Something was wrong, the hair on the back of your neck stood up. You raced around the entire apartment, calling her name the entire time, your voice frantic. She wasn’t there, she was gone. You called her phone about six times before you dialed Sam. He answered on the second ring.

“Y/N? What is it?” He asked, you could hear tires squealing as Dean turned the car around.

“My my my roommate, Jenny, she’s gone. Sam, she’s gone.”

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plus-size-reader · 4 years

Text

His Business

Patrick Hockstetter x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1570 words

Warnings: reader gets hit, but not descriptive

Summary: Reader (Henry’s kid sister) and Patrick are dating. However, they keep it a secret until they can’t anymore.

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Patrick cared about you a lot...or, at least as much as he could.

He wasn't the kind of guy to take you on romantic dates or bring you flowers and candy on valentines day. He didn't go out of his way to make sure you knew how much he loved you, not in the traditional sense anyway.

Patrick showed love in his own unique way.

He slid his hand in the back pocket of your jeans when you walked together or let you doodle up the entirety of his arm in black pen. Sometimes, he even called you cute little pet names like "punk" or "kid."

It wasn't exactly a fairytale but when it came to being with Patrick, you didn't want one. All you wanted was him, with all his issues and faults.

The only trouble was that you weren't able to actually be with him in public.

If you so much as looked at him for too long when you were all together, Henry would have a cow. There was no way you could actually date out in the open-it just wasn't an option.

At least, not right now.

"Hey dickhead, I sit in the front!" Henry barked, shoulder-checking Vic out of the way. The school day had just wrapped up for the weekend, and like every day, you had to catch a ride home with Henry and his friends.

Belch was the only one of Henry's friends who drove, and as much as he fought it at first, your dad didn't want you walking to school all alone. It was dangerous with all the kidnappings, so you had to tag along with them.

Where the Bowers gang went, you went, which wasn't always a bad thing.

"Looks like you're stuck in the back with us" Patrick sneered, gesturing between your two bodies and Victor.

Now, you were by no means the smallest of the three of you but due to your inferior age, you got stuck in the middle. Something that Patrick happily suggested, though he dropped his smile after a few seconds.

He didn't want to be too suspicious, after all.

Patrick personally didn't mind the idea of beating Bowers up if he needed to, but for your sake, the two of you had agreed to keep your relationship a secret. However, it any of the boys had looked closer, they would have put the pieces together.

As the two of you sat in the backseat, you between both Vic and Patrick, the latter kept bumping your thigh with his own, keeping your two bodies touching. On top of that, every time Belch would go around a corner, you slipped closer and closer to the greasy teen.

...Something neither of you was complaining about.

Though, you had no choice but to cover your blush, shying away from his sly whispers in your ear and sideways glances. He was only going to get the two of you in trouble.

Luckily for you, all three boys remained oblivious to your constant flirting.

For the most part, you were pretty good at keeping it hidden. The two of you didn't even talk about one other, until of course, you needed him.

Butch could get a little rough with both you and Henry, though Henry had always taken the brunt of his anger. You tried to keep to yourself for the most part, whereas your older brother had taken a more aggravated approach.

He constantly was getting into scream fights, which turned into all out fist fights with your dad-fights that Henry would always lose.

However, Henry couldn't always be there to take the punches for you. Like today for example, Henry and the boys had dropped you off at the house before heading off toward the quarry.

Which meant that you had to go through the backdoor all alone, if you were lucky your dad had skipped going to the bar after work. He was always more mean when he was fully loaded.

...But you were never that lucky.

As soon as you came through the door, you heard him, yelling at whatever was currently pissing him off. The noise startled you, preoccupying you from quietly closing the door like you normally would.

Instead the door slammed behind you, making you flinch.

If you had done it right, you would have been able to sneak upstairs without alerting him of your presence but that wasn't going to happen now. You could already hear him, getting up from the recliner.

His footsteps were heavy as he made his way over to you, already yelling. You were vibrating with nerves as he turned the corner, your blood running cold.

The actual events resulting from his rage were all a blur in your mind. It was more or less just a lot of pain, too quickly occurring to recall, not that you would if you could. Instead, you ran from the house.

You didn't have any particular destination in mind. You just knew that you had to get as far away from there as humanly possible. The last thing you wanted was to accidentally run into Butch again.

After you cleared the house, you slowed your pace, your heart hammering in your chest. You weren't all that sure what had actually happened, meaning that you weren't sure about the damage.

As far as you could tell, it wasn't as bad as it had been before.

However, as soon as you reached the shore of the quarry, all hell broke loose. As soon as Patrick saw you, he ran out of the water, not stopping until he reached your side.

"What the fuck happened?" he yelled, his hands gingerly holding your face, trying to get a better look at you. You clearly didn't realize it but there was blood dripping from a scratch on your face, already bruising all around it.

He was gonna kill whoever the fuck thought it was a good idea to lay a hand on you.

...If only he knew.

"Pat, stop" you pleaded in a soft whisper. He was drawing too much attention, standing too close to you. One of the guys were bound to notice something if he didn't knock it off.

But trying to reason with Patrick right now wasn't really an option. He was far too angry to give a shit about the opinion of your brother or any of his friends. None of that mattered at a time like this.

He was hardly breathing, red in the face as he tried to calm himself. You two had talked about this, he knew that right now you needed him more than his anger but he couldn't help it.

If he had been with you, this wouldn't have happened.

Though, before he could really focus on calming down, there was a touch on his shoulder...it was Henry.

"Don't touch my sister man" he ordered, looking between the two of you with a dark curiosity in his eyes. He had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, he hated it.

Patrick couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Of all the things he needed right now, this didn't even make the top ten. Henry's biggest problem should have been the state of your face but he really didn't seem all that shocked.

He just wanted to knock some sense into the shorter man.

"Are you serious? Look at her Bowers" he ordered, gesturing wildly to the state of your face. You knew that he wasn't going to hurt you but flinched out of habit. His hands were just a little to close.

As soon as he saw your reaction, Patrick melted. He never wanted you to feel like you were in any kind of real danger with him. He liked to tease you and make you uncomfortable sometimes, but not like this.

It made him sick to see you act like that.

"It's none of your business, step back" he suggested, lightly shoving the taller man to try to put distance between you.

However, Patrick wasn't going to back down like that.

"She's my fucking girlfriend, I'm pretty sure it's my business" he barked back, shoving Henry in turn. He hadn't meant to do it, but Henry had crossed a line. If anything, you were his business.

You were more of his business than you were Henry's. He sure as hell cared more about your well-being than he did.

You assumed that the two teens were gonna go at it but they didn't. As soon as the words left Patrick's lips, Henry stopped. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or what but in all honesty, he wasn't surprised.

Sure, he didn't like the idea but of all the things he frequently thought about, you weren't really one of them. Henry just wasn't the touchy feely kind.

"I don't wanna see that shit, not ever-you understand me?" he grumbled, waving his finger between the two of you. He didn't give a damn what you two did, but if he every had to witness it, he would lose his mind.

All you could do was nod, unsure now why you'd waited so long to tell him. It shouldn't have surprised you that Henry wouldn't care. Henry didn't really care about anything at all.

...But now you had a bigger problem-You had to keep Patrick from killing your dad for what he did to you.

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

The Steinbeck Agreement

PART TWENTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of familial physical/emotional abuse please read with caution, serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Ella makes some major changes in her life, and Jess reluctantly returns to town for his mother’s wedding.

The afternoon light streamed golden through the diner windows as Liz and Luke came in, Ella leaning on the counter with her sketchbook in front of her. Too enveloped in the drawing of a field of murderous daisies, Ella didn’t even register what they were talking about until she heard them mention her name.

“...maybe Ella could do it,” Liz said, tilting her head at the young woman with dark eye makeup and EAT ME printed across her shirt.

“Hm?” Ella asked, looking up from her sketch with furrowed brows.

Luke rolled his eyes at her distracted nature. Ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home, she’d been in a worse mood, focused almost solely on her terrifying drawings. He’d had to tell her a couple times to make sure to keep the sketchbook off the counter when there were children present.

“Be a flower girl,” Liz said, a big, dreamy smile on her face. She was dressed in a long, floral red dress. “Most of the Renaissance fair crowd doesn’t have small children. But if we’re gonna have a wedding, we’re gonna have a real wedding. Can’t be a wedding without a flower girl.”

“Sorry, whose wedding?” Ella asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, sweetie.” Liz had a high, wispy voice that reminded Ella of the fairies she used to imagine playing in her mother’s garden. “We’re having it right out in the square next week. It’s gonna be beautiful, all our Renaissance fair friends will be there, and it’ll have this great medieval theme! And you could be the flower girl!”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ella began with a shy smile, but Liz only waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing.

“I can loan you one of my fair dresses,” she said excitedly, not picking up on Ella’s doubtful expression.

“Yeah, Ella. You can finally perfect your whole Bride of Frankenstein look,” Luke teased. His expression was far more pleasant than Ella could have predicted. Happy. Happy, in its simplest form, looked so strange on Luke. The past few months had seen the true finalization of his divorce and his having to watch Lorelai date some rich snob from her father’s company. But the news seemed to brighten his mood inexplicably. She was sure the laughter at her expense wasn’t exactly a drag on the day either.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shot him a pointed glance. “Y’know, you would be lost without your best waitress.”

“I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got Lane working for me now, anyway.”

Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she could think of nothing more to say. He was right. She would never quit on him. The diner was more of a home to her than anywhere else in the world. Hell, it had almost single-handedly fed her during the worst few months of her life. Along with Lorelai’s frequent feasts of junk food.

“I can just see it, Ella! It’ll be so much fun and you’d look so beautiful!” Liz exclaimed, grabbing one of Ella’s hands in a pleading gesture.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella did her best to protest. She still wasn’t Liz’s biggest fan, despite wherever it was that she stood with Jess. The alcohol, the neglect. But Luke seemed not entirely angry about the match, especially considering his view on TJ when the two had first been introduced back in February. And Liz’s smile was so large, so radiant. Her eyes were desperate and almost kind. Heaving a huge sigh, Ella nodded. Luke was much more than her boss. And he gave a smile so rare when she agreed. She would do it for Luke, she decided. In fact, it was the least she could do.

. . .

Sat on the lumpy couch in Lane’s living room, Ella found herself smiling just a touch. The band, finally named Hep Alien, was getting better with every practice. Though the room was piled high with dirty clothes and video game equipment, and it remained cluttered no matter how many times Ella tried to clean it up, she was beginning to get more comfortable. Her king mattress was so old anyway, and sleeping on the plaid couch wasn’t much different. As she had run from the only house she had ever known, she’d packed as much as she could into her station wagon, which had once been her aunt Julie’s. It wasn’t like her old room fit much anyway. Mostly, the backseat was filled with her records, books, clothes.

Loud music making her ears ring, she sketched Lane behind the drums, living the way she had always wanted. As fun as it was watching band practice nearly every night, Ella was eager for her summer classes to start. If she played her cards right, she could graduate a year early with art as a minor. Ella’s mind drifted to the night she left, the day after she finally finished her first year of college. And, over a modest celebratory dinner, the conversation had drifted, as it always did, to the future.

. . .

two and a half weeks earlier

Tugging with one hand at the ends of her hair, Ella felt an odd mixture of distasteful nostalgia and happiness in her stomach. The lasagna tasted exactly as her mother’s had, and Ella knew Fiona had followed the recipe, scribbled in the back of the ancient cookbook, exactly. But she would keep quiet. Fiona truly seemed proud of her, beaming and giving her a hug the moment she walked through the door after work. Slowly, very slowly, Ella was beginning to accept it, the motherly love. Though occasionally it still rubbed her the wrong way, it didn’t send her spiralling into anger and melancholy as it once had.

And it wasn’t as though Fiona was a bad person. She had a sunny disposition, glossy hair, expressive eyes. Ella could understand how her father would want to marry her. But she was just too unlike her mother. Would never understand Ella the way her mother had. It still felt like bizarro-world when Fiona tried to give her advice or compliment her on her piano skills. But she could manage dinner every once and a while, and accept pride in her academic accomplishments. She was on the Dean’s List, after all.

Adam pushed his food around his plate as he spoke. From the glances they’d shared, Ella could tell he tasted the same memories from childhood she did.

“We’ve still got about a month, but I really think we can get first place,” Adam said of his mathlete competition. His voice had gotten deeper, and he was finally growing taller. Ella could tell he would end up looking a lot like Noah.

“That’s great,” Jake said, nodding with a half-smile.

“Really is,” Fiona echoed, grinning widely.

As silence fell on the four of them, forks scraped on the Corelle plates and throats were cleared. Awkward silences had quickly become staples of family dinners. Eventually, Jake began twisting his wedding ring and looked straight at Ella, who sat at his left side. The light in the peach kitchen was bright despite the cloudy darkness outside. The May evening was humid and buzzing with cicadas.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Jake asked.

Looking up carefully, Ella put down her fork and faced him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any prospects for the summer? Besides the diner?”

She shook her head. “No. Unless Patty needs me to fill in. Might start painting more. I’m thinking a small easel would fit pretty well near the window in my room.”

Narrowing his eyes doubtfully, Jake tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of money.”

“Why?” she asked instantly.

“We don’t have to discuss this now,” Fiona interjected patiently.

Adam looked down at his plate as he ate.

Jake breathed a frustrated sigh through his nose. “You’re majoring in history. You’re living with us for at least three more years. I don’t think now’s the time for pipe dreams.”

“Hm,” Ella nodded, giving a thin, vicious smile. “It’s funny you say that. When mom was alive, you always thought I should put as much time into my art as she put into her music.”

“You were a kid. Things change. The best you can hope for is being a history teacher at Stars Hollow High, and you have to be happy with it,” Jake explained with cold logic in his voice. His eyebrows were raised in condescension.

Ella’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, so all this time you’ve just been humoring me? Telling me I had talent?”

“Not exactly. But you’re not O’Keefe, either.”

“Never said I was,” Ella snapped, standing up from her seat. “I can't do this right now. I’m buying my fucking paint, dad.”

“Hey!” he shouted, rising from his own seat and following her as she stormed into the living room towards the hall entrance. “Don’t you use that language with me, young lady!”

“Why not?! Might as well let you know how I actually talk if you’re gonna let me know how you actually feel!” she yelled back, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jake rolled his eyes at his only daughter. “Toughen up, Ellie! You’ve only got so much time on this earth and I’m not gonna watch you waste it on your doodles!”

“Oh, and lecturing about the revolutionary war in the town where I’ve always lived wouldn’t be a waste?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least you’ll make a living! You’ll still be around people who love you, who take care of you. You’ll always be near us,” he argued.

Ella let out a bitter, humorless bark of laughter. “People who take care of me?! I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years! All of you! Especially you! When mom died, I was the one who fed us, I was the one who cleaned and tried to cook! And you did fuck-all except drink and lie around crying!”

Eyes darkening, Jake took a step closer to her and she immediately recoiled. “I lost my wife. You will never understand that!”

“I lost my mother!” she screamed, hands clenched at her sides, so hard her knuckles turned white. Angry tears snuck up on her eyes but she swallowed them back to the best of her ability.

“If I’d have known how much you’d bitch about helping out, doing what a daughter should, I never would’ve let you take that job at Luke’s!”

“Doing what a daughter should?” she asked immediately, eyebrows shooting up. Her jaw was set firm with tension.

Fiona appeared from the kitchen behind her husband, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Baby, let’s just all take a minute to cool down.”

“You brother and I needed you and all you could do was complain!” he roared.

Ella scoffed. “You needed me? You needed me to keep you alive long enough for you to find a new wife to coddle you and baby you and cry with you when you told her about your tragic high school sweetheart! Why do you think she hates you, huh?”

Her stomach did a flip when she saw the hurt on Fiona’s face from the corner of her eye, but a fire burned so hot inside her, and she couldn’t keep her words contained any longer. She’d tried to play the dutiful woman of the house long enough.

“Do not talk about my marriage!” Jake warned. “It’s none of your business!”

“Of course it’s my business! It’ll be my business when I have to pick up the pieces once she leaves you!”

“You have always been such a little brat! You were a nightmare to raise for me and for Sophia!” A vein had popped out in his forehead, and he shrugged Fiona’s touch from his shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

Crack! Ella seemed to hear it before she felt it: a sharp, searing pain as his open palm struck her cheek. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, not since she was ten and had mouthed off at the dinner table. A sinking feeling struck her stomach as silence filled the room. Because she suddenly discovered she had always been expecting it. Always knew it would happen again, someday, somehow. And she’d been almost surprised he hadn’t smacked her in the months following her mother’s death. But, the levee had to break. It always did.

She brought a hand to her stinging flesh, and her father stopped in his tracks. Remorse washed over his features and he went to reach out for her. Flinching away from him, Ella felt her fingers grip at her necklace.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry, baby. I told you not to use that language with me. And you know how my old man was about-”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No.”

. . .

The final, strong bass note of the White Stripes song Hep Alien played broke her from her memories. She could see the dull sky as she packed up her car the best she could, the night crossing over into morning as she offered Adam a quick goodbye. He’d been upset, but also somewhat calm. And when he’d come to visit her a week later during one of her shifts at the diner, he told her he had always known Ella would leave. From the first night after their mother had died, he’d known. Though he knew it was fruitless to try and convince her not to feel guilty, Adam had told her not to worry. He could handle home on his own, he was confident. He’d never been slapped. And they were both smart enough to understand why.

And when she’d come to Lane in the early hours of the morning, still painfully holding back her tears with the entire contents of her life parked out on the street in the station wagon, she knew everything would change. Lane had welcomed her with open arms, of course. Had seen Ella cry for only the third time in all their years knowing each other. There was something so sweet about her new freedom, but a heaviness still sat in Ella’s heart. Constant guilt and fear for Adam, heartache over her mother, who she still missed everyday. And she felt so lost, it was all-consuming. She didn’t know what the next step was. Would she still be able to pay for college? Would she ever speak to her stepmother again? Would she even stay a history major, if she was lucky enough to continue her education? She had never been more glad for Luke’s, and for her friends. There were few comforts in her life, continued existence as a waitress, or knowing Adam was only a few blocks away in case something ever happened. She clung to the only constants left for dear life. She’d been dreaming of leaving the house for so long, but it managed to be even harder than she thought it would be. A gloomy cloud had been hanging over her for a few weeks, as she walked through her existence with an aimlessness she had never known before.

Clapping some, Ella offered a big smile and watched as Zach, Gil, and Bryan began to talk amongst themselves about the new tattoo Gil had shown up to practice with. Lane excused herself from the conversation only because of the temptation. She wanted a tattoo, really did, but didn’t want to increase the chances of her mother disowning her any more than she already had. Instead, she came to join Ella on the couch, plopping down and putting an arm around her friend. Ella kept her smile and rested her head against Lane’s shoulder. Since moving in, Ella was reminded every day of what a wonderful person Lane was. They came from such different worlds, but never judged each other, always took care of each other, helped each other with their respective escapes. Working together at Luke’s had been even more fun than Ella could have ever imagined. It was a welcome end to the long, lonely year after Jess’s departure, just she and Luke sulking around together. There was a place for sulking, but the time for it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You guys were fucking great,” Ella said, then gestured down to the picture she had just drawn. “You’re a regular Meg White up there. Really.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lane chirped, beaming with pride.

Snorting a laugh, Ella put the sketchbook aside and bit back a yawn. ��Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Lane asked, brows furrowing.

It almost made her want to laugh. Over the past two weeks, Lane had asked her that question more than had once seemed humanly possible. “Yeah, Lane. I’m fine. Just a long day. Got roped into being a flower girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Luke’s sister. Liz. Have you met her before? You weren’t working at the diner yet the last time she was in town,” she said tiredly.

“No, I haven’t,” Lane replied. “Jess’s mom, right?”

“She is indeed.”

“And why exactly are you filling what is traditionally a role for a girl in pigtails and Mary Janes?”

Blowing out a sigh, Ella shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know. She just sort of told me...didn’t exactly ask. It’s next week in town square, so there’s not enough time. And Luke really seemed like he wanted me to and I just...I don’t know. Maybe she’s a witch.”

“Always a possibility,” Lane nodded, going along with the bit as she always did. “And have you heard from Jess lately?”

Again, Ella shook her head. “He still doesn’t have an actual phone number, and now I don’t either. Not optimum communication conditions.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal,” Lane said, commiserating.

“I wish it had crossed my mind, but I moved out in about forty-five minutes,” Ella said, fiddling with her necklace.

A guilty look painted her features. But she’d only been out of the house a little while, maybe he hadn’t called.

“Do you think he’ll come for the wedding?”

Ella scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

. . .

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything else?” Ella asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Her chewed pencil sat behind her ear, and her hair fell in a loose, hasty braid over her shoulder. One of her booted feet tapped constantly against the tiled floor, and she smoothed over her blue skirt every few minutes. And she only looked half as stressed as Luke. The wedding was in two days, and nearly everything had been dumped on him. As a consequence, Ella had been dealing with the diner business while Luke argued on the phone with vendors who could give him the proper medieval food and decor.

The midday lull had finally come, and Lorelai stopping in was sure to bring a little sunshine. Though she had been pretty overwhelmed herself, lately. The new Dragonfly Inn opening was only weeks away.

Luke shook his head at Ella when he’d finished giving Lorelai the rundown of the week’s events. “Not right now, kid. That was the last call I had to make. At least for the time being.”

“Just say the word,” Ella shrugged, finally letting herself relax a touch, leaning her forearms onto the counter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, am I caught up on everything, then?” Lorelai chimed in, brows raised and eyes expectant.

“Yeah, I’d say so…” Luke began, but the bell over the door jingled.

A familiar scowl appeared in the diner’s entrance, and Jess trudged up to the counter with a finger pointed at Luke. “I’m not paying for a motel, so I’m stayin’ with you!”

Lorelai gasped dramatically and narrowed her eyes at Luke. “Liar!”

As he passed on his way to the stairs, Jess gave Ella a curt nod. She reciprocated, but felt unnerved by his demeanor. Was it shy? Was it angry? It certainly didn’t seem pleasant. They hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, the longest time since he had first run away to California.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Luke muttered, watching Jess disappear up the stairs. A wistful, fond smile crossed Luke’s lips. “I went to see him in New York.”

“You did?” Ella asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. It was a total pig sty and he may or may not be a drug dealer. But, hey, at least he came,” Luke said, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and wonder.

Sighing through her nose, Ella looked down at her feet and bit at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, thoughts swimming around and colliding with each other inside her already crowded mind. “Yeah. At least. I’m gonna take my ten minutes. That alright?”

Luke was busy, back to his banter with Lorelai, and only gave a half nod her way. She snickered at how enveloped in each other the two of them were. Without much effort, she slipped behind the curtain and climbed up the stairs unnoticed. Nerves coursed through her, and her heart sped up in her chest. She gave two short, harsh knocks on the window of the shabby apartment door.

After waiting a moment and receiving no response, she rolled her eyes to herself. Who was she to be nervous? He was pretty much her best friend, besides Lane. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. With a new, determined quality to her steps, she walked through the front door and found him just where she expected, on his old bed, nose already buried in a book.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she plastered on a confident smirk and sat down on the end of the bed. She recognized the book instantly, her own copy buried in the pile of belongings in her car: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck.

“The only author we could ever agree on,” she said, eyeing the book though Jess still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Pretty much,” he replied flatly, biting at his bottom lip as he focused on the words in front of him.

Sighing shortly through her nose, Ella turned to face him fully, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the familiar brown afghan. Jess unconsciously brought his feet in closer to make room for her, his knees up in the air, blocking her view of his face slightly. But she could see his hair, longer still and without any gel.

“See you’ve completely ditched the pompadour look,” she muttered. “Couldn’t handle being mistaken for an Elvis impersonator any longer, huh?”

“My God, you should do stand-up,” Jess said dryly, eyes widening in feigned amazement as he kept reading.

Shaking her head slightly, Ella let a harsh chuckle escape her lips and furrowed her brows at him. “Out with it, jackass.”

“Hm?” he asked dismissively, taking a pencil from his pocket to underline a phrase.

Ella pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, it’s obvious you’re pissed. I say we skip the passive-aggressive theatrics and you just spill it. But, hey, this is a democracy. You also get a vote.”

Rolling his eyes, Jess finally shot a glance over his knees. Heaving a sigh, he shut his book and tossed it into the open duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. In one swift movement, he mirrored her sitting position and tilted his head at her in askance.

“Have you been doing a lot of hard partying lately? Really taking advantage of this college thing? Or have you been avoiding my calls?” he asked, though he wasn’t angry, despite the sarcasm. There was a defeated tone in his voice which surprised her; almost disappointed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gave another small shake of her head, and she spoke firmly. “Well, first of all, I’m not required to take your calls. I asked you to call me because you fucked off to California without telling me and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been serial-killed.”

Jess gave a begrudging nod, almost preparing for a dressing down.

“But, no, I haven’t been avoiding your calls, alright? Paranoid much?”

He scoffed, but she cut him off before he could retort.

“I moved out.”

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About two weeks ago. Wasn’t exactly seamless, and I bet my dad will disconnect my old line at some point. I’ve been staying at Lane’s with her and the band. They don’t have a phone yet. And you change your number pretty much every week, so it’s not like I could let you know.”

A smile crossed his features. “I’m...that’s great, Eleanor.”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s so great living out of my car and sleeping on Lane’s forty-year-old couch.”

Jess shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“I guess.”

He looked flabbergasted. “I’m so proud of you.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she chuckled breathily in confusion. “What?”

“For moving out. I mean, I can’t imagine it was a quiet affair,” he said, face falling slightly.

Again, she shook her head, glancing down at the space between them on the comforter and clutching her necklace. “No. It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” he ventured without hesitation, searching her face and exposed arms for any yellowed bruises or healing cuts. Sometimes, he could give even Ella a run for her money when assuming the worst.

Ella shrugged noncommittally, throwing a glance down at her watch, then facing him again with a small smile. “Long story. I’ve only got a couple minutes left on break. You gonna be in town for a little while?”

“Until the minute the wedding ends.”

“Okay, we’ll find some time to catch up,” she said, smirking. “Luke tells me you’re a drug dealer now. You’ve gotta let me in on all your behind-the-scenes Scarface facts.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “God, Luke is such a drama queen. I’m a messenger.”

“Nice cover. Very convincing.”

“Don’t you have coffee to pour?” he shot back, defensive.

Snickering, Ella rose from the bed, smoothing down her skirt and apron. “Whatever keeps the guilt at bay, tough guy.”

“G’bye,” he muttered, grumpy, as he settled back against the wall and picked up his book again. But, just before Ella reached the door: “What time are you off, Eleanor?”

“Six-thirty. Luke’s closing up early to play wedding planner,” she said, hand poised over the doorknob.

Jess chuckled. “Pizza at Antonioli’s tonight?”

“Sure. I even promise not to wear a wire.”

The pillow Jess had thrown barely missed her as she exited the apartment, laughing under her breath.

. . .

Sighing softly, Ella ran the key along the chain of her necklace and looked down at the half-eaten pizza crusts on her paper plate. The old wooden table in the pizza place was slightly sticky, and carved with the names of various people and couples who had shared a pie there before. But, they could watch the Stars Hollow evening turn from golden to blue as the sun went down, sitting by the front window. Jess had to leave by eight, and it was half past seven by the time the stars came out. Summer had almost come, and the days were long and bright with sunshine. Chilly breezes swept past at night, but it was getting warmer still.

“So...yeah. It only took me about forty-five minutes to pack everything up. Didn’t realize how little stuff I had until I could fit almost everything in my trunk and back seat,” she said, a small, humorless smile on her face.

Jess nodded, rolling a balled-up napkin absently in his hand as he listened, his face stony. “Was it just yelling? Or did he hit you?”

Breathing another long sigh through her nose, Ella bit the inside of her cheek. “Just once. He just slapped me once. He told me not to swear at him, but I-”

“Eleanor,” he interjected, voice firm but gentle. “Once is way too much. Even a slap. It’s way, way too many times.”

She only shrugged. “I know. I mean, of course I know that. It’s just…”

Again, he nodded wordlessly. Jess knew what it was like to have a parent, or a step-parent, who used hurt as a tool. And he knew the confusion. Sometimes monsters wore masks. She didn’t have to say anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ella shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I’m moved out now, Jess.”

“Right...and I meant what I said. I’m so proud of you, Stevens.” Jess reached hesitantly across the table, and took her free hand in his. Gave it one squeeze.

She flashed him a tiny smile, squeezed it back. Then she disentangled their fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and straightening her back. The severity left her features, a new, mischievous twinkle lighting up her hazel eyes. Her chest was less heavy, and she was glad he knew. Glad he could understand with so few words.

“Proud of you too, Mariano. This time, I didn’t have to watch you step out of a sheriff’s car when you got to town,” she smirked, picking up one of the crusts and taking another bite out of it.

He frowned. “Ugh, please don’t mention Andy Griffith. That car is my property. The only reason I even called Luke after I got to Venice was to ask about the car and he-”

Still chuckling, Ella raised her hands in surrender, cutting him off. “White flag.”

Jess offered a sardonic, lop-sided smirk. “And, believe or not, Luke will be the sanest person at the bachelor party tonight.”

“Why are you even going?” she asked, brows furrowed as she took a sip of her water, ice melty from time and the May heat seeping through the splintered wood of the front door.

Shaking his head, Jess glanced down at his watch and noticed he had only ten minutes before he and Luke would have to hop in Luke’s ancient green truck. “I don’t know. Luke mentioned me not wanting to go to Liz, and then she spent thirty minutes babbling until she finally wore me down.”

Pursing her lips, Ella nodded. “Yeah, she’s very persuasive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at the flower girl,” she admitted, gesturing to herself.

He laughed breathily. “No way.”

“Yep. I’ll be there in the renaissance dress and all. Though, Lorelai said she would make some alterations for me. I’m going over to her house in a little while to sort out the whole corset situation.”

Jess snorted another chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Right back at ya, Mariano,” she teased. “Where on earth would TJ want to go for his bachelor party?”

“It’s a cliché I’m sure you’ll be able to guess on the first try,” Jess said with a dejected frown.

After only a moment with brows furrowed, realization flashed across Ella’s eyes and her expression turned to one of disgust. “Ugh, Jesus. A strip club?”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Believe me, I’ll be there in silent protest.”

“Mouth off to one of the owners if you get the chance, would you? For me?” she asked.

“Will do.”

. . .

“I don’t hate my mother,” Jess grumbled to Luke, rolling his eyes slightly.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, crossing his leather-clad arms. Maybe he should’ve known he would get into a fight with TJ at some point, considering his history with Liz’s past boyfriends and husbands. All it had taken was TJ hitting the Austen novel out of his hands, as he read begrudgingly in the low-lit strip club. And they’d come to blows. And Luke was pissed. They were sat down at a table in Luke’s, the diner completely dark glowing only from the streetlamps and twinkle lights in the square. All the chairs, save for the two they sat in, were stacked up on the red tables. Luke was interrogating Jess about why he’d come for the wedding anyway, if he was so mad about it. As if he hadn’t stormed into Jess’s apartment trying to convince him to come only a few days earlier.

“You don’t?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Then why did you come, anyway, if you’re so against your mother finding happiness? And it’s pretty clear you hate me.”

Jess sighed heavily at Luke’s dramatics. “I don’t hate you. I came here because of you.”

“Stop that,” Luke scolded in disbelief.

“You said it was important to you. Remember?” Jess asked, voice tight with annoyance.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening.”

Luke stared at his nephew for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. “So, you don’t hate your mom. You don’t hate me. But, really, all it took was me coming to New York to yell at you?”

Sighing, Jess said nothing. His lips were set in a thin line, and he averted his gaze from his uncle. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Eyes widening, Luke cracked a knowing grin. “You came because of Ella? But, you haven’t been together in...what? A year?”

Jess gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, but, we still talk every couple weeks. She didn’t tell you?”

Luke snorted. “Well, I remember her chewing you out that first time you called. Telling you to let her know you were alive. But I didn’t know you were really talking.”

Running a hand over his mouth again, Jess gave another nod.

“So?” Luke asked, prodding. “Why’d you need to come here...if you call so often anyway?”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, squirming under the questions. “Since she moved out, she hasn’t been picking up. I didn’t know what happened. I wanted to...make sure. Because…”

“What?”

“I think...I mean...I’m in love with her, alright?” Jess spit out, an anxious bite in his voice.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up, and a flabbergasted look formed on his face. “Wow!...You think you’re in love with her?”

Jess shrugged. “Pretty sure. But, I’ve been thinking that since I was seventeen. And she doesn’t believe in love, anyway.”

Scoffing, Luke shook his head. “I know she says that, but it’s crap. What do you love about her, Jess?”

“Excuse me?” Jess asked, brows furrowing.

Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jess, I think it’s great that you know how you feel. And like I said earlier, I’m not gonna keep trying to change you. You are who you are. And Ella is who she is. If you’re gonna tell her how you feel, you have to do it carefully. And you have to be sure. So, tell me what you love about her.”

Scowling, Jess looked long and hard at his uncle. “What, do you wanna hold hands and skip afterwards?”

“Do you want to do this right or not?”

Finally, Jess relented. “Okay. Fine. I love that she...she’s so passionate. About everything. And she talks with her hands. And she eats peanut butter right out of the jar when she’s sick. And she hums while she works, without even realizing it. She..she cares so much about her friends and her brothers and her aunt and...I don’t know. She does everything for other people. She doesn’t think she’s a people person. But she really is. Even the way she talks to customers...you can really see it.

“And she’s such an amazing artist. She can feel art. And music. I’ve never met anyone else like that before. I can talk to her for hours...or not say anything at all. I miss her when she’s gone. Everything is...just better when I’m with her.”

When Jess looked up again, he found his uncle with a smug smirk. As Jess was speaking, his eyes had taken on a far-off quality. And though he didn’t want to be talking, his lips had started to curl upward at the corners anyway. Just from thinking of her. Luke recognized everything in Jess’s expression.

Jess shook his head slightly, jaw tense, embarrassment swirling in his stomach. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke said lightly, almost mocking. “I’ve just...never seen that look on your face before.”

Rolling his eyes again, Jess scoffed angrily.

“Alright, alright,” Luke said, fighting off good-natured laughter. “Open two-way communication is the foundation of love…”

#jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls imagines #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore girls #luke danes #lane kim #lorelai gilmore

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cutiecrates · 4 years

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Cutie Reviews: DokiDoki Nov 19 & YumeTwins Dec 19

If you read my previous post, then you may recall my plans on trying to do a 2-review-per-1-post method. Not sure how frequently this might be but I wanted to give it a try.

Also, on the subject of December boxes I wanted to bring up that I will not be covering the December Tokyo Treat box as I never got it. We have no idea what happened because this was never an issue before. Kind of disappointing because it was anime/manga/video game based, but I was refunded for it at least.

How this will work is that I will be covering one box, then the other. This isn’t a comparison review, but you guys will have to let me know after you read, which one would you prefer?

Yume Prize and Suteki Crate

One heavily features sailor moon and bunnies, while the other seems to be a collab of PomPomPurin and Gudetama.

This will be my only comparison of the review; I feel like the Suteki Crate’s items fit more in-line with the box theme. Yume Prize fits in the sense its the same characters within the series, but not the theme of the months box. I think both sets are very cute though!

DokiDoki

This months theme is Snow Bunnies

“Get cozy with this months crate. As the weather gets cooler, these adorable bunny themed items are sure to warm your heart.“

Our first items include a decorative pair of chopsticks, featuring a red color scheme with a print of bunnies and sakura around the top.

The other item is a unique and fun-shaped carrot led pencil :D A bashful little bunny can be seen peaking out from the back, isn’t it the cutest? It’s seems like it would be a bit awkward to hold at first, but it has little nudges around the bottom for easy grip and feels pretty natural. It doesn’t feel like hard plastic either, and it felt nice to use. I did a little doodling with it and I liked it.

Next up is a cute Rilakkuma mug, which was available in 2 styles. Either this one that I got, or there was a design featuring Korilakkuma holding a stuffed toy.

Besides an adorable light pink coloring, the mug features a fun print of white spots and strawberry, and on the side is written “A sweet, lovely strawberry is my favorite“. It’s very cute, I love strawberries so this is perfect for me~

These are our next and last two items, first up is this cute pink bunny plush. It’s part of some series known as Petanto, adorably long animals with hearts, but for this specific box theme everyone got the same bunny. Each one has a ball chain so that you can bring it along with you.

It’s very cute and plush, soft to squeeze. But it does have some noticeable seams along the arms/hands and ears. It’s not that bad though, and they are very cleanly made.

The other item you might recognize if you have been a viewer of the blog before. We got a smaller, circular one just like this in the past, but unlike that one, this one only came in the “pink style“ while the previous one could be pink or blue.

With the previous one, I decided to store my cute lip products I’ve gotten from various boxes, and I loved it! But... the collection made it hard for me to fit the lid on it, so this square-shaped container was more than welcome:

Look at that, I still got more room :D and now I can use the other container to hold something that will actually fit.

~Opinions~

Content - 5 out of 5, nothing super-special or unique, but the quality is clean and very good, no issues or complaints. They were all cute too, I especially love the new Sailor Moon container and the carrot pencil.

Price - 2.5 or 3 out of 5. I really don’t feel like these items should equal 30 dollars, they’re pretty small when you really look at them. The only real item of value in the box is probably the Sailor Moon container, because its such a popular name brand. Rilakkuma is popular too, but its just a mug. The items don’t feel cheap though, I will say that.

Theme: 5 out of 5. The theme doesn’t really scream November to me, but the bunny vibe they were going for is there for sure. I can feel the coziness in a sense; just imagine sipping on a warm drink while writing in your diary or a letter with your pencil, maybe squishing the little plush now and then~

Total Rank: 6.5 out of 10 Cuties. I’m not trying to be picky or anything, I really do like the items we got, I love bunnies x3 but the items themselves just don’t feel very special, we’ve gotten chopsticks, mugs, and plush plenty of times. I like them, but I want a surprise now and then, you know?

Yume Twins

“It’s finally the time of year we always look forward to! What about you? Isn’t snuggling up with your favorite warm blanket, a cup of hot chocolate and a good book next to the twinkling Christmas tree just the best feeling? This mnth we wanted to give you some kawaii friends to snuggle up with in this month’s Sanrio Christmas box! We hope you love it as much as we do!“

Besides the Sanrio goods that could be won in the Yume Prize, the photo contest prize for this month features Hello Kitty items.

Holiday dining is a lot more fun when you have some cute matching (less-likely to break) items to eat with, so for this month we got an adorable plate featuring a warm, colorful group picture as the decorate for the Holiday~

Paired with it is this big spoon perfect for delicious soup or just large spoonfuls of whatever you may be eating, designed to match the plate as you can see. The spoons featured a couple different characters.

I feel like these spoons must have been popular this year, because I think we got 3 of them? I have a sumikko gurashi, one of Kuromi, and now this one.

Our drinks need to look cute too, and now they can with a handy, Hello Kitty paper straw! This was available in 2 styles and comes in a pack of 30, making it perfect for any sort of party or get-together, or if you just like Hello Kitty and enjoy using straws.

I’ve known about paper straws, but I never used one before so I was quite curious. I kept thinking “won’t it get soggy and fall apart in the drink or something?“ and couldn’t see it as very practical for more than a few minutes. I know environmentally friendly, but I just didn’t get it. But after trying one out to see, it’s really not much different than a normal straw. It did soften after some time, but that was about it. I’ll need to keep them somewhere in the kitchen so that I remember to use them.

This is probably my most favorite item out of everything. It’s so cute and snuggly, and its lovely Christmas themed picture feels so warm and inviting.

It’s the perfect little throw for the shoulders or lap, or for a quick nap with a pet or plush toy. I admit that I prefer blankets that entirely cover me, rather than most of me or half, but I didn’t mind pairing this with my actual blanket when I tried it out last night. It was very cozy... in fact, as I write this (at 11:15 am), I feel like I need a nap... (I woke up around 8:50 am).

This is our last item, which felt pretty out of place to me. Gudetama is Sanrio, sure, and it fits because of the Yume Prize; but it clearly doesn’t have a Christmas theme. I also got this item before, or one very similar, so that was kind of a meh moment. This was the only item I’m not feeling out of both boxes, and I do like Gudetama mind you.

~Opinions~

Content - 5 out of 5, I really really liked the items this month! The gudetama sticky note set is nice too, even though I didn’t really care that much for it. It’s okay though, because I could always give it to my friend, who really likes Gudetama and doesn’t have it.

Price - 5 out of 5. In comparison to the DokiDoki November box (okay so I made two comparisons <3<), I feel like this one was definitely worth the price we pay. Or at least closer to it? Not counting the name brand factor, the items are very nice and have a lot of detailing.

Theme: 5 out of 5. The Gudetama sticky notes have nothing to do with the Christmas theme, but it’s still Sanrio so I’d give it it them.

Total Rank: 9 out of 10 Cuties. I love this box :3 it was a lot of fun and very cute, I’m very excited to use the items within it and with Christmas coming up again soon (I know I’m horribly behind) and the weather cooling down again, this would be the perfect time to bust them out.

Alright, so what did you guys think? I know it wasn’t my best review, but I was a bit... lacking of words for a couple of items. I managed to knock out 2 reviews though, I feel accomplished. I probably won’t be combining the next two though, because there’s a lot of items in one box, and the other is a special case. I’ll explain when I get to it for anyone who may not have seen my past posts.

Until then, see you next time~

#yume twins #doki doki crate #cutie reviews #sanrio merchandise

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writingwithadinosaur · 5 years

Text

“Thunderstruck” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Tony Stark x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1,419

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, I think that’s all. Let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: You were recently taken in by the Avengers thanks to your ability to control electricity. But you weren’t able to spark friendly conversations with many people right off the bat.

Author’s Note: This was a random idea I had when I was out of town a few weeks ago, and I’m just now getting around to writing it! It was originally inspired by “Sweet Child of Mine” and then “Thunderstruck” came on when I was writing and it made me happy. Hope you enjoy it! <3

As always, huge shoutout to @witchymarvelspacecase for making my crazy ramblings more comprehensible and being a real person with me. <3

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

A block-wide blackout in the middle of autumn. You at the center of it

You were finally making progress You were brilliant, eased through school. You had plans for more doctorates and making advancements in technology or science or something. And you were on your way. You were currently working on an idea that, if it worked, could replace the need for multiple vaccines, and condense them all one simple, yearly vaccine.

But one small detail overlooked, and your lab partner being the clumsiest person to ever exist had ended with you being exposed to the chemical compound that you were testing.

Thankfully, there was an emergency disinfection chamber nearby that you were able to get to.

“Let just call it a night. We’ll start over tomorrow.”

“I really am sorry, (Y/N).”

“I know. Just… Come back tomorrow, prepared for a long day of focus, alright?”

She just nodded as you grabbed your bag and walked out of the lab, soaking wet, into the rain. You knew you should have brought a change of clothes like you usually did. But you were running late and ignored your routine. At this point, you just wanted to get home.

You were only a few streets away from your place. You vividly remember passing Mr. Polwiski’s Deli, then darkness.

The next thing you knew, you were on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, pain scorching through your entire body. You could faintly hear the paramedic asking you if you knew what happened, or who you were, but you were too busy trying to focus your semi-blurry vision on your body. Your clothes were burned and torn in various places, you saw burn marks through the holes in your clothes, and you felt like you had been stung by a million bees.

Your already labored breathing became panicked when the gravity of the situation hit you, causing your brain to go into a frenzy. The internal pain kept growing, a strangled scream burst from your strained lungs.

“Ma’am! I need you to breathe! I know it's difficult, but you need to try to calm down!” The young paramedic tried to help, but it just made you more unsettled. It felt like fire was coursing through your muscles, unintentionally tensing them up. Your sobbing turned into screaming as blue sparks flew out of your hands, bouncing off the surfaces of various pieces of medical equipment, but avoiding the medical personnel on board.

The next thing you new, you felt the prick of a needle and the sweet embrace of sleep.

After that, your life was forever changed. The chemical compound that you were working on had absorbed through your skin and mutated your cells. It enhanced your body’s natural healing process by 65% as well as “blessed” you with the ability to manufacture and control electric currents. This quickly got the attention of a certain group of super people, and now you were attempting to not only adjust to your new living situation at the Avengers compound, but also your new life as a walking storm.

Being the new kid on the block was never easy. Now take that and add in Captain America, Iron Man, and all of the other Avengers, and you got a whole new kind of “not easy.” You couldn’t find it in yourself to talk to most of them. While they had shown you nothing but kindness and acceptance, you were still nervous about everything. The only one that had been able to get through to you was Bucky. He knew what it was like to be in your position, so he was the first one to really approach you as you were moving in.

The two of you would frequently be sitting together in your room, doing your own work, working on focus and control, or just watching movies. Bucky would sometimes make you move to other rooms so you got more acquainted with the facility and being around the others.

Today was one of those days.

You were working out an idea that you had stuck in your brain while Bucky was watching a movie that you had recommended him. He was just about to get to a good part of the movie when you heard the audio cut off.

“C’mon, (Y/N/N).”

“Where are we going?”

“I need food and you need a change of scenery.”

You learned that arguing with Bucky was useless. He would just throw you over his shoulder and make you move. So you just grabbed your stuff and followed him out of the room. You ended up in the kitchen, sitting at the table while Bucky fixed you both some lunch. He had just sat down to eat, when his phone went off.

“Ugh. Steve needs me to help him with a gameplan. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“Alright. I think I’m gonna stay here. I have my stuff set up already.”

“Sounds good. You better actually eat.”

“I will. Go find your boyfriend.” You teased. Bucky threw you a look over his shoulder before disappearing.

You quickly realized how quiet it was since everyone was busy doing their work, or on a mission. Reaching for your phone, you hit the music app, and selected the playlist of songs that had been stuck in your head recently.

The sound of the guitar quickly took your mind off of everything expect the project you had been working on: a set of wrist braces that would help control the electrical impulses that your “gift” sent through your body. You had a decent handle on it, but these would act as a security blanket.

You got back to sketching out the details, and brainstorming what materials you could use. “Sweet Child of Mine” helping you ease your mind.

“Oh, oh, oh

Sweet child o' mine

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Sweet love of mine

She's got eyes of the bluest skies

As if they thought of rain

I hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I'd hide

And pray for the thunder

And the rain

To quietly pass me by”

Two things slipped your notice during the verse of the song: You had quietly started to sing along, and Tony had walked in to get his umpteenth cup of coffee. The only reason you realized he was there at all was when he interrupted your train of thought, causing your pencil to scrape across the bottom of your workbook.

“How do you even know that song?” It took a second for you to respond, you weren’t really ready for interaction with anyone else tonight.

“Um… I grew up on this type of music. My sister was into it and forced me to listen.”

“Your sister sounds like someone I could get along with very--”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

“It’s fine.” You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to refocus on your schematics. You heard Tony walk towards the table and lean over your shoulder. He picked up one of the various sheets of paper you had spread out.

“What’s this all about?” He seemed genuinely curious, which shocked you.

“Well… It’s an idea I had this morning. Thanks to me being a glorified lightning rod, I was trying to think of a way to protect myself, and others, from any outbursts.”

Tony scanned over the different styles and asked you to explain each one, wanting to hear your reasoning for keeping one element or changing something. You were nervous at first, but when he sat down next to you, and showed how invested he was in your thought process, you found it easier talking to him. After you explained the blueprint you were currently working on, Tony went silent, which made you uneasy.

“So.. Uh… Wha-what do you think, Mr.Stark?”

“First off, it’s Tony.” He flipped through the various papers until he found the one he was looking for. “Second, I think if you combine these two, you got a chance.”

“I’m- I don’t understand?”

“Keep drawing out ideas. I’m sure that brain of yours will come up with a few ways.” He patted your back before grabbing his coffee, leaving you feeling a bit overwhelmed. Before he could get far, Tony popped his head back in the kitchen.

“Come to the lab tomorrow at some point. Let’s see if we can get that doodle to dance.”

Tags - @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @goodnightwife @witchymarvelspacecase @theeactress @sebby-staan @feelmyroarrrr @tomorraw @marvelous-imagining @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @badassbaker @httpmcrvel @reading-in-moonlight @to-the-road

#tony stark x reader #tony x reader #father!tony stark x reader #dad!tony stark x reader #avengers fic #avengers fandom #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfictions #oneshot #imagine #imagines

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drabbleshereandthere · 6 years

Text

Hey, Litter Girl! (1)

Word Count: 1,541

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

A/N: yikes this actually took forever

Warnings: Cursing, suggested verbal abuse,

Summary: Billy has to go to the library to pick up Max, and finds a ton of crushed up papers with no name on them. One just so happens to be partially open and he reads it. They’re all yours. He calls you litter girl.

To be simply put, Billy was damn tired of everything and everyone. It was Friday evening, and he had a hook up with some chick that approached him about “hanging out” a few days ago. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t happening. It was pouring rain outside, and Max was late from the arcade earlier. He HAD warned her, if she was late, he was leaving her there and she was skating home.

But unfortunately, that wasn’t happening either.

The plan was to pick Max up, drop her off at the house, and go get his dick wet. But, she was late, so instead he went home to get ready, and once Neil realized Max didn’t accompany Billy home, he angrily sent him out to fetch her from the local library. The woman still working late had called Neil, after Max informed her that she was unable to leave due to the rain. Max had only made it to the library before it started pouring and Billy could bet that she would get the interior of his car soaking wet.

Billy had to go out in the rain to fetch Max, miss his date, explain things to his hook up, apologize to the librarian, deal with a wet interior, and have another shitty evening when he got home after another from Neil. Yeah, he was tired of everything and everyone. This had been going on all week, a real winning streak.

Max was in for it when he showed up. That would be the case, if she wasn’t late for him coming- again. Billy was already wet from racing out of the house and into his car. Now, he was going to have to make the same trip into the fucking library. He needed a light, but since he now had to go inside to retrieve Max, the rain would only put it out. It was fair to say he was more than frustrated at this point. Goddamn it, Maxine.

He opened his Camaro’s door and slammed it, progressively making his way to the doors. He opened them up, and was comforted with the warmth and dim orange lighting of the library. Billy wasn’t exactly focused on that though, more drawn to the soaking Max sitting at a table a little bit away. He took two steps away from the door, and his attention was taken away again by the sound of crumpling under his feet. He scowled and looked down at the culprit of the sound. A lot of crumpled up paper. “A lot” meaning, the small trash can was over flowing and there were quite a few papers strewn about on the outside. He picked the one up that was crunched under his shoe and threw it to the side of the trashcan, out of his way. He noticed that all the papers were crumpled up, but one was left only balled up half way. Fuck it. It was half open, and he picked it up, letting his eyes run over the span of it as his fingers softened the creases in the paper.

What he found was writing scrawled in little bits. They looked like thoughts, accompanied by small illustrations and doodles littered along the sides of the paper. The writing was unorthodox and messy, with each letter connected to some capacity. Almost like a failed attempt at cursive, but the touch was light and dainty he could tell, and it had a certain grace to the way it was written. There was also intrigue in the things written themselves. Whoever was writing these used intricate wording and beautiful descriptions. He picked up another paper to look for a name, and yet there was none. There was, though, a soaking redhead next to him trying to catch his notice. “Are you ready to go? Why are you digging in the trash?” “It’s none of your business what ever the hell I choose to do. For your information, I stepped on the shit and wanted to throw it away.” “You’ve been standing here looking at that for a while, but okay.” He sighed heavily at Max, too exhausted to put up a fight. “Can it and get in the car.”

They both loaded up after trying to guard themselves from the rain on the trip to the car. It was silent, and Max wondered why Billy wasn’t screaming at her. She was prepared for it to come, yet he was just gazing out onto the road, driving. Which wouldn’t be a problem- except it’s Billy and he’s an asshole. All of a sudden, he speaks up, “Did you see who was throwing all of those into the floor without picking em’ up?” “I think so. I wasn’t there very long before she left. But, she was writing. I don’t think she knew that she was getting paper everywhere.” She watched him hesitate before asking: “Who is she?”

Max furrowed her brows. “I don’t know. Why do you care?” “I don’t.” And Billy didn’t. He hadn’t cared too much, at the time. He also didn’t care that your writing had managed to calm his mind. But, that may have been because he didn’t notice, either.

As time passed, for some reason, the writing kept bugging him. It was something you would find in a damn poetry book and yet some girl was sitting in a dusty library throwing it all away. He decided to refer to you as ‘litter girl’ in his head. Billy hadn't realized that upon leaving the library, he`d kept your paper in his pocket. What he unfortunately notice, though, was that he kept reading the damned thing whenever he found himself in a bad mood. It was calming- the simplistic drawings and the elegance in the flow of wording, and he didn't even like to read. It was annoying him- that some shitty paper he found on the library floor was helping him out. But then again, it wasn't like anyone else knew about it, and if he wanted to read then he damn well could.

Next Monday, when Billy pulled into the school parking lot, there was nothing that could have prepared him for what was going to happen that day. Billy would skip class whenever he could, but that day just wasn’t one of them. He’d been skipping more and more frequently, and Neil kept getting on his ass- so there he was, suffering in the third period of the day. Third period was always long. No matter what. If any class was going to seem like 5 hours long, anyone could count on it being English. The teacher was always a bitchy, monotone, asshole, and that wasn’t even the worst part. Billy swore that she chose the most mind numbing material available. He wasn’t exactly a genius, but he knew “good stuff” when he saw it.

He was prepared for that period to be shitty as always- but for the third time, things didn’t go as planned. It was even shittier than usual- somehow. They were being partnered up for a project that Billy didn’t want to learn anything about- or put any effort into. And to his dismay, he got partnered with a girl he didn’t know, and didn’t want to put any effort into knowing. So he wouldn’t, he decided. He would let her do her part. That was how it always went. That was how it was supposed to go.

It didn’t go that way at all.

When his name rang out following yours, you knew that this was going to be tougher than usual because of who you were with. Billy Hargrove. He was going to need an extra push in the right direction, and if you gave him a push that tilted him in the wrong direction even a smidge, this project was going to turn into a raging dumpster fire on his part. You decided then and there, that with all your power, you would attempt to make this work. You had hit a roadblock too many times lately, supported by the overwhelming evidence of ideas tossed about across the library floor- and this wasn’t going to turn into one too.

By the time the droning was over from the instructor explaining the project, the bell had seconds before it rang to signal next period’s start. You caught Billy walking out the classroom at just the right time. In your planning of making this work, you had written your number on a sticky note to give to him to make sure everything went smoothly. “Hargrove!” He peered back at you and raised an eyebrow. “Here’s my number,” you stuck the note to his chest and began walking in your next classes direction while still facing him, “Use it!” Then you turned, and you left almost soon as you came.

He tore the sticky note off his chest with a grimace, slightly annoyed at the girl who was bold to give him orders. Who the hell were you? Then he remembered with a following roll of his eyes. You were his project partner. He didn’t plan on using it. But, something caught his eye. The writing was familiar in some way. Your number was written across the note, and then your name with a dash next to it. (Y/N). The fuck?. He didn’t recognize it, and brushed it off. He kept the number, just in case.

As hours of the day passed, that note bothered the shit out of him. Eventually, he got tired of it, and decided to just call the number. There wasn’t any harm in it. He mulled it over- actually doing the project- or maybe talking you into doing it. Defenitely attempting to talking you into doing it.

You were proud. You went up to Billy Hargrove, and did what you needed to do. You may have had to calm yourself down and debate on whether to apologize for being so brash- for an entire hour- but it was all fine now. Nothing could change it anyway. You had a feeling, though, that even with your effort, he wasn’t going to make use of it. So it was the biggest surprise when he did.

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

A/N: Decided to turn this into a two parter just because I don't have the motivation to finish and I want to put something out. Enjoy :)

#billy fanfiction #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove series #billy hargrove #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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astronomyparkers · 7 years

Text

Skyline {III}

Warnings: Blood

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: You guys!!!! I can’t believe you are all so nice honestly!!!! I hit 500 followers today so as a thank you, here is pt. 3 a day earlier than expected!! Forgive me if there are any mistakes, as I stayed up late to finish it (I have to be up in six hours for work oh lord) and I really hope you guys like it. There most definitely will be a pt. 4, and possibly pt. 5, as this scene became longer than expected, and I decided to split it between two chapters. Again, thank you so much, guys. All my love.

{part I} {part II}

As the end of August neared, you began to fear the return of school. Not because you hated it—in fact, you were fond of school. You liked learning, you liked seeing your friends from certain classes, and you even missed some of your teachers. However, with the return of your school came the return of Spider-Man’s school. He had explained to you how difficult it was to balance the responsibilities of his civilian life with the responsibilities of being a superhero. Between those tightropes of time management, you doubted there would be any hours allotted to visiting you.

You knew that you had no right to be sad about your predicament. The right thing to do would be to not think selfishly, and just be happy with the time you were given with someone who doesn’t normally share their world. But, no matter how many times you had a talk with yourself, you still couldn’t bring yourself out of your melancholy thoughts.

It didn’t help that Spider-Man had already begun frequenting your fire escape less and less. Ever since the night he reached out to fix your hair, he hadn’t shown up for your midnight talks at all. Granted, it had only been two weeks, and since there had been no strenuous fights or big explosions, you weren’t particularly worried. You were, however, particularly lonely. You missed him. Sitting out on your fire escape alone was different than it had been before you had met the masked hero. Before, you were content with just you and a book, some soft music in the background with city sounds around you. Now, you felt isolated, and the quiet music and city sounds weren’t nearly loud enough to ease the loss of Spider-Man’s chatter.

Still, you tried to move on. You played music louder, you talked out loud to yourself, you doodled the skyline more, you hung out with friends more often, and you filled your time with things that had made you happy before. Today, for example, you were accompanying your friend Alex to the bank. While it was not the most exciting task in the world, it was the act of a responsible adult that wasn’t hung up on a superhero, and therefore something that needed to be accomplished. Being a responsible adult also meant holding Alex back and not letting her attack the teller who needed to brush up on their customer service skills.

“I’m sorry, miss, could you please explain to me what exactly the problem is, again?” The teller said in a monotone voice.

Alex took a deep breath and calmly replied, “Whenever I use my debit card, it’s taking the money from my savings account, instead of my chequing account. As you can imagine, that setup doesn’t work for me.”

“Are you sure you’re pressing ‘chequing’ on debit machines, and not savings?” The teller asked, not even looking up from his computer screen.

“Am I—” Alex took another breath. “Yes. I am sure.”

“Are you? Because there is nothing showing up on your account that explains how your savings and chequing could be switched. Maybe you’re just mixing it up?” The teller still hadn’t looked up from his computer screen, which was a poor choice on his part; if he had, he would have seen the warning signs that a teenage girl was about to tear him apart.

“Listen, you ignoramus—”

“Oh, boy,” You sighed, gently grabbing your friends arm. “Alex—”

“—do you really think that I work a minimum wage job in retail to save up money for university, just so that my savings can slowly be drained without my knowledge? Do you really think I would want that? Do you? Why would I take the time each month to split up my earnings into a savings account just so that I could spend them?”

You had to hand it to the bank teller—even with a venomous teen ready to rip out his throat, he managed to look unfazed. You felt a little bad for him, but you guessed that’s just what working in customer service does to a guy. Despite his nonchalance, everyone else in the bank from the mom in the corner with two kids to the man in the leather jacket by the door was staring at the scene you were unwillingly apart of.

“I’m very sorry, miss,” The teller sighed. “What would you like me to do to help you?”

“What would I—” Alex’s eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. “I would like you to fix it, you—”

You knew that Alex had quite the mouth on her, and you were ready to step in and cut her off. Before you could, however, someone else cut her off for you. From behind you, a woman screamed, and you turned around to see the mother in the corner clutching her children closer to her as the man in the leather jacket pulled out a gun from his shoulder bag, which he dropped to the ground.

The gun was unlike anything you had ever seen before. It was definitely mechanical, but something about it didn’t look right. It emitted a soft blue light, like there was something glowing, almost living, inside of it. Something that wasn’t entirely human.

The man grabbed his bag and pulled out some sort of cube, which he stuck to the door. You heard the sound of not only the front door’s mechanics locking, but also the windows around you. Instinctively, you grabbed Alex’s hand and pulled her close to you, not even allowing the chance for her to be taken from you.

“Everyone, listen up!” The man yelled, lifting the gun into the air. “I have some business that I need to attend to, and a partner I need to do that business with. The only way I can get him here is by causing a scene and taking hostages, so I need you all to sit down on the ground.” No one reacted for a moment, still shocked, and the man fired the gun into the air. A blast of blue light emerged, piercing through the high bank ceiling. Everyone screamed as rubble fell, and you instinctively covered your head. “Do you think I’m kidding? Ground! Now!”

You and Alex did as he said, dropping to the ground as quick as you could. There was no doubt in your mind that the person he wanted to show up was Spider-Man, but why? Who would rob a bank and want the hero to show up?

“Who here has a phone with access to wifi?” The man looked around, pointing his gun at everyone in the bank. “Raise your hands!”

With shaking arms, both you and Alex raised your hands, along with a twenty-something man by the counter and a bank teller who was crouching beside a desk.

“Good. Pull them out and send out a distress on social media. Twitter, or whatever, I don’t care, just as long as people see it and know where I am.” The man walked around, watching everyone do as he said. You could already hear the sirens get closer. “Make sure you say that I am armed, I have—” The man glanced around the room. “Hell, let’s round up—thirty hostages, and for every half hour that Spidey doesn’t show, I’m killing a civilian.”

You typed what he said, quickly pressing tweet and turning your phone off. You wished you had Spider-Man’s number, or some way of getting into contact with him. As much as you didn’t want him here, you didn’t doubt the armed man’s actions, and neither did anyone else. The mother with two kids seemed to be choking back tears as she tried to keep her toddler and older child quiet.

Once everyone had finished, the armed man made everyone throw their phones into the center of the room, and then he went back to his bag and pulled out multiple metal cuffs. He tossed two to everyone in the room, instructing them to slip them on and tap them together. You did as he said, and once the two bangles touched, they tightened around your wrists and locked together, leaving you handcuffed.

There was no doubt in your mind now that this was alien tech, and you wondered how this man had come into possession of this much machinery. It was then that it hit you—this must have been the third weapons dealer from the Queensboro Bridge crash, the one whose body was never recovered. All the pieces fell into place: why he wanted an audience, why he had all these weapons, why he demanded Spider-Man show up. He didn’t care about the bank or the money; he wanted a foolproof way to get the masked hero to come to him, so that he could get his revenge. He wanted to kill Spider-Man.

Your pulse quickened and you began to sweat more than you already were. You tried your best to shuffle over closer to Alex, who you could tell was also terrified. She was blinking her eyes a lot and biting her lip, eyeing the big gun their captor was holding. You reached over with your restrained hands and took her cuffed hands in yours, squeezing tight.

Through the glass doors and windows, you could see a crowd gathered outside. Police had put up barricades, there were numerous cars parked outside, with everyone screaming, crying, calling out for loved ones—literal chaos. Inside, the mood wasn’t much better. All the phones in the center of the room had been buzzing and ringing for the last fifteen minutes, and everyone was tense. All eyes seemed to be on the clock above a desk to your right, which looked as if it was speeding up with every passing second. It had been twenty-two minutes since the armed man had announced his plan of killing a hostage every half hour, and you wondered if he was as aware of it as you all were. Presently, he was standing in the middle of the room, glancing around at everyone every few seconds, but mostly keeping a watch out for the masked hero. It was clear that he didn’t think he would have to wait this long for Spider-Man to show up.

You didn’t think you would have to wait this long, either. The Spider-Man you knew was always rushing into dangerous situations—much to your displeasure—and the one time you actually wanted him to run head on into an enemy’s grasp, he decided to take his sweet time? You didn’t want Spider-Man to get hurt, but you also knew that he was way better equipped to deal with this guy than anyone else in the room.

You sized up your fellow hostages, wondering who your captor would grab. Surely, he would leave the mother and her children. You hoped to God he would leave the mother and her children. And Alex. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing your friend, much less watching her be executed right in front of you. With those four separated, you looked back at the remaining civilians, all twenty-four, not including you. There was a couple in the corner that you hadn’t had a chance to look at before, two women holding hands like you and Alex. The taller one of the two moved her hands to her partner’s stomach, and, as she kissed her forehead, you realized the partner was pregnant. You took them out of the equation.

Who else? The twenty-something man who had used his phone to send out a distress call. He was praying to himself in a corner. A group of three teenagers, all crouched together by a chair, huddled together like there was safety in numbers. Two businessmen leaning against the wall, each closing their eyes as if they could imagine they were somewhere else. A woman sitting on her knees, fiddling with her engagement ring as much as her cuffs allowed her. A gray-haired woman tugging on the cross around her neck as her husband leaned against her arm. A teen boy in the corner, twisting his fingers together over and over. Two girls in NYU sweatshirts, student loan brochures still clutched tightly in their hands. Three women in pantsuits, their lunchtime coffees dropped onto the floor beside them. The four bank tellers and their three branch managers, sitting in a group behind the counter, all with shiny, wet cheeks. As you looked around the room, one of the tellers caught your eye, and you looked away with shame.

No one here deserved to die. You felt your face flush and bile rise in your throat, disgusted that you had even entertained the thought that you could figure out who should be the first to go. Tears began filling your eyes, blurring your vision, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to go away.

“Damn,” The armed man sighed. You opened your eyes to see him staring at the clock. “I really thought Spidey would show. Oh, well. Guess he’s not so super after all.”

The armed man looked around at his hostages, taking stock. “Didn’t want it to come to this, really, but if I don’t go through with my promise, then I’ll never get him to show up. Apologies.”

He continued pacing the room, looking from face to face. Finally, he stopped in front of you. But it wasn’t you.

With a sigh, he grabbed Alex roughly by the arm and pulled her away from you. You screamed loudly, and she yelled your name back to you, tears falling freely from the both of you. Trying to save your friend, you grabbed at the man’s arm, but he hit you in the head with the gun. Instantly, red hot pain flashed across the right side of your forehead, and you knew the skin had split open.

“Y/N!” Alex screamed, trying to crawl back to where you had fallen back to the ground. But the man kept his hold on her.

“Please,” Alex pleaded with the armed man, but he showed no mercy. He pushed her down into the center of the room and pointed the gun at her head.

You stared in horror, your head throbbing. You could feel the blood running down the side of your face, and you tried to wipe it off with your hands. The room was spinning and you could barely focus on anything, but you tried to make eye contact with Alex. It was the only thing you could do.

“Sorry, kid, I am,” The armed man shrugged. “Really thought Spidey would’ve shown up by now.”

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass filled the bank, and you felt shards of what you assumed was once a window raining down around you. The hostages screamed, and you felt the thump of the ground as someone jumped through the hole. Turning your head, you saw Spider-Man, the Spider-Man, your Spider-man, crouched on the ground to your left. Looking up, you could see one of the skylights in the ceiling broken, the remnant of a web drifting in the breeze that blew through.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Spider-Man stood up. “Traffic was horrible, and the Bridge is still out of commission.”

The armed man growled and pushed Alex away. She crawled over to your and you grabbed her with your cuffed hands, pulling her closer. Frantically, she untied the shirt knotted around her waist as best she could handcuffed, and shimmied it off, before grabbing it and pressing it to your head wound.

You felt so woozy, but you tried your best to keep your eyes open. You couldn’t imagine actually watching Spider-Man fight the bad guy, but you couldn’t imagine not watching it, either.

The armed man shot first, but Spider-Man dodged his blast. Instead, it hit the wall to your right, narrowly avoiding the group of bank employees. A whole about three feet wide and four feet tall was left in result, and Spider-Man noticed.

“Everyone, out!” He shouted, continuing to dodge blasts from the gun. He swung around, shooting webs at the armed man, trying to disable him. “Everybody—”

It was at that moment that the two of you made eye contact. You, lying on the ground, struggling to stay conscious as Alex tried to stop your wound from bleeding.

“Y/N?” You heard Spider-Man yell. He stopped moving and stared at you uncomprehendingly, until he narrowly missed being hit by a blast from the armed man’s gun. It hit the ceiling, and another blast hit the wall. Rubble began to rain down on you.

The hostages began running for the hole in the wall, crawling out. You tried to get up but it quickly became apparent that moving was impossible, as you felt more and more light headed with every passing second. Alex smoothed your hair.

“Y/N,” She whispered. “Y/N, I can’t carry you, I’m not strong enough.”

“Go,” You whispered back, weakly pushing her away. “Please, Alex, go.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Alex said determinedly, looking around for a way to get you off the ground.

There was none, and more rubble was falling from the ceiling as more blasts missed Spider-Man. It was becoming apparent that the building was on the verge of collapse. Through the holes in the walls, you could see the crowds evacuating, ambulances and cop cars being the only vehicles around the area.

You heard a growl, and turned back to the fight around you. Spider-Man had aimed a web over the barrel of the gun, succeeding in blocking it. With his borrowed time, he raced over to you and Alex.

“Go,” He told Alex, pointing towards the exit. “Go, I’ll get her.”

Alex nodded, moving quickly to the hole, glancing back at you as she did so.

Spider-Man scooped you up into his arms and ran you outside as fast as he could, leaving you at the first ambulance he found.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered the entire time he carried you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, oh my god…”

As he laid you down on the gurney an EMT had waiting for you, you tried to grab his suit.

“Please don’t go back in there,” You pleaded, your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“If I don’t, he’ll come out here,” Spider-Man turned back towards the building. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

With those words as his goodbye, the masked hero ran back inside. Less than ten seconds later, there was a scream, a blast of light, and the sound of more glass breaking. You watched, helpless, as the building began to crumble. Your EMT wheeled your gurney into the back of the ambulance, with the intent of getting everyone away from the crashing building as quick as possible.

Before the doors closed, before your eyes shut, the last thing you saw was a flash of red amidst the collapsing grey concrete.

{part IV}

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flightyrock · 7 years

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Ectober Day 6: Ghost Hunger

I owe everyone a bit of an explanation before we dive into this fever dream. Yes, I know exactly what ghost hunger refers to, but it just isn’t my thing. It’s a neat concept, but I don’t really find it fun to write for, or even read, except in the rarest of cases. I can stand it if it advances an innovative plotline, but just for its own sake…meh.

So I didn’t have any idea what I was going to do for day 6. I considered skipping it, but that felt like admitting defeat. With this in the back of my mind, I was scrolling through tumblr, as one does, and found this lovely piece by @schnivel.

One of my favorite things about schnivel’s style is the dynamic quality all of his characters have. I don’t know how to explain it, but it draws the viewer in, and sells that these characters are real. Complex emotions are portrayed and conveyed with such ease, I get that creative itch every time. I love everything in your art tag, it makes me so happy. Thank you for sharing!

But anyway. In this particular piece, I love the angle of the external light and the ambient light radiating from the suspiciously viscous fluid clinging to his hands. I think it was the combination of the fluid consistency, color choice, and blood connection that did it.

So as my mind tends to do when I’m tired and see something emotionally charged, it took a running nosedive off the deep end into absurdist territory.

So here is a fic inspired by color choice, texture, and my traumatic experiences with product promotion as a child of the 90s and early 2000s. I am so sorry but also kind of not. Please forgive me, schnivel. Thank you so much for letting me ruin the mood. And seriously, check out schnivel’s blog!

(Sorry for all the notes. Commentary at the end.)

Summary: When a popular variety of novelty ketchup is discontinued, the ghost population of Amity Park clashes over who will claim the last box.

Warnings: Customer service feels, light innuendo

Word Count: ~1700

“You do realize that’s disgusting,” Sam deadpanned, looking on with a mixture of mild horror and disgust as Danny smothered his hotdog in a quantity of green slime that could only be defined as excessive. Somehow it was impossible to turn away. Tucker didn’t seem to share the sentiment, busying himself with his PDA.

Spurred on by the attention, Danny looked Sam dead in the eyes, staring unflinchingly into their icy, amethyst depths while cramming as much of the sandwich into his mouth as possible.

Only to aim a tad low, bumping into his lower lip. Time seemed to slow down as blue eyes widened comically in surprise, hand contracting around the bun reflexively, coaxing gobs of the novelty ketchup to ooze out the back and coat the front of his favorite t-shirt, soaking into white fabric with karmatic vengeance.

Sam and Tucker witnessed the following shift from shock to sudden horror at the state of his shirt became clear. They glanced at each other, unprompted, then lost it completely, howling with laughter as Danny dropped his ‘dog to scrub frantically at his chest with a wad of the worse-than-useless paper napkins the school provided that screamed government subsidy. His response time was impressive, but the damage was done: a prominent, verdant dribble trail clearly illustrated the tragedy that unfolded at lunch that day.

“Are you kidding me? I still have half the day to go,” Danny moaned, hands running anxiously through already messy hair.

“Just phase it off!” Tucker pointed out helpfully, returning to his PDA as chuckles died down into amused sympathy.

“Tuck, intangibility doesn’t remove stains. It’s set too far in the fabric. Otherwise laundry would be so much easier. Hmm.” Danny took a moment to consider the potential, wondering if that was how Vlad managed to keep his ghostwear so pristine. Maybe if he could concentrate his focus…

“You had it coming. I don’t understand why you insist on consuming that promotional garbage.” Sam rolled her eyes derisively.

“Because it’s the best!” Danny insisted. Sam and Tucker shared a look, resigned to their friend’s strange obsession.

Danny didn’t know what it was, but ever since that popular condiment brand out of Pittsburgh developed a line of novelty ketchup, he was hooked. It came in all sorts of unappetizing colors, like green and purple, and the cringe-worthy ad campaign made Danny wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate prank. But it eventually showed up at the discount food distributer his family frequented, and he bought it himself, despite Jazz’s teasing. Funny. He swears he’s caught her using it more than once when she thought he wasn’t around.

While Jazz was exasperated by the blatant exploitation of the mindset of the lower middle working class, Sam objected to the artificial dyes and preservatives, and Tucker insisted it was nothing less than an insult to the integrity of meat, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe the dye makes it taste a bit different. Maybe he just gets a kick out of eating food in weird colors and watching his friends squirm. Heck, maybe he’s just been desensitized by enough mutant, home-cooked meals that something so harmless but strange fills him with nostalgia. Whatever the case, Danny couldn’t seem to get enough of the stuff. He even started taking it to school with him as a fun way to avoid looking too closely at what was on his tray.

“Uh oh, dude,” Tucker chuckled, bringing up a specific news article on his PDA. “Looks like your days of ruining hot dogs are numbered.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding,” Danny begged.

“Afraid not,” Tucker grinned, sliding his tech across the table to deliver the news firsthand.

Blue eyes widened in horror, before the teenager collapsed onto the table dramatically with a moan. “Why is it that as soon as I discover something awesome, it’s gone?”

“Honestly, that’s probably why it appeared on the shelves at Hubert’s in the first place,” Sam remarked flippantly, preferring to pick at chipping nail polish than acknowledge the lump of pouting teenager currently occupying half the table.

“Yeah, brand names are always too good to be true in places like that,” Tucker nodded sagely, patting Danny on the shoulder in mock sympathy.

Danny hauled himself upright with a sigh. “Nothing else for it. I’ll just have to go after school and stockpile all the bottles I can. They can’t be out yet.”

“How are you out?! It was just here less than a week ago!”

But the dramatics of a ketchup-crazed teenager were no match for the practiced apathy projected by the young but seasoned customer service guru manning the register, six hours into a ten hour shift.

“Look, man, I just work here. There’s plenty of purple,” she sighed, glazed eyes carelessly roaming to glace at the condiments section, poking at her monitor screen.

“It doesn’t taste the same,” Danny moaned, prompting a significant look to pass between the duo accompanying him. They had no idea why they thought it would be a good to tag along on this juvenile side quest. This was just embarrassing.

“Huh,” the cashier remarked offhandedly. “Looks like we might have one more box in the back. I’ll go check, if you want…” she trailed off unenthusiastically, distracted by the hopefully bobbing shock of black hair that wouldn’t leave her alone unless she made a show of effort. With a long-suffering sigh, the underpaid civil servant shuffled off to the back, teenagers at her heels until she ducked behind a wildly swinging door, a scuffed sheet of plastic shoved haphazardly into the gateway in a pathetic effort to separate customer-friendly space from the chaos of the warehouse.

The friends waited attentively, then with growing annoyance, Sam scuffing the chipping tile with heavy boots as the minutes ticked by. Around fifteen minutes in, Tucker decided to call it.

“I think she just blew you off, dude.”

“No way,” Danny insisted. “She’s just being thorough.”

At that moment, a familiar figure slouched out from behind the off-white mockery of a barrier. Danny drooped visibly at the lack of bottles in her arms.

“Welp, I found it.” Danny perked up. “Where is it?”

“In the back.” She continued to amble through the aisles, not even bothering to glance at the irritating customer as she returned to the front. Danny followed her, confused.

“And?” he ventured.

“What?” she asked, uncapping a company pen to doodle on a scrap of receipt paper, pointedly ignoring the nuisance in the vain hope it would leave her in peace.

Danny barely restrained himself in time to prevent throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Can I have some?” he dared to ask. The girl acted like she didn’t hear him, outlining a cartoonish face with care, allowing him to stew for a while.

She finally raised hazel orbs full of resignation to meet his. “You somehow manage to get it down, you can just have it.” The just leave me alone was implied. Heavily.

Danny lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him away, returning to her receipt sketch.

“Thanks!” Danny called over his shoulder, already on his way to claim his prize.

“That was kind of weird,” Sam observed.

“Oh, come on Sam, why do you have to be so pessimistic all the time? She probably couldn’t reach it. All Danny has to do is float up to the shelf, and we’re out of here,” Tucker said, confidently leading the way into the dark space, the main light coming from a desk equipped with a dated microwave and littered with the remains of hurried lunches.

It was kind of weird being behind the scenes. The air felt heavy, stale. It was difficult to shake the uneasy feeling that they dismissed, at first, with being in a restricted area, but that quickly faded into the background.

A puff of cold air suddenly expanded, forcing its way up a certain ghostly throat and expelling in a bluish cloud as it forced vapor in the surrounding air to condense.

“Nice going, Tuck,” Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Danny ignored the exchange, quickly “going ghost” and floating up to investigate. And was not at all surprised to find the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost playing a less-than-friendly game of tug-of-war with the box of sauce. Okay, maybe he was surprised; he didn’t know either of them had a subtle bone in their bodies…if they had bones. Or bodies. Gah.

He was honestly kind of impressed that they had avoided detection for so long, and wondered if the cashier’s composure spoke to her merit, or to the horrors of customer service. Danny resolved to be nicer to customer service associates.

From there, it was “doom” this and “beware” that. Danny threw some ectoblasts, repelled some processed meat products, brushed off some boxes. It was amazing how much more annoying the two of them were working together. But, still, not even really a challenge, so the half ghost made short work of the duo, while trying not to think too hard about the implications of this team up. A certain young ghost from an alternate future came to mind…

Danny chased the pair off, trying not to think about the two of them sharing a thermos. He was all too glad to claim his prize and head home. It had been an interesting afternoon.

Despite the strange start, the pair of friends thought that the day was pretty successful. As a result, neither Tucker nor Sam were expecting the caricature of despair that greeted them on the front steps of Fenton Works come morning.

“Dare we ask?” Sam muttered.

Tucker sighed, shaking his head. “He’ll let us know soon enough.”

Somewhere in Wisconsin, a certain blue-skinned half ghost emerged from his portal, shiftily checking the entrance before ducking through with his prize.

What am I doing? I live alone.

Still, one could never be too careful. It wouldn’t do to have Daniel catch wind of this. He certainly would never admit it, but he couldn’t help the strange nostalgia it inspired; the off-putting color instilled him with a strange longing for cheap meals of questionable quality cooked with a certain pair of paranormal science students. He still had his dignity after all.

A/N: Anyone who’s ever worked retail knows the best way to get rid of a persistent customer and score an extra break in the process is to “check” the back. Seriously, most places know what they have in the back due to the magic of inventory, but for some reason, that middle-aged woman with too much makeup will not leave us alone, insisting we check the back because she thinks we’re idiots (you know the type). And how dare we come back without checking thoroughly. The cashier probably found the ketchup in less than a minute, determined retrieval was impossible, then spent the rest of the time on her phone. Of course, like 10% of the time, there really is extra in the back so I can’t exactly fault them, but we could do without the condescension.

So…yeah. I think my mind kind of mashed together the fact that the show took place in the 2000s with the fact that ketchup looks vaguely like blood, and the drawing used the two major colors of Heinz’s horrendous EZ Squirt line. As a child who begged for this ketchup, then refused to eat it, I can understand the initial appeal, but it got gross fast, and I didn’t finish the bottle. What can I say, it tasted off to me. I feel like I read about some human instinct regarding food safety contributing to that at some point. But I still remember this product, especially the commercials, with horror.

Thank you so much to @schnivel for the inspiration! Hope everyone enjoyed it!

#danny phantom fanfiction #flightyfiction #schnivel #danny phantom #danny fenton #ooc #maybe

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hide-the-cutlery · 4 years

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It’s one of those stupid nights where I keep checking my phone, just hoping to see something from someone.

I’m lonely. The kind of lonely that digs at your insides.

I had a really vivid dream about my ex last night. I was in a car with I think (?) his actual girlfriend/fiancée/wife, and his mom was there, talking to us. She was talking about him finishing his high school diploma (he graduated irl, with me, actually, but I didn’t know him at the time...) and then start college. And, as it always is in these dreams, he’s not with me, and I’m trying to get him to talk or listen to me, because I’m desperately telling him he’s with the wrong girl... that it’s me, not her (whoever she might be).

In this dream, I spoke to her. I asked if they’d ever broken up, and she said yes. I asked why, and she said because of some other woman, and I asked “Nicole?” And she said yes! I laughed. A big, ugly, fake, “I knew it!”, sucks for you, laugh. I don’t remember what really happened after that. I did have sleep paralysis in either that dream or another one later in the afternoon. I slept a lot today. Sleep paralysis is terrifying. I kept trying to move and thinking I did move, only to realize I was actually still frozen. I even tried to yell for someone to come wake me, but I think only a nonsense muffle came out, if anything. The strange part was I trying to get my vibrator (which hasn’t seen any action in like 2+ years) and a toy I don’t even have anymore. Finally, I woke up. I tend to have sleep paralysis when I take naps. And sexual dreams. Fun fact: I have orgasms in my sleep. And believe me, they’re very real. I guess I at least get some tension out that way, because I don’t even try anymore. To touch on an entry I think I started yesterday, the last time I actually enjoyed sex (besides when I was with a woman) was my ex, who shares a name with one of my celebrity crushes. He’s most known for playing a certain “villain” in a very popular space saga, but he is a phenomenal actor in everything I’ve seen from him. (It’s Adam Driver 🙄)

Anyways, (my) Adam was special, but I was too deep in my disease to see it. Well, I did see it, I just didn’t know what to do with it. He was on pills, and I was drinking heavily. We both were. I used to be floored with how fast he’d go through bottles of Percocet and Soma, along with alcohol, when now I go through my meds just as fast. He loved nature and was a very emotional person. I’ve never seen a guy cry so much, but it was okay. I liked how vulnerable and open he could be. When I was sad, he’d play his guitar and sing to me. I miss that — a lot. He wanted to go off and live in a commune, and I wanted to be a doctor with a nice house with a “white picket fence”, all that. We both couldn’t see the merit in each other’s visions. I’d take off with him to a commune right now if I could. I think of messaging him all the time, but I’m too shy. I check every so often to see if he’s still on my Facebook. (He is.) Funny I worry about interacting with someone I once shared such an intimate bond with.

I got into it with my family again. I tried to have a conversation with them regarding how difficult it will be to get a job with all that’s going on. It was supposed to be just a neutral thing, but it blew up, like always. They don’t understand how my poor mental health is impairing my general functioning. I don’t understand why my mental health is impairing me so much. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I’m getting tired of it. I need more help than I’m getting. I tried to get more help than I’m getting, and it didn’t work out. It was no fault of my own.. last year I was supposed to spend a few weeks in an inpatient facility, and I got accepted, but my insurance wouldn’t cover it because I hadn’t been hospitalized recently enough. I could get myself hospitalized, easily, but I feel like that’s a bad idea and I should avoid that. But I wouldn’t have to tell a single lie to get baker acted.

Q: Do you think about hurting yourself or other people?

-I did last week.

Q: Do you think about suicide?

-Constantly.

Q: Do you want to kill yourself?

-I don’t know. I’m just so tired. Things aren’t working out in this life, and since I got sober, I can’t think of a single thing that makes this miserable existence worth it (besides my cats, and their lives aren’t good because I can’t give them something better). Maybe what comes after this is better. I like to think our spirits are working their way through the Universe. Sometimes I’m ready to just say “okay, this one (existence) sucks — NEXT.”

Who knows — maybe something good would come of it. I met Adam in a hospital, in the psych ward, after we’d both been baker acted. They gave me Remeron to sleep, and it made my legs give out. I crawled out of my room to get a nurse, and he was sitting in a red, comfy chair outside my doorway. He helped me get off the floor and got me a nurse. He waited with me while me and the nurses waited to hear back from the on-call doctor. We were both really drugged, and he talked to me about books. I think he was telling me he was really into Lewis Carroll. I’d read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland at least, so I didn’t look that stupid. He would get the vegetarian meals (I can’t recall if I did, too), and we’d make fun of them. I remember when I got discharged and my dad came to get me, we were leaving, and I saw him on my way out. He had elected to stay a few days extra, but we hugged and swapped numbers. About a month later, I sent him a text, and within a few weeks, we hung out a few times, and had one crazy night together that I don’t think either of us expected, but we definitely wanted it. Then we got separated for a while, but stayed in contact — phone calls and letters. I loved his letters. He’d adorn them with lyrics and doodles, just like I do. I kept them all. What a sweet guy. God, I’m so tempted right now. Just to say “hi there, I wonder how you’re doing (a lot? Frequently? From time to time? Occasionally?), and I hope it’s well.” Why can’t I just say that? Ugh, I’m such a pussy.

Anyway, my parents and I fought again. My dad did acknowledge that I have health problems, but I know he thinks I’m making too much of them or is in complete denial. My mother just doesn’t get it. She twists my words and tries to make me sound nasty, condescending, lazy, etc... I asked my dad how old I was when they realized I wasn’t “right”, and he kinda dodged the question, saying he never really thought I wasn’t “right”. I’ve been talking to a friend a lot lately, one of the only people who understands me. She seems to think I might be a survivor of childhood (sexual?) abuse, because she is herself, and says comparing my behavior and demeanor to hers and other abuse survivors, I just scream TRAUMA. I brushed it off at first, but I’m realizing some things, like my lack of memories as a child and the fear I felt as a child that I still carry with me today. I guess there’s more, like the way I respond to people, my anxiety, “The Third” part of me, how I disassociate at times, my rampant addictions... the list goes on. Maybe she’s on to something, or maybe she’s planting falsities in my already crooked mind. I do know she’s brought me to a very unique state two or three times now, where it’s like I’m having terrifying epiphanies. Why can’t my therapists work that hard at cracking me?

I don’t think I’ve written about “The Third” yet — not by name at least. The Third is the part of me that separates itself from the rest of me (I imagine it to hover over my right shoulder) that talks to me in stressful situations. It’s typically always criticism of my behavior or accusing me of lying. “Shut up! You know that’s not true! They don’t care! You sound stupid! Why the fuck did you say that?! You’re an idiot! Tell the truth! Tell the fucking truth!” At first he didn’t have a name, but I guess he and I came up with “The Third” together, because people are typically two things: mind and body. This is a third extension of me. Maybe everyone has a part of them hovering over them, smashing their nose in the dirt, or maybe not. I tried to tell my psychiatrist about him, but he was pretty dismissive. He did, however, change up all my meds again. He put me on something he said he’s seen work well for people who are having mixed episodes of bipolar disorder. I’ve never been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, although my last therapist (who told me I had BPD) said she “wasn’t sure” I didn’t have it. I don’t think I have it. I’ve had some manic spells, for sure, and I guess I do have depression, even though I don’t like to admit it. For some reason, I’m not okay with the thought of just having depression. I feel like my symptoms are too much for just having MDD. I’ve been on practically every SSRI on the market, and I just don’t respond to them. He’s dropped the phrase “treatment-resistant depression”, but I think it’s more likely that I’m being misdiagnosed. My big problems are my bizarre thinking, anxiety, and panic attacks, not depression. The things that make me sad are situational. I know situational depression can turn into clinical depression quickly, but I still don’t consider it what I most importantly need help with.

In other news, we acquired Tom Brady, and Biden won FL. For shame.

#Personal #Mental Health #Exes #Dreams #Memories #Hospital #Trauma

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rockrevoltmagazine · 4 years

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INTERVIEW: Nick Mason "The Living Dead Drummer"

Nicholas Mason (AKA The Living Dead Drummer) has performed all over the world with artists as wide ranging as Shania Twain to Beasto Blanco. He is a highly experienced pro drummer with a level of motivation and drive in his work ethic that has made him rise above the pack with appearances on GLEE, MasterChef, Cartoon Network, Showtime, FOX, and ABC.

What is your professional history as a drummer?

Hmmm… Let’s see…

I started playing out in bands when I was in high school, and teaching music lessons at age 18. By the time I was in my early 20’s I was playing in groups that were traveling and doing some small touring. It kind of just progressed over time, weekend tours turned into week-long runs and so on. I got a taste for the hired gun thing early on. Some friends asked me to fill in for their band when they lost the drummer. Having to learn someone else’s music was unique and I enjoyed getting to experience different types of playing situations and styles. Being available for outside work has led me to some amazing opportunities. It’s allowed me to work with insanely talented artists, perform in huge arenas and festivals, and travel the globe.

What was the spark that inspired you to become a drummer?

My family. I grew up with a very musically supportive environment. My Father is a guitarist and owns a prominent Guitar Repair business in Western NY. My Mother, along with her entire side of the family is all drummers! And I mean, like the entire family! Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and if you didn’t play the drums you married a drummer, or your kid became a drummer. So picking up the sticks was more of a heritage.

You share the same name as Pink Floyd’s drummer. How do you handle any confusion?

Yes, that’s true. Not planned, total coincidence. I try to be polite when it comes to confusion, but I have to admit there have been times when it does get under my skin. Mainly because some people see a name and jump to an assumption without looking at the evidence surrounding it. Especially in an age of social media where a photo is typically displayed above the name, and should be obvious that I’m not in my 70’s, or the lack of mention of Pink Floyd anyplace on my internet presence. I get it if it’s something different like making a phone call and the recipient gets a “Nick Mason on line one” message. That’s forgivable. Having the “Living Dead Drummer” title the last few years has really helped move me farther away from the confusion and reinforce my individuality in the music industry. These days it’s less frequent that people mistake me for him, and more “Oh, you have the same name as,” and an afterthought.

What have been some of the biggest performances and stages of your career?

I’ve had the pleasure of playing at Staples Center in Los Angeles, Key Bank Center in Buffalo (Then called HSBC Arena), Baseball stadiums, Sahlen Field, also in Buffalo, and Petco Park in San Diego. I also did the Electric Daisy Carnival in Vegas a couple times. Those EDC crowds can get up to 100,000 per night!!

How did you land on the name Living Dead Drummer?

A few years ago the Coffin Case company was celebrating their 20th anniversary. They had always done a fashion show at the annual NAMM show in Anaheim. I was asked to contribute in some manner for the big anniversary. We came up with the idea that myself and another drummer buddy of mine would flank the stage with out drum kits. The Coffin Girls would do the runway modeling to classic metal songs between the kits. They had us all done up in horror makeup and outfits so we looked as if we just crawled out of the grave. It was sick! It was in the dressing room, while we were getting our makeup done, that I first got referred to as a “Living Dead Drummer.” The light bulb went off over my head, and I took the idea and ran with it. Bought the website, changed all my social media over, and registered it every place I possibly could. It just made perfect sense. I love horror, I love drums, and because of my work ethic people frequently ask “When do you sleep?” I don’t, I’m “Living Dead.” Hahaha.

What’s the key to staying flexible with all the different types of bands you play with?

Proper planning with your calendar. Whenever I’m in contact with a new potential client I always try to be as up front as possible. My schedule is first come first serve, and if I’m already obligated with another artist then I’m not available for you. I want to give everyone I work with 100% and it wouldn’t be fair if I canceled or rescheduled one person for another. I’ve found that as long as I’m honest, and establish these things right from the get-go most people are cool with it. I do tend to be a bit of a workaholic, and want to please everyone. It’s not uncommon for me to book multiple gigs in one evening, on top of rehearsals and teaching lessons all day.

What are some things about your style that shows off your uniqueness and individuality?

I strive for accuracy and a good pocket in my playing. I want every note to be intentional and consistent. If I play a ghost note, it was on purpose, If I hit with this side of the stick versus that side, or accent this note and not that one. It was on purpose. I’m also no stranger to getting a little flashy and “performing” while on stage. I’m a firm believer that while on stage our job is to entertain, and no one goes to a live music concert, especially a rock concert, to listen to music. They go to watch a show. If you can’t give them something to watch you’re failing at your job.

What life experiences have had the most influence on your current musical performance choices?

When I was fresh out of college I landed a job in the music industry doing Artist Relations. It was the only “real” job I ever had. It was great, and I learned a lot about how the industry operates. I was exposed to a whole world that I’d only read about in the trades. However, I quickly learned that it wasn’t for me. It cut too much into my time as a teacher and performer. Prior to that job I was teaching five days a week, at three different music stores, and playing out in multiple bands. All of a sudden I had a nine-to-five, with a 401K. I had to drastically reduce my student roster, and all my bands had to wait until I had vacation time to hit the road. Working in Artist Relations meant that I spent all day talking to other musicians who were out there doing what I wanted. I needed to be the guy on the other end of the phone, like they were. I split after only three years and dedicated my life to being that guy.

What artists have had an influence on your drumming styles?

I borrow from a lot a people! I was always a big Metallica fan growing up, especially in the early 90’s when I first started playing the drums. Lars has such intensity and energy on stage! Josh Freese, I discovered when A Perfect Circle debuted. I was so impressed with the creativity on that first album, that I had to look him up, and found that I has unknowingly been listening to him for years! His resume reads like a Billboard Top 100 list. Seeing that is what pushed me to want to work more as a hired gun. What’s better than being in one successful band? Being a part of ALL the successful bands!! Another band I grew up on was Aerosmith. Joey Kramer basically taught me how to play a song. Sure, I learned drum patterns, and rudiments, and formal music stuff rom my teachers, but learning song structure, and dynamic choices between a chorus and verse, or when to pick up the energy in a solo or song outro? That was the writing of Aerosmith, and Joey’s approach to his drum parts. On a visual and creative stand point there’s the dynamic duo of Sully Erna and Shannon Larkin from Godsmack. Sully’s known for being the bands front man, but he’s a jack of all trades and started as a drummer. I think at this point it’s common knowledge that he was behind the kit on Godsmack’s first two albums, and a large chunk of the ones following. The drumming on those first two in particular I found to be really creative. Tight Hi Hats, where you might think a more open sound would have been placed. And some really creative kick drum patterns that all felt like the song was entirely written around the groove instead of the melody dictating the rhythm. Once Shannon joined the band in the early 2000’s it kicked up a notch. I saw them perform for the first time in 2003. Front and center against the guardrail! Shannon’s energy on stage, start to end, left me feeling exhausted as if I was the one on stage for an hour! He was like a human rubber band, whipping his whole body back and forth to the beat right from the first note. I went out and bought the DVD from that tour right after and analyzed his movements on stage. The monkey arms, the stick tosses, I watched and said “I could do that!”

How do you connect and engage the audience from behind your kit?

I like to try and make eye contact with people if possible, and let them know I know they are watching. It’s not always easy. Depends on the size of the room, or stage, and frequently the lighting can kind of make it impossible to see anyone past the singers butt. However, if I can catch you I’ll make it known. There have been times where I had the opportunity to come out from behind the kit and step right up front and interact with the crowd. When I toured with Pinky Doodle Poodle, a Japanese rock band, they had a part written into the show where we hit a break in one specific song. I wasn’t supposed to cue us back in until the crowd started getting loud. I milked that for every penny! I’d walk right out to the front of the stage and get them screaming, and start playing games with them. Getting everyone to play follow the leader with clapping or teasing them. The bigger the crowd we would have the more fun it was and the more participatory the audience would be.

Any videos in the works? Which songs and what concepts are you working with?

I don’t really do the YouTube cover thing. However, I do try to post short clips from live performances or recording sessions regularly on social media. I’ll upload longer clips and full songs to my YouTube channel. Again, they are mainly from live shows or recording sessions. I want my audience to see me in a real environment. On stage in front of an audience, or in a studio tracking drums on a song you’re going to be able to own soon.

What’s one of the hardest parts about touring? Have you had anything embarrassing happen while performing?

I really like touring, I’m very comfortable with that kind of daily schedule. The hardest part is probably dealing with people, hahaha. Not everyone is cut out for it, and I’ve been in plenty of situations where someone’s ego gets in the way. Many first time touring musicians also have a lot of misconceptions about being on the road, especially an indi/dyi kind of tour. It makes it incredibly uncomfortable because now you’re stuck with that person, or persons day in and day out. I can’t think of anything super embarrassing that may have happened. I mean, everyone has a bad night once and a while, where you just don’t perform at the level you should. In my early days I had a few mishaps that have become more “fun stories” than embarrassing. I broke a finger on stage by bashing it on the rim of the snare drum accidentally. On a separate occasion I broke the bottom head on not one, but two snares! Thankfully the second one broke during the last song of the night, but I was so pissed off I picked the drum up and threw it off stage. I think I’d handle that in a more mature way now, haha.

You also teach quite a bit. Tell us about that.

I do teach! I started teaching private drum lessons just shy of 20 years ago. I know that may make me sound old, but I actually started teaching at a young age. I didn’t really have the confidence at first to give lessons. I felt that I was still a novice and didn’t have the education or experience to show someone else how to do it, but my own drum teacher encouraged me and assured me that I knew what I was doing. It quickly became a passion. I really loved having the opportunity to show others what I know, and encourage them the same way my teachers did. Right now I currently have about 40 regular students per week. Mostly in Southern California, but there are a hand full sprinkled throughout other states that I teach via Skype or FaceTime. I’m the Senior Drum Instructor and Show Director for School Of Rock in Burbank, CA. They have a fantastic program that not only provides one-on-one lessons the old school way, but also places students into a working band and provides them with real stage experience. We are able to give these students the same real world gigging musician life, without some of the “less than desirable” aspects I was exposed to in my teens.

Name something that is a positive in the world today. And why it should be celebrated.

ART! The arts are a positive thing. All aspects of them. Theatre, Film, TV, Music, Fine Art. It can be thought provoking; it can evoke different emotions, and provide escapism.

With the amount of negativity in the world, especial on social media, it’s nice to just take a break and lose yourself in something created by another human. I encourage everyone to go out, see a movie, go to an art gallery, or go to the theater or see a concert. Go have some fun for a couple hours and don’t worry about politics, or what someone said or did online.

What are your goals both personally and professionally for the rest of the year?

I definitely plan to spend more time on the road. As stated before, I’m very comfortable in that environment. I also am in the beginning stages of booking a clinic tour with a focus on the aspects of what it takes to be a working professional in the modern era of performance. These days it’s not enough to just “be a drummer.” Everyone wants us to also run backing tracks, trigger samples, etc. Half the time you need to have a lap top open next to your kit just to get through a club show. No one ever really talks about that stuff in the music education world. I don’t know any other teachers that are showing students how to set up a click and backing tracks, or going through all the extra “non-drumming related” gear they need to have on a gig. I’m going to lean heavily into that, and show audiences the behind the scenes part of the show.

One other thing that I intend on working more with this year is Artist Relations. Due to my background working as an AR Manager, and perhaps that I’m fortunate enough to officially endorse a number of prestigious instrument brands, I get a lot of calls from up-and-coming artists looking for advice. The last two years I took part in panel discussions and seminars at the NAMM Show discussing the topic. I think my fellow panelists and I were able to touch on a lot of good points about the mystery of the artist endorsement; however you can only do so much in an hour. I’m now making myself available for more in-depth talks on a one-on-one basis. Answering any questions artists may have about how best to approach a brand they wish to endorse. Covering what typical contrasts involve, and even do press kit and EPK reviews to help put them on the right track. This service is also available to brands that want to grow their market share by bringing in artists to endorse their products. Too often new companies pop up and are just looking to make a dent in the market any way they can. It’s difficult to get in with distributors, and proper marketing can be expensive. Building a good artist roster can be helpful in establishing your brand, but mistakes are often made, direct sales under the illusion of signing an agreement with an artist have become more and more frequent. Things like that can severely compromise the integrity of your brand, and spread negativity around the industry. I’d like to help companies avoid that through proper Artist Relations Management.

Anything else you would like to share?

I’d just like to say thank you for taking the time to let me rant! Hahaha. I’d like to invite all your readers to follow me on social media. I keep things updated daily and it’s the best place to find out when I’ll be coming to your town on a gig.

FaceBook & Instagram @livingdeaddrummer

Twitter @livindeddrummer

YouTube.com/masonni

and of course www.livingdeaddrummer.com

INTERVIEW: Nick Mason “The Living Dead Drummer” was originally published on RockRevolt Mag

#2020 #Living Dead Drummer #music #music magazine #Nick Mason #rock #rock magazine #Rock Revolt #Rock Revolt Magazine #RockRevolt #RockRevolt Magazine

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matchimatchi · 7 years

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Mattias Pilhede Interviewed by Darren Liang on Art

1) How long have you been drawing, and how did you learn how to draw? Were you self-taught or did you receive formal art education?

I did not draw at all in my youth. I always liked art but I was too afraid of drawing, scared that someone would see something bad I had drawn and laugh or judge me for it, but I was always interested in art. When I was around 22 I was walking to buy lunch during a break at work when I started thinking, man, is this all my life has become? Working all day and then going home to play videogames? Right then I decided that I would start doodling every day, and the doodles didn't have to be good, but I could look back on my doodles and remember what I did that day. Then over time the doodles became sketches, and around a year later I got my first critique and thought, wow, I think I want to take art seriously. So I started drawing every day. I never went to art school, but instead sought out different things on the internet. What the artists I looked up to recommended, forums for art and online groups for critique. I guess from that you could say self-taught, but I've sought out so many sources to learn from that I don't really see it that way. I just tried to find my own education.

2) What are the best instructional books or resources to learn the fundamentals of art?

If you tell a stranger to draw a hand, chances are they will draw five lines, like something for a stick figure. That's not what a hand looks like though, that's a symbol that exists in your head for what a hand is. Try to look at objects like your hand as if it was a foreign object you have never seen before. Judge it by it's weird shapes, it's forms, don't our fingers and nails look strange? Draw that.

For any absolute beginner, seek out "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Betty Edwards, it has a lot of good exercises that go into this. This is called proportions and form. I think it would also be good to start with learning gesture. Gesture is not focusing on the anatomy of someone, but the movement of things. It's like capturing the movement of someone with a stick figure, except it looks more classy. A great book for this is "Force" by Michael D. Mattesi. Everything has gesture, and it's a good way for what you draw to not look stiff. A common beginner mistake it to draw people standing straight like robots, but nobody stands like that unless forcing themselves to. For color, look up "Color and Light" by James Gurney. It's a master-class in color along with how to approach and think about color theory. Sometimes we approach color in the "logical" way that we have always understood colors, only to find that's not true. When putting grey with red it looks blue. When drawing shadows, most are actually blue and not black. In most cases things that are lit look colder, and dark areas look warmer. Color does not exist without the context of other colors, and everything in the world is basically a mirror reflecting light. It's really weird to think about. With anatomy, I recommend "Figure Drawing" by Michael Hampton.

Sometimes we want to jump straight into drawing like the people we look up to, but actually we can't draw like them until we understand things the way they understand them. All your heroes were not born with genius knowledge of how the human body works, they had to learn it too. If you don't feel like reading books I recommend the youtube channels Ahmed Aldoori, Proko, and Marco Bucci.

3) In what order should one learn the fundamentals of art? In what order did you learn the fundamentals of art?

You could learn it in a specific order. Gesture, construction, proportions, perspective, values, anatomy, color. However, as you start making art it won't really work that way, "completing one thing and moving on to the next". You have to keep making things that are interesting and appealing to you. Then you have to re-evaluate yourself and where your faults are, where do you lack the most knowledge? What can you do about it? You will never 100% know one topic, but you can keep improving your flaws by making new things and studying new things. As you patch up some mistakes, others will become more apparent that you had never considered before.

4) If you were to train me for 8 weeks for an art competition, and you had one million dollars on the line, what would training look like? What about for 2 years? What about for a decade? What would the daily training schedule look like?

I think first you would need a role for yourself. Are you a character designer? An environment artist? Storyboard artist? Concept artist? Or, what industry do you want to work in, videogames, comics, film? Sometimes we think "I want to be a great artist", but what does that mean? Do you want to have the best technical skill in the world? Do you want to have followers on social media? I think it's easy to get caught up in the artist world where artists obsess with the details other artists make, but the general audience doesn't really care. Along with that, chances are we didn't get into making art for the sake of amazing detail, but what the art communicated to us.

I think in this challenge, no matter the amount of time, you would both be trained in all of the fundamentals of art and in finding yourself. If you had all the technical skill in the world but no way to communicate it, people wouldn't care for it. Your communication or message doesn't have to be an epic saga like Lord of the Rings or a painting fit for a cathedral. I'm not saying it has to be the best thing in the world, just do what you care about. If more than anything you want to paint armored knights, or cute anime girls, then do it. Don't be an artist "making art for the sake of great art", be a person using art as a tool to show a character you always had in your head, a landscape you want to live in. Tell the story you always wanted to see; but no one else will ever do it, so now you have to.

In a very short amount of time, your training would probably be the fundamentals that can quickly show communication. Gesture, composition, then along with construction, values and perspective.

5) Even at a professional level, what is hard, and what are common mistakes?

I think a lot of professional artists get too comfortable and stop learning the fundamentals. You don't really reach a level with them where you have learned everything, you have to keep learning them as you go along. I'm guilty of it too, and I have a lot left to learn.

If you want to post frequently it can get tough once you work for film or game companies. You will have "non-disclosure agreements" where you can't post your art for a certain amount of years, and sometimes never. It can cause some confusion, does this guy still do art? Why does it take so long to post things? The social media feeds of a lot of artists just die out. It's hard to say what the most common mistakes are since there are so many of them and I have yet to learn from all of them. Don't undercharge for paintings or drawings. If you are charging less than what is worth your time, then you might as well be working in fast-food instead. Take everything in small steps instead of daydreaming about grand visions. Always be honest, people can smell lies.

6) What is the biggest mistake when approaching art? What is the biggest waste of time? A lot of beginners have odd attitudes to art. They think their favorite artists are god-like beings who were bestowed magical powers of talent. They weren't. They are regular human beings just like yourself, and that means that if they can learn to do it, so can you. A lot of beginners also get caught up with perfection, sometimes you have to relax, because you will never live up to the expectations that are in your head.

I also think a lot of people spend too long copying photos and copying favorite artists. Do you understand the structure behind what you are drawing? Would you be able to re-draw it from memory? Would you be able to draw it from a different perspective? Don't copy it, study it. You will fail a hundred times over, but each time you will improve. Don't give up because you failed, that's where most people quit. Every time you fail and try again, you are learning something new.

7) What separates a good artist from a great artist? I think what all good artists have in common is a foundation in the fundamentals of art. Anatomy, perspective, composition, etc. What makes a great artist is very subjective since it has to do with what they are using that to tell. My great artists probably won't be the same as your great artists.

I don't like a lot of modern or contemporary art, where someone can scream "I'm expressing myself" as they are throwing eggs against a wall. That's just terrible communication. What I often look for is storytelling, if I look at this individual character, landscape or illustration, can I place a story in it? Did the artist intend a story with it? Can I tell who the character is by what they are wearing, their posture or expression? Is there a calm atmosphere to the landscape, or is something happening? Do I relate to this character, or this mood? Things aren't simple. You will have to learn how to learn. You will fail a thousand times over. ... And yet it's pretty exciting.

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sams-sass · 4 years

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The Others pt. 1