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Oh no! I see that there is a typhoon on the way to Japan with many flights canceled as a result. Will you be delayed in making it home to Iggy?
Thank you for asking! It should be well past by the time I fly :)
However, apparently the post-typhoon heat is gonna get up to 38 (about 100F), which my sunshine boy will LOVE, but everyone else who has to deal with it would probably appreciate your thoughts and prayers
Top 5 Fleetwood Mac songs
This is BULLYING and I am TELLING MY MUM
1. Silver Springs (any and all versions)
2. Rhiannon (especially live versions from the 70s where Stevie blows out her voice)
3. Go Your Own Way (I can’t believe I’m giving Lindsey Buckingham rights when I could be putting Gold Dust Woman here but THAT GUITAR SOLO)
4. Sisters of the Moon
5. Beautiful Child (it just...builds and builds and builds to something so achingly beautiful)
I hate you
stranger than fiction, pt. 1
pairing: darcy/steve (shieldshock)
rating: g (for now, at least)
it’s been (longer than) a while, but i’ve been working on a commission for @fudebusho! it’ll be at least 7,500 words in total, if anyone’s wondering.
for the record, the premise to this story was actually an idea of @littleplebe my love and muse, and all credit for the creativity goes to her. she’s the absolute best. also a million thanks to @zephrbabe for the alpha read--she’s the reason i’m posting part one now.
September 2013
With a heavy sigh, Steve slid his key into the door of his Washington, D.C. apartment. One slight turn of his wrist and he was trudging inside, kicking it shut behind him. He just couldn’t bring himself to care about the muddy print his combat boots left against the wood, dark and accusing in an otherwise pristine apartment.
Clean, and cold. The chill seeped into his bones, casting his thoughts into a dark spiral.
He missed New York. Brooklyn—even with its black-gray grime and crowded streets—was permanently fixed in his memory as warm smiles, honest people. Home. Home, and a century in the past.
“C’mon, Steve,” he chastised himself. “You’re never going back there. Gotta stop living in the past.” That’s what everyone was always telling him, anyway. Still, he found himself standing in front of the pictures of his old life—Peggy, Bucky—without ever giving his legs permission to move.
He reached out, hand shaking and heart breaking as it always did. Just before his fingertips could brush the glass, though, he found the strength to pull away. Turning his back on the past, Steve shook himself.
A shower, he thought. He’d feel better after washing away the sweat and grime of training another day away with the S.T.R.I.K.E. team. There was nothing wrong with him that a little steam couldn’t fix, surely.
It wasn’t until he’d showered and changed into comfortable lounge clothes (a major benefit of the 21st century, he’d readily admit) that he noticed the book on his bedside table. A garishly bright red bow was stuck to the top of it, and he wondered how he’d missed it on the way to his shower. From the bathroom doorway, he could see the letters SGR prominently embossed in gold lettering across the front.
He’d been alive (both times) long enough to be more than a little suspicious—but then again, he was in possession of more than one overly-sneaky teammate. And on that thought, he pulled out his phone and texted Natasha.
Do you know anything about the book in my apartment?
Her reply was immediate.
Well hello to you, too.
I saw you an hour ago, Nat. Do you?
I don’t know what you’re talking about, she replied.
Off-kilter as always when it came to the redhead, Steve waited. He wasn’t sure whether she was toying with him or genuinely didn’t know. One minute passed, then two, and just as his suspicion of the book was about to take over, his phone dinged.
It’s not from me, Nat said. The little dots signaling her typing appeared, then disappeared. Steve huffed in annoyance, ready to throw the damn thing across the room when it vibrated in his hand.
But if someone were to hypothetically have the ability to access surveillance of your apartment, they would reassure you that the book is nothing to be worried about.
All worries about the book disappeared from Steve’s mind.
Surveillance of my apartment???
…
Natasha. What surveillance of my apartment.
Outside cameras, from the street. Chill, Cap.
He dropped the phone onto the bed with slightly more force than necessary and stomped over to pull down the window shades. His phoned dinged once more, but he ignored it.
Hours later, frustrated and more exhausted than ever after thoroughly searching his apartment for bugs (he hadn’t found any, not that he’d really expected to; SHIELD far outclassed him in stealth and covert operations), Steve gave up and crawled into bed. It wasn’t until he reached to turn the light off that he remembered the cause of the whole fiasco in the first place.
He scowled at the book. “Well, let’s see if you were worth all the trouble,” he grumped, reaching over to haul it into his lap. With absolutely no ceremony, he opened it to a random page.
It was completely blank. With a deepening frown, he thumbed through the remaining pages. They were all blank.
“What a waste,” he groaned as he tossed it aside, remembering at the last second that it was most likely a gift from someone he knew and he should be gentle with it. Out of simple courtesy, if nothing else.
The lamp clicked off, glinting against the gold lettering as the light faded from the room. As Steve turned over and fell into a fatigued sleep, his last thought was at least I can use it to practice my sketches. If I ever have time, anyway.
(read more link here)
fudebusho replied to your post “I really wish sometimes that one of my brother’s special interests...”
I think that I still have a palm somewhere? Let me go dig it out. If it will work for your purposes you can have it free.
I’ll always take backups, but it’s also a stopgap measure. This is 2nd or 3rd one already, we need to help him understand that it’s okay to let go when something breaks. His single-game handhelds aren’t going to last forever either. Thankfully, he’s pretty responsive to emulators. Just not during a meltdown, which is understandable. Once it passes, we’ll talk with him about next steps.
7, 94
7. Do you have any pets?
i have two cats, mulder and scully. they are the cuddliest, neediest, snuggliest lapcats i’ve ever met! we’ve had various maintenance people over and they’re always amazed that my cats - especially mulder he’s in love with humans idk - will come up to them and try to hang out instead of running and hiding under the couch.
94. What are your strengths?
i can bake! no matter how complicated the recipe, i can make it work :) the secret is to show no fear. i’m convinced baked goods (especially sweet pastries) can sense fear.
Head Over Heels
for @fudebusho
Pairing: Darcy/Loki
Word Count: 1022
Prompt: ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears for Fears (1985)
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Link: Ao3
“Do you have plans after work, Ms. Lewis?”
Loki’s question hung there in the air around them. And it took Darcy a few seconds to realize that the ‘Ms. Lewis’ he was referring to was her. Loki, Thor’s baby brother (not so much ‘baby’ as ‘not-quite-so-ancient-by-earth-standards’ as Thor) wanted to know if she had plans after work.
What were words again?
“No,” she said bluntly, finally answering him and cutting through the tension with her machete of awkward. It was lucky that he’d approached her when she was alone at her desk. This significantly cut down on the level of awkward.
If her labmates weren’t two of the nosiest scientists in the entire world.
Jane let out a whisper of a sigh and Bruce resumed typing.
Or maybe she was just imagining that everything had stopped the second Loki spoke to her.
Maybe if he did it more often -- talked to her, that is -- it wouldn’t be such an earth-stopping event. But he didn’t.
She could count on her hand the number of words he’d spoken to her that day, actually...other than the query about her plans. Pretty much a ‘hello’ when she’d arrived and a muttered ‘excuse me’ when she had to move around him to get at the thing Jane was rapidly and vaguely fluttering her hands at.
Loki was supposedly the silver-tongued prince of Asgard...why wasn’t he using that tongue on her?
Oh god… she berated herself, in complete disbelief that she’d even so much as thought about that.
Well, not SO much disbelief. In addition to being silver-tongued, he was purportedly handsome. And Darcy could concur. So much concurring was happening. Oh holy hell, did the concurring happen.
But in all honesty? Darcy was a touch relieved that the younger Odinson -- was it Odinson? Thor still called him ‘brother’, but there was a little bit of cringing happening on Loki’s part whenever he did -- anyway…She was relieved that Loki didn’t speak to her as often as his nickname would imply. Mostly because he scared her.
Not in the ‘former-evil-genius-who-tried-to-enslave-mankind’ way...Thor had pretty much explained what all that mess was about. Not to minimize the horrible things he’d done in the slightest, but Darcy was around a bunch of people who seemed to have these horrific pasts and one of the best things about her was her ability to look past actions and into the person.
But she’d done that a little with Loki and he scared her for a different reason. The unbridled-wildness kind of way…
Not that Darcy hadn’t tamed a wild stallion or two in her day...but Loki seemed to be a different breed. He was one of those things Thor talked about all the time. A bilgesnipe.
Or maybe something a little less ugly. Did they have wild stags on Asgard?
“Would you like to?” Loki asked. Another question.
Damn, he was all for quadrupling his total spoken word count in her direction today, wasn’t he?
“To have plans?” she asked, totally delaying the inevitable, where he asked what she was pretty sure he was going to ask and she melted into a puddle of awkward on the floor.
“Plans...dinner...vigorous love-making...the choice is yours, Ms. Lewis.”
She could swear Bruce started choking. And maybe it was a coincidence -- dude didn’t seem to know the meaning of small sips when it came to piping hot tea -- but it didn’t seem like it.
She drew up her courage from somewhere deep within her. Somewhere deep. Like it was deep as fuck, you guys. Deep, deep down courage.
She tilted her head, saucily placing her hand on her hip. “I think if vigorous lovemaking is on the table, you should definitely call me Darcy.” She winked and added at the end for an extra punch of umph. “Lokes.”
He smiled. Which...up until this point, she hadn’t really seen in its final form.
Did she say she was scared? Scared wasn’t the word anymore.
Hopelessly giddy. That’s what she was.
Because Loki’s smile? In what she hoped was its final form? Was nothing but downright sexy. Dude had bedroom eyes for days. And cheekbones that went all the way, man. Whatever that meant? It was true.
She felt her cheeks flush hot and pink as she stood there.
“Darcy it is…” he paused for a moment before continuing. “I’d like to see you tonight…”
She was biting down on her lower lip to stop herself from grinning. “See me where?”
His eyes widened infinitesimally. “I would be forever grateful if you’d allow me to cook you dinner? If you’d allow me to show you the stars...the galaxies...worlds so much different than the one where you live...worlds that would hold you in the highest regards. Darcy.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe let’s start with dinner. At my place. I’ll help you cook. And… in response to the latter part of your statement...declaration...statlaration? I dunno if you’ve noticed? I’m held in some pretty high regards around here.” She cocked her head to the side with a smirk.
“Not high enough,” he countered.
Ah. There it was. The silver tongue. He wanted something.
And judging by the look in those eyes of his, that something was Darcy Catherine Lewis.
“Flattery will get you nowhere. A nicely cooked steak, though? That’ll win wars.”
Loki let out the breath he was holding and conceded. “Steak it is…” He squinted skeptically. “What sort of person doesn’t like flattery?” he asked.
“The sort who has heard enough of it to realize that it’s only rarely sincere. The sort of person who already knows all the bullshit you’re trying to tell me. I know what I am. I’m a hot, young, voluptuous woman. I certainly didn’t need you to fall from the sky and fill me in.”
He smiled again. Same smile as before. “I suppose that will save me a lot of time, then.”
Darcy couldn’t help but return the expression. He hadn’t gotten all butthurt and horrible. “I suppose it will.”
“Dinner at eight?”
“Not if you expect me to not eat anything beforehand.”
“Seven?”
“That’s more like it.”
Florida friends and mutuals! Stay safe! And let us know how you are doing if you can! ❤️❤️❤️
stranger than fiction, pt. 2
pt. 1
pairing: darcy/steve (shieldshock)
rating: g (for now, at least)
for @fudebusho
“You know,” Bucky began, stepping out into the gusting wind as he zipped his coat up to the bottom of his chin. His eyes were sniper sharp, never leaving Steve. Steve, who hovered a little too close to the balcony for his best friend’s peace of mind. “You know, I think being put on ice was the best thing that ever happened to us.” “What?” Steve asked sharply, pivoting on his heel to put his back to the Manhattan skyline. He couldn't remember what he'd been thinking only a moment before—now his brain was torn apart. Partly in confusion (Bucky wasn't with him and the tesseract when they froze, a little voice demanded), but mostly in disbelief (how could their experiences in this new century ever be justified—all they were was lonely and confused and lost). “Buck, I understand you wanna make the best of the situation, but how could you ever say that?” “C’mon, Stevie, how could I not? We both know where I'd be if SHIELD hadn't put me under for a few decades or more.” Steve shuddered, finally feeling the whip of the cold wind through his jacket. His mind’s eye was filled with a vision of Bucky falling from the train, of Steve not reaching him in time. It felt too real. As it was, Bucky had been uncomfortably close to death by the end of their mission. And that was before they discovered the extent of Hydra’s torture. “Sorry, Buck, I wasn't—” “No, I get it, punk. I thought the Feds were lying, just like you. That they'd put us under until we were healed or the world needed us again or whatever bullshit they said—I can't even remember anymore—and we’d just conveniently never wake up. Relics of an era everyone wanted to forget, witnesses to things they never wanted to see the light of day.” “Yeah, me too.” Steve grinned, even as he tried to rake a numb hand through his half-frozen hair. “Peggy never would've let them get away with that, though.” Bucky laughed, the sound carried away on the wind. It was loud and boisterous, and his eyes lit with affection as he thought of the feisty brunette. “You've got that damn right. She'd have strung them up by their drawers if they even tried.” He sighed theatrically, winking at Steve. “Too bad I never convinced her to give me a shot. It's a little too late now, though, isn't it?” Steve laughed, jerking his head toward the building to let his friend know he was ready to brave the indoors once more. He clapped Bucky on the shoulder as he passed, still chuckling. “Then or now or a hundred years from now, Buck; you still wouldn't have the proper… parts… to tempt Peggy. She's too good for you, anyway.” “Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said, following Steve through the doorway. “Let a fella dream, would you?” He elbowed Steve in the ribs as the door slid shut behind them. “Not that you ever seemed all that sad about it. Got your eye on a different brunette these days, huh?” “I don't know what you're talking about,” Steve lied. It would've been more believable if his shoulders hadn't stiffened at the implication, but then again he'd never been a good liar. Bucky hummed. “Sure. And if I were to think about asking a certain intern to dinner, you wouldn't care.” Steve opened his mouth to tell him that she was also too good for him—not that Bucky didn't already know that, the jerk, what with all the pining Steve had been suffering through for months, almost ever since they woke up in the future. He froze instead when he heard the low chuckle of the woman in question, who rounded the corner in front of them as if she'd been summoned. “What poor soul are you trying to torment now, Barnes?” she teased, tossing Steve a wink even as her lips turned up into a sly smile. “Be quick with a name, now, so I can warn the girl to stay far, far away from you.” “Who said it was a girl?” Bucky rejoined, answering her wink with a saucy one of his own. “It's a new century, haven't you heard?” “Good Lord, Barnes,” she laughed, “that makes it even worse. If you'll excuse me, I need to go make some flyers. Beware of Barnes—that sounds nice and catchy, doesn't it? I'll need to print as many as I can, now that I know no one’s safe from your attention.” Her laugh followed in her wake as she sauntered back down the hall, disappearing as quickly as she'd come. Bucky, still chuckling at the sheer nerve of the young woman, turned his eyes on Steve and laughed even harder. “Steve,” he gasped, bending at the knees to catch his breath, “are you just gonna hang out in the hallway all afternoon, or are you gonna pick your jaw up from the floor before someone catches on? Your crush on Miss Lewis would be visible from the moon.” Steve blushed, hard. “I—” he began, then had to swallow roughly and start over. “I don't have a crush.” There, at least his voice didn't shake. His jaw didn't even twitch. “Nah, you're right. My bad, punk. That's not a crush, is it?” Bucky stepped right in front of him, his expression sobering into a sincere mien. “That's love, Steve.” He clapped his still-frozen friend on the shoulder and continued on his way down the hall, not pausing even as he tossed over his shoulder, “And luckily for you, I'm pretty sure the girl feels the same way.”
read the rest on ao3.
kudos and comments make the world go ‘round.
