There’s a lot of little back-and-forths that I really like in DOGSTAR. but I think the two pieces that I’m always like oh hey, I wrote that! Very soulmate coded are:
Andy, ch 1: I don’t think I believed you were really alive until I touched you today.
Eddie, ch 4: I think I was asleep until you showed up on my doorstep.
11: What do you like best about this fic?
I think my favorite thing is how therapeutic (?) it is for me. Reworking a story I’ve been living with for years feels really good. And it feels good to develop by OCs even more. I love my little guys! Can’t wait for you guys to meet Bill next!
Thank you for the ask! I’m glad you’re still invested in my lil story!
I don’t want to be friends, Steven thinks stubbornly as he shoves his cold hands into his pockets. He takes a step forward — frost frozen leaves crunch under his shoes, and Andrew inhales — and smiles.
“Hey,” Andrew begins, but he doesn’t say anything else, as Steven backs him against the door to his apartment complex.
“Hey,” Steven replies.
Andrew shivers, and Steven can’t tell if it’s due to the cold or not. His cheeks are pink and his eyes flicker to Steven’s mouth when he licks his lips and he chuckles, nervously. His arm bumps Steven’s — his hand brushes against the hem of Steven’s pocket, cold fingers brushing against the warmth of Steven’s wrist, and Steven flushes, feeling breathless, caught up in nerves and excitement and longing all at once. Steven ; to the sound of some distance car alarm, under the flickering yellow glow of the street lamp, he kisses Andrew.
The is a stuttering, heart dropping moment, where Andrew does not kiss him back. And Steven pulls away, terrified of what he’s done.
Andrew stares at him. His eyes dart from Steven’s face, to his lips, to their bodies nearly pressed together, and then up again. Steven opens his mouth, to apologise, to crack some joke, to say something — anything — and then Andrew is kissing him again. Soft and fleeting.
One of them giggles; Steven thinks it was probably him, but it’s hard to tell because suddenly their limbs are tangled together and one hand is braced against Andrew’s front door, and he is kissing Andrew, again and again and again, and Andrew is kissing him back.
Between MOTA running out of money and a movie like Argylle (which flop harder than a fish on land), Apple+ got budgeting/accountinf problem. For MOTA maybe it was the COVID situation, but the production wasn't handled well
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of eight people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out! 🤍🫂
love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of eight people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out! 🤍🫂
😩 this is so kind,,, thank you! oddly been a rough couple of days and this made me smile. <3 [perconte hugging web.gif]
I'm being greedy so both bot gene AU and the arthur/eams fic ☺️
be greedy by all means!! thank you for asking, love you love you!
excerpts below the cut bc things ended up getting kind of long:
bot gene au:
Babe pulled into the parking lot forty-five minutes before his shift was supposed to start. It was drizzling a little, a dreary night. Cold, for this early in September. Through the windshield, he squinted up at the tall building before him, an imposing abstract arrangement of metal and glass shapes. There was a big sign in front of it, composed of freestanding white letters.
Stanhope Nixon Labs and Research Center
The whole thing looked like one of those architectural renders, the ones with little stock three-dimensional people who didn’t cast shadows and didn’t look real. None of it looked real.
It was, though—his new life. A fresh start.
Baby steps, came Bill’s voice from the back of his mind.
He shook his head as if trying to shake the imaginary Bill that lived inside of it into silence. He checked the time again. Forty-one minutes left. Well, nothing for it—might as well show up a little early.
Inside, the lobby was shockingly clean and bright. The floors and walls were all the same dizzyingly shiny white. The kidney-shaped couches scattered throughout the space provided pops of color, lime greens and neon oranges, but simultaneously looked like they were not for sitting. It was all a disorienting contrast from the dark smudge of night.
“Hey, can I help you?” A short, dark-haired man in a dark security guard uniform was peering apprehensively over the tall counter of the front desk.
“Uh, hi.” Babe cleared his throat. “I’m—”
“Babe Heffron.” They both turned to see another man approaching them. “Bill’s friend, right?” He stopped in front of the desk and shook Babe’s hand. “My name is Carwood Lipton. I’m the director of operations here.” His round brown eyes searched Babe’s face for a few seconds, and then fixed him with a kind, knowing smile. “Welcome to Nixon Labs.”
The short man behind the desk cleared his throat conspicuously, and Lipton turned to him apologetically. “Frank, this is Babe, the new night shift security guard. Babe, Frank Perconte.”
Frank’s grip when they shook hands was firm and sporting. “Call me Perco,” he said, any lingering trace of suspicion gone from his face. “Well, seeing as my replacement’s here already, Lip, maybe I’ll scoot off early.”
Lipton’s laugh was good-natured. “Why don’t you hold down the fort while I give Babe here a tour.”
arthur/eames fic (collab with the one and only @gorgeousundertow!!! final title still loading)
Not fifteen feet away, Arthur stands glaring at the luggage carousel, still waiting. He doesn’t even blink when Eames slides up beside him, taking care to bump the wheels of his own suitcase against Arthur’s impeccable wingtips just to rub it in. “Fancy a drink?”
“I’m headed home,” Arthur replies, his gaze skating scornfully over a passing hardshell in a particularly violent shade of pink.
“Excellent,” Eames says, because that’s an even better plan, “there’s a speakeasy just off Bleecker that does marvelously creative cocktails—”
“You don’t know where I live.” Arthur pounces, with somewhat less than his typical grace, on a nondescript black Delsey that Eames is certain has already made its way round at least twice. “We don’t know each other. Remember?”
His tone brooks no argument. He’s busy sifting through his billfold, pulling out a perfectly creased boarding pass. Mentally, he’s already elsewhere.
“Ah well,” Eames offers sportingly, “worth a shot. If you’re ever in my neck of the woods—”
“Look after yourself,” is all Arthur says, and then he slips into the throng of tourists and tuxedoed chauffeurs and is gone.
