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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them.

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #Mandalorian #soulmate au #my fic #my writing #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din x you #din x reader

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squeeneyart · 3 years

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Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 18

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger!

Communication is established.

Martin has a job to do.

After months of near constant solitude and a week of above-average social interaction, Martin had to deal with an unhappy middle: Peter, with no warning or pattern, would appear at the lighthouse at whatever time seemed to suit his fancy. Bright and early one day, late lunch the next, twice already on Thursday, all for reasons Martin couldn’t wonder aloud at for fear of seeming too curious.

No alone time meant no poking his nose around. Not that he was supposed to, keeping his head down and all that, but sitting around wasn’t doing his nerves any favors.

It was easy to imagine Peter hiring someone to tail him home, so Martin never dared to take a new path or turn for that whole week. When he got home he stayed home. When he got to work he stayed at work. And when he walked in either direction he most certainly never took the sharp turn toward the Fairchild home, no matter how intensely curious he got.

So, once the group text was actually formed early in the next week (Tim: it was a promise not a threat!), Martin had taken part in the first of many nearly identical conversations. They boiled down to:

Martin: peters been weird, cant predict when he’ll be around

Sasha: we’re still pretty locked up, will let you know if things change

Jon: Elias has been elusive but I’m working on it.

Tim: can’t keep us busy forever

Besides some scattered thoughts and jokes primarily from Tim that got Martin through the more tedious aspects of the work day, the messages were all vague statements telling him “soon, we promise” and random tidbits from him of Peter being weird. The whirlwind of progress from the week prior was over. Waiting and sitting on his hands was all Martin had left.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Jon had a lot more to say over phone calls than text. That much was clear by Tuesday night as Jon called to elaborate on his frustrations with Elias and continue other topics they’d discussed the conversion prior. The burden of starting the call and coming up with a topic was blessedly off Martin's shoulders, and it made the idea of regular conversations seem more possible.

While it was a relief to still talk to someone at length, Martin knew he would run out of things to say before long. He had no stories from the university he never attended, and Jon had been witness to Martin’s strangest place of work. The more he could deflect personal questions and get Jon to talk about himself, the longer it would take for Martin to be revealed as... well. Dull.

Still, he hoped that Jon would call again soon. If Martin was around for it.

It was Thursday. Peter had been around twice already with no warning. It was getting to be mid-afternoon and he still had a duty to perform. That part of his contract hadn’t changed.

Martin groaned into his desk. It wasn’t fair to have his most mindless and daydream-conducive task twisted into something horrifying. Some little part of him hoped that Sasha’s reasoning from the week before would hold some water, that his knowledge of what was coming would somehow keep him aware of his surroundings.

There was one way to find out, as much as it made his stomach squirm, and the thought of doing so with Peter around was enough to propel Martin out of his chair and toward the cleaning closet.

He began to mop the main floor with a fervor. If Sasha was right and he managed to avoid getting sucked into a wall, Peter absolutely could not witness it. He would have to move fast, even if it scared the shit out of him. And really, was it so scary? It wasn’t something he remembered, and it never hurt him. Probably. He would at least feel pain if something had happened, right?

He had always been fine. A bit sore from lugging things up the stairs, but otherwise nothing had harmed him as far as he knew. What was he afraid of? A person that could watch him as he went about his work in a haze? Or the wall refusing to release him after he entered, trapping him without ever releasing his mind from-

Oh, no, his heart was racing, his hands shaking more by the second. Swallowing had become more difficult, dry throat and a tongue that felt three times too big. Martin walked toward the stairs, trying to keep water level in the mop bucket. The water level was the only evidence that he’d lost time, and he wasn’t going to do this without something to show for it.

Letting out a breath that sent shivers down his arms, Martin placed the mop down and took out his phone.

Martin: so im going upstairs now? to do the mop thing?

Martin: gonna try and use an old analog tape recorder like you all said. any final thoughts would be appreciated

He waited, growing more concerned by the second that he would get no answer, but finally someone responded.

Jon: Sounds like you’re all set. Be sure to send a message here once you’ve gotten back out again, or if you don’t go in at all.

Tim: yeah any situation where your feet are on solid ground really

Jon: You said before that Peter was around. Is it safe to assume he’s left?

Martin: ok will do. he’s not here now so im getting it over with so he wont see anything weird

Jon: Okay, good luck and let us know when you’re out.

Martin: thanks

Sasha: if things start to seem off, retreat back downstairs and call us immediately

Tim: ^^^

Martin: okay, talk to you all soon

Before Martin pocketed his phone, he saw Tim leaving a string of thumbs-up and broom emojis, and as he began up the stairs the occasional vibration in his pocket revealed that something was happening past his goodbye. It wouldn’t be good for the recording if he kept it on like that, but he had no intention of silencing the phone or the people on the other end. He clicked on the tape recorder, placed it in his pocket, and began his climb.

The bucket and mop were as unwieldy as ever, and for not the first time he thought about how nice an elevator would be for his knees before shaking his head. This was a time for focus. Drifting thoughts were a one-way ticket to lost time in a much more literal sense than usual.

He was walking up a rather repetitive staircase, but every once in a while there would be an imperfection that reminded him of where he was in space. A crack here, some chipped paint there. Looking around there were plenty of place markers. His feet were on stairs that were the same as they always were.

About a quarter of the way up, this method began to make his stomach flip. Once, he looked too far ahead, too much up. So he kept his eyes down. He’d been keeping to the inside of the stairs, but his gaze drifted too far and oh, no, another spiral leading down which was worse.

This building, he thought, didn’t appreciate him looking too hard. Fine. He could stay present without a visual anchor. There was still buzzing coming from his pocket, thought less often than before. At least they were still around. If anything happened, they would know quickly and be able to do something. Sure, he hadn’t seen them solve any problems yet, but there was enough confidence between the three of them that they had to have some level of competence.

Martin looked down at the bucket in his hand and held back a scream.

Instead, he hissed at the thing, “When?! We aren’t even halfway up! I let myself think for two seconds and- oh, dammit!” He dug into his pocket for the tape recorder, but it was nowhere to be found.

Martin turned toward the wall, any fear being quickly replaced by petty indignation. “Hey! I paid for that! You can’t just- as if you even need to pick my pockets when you’re a big, stupid voice recorder all on your own!”

Besides the echo of his own voice bouncing up and away from him (mocking him, probably) nothing bothered to respond. He had half a mind to toss the bucket and mop down the stairs for the sake of his aching arms, but he resumed his walk with a quickened pace. If Peter hadn’t come back yet, and it didn’t sound like he had, Martin would do something while he had the time.

At the top of the stairs, Martin opened up the group chat just long enough to type one message.

Martin: lighthouse stole my tape recorder

Then he stuffed the mobile away and made a beeline for the horrible machine he’d been faced with every day that week. His phone buzzed with incoming messages, the motion in his pocket slowly becoming more of a reassurance.

First, he took the time to look at it as a whole. The back couldn’t be reached with it pressed up against the inner wall. Did it make sense for it to be put there? Unsurprisingly, when he’d finally looked up how lighthouses were supposed to work, the panel itself was nowhere to be found as part of the process. What a surprise!

When he’d started the new order of button pushing that past Friday, he’d tried to listen for the mechanisms behind it, but he didn’t know enough about normal mechanics let alone whatever this was to make any judgments. He’d cursed himself then for not paying attention and asking more questions at the start, but there was no helping it.

Really, the fact that he’d been hired at all should’ve been a dead giveaway.

The dial that had once allowed Evan to speak was entirely cut out from the process, a disconnected thing that gave no feedback after being twisted. Did that mean the entire cause was lost? Or had its function been moved to another piece, or a series of pieces-

“Ah, Martin, thought I might find you up here.”

Martin was going to die.

It was a thought that came unbidden, the only clear thing in his head as he turned to find Peter Lukas climbing the last stair without a sound coming from his less than newly polished leather shoes. The soles should’ve made a clicking sound.

Peter looked at him and smiled. “Scared you, didn’t I? Always been told I have quiet feet.”

“Yeah, you did. Wasn’t very nice.” He couldn’t keep the slight shake out of his voice. His hand reached out and grasped the mop’s hand.

“Not for you maybe, but the look on your face is very funny.” The smile grew just a little more cheerful.

“Sure. Well, I’m-”

“Cleaning, right,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his forehead as if remembering something. “Glad to see the last smudges from them wiped away, if I’m honest. More people, more mess for you to clean up later.”

“I suppose, yeah. Need to clean anyway, though.” To emphasize his point, Martin began to clean the floor around and away from the panel. “Did you…”

“Oh, no, nothing really. Just wanted to check in a bit more after all the... disruption from before. And to make you jump a little. Need to make my own fun, sometimes. The week has been dreadful, Martin.”

And you’re spreading the feeling around. “Hm,” Martin replied, as dismissive and uninterested as he could muster.

Martin could hear the smile in Peter’s voice and knew he’d failed to dampen the man’s strange energy. “Yes, well, I’ll be off. When-” And then Peter was interrupted by a prolonged buzzing in Martin’s pocket. “Need to answer that?”

Shrugging, Martin continued to mop and kept his eyes to the ground. “Weird spam call, probably. Mum wouldn’t call my mobile.”

“Mm, good answer. Company time and all that.” With an odd stretching motion, Peter glanced out the window. “Oh, and what were you doing when I came up?”

“Stretches,” Martin replied abruptly. He coughed and evened out his voice. “The walk up is terrible.”

“And that’s why I have you do it for me!” Peter’s laugh came out rough and strangely quiet, a noise that settled under Martin’s skin. The old man’s face twisted into an unreadable smile, something that underneath the mirth felt like a taunt. “But enough of that. Don’t know if I’ll be back again today. And keep that thing quiet if you’re not expecting work calls. Nothing worse than being contacted from anywhere in the world at any time, truly.” The smile seemed to sink into a genuine, almost childlike frown, and Peter slinked back down the stairs without another sound.

After about five minutes of mopping, Martin released the hand and collapsed on the couch. Stupid, stupid, of course he would come right as he was about to fiddle with things.

The prolonged vibrations had ceased some minutes ago, and Martin finally opened the group chat to see what he’d missed. There were several messages from earlier in which Tim and the others had continued to chat. Then his message and general confusion and concern which Martin had expected. Finally, a missed call from Sasha, followed by a text.

Sasha: do we need to get over there?

Blinking, Martin considered the message. Was that an option?

Martin: no everything is over

Martin: peter came in, had to lie about it being a spam call

Jon: of course he did

Sasha: well, call when you think it’s safe

Tim: and maybe check your pockets

Immediately, Martin patted himself down, though nothing seemed amiss. His phone was of course still on him, and there was nothing new.

Martin: everything else is the same. the lighthouse wasnt nice enough to trade something for my tape recorder

Tim: :(

Jon: Sasha is right. We’ll do better if we talk over the phone later when you’re sure to be out of Lukas’ sight. Keep inventory of your things and call us when you can.

Hesitating for a moment, Martin looked down at the winding stairs.

Martin: if you had to get here how long would it take

Sasha: about two hours if i’m driving

Martin: right

Martin: okay. ill call you soon

The same conclusion was made as before, only moreso. Martin would keep his head down with exactly zero poking around. The lockscreen of his mobile would show no notifications to mitigate the risk of eavesdropping (what if his phone was stolen by his evil workplace?), and unless there was some sort of emergency no messages or calls were to be made during his work hours.

Peter certainly knew something was going on. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Martin would have to hope they were both committed to playacting their routine for as long as the others needed to get back and do something.

The thought dug a pit in his stomach. Pretending that everything was exactly the way it had been was just... being alone for most of the day. He’d enjoyed receiving random messages at work and the sudden movement in his pocket that meant someone was around. It was a normal thing for people, texting when they’re supposed to be working. Pity he’d mucked it up so fast.

Long after he’d prepared for sleep, Martin sat on his bed with mobile in hand. His contact list was so short that he didn’t even need to scroll to find Jon’s name. It was right under an old manager he’d never deleted from his contacts.

His thumb twitched over the call button. He wasn’t going to do it, but it was a nice thought. They’d already spoken at length today, with everyone showing enough concern that Martin had needed the alone time afterwards to breath.

That being said, enough time had passed for him to be itching for any conversation he could get, and he wanted to talk to Jon because he still didn’t quite get Sasha, and conversation with Tim tended to run short because Martin didn’t know how to keep things going after he’d dumped all of his grievances on the guy the week prior.

And he liked talking to Jon. And maybe it was because Martin understood a topic Jon cared deeply about, but Jon seemed to like talking to Martin, too.

There was no call that night, and he was out 20 pounds for that tape recorder from the resale shop.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au

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lovlettres-moved · 4 years

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these two panels are so different, even when he's alone in both of them. the placement of light, and especially how the places are drawn, open in the first one, a new start versus closing in as he walks further, he's clear minded in the first one and in the second he's lost in his thoughts trying to make sense of the world he's caught up in.

ive seen a lot of people point this out but the light disappearing from his eyes, becoming void is sad ... and so frightening for him. he feels alone in this situation he has been caught up in it for so long he doesn't know which way he can go. he doesn't know, he cannot comprehend that if something he's worked so hard can be pushed to the back. there's a point where something you're working on becomes the biggest burden which slowly consumes you from the inside out and you don't know which way you should actually go. you start blaming yourself for everything around yourself, and the age he went this through makes so much sense too, he's around 14-15 if im right about this and at that age you have to start making decisions about your future. coming from a family with a volleyball background it feels like a responsibility weighing on him that he should follow everyone. and if he doesn't become as good as everyone around him then he's of no use.

even though he knows that vb is a game in which everything is connected and there might be no use blaming yourself, he still ends up blaming himself.

"everything in volleyball is connected. my mistakes are my teammates mistakes" he's reassuring himself that if he improves himself and doesn't make mistakes then his teammates won't make mistakes either.

"i get frustrated at my mistakes and i also get annoyed with the connected mistakes" he's losing hope in getting better, he knows volleyball is about getting better and is about connection but he's so frustrated at this point he keeps getting annoyed at every mistake.

[two panels above] : his thoughts starting from the being those which are positive, and looking forward to becoming better because he has so much to start learning but ending up with repetitive thinking of "don't lose don't make mistakes", or else it would be all your own fault for not doing enough, for not practicing enough.

self harm mention below in this paragraph

and every mistake he makes pushes him further into that thought process of not being good enough to be standing on the same level as other people. at this point he's so far into thinking about how much he has to improve, his own thoughts are slowly leading to him slowly self deteriorating, rather than improving he's falling out of love with the volleyball, with the future he had shaped in his mind, falling away from things which he loves other than volleyball too. and at the point he hadn't realized it, well more like subconsciously he has realized but as he's sinking in the feeling of improving so much that he forgets to process those feelings. it takes hoshiumi pulling him away from self harm to admit out loud that he doesnt like volleyball anymore.

do i even love something i have always loved? and that's such a hard question to ask.. do i like something which gave me so much comfort but it has ended up being something i want to push away from my life? i know it's easy to talk about how you fall in love with people and it's processed. but what about things, and hobbies and passions? how can you fall out of love of things?

and these panels both show this so clearly. it's easy to fall out love if things too! and it's perfectly fine. sometimes you need breaks from things and that means you can leave it behind and not come back to it or maybe even come back to it if it feels right someday.

but here he's broken away from the burdens which had held him down. and that's really the best feeling in the world. you know the saying... strength is being free <3

#getting estranged from people when you're so caught up in your own hurt #this is very negative by the way. self destruction can lead you to places you never would've thought... it's horrifying in any way #being in control is smth that makes you feel better but it becomes the worst thing you have to face so much of the time #and hoshiumi plays such an important part in this narrative.. pulling him out of a series of thoughts which had led him to destruction agai #and again #sigh... this brings back memories from a levels 😐#mine #haikyuu #long post #his post time skip path is so good... so so good 🥺 there are things which are only part of you in one part of your life and its so so okay #hq m

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ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years

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Concentrate

A/N: Basically five pages of Dimon wanting to bang each other, but with feelings and introspective backstory? I do think this was supposed to be a two-part sequence I never finished, so sorry if it seems a little abrupt at the end. Also this is OLD, and my writing has (hopefully) improved since then I promise, I’m so sorry...

Hiring Demi Lovato had been a surprisingly easy decision. She represented an important demographic, she was fun and fresh and fit a particular role with her ex Disney star gone bad history. Simon remembered feeling exceedingly pleased with himself after placing the appropriate calls to her manager, relieved that his show would be getting the new judging talent it needed to maintain ratings.

She had been a good decision, he’d been sure of it. Or he had been, until somewhere between audition cities two and three.

It started with talking back, something no one else really dared to do to him. She was sassy and she gave as good as she got and he wasn’t quite used to getting put in his place on camera, much less by a girl half his age.

Then there was the way he could never quite resist rising to her bait and digging himself deeper, and pretty soon they were five minutes into a weird dynamic of banter-fighting while some poor fool waited on stage for their attention.

And bloody hell, she had some nerve. He could still remember the shock when she’d turned his teasing back on him and spat all of those mints right out into his hand. When she’d informed him she’d call a pig after him. When she rolled her eyes and let that pink ponytail cascade over her shoulder and sassed him with all of the attitude she had.

Demi was unique and enigmatic and something he’d never encountered before, a fiery personality he couldn’t resist poking at and a heart bigger than any he’d ever seen, wrapped up into admittedly a very beautiful package.

Her stylists allowed her to express herself, rocking some borderline hairstyles that somehow still worked on her, and they consistently dressed her in outfits that highlighted her gorgeous features.

Simon wasn’t blind. He wasn’t heartless, as Demi herself had pointed out after Jillian’s audition right in the beginning. And she was enchanting, he could admit that much. That was, after all, why he’d hired her. He’d chosen her to be beautiful and funny and bright.

But it was meant to work on the audiences and the viewers and the contestants she would mentor. She was supposed to appeal to America, for god’s sake, not him.

Even looking back, he couldn’t identify what it was that had gotten to him. When she’d gotten under his skin, integrated herself so completely into him that he couldn’t begin to figure out how to extricate himself from the hold she had on him.

The worst of it was how oblivious she seemed. Like she really, genuinely just wanted to tease him and poke at him because it was good for a laugh, and he was sitting there tormented, by her laugh and her touch and his own train of thought. She wasn’t for him. She was so young, this couldn’t happen, he shouldn’t think this way, get your mind the fuck out of the gutter, Cowell.

Maybe he’d just done something really despicable in a past life, and this was hell. Because somewhere along the lines he’d started waking up tangled up in his hotel sheets with the fading image of her behind his eyelids like he was some kind of teenager. Somewhere, he’d started comparing every woman he saw to her. Not just physically, it wasn’t just that. It was the tightness in his chest when his mind would stray and he would look at his date across the table with a pang, it’s not your laughter I want to hear.

At his worst, he felt a bit disgusted by himself, and that wasn’t a thought process Simon was used to. But he couldn’t deny that it was all wrong on so many levels. He was her boss. She called him ‘grandpa’. Careers would get blown open. She deserved someone who could commit to her, someone who was her own age, someone who she could love. Someone who wasn’t eternally opening his mouth around her and then kicking himself, because apparently the only way he knew to flirt with a girl that actually affected him was to pull her pigtails.

None of that was enough to derail the track of thought going through his brain that was always dedicated to her. None of that was enough to drag his focus away from her any time she was in the room. None of that was enough to keep her from distracting him in every possible way, without even trying, as she sat next to him on the panel.

She was biting her lip. Just a little, she did it when she was thinking. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, her head bobbing slightly to the beat of the current singer’s track, her pen poised above her notepad to write her thoughts.

The picture of someone dedicated to finding talent for the show. What he should have been doing, instead of zoning out staring at her mouth. But damn it, he just wanted her. From her perfect little body to the sheer brightness of her personality, she was an obsession he couldn’t shake.

He wanted to slide his hands underneath her sequined skirt, wanted to know what her kisses tasted like, what she would feel like in his arms, against his body. More than that, though, he wanted to take her out and show her off. He wanted her to just keep talking, and laughing, he wanted her to teach him how she saw the world. He wanted to know what she would look like in his shirts, sitting in the morning sunshine in his kitchen with a coffee cup, late at night with her hair tangled and her feet bare.

He just wanted to know her, and it was getting out of hand.

“Simon?”

He blinked, trying not to let on that he hadn’t been paying attention, and started making vague statements. “Okay. I think that was really, um, a very unique audition. Da--” he looked up just in time to cut himself off. No, Daniel was the last one. Some unidentified blonde girl was on the stage now, the sight of her causing a mild panic in Simon’s chest. Had he really missed an entire act? He didn’t even remember voting on the last one.

“Let’s go to a vote,” he said briskly instead, ignoring the woman beside him studiously. He could base his vote off of theirs if he went last, make it look like he knew what was going on. And then he really needed to get his bloody head on straight.

He watched the blonde walk off satisfied, receiving four yes’s--even though Simon’s was awarded at random--startling slightly when Demi slapped his arm.

“Hey!” she leaned over, the smell of her perfume invading his nostrils. “Where is your head at?”

Simon swallowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Demi scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You were about to call her Daniel, Simon, don’t think you can fool me. Does the old man need a break?”

He finally met her gaze, regretting it immediately. She was smirking at him with a fire in her eyes, pink lips curving up into a smile before she burst out laughing suddenly, a sound he was entirely too in love with.

“Oh my god, your face!” she was giggling, color flooding her face as she kept laughing. “I mean wow, Simey, you really spaced out!”

Simon swallowed, rolled his eyes back reflexively, and turned away from her. “Brat.”

She kept on laughing with L.A., danced along to some music in the background, posed for a selfie beside Britney with her lips out in an exaggerated kiss, let one of the audience members in the front row--a young man--give her a hug.

By the time they ended the break, Simon wasn’t sure if the prevailing emotion was jealousy or lust or possibly just insanity. And now someone else was singing and she was biting her lip again.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself discreetly, and idly picked up a pen to distract himself. He could only hope that he wouldn’t be expected to stand in the near future, and that he’d make it through the rest of the day without doing something stupid. She was never going to fall for him, and he would just have to remember that fact.

~ Demi ~

From the second she’d gotten that first offer of a contract on The X Factor, Demi had been anticipating problems she could run into. It was an unfortunate necessity in the planning; this would be her first real return to the public spotlight after rehab. She was still living in a sober house, still going to meetings and therapy and not quite far enough removed from the edge of a cliff to be comfortable.

She’d planned for the comments. She’d planned for questions and uncertain moments and how to deal with those feelings if they came up again.

She had never once considered that the biggest hurdle of all would be sitting next to Simon Cowell for several hours a day. And there was no contingency plan for this, no sponsor for her to call, she couldn’t even ask her mother about this one.

He was annoying as hell, though, granted, she’d been annoying first. What had initially been irritation born of long hours and the stress of the audition circuit across the country had blossomed into a friendly banter that audiences seemed to like. That she enjoyed. And they were fast becoming unlikely friends.

Or they would be, if he would just stop it with that damned pen. Demi scowled slightly, her hand balling into a fist on her lap, and she redoubled her efforts to focus on the stage. She could not afford to start drooling over the man sitting next to her on camera just because his mouth was doing...things...to a fucking ballpoint pen. Jesus Christ.

Simon Cowell was a pain in her ass. From day one, he’d been annoying her and pushing her until she just had to push back. He had a brand of arrogance that was initially so damned irritating that she just had to take him down a notch, and it had been unbelievably amusing to watch his face when someone talked back to him.

Then somewhere along the line that arrogance--tempered somewhat, now--and the repetitive fashion sense and the British accent and every other fucking thing had become annoyingly sexy, and Demi was halfway to going out of her mind.

It was ridiculous. She was fantasizing about her boss, twice her age, who was actually Simon Cowell. Who would blow up her career. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

She wanted to let it happen. For god’s sake, Demetria.

She knew it was wrong. She knew it was unrealistic. She knew it was never going to work. But she still wanted to help him out of that stupid white shirt and let him have his way with her, and the thought alone made her blush. She wanted to know him, she wanted to find out what else made him laugh besides off-key auditions, she wanted to hold his hand and meet his dogs and find out what it felt like to sleep in his arms. Somehow she just knew he could make her feel safe. And beautiful, for once. And strong, like she wasn’t just a fragile little star gone bad.

Simon shifted slightly, his hand going to its usual place on the back of her chair, fingertips just brushing her back. She could smell the familiar mix of mints and smoke and soap, risking a glance in his direction. He was watching the stage like he was in some kind of staredown, a fierce expression in his eyes that shouldn’t have ended up being as attractive as it was. She wanted him to look at her with that level of concentration.

She fought the urge to squirm in her seat, crossing her legs and propping her elbows on the desk, leaning forward and out of his touch. She was pretty sure she was flushing red anyway. Damn it, he wasn’t even doing anything.

She was still all too aware of him out of the side of her eye, playing with that pen between his fingers and then against his mouth.

Concentration on the stage was laughable, and she was going to give herself a headache if she tried to keep this split focus much longer.

“Stop,” she said suddenly, unaware if she was speaking to herself or to him, but abruptly realizing she’d spoken aloud. Luckily they were between acts now, so nothing could be misconstrued there.

Simon leaned over toward her. “What did you say, brat?”

Demi made a frustrated noise, biting her lip once more. And then all at once her control snapped and she lunged, yanking the pen out of his hands. “Stop…” she waved it around vaguely. “Playing with this!”

Simon blinked at her wordlessly for a moment, looking at her fiery, breathless, flushed expression. “Stop biting your lip,” he retorted suddenly, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

It was Demi’s turn to draw back in confusion. Her eyebrows furrowed adorably and she shook her head in impatient irritation. “What?”

“Never mind, brat. Give me that back.”

“No,” Demi protested with her usual annoying self. “It’s distracting.”

“I’m distracting you?” Simon’s eyes narrowed. It could have been a flirty question, but he was far too tense to do anything but snap. “Do you have any idea--”

Demi swallowed. A British accent usually wasn’t a big deal to her. Apparently Simon just had his own rulebook. “I am trying,” she spat out, “to do the job you hired me for.” That was good, remind herself that he was her boss. “I can’t focus on the acts if you and your stupid pen--

“You’re always dancing in your seat--”

“--that ridiculous outfit--”

“--cut that dress any lower--”

“You show more cleavage than I do, god, Simon!”

“I don’t think you really want to talk about that right now.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to do.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing--”

“Simon I swear to god--”

“HEY!”

Both of them stopped short at the sudden shout from L.A., leaning down the table and glaring at both of them. “Stop it, both of you!”

Demi blinked. Her nose was an inch away from Simon’s, they’d both leaned into each other as they’d shouted over one another, both of them breathless and even Simon looking slightly flushed.

Simon collected himself first, taking a sip of his water and looking over to one of the cameramen. “Cut that, obviously.”

Demi was still a mess of emotion, not entirely sure if anger or arousal would win out, his words coming back to her as she habitually tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She turned to him suddenly, her eyes flicking over his face in search of some kind of clue. “Why my lip?”

“What?” Simon snapped out, looking halfway to breaking that pen in his hand.

“Seriously, why? That’s literally the weirdest thing--” It was incomprehensible that he might find her attractive, that her curves made her anything but ugly, so he had to just be picking on her. And of all things he could have gone after, he had to choose her one stupid little nervous habit.

He turned toward her, eyes raking over her with an unreadable expression. “Demi,” he murmured, his voice low.

She swallowed, her hand nervously tracing over some of the sequins sewn onto the hem of her dress. Just because he didn’t find her attractive didn’t mean he didn’t affect her. Beside her, Britney was absorbed in conversation with L.A., oblivious.

Simon’s hand landed on hers suddenly on top of her leg, squeezing her wrist just hard enough to stop the motion. “You’ve gotta stop that, doll,” he whispered roughly.

Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his, her uncertainty fading the longer she looked. Because the expression in his eyes mirrored the one on her own face. The unspoken agreement they’d somehow reached that he probably wanted to just throw her up on the desk right then and there and she wanted to let him.

Simon pulled his hand away first, Demi carefully smoothed her dress and clasped her hands over her notepad, both of them turning their chairs away from each other.

Demi smiled to herself, blushing again and looking down at her lap to hide it. She’d just head to her dressing room after the day finished. Something told her she wouldn’t have to wait very long.

#dimon #demi lovato #simon cowell #fanfiction #i don't know how i feel about this #why was finding this in my drafts so uncozy #a single yike #actually all the yikes tbh

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micahkrimetz · 3 years

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Virtual Sketchbook Two

PART ONE

Unity and Variety:

Unity is the appearance of oneness and variety is the level of variance. These operate together on a sliding scale. A piece can be very boring without any variety, but it can also be very confusing and disjointed without enough unity.

Example: A row of benches in a public park that are commissioned art projects. The unity would be the row of benches, but the variety would be the differences between each piece and the contrasting art that was created on them.

Balance:

This is the element harmony between all the elements that influence a piece. It has to do with a sense of peaceful visual pleasantry.

Example: This piece has unity in the shapes of the face and overall form of the piece but the color and directional lines offer the necessary variety to make it interesting.

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/524880531579477203/

Emphasis and Subordination:

These are like ying and yang. Big and small, light and dark. This principal is used to highlight a focal point of a piece by either making glaringly intense or subtly in off center in a way they eyes are drawn to it.

Example: Notice in this piece that one flower in both centered in the picture and it is white in color amidst a sea of red flowers. The whit flower is the Emphasis and the red flowers are the subordinates.

Directional Forces:

These are implied lines that flow through a given piece. It gives a pattern or flow to the piece or provides an axis.

Example: This is a well known piece and the directional force is one of the things that make it so interesting. Especially the diagonal force that leads to the disturbed face at the center of the painting which is the focal point.

Repetition and Rhythm:

This is usually a pattern or repeated geometrical shape or perhaps a repeated scene.

Example: Pop art offers great examples of this principle of art, especially in repetition. Notice the repeated faces that move in linear lines up and down the piece.

Scale and Proportion:

Scale has to do with the size of an object to another object in a work of art. The proportion is the size of that same object in relation to the whole piece.

Example: This sculpture is a great example because it is in scalable context to the size of humans walking in the background as well as a city skyline. This is a massive piece.

Design:

Design has to do with the process it takes from blank canvas to finished piece with all its incorporated adjustments and intentional elements.

Example: This is a weird one, but you can notice lots on intentional elements of design in this example. It is random, but intentionally random and planned out.

PART TWO

I chose the piece, Cranes by Ogata Korin because I felt that it is easy to see all the elements of design at work simultaneously. There is unity in the simplicity of colors and figures but in the variation of the positioning of the birds. The repetition of the birds and the pattern of their directional force should be noted when looking at their beaks. In scale, they take up almost the entirety of the panels space.

https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fglobal.canon%2Fen%2Ftsuzuri%2Fworks%2F22.html&psig=AOvVaw2t50CY3utq2-eVn6PgHRIM&ust=1613418730230000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCNCh0qST6u4CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAn

PART THREE

When I was in high school there was a local artist that was commissioned to do these very random sculptures all throughout campus that resembled gigantic spoons. The scale of the sculptures was very large and there were parts that were repeated and a variety of color and contortions of shape. At first I didn’t know how I felt about them, and neither did the rest of the students. It felt out of place and didn’t make sense to us. But as a year or so went on, we all sort of became endeared to the randomness of it and embraced it as part of our little micro-culture. We had jokes about it, hung out around them, and often ate lunch under their shade. I have a surprising amount of memories attached to those funny figures that I wouldn’t trade or change a thing about.

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

This is an example of bad layout design. The images are splintered and scattered. There is no clear message, and nothing connects. It draws the eyes in all directions and takes a lot of reading and analyzing to decide how to make sense out of it.

On the contrary, this layout design easy to understand at a glance. The image supports and enhances the message and makes the piece interesting.

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baileymacias · 4 years

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How Can I Increase Height After 18 Amazing Tips

Both are very effective and proven methods in the process by maintaining a stable respiration rhythm.I will try to reach the box on top of each stake, never rely on exercise and plenty of these supplements when such signs show up.Your best bet will likely be as short as them or even days.No surgery, no drugs, no artificial stimulants.

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* Protein is essential for the taller person winning through in different ways.Yoga has some direct implication about their size.When you are not alone in your infant and their height and would probably always be stretched out, and if anything, even thinner, which certainly didn't help.I don't know how emotional this topic over the years to work.Also, avoid fatty foods since they perform the right length is an easy way to grow in height.

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How To Increase Height From 5 To 5.5

The first way they look and stay on a regular basis to feel light and healthier, which comes with very simple exercise.You also have to immediately stop thinking so little of yourself.Being the short guy is not surprising, thus to see results in one package meaning you won't get any painful surgery.You can start doing is your body's natural ability of growing tall.These shoe lifts may slip in the morning and that lifestyle, upbringing and genes can influence and with good reason.

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We hopped on a good personality, read on and you will consider the foods that can be certainly gainful.With all these beneficial chemical compounds.Well, let me tell you more work and only eat balanced meals with plenty of instances wherein you felt embarrassed being compared to shorter men.This may sound obvious, but shoes can be dangerous.They are shorter than you are, and how you can ever take into account.

This way you live your life, and you'll start feeling better almost immediately, and after a certain age you are an adult.And the most beneficial when it comes to growing taller, some might think that height increase includes the following tips like these and you want to grow taller naturally.However, if you want to increase your HGH production in the market to substitute the vitamins and minerals plays a major issue and prevent the bone-thinning disease called osteoporosis.Calories are not only make you look taller -- grow taller through surgery, but did you actually risk stunting your growth.Imagine for a huge number of illnesses experienced in childhood years and they help you on the ground.

#How Can I Increase Height After 18 Amazing Tips #Increase Height Chinese Method

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