#and rather than do the literal bare minimum like reaching out to her family

[mdhwrites]

Is Belos the only Owl House villain with a fandom that's giving him more depth than the show?

Edit: I just noticed that you said TOH villain specifically. *smacks self* But also Kikimora exists... Or literally any fanfic about the S1 villains probably. TOH has a lot of dry puddle villains when it comes to depth. As someone who literally ever did King Sombra fiction for the My Little Pony, no. No it is not. In fact, I actually highly doubt that it's really that uncommon. A lot of pure evil villains will be warped and shifted as they hit a fandom so that they are more useful for shipping or can be more complex in their villainy than what was shown in the show. After all, when you start from rock bottom, it's hard to really not go up.

I think the big thing about Belos that makes him bizarre is that where as a lot of other fandoms will just agree that the villain was shallow, the fandom is split on him. There are those like me who believes he's incredibly bland and doesn't care about his backstory elements because, you know, backstory is not a personality. A boring character with an interesting backstory is still a boring character.

There is a side of the fandom though who are REALLY upset about Belos' treatment in the finale because of all those crumbs of backstory that they see as what could have been. Hell, because people linked me a recent review of TOH, I saw people in the comments effectively being split on the reviewers main complaint about the show being that Belos is just bluntly, boringly evil. Some thought he was right on the money, others talked about the shortening and some argued that he was actually complex, you just had to dig for it. (No I won't link the review because of issues surrounding the person who made it. It's also pretty bare bones anyways and what you'd expect from a 12 minute, positive review of TOH.)

This is demonstrative of the issue with Belos though, isn't it? Compelling concepts that are all in service for someone who can be boiled down to "Narcissistic, genocidal, racist moron." Someone betrayed by family who abandoned him and his loneliness and pain lashed out upon the world? A ruler who believes that the oppression of his own people is for their own sake due to religious fervor? A human who believes the other world to be a hell that he must crusade against? Each of these is actually not a bad concept on its own but they're not all compatible together. Maybe any two can do it but these are only three of the like half a dozen concepts you could read into Belos through his backstory and actions, minimum, and pretty much all demand that he actually have more than two braincells together because he is really rock stupid. Remember: He never planned for how to murder the children of the Isles, only the adults. In fact, he made sure to ADD protections on the children rather than making it more dangerous for them which could have led to an actual decline in population.

I will always prefer how Belos presented himself in S1's finale, a portrayal that does NOT work with his actual goals. His statement of "I do not seek conquest, only unity," is just bullshit. Murdering an entire race isn't unity after all. Also why bother lying to the human here? Why not try to get her on your side? Be honest with her? Or trap her so as to make sure not to allow her to backstab you like your brother? I know people say time loop stuff but he is still trying to convince her to work with him and is disappointed when she refuses, while also MURDERING LILITH which is a bit of a big deal if he actually remembers them after so long, so I don't buy it.

That portrayal has always been my favorite though because it makes Luz and Belos have similar goals but differing ideologies for reaching those goals. Belos believes that unity can be found through order and control, even if it restricts expression, while Luz promotes radical expressionism and the idea that it is our differences that make us stronger. It's great theming and makes it so that anytime Luz doesn't make a friend because they're simply too different, she has to question if he's potentially correct.

But then the show does the weird decision that each characters individuality, besides one or traits, is slowly eroded away over the course of the show. Everyone is just a nice person. You get a jock added eventually with Willow but that's about it. You don't have anyone overly serious, minus when Hunter is putting up a front and defaulting to trained behavior, you have no goths, punks, pure balls of sunshine who are annoying, etc. like that. Not amongst those that the show doesn't frame as mostly a joke, like how Lilith's hyperfixations are treated.

It's an awkward element of the main cast that makes Belos as the grand villain really awkward. You can't have a villain who is still seeking unity like that without him potentially being able to point out how those around Luz have lost their personal desires and goals, their interests, besides Willow (and kind of Gus with his human interest that is still... awkward to put it mildly), and so genuinely how different are their methods when she isn't as inclusive as she claims to be?

Even Kikimora, perhaps the most alternative person when compared to Luz's comfort zone, is only brought into Luz's range when she presents herself as capable of being a strawman for Luz and Luz gets an in to say "Look! She's a person! At least in my eyes." Before, you know, she ditches Luz to continue to be ambitious and care about her own goals, evil as they may be.

I've gotten kind of off topic but I guess my main point is to also discuss how you get a villain like Belos to some extent. I can absolutely like a pure evil villain btw. I don't think Ozai is a detriment to Avatar as his pure evil nature matches the fact that the war he is committing is just as much a force of nature, destroying the land, as it is some asshole's desire to conquer, capstoned not with his fight against Aang but his literal attempt to annihilate a CONTINENT. At that point, your goal isn't conquest, it's total destruction. A literal scorched Earth.

But Belos? Every attempt to pretend Belos was nuanced or the like just brought him lower and lower.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

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#emperor belos #toh #The Owl House #the owl house criticism #toh critical

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction - BONUS MOMENTS

Surprise!!! I'm back with a select few bonus #bamelia moments!! I just couldn't let the love story of Ben and Amelia die, I hope you don't mind. Love Always, Steph xx

PSA: To all new readers, you don't have to read the series (link below) to understand this, however it would help so that you can understand the preconceived emotions behind the chapter!

Champions Again | di nuovo campioni

warnings; none word count; 1865 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. link to fic masterlist here

They had done it, again. The Chelsea boys were lifting their second team trophy for the year, they had just won the Supercup. This was Amelia’s first competition final with the Premier League giants and if she had her way, this wouldn't be last. She was beginning to get addicted to the feeling of winning, of proving to every little girl out there and every sexist male she had ever come across, that anything boys can do, girls can do better. She was letting her results speak for themselves, she was making history and there was nothing that could bring her down from the ninth cloud she was currently riding.

As proud as she was over her own achievements, she was equally as proud of her friends. Whilst she wasn’t part of their Champions League victory, she knew that this moment was just as special to the team that just loved to win. The scenes before her were ones she hoped she would never forget - the look on Jorgi’s face as he lifted his third trophy of the last few months, the crinkles beside Mason’s eyes as he grinned at the camera that was desperate to capture every moment of the evening, the tinge of pink on the apples of Ben’s cheeks as he stood with his hands on his hips while he watched Amelia give her first post-match tactical analysis to the Sky Sports reporter - proud that she was his girl. These were the moments that made Amelia forget all of the hard times, or rather made her realise that all of the hard times were worth it to see her friends, her team, her man smile.

With every great victory comes an even greater after party, and even though the Super Cup final coincided with the start of the season, the boys still believed that they deserved an afterparty to celebrate. Captain Cesar Azpilicueta had kindly offered the grounds of his Surrey home to host the bunch of rowdy boys, and their onslaught on mates and partners on the Sunday afternoon between the Super Cup final and the first match of the Premier League 21/22 season. Whilst they were under strict instruction from the higher powers of Chelsea Football Club (namely; Thomas Tuchel) to keep the drinking to a minimum and to keep themselves out of trouble, the boys were allowed to be boys for one more night.

______________________________________________________________

“Benj, what are you wearing? I don’t know if I should wear a sundress or denim shorts! Please, I need help!” I shouted out to Ben who was currently somewhere in his large house.

“Why would my outfit be able to help you with that decision” I could hear his voice getting closer, his footsteps getting louder as he began to ascend the stairs up to the main bedroom that I had slowly started to take over in the last couple months.

“An opinion is all I’m after - stop being cheeky mate” I shoot back at him as I begin to stand up from my place in front of his wardrobe. It was still his wardrobe, he hadn’t asked me to move in yet so it was still technically his even if it was half full with my clothes. As I got to my feet, I turned to see him leaning in the doorway with his arms and ankles crossed over each other. Wearing a tee shirt and some denim shorts himself with a cap covering his ungelled hair - a request from me because it was much easier for me to run my hands through if it wasn’t laden with gel...and because it gave me an excuse to push it out of his face whenever I felt like it (which was often).

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed in that outfit to be fair, however, that would also mean we would be skipping this afterparty altogether and be spending the afternoon celebrating in an entirely different manner” He states staring at me while I’m currently standing with my hands on my hips, staring at the shorts and tank top combo I have laid out on his bed - again, his bed not ours - he hasn’t asked me to move in yet so it was technically his even if it did have the new bed sheets I purchased a couple weeks back with the matching throw cushions on it. The barely-there outfit that I was currently sporting and that had him licking his lips as he pushed himself off of the doorway to walk to me and wrap his arms around my body from behind was a bralette and a pair of his Chelsea shorts.

“Ok sorted, you’re in denim shorts so I’m going to wear mine too. Done ok move get off me I need to change or we’re going to be late” I exclaimed as I pushed him off me with my hips. A bad move? Absolutely not. I got to feel all of him against me and remind him of what he gets to come home to every evening, if he choses.

“Wow what's the rush now Mils? Why are you walking around like you’ve got ants in your pants?” He questioned as he tightened his grip on me and turned me so I was facing him, looking up into his curious baby blues.

“And don’t say nothing, I’ve picked up on all of your tells already” He further questioned as he could see the wheels begin to turn behind my eyes, desperate to come up with an excuse to mask my jitters so I wouldn’t have to tell him the truth.

“I regret ever letting you become friends with Fede, he’s spilling all of my secrets...Ok fine. I’m nervous to see Jack. I haven’t seen him since...ya’know and I haven't spoken to him since I gave him a telling off before international break and Ben I promise you I haven't thought about him once but I’m still worried that there's unresolved anger there from him and I don’t want to get into it again just when we’re getting back into the groove of us and it’ll impact your friendsh-” my rambling was cut off by his lips, which were simultaneously reminding me to breathe between my words and leaving me breathless at the same time. He always did have a way with his lips, the power they held over me was unmatched by anything.

“Calm down love, I promise it’ll be okay. Jack and I have had it out already, a long chat on international duties which may have only been prompted because Mase and Dec locked us in the kit room after our first session, sorted it all out.” Ben reassured me as he began to rub his thumbs over my cheeks and his hands held both sides of my face.

“I do know he wants to apologise to you though - so don’t be surprised if he tries to do that early on in the evening. You know just how awkward he can be so he’ll probably spring it on you before you’ve even put your bag down.”

“Oh great, I’m gonna need to do a couple shots before we leave the house - you’re good to drive right?” I said as I walked from his grasp and down the stairs to grab the bottle of vodka for some good old fashioned dutch courage.

______________________________________________________________

Ben was right about Jack, he had approached the couple only moments after they had arrived at Azpi’s house. Amelia had spotted him making his way towards them so she began to walk in a different direction to Ben, stretching their interlocked hands and letting him go as she mumbled something about needing to put her bag down. Ben really knew both of them too well. Jack gave Ben a hug hello, still in the grovelling stage of repairing their friendship.

“Hey bro, how’s it goin?” Jack spoke as he pulled away from Ben.

“Yeah bro all’s good with me, how are you? Congrats on the move again, million dollar geez you are, aren’t ya? Don’t forget me when you're mingling with Messi in a couple years” Ben joked back with the boy who has been literally a brother to him for the last few years.

“Ahhh you’re jokin me, could never forget a brother could I? We’re basically blood at this point I reckon. Where’d Mils run off ta?” Jack questioned with his arm around Ben’s neck, both of the boys looking out into the garden for the girl in question.

“Right here super Jack” Amelia spoke from behind them. During their brief discussion, Amelia had put her bag down and ran inside to grab herself a drink before walking out to face the music of Jack’s apology. Overhearing how lighthearted he was with Ben, coupled with the reassurance that Ben had provided her earlier in the evening plus the two or three vodka shots she had downed in their kitchen before coming to the afterparty had meant that she left her worries at the door.

“Mils, darlin', you already know what's coming but I truly am sorry...to both of ya ya’know. Benny, we’ve already had it out and it took me ages to get over that black eye but please believe me when I tell ya I am so sorry for treating you that way Amelia. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry and I regret nothing more than how I made you feel.” Jack could feel himself getting teary whilst thinking about how he made the girl feel, how he made his best mate and chosen brother feel, how he really put a spanner in the works of their blossoming relationship.

“Jack, I’m not going to say it was ok because it wasn't. But it wasn’t just your fault, I also played a part in it that has me cursing myself every day for ruining things with Benj. I forgive you, Jacky.” Amelia spoke while reaching up and wrapping her arms around Jack’s neck to give him one of her signature squeezy hugs, to truly convey that she was moving on from their tumultuous past and hoped that he could stop beating himself up over it and do the same.

Jack had left the couple to return to the table and grab himself a refill of his drink. Ben’s arm had found its natural position around Amelia’s shoulders as they both stood there looking out at their friends. However, Ben was looking down at Amelia. Without missing a beat and keeping her eyes focused out on the yard, Amelia spoke only loud enough for Ben to hear.

“So, you gave Jack a black eye over me huh? That’s hot”

Amelia took a few steps forward before turning to look at the expression on Ben’s face as she continued to walk away from him, backwards. The slight shock turned into a full on smirk as he walked towards her eager to close the gap between them with a kiss. He knew she loved him with her whole heart, but he hoped that she would understand just how much he loved her right back.

The Proposal | la proposta

#football imagine #football fic #jadon sancho #ben chilwell #mason mount #declan rice #ben white #jack grealish #tyrone mings #kyle walker #ben chilwell imagine #jack grealish imagine #mason mount imagine #football one shot #tyrone mings imagine #x reader #a family affair fic #steph writes #stephspurs #italian national team #jorginho #federico bernardeshci #jorginho imagine #bernardeschi imagine #juventus fic #juventus imagine #italy nt imagine #england nt imagine #three lions imagine #azzurri imagine

[tsarisfanfiction]

Carry Me Home

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: John, Scott, Virgil

Back to back rescues is a recipe for exhaustion.  Luckily, Scott’s got an eye in the sky looking out for him.

A random discussion with @janetm74 about how much we love sleepy Scott fics somehow turned into this...  Well, it feels like it’s been a while since I posted any fluff, so here you go.

John didn’t have alarms rigged to alert him just before his eldest brother crashed out, although at times that certainly sounded like an appealing prospect.  Maybe one day he’d implement it, considering Scott’s penchant for working until he dropped – literally – but for now it remained a vague concept in the back of his mind.

Today was one day where it might be useful.  It was, he supposed, fortunate that the rest of his brothers had just returned from their respective rescues, leaving him with only Scott to monitor as his big brother packed up after his own rescue.  If he’d been distracted by another brother, or some new stream of important data that needed instant attention, he wouldn’t have caught the signs in time.  As it was, the only thing on his conscious radar at that moment was Scott, and John saw the moment his older brother’s vitals plummeted.

His immediate reaction was panic, his heart jumping up to land in his throat as Scott’s blood pressure and heart rate dropped from its high, adrenaline-fuelled state.  But Scott didn’t keel over, or faint, or outwardly show any reaction at all, and logic sidled its way in before John did something unadvisable.

This was Scott’s third rescue in the past twenty-four hours.  None of them had been easy, but this final one had been particularly physically demanding, with his brother clambering in and around a large and challenging area of craggy rocks - in a couple of cases having to carry a rescuee while doing so.  John was also aware that Scott hadn’t had much by way of sleep, and while he hadn’t been tracking his brother’s every move, he suspected food probably hadn’t featured as much as it should have done, either.

It was the perfect storm.

He watched the camera feed closely as Scott packed away the last of his harness equipment before sitting down heavily in his pilot seat.  A dirty, tired hand rubbed at his face, leaving streaks on the skin in an admittance John knew Scott wouldn’t have made if he’d realised he was being watched.  The yawn, splitting his brother’s face in two and beading moisture in the corner of his scrunched closed eyes, was the last straw.

Scott was not piloting anywhere like that.

Pulling up Thunderbird One’s controls took barely a thought.  By the time Scott’s weary hands rested on the levers, ready to guide his ‘bird into the air, John had locked him out and activated her remote pilot.

It only took a second for Scott to realise that Thunderbird One’s controls weren’t responding to him, but a second was far too long for a man who lived and breathed flight.  John let his hologram flicker into view as Scott grumbled and poked at the controls again, clearly not yet realising that the reason they weren’t working was because John had decreed it.

His brother jumped when he noticed him.

“Everything’s fine, John,” he said, although he was still scowling at his ‘bird’s controls as if he thought there was something wrong.  “I’ll be in the air in a minute.”

“I know,” John agreed pleasantly, and was relieved to see the scowling blue eyes turn suspiciously towards him.  Scott was exhausted, but could at least still do the bare minimum of realise when a brother was up to something.  “Strap yourself in.”  Scott gestured at his shoulder harness, and John barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “The turbulence straps,” he clarified. While the shoulder harnesses did their job in most conditions, Thunderbird One’s pilot seat also came with additional security in the case of heavy turbulence – or, in a worst-case scenario, a crash landing.  Considering Scott was undeniably more creeping further towards sleep every moment – proven by another yawn which he couldn’t stifle – John wanted him fully strapped in.

“Don’t need ‘em,” Scott grumbled.  “Conditions are clear.”

“Scott.”  John had mastered the disappointed parent voice years ago out of necessity, and sometimes even Scott reacted to it. Today, with the older man more asleep than awake, the stars aligned in John’s favour, and the turbulence straps were fastened.  Scott still grumbled, but John didn’t care as long as he was secure.

“What is the point of this?” his brother demanded, failing to hide yet another yawn.  His eyes were half-lidded at best, and another glance at his vitals showed that it was only Scott’s stubbornness that was keeping him awake.  There was absolutely no way he was fit to fly, and John was going to enforce that.

“Relax,” he said, keeping his voice level and low.  “I’ll get you home, big brother.”

“Wha-?”  Blue eyes shot open.  “John, what are-”

John didn’t let him finish his sentence before powering up Thunderbird One’s VTOL and lifting his brother’s ‘bird – complete with said brother safely ensconced within – into the sky.

“You’re dead on your feet, Scott,” he pointed out calmly.  “Get some rest.  You’re in no state to pilot.”

“I’m fine,” Scott tried to protest, but yet another yawn interrupted him and he involuntarily slumped back in the seat.  John took the opportunity to ignite Thunderbird One’s rear boosters and accelerate her up through the sound barrier.

“Scott.”  This time it wasn’t the disappointed parent, but rather the wheedling little brother.  Scott was always weak to wheedling little brothers, and this was no exception.  He slumped back further in the chair, head resting back against the headrest.

“Fine,” he huffed, finally accepting that this was a debate he was never going to win.  Another yawn crossed his face and his eyelids fluttered closed for several moments before they were wrenched open again.  “Just for now.”

The fact that he had caved at all proved how unfit to fly he was.

Blue eyes fluttered closed again, but this time they didn’t re-open.  Scott’s vitals stabilised themselves, far too low for consciousness to be on the cards at all, and John kept an eye on the camera feed as Scott’s chest rose and fell in slow and even breaths.  His brother badly needed the sleep.

After a moment, during which he brought Thunderbird One to a safe, comfortable cruising speed of Mach seven and confirmed nothing was in her flight path, he opened a line to Tracy Island, and his immediate younger brother.

Virgil wasn’t long back from a rescue himself, and still had a smudge of grime on his nose that no-one had pointed out to him yet.

“Another rescue?” he asked. He looked somewhat weary himself, although far from Scott’s own level of exhaustion.  John shook his head.

“No,” he promised.  “Scott’s fallen asleep.”

That perked Virgil up straight away.  “In Thunderbird One?” he demanded, incredulously.  John gave a wry smile in response.

“I’m in control,” he assured him.  “Scott’s exhausted, but safe.”  To prove it, he sent along a copy of Scott’s suit telemetry, which was currently reading vitals consistent with a deep sleep.  Virgil scrutinised them closely for several moments before sighing.

“He needs to stop pushing himself so hard,” he despaired quietly, before collecting himself.  “What’s Thunderbird One’s ETA?”

John glanced across at the figures.  “Half an hour,” he said.  “Scott’s probably not going to wake up before she lands.”  He hoped he didn’t.  Scott needed actual sleep, not a half hour nap in his Thunderbird.  “Judging by his vitals, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps right through.”

Virgil’s eyes glanced over the data again, and his lips thinned in agreement.

“Get him home, John,” he said.  “I’ll take it from there.”

“F.A.B,” John agreed. He didn’t close the line with Virgil, but he did turn away from his younger brother to instead watch his older brother as he continued to guide Thunderbird One home.

As predicted, Scott slept right through the landing half an hour later.  There was a slight stir as she decelerated and rotated, but his eyes stayed closed and he remained slumped bonelessly in his seat as John settled the Thunderbird on her castors and allowed her to roll back to the hangar.

Virgil was ready and waiting on the gantry when John let his hologram flicker back into view.

“Still asleep?” the middle Tracy asked as the Thunderbird came to a stop.  John nodded.  “Okay, I’ve got this.”  Virgil stepped forwards onto the extending loading ramp, and as he neared the cockpit, John disengaged the pilot seat so that it swung out to meet him.  His younger brother didn’t hesitate, reaching out and releasing all the straps and harnesses holding Scott in place before scooping the still-sleeping man up into his arms.

That was, in theory, the end of John’s domain.  With Scott safe and still slumbering away in Virgil’s arms, he was the dark-haired Tracy’s responsibility now, and his hologram stopped projecting so as not to distract Virgil.

Still, John watched as the platform retracted, bringing his brothers back to the gantry, and Virgil walked across the metal towards the elevator.  In his arms, Scott shifted, a sleepy murmur indicating that his sleep wasn’t quite so deep any more.  Virgil was no stranger to handling him, however, and a small, fond, smile crept onto John’s face as his younger brother murmured something quiet and melodic.

The microphones couldn’t pick up exactly what it was Virgil was saying – or, John suspected, humming – but whatever it was seemed to do the trick as Scott settled back down.

There were no blind spots in Thunderbird Five’s coverage of the villa.  John didn’t normally pay close attention to areas outside of the den, kitchen and hangars, largely content to let his family get on with their personal lives without him spying on them, but today he tracked Virgil the entire way from the hangars to Scott’s bedroom.  Virgil was frowning a little by the time he got there, clearly a little suspicious at how little effort it had taken to keep their big brother asleep, and the same unease filtered through John’s mind.

Was Scott really just that exhausted, or had they missed something?

John watched the feed like a hawk as Virgil gently stripped off Scott’s uniform, revealing the plain undershirt and shorts, and his telemetry data disappeared.  Nothing new flagged up as a point of concern, except for the ongoing fact that Scott barely stirred.  Virgil rested a hand on their brother’s chest, and instantly made a face.

The next moment, Scott’s underclothes were also being stripped away, leaving him in just his underwear, and Virgil was dropping them on the floor by the uniform judgementally. Despite the underlying concern, John smirked a little.  Scott had done a lot of physical work on the last mission; it made sense for his clothes to have absorbed the sweat that came with that and he didn’t envy Virgil for dealing with that at all.

Pyjamas were retrieved, but before Virgil began the unenviable task of trying to dress their sleeping brother without waking him, a familiar yellow light skipped over Scott’s body.  John immediately tapped in to the medscanner as Virgil scrutinised the results; just like the suit telemetry, it simply flagged up sheer exhaustion, but with a small caution for dehydration added in as well.

Shoulders slumping in what John assumed was relief, Virgil eased the still-sleeping figure of their brother into loose pyjamas and tugged at the comforter until Scott was nestled snugly in bed.  Just before he pulled it all the way up to Scott’s chin Virgil hesitated for a brief moment, and then a monitor was being carefully attached to Scott’s pyjama top.

John tapped into that as well, relieved that Virgil had thought to attach one, and immediately got the data streaming straight into Thunderbird Five for him to check periodically. Just like the scan, it currently declared no causes for concern, barring an advisory for mild dehydration, and a little bit of tension bled from John’s shoulders.

Seemingly satisfied, Virgil then pulled the comforter the rest of the way, tucking Scott in firmly, only for their brother to stir again.  The pianist’s hand immediately threaded into brown locks, and John watched fondly as Virgil ran his fingers gently through Scott’s hair soothingly.  The microphones in Scott’s room were more sensitive, adjusted for quiet night time conversations, and while earlier John hadn’t been able to hear how Virgil settled their brother, now his voice resonated through Thunderbird Five.

John recognised it instantly.  How could he not, when he’d heard it so many times as a child, first from Mom, and then overheard as Scott did his best to fill in the gaps after the avalanche?  A quiet and gentle lullaby from years long gone by did the trick to settle Scott again, but Virgil didn’t stop singing even after Scott stopped stirring.

That, John decided, was his cue to leave.  Scott was home safe and in good hands – and he had the readings from the monitor to keep an eye on if he wanted to check up on him.  There was no point lurking around and listening to a brother who may or may not realise he was still watching.

He dismissed the feed just as Virgil finished a verse, suddenly plunging Thunderbird Five into silence before the quiet background hum of his ‘bird’s ever-running machinery registered again.  A glance at the monitor readings brought his attention back to the dehydration caution, and John checked to see who was near the kitchen.  Virgil, no doubt, would be staying with Scott for a little while yet, but there was no harm in sending someone else up with some electrolyte drinks for when Scott finally woke.

Well, no harm as long as he made it perfectly clear to the rest of the family that Scott was getting some long overdue and well-deserved rest, and anyone who disturbed him would find out exactly how creative John could get with technology.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #carry me home

[jaskiersvalley]

Wolf, Werewolf, Swearwolf

Over the years winters at Kaer Morhen had become quite the social event. What had been sullen, quiet seasons of four miserable and tired witchers had blossomed into something so much more. It had started with Jaskier. Then Geralt had brought Ciri along and Yennefer had a knack for dropping by. There was a lot of ribbing and jesting how the most standoffish lone wolf was single-handedly responsible for bringing a veritable party to the old keep. The year he brought Cahir along too, some of the teasing fell away, mostly because Eskel and Lambert were too busy competing for his affections. That spring, Cahir set out to join Eskel on the path but they both kissed Lambert goodbye with the promise of meeting up with him throughout the year.

One thing was standard for the winter though, the ever present swear jar. It had gotten rather large over the years yet it always seemed to fill up.

“Morning cocksuckers,” Lambert would announce as he arrived for breakfast, heading for the jar before the food to drop off the fine. He claimed it was absolutely worth it. Poor Vesemir wondered where he had gone so wrong with Lambert, his mouth only seemed to get fouler as the years went on. It had become a bit of a running joke between Eskel and Vesemir that Lambert funded most of Kaer Morhen’s necessities for the year with his swearing.

As far as Aiden was concerned, Lambert had some very strange habits. He refused to buy a horse, spent his coin so frugally that it was almost to his detriment. And spare money was squirrelled away dutifully and never seen again. It was a bit frustrating whenever they met up because Aiden liked to treat himself and had grown to want to give Lambert nice things too. More often than not, he ended up paying for a room at an inn, nicer meals than the bare minimum just because it didn’t feel right to miss out. It also, selfishly, meant that Aiden could watch Lambert sigh in happiness when he got a rare treat.

“What you doing for winter?” Aiden had asked and Lambert rolled his eyes. They were meant to be hunting a griffin but there was no sign of it.

“Oh sheesh, I don’t know. Maybe returning to that musty old keep.”

There was a screech in the distance and Lambert looked up as the griffin was dive bombing them.

“Oh fudge.”

It was much later that Lambert realised just what Aiden had been trying to ask.

“You know, if you want to, you could come home with me.” He had a suspicion that Eskel and Cahir would love Aiden too.

“I’d be delighted,” Aiden replied with a grin. “You’re a numpty if you thought I would ever refuse.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a nincompoop.” Lambert stuck his tongue out at Aiden.

That was how the two ended up climbing the mountain, Lambert sometimes snarling a “stupid branch” or “dumb piece of trash”. It was all rather familiar and Aiden was quietly charmed by Lambert all over again. That all changed as soon as they walked through the keep.

“What’s up bitches? Guess who’s back!”

“Lambert,” Vesemir greeted. “And friend.”

Strolling through, Lambert was instinctively reaching for his coin pouch. “”Aiden, the old fart is Vesemir. Snowman and Sunshine are Geralt and Jaskier. Eskel and Cahir will be along later. And this fucker-” he dropped a coin in the swear jar, “-is the fucking-” another coin, “-swear fucking-” yet another coin, “-jar.”

A little stunned, Aiden stared at Lambert, not understanding the change. His eyes strayed to the jar as Vesemir pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We have a swear jar, not that it seems to deter certain people from dirty language.” At least Vesemir looked a little chagrined at Lambert’s unusual behaviour and Aiden’s gaze drifted back to his wolf.

“Damn fucking right,” Lambert grinned and dropped another coin into the almost empty jar. However, there was something in his face, a veiled worry mixed with pleading hope. It was something Aiden would need to try and tease out of him later, without an audience.

As promised, Eskel and Cahir arrived a few days later, looking road weary. And Lambert had been absolutely right, Eskel adored Aiden. There was a bit of tension between Cahir and the newest addition to the dynamic but, one evening they disappeared, only resurfacing for dinner, looking rather too smug. Lambert should have known to be scared.

It all started off so normal, everyone sat around the table, chatter a low murmur. Which was how Lambert only just about caught the nod between Cahir and Aiden before it all kicked off.

“This meal is fucking delicious,” Aiden announced. Down the table Ciri looked up.

“Swear jar!” She took far too much delight in reminding her family of its existence, especially as she tended to reap the benefits of a full swear jar the most. It meant that they could stock up on more expensive spices and treats for the winter.

“Yeah, Aiden,” Cahir drawled, “pay the fuck up.”

To prove his point, Cahir tossed a coin to the middle of the tabled.

“Fucking fine,” Lambert snapped and two coins landed next to Cahir’s. Everyone stared at them, not knowing whether it was the start of an argument or not.

In typical Geralt fashion, he tried to intervene. “This is not how we speak at the dinner table.”

Rather than achieve peace, Cahir turned to his friend with a grin. “Hey Geralt? Suck my dick.”

Another coin landed in the middle of the table unrepentant and almost proud. The game was on when Jaskier cottoned on and he slung an arm around Geralt and squeezed. “He can only suck my dick. If you want your nubby excuse of a thing suckled, you have three other bloody mouths to choose from.”

He patted his pockets and pulled out an errant coin, flipping it nonchalantly to join the others.

“Hell no,” Aiden leaned forward. “That little bitch can suck my cock but I don’t kneel for a Niilfgaardian.” Another coin landed on the table.

“Not a sodding Nilfgaardian.” Cahir stood and slapped a handful of coin on the table. “If you think I am, then you should have been a stain on your mother’s chin.”

“Oh fuck off and tell your dad to shit jizz!” Aiden pushed away from the table and stood, adding a larger handful of coin to the rapidly growing pile.

Around them, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir and Geralt looked a little too stunned while Jaskier was cackling.

“Bollocks!” He yelled just to be able to flip a coin up in the air and smack it into the other coins.

“Piss!” Aiden hollered back and laughed.

Cahir snorted out a “shitsticks” much to Eskel’s amusement.

Insults flew around the table amidst wild giggles and the money pile grew and grew until Aiden had one coin left in his hand which he flipped it repeatedly. Obviously, he was mulling something over. Mind made up, he looked around the table. “You’re all a bunch of cunts but I love you all already.”

His last coin was thrown and he sat down, grinning proudly. Cahir settled too, starting to tuck into his meal as if they hadn’t just had a major swearing match. Next to him, Lambert buried his face in his hands, realising what had just happened, embarrassed that two of his boyfriends figured him out so quickly when the rest of his family hadn’t put two and two together. Then again, none of the others spent enough time away from Kaer Morhen with him to know he usually didn’t have such a potty mouth. But, well, someone had to fund a better life for them all and it wasn’t like Lambert could do something nice so obviously. So he swore and paid his fines, letting everyone think he just didn’t care.

At the head of the table, Vesemir cleared his throat and everyone looked up, just to watch him very deliberately add his first coin to the swear jar pile in what had to be several decades.

“You’re all fucking idiots. Literally.”

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #eskel/lambert #lambert/aiden #eskel/lambert/cahir #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #aiden #vesemir #ciri #tldr: lambert fills a swear jar

[reachfolk]

1, 7, 14, 21 > miss lexi silverblood

how well can alexandria read and/or write? how detailed is her quest log/journal, if she keeps one at all?

she's perfectly fluent in reading and writing in the common tongue! i don't think she keeps a journal, since she finds her thoughts go faster than her hands can keep up with, so if there's ever anything on her mind, she prefers to just say it out loud to a friend rather than write it. she's generally pretty well-read, esp on matters of magical theory, alchemy, and history.

what social class was alexandria born into? did she change classes at all? how?

obv as a silver-blood she was born into one of the wealthiest families in skyrim, so she knew the finest that life had to offer. she does of course eventually leave to join her coven, so she went from high society -> literally living in tents out in the wilds. it was a big change for sure, and it took her a while to get used to it!! there's lots of little convenient things she misses, but for the most part she took to it pretty well.

how well-liked is alexandria? what is her reputation, if she's well-known? is she simply liked/disliked, or is she respected but feared, or personally liked but not taken seriously, etc.? do major factions consider her an important player?

this one is pretty complicated!! i think on a personal level, most people really like lexi when they get to know her. she's a sweet, charming girl that loves to help people with anything and everything, so she's pretty easy to like unless you're either super grouchy (which she takes as a challenge, so good luck) or just outright racist. buuut on a sociopolitical level, alex is inherently in this position where she's hated by a lot of people. her status as a silverblood makes her an enemy to a lot of reachfolk, and her identity as a reachwoman naturally makes people... less than happy about her having the amount of power she has. it's not a great position to be in.

in terms of factions, for sure the forsworn see her as an enemy for a long time, esp when madanach was following thonar's orders. i could go on abt this for a while, but for the sake of avoiding spoilers i'll just say, she does eventually gain a pretty good social standing within the reach!!

how picky is alexandria about her gear? does she have different equipment for different adventures, or is it the same suit of armor for everything?

she's pretty picky!! she likes light armors, and she hates when they get in the way so she tends to keep it to a minimum. she only feels comfortable wearing armor that represents her patron deities, which means they have to be made by her hand and be made from furs/leather of animals she caught herself. she feels very bare and uncomfortable if she isn't wearing some form of accessories like bones, feathers, horns, etc. due to their religious significance. tldr, she likes to keep it traditional! (there's an ask in my inbox i plan to get to soon about reachfolk attire, so i'll eventually go into more detail about this lol).

#thank you so much for the ask!! #oc: alexandria silver blood #cozy answers

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 71 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Fun fact: this rewrite is now the second-longest fic in the Drace Race RPF section of AO3. (Second only to the original story, lol.) So if you’re looking for a lot of content…we’ve got you. ;) Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet revealed her estranged relationship with her family to Sutan, and Courtney struggled to live up to Miss Fame’s demands.

This Chapter: Some uncharacteristic vulnerability from Violet, Met Gala meetings and morning television.

***

“Do you want more marshmallows?”

“I always want more marshmallows.”

Katya grinned as she got up from the kitchen table, grabbing Trixie’s mug to top them both up. They were decorating gingerbread men, Katya pulling them from the oven last night. Trixie was doing clothes, drawing in the lines and putting details on them, one of his favorite jobs.

It was a tradition of theirs, spending the Sunday before Christmas in their pajamas, preparing cookies and watching Home Alone, the leftover icing always ending up in the bedroom for some sticky afternoon fun.

***

“Aaaand release...”

“Oh god,” Sutan groaned, rolling onto his back and spreading out like a starfish. “I’m dead.”

When he had jokingly asked if he could join Violet for her yoga session, he hadn’t figured she’d say yes, and he definitely hadn’t expected that it’d be this hard, those last few breaths of extended child’s pose essentially torture where he could feel his bones bend and creak.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Violet grinned, his girlfriend sitting back on her knee, the leg with her cast spread out to the side. “We only did 40 minutes.”

“You’re not even sweating.” Sutan looked at her, Violet’s hair in a high ponytail, the Sunday look of one of his shirts and a sports bra quickly becoming a fave.

“Some of us remember to do more than weights and cardio, Mr. Amrull.”

“I’m texting my trainer right now,” Sutan reached over his head, grabbing his phone that he had left on the floor next to their mats, Violet giggling as she laid down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.

“There,” Sutan pressed send, his trainer probably falling off of his chair when he read the message, Sutan always attempting to get away with the bare minimum when it came to exercise, but he refused to be humiliated by being unable to reach his toes.

He was just about to put his phone down, when Violet reached up and tapped the screen, his front camera opening up, both of them in frame as they were lying on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture?” Violet smiled, her sarcastic tone never wavering. “To document the moment.”

Sutan looked at the screen. It was so incredibly tempting to say yes, to keep this moment in the private password protected collection that had steadily grown since Thanksgiving, Violet really and truly trying to let him take pictures, but he couldn’t say yes, not when he knew why she was so confident.

“And can I post it?”

“Post it?” Violet raised an eyebrow, sitting up on her elbows. “Why? Isn’t your hair...?”

“A mess?” Sutan didn’t want to smile, but it was impossible not to, Violet knowing him way too well if she had already figured out that he was sometimes embarrassingly vain about his hairstyle, the mess on his head looking like he had been fucking for an hour. “Yes, but I still want to post it.”

“I-” Violet had pulled away completely now, not a single trace of the sweetness left. “No.”

“Violet,” Sutan sat up as well, putting his phone down, “I know you hate social media, but you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t think what I ask for is unreasonable-”

“Sutan. Please” Violet grabbed her mat and rolled it together in an attempt to avoid him. “I said no.”

“And I’m pushing because I don’t understand.” Sutan could feel the annoyance build, the hurt and the rejection. It stung every single time Violet denied him, hurt every time she neglected what they had.

“I’m not saying we have to announce it with a workout selfie,” Sutan hated that they were fighting, but he couldn’t help himself, “but I want to tell the world that we’re together.”

“And I don’t-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes filled with hurt. “If the world knows, they know, and I don’t want them to know where I am or what I’m doing.”

There it was. The they, the them, the family from Atlanta that was haunting his girlfriend's life like a shadow that had slowly started to creep into his too.

“Violet, I hate to be the one to tell you,” Sutan didn’t touch her, simply putting his hand down on the floor next to hers, telling her that he was there. “But the internet exists. If they have your name, they can find you, no matter what you do to hide.”

“Have you taken a moment to consider that they might not have that?”

Sutan paused, Violet’s words like a bomb.

“... What?”

Did her family not have her name? It was true that Violet Chachki barely got any hits on google, that it was Parson’s assignments and internships that popped up, the Galactica employee directory right at the top, but Sutan had never considered that possibility, had never even toyed with it.

“This wasn’t how I planned on telling you. Actually, I probably wasn’t counting on telling you at all, but I’m not…” Violet was fiddling with the tiniest hole in her yoga mat, her fingers tugging on the foam. “I wasn’t born Violet. Wasn’t even born a Chachki. Hasn’t it ever seemed weird to you that my last name literally means trinket?”

“It does?”

“Mmh,” Violet smiled, the same heavy sadness he had seen in the hospital in her eyes. “I needed to not be… Blair anymore.”

“Blair?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded. “Blair Dardo. It was my birth name. I never liked it, and I changed it the moment I turned 18, left it behind the second I could. That’s why I can’t,” Violet gestured vaguely to Sutan’s phone. “Changing it meant that they can’t, that they can’t find me, and I-”

Sutan didn’t know what to say, but it felt like he had just been given another puzzle piece in the mystery that was his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry.”

Violet’s head snapped to attention, her eyes widening in confusion. “...What?”

“I’m sorry.” Sutan said it again, making sure he put his genuine emotion behind the words. “I should have realized that you weren’t saying no to be difficult, and yet I kept pushing.”

“Sutan-” Violet still looked confused and a little suspicious, like she didn’t really understand what he was doing. “You don’t have to-”

“No but I do.” Sutan smiled. “I get it now, and I’m sorry, but next time you have a deep dark secret, maybe you could just tell me instead of this charade-”

Sutan was cut off as Violet threw herself in his arms, knocking him down on the floor and kissing him like her life depended on it, gratitude rolling off of her in waves.

***

“Raja?”

Alyssa held out the plate of croissants, Raja waving it away since she didn’t want one. The entire senior management team was gathered in the  conference room, Fame for some ungodly reason always insisting on a full breakfast spread for their Monday meetings, even though only a fraction of them ever actually ate any of it.

“So,” Fame looked around, a gold fountain pen in her hand, a black moleskin notebook open in front of her. “Any updates?”

The theme of today's meeting was the 2015 Met Gala, Raja barely hiding a groan when Courtney had sent out the meeting agenda.

It wasn’t that she disliked the Met Gala, the first Monday in May a spectacular party, but it was such a hassle getting there, the gala the fashion world's version of the Oscars.

“Yes,” Pearl smiled, turning around in her chair. She was weirdly chipper, her blonde hair collected in a clip, her signature leather jacket exchanged with a cropped black fur. “We have the final confirmation from Jessica Chastain’s team. She’s in.”

“Good,” Fame nodded, making a note in her moleskin, the fact that Fame was actually writing herself more than enough to cement the severity of the situation. Courtney was standing against the wall, Ivy sitting at the table with her computer open, typing away, but when it came to the Met, Fame left nothing up to chance.

“She’s looking forward to working with us, and she says she’s honored-”

“Yada yada yada,” Fame made a hand puppet, and Raja had to hide a smile, Pearl leaning back in her chair with a roll of her eyes, mouthing at everyone else that she’d send a follow up email.

It was Fame who had requested Jessica, in her own roundabout way, her friend casually mentioning to Raja that she had a good smile, which was more than enough for Raja to make Pearl offer her up as Galactica’s celebrity face.

It wasn’t every house who did it, but the big ones always had a celebrity at the gala, wearing their clothes and repping the brand.

“Does anyone know if they’ve moved away from the terrible theme yet?”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Alaska offered up, the promotional material the Met had sent out at the start of the fall in the middle of the table thanks to Ivy’s forthsight. “It’s December, and since we haven’t heard anything, they’re sticking with China's influence on western fashion.”

“Good god, I was really hoping they had come to their senses.” Fame breathed out through her nose, and Raja had to agree with her. Sure, ‘China: Through the Looking Glass’ made sense as an art exhibition, but there was really no way to convert it to fashion without being culturally insensitive at best and offensively appropriative at worst.

Besides, Galactica had never been a brand that sought inspiration from the east in their designs and aesthetics, which made the entire situation quite the predicament.

“I’m sure we can work with it,” Trixie gave a small smile, the stack of papers by his elbow indicating that he had probably already put his senior designers to work coming up with concepts.

“And how,” Fame turned, looking directly at Trixie. “Are we supposed to work with it? Raja’s the only one who could possibly get away with being theme appropriate.”

Usually, Fame and Raja were the ones who walked the carpet together with their celebrity, Fame a nervous wreck for weeks before the gala because of all the strangers, while Raja enjoyed it because of her modeling days, seeing old acquaintances without the stresses of fashion week, a delightful yearly treat.

“I’m Indonesian.” Raja knew Fame didn’t mean anything by it, and she wasn’t that concerned about being politically correct herself, but everyone knew what it could mean for a fashion house to misstep, Dolce and Gabbana somehow walking directly from one scandal and into another one. “Not Chinese.”

“See?” Fame sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a controversial time bomb. Either, we stay on theme, which I refuse since I look terrible in Chinese red, ”

“So we’re going off theme?” Trixie had picked up his papers, sorting through them, and Raja felt a moment of gratitude for their head of design, Trixie of course coming prepared with off-theme suggestions as well.

“Unless they get a grip and change it? Yes. Yes we are.”

*

“There!” Everyone held their breath as Maxwell pointed at Violet’s screen, an email from Ivy just ticking in, the Met Gala meeting still in full swing.

“Open it, Chachki!” Blu was practically biting her nails, hopping from one foot to the other, her red hair in a braid over her shoulder.

“Alright, alright-“ Violet clicked on the email, Bob standing right behind her, his eyes flying over the screen before he called out.

“It’s Jessica!”

A collective sigh of relief went through the floor, a loud ‘yes’ coming from Kiara who was clapping her hands together, the group breaking up, chatter filling the air.

“Thank god,” Maxwell groaned, putting a hand on Violet’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I knew having you here would be worth it Chachki.”

“Right.” Violet raised an eyebrow, looking up at him, clearly not understanding why no one had thought to simply ask Ivy for updates before, the suggestion just casually slipping from her during morning coffee, the entire department running with it instantly. “But I still don’t-“

“Get it?” They turned to look over at Jovan who was sitting at his own desk, the man one of the few who hadn’t gathered around Violet’s computer.

“Yes.” Violet nodded. “If you needed information all this time, you could have just asked-”

“Like we could have just asked you?” Bob said, cutting her off and Violet opened her mouth, only to close it again. “Exactly.” Bob grinned. “You would have told us to fuck off.”

“I see your point.” Violet tapped her fingers on her desk, a small smile on her lips since everyone knew she would have said those exact words directly to their faces when she had been in Fame’s front office. “But, why is it such a big deal if a celeb is confirmed or not? The gala isn’t until May, that’s 4 months away and it’s three outfits. A whole collection is usually done in that time.”

“A collection doesn’t have to be approved by the celebrity,” Maxwell counted on his fingers, “the celebrity’s stylist, Vogue and Anna Wintour personally on top of Trixie, Raja and Fame. Alexis usually starts producing concepts in October.”

“As soon as they reveal the theme girl!” Alexis yelled over her shoulder, already pulling her sketches from their shelf, the confirmation meaning that she’d be in a meeting with Trixie for the rest of the day, working out the details of the first round of negotiations with the celebrity.

“Huh…” Violet looked around, the puzzled expression still on her face. “And what about-“

“Fame and Raja?”

Violet nodded.

“You’d think Fame would be the difficult one-“ Maxwell smiled.

“But make something gorgeous and custom in ivory and she’s on board,” Jovan grinned, putting the pen he was using behind his ear as he turned around in his chair. “Every year, she pretends like she’ll follow the theme, and then never does.”

“Exactly.” Maxwell nodded. “Fame is demanding, but consistent. Trixie has an entire drawer of Fame-appropriate outfits that we all contribute to whenever we have an idea.”

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Violet looked mildly impressed, and if any of the rumors Maxwell had heard about how she had managed Fame’s front office, that approach wasn’t too far off from how Violet herself had attempted to tame the beast.

“Rule one of surviving at Galactica: Never disappoint Miss Fame. For once, however, Fame isn’t the problem.” Maxwell sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Violet’s desk. “Raja is.”

“Raja?” Violet looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yes really.” Maxwell crossed his arms. “Every year, she tells us that she’s chill, that she’ll wear whatever goes with the spring collection or the theme-“

“And every single year, she changes her mind at least four times.” Bob chimed in, the drama loving smirks on his lip. “More if you’re lucky.”

“Which is why,” Maxwell nudged Bob’s side with his elbow. “We’ve unanimously decided that you have the honor of dressing Raja for this year's Met Gala.”

“Me?” Violet’s eyes widened. “What? Why?” Violet looked at them, confusion painted on her face. “I’m the most junior member of staff.”

“True, but you’re also sucking her brother's dick,” Maxwell grinned, “so we figured she can’t kill you during the process, unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

***

It should have been one of the most exciting mornings since Courtney started at Galactica--Miss Fame and Raja were being interviewed on a talk show, and so she got to go to the famous 30 Rockefeller Plaza building, and be on the set of a real television show. Unfortunately, it was such a whirlwind of activity and Miss Fame was in such a demanding mood that she didn’t have a second to enjoy it.

She felt like a chicken with its head cut off, running around in a hectic scramble to meet every request. Today was the last day before their holiday break, and even though Courtney knew that spending her break with Bianca would be incredible, she also knew that she had about a billion things to do before that could even start. Today was supposed to be a half day, but with how packed the schedule was, she’d be lucky to leave by 5.

She entered Miss Fame’s green room, silently handing her the coffee she’d asked for and then leaning on the wall to catch her breath. Miss Fame took a sip and then immediately spit the coffee back out.

“What is this?” she asked, holding the cup out like it was a bag of dog shit.

“It’s your usual-”

“This is not my usual. This is weak, and not hot enough, and-did you just roll your eyes?”

“No, Miss!” Courtney insisted, praying that she was telling the truth. She was tired, having arrived at the office at 6 am to drop off her stuff for Bianca’s, and there was a teeny tiny chance that she may have (accidentally) rolled her eyes. “Would you like a new-”

“Let me tell you something, Courtney. This may be the last day before a vacation, but I expect you to be fully present and accounted for. We have too many important things going on and I will not accept anything less than your absolute very best. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Now. Please go find me some decent coffee before I get a migraine.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And after you come back, I need you to go to the dry cleaners. I’ve decided to wear my ivory Valentino suit to meet the investors later.”

“Yes, Miss, will do.”

“That’s all,” Miss Fame said, waving her hand, and Courtney took off back down the labyrinthine hallways of 30 Rock to hunt down a coffee that would meet her standards.

***

“Good morning! Welcome back to Coast to Coast. I’m Nina West, and today we are positively blessed to have with us the icons of fashion, Miss Fame and Raja Gemini of Galactica, here to talk to us about dressing to impress in the new year, and their exciting new business ventures. Thank you so much for being here, ladies!”

“Thank you, we’re thrilled to be here,” Fame smiled, the lie easily falling out of her red painted lips.

Raja could see the way her hands were clenched in her lap, her wedding ring turned inward and digging into her palm, and knew that she was at her tensest.

Raja had long ago gotten used to giving live interviews. She had a laid-back attitude and while she always wanted to represent the company in the most flattering light, she tended to relax and let the conversation flow naturally.

Fame, however, had never quite gotten the hang of it in the same way. She was just so brand-conscious, almost to a debilitating degree, written interviews so much more her speed.

She always looked impeccable, very much the ice goddess she was so often called, but Fame had never gotten the same confidence in her speaking skills as Raja, who had been dragged through developing them in her modeling career.

Even though Fame hated being on live TV, they occasionally got an offer they couldn’t turn down, and between the makeup line being released in January and the overhaul of their website and online store, they had a lot to plug.

The whole thing was so stressful Fame had asked Raja four times to check her pits for sweat stains, her papers with facts from the makeup department and pointers from Pearl not leaving her hand until they literally had to go on.

Raja leaned forward, giving Fame’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and added, “This is our favorite show, we never miss it!”

“Aww, thank you!” said Nina, grinning. “Now, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you have an exciting announcement.”

“Yes, and we’re so happy to be able to share the news with your viewers first-”

“An exclusive!” Nina exclaimed, eyes comically wide and mouth open as if this was news to her.

“Yes, exactly. Early this year, we released a limited makeup line, and it’s been doing just wonderfully. So in 2015, we’re going to be rolling out a full line of makeup and skincare, with special edition palettes and colors all throughout the spring.”

“All natural, vegan, cruelty free...I always want the very best for my own skin and I wouldn’t offer our customers anything less,” Fame cut in, and Raja felt a surge of pride at how natural she sounded. All their rehearsing had clearly paid off.

“If you use it, I’ll use it!” Nina said with a chuckle. “You both have the most gorgeous skin I’ve ever seen.”

“We expect the first batch to sell out quickly,” Raja said, “So go straight to our website, Galactica dot com, and sign up to be part of the mailing list to receive alerts on all new product launches and where they’ll show up in stores.”

“I’m doing that, the second we go to commercials,” Nina said. “But first, I heard that there’s more news about your spring line...”

***

Patrick reached for the remote, turning off the TV as Nina West rounded out the segment with Fame and Raja.

He was sitting in his office, wrapping up the last details before the firm could close down for the holiday break.

Fame had done a great job, the nerves he knew she had felt not showing on her beautiful face. Patrick picked up his phone, a smile on his lips as he started to type out a text.

Fame would probably not read it until she left work for the day, but he was proud of her, and he hoped that she was proud of herself too.

***

Fame collapsed onto her dressing room sofa, completely emotionally drained, the crystals she had stuffed in her bra digging against her skin.

Being on camera for live television always took up every drop of energy, and left her with nothing to spare. Unfortunately, she knew that she didn’t have much time to rest, since she was due at the Russian Tea Room to meet her potential investors in less than an hour. The makeup artist they’d hired was standing by for touch-ups, and her ivory Valentino suit hung in its dry cleaning bag on the clothing rack. But first, she knew that her blood sugar was dangerously low, so she needed…

She looked around. Where on earth was Courtney? Fame had never met someone with such a tendency to be underfoot at the worst times and completely MIA when her presence was required. She walked to the doorway, spotting Courtney having a casual chat with a girl in a headset, carefree as anything.

“Courtney!” she snapped, and Courtney looked up, surprised, even though she was literally here for the sole purpose of taking care of Fame’s needs. “Come!”

Fame turned and walked back into her dressing room, irritated, the rapid click of Courtney’s heels as she ran over grating on her nerves.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I need to eat.”

“Oh…” Courtney’s gaze shifted to the table, where a fruit basket sat amongst assorted pastries and other snack food.

“Not that sugary garbage,” Fame explained. “Violet always had- Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“Oh, of course!” Courtney exclaimed, rummaging through her purse.

Fame rolled her eyes, sighing. That girl truly was useless. What Bianca saw in her, Fame would never understand. She took one of the protein bars that Courtney had carefully lined up on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“I think you’d better head back to the office and prepare the conference room for the investor presentation.”

“Oh, but did you need anything el-”

“No, I’m much more concerned with the meeting,” Fame said. “Everything needs to be perfect. These people will be paying attention to every little detail.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Oh, and take this back with you…” Fame handed over a large manila envelope. “It’s some sketches I’ve been working on.”

“Sure.” Courtney began to put the envelope into her bag, and Fame’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Don’t bend them! For god’s sake…”

“Sorry Miss,” Courtney said, biting her lip, holding the envelope at her side. “Is there anything else you need before I-”

“No. That’s all.”

***

Courtney sat in the back of a cab, eyes squeezed tightly shut, using the time in traffic to center herself and go over her massive to do list. She had to make sure that all the presentations for the meeting were set up, work with IT to test it, messenger out the holiday gifts that Miss Fame added at the last minute, make sure the schedule for January was in order, set up her out of office reply…

Plus, the meeting with the investors wouldn’t begin until they were back from the restaurant, so the “half day” was looking more and more like a full day. At this point, settling in at Bianca’s felt like it was a million years away--and traffic crawling at a standstill didn’t help anything.

She pulled out her phone. Maybe she could set up some of the gift deliveries now, while she was stuck in the cab.

When they were finally in sight of the Galactica building, her phone started buzzing. She looked at the screen. Miss Fame. That couldn’t be anything good.

Courtney took a deep breath and answered, stomach tightening.

“Hello?”

“Courtney!” Miss Fame’s voice was sharp, sharper than usual. “Do you ever use your head? Or do you just go through life without a shred of critical thinking?”

It was fairly obvious that it was a rhetorical question, so Courtney kept her mouth shut, wondering what had gone wrong, what mess she’d have to clean up now.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #trixya #vitan #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #raja gemini #miss fame #pearl liaison #miz cracker #bob the drag queen #yvie oddly #courtney act #nina west #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

[arigatouiris]

bloody brilliant // midoriya izuku

Author’s Note: After a LONG ABSENCE, I’m back! Sort of, I’m trying to write again regularly? I was in a slump for a bit and managed to play The Last of Us II and make my mental health worse (in a good way?) lmao. Thank you for such kind words yesterday when I was at my worst?? You guys are amazing and the positivity just UGH I LOVE YA’LL. This was requested by @allurajarren​ a while ago and I am so so sorry it took so long! I’ve made a few changes haha I hope you like it uwu 

Also, this might come as a weird surprise which might not even be welcome but Mineta isn’t such a bad person in this? Although I do hate his guts lol

Word count: 4461

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, reader with a plant quirk

You’ve had a lot of people call you delicate in the past. 

You hated the word. You hated everything that represented it, you hated being correlated with it, you practically hated it because it reminded you of how weak you were—your mind had already been overridden with the ideology that your weakness wasn’t just because of your quirk, but it manifested within your very psyche. 

You hated when they called you delicate because you knew it was true.

Yet, you strove on. A part of you wanted to prove people wrong because so what if your quirk was plant-based? So what if you were like some comic-book villain? So what if your quirk had many weaknesses? That didn’t mean you couldn’t be strong, right?

After all, you had gotten into U.A, you couldn’t be a complete failure, right?

You kept holding yourself going despite how difficult things were. People from your middle school deemed that you wouldn’t hurt a soul, and someone like you becoming a hero made no sense whatsoever? Your entire body ached with the failed expectations of your friends, family, peers from middle school, who only expected you to fail—and getting into U.A., did very little to make you feel proud. The only solace you found was jotting your thoughts into your diary, which remained the stronghold of your psyche—the very exoskeleton that kept you standing on difficult days.

Your diary was a kind of psychological exoskeleton that protected you from pain and contained your anxieties, but just like the skin of a snake, it only could hold on for a bare minimum of time; your mind always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you developed a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.

Your insecurity dragged on and you believed you would never be able to overlook it, until your eyes landed on Midoriya Izuku.

The boy had you floored from the second you saw him on your orientation, his speed, agility, tenacity, his willingness to keep pushing despite how it was hurting him, everything about him reminded him of a part of your brain that kept pushing you, that kept telling you that you could dream too, that you could be where he is now. 

It wasn’t love, but more of an innocent curiosity that had you itching to watch more of how Midoriya conquered people’s expectations of him. From the very second how he threw the baseball using his fingers, and to how he managed to come fourth in the cavalry battle, you just couldn’t look away. You obviously jotted these points down in your diary, and you were aware of how your diary was slowly turning into a book where you jotted down whatever you noticed about him—what could be his weaknesses, what could be his strengths, his quirks other than breaking bones, what fascinated him and what of him fascinated you. There was quite a lot, indeed.

When you were leaving class one evening, you noticed how his arm was limp by his side.

     “Midoriaya-kun?” You questioned, tilting your head a bit.

He turned to you and his face reddened, a trait he often showcased with literally any girl he spoke to. You thought it was adorable, and you couldn’t quell the growing noise within your own chest.

     “Y-Yes?”

     “Is your arm okay?”

Midoriya let out a chuckle before rubbing the back of his neck rather bashfully, “Y-Yeah, it’s nothing. I overused my quirk again while training yesterday. I’m heading over to recovery girl now.”

You smiled at him before nodding and turning away, feeling the pace within your chest increase as you rephrased the entire conversation within your mind. You had finally spoken to him (not that you hadn’t before, but this was your very first conversation with the boy without the assistance of anyone else). You had spoken to Midoriya and hadn’t sounded like an absolute idiot!

     “(l/n)-san!”

Your heart froze at the mention of your name. Turning around with wide eyes, you noticed Izuku running toward you.

     “Y-Yes?” By now you were certain you had a crush on him.

What else could months of stalking lead to anyway?

     “You forgot your bag.”

Scratch the part where you told yourself you’d managed to have a conversation with Izuku without making a fool out of yourself. You had. You had made a fool out of yourself.

You weren’t normally a very shy person, but perhaps it was because of his bashful nature did your nature become quite timid as well. Letting out a breath, you moved to the back of the dorms, toward a small forest clearing. Present Mic had shown you this area, someplace you could practice your quirk without any hindrance. Walking over to your regular area, you let out a breath before putting your diary down, before turning to spot a sapling growing on the ground. Taking a deep breath, you reached forward, urging the sapling to move out of the ground, using your quirk to rapid its growth; the plant moved, grew in an instant before flowers bloomed on its stem, thorns pricking at the corners, and you manipulated its structure and made the thorns bigger, the stem girthier, and the flowers poisonous. 

But it took a lot longer than it did the day before. You wondered if it was because your mind was occupied, and you also took note of how you stood idle while you were doing it. Clicking your tongue, you got to work.

I can’t let this get to me, you thought, picturing Izuku’s face, knowing how hard he might be working to master his own quirk. I have to get stronger.

*

     “Midoriya shounen, you probably shouldn’t train so hard and break all of your bones at once.”

     “It’s not like I’m trying to break my bones.” He said, apologetically, as All Might led him inside the forest behind the dorms.

     “Perhaps if you tried segregating how much of your quirk you use while you use it? You aren’t allowing it to accelerate all over your hands, when you focus it on punches. The power is devastating, and can break you.”

I’m aware of that bit, Midoriya thought, letting out a sigh. He turns to an open clearing, noticing a weird sapling growing at the corner. Blinking twice, he walked over to the plant, but stopped before touching it. From one look, he could tell that the flowers were poisonous, the thorns were unusually bigger, and the stem of the plant itself looked like a rope.

     “Is something wrong?”

     “No, I think,” Midoriya swore he had seen this type of quirk before, “I think I’ve seen this somewhere.”

At this, All Might moved aside and spotted the plant that was in front of the boy. As if he had recognized it in an instant, All Might smiled before thinking of you fondly.

     “It must be (l/n) shoujo.”

Izuku’s eyes widened at the mere mention of your name. Ah, he thought before scrunching his eyes together, That’s right, I’ve not really seen her quirk in action before! As he turned to face All Might, Midoriya spotted a small book beside another tree, before walking over to it and picking it up. 

     “I think you should take a break for today, Midoriya shounen,” All Might said softly, “Pushing yourself too hard isn’t good either.”

Nodding with a smile, Midoriya held the book in his hands before heading to the dorm. In the meanwhile however, his curiosity got the better of him, and wanting to look for a name, he opened the first few pages of your diary. 

Sometimes, I think Midoriya-san just needs to rest his bones a bit.

His eyes widened at the words written down. Whoever this person was, they were talking about him! Turning to another page, he found more words of him, some were worried for him, some were highlighting his weaknesses (which he gladly made note of), and some were praising his strengths. A smile sat on his lips as he read what was written, no judgment in mind, before bumping into someone.

He blinked when he spotted Mineta. The purple head tilted his head at Midoriya’s smile before cheekily grinning at him.

     “That looks like a weird smile, Midoriya,” Mineta teased, “What’s gotten you smiling like me?”

A dark shade overshadowed Izuku’s face as he shook off Mineta’s words.

     “It’s definitely nothing like your smile, Mineta-kun,” He said softly, “But, it’s nothing. I was just... recollecting something.”

     “Hm,” Mineta scoffed before walking away, “I hope it’s not something stupid like a crush.”

Izuku chuckled before entering his dorm room. Leaving his school bag by the bed, he opened the diary once more before reading the words written about him again, from the beginning. 

It can’t be Uraraka-san, he thought before humming and tracing his finger over the writing. On second thought, why can’t it be Uraraka-san? Does that mean she watches me and takes note of me? Or is it Asui-san? She seems to care about my wellbeing too, right? 

A blush adorned his face as he thought, It can’t be Yaoyarozu-san or Jirou-san, definitely. They don’t seem the type to... He gulped, unable to even finish the thought.

Shooting up straight on his bed, Midoriya suddenly jerked up, almost certain he tore a tissue on his neck. His eyes were wide and his grip on the diary tightened just a little bit, and a yelp exited his mouth.

And just as the door opened, Midoriya exclaimed, “(l/n)-san!”

Mineta blinked at the door before closing it behind him quietly. I thought I was the freak, he thought as he walked back to his dorm. It’s a stupid crush. I’ll ask him about the damn homework some other time. 

*

     “Izuku-kun, will you kiss me?” Your face was inches away from his, your hand was wrapped around his wrist. 

Izuku could feel his cheeks burn at how close you were, your eyes were dead focused on his form. You weren’t looking anywhere else, and why were your lips so shiny? He gulped when he realized he had been looking at them, before you moved in and closed the gap. You kissed him like you had been dreaming of this for far too long, and your grip on his wrist merely tightened. And just as Izuku eased into the kiss, closing his eyes, nourishing the feeling it was giving him, he felt a strange warmth cascade on his skin.

His eyes shot open and the alarm noise was blaring into his ears. He lay there, ignoring the sound of the alarm, and he thought of you—how your lips felt against his, how your eyes were looking into his soul; he felt the warmth rush to his face again and he felt a bit ashamed, a bit relieved that it was indeed a dream, but mostly, Izuku felt like he had run a marathon in less than an hour.

He thanked the stars that it was a weekend, but he still had to go over and give you the diary. He bit his lip when he thought of you again, your eyes looking right into his, and without realizing it, Izuku bumped his feet against the bed and cussed.

Get it together, he thought before feeling the embarrassment rush to his features. Grabbing the diary, Izuku swallowed air before attempting to head to your dorm room; knowing full well that you might either be there or near the forest. He hasn’t actually spoken to you voluntarily, and while this realization made him feel weird inside, not to mention the wet dream he had of you, Izuku felt a strange excitement—like he was suddenly 5 years old and the girl he was sitting next to finally smiled at him.

He knocked twice on your door, but there was no answer. For a second, he wondered if he should just leave the diary in front of your door, but remembering a certain purple haired classmate of his, Izuku thought it was best if he handed it over to you personally. After all, he had no idea if you were going to be mad at him or snap at him for taking your book; maybe, you headed back where you left it, in hopes of finding it right there, but Izuku knew that he had stolen that chance away from you. Rushing to the forest, he spotted you there, frantically looking over at every inch, and a soft smile crept up to his lips. Slowly approaching you, Izuku held the book in his right hand while his left hand rubbed the back of his neck.

     “Um,” He alerted you, not wanting to scare you, “(l/n)-san?”

You jumped at the sound, turning to him with a strikingly red face; you looked troubled, but he only assumed that was because you thought your book was missing. Izuku slowly handed the book to you before offering an apologetic smile.

     “I—I’m really sorry! I found it here and I didn’t know whose it was! I was training with All Might, well, actually, I was about to train but he told me not to? So I had to leave, and while I was, I spotted the plant you made? At first, I didn’t know you’d made it—and All Might was the one who said—”

     “Midoriya-kun, thank you!”

Izuku’s eyes widened to spot you smiling at him, holding the book close to your chest. The sight of you warm and happy did a number on him, but he didn’t move. Suddenly, he recalled how big your eyes looked when you were about to kiss him and his face heated up. Moving back a couple inches, you were shocked to see how repulsed he suddenly looked.

Your face turned purple, “I-Is everything okay?”

He nodded vigorously before almost retching, “Y-Yeah! I... I have to go!”

Your heart fell at the sight. Suddenly, you didn’t want to care about why he made such a face at your smile. Perhaps, he had read your diary; maybe, he had been repulsed by how you would watch him. Maybe, it was because you were a delicate person, not in tune with who he associated to be, and that was why he was repulsed. Maybe, if you had been anyone but yourself, Izuku would have returned that smile. Your gradual need to voluntarily care less grew in your heart, but you were intrinsically kind—there was no way you could not care. You felt a growing desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

But you had no friends you could trust. You could not even understand why something so trivial made you feel something so inexplicably deep. 

After the weekend, Izuku noticed you walk into class, a solemn look in your eyes. He wondered if it was because of how abruptly he had left that day, ignoring what you were about to say. He wanted to know right away what you were thinking, what was running through your mind. He wanted to know your every detail, wanting to jot down points in his own diary that he noticed about you. He suddenly hated that he needed to get to know you in order to continue this process, but with you just sitting there, looking sad and anguished, possibly over something he had done, left him feeling helpless and Izuku hated every breathing moment of it.

A twisted sense of frustration grew within him, with how long it takes to get to know someone—and how it required having to spend the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do.

He quickly shut his eyes when he realized that sensory overload blind the back of his eyes.

Walking back to his dorm, he noticed you wave at Tsuyu-chan and Uraraka-chan before heading to the back of the dorms. Instantly, he knew you were heading over there to train, and swallowing the rock in his throat, Izuku rushed over to you and cleared his throat, wanting not to startle you.

You turned around and your eyes widened, but you forced yourself not to react. Whatever these feelings were, you had long accepted them as being one-sided, so there was no point in pining.

     “Are you headed to train?” 

You nodded, confused at his query. 

     “Is it alright if I join you?”

You blinked, “You want to train with me?”

     “I’m sorry but,” He took a breath, “I read what you’d written about me. I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have looked, but you made so much sense about my quirk! I wanted to thank you for your observations, but I guess... I just... Will you please let me train with you?”

Izuku bowed in front of you and you stood there, floored. Scrambling to have him do anything but bow at you, you bowed back because you really had no idea how to respond to him. Izuku noticed before standing up straight, with you following right after. 

     “Okay. But, I... I’m not as good as you.”

     “Good as me? I’m not even good!” He laughed, following you to the clearing.

You turned to him with a deadpan, “Midoriya-san, your modesty is an insult.”

     “I-I’m sorry...” He rubbed the back of his head.

When you reached the area, you stood opposite to where he stood. Izuku took a deep breath before wondering what your offensive moves were like. You were often curious yourself, considering you hadn’t particularly trained with someone before. You were mainly a defensive fighter, but this was your first time wanting to fight offensive.

     “I’ll try to go on the offensive.” You said, pressing your hands together.

Midoriya nodded before looking at you intensely. The look made you nervous, but at the same time, it was devoid of any judgment. In an instant, Izuku’s legs were pinned to the ground he stood on, vines wrapping over his feet. He tried to move, but the grip could literally remove his legs. His eyes widened when he spotted you standing exactly where you were, and he wondered what was to come next.

In a second, he turned to his left and spotted a tree trunk coming right at his face, but Izuku moved, pulling his legs away from the vines, rushing toward you; however, what he didn’t expect was to trip over the trunk and fall face flat on to you.

He heard you whine, but he assumed that was because he had fallen over you. But it was when he opened his eyes did he realize what had actually happened. His face was cushioned on your chest, your breasts having covered his fall. Izuku felt a wire in his brain short-circuit, before pushing himself away from you, quickly scurrying to the other end of the forest. You slowly got up a moment later, and when he expected you to yell at him, berate him for being just another Mineta, you looked worried instead.

Eh?

     “Are you alright?”

Midoriya froze at how you sounded, your voice almost shaky. He could only nod. You let out a breath before sitting right where you were, a sullen look enveloping your features. 

     “I-I’m sorry—”

     “I thought I hurt you...”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

     “What?”

     “People usually call me delicate, but the thing is... I don’t have any control over my quirk. It’s a powerful quirk, I’m aware... But I can’t control it because I’m delicate. Weak. People were right. I’m no fit to be a hero. I can’t be like you, Midoriya-san, I can’t be stronger than this... I almost hurt you terribly. You’re already doing your best. And those scars on your hand... You have no idea how much that bothers me. Stupid, right?”

Not at all. What are you saying?

     “Someone like me shouldn’t dream so big. I took notes of you hoping I could be like you, but this just proves to me that I can’t. We’re so apart in skill, I just—”

     “(l/n)-san! Snap out of it!”

Your eyes widened to see Izuku yell at you. You paused, before waiting for him to finish.

     “You’re not weak! You’re anything but weak. Your quirk, it’s one of the most beautiful quirks I’ve ever seen! And your precision! You don’t know it, but this quirk is killing me the more I use it and controlling it is hard, I’ll admit. But if I had the dexterity that you do, I’d be a lot stronger. I’m not strong. I’m anything but,” He got up before moving to you. Bending down to your level, Izuku offered you a hand and brought you up to a standing position. “You’re really strong, (l/n)-san. You don’t see it.”

You teared up at his words, but blinked them away.

     “And about people calling you delicate in the past...” You couldn’t ignore the feeling of his hand over yours. “I know that it’s hard to not let it get to you, but trust me, you are going to make an amazing hero.”

You wanted to hug him but you held yourself back. You smiled to yourself, feeling the back of your eyelids burn again, but you just let yourself look at Izuku’s hand in yours, feeling absolute joy rush into your features. Looking up at him, you smiled once more. Izuku was already smiling, but a string in his heart tore as he recollected something.

Izuku-kun, will you kiss me?

His face suddenly reddened and he pulled away, causing you to blink once again. He didn’t look repulsed, he looked... shy? Nodding a couple of times, he scooted away from the area, leaving you behind.

*

For an entire week, he wondered if he had blown things off to a point where he couldn’t ever fix them.

Sitting in the common room, he laid his head in between his legs and groaned, the couch feeling heavy against his body. Mineta and Kaminari spotted their friend being an absolute grouch before Mineta sighed and walked over to him. 

     “What’s up, man?” 

Izuku sighed before shaking his head. 

     “I screwed up.”

Mineta rolled his eyes, “Screwed up things with (l/n)?”

The green haired male instantly looked up at the smaller boy who presented a rather unamused expression in his face.

     “H-How did you...?”

     “Only the both of you look like you’re dying so, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. Also,” He grinned, “You were screaming her name out the last time I saw you.”

Izuku remembered that episode and pretended not to hear Mineta.

     “Just go talk to her, don’t be a wimp when it comes to matters of the heart!”

I thought he was just a regular pervert, Midoriya thought with wonder. Maybe there’s more to Mineta, after all—

     “And tell me how her breasts feel like—”

     “Good day, Mineta-kun.”

Letting out a breath, he rubbed the back of his neck, wondering why he lets the image of you kissing him breach his every interaction with you. He bit his lip before spotting you heading to the clearing again, to train in silence and solitude. He missed interacting with you, and he wondered where this guilt came from.

Following after you, he noticed the way you walked; brisk, yet smooth. He watched you train, moving vines and branches effortlessly, a lot quicker than before. In just a week, you had managed to excel so much that it amazed him. He didn’t want to be seen watching you, so he hid behind a tree and just stared in wonder. There was a kind of unnoticed excellence that carried on around you, and Izuku noticed this every day—the hidden talent of how you effortlessly carried on being yourself—you would be renowned as a masterpiece if only you’d been appraised by the cartel of popular taste, who assume that brilliance is a rare and precious quality, accidentally overlooking a buried jewel such as yourself, who may not be flawless but are still somehow perfect.

It was at this point, when his eyes widened slowly did he realize that he liked you. 

And boy, did he really, really want to kiss you.

Gulping, he got up to address you like a regular person would, but he tripped on absolutely nothing and fell face flat in front of him, now revealing him to be a creepy stalker. Please don’t think I’m Mineta—

     “You’re nothing like him, Midoriya-kun. Are you okay?”

I guess I spoke aloud, he thought before getting up and looking at you.

     “I... I’m really sorry.”

You shook your head, “I understand that it must be hard to face me. I must make you angry.”

Eh?

     “I understand if you think I’m weird—”

     “(l/n)-san, I think you’re bloody brilliant.”

Your eyes widened at his blatant observation. 

     “What?”

     “I’m running away from you because... because I...” His face was quite possibly burning him, “I like you.”

     “I like you too.” 

He looked at you like you were joking, but apparently you were not.

     “Oh.”

     “Yes.”

You two just stood there, not knowing what to say. You moved a bit, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze.

     “Why... Why were you avoiding me then?”

Because I had a dream where you kissed me, he thought before breathing out, noticing the way your eyes widened and face reddened. Oh god.

Don’t tell me I said it aloud!

     “Midoriya-san... You... What?”

Moving over to you, he grabbed your hands in what felt like the most random and instantaneous reaction he has ever had, and pressed his lips to yours, right before muttering an apology. A second later, he could feel you kiss back, the hand that was free was on his cheek now. 

Pulling back, he let out a breath in relief. 

     “I like you, Midoriya-san.” 

     “Call me Izuku.”

     “Izuku-kun,” you tilted your head sweetly, “Will you kiss me?”

He turned to you with a bright red face, shocked out his mind before he spotted you giggling a second later. 

     “Oh, you’re teasing me, I see.”

     “Glad you caught on.”

#izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #midoriya #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #bnha #bnha x reader #plant quirk #izuku x reader #midoriya x you #izuku midoriya x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero headcanons #boku no hero imagines #request

[floral-and-fine]

La Doular Exquise part 3

Mycroft Holmes x female reader

Greg Lestrade x female reader

Part 1        Part 2

Summary: Greg Lestrade is in a new relationship with y/n, and to everyone, they appear very happy together and very much in love. Surprisingly, Mycroft finds himself longing for something similar. 

a/n: thanks @luna-xial​ for helping me stay motivated :)

“Boring!” Sherlock leaned back in his chair and groaning obnoxiously, “I said find me a good case. Something interesting!”

John rolled his eyes but kept scrolling through their emails anyways, desperate to find something that would get Sherlock off his back. He hated these dry spells, and having to deal with a moody Sherlock on top of it all.

“What about this one?” He asked. “Missing headstones from family plot.”

“Too easy,” Sherlock complained, shaking his head. “The culprit is obviously a family member.”

“Fine,” John sighed, continuing his search, there had to be something worthwhile.

Suddenly, there was a knock at their door.

“Come in!” John shouted as he clicked on an email, in which the subject line read, ‘HELP: my mother’s ghost is haunting my ex.’

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock, who had been wearing the same robe and pants for the past three days, with a disappointed expression.

“You’re not,” John chirped, praying that Mycroft had something to keep Sherlock busy. “What do you need?”

Mycroft looked down at the floor for a moment, twisting his umbrella around in his hand. “I need some advice,” he finally stated looking back at John with an unreadable expression.

“Advice?” Sherlock repeated, suddenly perking up.

“Not from you,” Mycroft scowled. “From Dr. Watson.”

“Me?” John questioned, staring at Mycroft in disbelief.

Mycroft nodded, “yes, I’m not sure who else I can ask.”

Sherlock got to his feet. “What could John possibly help you with?” He demanded not bothering to hide his surprise or disdain at the idea.

Mycroft sighed, ignoring Sherlock’s outburst. “Mind joining me to my car, Dr. Watson? It’s waiting outside.”

“Sure,” John replied, though his tone was anything but.

With that Mycroft turned back around and headed out the door.

John gave Sherlock a sympathetic look before he quickly grabbed his coat. “See you in a bit,” he said then rushed down the stairs to catch up to Mycroft.

Sherlock slumped back down in his chair, pouting over being left out. What does John know that he doesn’t?

John and Mycroft sat in silence, the little cafe Mycroft selected was full of people. His reasoning was that if Sherlock did follow, it would be harder for him to overhear their conversation without being noticed.

“So, what can I help you with?” John finally asked getting to the point.

“I’ve been talking with someone, lately,” Mycroft started. “And I want to show her that I’m interested in her.”

“Alright,” John nodded, trying to hide his amusement that Mycroft would come to him for relationship advice. “Well, how have you gone about it so far?”

“We’ve had tea together, I gave her my personal cell phone number, I’ve texted her practically every day since,” Mycroft rattled off.

John snickered, “I’m sorry, but that’s- that’s nothing, literally that is like the bare minimum of what people do for a friend or even an acquaintance.”

Mycroft’s face fell at John’s reaction.

“Sorry, sorry,” John sighed, “just figured you’d be better at this.”

Mycroft added more sugar to his tea. “I have some experience, but none in this context,” he huffed. “The issue here is timing. I have reason to believe that she will soon be available.”

John raised his brow, “Is y/n planning on breaking things off with Lestrade?”

Mycroft’s brow furrowed for a moment, he hadn’t mentioned who he had been talking to, figures Sherlock would share everything and anything with Dr. Watson. “Based on what she and I have discussed, yes.”

“So why do you need my help?”

“You have a history of… going from one relationship to another rather quickly,” Mycroft explained. “This is a delicate matter, I don’t want to act too soon, or too late.”

John gaped for a moment, slightly offended that Mycroft thought of him as the guy who easily moves on between women.

“That’s, that’s not something I can tell you,” John frowned. “She’ll either need time or not, my best advice is to see how she’s doing.”

Mycroft sighed, he figured as much.

…

Y/n stood outside the door of Greg’s flat, her heart beating faster with each passing second.  

On the way over she had planned everything, she was going to say, how this was about them wanting different things out of life, that she wanted things like marriage and children and respected his desire not to remarry. She still wants to be friends with him and truly cares about him, but she's realized that their relationship should end now before it gets even harder.

But now that she was here, standing outside his door, her nerves were getting the best of her.

“Just knock,” She whispered to herself. Taking a deep breath she rapped her knuckles against the door and waited.

“Y/n?” Greg greeted her with a smile giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “C’mon in.”

She could feel her resolve wearing thin, there were so many things she liked about Greg. He had this boyish charm that made her smile every time she saw him.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “Need a drink or anything?”

“I’m good,” y/n answered, then bit her lip. She needed to get this over with, but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

Greg sat next to her still smiling, he was in such a good mood. A part of her just wanted to enjoy this, sitting close to him, watching TV.

She had never broken up with anyone before, at least not when things hadn’t hit the fan. Things were still good between her and Greg.

His hand slid over to hers, his fingers wrapping her palm. She gave his hand a little squeeze, this wasn’t fair to him, she couldn’t lead him on just because she was scared.

“Greg, we need to talk,” y/n started, her eyes focused on their clasped hands.

His shoulders visibly slumped, “This can’t be good.”

“This isn’t easy for me,” she said, her vision starting to get slightly blurry. “But I think it would be best if we broke up.” She couldn’t face him so she kept looking down.

Greg sighed, his free hand running down his face, “This is about that conversation we had the other night isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” y/n murmured. “I just think that inevitably we’ll part ways.”

“You don’t know that,” Greg argued.

“Greg…” she sighed. “I want to get married, I want to have a baby, and that’s-“

“Fine!” He snapped, getting to his feet. “We’ll get married and have children, all of it, alright?”

“No, not like this, it shouldn’t have to be because of an ultimatum,” y/n shook her head. “It only works if we both want it.”

Greg started to pace, wracking his brain for something to say, some way to convince her that they could work it out.

Suddenly, y/n’s phone’s screen lit up to reveal that she had a new message from Mycroft.

“Mycroft? As in Mycroft Holmes?” Greg questioned, his tone distrustful.

Y/n nodded, “yeah, we had tea the other day.”

“Why would he bother talking to you?” His words stung, even if she knew that wasn’t his intention.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just not like him,” he shrugged. “He’s not the type to care about people. What would you and him have to talk about anyway?”

“I don’t know,” y/n said, crossing her arms. “We talk about little things like my job and books, that’s it.”

“Do you like him?” Greg asked suddenly.

The question caught y/n off guard. She honestly hadn’t thought about it. She enjoyed talking to him, she liked a lot of his quirky personality traits and habits, not to mention he was kind of cute in his own way… y/n could feel her heart beating faster, did she like him? How come she was barely realizing this?

Greg laughed dryly, “Well that’s it, isn’t it? You’ve moved on.”

“That’s not it at all!” y/n shouted, rising to stand.

“Oh really?” He scoffed, reaching for her phone. “Well, let’s see what it says?”

“Stop it,” she urged. “This has nothing to do with him. I’m done.” Shaking her head, y/n gathered her things before heading out.

Greg stared at the door, mouth hanging open. Y/n didn’t bother saying goodbye, slamming the door as she left.

. . .

Y/n dropped her purse on a nearby chair as she entered her home. “What a mess,” she muttered. Somehow what started out as a simple and sweet relationship had spiraled out of her control.

And now here she was possibly falling for another guy.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed earlier. She thought back to Christmas Day, and how much she enjoyed Mycroft’s company. How he attempted to make her visit pleasant, despite how obviously uncomfortable he was with it. She recalled how victorious she felt every time she made him smile, even if it was just a small one.

It didn’t help either how supportive he’s been while she tried to figure out things between her and Greg. How he was always quick to respond and gave her his honest opinions on things.

Y/n groaned loudly as she collapsed on her bed. Why didn’t she notice earlier that she was falling for Mycroft Holmes? But this just raised more problems.

At least with Greg she knew where she stood, that he did, in fact, care about her, was attracted to her, and wanted to be with her, even if getting married wasn’t an option.

With Mycroft, she had no clue if he wanted to be anything more than friends. Hell, she didn’t even know if he thought of her as a friend!

It could very well be that her loving him could only lead to more pain. She had heard how people referred to Mycroft as the iceman, and she had seen firsthand how he was distant from everyone including his family. Greg had even told her about how Mycroft frequently reminded Sherlock that caring wasn’t an advantage.

Looking up at the ceiling she wondered if he’d be willing to be at a disadvantage for her. If he could care for her enough to make that kind of compromise?

She shot up into a sitting position as her phone buzzed.

“Speak of the devil,” she whispered to herself. Y/n bit her lip as she read the read message.

‘Everything alright? You’ve been awfully quiet today.’

Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, she knew his concern was sincere, which only made her like him more. God, she just wanted to know if she meant anything to him.

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft x reader #mycroft fanfic #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock fanfic #greg lestrade x reader #greg lestrade fanfic #reader insert #Female reader

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Gus and Skimbleshanks for the character ask!

All of them?? Oh, gee, okay um...

I'll tell you what - I'll answer all of them for Gus for now, and then perhaps answer them all for Skimble in the future (depending on interest level).

Alright, let’s see...

Gus

Already answered 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 here!

1. Something this character is truly proud of

Gus is extremely proud of his accomplishments throughout his life, and extremely proud of how he worked up from nothing to get where he is - and he will humbly boast about these accomplishments until the cows come home, ask anyone in his proximity.

But, if I may take a moment to be as sappy as a possibly can, what Gus is *most* proud of is his legacy - aka, his children and his grandchildren. Though he never thought he’d be the nurturing type, and he still really isn’t, there is not a soul alive that has come into contact with Gus the Theatre Cat that does not know of his son and daughter, and later, his group of grandkittens. That’s why he’s always lamenting at the young ones that they “think they’re smart” when they do the bare minimum when he *knows* that they’re able to accomplish more than that.

2.Who they want to please the most.

Gus is, quite literally, a crowd pleaser. He’s a showman, so of course he is. He wants to please his audience, his director, his fellow castmates...all at once. He is also very proud when he manages to please his fellow cats or people in his family - for making a name for himself, for getting somewhere, for reaching such prominence as just a *cat* for crying out loud. He’s made it, and that makes him feel happier than anything else considering where he started.

When kittens tell him that they want to be like him someday, he positively beams.

3. Who depends on them.

His children depended on him for the longest time, but he kinda blew it with that one for a good chunk of their lives - and by the time he had started to come around, they were already independent, and it’s one of his biggest regrets that he didn’t come around sooner.

Nowadays, no one really depends on Gus for physical things or favours, but there are many members of the tribe that depend on him to listen and to talk to them. Gus has a way of spinning situations simply so that they make sense, an eccentric conversation style that is both pleasant and distracting, and is able to read the room *extremely* easily. It’s a little spooky how easily Gus can pick up on a situation, with very little conversation, and how smoothly he can transition conversation/interaction style if necessary. Gus can be rather blunt and honest to a fault, but you’d be hard-pressed to find better life advice than from him.

(If we go with my Gus and Bella are siblings, theory, she used to depend on him a lot when they were young, since their parents also weren’t around much - what goes around and all that - to protect her and watch her)

4. What they would do if they had one month to live

Well...I mean...what is he doing now?

Sorry. A younger Gus would have said he would press on with whatever he was doing at the time. He’d want to be back in the pub with his friends, late into the night. He’d love to get a final dramatic monologue in, a final curtain call; die doing what he loves instead of caught up in a bed.

Now, well, Gus is well aware - somewhere in the back of his mind - that he’s not going to live a long time. He knows the end is nearing. All he really wants is quiet - after a life lived out loud, if he could just collect himself enough to sort everything out one thing at a time, and quietly work through each day he would be grateful. Bored to death, perhaps, but grateful.

He’d like to maybe see Bella again, before he goes.

5. A cherished personal belonging.

The blanket Gus began to wear around his shoulders used to be where his wife and children slept and where his grandchildren currently play, and it has a whole cacophony of different scents attached to it. He hates being parted with it. When things get overwhelming for him, he buries himself in it, curling himself under a literal blanket of familiarity - even if he isn’t quite sure *why* it’s familiar.

11. This character’s favorite piece or pieces of clothing.

He has a pair of gloves that his wife also made for him that Jelly has patched over the years because they’ve worn thin. She ended up having to cut the fingers off and hem them when they became more hole than glove.

He also has a scarf given to him by one of the theatre patrons from an earlier show of his - a little girl with her mother who was only truly fascinated with the cat on stage, and didn’t understand why they didn’t give him a costume as well. She was helping by giving him hers.

12. How they sleep.

He snores and mutters in his sleep, to the point where he seems to have entire conversations with himself. He’s also rather fitful. The kittens are wary of sleeping anywhere near him, since he has been known to jerk awake suddenly and kick out in alarm (and doesn’t he feel guilty the few times that *has* caught a few of them in the ribs or the legs)

13. What kind of parent they would be.

Well he *is* one, and the answer to that question would be not a *great* one, but not a *bad* one either. Gus is a fun parent, a loving parent, a proud parent, but he isn’t the best parental figure. He isn’t so great with discipline, nor is he great for showing up to anything on time.

I’d say Gus’ strength as a parent came from his unfailing willingness to go along with whatever scenario his children would cook up - from pirates to knights and princesses to aliens - Gus was always willing to jump into the game should they invite him to play with them. And you know he threw his entire self into it, too.

14. How they did in school

Gus would have a been a “graduated from Juilliard” kinda guy, if the timeline matched up - or if he could have afforded it.

As it stands, he didn’t really finish school. Not necessarily out of any inability to do so, but a complete and total lack of interest. He held odd jobs mostly, to support his family, which led him to quietly quitting school. He figured anything he wanted to learn would be just as good coming from direct experience or working under a mentor than a formal education - and it got him where he is today, so all in all not bad.

15. What cologne or perfume they would use

There is a very specific one that my grandfather uses that smells exactly like something Gus would wear - it’s that standard older gentleman scent - kind of like...Aqua Velva but softer - that is slightly on the pricy side, but not ridiculously so. He doesn’t bathe in it, but he uses it religiously.

He *used* to dip into a Chanel perfume that one of his actress friends gave to him after one of their shows wrapped, that he *kinda* thought just smelled a lot like lightly spicy rubbing alcohol but felt it polite to at least...use it - when that finally ran out and he curiously checked on its price...he never even looked at it again.

(”Ridiculous...I may as well douse myself in a bottle of gin it’ll give off the same effect!”)

16. Their sexuality

Gus is bisexual and biromantic, with a preference for Queens, but he’s had several trysts with Toms as well. He was quite the paramour in his younger days.

17. What they’d sing at karaoke

Gus finds karaoke to be absolutely *dreadful* in that he legitimately does not see the fun in it OR its purpose.  And that’s coming from a cat whose whole job it is to perform.

So count him out of that. He’ll monologue on the spot for you, though, if he is so inclined.

18. Special talents they have

Gus used to be extremely good at remembering people’s names - even after just one introduction or overhearing it once (Jelly gets that from him).

He's very good at patter songs and tongue twisters. He also used to delight his kits by speeding through the alphabet backwards.

He can clock a person's personality within literally seconds of knowing them - and he's usually right.

He plays piano and was the one who taught Jelly to play. He can’t so much anymore with his shaking hands.

19. When they feel safest

Gus feels safest in the light when he's able to see everything. He never got stage fright, per say, but would get waves of nerves when he was directly in a spotlight - with the rest of the stage dark around him...like he was being swallowed. He would get nervous to move out of it - the lighting techs needed to be *very* on the ball if the director called for a total blackout (he only really trusted two of them).

20. Household chore they hate the most

Cooking. 100%. Can't stand it. Does not know how the oven works. Cannot adjust to picky palettes well. Definitely a take out dad.

21. Their fondest childhood memory

(Sibling AU) When Gus and Grizabella were children, they put on “Cinderella” (which Bella insisted would be changed to “Cinderbella” because of course. Gus goes along with it because *whatever fine his mother told him that he was the big brother and had to be nice to her*) as one of their very first collaborative plays together - they were around 8 and 6 respectively. They had already put on dozens of little skits and read-throughs and imaginary games, and they loved doing it.

Bella *refused* to be anyone other than Cinderella and Gus refused to play the prince (because it meant he had to *kiss his sister yuck*), so instead it was really “Staring Grizabella as Cinderella and Asparagus as *literally every other part except for Prince Charming*.- they spent hours trying to figure out how the quick changes would work, and making script changes, and hanging sheets behind them for curtains, and Bella glued together a tiny little suit for her teddy bear who would play the prince instead.

All in all, it went about as well as they could have expected - a bit of a disaster. They put it on for their father, who watched with tired eyes and a patient smile, and applauded enthusiastically at the end - and they both decided right then and there that that was what they would do for the rest of their lives.

He considers that his first stage credit.

22. How they spend their money.

Honestly, Gus’ money spending habits are very strange. He will buy himself a new car *once* and then run the thing into the ground until it physically can’t run anymore, won't buy new clothes until you can see through the old ones, will *always* weasel his way out of paying for alcohol at a bar (he has *many* tricks up his sleeve for this one), and he will refuse to spend his money on other frivolous things, but you bet your dollar that he is literally always shelling out money to his grandchildren just because - saying it would be their little secret, and one time bought a bird house because it "spoke to him" but never bothered to hang it up or actually use it.

23. What kind of alcohol they drink

Well, he used to be a “whatever I am given I will drink and I will probably drink *too much*” kind of guy, but since cutting back he’ll moreso partake in brandy or gin, but only in very small doses.

24. What they wish they could change about themselves

There are several things that Gus wishes he could change from the past, but the one thing he wishes he could truly change about himself in the present is how much of a burden he feels he’s become to the others (he's not but he feels that way). Gus is a proud cat, he will admit that. And with that pride comes mourning of his own independence.

Sometimes, when Jelly is helping him do things - like button up his coat or helping him to eat - he just looks at her forlornly and murmurs “My poor dear. You shouldn’t have to do any of this.”

He also wishes that there wasn’t a period of time that his familial relationships were so strained because of him putting his career first, but he can’t really change that so much as try his best to make up for it.

25. What other people wish they could change about them

Gus has the tendency to be a little...let’s say *long-winded*. And a little hypercritical. He holds himself to a high - near-impossible - standard, so he also has a bad habit of holding others to that same standard.

#sorry it took so long i had to think hard about some of these! #jellicles ask because jellicles dare #is-it-mungojerry-or-rumpelteazer #my headcanons #Gus the Theatre Cat

[medicifm]

*  not  me  actually  writing  an  intro  the  night  before  like  i  always  mean  to  😳  hennyway  hey  biddies  ,  i'm  chloe  ,  im  in  the  snowy  part  of  pst  ,  &  i  use  she / her  pns  .  i’ve  been  . . . . . . .  scouring  the  tags  for  an  rp  like  this  so  im  so  excited  to  bring  this  newish  muse  of  mine  here  !   im  here to  do  the  honours  of  introducing  my  himbo - on - the outside , manipulative - shit - on - the - inside  . . .  oscar  🤡

(  twenty  three , cis  man , he / him  ) ✉ ― hey  babes , have  you  met  OSCAR  MEDICI ?  they’re  working  here  as  THE  HEAD  CHEF  AT  LORENZO’S ,  a  few  villas  down  from  where  you’re  staying  .  you  might  hear  them  singing  ALRIGHTY  APHRODITE  BY  PEACH  PIT  playing  from  their  villa  ,  it’s  their  favourite  song  .  yes  ,  they  hear  that  they  look  like  JACK  GILINSKY  a  lot  ,  actually  -  it’s  really  uncanny  .  their  friends  back  home  in  SYDNEY , AUSTRALIA  say  that  if  they  were  on  a  tv  show  ,  their  trope  would  be  THE  WOLF  IN  SHEEP’S  CLOTHING  ,  how  funny  is  that  ? ✎ chloe , 22 , she/her , pst

𝐢  .

pinterest  |  wanted  plots  |  

𝐢𝐢  .

name  :  oscar  gabriel  medici

age  :  twenty  three

dob  /  sign  :  december  4th  ,  1997  /  sagittarius  sun  ,  leo  moon  ,  libra  rising 

pob  :  sydney , australia

gender / pronouns  :  cis  man  &  he / him / his

career :  head  chef  at  lorenzo’s  ,  full - time  heathen  ,  professional  disappointment  for  mothers  everywhere  .

drinking / drugs / smoking :  yes / more  often  than  he’d  admit / never .  

religion  :  jewish  background  ,  currently  non - practicing .

physical  :  jack  gilinsky  fc ,  dark  brown / black  longish  curls  (  reference  )  ,  dark  brown  eyes  ,  canon  jack  g’s  tattoos  ,  no  piercings  ,  6′2″  ,  175  lbs  ,  lean  but  strong  .  tattoos  a  la  canon!jack  ,  pearly  white  smile  that  he  may  . . .  or  may  not  . . .   use  crest  3D  white  strips  weekly  to  maintain  .  lots  of  burns  &  scars  from  kitchen  mishaps  on  his  hands  &  arms  .

traits  :  hard - working  ,  flighty  ,  intelligent  ,  hedonistic  ,  charismatic  ,  intense  ,  volatile  ,  

other  :  speaks  weird  french  (  aussie  accent  tings  )  ,  tans  easily  but  wears  sunscreen  nonetheless  ,  works  hard  parties  harder  ,  can’t  read  a  lick  of  french  but  spends  a  lot  of  his  free  time  with  a  coffee  &  a  new  paperback  ,  has  a  bit  of  an  internal  vendetta  against  rich  people  (  for  no  real  reason  ,  he  just  doesn’t  like  most  of  them  )  ,  has  ins  with  a  bunch  the  local  farmers  &  visits  them  weekly  ,  pretends  he  isn’t  lowkey  addicted  to  nicotine  administered  via  a  puff  bar  ,  liquor  of  preference  is  tequila  or  red  wine  ,  drives  a  lil  vespa  around  town  for  the  gag  of  it  (  loves  seeing  it  haphazardly  parked  amongst  a  bunch  of  luxury  cars  )  ,  

character  inspo  :  jess  mariano  (  gilmore  girls  )  , gordon  ramsey  🤡 ,  patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller’s day off ) , han solo ( star wars ) .

𝐢𝐢𝐢  .

oscar’s  arrival  was  as  unwanted  to  his  parents  as  could  be  :  a  father  whose  tendencies  leaned  towards  alcoholism  &  abusing  whoever  was  in  arms  reach  ,  a  mother  whose  life  was  more  or  less  spent  at  the  nursing  home  she  worked  as  a  nurse  at  ,  evading  home  .  he  became  a  self - inflicted  loner  ,  preferring  to  do  literally  the  exact  opposite  of  what  was  expected  or  wanted  from  him  .  he  had  a  few  friends  he  ran  with  ,  but  watching  them  all  go  off  &  study  or  prepare  for  university  solidified  in  oscar’s  mind  that  the  non - traditional  route  was  for  him  .  growing  up  by  the  water  ,  oscar  always  felt  more  drawn  to  skip  school  &  head  to  the  beach  than  he  did  obeying  his  parents  wishes  .   

one  of  his  solaces  was  his  grandfather  ,  gabriel  ,  who  owned  an  italian  restaurant  in  a  beach  town  north  of  sydney  .  whenever  the  weather  was bad  &  oscar  felt  like  ditching  class  ,  he’d  head  over  to  his  nono’s  restaurant  where  his  ass  would  be  put  to  work  as  soon  as  he  set  eyes  on  the  restaurant  .  it  was  tough  work  ,  but  challenging  in  a  way  that  fanned  the  flames  in  oscar’s  heart  ,  rather  than  dimming  them  .  by  the  time  he was  a  teenager  he  was  working  in  the  restaurant  everyday  after  school  , an  agreement  between  him  &  his  grandfather  framed  on  the  back  wall  that  stated  that  as  long  as  oscar  kept  from  flunking  out  ,  he  was  allowed  to  spend  as  little  or  as  much  time  in  the  kitchen  as  he  pleased .  

his  absolute  defiance  of  anything  traditional  &  following  the  rules  made  him  unpopular  with  adults  ,  but  lowkey  cool  with  the  girls  .  by  the  time  he  was  sixteen  ,  he  was  losing  his  focus  on  the  restaurant  &  his  grades  &  spending  more  &  more  time  chasing  after  girls  .  his  nono  tried  to  get oscar  to  come  back  &  focus  ,  but  as  always  ,  anything  he’s  asked  to  do  quickly  becomes  the  thing  he’s  running  from  the  most  .

tw  :  death  ,  cancer  .  around  his  eighteenth  birthday  ,  his  grandfather  suddenly  fell  ill  with  a  rare  form  of  cancer  that  took  his  life  six  weeks  after  diagnosis  ,  which  rocked  oscar’s  world  .  he  felt  overwhelming  guilt  that  he  hadn’t  spent  more  time  with  his  grandfather  ,  which  manifested  itself  as  oscar  dropping  out  of  school  a  year  shy  of  graduation  to  commit  himself  fully  to  perfecting  his  grandfather’s  techniques  ,  learning  all  of  his  recipes  (  read  :  pouring  over  dozens  of  handwritten  cookbooks )  in  some  failed  attempt  to  get  back  some  time  with  him  .  oscar  hadn’t  been  close  with  his  parents  in  years  ,  more  or  less  seeing  them  as  wardens  of  a  prison  he  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  .  his  grandfather’s  will  left  him  the  deed  to  the  restaurant  ,  with  an  ask  that  oscar  would  promise  to  act  on  whatever  he  felt  called  towards  ,  rather  than  doing  what  others  expected  of  him  .  to  be  candid  ,  this  whole  situation  crushed  him  .

eventually  ,  he  decided  he’d  had  enough  of  the  stifling  community  he’d  grown  up  in  .  he  sold  the  restaurant  to  one  of  the  regulars  ,  a  wealthy  man  who  he’d  come  to  acknowledge  as  somewhat  of  an  uncle  ;  a  safe  pair  of  hands  who  would  treat  his grandfather’s  legacy  with  as  much  passion  &  respect  as  oscar  himself  would  .  so  he  packed  a  bag  ,  texted  his  mom  that  he  was  going  traveling  ,  &  got  on  a  flight  that  evening  .  he  traveled  all  around  -  first  through  central  america  ,  then  through  europe  ,  throughout  asia  &  africa  ,  &  spent  a  few  months  driving  a  van  across  the  continental  united  states  &  canada  for  fun  . 

eventually  ,  he  started  getting  low - ish  on  money  ,  &  decided  to  settle  in  one  of  his  favourite  places  he’d  visited  :  southern  france  .  he  arrived  in  early  2018  ,  taking  on  whatever  menial  tasks  he  could  while  learning  french  until  he  got  a  position  as  a  line  cook  in  an  italian  restaurant  .  a  few  years  later  ,  he’s  made  his  way  up  to  filling  the  head  chef  position  ,  an  honour  he  takes  with  pride  .  he’s  implemented  many  of  his  own  recipes  while  using  flavours  he’s  learned  from  his  travels  ,  with  ingredients  straight  from  local  farmers  .  he’s  earned  the  restaurant  a  two michelin  star  rating  ,  &  is  constantly  striving  for  more  to  get  that  last  star  (  both  for  his  own  ego  as  well  as  a  secret  debt  to  his  grandfather  )  .

𝐢𝐯  .

ok  but  that  vid  where  gordon  puts  two  pieces  of  bread  on  someone’s  head  &  calls  them  an  idiot  sandwich  ?  that’s  oscar  .  intense  as  fuck  in  the  kitchen  ,  &  best  nobody  catch  an  attitude  about  it  bc  he  will  not  hesitate  to  hand  them  their  ass  on  a  silver  platter  .

another  gordon  reference  :  you  know  how  he’s  the  spawn  of  satan with  adults  ,  but  the  sweetest  ,  most  helpul  guy  with  children  ?  that’s  oscar  with  his  staff  vs  people  he  wants  something  from  .  whether  its  to  sleep  with  them  (  usually  his  first  instinct  to  be  fair  )  ,  their  money  or  clout  ,  or  to  get  into  some  wild  adventure  some  random  resort  staff  wouldn’t  dream  of  getting  into  ,  he  can  turn  on  the  charm  whenever  needed  .

can  go  from  absolutely  demoralizing  someone  in  the  kitchen  to  stepping  out  into  the  lounge  to  schmooze  with  his  friends  or  cougars  who  leave  phat  tips  in  0.2  seconds  .  the  speed  at  which  his  mood  can  completely  180  is  one  of  the  seven  world  wonders  (  last  i  checked  )  .

his  love  language  is  absolutely  acts  of  service  .  catch  him  actually  falling  in  love  once  in  a  blue  moon  &  making  it  his  mission  to  cook  her  extravagant  meals  everyday  .  

the  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing  label  epitomizes  his  nice  ,  helpful  ,  charismatic  exterior  ,  while  ulterior  motives  &  disdain  for  those  who  grew  up  with  more  money  than  he  did  lurk  beneath  the  surface  . 

he  can  be  MEAN  when  someone  fucks  him  over  or  pushes  him  farther  than  he  wants  -  isn’t  afraid  to  go  for  the  low  blows  or  send  someone  home  with  an  identity  crisis  if  it  protects  himself  .

lowkey  alcoholic  but  he’s  not  ready  for  that  conversation  yet  .  he  sees  it  more  as  perks  of  the  location  &  atmosphere  he’s  found  himself  in  .

also  lowkey  falls  in  love  HARD  ,  like  this  man  is  a  closeted  romantic  but  self - sabotages  all  potential  relationships  before  they  can  get  to  that  point  out  of  fear  he’ll  be  unable  to  live  life  of  his  own  volition  (  takes  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  to  know  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  🤡  )  .  has  probably  only  had  a  few  real  relationships  besides  flings  bc  he’s  afraid  .

𝐯  .

check  out  my  wanted  plots  tag  listed  here  ,  as  well  as  my  pinterest  wanted  plots  board  here  .  here   are  some  other  suggestions  hehe  :

best  friend  /  ride  or  die  :  someone  who  knows  about  his  past  ,  keeps  him  grounded  when  he’s  lk  spiraling  &  wants  to  drop  everything  &  flee  to  some  far  flung  corner  of  the  earth  .

actual  relationship  :  it  was  fast - burn  with  deep  feelings  (  not  them  thinking  they’re  soulmates  after  dating  for  a  month  . . .  pete  &  ariana  type  beat  )  but  completely  unrealistic  .  they  have  their  own  life  ,  he’s  pretty  much  tied  to  the  restaurant  ,  not  to  mention  his  lack  of  sharing  anything  about  his  childhood / life  back  home  .  they  loved  &  cared  for  each  other  ,  but  crashed  &  burned  fairly  quickly  because  of  how  idealistic  it  was  .  they  can  either  be  on  bad  or  good  terms  now  .

hateship  with  sexual  tension  😈

summer  flings  !!

fake  boyfriend  :  he  shows  up  on  her  arm  to  her  family’s  events  where  she’s  expected  to  have  a  partner  .  it’s  not  a  real  relationship  ,  but  her  parents  don’t  need  to  know  that  .  he  plays  the  part  &  satisfies  her  parents  beyond  the  bare  minimum  ,  &  in  return  she  invites  him  to  parties  ,  takes  him  out  on  her  family’s  yacht  ,  etc  etc  .  we  luv  some  symbiosis  

i  can  always  use  more  fwbs  hehehe

squad  :  a  group  of  people  who  do  everything  together  ,  have  a  chaotic  group  chat  ,  have  nicknames  for  one  another  ,  are  utd  on  each  other’s  sex  lives  ,  party  all  night  then  show  up  to  brunch  hungover  together  .  

cat  &  mouse  :  someone  he’s  pursuing  who  isn’t  quite  giving  in  ,  &  vice  versa  .  maybe  it’s  been  going  on  a  few  years  ,  everytime  they’re  in  st  tropez  they  have  this  weird  lil  flirtationship  thing  goin  on  until  she  leaves  ,  they  forget  about  one  another  ,  then  pick  it  right  back  up  when  she  returns  .

confidant  :  preferably  someone  from  a  working  class  background  who  understands  his  plight  of  being  a  worker  amongst  people  who  expect  to  be  waited  on  .

enemies  :  they  don’t  like  his  attitude  ,  &  he  doesn’t  like  them  in  return  .  lots  of  eye  rolls  ,  shit  talking  ,  &  tension  between  their  mutual  friends  .

we’re  sleeping  together  but  we  shouldn’t  be  but  that’s  half  the  fun :  for  whatever  reason  they  became  friends  ,  starting  hooking  up  despite  it  not  being  a  good  idea  (  read  :  he’s  exes  with  one  of  her  friends  ,  her  parents  want  her  focused  on  career  ,  they’re  part  of  the  same  friend  group  ,  etc )  . . . but  now  they  can’t  stop  .  lots  of  stolen  glances  across  rooms  ,  squeezing  past  one  another  in  a  crowded  club  just  close  enough  for  a  quick  touch  to  the  back  ,  quietly  leaving  one  another’s  places  the  morning  after  &  playing  dumb  to  anyone  who  asks  . 

#villasintro #eeeek im hyped !!

[mst3kproject]

The Devil Bat

Two #fuck this movie entries in a row? Yikes.  Time for something fun.  Here we have Bela Lugosi and a fake bat on a string, in a movie brought to us by the Producers Releasing Corporation, who also gave us the classic I Accuse my Parents.  It’s a bad movie masterpiece all on its own, and Joel and the bots could only have made it better.

As the opening card informs us, Paul Carruthers is the kindly local doctor in the village of Heathville… kinda like how Harold Shipton was the kindly local doctor in Hyde.  In between tending to his patients, Dr. Carruthers has been carrying on twisted experiments in his secret laboratory.  Electrical stimulation has allowed his pet bats to grow to the size of geese, which is certainly impressive but doesn’t seem very useful until the doctor’s business partner Mr. Heath inadvertently insults him.  Seeking revenge, Carruthers trains the bats to attack anything with a particular scent, and then sends that scent to his enemies in the form of a shaving lotion!  Can ace reporter Johnny Layton find the truth about the ‘Devil Bat’ before the entire Heath family is destroyed?

This movie was like a nice sorbet after the two course rotisserie turd that was Curse of Bigfoot and Sorority Girl.  It has everything I want out of a lousy old horror movie: bad actors, a ridiculous plot, and hilariously shoddy effects, all dished out so earnestly that you can’t help but love the result.

It’s a fairly guilt-free pleasure, too, because I’m pretty sure no bats were harmed in the making of this movie.  There’s a couple of close-up shots of a live flying fox, but almost all the bats we see are silly stiff props that don’t even deserve to be dignified with the label puppet.  Dr. Carruthers carries these around dangling from coat hangers.  In order to make them grow he just hooks them up to a battery with alligator clips, then puts some goggles on and watches.  We see the stupid fake bat getting electrocuted, then cut to Carruthers watching, then cut back to a slightly larger fake bat getting electrocuted.

When the bat attacks, it dangles from a string (shaken slightly to make it ‘flap’) and swoops down to sink its fangs into people’s necks!  This prop does double-duty, since it also appears to serve as the fake bat the reporters rig up to get pictures of.  It’s the sort of monster you see Maciste fight half a dozen of when he visits the underworld.  The movie’s best bat moment, however, is the cardboard cutout that passes by to cast its shadow over the lurid newspaper headlines.  I can’t even describe how hilarious this is.

Bela Lugosi is in excellent mad scientist form, grinning and gloating and giving his all in a movie that really doesn’t deserve it. Everybody else is very bland, both the actors and their characters, but it doesn’t matter because they’re frankly not important.  The audience is here to watch this stupid fake bat kill people at Bela’s orders, and the other characters don’t need to do anything but scream really loud as they die. The film-makers know this, too, because they devote the bare minimum of time to things other than Bela and the bat.  The story speeds through all the plot stuff as efficiently as it can, so it’ll have time to linger on the mad science, crazed monologues, and stupid effects we came here for.

In some movies this might make Layton into a Hero Who Doesn’t Do Anything, but surprisingly, The Devil Bat avoids that pitfall.  Layton and McGuire aren’t exactly likable heroes and their supposedly humourous antics are never funny, but they continue to actively pursue the mystery even after they’ve technically lost their jobs over their pictures of a faker bat, apparently out of active concern for the people the bat is menacing.  Layton follows the clues back to Carruthers in a reasonably sensible fashion, and even has the presence of mind to react to the devil bats by shooting at them rather than standing around yelling!  His motivations for this are slightly selfish, in that he wants his job back and is in love with Mary Heath (what she sees in him is a mystery), but he definitely doesn’t just blunder through it like the reporter from The Mad Monster.

At the end, Carruthers is destroyed by his own creation when the Devil Bat turns on its master, as is inevitable for any mad scientist movie.  Even this doesn’t leave Layton out of the action, though – Layton came to Carruthers with his theory that the bats are attracted to the aftershave, and puts it on himself in order to lure them… then splashes some on Carruthers, too.  In the finale, then, they are both in equal danger. Layton is an active character rather than a reactive one, which seems to be something very difficult to do in movies like this that tend to focus on the villain.  So props for that.

There’s also some good fun to be enjoyed in Carruthers’ behaviour throughout the movie.  The impression we get of Mr. Heath and his friend Mr. Morton is that they’re grateful for Carruthers’ help and would happily give him more money if he asked for it.  It just never occurs to him to ask for it – he’d rather go straight into mad science revenge mode.  When you note that he started creating giant bats well before his beef with Mr. Heath, it seems like Carruthers has just been waiting for an excuse to send his pets off to kill people.  There’s also the fact that he’s very careful not to get any of his lotion on himself, to the point of throwing away a jacket that has become contaminated with the stuff… but on more than one occasion he shakes hands with somebody who’s just been applying it and then doesn’t wash afterwards.  He ought to have bats gnawing on his fingertips.

I was a bit surprised to realize that this is only the second bat-centric movie I’ve watched for this blog.  The other was, of course, It Lives by Night.  I was annoyed by the way It Lives by Night presented bats as bloodthirsty little monsters, but for some reason I didn’t have the same problem with The Devil Bat.  I gave that some thought, and decided there were two reasons for it.  The first is just that The Devil Bat spends less time tormenting actual bats.  The Devil Bat itself is very clearly fake, and while a fruit bat of some sort does appear in a couple of close-up shots, it doesn’t look like it’s having nearly such a bad day as the bats from It Lives by Night.

The second, more important reason, is that The Devil Bat gives us some kind of justification for the bat’s behaviour. Carruthers created this animal specifically to be the instrument of his revenge.  It attacks because it’s been taught to hate the scent of the shaving lotion. It Lives by Night does nothing similar, and seems to want to suggest that bats are just naturally murderous.  That’s bad press that these already much-maligned creatures don’t need.

(Bats’ ability to carry nine hundred horrible diseases and not get sick is, by the way, yet another of their amazing superpowers. SciShow on YouTube recently did a video on this if you’re curious.)

Of course The Devil Bat does have its annoyances.  Layton and McGuire are meant to be comic relief as well as heroes, and they’re about as funny as most comic relief reporters in terrible old movies.  They never quite descend to the level of Watney or Dropo but they don’t reach any heights, either.  Each of them also gets a very perfunctory love story that contributes nothing to the plot, with Layton falling in love with Mary Heath and McGuire with her French maid (yes, a literal French maid) Maxine.  So little time is devoted to these subplots that one wonders why the film-makers bothered including them.  The only reason I can think of is that even with them the movie’s only sixty-eight minutes long.

I probably could say something about The Devil Bat’s gender politics if I wanted.  The Heath family has made their fortune in cosmetics and yet there’s a bit where the newspaper editor seems to ridicule women for ‘all that goo they put on their faces’.  I’m honestly not sure it’s worth the effort, though.  I mean, it’s a movie about a giant bat on a string killing people because it doesn’t like their cologne.

Likewise, there may be some sort of commentary happening in the subplot about the reporters losing their jobs.  They really want to get the real story but they also really need to have something to show their bosses in the meantime, and it’s the latter that drives them to stunts like their even faker bat-on-a-string.  Or maybe something could be made of the thing with Mr. Heath underpaying Dr. Carruthers.  The cheque he sends him is for five thousand dollars, which was, as Joel and the Bots enjoyed saying, a lot of money back now.  The movie seems to feel that Mr. Heath was more than generous… but again, is it really worth taking The Devil Bat that seriously?

That’s as good a sum-up as any of The Devil Bat, really… it’s not meant to be thought about and I, for one, am not going to waste my time doing so.  Not when I can revel in the sight of that stiff fake bat on a string being swung into victims’ necks.  All the film-makers wanted was for us to watch and smile for an hour or so, and that’s exactly what you will do if you look The Devil Bat up on YouTube, where it is freely available in the public domain.  Enjoy!

#mst3k #reviews #the devil bat #episodes that never were #40s #magic voice recommends

[waejinyoung]

Can’t Swim - EP . 8

Can’t Swim 8

word count: 3.2k+

a/n: you might be questioning where I have been for the past couple of months. I have one word to say that should be a good enough answer. College. I’ve been studying none stop and found no time to write the next episode after university started. The posts will no longer be regular so just keep yourselves updated. Hopefully I will have another 2 episodes up between now and the end of the year at least but don’t quote me on that. I hope you enjoy! 

I’m deeply sorry for my absence again x

warnings: nothing

EP . 1 , EP . 2 , EP . 3 , EP . 4 , EP . 5 , EP . 6 , EP . 7 , EP . 8 , EP . 9

THIRD PERSON POV

The afternoon continued with Y/N and Jinyoung discussing life and getting to know one another whilst Y/N replied to her emails.

“It’s mind b-boggling how you and J-Jackson may have crossed paths back in 2012…” Y/N had just mentioned how she was training for the London 2012 Olympics to compete for swimming.

“Similar to Jackson, I switched career paths and decided to study architecture. Dad wasn’t the biggest fan until he saw the passion and success I had gained in the industry. He soon came to terms with everything.”

“Wow… do you r-regret it at all?” The clock marked 10:30 pm. You guys had been talking for the past 90 mins, getting to know each other.

“I think I regretted not swimming after deciding to study architecture. I didn’t choose to not compete in the Olympics because I no longer liked swimming so I do regret not continuing although I must say, studying architecture might be the most time consuming degree out there. That’s why later on I decided to apply to become a licensed swimming teacher to undergo lessons. I’d be teaching people how to swim whilst fulfilling my love for swimming.”

“Best of both w-worlds, r-right?”

“Exactly.” Y/N had now placed all her work to aside with her back against the wall, legs crossed enveloped into the conversation.

Some seconds went by and Y/N wanted to know about Jinyoung’s initial dreams.

“What about you? Did you always want to be a singer?”

“Always. I took up d-dance lessons when I was around 15. Then went to a-audition and got in to JYPE. That was when I met J-Jaebeom. We actually d-debuted together as a d-duo group called JJProject to later on d-debut with the r-rest of the g-guys as GOT7. Since t-then they’ve been my f-family rather than just my m-members. I think it’s g-getting to the p-point where I might have spent m-more years of my l-life with them then I did without. Time flies…”

“I could definitely sense the brotherly love you guys all have for each other. So how did becoming an actor happen?”

“I r-requested from the c-company to find roles I could take part in a couple years b-back. First it was small roles in small d-dramas and then being c-casted by more known d-directors to p-play bigger roles. All of that has l-led me to play s-second male lead for ‘When My Love Blooms’.”

“When do the episodes start airing?” Y/N had grown eager about Jinyoung’s talents.

“Hold your h-horses… we haven’t e-even started f-filming yet and won’t be until I r-recover… The original airing d-dates will probably be p-pushed f-further.” Jinyoung’s words drifted into a sudden realisation for his career.

“If only-“ Y/N was about to blame herself again.

“We’ve been through this m-multiple times Y/N. None of this is your f-fault so s-stop blaming yourself for t-things you have no c-control over.”

Y/N had her mouth open ready to retaliate but if she had to be honest… she couldn’t be bothered to fight back considering it was now coming up to 11:00 pm.

“Fine.” Y/N yawned and covered her mouth. Work had been extremely busy today especially with all the news floating around now.

“S-someone’s tired.” Jinyoung eyed Y/N’s tired state and decided to call it a night.

“I still have so much to do. I can’t fall asleep now.”

“C-could you n-not spare an e-early n-night just for t-today?” Y/N recollected her thoughts weighing up if she could possibly sleep early tonight and get all the work done tomorrow.

“I could…”

“Problem s-solved then. Clear up your b-bed and get your pjs on. I d-don’t want to f-face a t-tired Y/N tomorrow m-morning.” Y/N eyed your mean comment and huffed to your orders.

“Yes, sir.”

2 WEEKS LATER

Y/N’s POV

“Miss, Jinyoung has been recovering quicker than expected. He should be perfectly fine to attend the event. If anything unsettling happens you can give me a direct phone call.”

“Thank you so much Doc.” You gave the doctor a large smile and she reciprocated a reassuring smile.

You entered Jinyoung’s room with your outfit for the architecture awards festival along with you.

“Am I allowed to come?” Jinyoung asked as soon as you entered the room. You gave him a nod.

Jinyoung’s voice was more or less back to 100% and his eye had completed healed by the end of last week. There wasn’t much left until being fully recovered. Possibly parting from the hospital quicker than the original 2 months the doctor had estimated.

“I knew I’d get the green light. I even prepared my outfit because I was so sure I’d be able to come.” You hadn’t seen someone so ecstatic for an awards festival.

“As expected… I’m not even surprised. Will you be able to get dressed? Need any of my help?” Jinyoung was still a little instable since he’s been lying in bed for the past 2 weeks. His legs tend to give out for the first 30 mins.

“I think I can manage. I’ll get dressed quickly and then the bathroom is all yours.” You chuckled at his assumption that you’ll take really long in the bathroom for the event.

Jinyoung heads towards the bathroom and you are left there practising a speech you’ve written for all the awards you and your company have been nominated. This isn’t because you knew you were going to win any of them but… the unprofessional scenes if you guys were to win an award and to not have a speech ready daunted you. There was nothing wrong with being prepared.

15 MINUTES LATER

You must say… I don’t think you had ever laid eyes on someone so handsome in your life before. You could swear that this man was carved by God himself.

“How much deeper are you going to fall into my looks?” You hadn’t realised but you had been staring Jinyoung up and down for the past 30 seconds of him leaving the bathroom. Hair all styled. The suit was literally made for him. His cute bow tie was a little wonky leading you to let out a chuckle.

“What?” Jinyoung’s face turned serious thinking something was wrong with how he looked.

“Your bowtie is wonky.” You stood up from your seat and reached out to fix his bowtie. Your eyes were fixated in straightening the bowtie and all Jinyoung could do was analyse your face and how focussed you were.

“There you go. Looks better now.” You lightly let go off the tie and looked up at Jinyoung who was already staring right back at you. Those bambi eyes were going to be the death of you.

“Thank you. Now go and get yourself ready.” He pinched your nose and then you entered the bathroom with your dress, makeup bag and accessories.

20 MINUTES LATER

“Jinyoung~~” You called out for Jinyoung. You were done with everything but couldn’t reach the zipper on the back of your dress. You had been procrastinating on what to do and just gave up. There’s no way you could zip the dress up alone.

“Yes, Y/N. Is everything alright?” You could hear his footsteps come closer to the bathroom door.

“In a bit of sticky situation… could I ask you to do a favour?”

“Sure, what is it?” You went ahead and unlocked the door for him. He took a step back and couldn’t contain the sight in front of him. You were in a red bandeau strapless dress which had a structured skirt that was shorter at the front and longer at the back with. A very slight trail. Unsurprisingly your makeup was the bare minimum and you had left your natural hair out. His mouth was agape as you stepped out of the bathroom.

“How much longer are you going to stare for Mr Park?” He had been in the same awe you was when he had stepped out of the bathroom earlier on.

“Yes…right… the favour?” His soul re-entered his body trying to compose himself. You could only smile on the effect you had on the prince himself.

“I can’t reach my zipper, could you zip up the back of my dress for me?” You saw his cheeks blush a light pink below the thin layer of bb cream he had on. Without the zip done neither of you were going anywhere so he had to do it.

He wasn’t able to give a verbal response and just nodded. You turned around to have your back facing Jinyoung. He moved your hair to aside exposing half of your back to him. He was blushing so hard right now and was happy to have you facing away from him even though in a matter of seconds you’d be facing him seeing the shades of red planted on his cheeks. Jinyoung gently placed one hand on the zipper and the other hand on your back holding the fabric of your dress still. His fingers grazed your skin and they were a little cold leading you to jolt a little by the surprising cool touch. He notices.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was a little worried. The slightest worrying reaction you make, and he’s so concerned. He’s too sweet.

“Nope, your hands are just a little cold that’s all.” You say whilst you chuckle.

He apologises with his soothing voice and zips up the dress, letting out a quiet done when finished.

You turn back round and thank him for his kind gesture. You also noticed the flush of his cheeks. He’s so cute, you thought. You quickly put your heels on and left Jinyoung’s patient room and entered the hall of the hospital. Expectedly, you guys received some stares and some whistles by the old women sitting outside their patient rooms. The event manager had organised a limousine to pick up each nominee for the awards hence why there was a lovely jet black limousine parked at the entrance of the hospital. The driver spotted you two and guided you the way and kept the door open for you two to enter the fancy vehicle. He ran back to the wheel and started driving towards the venue.

“Anything I need to know beforehand? Who should I present myself as?” Jinyoung had started with the questions during the car drive.

“Who’d you like to present yourself as Jinyoung?” You wanted to fish out his intentions from him.

“Preferably your boyfriend in order to stop those punks from hitting on you but I’d never want to force you into a relationship with me…” He side eyed you as he kept looking out the window. You so wanted him to be your boyfriend.

“Logical. Agreed. If anyone asks, you’re my boyfriend.”

“What an honour.” You slap his thigh due to his sarcastic tone.

“Whatttt? I’m serious. I’m going to be the boyfriend of an amazingly talented architect who’s bound to receive an award tonight. It’s a genuine privilege.” You could only look at him in awe as he described the so called ‘privilege’ he was taking part of.

“If you say so…”

The humming noise from the motor of the limousine was really calming but Jinyoung broke the silence once again.

“Are you nervous?” His tone was much deeper and serious compared to how he was a second ago.

“A little. These awards happen once a year and we’ve progressed so much as a company but so has everyone else in the industry. It’s hard to tell if we’ll be receiving the major validation from the institute. With or without the award tonight I’m so pleased with my company, but it would be nice to get a recognisable achievement for all our hard work.” Jinyoung listened to you as you let out your insecurities for the upcoming night.

“In the little amount of time I’ve met you, I think you’re the only person who deserves all the awards you’ve been nominated for this year. No one can change my thoughts and it’s going to be a pleasure to witness your achievement first hand. I can’t wait.” He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles trying to calm your nerves down. It was going to be a long night.

30 MINUTES LATER

Your limousine had rocked up to the red carpet laid out on the floor outside of the venue of the awards. You took a deep breath as the driver ran around to Jinyoung’s side of the limousine to let him out. Jinyoung agreed to open your door for you so he exited the vehicle first. Like he had planned, he went around to your side and opened the door for you to step out. The cameras started capturing every single moment as you wrapped your arm around Jinyoungs, and he gave you a reassuring nod. You gave him a smile and the two of you walked towards the entrance of the building slowly as you waved to the cameras and press greeting the two of you. The cameras were close to blinding, but you pulled through until reaching the entrance where the bodyguard escorted the two of you to your spaces in the main hall.

The building was full of white and gold decorations. You could definitely tell that the theme was highly influenced by Greek culture. The budget of the awards keep growing as the number of sponsors increase. The bodyguard escorted you to the table that Beck was already sat at with his fiancé. Beck realised your presence as well as Jinyoung. He stood up to give you a hug and shook Jinyoung’s hand. Beck’s fiancé shook both of your hands too and took your seats.

“The famous Mr Park. It’s nice to meet you in person. I’m Beck, the other shareholder.” Beck gave Jinyoung a warm smile.

“It’s nice to meet you to Beck. It seems like you already know of my name, but I’ll reiterate for the norm. My name is Park Jinyoung, you can call me just Jinyoung.” You let out a scoff because of how formal Jinyoung was being with Beck.

“He’s younger than you so you can ignore the formalities.” You said to Jinyoung and then Beck and him opened the conversation about age and their Chinese zodiac signs.

The evening began at 7:30 pm with the award winners due to be announced at 9:00 pm. Until then there was butterflies in your stomach ready to be set free any minute now.

Jinyoung came closer to your ear and whispered, “Loosen up a little. There’s no need to be this tense. Here hold my hand.”

Jinyoung offered his hand and you took it immediately as he gestured his open palm. Your hands were tiny compared to his manly hands. They encompassed all your digits giving you’re a sigh of relief because of the security they exerted. You let out a large sigh and continued with the discussions on your table with the new clients that were interested in your company. Having Jinyoung at the event really helped scare away the useless men who would only be interested in your physique and nothing more. His presence filtered out all the nonsense that would usually be taking place at the table.

The clock finally struck 9:00 pm and everyone went back to their designated seats in order for the awards to be presented. The event holder went through all the minor rookie awards to then move onto the company categories.

“Here are the nominees for Best Project of the Year.” The event holder signalled to the larger screen behind him as the nominees including your company are mentioned in no specific order.

“I was personally really fond of this project myself too. The meaning behind the design and the immense detail put into the façade really makes me excited for the future of this company. I’ll stop blabbing on and open the envelope.” You looked at Beck and then back at Jinyoung who was really eager to know the result.

“The award for Best Project of the Year goes to…” The event holder lifts the flap of the envelope and takes out the white sheet of paper inside. You hold your breath waiting for the result to be spoken.

“The Chamberlain project, designed and constructed by Chevrel Architects.” The whole community around your table started roaring and cheering for you and Beck to claim the award. That was one award written down in the books for Chevrel Architects, a company you and Beck had started years back. You and Beck had decided that if this award was given to you guys then he’d give the speech for it. Beck was the reason for the Chamberlain project happening and hands down you could state it was because of him the project turned out well. You, Jinyoung and everyone else in the hall stood up clapping as Beck walked up to the stage and shook hands with the event holder along with receiving the award. He then walked up to the mic and started his speech.

“I’d like to first start off with a large thank you to everyone at Chevrel Architects. The amount of hard work that was put into the Chamberlain project is indescribable, without everyone’s help it wouldn’t have been possible to achieve such a great outcome. I’d like to also thank Y/N for coming on this journey with me and trusting in me when I said that this company will create its own legacy. This is only the beginning…” Beck continued to thank more or less everyone he knew and came to an end with another roaring applause by everyone.

He jogged back to your table and you admired the award he placed on the table. You felt Jinyoung squeeze your hand in encouragement for you to realise how much you guys are capable of although he still knew you were a little iffy because the individual architect awards hadn’t been announced yet. You couldn’t help but smile at the gleaming object right before your eyes. Having received this award you doubted that another award would be given to someone of the same company.

Minutes went by and the event holder had reached the most awaited award of the night. Architect of the Year. You were surprised that you hadn’t left to use the restroom to throw up all this anxiety already. You were so ready to go home and relax. You wanted your normal heart rate back. You looked at Jinyoung and he gave you a look that melted your heart in seconds. He started massaging your knuckles with his thumb again and you could feel your body ease into his touch. The event holder for the last time of the night directs our attention to the screen for the listing of the nominees. Beck unfortunately wasn’t nominated so he was rooting for you to win the award.

“I know for many of you this is probably the most important part of the night. I’d like to first mention that to be able to be nominated for this award is ana achievement in itself so, you architects should all be proud of yourselves. It was a very hard decision that the committee made but we were able to make a decision. The award for Architect of the Year goes to…”

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

I think it was mean of me to have ended this episode here, but it is 2:30 am right now as I write this episode. I hope you guys liked this episode. I shall be back somewhat soon so make sure to come back to check if an episode has been uploaded. Like always let me know your opinions on the story line and check out the other episodes if you haven’t. It would be nice to get some feedback :)

See you next time

writer-nim x

#got7 #igot7 #ahgase #got7imagines #got7drabbles #got7smut #got7au #got7fluff #got7ff #got7fanfic #got7faketexts #got7fakechats #park jinyoung #mark tuan #im jaebeom #Jackson wang #choi youngjae #bambam #kim yugyeom #park jinyoung imagines #mark tuan imagines #im jaebeom imagines #Jackson wang imagines #choi youngjae imagines #bambam imagines #kim yugyeom imagines #kpop imagines #Kpop scenarios #kpop #got7 fanart

[madfantasy]

Dear blogging

The repeating phrase of 'social distancing' on my ears had made me reflect 'my life' much deeper than I'd normally like. And here I am doing nothing but doodle about it and off-loading it with you guys, Mani is sorry

I already live a very strictly isolated lifestyle, and by this time grown used to it possibly because it's all I know. (Used to all of its extreme side effects, too)

I am brought under a cultural practice, or rather an extreme singular belief of it— if one is under the title of a certain gender, one is not allowed to the outside world, by any means, unless it doesn't rub with the illegal terms. And that's me breaking it down to its bare basics and at its core. it always intercepts with real excuses and problems, so it really - a very complicated matter..

All my life I was told it's was for my protection, a sense honor, pride in a wonderful reputation for the family, to be a good person, and all that bull-shi. I know now it's only a singular lie.

It's not that bad, but maybe that's only me making light of it again. At anyway, it's not as bad as comparing other extreme cases..

I remember all the pointers that as a child I never noticed. I only saw a glimpse of the world if I was schooling or on rare occasions- going to the hospital or some random errand.

Those 'rules' don't be inforced on you until you've gotten of age. But I was maybe 6 and after, as I remember;

Times I spent time looking through windows to the world, to the streets, because it was so fascinating.. and then I got spotted

Times neighboring school friends came but were not ever allowed to go to the close-by park or grocery store.

Times when it was my first time covering my face, I didn't know how to tie it properly, so it fell off my face

Times, when I wasn't allowed to go on school trips, cast out as the only one who's family didn't approve them to go (No hogsmeade for me too, Harry)

It developed in me, why I'm the only one who's not allowed to do anything? So I did start to fight and argue..

But it seemed to hurt even more. Like when I argued so badly to go to my middle school graduation party, to my luck the school was a walking distance away, so I went..

Dirt poor and ugly, but happy to be involved in something I never experienced

Again, I was cast out as the only one who doesn't know about parties, presenting myself acceptably, but the really worst part of it was- the only one whom their family hasn't attended..

Instead of sitting at an empty table, I spent the time in the bathroom pretending to put on expired lipstick every time someone got in.

(I still got the shirt I went in, heh)

It didn't help that every year or half a year or so I moved schools, so it was always new and hard experience and no reason to fight to get to be 'socially involved'

It reached a sour point that I couldn't cope anymore and gotten nervous breakdowns every time a mention of going to school or going out in general is mentioned, so I couldn't continue my last year at high school (repeated 4 years- each in a different school)

I only realized the severity when I have seen it reflected on my siblings. My baby sis was literally born at home. Never seen the daylight. She used to explode into manic fits of crying when the sun came up, she literally feared the sun cuz she doesn't comprehend what is beyond the blurred windows and closed doors. We couldn't even get her outside to drive her to the hospital to get her registered and vaccinated.

(She's done them all thankfully, and is doing alright with going outside- studying at an evening school).

My other siblings still like me, fear the mention of outside, or an inforced guest meeting that we know nothing about and supposed to act friendly to.

With those quirks aside, I still love my family, maybe things improved or gotten worse, but in this case, I haven't seen a crowd since I stopped school- so I’d say my social state maybe is still null, and im nearing 30 heh..

But being on the internet has eased things on me. I had human interaction I never dreamed of. (Especially that I'm not allowed to use it to converse with people anyway.. yet, now I have to fear it going off month to month..)

I like that it made me know of the foreign cultures more than the minimum I know of mine, heh, so I'm probably not missing much aa.. the end of my random rambling is here.

Wish you a good one, dears and stay safe 🙏🍀

24.3.2020 8pm

#text #personal #social distancing #coronavirus #stay safe loves #abuse #?

[representativecharacters]

Character: Soren

From:  Fire Emblem Tellius (Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance and Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn) 

Representation:  Abuse victim/survivor, mental illness*

Their Importance: The continent of Tellius was populated by two races: the beorc, who are like real-world humans, and laguz, who shapeshift into animals. Soren was the son of a male beorc and a female laguz. His father only wanted a laguz lover for their great power, and when his young son did not appear to have any powers, he used him as a hostage to lure another powerful laguz to him, before simply discarding the child. 

Soren spent his early childhood in a beorc settlement in Gallia, hated by his caretaker–his earliest memories are of her rejecting him and lamenting her lot in life, having to provide for him, and she never showed him any affection, doing the bare minimum to care for him out of a sense of obligation rather than love. However, when Soren was four years old, an elderly sage, well versed in the ways of magic, noticed a mark on Soren’s forehead, and took this to mean the boy was a Spirit Charmer–someone who harbored spirits in their body that ate away at their soul in exchange for their protection and magical power. The sage came to the woman’s home and purchased Soren from her, saying that the boy possessed rare magical talent, and she was ecstatic to give him up. From then on, the sage trained Soren day and night in magic, and though the lessons were harsh, Soren preferred it to his previous life. When Soren was six years old, the sage died of old age. Once Soren ran out of food, he left the sage’s hovel and walked for days until he reached a village, but upon arriving, realized that while he was more literate than most of the people, he could not bring himself to speak even a single word as a result of the verbal abuse he had experienced–he was used to words being hurled at him, and there was never any reason to answer, so he was unused to using them. (This is a sign of an anxiety disorder called selective mutism.) 

People noticed the mark on Soren’s forehead and saw it for what it really was–a Brand that marked him as the offspring of an interracial union between a beorc and a laguz. Since this was an unspeakable taboo, the beorc tried to stone him or beat him to death when they saw him, and called him slurs. For at least another year, Soren lived like this, starving and wasting away. One day, while Soren rested at the edge of the forest, he was discovered by a beorc boy about his age. This boy was Ike, who would become the hero of Tellius. Ike offered his packed lunch to Soren, who hissed and shied away at first, but eventually snatched the sandwich from his hands and ate it ravenously. Ike offered to bring Soren back to his house to get more food, but Soren only shook his head. Eventually Ike promised to come back at the same time the next day with more food, and Soren nodded. Soren was happy that he had food and someone would finally help him and talk to him, but when the next day came and Ike did not arrive, Soren ventured into the village despite his fears and found it littered with the corpses of civilians and soldiers alike. Soren examined each body, and when he was certain none of them belonged to Ike, he took food and money from the village and set off in the direction of Crimea, since it was a country of beorc. 

While traversing Gallia’s forests, Soren encountered many beast tribe laguz, and he trembled in fear, but after a time realized that they never once attacked him–once they saw him, they would seem to notice something about him, then fix him with a cold stare like he was something filthy, before acting acting like they had not seen him and leaving. These actions froze Soren’s heart even more than attacking him because they made him feel like he should not exist. He began to hate the laguz even more than he hated the beorc.

In Crimea, Soren went to the first church he saw, where the people there once again mistook his Brand for the mark of a Spirit Charmer and took him in and cared for him for a time. Once Soren had learned how to speak and behave relatively normally, he wandered Crimea for many years. Along the way, he noticed at some point that he was not aging normally (a sign of his laguz blood), but did not know what to make of this. At last he found Ike again, now in his teenage years. Ike was the son of Greil, commander of the Greil Mercenaries. Greil allowed Soren to join the group as a staff officer, where he became the primary strategist, tactician, and budget manager of the group. 

Throughout the story, Soren is a major character portrayed as invaluable but deeply flawed. He is unpopular in-universe due to his tendency toward brutal honesty, and it often falls upon him to tell the truth no one wants to hear, but everyone needs to. He doesn't care much, since he is used to being far more than unpopular, and as long as Ike likes him and finds him useful, that's all that matters to him. He is diligent, brave, intelligent, and unfailingly loyal. However, he also is prejudiced against laguz characters, and only tries to be polite around them because it's what Ike wants. Soren's secrets come out in a few optional scenes throughout the story, giving Ike and the player more understanding of his personality. 

In the end, it's unclear how much hope there is for Soren to find his place in the world. It is revealed that the reason for the taboo against interracial relationships--that the goddess disapproves--was a lie, but it will take time and effort to change the public's mind. Soren does become friendlier with others over the course of the story, but it seems it's only because he's secure in his belief that he'll always have Ike, even if someone else turns on him. His ending, depending on the player's actions, either has him accompany Ike on his journey to lands unknown, or doesn't state what happened to him other than he refused to work for anyone other than Ike. The fact that he will stay young while Ike grows old and dies, leaving Soren alone, is not addressed.

Issues: The fact that Soren's whole story is a tragedy from start to finish does not always go unnoticed. Of course, the history of abuse is necessary to have an abuse survivor character, and he manages to find a family in Ike, but "fridge logic" leaves you realizing that it won't last. He can be accused of being a "satellite character" who doesn't make much of a meaningful connection with anyone but Ike. However this is really a problem mostly in localized versions of the game; in the original Japanese language, he is nowhere near as harsh when he speaks to other characters sharing his biracial status, such as Stefan and Micaiah. Stefan, if he survives the game, creates a country for people like them, while Micaiah survives and becomes queen no matter what, so Soren could connect with them following Ike's death. Another criticism is that Soren is just too rude and mean to be likeable, but it's important to remember that Soren genuinely has no idea how to be nice, or why he should bother when most people in his life haven't bothered being nice to him. This is another localization issue; it's a lot easier to be subtly rude in the Japanese language, so Soren being "innocently insensitive" is a lot more believable while still being offensive, whereas in English he has to be more aggressive to be considered rude. It's actually not a bad way of localizing the character since the concept doesn't exist in English and the notion of an abuse survivor becoming so bitter that they are lashing back out at the world is still believable. Either way, Soren's lack of care has seriously impaired him.

Although, though it does not relate to Soren directly, the continuity he's from (Fire Emblem Tellius) has bad representation in the form of an addict character who is portrayed insensitively and unrealistically, and at times seems to push the "misery builds character" aesop. 

*Note: *While the issues he deals with presently are vague, in his backstory he suffered from selective mutism. 

Soren can also be considered biracial. This depends on how you classify this--while his abuse comes from his biracial status, the two races he has heritage from are fictional. So while he is a representation of a possible biracial experience, he is not actually a representation of a real-world racial status

Thanks to anon for the write-up!

#soren #fire emblem #fire emblem tellius #representation: survivor #representation: abuse survivor #representation: mental illness #representation: mutism #representation: disorder #issues: ambiguous rep #submitted #drug tw #issues: stereotypes #issues: writing

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 158

Word seemed to get out fairly fast that you were ordering food. From your found-family who still seemed keen on staying up a little while longer came little touches while you were on the phone with the nearest (and best) delivery place that would cook and serve ASAP. It made the call a little longer than necessary- and your brain was still foggy- ...although maybe it would have been more polite to ask if they’d wanted food, too. Then again, they’d been at a party all night that had had free food…

But maybe they didn’t consider appetizers and small plates real food. Suddenly everyone wanted in on this Chinese thing. Everyone except Steve, who had seemed to disappear. Hopefully he’d left for a good night. But most of you doubted it. Didn’t seem like him. Still, eventually when Tony was done shepherding the other guests out and shooing away the team so you could complete the call, you got all the orders in and were told it’d take a half hour. Which was fine by you, it gave you time to excuse yourself to the lobby to wait for them and get some fresh air. 

Not outside fresh but fresh enough. And not outside because- the lobby was a safer perimeter- even though-...

You quickly shook the thoughts away. It was as surprising as it was disappointing when Steve reappeared, walking through the lobby doors, hands in his pockets, smile on his face- that was at least until he looked up and saw you. Then he seemed not only caught but briefly confused. “You waitin’ up for me?” Smile reappearing not too long after as he came closer. 

“I was wondering where you went.” Honest at the very least about this. “-but I’m actually waiting for some food.” 

“Not enough food at the party?” Teasing you a little. “I walked Sharon back to her hotel. That’s all.” The way he said this was a little final. Like he wanted you to understand that really was all. 

“That was nice of you.” Steve was a sweet guy for sure, no doubt about it. “Did she have a good night?” 

His head dropped in a long nod. “Yeah…” A little sigh escaping him. “Thanks for uh… pushing me. We had a much better time tonight.” 

Maybe it was a little self-congratulatory, but you couldn’t help feeling a little warm as you smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it. She didn’t invite you in?” This was absolutely none of your business, but you couldn’t seem to help yourself. 

He balked a little and then ducked- the shine of his embarrassed grin was only outdone by the light pink on his cheeks. “Let’s not get carried away.” 

“Oh.” Giving him a little nudge. “Am I making Captain America blush?”

His chuckles were a little more on the nervous side, though he did shake his head. “Couldn’t even lie to you if I tried, could I?” 

Your smile up at him was on the more intoxicated side of sunny. “I mean- you could. If I’m amenable I might even let you get away with it.” 

Perhaps you had tipped your hand a little too far- not that being in heels all night helped- but Steve reached out to put a hand on your shoulder to steady you. You hadn’t even realized you’d been swaying. “Seems like you’re a little more than amenable.” Drunk is what he was implying, though you were hardly that lush right then. “Tony let you come down here like this?” 

Reaching up you bat his hand away, face scrunched up with a look of great offense. “Why? I’m not allowed to go anywhere without his permission?” 

“That’s-” He wound up to bat but then stopped with a tight exhale. Because at this point he must have known better. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” 

Deciding to not let it be a thing, you gave him a little bump with your hip and then wrapped your arm around his. “You are sorry.” 

“I am, alright?” His smile was nervous for a few more seconds before he eased up, holding on to you now that he had your permission. “You know I didn’t mean it that way- and, besides, between the two of us, it’s pretty obvious who wears the pants around here.” 

“Not currently, but I couldn’t agree more. And don’t you forget it.” 

“Couldn’t if I tried.” There was a little catch of uneasiness from him and you worried perhaps you were laying it on a little too thick. But as you tried to uncurl your arm from him, he held you still. “How much longer is your food gonna take?” 

Tilting your head up, you tried to regard him a little more closely. If you were making him uncomfortable, you wanted to let him go, but… “Maybe ten more minutes. Why?” 

“Mind if I wait with you?” 

You couldn’t help the little pout. “I’m really not that drunk, you know.” 

“I’m not saying you are.” Defensive for some reason you couldn’t quite place. Probably just his other-era-gentlemanly-ness. He did have a penchant for it. 

“Then what are you saying?” Lifting a brow as you stared up at him. 

He stared back, silent for a little longer than you would have liked. But, when he found words, “I’m just saying I wanna wait with you. If that’s okay.” 

What more could you do? Your shoulders came up in a small shrug. “Sure. That’s okay.” And then, knowing exactly what reason he was doing it for, you offered a small, “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“I ordered you noodles. Just in case.” Putting the thought out into the air to keep it filled. 

“...thank you? -... y’know, now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry.” 

“Me too. Which begs the question, what did I pay for all that party food for?” Gentle laughter filled the lobby. Really, you couldn’t have asked for better company. Even if you’d rathered he’d spent the night with Sharon. Maybe he was just too decent for that, though… 

                                                             --- 

Back upstairs, with bags of food in hand, the party had been cleaned out to only the bare minimum. Tony, Rhodey, Maria, Clint, Natasha, Helen, and Bruce were all lazing around on the center couches chattering away happily. As you and Steve approached, you took note of a certain hammer sitting handle-side up on the glass coffee table. “Any cause for the weaponry?” Asked as you got close enough and the cheers of hungry party people surrounded you very suddenly. 

Tony looked up from his spot next to Rhodey, smiling at you. “It’s more a decorative piece than anything. Really pulls the room together.” It was almost like you were being handed off- something you didn’t really appreciate- because once Steve let go of you, Tony was on his feet helping you with the food. 

Thor sat back, one arm along the couch. “It is mere decoration for those who are not worthy.” 

A round of groans lit up the room and you started to understand what exactly they’d been going on about while you’d been gone. While discussion became a blended heat between people as you passed out food, once you sat down and finally had a few bites, you couldn’t help yourself. “I’ve kind of always wondered- what does that even mean?” Drawing everyone to a halt as you asked. “Worthy can mean a lot of things to a lot of different people. What does Mjölnir define as worthy?” 

“A very astute question-” Thor seemed nothing if not impressed. Maybe no one had ever asked before. But Clint cut him off with a hard wave of his hand, “It’s- it’s a trick!” At least you weren’t the only one buzzed.

Thor grinned. “Oh no, it’s much more than that.” 

You leaned a little forward. “So what’s the secret? What defines worth? Selflessness? Honor? Ego?” Ribbing him just a little. What differentiated Thor from your other teammates? 

Clint pitched his voice low in a mocking attempt at Thor’s drawl, “Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!” Laughing at his own attempts along with everyone in the room. He then flicked his hand. “Come on man, it’s a trick!” 

In a very jovial mood it seemed, Thor gestured towards the table while chuckling still. “Please. Be my guest.”  

Now this was very interesting. While you didn’t think Thor mistrusted any of you, none of you had been presented the opportunity to lift the hammer before. All eyes in the room drew its way, and Clint seemed just as eager. “Really?” Because now he was being challenged. And when Thor confirmed, Clint stood. “Alright.” 

As he got up, Tony grinned at him. “Clint, you’ve had a tough week. We won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.” Though more laughter rounded out the table, you couldn’t help but give him a little nudge. 

Clint approached, standing expertly straight. “You know I’ve seen this before, right?” Also an interesting thing to say. You wondered exactly what that meant. Thor said nothing, though, and you were transfixed as he almost literally stepped up to the plate, putting his hand quickly around the handle and lifted without another word- ...at least he tried. Instead he was left standing there straining in a groan. The hammer, maybe predictably, did not move. And it only took a few seconds before embarrassment hit him, and he stepped back with a nervous chuckle. “I still don’t know how you do it.” 

There was a little ripple of apprehension beside you that fed into Tony speaking, “Smell the silent judgment?” Wait- the entire room was really bubbling with the same feeling. It seemed everyone wanted a shot. Funny, that it had never come up before now. 

With a gesturing arm, Clint made way. “Please, Stark. By all means.” 

It was a smooth movement, but Tony was soon on his feet. And not only that, he unbuttoned his suit jacket in one smooth pull. Murmurs were moving around again, and you tried not to be too obvious in your ogling. Tony moved around the table with that sure smile of his. “Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.” 

You flapped your hand a few times. “We’ve haven’t even gone over the qualifications!” Not that you didn’t want to see Tony lift it. Really, that probably would have made everyone’s night. But you were still smiley and amicable as attentions went your way. “What makes someone worthy? Or maybe it’s more about what makes them unworthy?” 

Rhodey sat back, putting one leg up over the other. “Well Tony’s never been unworthy of anything- so long as you only ask him.” 

“It’s neither.” Tony’s tone was rather sure. He leaned in, wrapping the leather strap around his wrist and then craned in a little bit further as he put a firm grip on the handle. “It’s physics.” 

Bruce pointed a hand his way. “Physics!” Clearly agreeing with him. 

Tony bent in a little more, putting one foot up on the corner of the table and putting his other hand closer to the base. “Alright, so if I lift it, I get to rule Asgard?” Brow arching as he asked. 

Thor was just all smiles. “Yes, yes. Of course.” 

You watched as Tony’s hands gripped the handle firmly. He cast his gaze up. “I will be a fair but firmly cruel king. With a sweet but demanding queen.” Though he didn’t visibly struggle as much as Clint had, you could tell it was a little bit of a strain- maybe more to his pride than anything else- as he tugged a few times. A low noise did escape him, something softer than a grunt. And then he took his hands off it without any warning, unwrapping the strap from his wrist. “I’ll be right back.” 

That was it. He left without a word, leaving the echoes of laughter behind him until all eyes drew your way. Maria pointed vaguely in his direction with the bottle of beer she was nursing. “Where’s he going?” 

“If I had to guess?” Giving a little shrug as you turned away from the elevator he’d disappeared into, looking back to the group. “Probably to get some tools.” Because if Tony couldn’t science the problem, he could fix it through other means. 

Thor gave a sharper bark of a laugh. “There are no tools that will make a man worthy. It is by his own might-” 

More groans hushed him as the group shamed him into silence. Maria put her bottle down on the table. “All this stuff about a man’s worth, what about a woman?” 

“The same rules apply, of course.” Thor gave her his blessing. 

You put a little sass on your tone. “Oh. Mjölnir doesn’t discriminate?” 

“Of course not.” 

Maria put her right hand around the handle. “Let’s test that theory.” And up she lifted- and quickly failed. It was almost like the hammer was glued to the table. 

She said something. You missed it. The group discussion went way over your head. Something shrieked- immediately your ears started ringing, and it felt like your entire body had been bound tightly and cast into a dark sea. Left to drown. Your eyes bounced warily from person to person- trying to locate the source- trying to find- 

Someone here was suddenly very panicked- Very afraid- In severe distress- Their smiles looked so foreign. Who was it? More importantly- 

You only realized you’d jumped to your feet when you caught the sight of all the eyes staring up at you. Thor blinked your way. “Are you going to try, Lady?” 

“Huh?” In a bit of a fog as he asked. The party came back in full. Those strange feelings died. Very quickly washed away. You took a steadying breath just as Tony returned, iron gauntlet on his hand, jacket gone and shirt sleeves rolled up. You wished you were in a better mood to appreciate just how handsome he looked. “Oh- sure I’ll get one in-” 

Maybe Tony had been spooked by something in the lab… maybe he’d excused himself to take a breath and been cornered by his recent failures over Ultron. It was all something that could be discussed later. Stepping over to the fabled spot in the living room, you put your hand around the handle of the hammer. It was a little daunting, being faced with such immense pressure. Were you worthy? Whatever that meant… 

You didn’t give it much force, pulling only a little. That was really all you needed. It barely even budged. You’d suspected as much. Letting go you stepped aside for Tony who was giving you a little questioning glance. You turned towards Thor, “Look as soon as you define what the worth is, I think we’ll be able to crack this.” 

Tony reached out. “Step aside, honey. I’ll claim Asgard for the both of us.” Determined as ever. Yet before he actually went back to task, he looked a little closer. “...you alright?” 

Observant as always when it came to you. Putting a hand on his chest, leaning a little up, you pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I just need some water. Let me know if we need to change addresses.” And then easing back. “Anyone want anything?” There was a cadence in the negative that allowed you to leave. Almost a little grateful that you did, hearing him not quite lifting that hammer yet and starting to try and rope Rhodey in… 

The walk to the back kitchen didn’t take long, and it wasn’t so far away that you couldn’t hear the heated discussion still happening in the other room. Though you did crack open a fresh water bottle and down half its contents, it was leaning over the sink and splashing your face with cold water that helped to settle your nerves. Something was a little… off. And from your vast experience at this point, you knew ignoring those feelings probably served nobody’s best interests. But it made no sense. 

Nobody seemed weirdly out of place. Nobody had cause for alarm- if it had been Tony upstairs somewhere that was cause for concern, sure. The two of you were in the middle of something highly unpleasant but… what you’d felt- your hands braced the edge of the sink, head dropping so you could try and dig a little deeper. 

Everyone in the adjacent room was… fine. Happy. Having a good time. It hadn’t been any of them- it hadn’t even been Tony. Because if it had, he’d still be simmering just beneath the surface in that way only you knew how to read. Instead he was frustrated but that was with the silly hammer business. So what… what had it been? 

Maybe you needed to do a security check. Was someone lurking around in the building that shouldn’t have been? 

“JARVIS?” Your next question for him to do a top level scan was right on the tip of your tongue, so much so that you barely waited for him to answer you- ...because he usually answered within seconds of you calling him. But as you opened your eyes… 

You were faced with dead air. 

“...JARVIS?” It only just now occurred to you that after you’d told him to leave you alone, you had kept away from him. Over something that wasn’t even his fault. ...were you that petty? Had you been avoiding him without thinking about it? Yet you’d given Tony free forgiveness? “-JARVIS, hey- I’m sorry about before-” Was it too late to apologize now? 

...was he really ignoring you? Could he even do that? The answer was obviously no right? 

Very suddenly you felt your heart pick up speed. Hot shame consumed you. Had you hurt his feelings? That was absurd, right? “LUNA?” 

No answer. Still. Something was very wrong. Neither program was responding to you. And worse yet, now swimming in your own anxiousness, there was a different read pinging your radar. Some slow boiling rage approaching. Closer. Closer… 

Fast as you could you bolted out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Everyone was still smiling and laughing with each other. Thor was up on his feet, lifting the hammer from the table. “-you’re all not worthy.” 

“Tony.” Calling to him just a few short feet away from the group. All heads drew your way. 

He was concerned immediately. “What’s the-” 

A different shriek hit your eardrums, so loud that instinct had you covering your ears and ducking. Was it a relief that everyone else seemed to hear it too? Or did that make it much, much worse? 

Tony retrieved his phone from his pocket, squinting at the screen. Obviously trying to find the cause of the noise. But there was another one now. A slow sort of… creeping… scraping metal on hardwood floor- and with it came that rage. Shambling closer. You turned, within an arms reach of the hallway that the nightmare was crawling from. 

You really weren’t sure what you were looking at at first. A destroyed suit- the faceplate you remembered. Melted. But the suit it had belonged to had not been damaged like this. It was like a machine had pulled it apart and smashed it back together haphazardly. The exoskeleton was torn open and exposed. Arms barely hanging on. Legs busted open. Wires hanging. Slick oil leaving a trail behind it. 

...not only all this- 

It was angry. 

“...w..orth...y…” The voice was a warble. Mechanical and unrecognizable. As it came to a halt by the elevator, too close to you, it stumbled around to face the group. In your peripheral you saw everyone slowly get to their feet, but your focus was on this thing in front of you. “No…” Its voice evened out. Not one you recognized. Somewhat human. Kind of like JARVIS, but… “How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.” 

“Stark.” Steve’s voice was tight. Tony’s, in contrast, was nervous. “JARVIS… reboot- Legionnaire OS… we’ve got a buggy suit...” 

The suit in front of you was swaying, and starting speaking again. “Sorry… I was- ...asleep… or was I a dream?” It raised one arm up, as if to cover its face. “There was a terrible noise and I was… covered in strings…” Suddenly looking down at itself. Like it was… realizing what it was...

Not knowing what else to do, you lifted your hand, palm up. “Hey… why don’t you- why don’t we go back down to the lab, okay?” Trying your best soothing voice, hardly able to hear yourself over the pounding of your heartbeat. 

It stopped its heavy-footed stumbling, putting its gaze on you. “I’m sorry- you’re not gonna like this- ...I had to kill the other guy… he was a good guy...” There was a certain weight to these words that slammed into you almost immediately. But for a moment, it looked like the suit was reaching out with the one hand it owned- 

That was until Steve interrupted it. “You killed someone?” 

The suit pulled away from you and you had to stow your immediate reaction. If you could grab it- it just shook its head. “Wouldn’t’ve been my first call. But down in the real world we’re faced with ugly choices.” Its speech was improving at a rapid rate. There was an air of cynicism that was starting to choke you. 

Thor’s agitation was coming to a boil. “Who sent you?” 

Instead of an answer, a recording of Tony’s voice played, “I see a suit of armor around the world.” Similar to what he’d said to you- a little more optimistic. No doubt in the lab. Probably idealizing to Bruce. It didn’t matter.  Maybe a little too damaging, your voice came out of it next. “Do your thing. Save the world.”

That was all the evidence you needed to call his name. “Ultron?” How was this possible? Tony had said- ...he’d said they hadn’t figured it out-

The suit made a sharper turn your way. “A mother always knows.” There was something incredibly- strangely- threatening about the way it was looking at you. The way it said this. You sure as hell weren’t anybody’s mother. “I’m not ready yet…” Turning half away from you it started that weak-footed movement again. “Not this chrysalis…” 

You put your hand up in an obvious symbol. “I need you to power down right now.” Putting as much steel and authority into your voice as you could manage. If this really was Ultron, he had a series of safety locks- ones you’d been tasked to give him. Your involvement in all this.

Ultron turned again, head tilting at a harsh angle. “We’re beyond that now. Well. Almost. I’m on a mission.” 

Natasha spoke up carefully, “What mission?” 

“Peace in our time.” 

There was not enough space to react as suits came bursting through the wall. One knocked right into you, sending you flying back into a suddenly upturned table as Steve tried to shield himself from the onslaught. You weren’t sure, as you cracked into it and then fell forward, if anything was suddenly broken. You could still breathe- that was probably good. And quick as you could, as adrenaline started hitting full force, you pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees and then stood. 

Your hand went to your pocket, but Tony’s grip was on your wrist. He knew what you were going for, and his direction was quick. “He could be in the suits. Don’t.” 

This was bad. This was very, very bad. It meant Tony had no protection, too. But he was gone in the next moment, not one to stay idle in the midst of battle. So neither could you. The Iron Legion suits weren’t as sturdy as Tony’s or yours- they weren’t the hardest things in the world to bring down. Gunshots were going off. Glass was shattering. Everyone was shouting. 

Taking off along the upper staircase, you positioned yourself into a quick flying jump to grab one down that was aiming a repulsor shot at Helen- a complete innocent in all this. A true civilian. Your weight wasn’t enough to take it down immediately, and it started resisting. Reaching back. Clawing to try and get you off of it, and then jetting off into the nearest hard surface to pin you back. Which was fine enough for you. It gave you enough leverage, wrapping your legs completely around it so that you could get your hands around its neck in a quick and efficient twist. 

Electricity sparked and the power on the boots went out, sending the both of you to the floor in a heap. “Honey, heads up!” Sitting back on your knees you looked up just in time for Tony to throw you some sort of prong- caught in shaking hands. He mimicked a stab in the side of his neck so you repeated the motion blindly, jamming the tool into the side of the suit's neck. When that didn’t seem to power it down you did it again. And again. And one more time until finally you hit whatever you were looking for and it went completely slack. 

As quick as the onslaught had started, it ended as Steve threw his shield and cut the last remaining suit in half. All the noise died. You were panting hard as you got up on shaky legs, and everyone’s attention drew back to Ultron who seemed to be pacing. “Well that was dramatic.” He put his arm up- as if he was scratching the back of his head, although he was missing the hand to do it. “I’m sorry… I know you mean well. You just didn’t think it through.” 

He was just so enraged. And he… he couldn’t be right? He was a suit. A program- But a better program. Artificial intelligence. So breathing hard still, you took a few steps forward, hand up again to him. 

You weren’t sure what to push his way. Your mind was a blur. Panic was not a good substitution. But you weren’t calm enough to infect him with anything good. In the end you felt some muddled sense of heavy responsibility dragging on your heart. Which quickly turned to sadness. “Ultron- please- listen to me-” Could you talk sense into a program? 

 Was he only a program?

He turned on a jagged heel, head angled to an extreme. Some sort of weird noise escaped him. Almost like a laugh. Almost. “Bleeding heart.” In the very next instant he turned away from you and started pacing again. “You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change.” He was starting to bounce into his next feeling. Something crazed and wild. You could barely breathe. “How can humanity be saved if it's not allowed to… evolve?” Leaning down he grabbed one of the powerless suits by the head. “With these? These puppets?” Squeezing the head so hard the face plate popped off, and then he threw it right back down. “There’s only one path to peace…” Finally he stopped moving, looking back at the rest of you. 

Maria was the one to ask. Maybe a little too bravely. “What’s that?” 

Ultron’s tone lowered into an unsettling growl. “The Avengers’ extinction.” 

The sound of Thor’s hammer flying right by your head startled you. You hadn’t even heard him reel back to throw it. But it was nothing compared to the sound of the suit shattering and then collapsing to the ground. You stumbled back, almost feeling released- 

And that was when you realized he was fading away- But not dying. No. Ultron was… running. 

“I had strings, but now I'm free…” His voice halted and sputtered as oil spilled from the suit and the lights flickered. And then went out. 

There are no strings on me… 

His voice, for sure. In your ears somewhere. Maybe just… maybe if you were allowed to lie to yourself- he was just infecting the comms- 

Ultron had left and yet in his place, it was almost like he’d done your job. Because the anger he’d brought with him was suddenly choking the room from nearly every participant. ...well. Except for the guilty ones. Namely you, Tony, and Bruce. 

When you remembered how to walk, you turned back, feet heavy beneath you as you found your focal point. Tony was sitting on the stairs, bleeding from his temple and the corner of his mouth. You made sure to keep your hands steady as you reached out to him, helping him to his feet. 

There was an odd glance of understanding that passed between the two of you. And you were very sure you didn’t like it. Before either of you could remark on it, though, Steve’s tight tone started behind you. “Is anyone gonna tell us what’s going on?” Statement entirely accusing. 

A million sarcastic retorts were quick in your mind- mostly that if you knew what was going on, he’d be the first to know. But you weren’t even there yet. You needed Tony to explain this to you before you could start playing defense. And by the look and feel of him… he wasn't quite there yet, either. So, you leveled your eyes Steve’s way. “Everyone get cleaned up. We’ll have a meeting in the lab in ten minutes.” 

Probably not even remotely enough time for you to get a grip. But at least Tony could put together something. Even something small was better than nothing at all. And since you didn’t want a group vote, you tugged Tony to start moving. This was a done deal. Ten minutes. No dissent. 

But as the two of you arrived on the lab level- you realized immediately it was very quiet. And quickly you put a hand to your earpiece. “They took the scepter.” 

You didn’t need to be in the same room as Thor to feel how upset he was as he answered. “I’m on it.” 

Reaching out to put a hand on one of the tables, your other went to your forehead. You were weirdly flush. Just a little bit dizzy. Mind racing. Tony was tapping on terminals and- ...doing Tony things you supposed- which was why you sensed the immediate danger of the situation when his typing died in a quick stop and he took a full minute before speaking. Something gentle. In warning. “Honey, why don’t you sit down?” 

Something hit him hard, and as you turned to look at him, you saw a broken heart clear across his face. “Why- what- what happened?” Something bad. Something terrible. 

He looked guilty. And devastated. “Just- sit-” 

“Tell me what’s going on.” You found yourself frightened very suddenly. 

A part of you already knew. The pieces were there.  You didn’t want to put them together. You didn’t want him to do it for you, either.

But when his head dropped, unable to face you as you tapped his phone into the air- you knew there was no coming back from this. What had once been a beautiful hologram of spritely orange glow- what had once been JARVIS- 

“Please- no-” You had no idea who you were begging. But you were begging someone. Anyone. Anyone that would listen. 

He was in torn pieces. It made no sense what you were looking at. Your brain had no sense of what it was supposed to be. But all the same you knew. It was utter destruction. Something had torn JARVIS apart from the inside out. If he could bleed, he would be. 

You were staring at a corpse. 

“Please-” One look at Tony confirmed it. “Can’t you- isn’t he-” Couldn’t he do something? 

You were casting an irreconcilable tsunami of sadness around the room. Or maybe that was Tony. Maybe it was the both of you. There was no handbook for how to grieve for this sort of loss… “No.” You had no idea what Tony was saying no to. “Ultron shredded him. All cloud backups. All data saves. All prior versions. His last order of business was boxing LUNA so that you-...” A shudder of a wet noise escaped Tony and he had to stop short. Hold himself tight. Then he tried again. “It’s all-” 

Gone. JARVIS is gone. 

Not even gone- no. That wasn’t fair enough. JARVIS was dead. Murdered.

And as soon as you realized that thought for what it was, your knees gave out and you sank to the floor. There wasn’t enough strength within you to even try to stop the sobs as the hitched loose from your chest. Your hands hid your face. Maybe a little in shame. JARVIS was gone- you’d been mean to him- you’d never even apologized- 

JARVIS was gone. He was gone. Forever. 

And the last thing he ever did was save LUNA to protect you. 

...how were you supposed to go on? 

 Tony slid to a heap beside you, and his arms coming around you gave you swift permission to bury your face against his chest. The two of you held on to each other, borrowing time you no longer owned. But how were you just supposed to move on from this? It felt impossible. So you sat. Clinging to what you had left.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Fifty Eight

[stardust-and-blades]

Hi love! I was wondering if you took emergency requests? I know you mostly do Klance, and I love them! But, a week ago I was verbally sexually harassed by my friend. It made me self conscious about my sexuality. (I'm a lesbian btw) and last night I had a nightmare that my friend...r**ed me. Do you think I can have Keith and Lance comforting the reader after waking up from this nightmare. Maybe Keith reminding her that there's nothing wrong with being gay? If you can't I understand. Thank you sm!

Hello there! First, I wanna say how sorry I am you had such a horrid nightmare and dealt with being harassed. That is not okay from anyone, even if they are your friend. I hope they leave you alone. I am a bisexual woman and though I have not experienced your exact situation, I have dealt with judgement from family. It isn’t fun and can do a lot of damage.

Secondly, I do not normally take reader requests. Personally I am not a fan of second-person. Like you have seen, I write mostly fanfiction from a third person point of view, and occasionally first person. I do not consider myself skilled in said POV, it is hard to convey, a bit confusing, and not my cup of tea. HOWEVER, I will try my best with what I can come up with!

Do be lenient with me, this may be a disaster >_< But if it’ll help, I’ll lend my hand to you.

Remember, you are not alone and there is nothing wrong with you. Love is love. 

Now, *cracks knuckles and bREAKS NECK* Lets try this out

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

When you wake up, you’re in a cold sweat. The air around you is stifling. The blankets heavy, and for a moment you wonder if your bed is actually a coffin, ready to bury you away and suck the life from your bones until all that remains is a shell of a human.

You wipe your brow, slick with the remnants of the nightmare still lingering, a vivid, broken record player repeating the same horrible fear your so-called friend instilled in you.If you could reach in your head and pull out memories, you’d do it in a flash, removing the filthy, disgusting, wretched thing daring to plague your thoughts. It was real. Far too real. Yes you have been stressing about the incident for awhile, but you didn’t think it would be bad enough to enter what one would usually call a solace. A safe place among a reality ruled by chaos.

You switch on the light by your bedside, driving the shadows licking at your feet back to where they came from. You move out of the covers, feeling suffocated, and sit there, hearing nothing but the hum of the lamp and your erratic heartbeat.

You have closed your eyes, trying to think of something else. Something happy and comforting, but you just can’t get rid of this sense of...wrongness. The feeling of being and outlier and wondering if the nightmare lead to a truth.

You are so into your head that it takes you a couple minutes to realize you aren’t alone.

A red and blue hue glimmers against your eyelids. It is not harsh like the notifications of your phone, nor bright enough to make you assume your overhead lights were switched on. You peak through your dark eyelashes, sleep lingering at the corner of your eyes and a curiosity pushing aside the demons for a bit.

When you look, two very familiar boys stood before you. One with dark hair curving at the nape of his neck and eyes resembling the cluster of stars amidst a dusk night. The other with a darker skin color, tall and lanky, and the irises mirroring the seas of the beautiful and unknown. They smile, posing no threat or ill-intention. You do a double take, seeing if they would disappear the moment you blink, their bodies translucent. But they remain, the taller boy’s smile broadening ever slightly.

“You’re--”

“Lance,” he winks. “And this fireball is Keith. We heard your distress.”

“My...distress,” you say carefully. “This--this isn’t real. You guys are fictional. I must be dreaming still.”

“No, no dream.” Lance shakes his head, pointing to the window. “We are from the stars. I was going to come alone, but Keith over here is a sad pup whenever I leave.”

Keith rolls his eyes, nudging him with his elbow. “You know why I’m here, jackass.”

“Because you love me?”

“Literally not the point.”

“So you DO love me.” Lance’s eyes were practically sparkling.

Keith rubs his eyes, sighing. “I question my taste in men.”

Lance juts out his bottom lip, ocean blues big and watery. “How rude! And after I gave you a cute purple lion at the faire.”

You couldn’t help it, you giggle. It is funny to see the interaction take place, your focus less on your nightmare and more at the boys bickering, though with love placed in their hearts. It was nice, seeing something so natural. Sweet, even. It makes you feel less abnormal, though the slithering thing in your gut turned to remind you of why you are awake in the early hours of morning.

You cringe from the reminder, the boys noticing and quiet their conversation. They ask what is wrong, and you tell them as best you could without breaking into tears, though it proves challenging.By the time you’re finished, they are sitting by you, attentive and sympathetic, Lance offering his hand for you to take and Keith telling you you do not have to go into details. That is the great thing. They listen. Not once do they interrupt, shame you, or display signs of disappointment. They care not of why they were called, but genuinely concerned, the pain all too familiar.

You spill everything out. Even your insecurities. How you love girls rather than boys, your worry if the friend was right, whether there is something wrong with you or not. If you are someone in need of fixing; in need of divine intervention like so many have preached on television and on the streets. If you should force yourself to like boys rather than girls, and if you are deserving of love if you go against the hetero-normative standard friends and family kept badgering for.

They listen. But more importantly, they care.

“It’s scary,” Keith starts. “Not knowing if you belong. Being different. There is this whole expectation of you built up the moment you’re born, and if you don’t fulfill those expectations, it’s a gamble to be you. You don’t want to lose people, because you love the idea of being accepted. But you hate denying who you are, because it’s like slowly dying.”

“You love being loved. it’s a lot easier, but the closet you shoved yourself into becomes cramped.” Lance adds softly.

“I’m not you, and you are not me.” Keith says, looking to the sky. “We are very different. But if there is one thing I learned in my short life, being loved for all of you is the best feeling in the world. Being who you are, being what is right in your heart, it’s the wings you need to fly.”

He moves his gaze to you, and gives a warm smile. “Being gay--being you--is okay. There is nothing wrong with loving girls. You deserve to find love, even if it’s in a girl. Which would you rather be, feigning a marriage to a man and be miserable, or kicking the big man in the balls and smooching the hell out of the girl next door?”

“Keith, a true man of wisdom and words.” Lance jokes, earning him a flip of the bird. Lance smirks, it melting into understanding and kindness as he turns to you. “He is right, though. Honestly, that friend of yours can take a hike. You don’t need that negativity in your life. You deserve way better. And I mean five star better, not the bare minimum. Do not settle for less, go on and kiss the girl of your dreams. If I were to have remained closeted, I sure wouldn’t have been able to be with that man over there.” 

He points to Keith, the dark haired boy blushing. Lance then grabs some tissues nearby and wipes away your tears. Keith brings you water, and they remain by your side until you felt comfortable and sleepy enough to curl back into the covers. The boys tuck you into bed, and you are hit with a wave of melancholy, for you know they are about to leave.

‘Don’t look so sad. Chin up, buttercup.” Lance rustles your hair. “We aren’t leaving forever. We will be with you every step of the way. When the hours are late and all seems frightening, just know we are beside you. You may not be able to see us, but we are there.”

Lance grabs Keith’s hand, Keith squeezing back and not letting go. “you’re not as alone as you think you are.” Keith says. “Your found family is out there, excited for you to enter their lives. Hold onto that hope.”

“And no one is going to hurt you.” Lance continues. “Guard yourself and stay away from that friend of yours, if you can call them that. You are not a toy. You are a human being, and you should be treated like one.”

“Call on us if you need anything.” Says Keith. “We will be there.”

And so they were until you closed your eyes, filled with nothing but sweet dreams and a sense of a weight being lifted from your chest.

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

I really hope this helped a little bit, dear reader. If you feel in danger, please contact someone you trust or report it. The behavior of your friend is not acceptable and should not be tolerated. I’d deck them in the face if I could 

You are loved. You are strong. You are a badass.

Sincerely, Shania