#like yeah i could get promoted and make a lot more money. but consider this: i hate it here

[junonreactor]

would i be willing to take a 17% pay cut to work for an organization that potentially would suck less .

#good question. the answer is 'idk maybe' #honestly it kind of depends on how quickly this place burns to the ground after my manager leaves ghfdjkslasfd #like yeah i could get promoted and make a lot more money. but consider this: i hate it here #but also consider: no guarantee i won't also hate it there . #like yeah it's a nonprofit and it's a cause i'm interested in supporting. but it's a small team within that org. a new team. #and i would be the only person in that role . for a pay cut #but like. it would be more engaging work that would probably look better on resumes. #and i wouldn't have to do timesheets. and also it wouldn't be this hellhole. #ein babbles #that's all me just jumping the gun though i only just completed the first interview.

[formulaforza]

💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests. 

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online. 

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple. 

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours. 

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table. 

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’. 

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it. 

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up. 

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young. 

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent. 

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes. 

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year. 

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too. 

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after. 

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to. 

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

 “What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh. 

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips  pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing. 

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between. 

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand. 

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?” Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench. 

He swipes his thumb over the  condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?” 

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth. 

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand. 

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

 He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches. 

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles. 

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds. 

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject. 

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away. 

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy. 

You swallow. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 fluff #lh44 #lh #mercedes #mercedes amg f1 #cameos from #toto wolff #susie wolff #peter bonnington #valtteri bottas

[controversial-blorbo-bracket]

i don't mean to stir up more controversy so feel free to not post this ask, but like. yeah. i don't get it. is harry potter a shitty franchise filled to the brim with subtle bigotry and glorification of various nasty outlooks on humanity? kinda, in my opinion, yeah. is it written by, and profited off of by someone actively using their platform to cause harm to human rights? yeah. would i ever want to engage with the content or fandom? no not really. but does this mean that anyone who even breathes in the direction of Harry Potter content is condoning all this bullshit, or kissing the author's shoes and ideologies, and giving them money to harm the people they want to harm? uh.......... no, not really. what the fuck

like............ yeah. like you said it's a huge franchise. literally a silly little Tumblr poll that will realistically get under 10,000 votes, let alone notes or discussions, is not at all going to compare to the reach she already has. and it feels weird to twist the blame that way— this author is using their writing and manipulation skill to earn lots of money and do awful things with it... and suddenly it's the individual fans' fault that she has that money and reach? and not just the fans, but even people that don't actively go out of their way to excommunicate fans of the media?

sorry to rant in your inbox i just. im pretty sick of all this "inaction against a major celebrity is the same as condoning their abuse of power and influence" stuff that people throw around instead of criticizing why our social power structure is based on popularity and engagement in the first place (which is bound to put the most cultish, manipulative, influential, and charismatic people in power). idk it just feels really skeevy to blame people who enjoy or passively tolerate something that's expertly designed specifically to be appealing by a master manipulator.

you don't have to post this (though i also don't mind if you do) i just wanted to like. bring some of my takes into your inbox cause these anons sounding like they're accusing you of queer blasphemy or some shit over literally just.... letting someone hate their anti-blorbo/love their blorbo that they think everyone else hates.... are just really putting me off. like do they get that this is the "oil companies tell poor people global warming is their fault" argument all over again?

This has been sitting in my askbox for a long time because I wasn’t sure how to address it or whether to even address it or just delete it, as it feels like a topic that’s bigger than I am and I can’t ever properly address all of it. But all I’ll say is, while I agree that not all discussion of Harry Potter or other shitty medias is promotion and we as individuals shouldn’t be held accountable for the actions of a transphobic billionaire, it is still important to approach the subject with nuance and make sure the ways in which we talk about it do not spread harm. I think that’s why so many polls decide to ban it and other medias from their polls, because most of them are designed to find the “best” of something and to insinuate that something from one of those medias can be the best could be harmful. That’s why I’m not gonna post any asks that defend the series as a whole or the franchise as a property, because it’s not right to even humor those who want to downplay transphobia and antisemitism (among others). Aaaanyways all this to say if people discourse about Harry Potter characters in the notes or askbox go for it just remember the real people impacted by the bigotries present in it when considering the way you want to make your discussions

#not a poll #ask #anonymous #discourse #Harry Potter #anti harry potter

[sarifinasnightmare]

Nighttime Stroll

Rating: For Everyone

Pairing: Sarah X Bucky

Author's Note: It's just fluffy.

Summary: Bucky and Sarah take a late night stroll through the French Quarter.

July 22- 28: Night Out on Town

“You know I’ve always wanted to do this.” Sarah said as she walked hand in hand with Bucky down the middle of the street on a humid New Orlean’s night.

“What? Walk the French Quarter?” Bucky guessed, they had spent nearly the whole evening in the area, visiting the museums, the shops, having dinner, then hitting the bars for drinks. Bucky couldn’t get drunk, but he still enjoyed the taste. Sarah, he discovered could hold her drink very well.

“Walking the French Quarter at night….late at night, when most things are closed and some of the tourists are gone.” She clarified. “Usually it’s too dangerous to be out like this, but you make me feel safe.” She squeezed his arm, leaning into him.

He took the moment to kiss her temple. “Thanks, babydoll.”

They walked around in comfortable silence avoiding the remaining promoters who pushed customers into their neon lit bars. There were still some people inside, drinking, laughing while jazz mingled with pop music. All the shops were closed, very few restaurants remained open, trash littered the floor and there were barriers where construction was underway.

Bucky glanced over at a house now converted into a bar. “I get that these businesses bring money, but it’s a shame that a lot of nice houses aren’t just…you know, homes.”

“French Quarter has always been an expensive place to live and after Katrina and gentrification it just got more expensive.” She lamented as she looked around them. “When I was little, I would dream about being a grand lady living in one of those fancy houses. Once when we were staying in one of these hotels with the lovely balconies and I sat out there and waved like a queen to the people below.” She elegantly lifted her arm to demonstrate.

He grinned. “Is it a coincidence that your room at home has access to the balcony?”

She gave him a sly look. “What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.”

“You want me to climb up to it one day and knock on your window with a bunch of roses?”

“Oh, Bucky don’t tease.” She said even as she blushed at the very idea.

“I’m not teasing,” he assured her, “I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“Nothing wrong with romance.” Suddenly he picked her up, spun her around and waltzed with her in the middle of the street.

She gasped, then laughed, allowing him to take the lead. “You can waltz??”

“A little, so can you.” He said as they danced around.

“I remembered a little from my cotillion days.”

“Cotillion?”

“A party where all the girls wore pretty white dresses and danced with boys in tuxes in front of our community. It was supposed to celebrate our womanhood. Frankly we were just all excited to look fancy and meet some cute boys.”

“Did you meet a cute boy?” He asked.

“Mm-hm, my husband.” She revealed. “He planned it too, that devil. He was supposed to dance with Lisa, but he asked to be switched so he could dance with me.”

He laughed. “Smart guy. He’s a man of good taste.”

“Wasn’t he though?” She agreed. “I will always remember the first song we danced to.”

“Yeah?” He sighed. “Would be nice if we had some appropriate music for us.”

Suddenly a guitar player who had been closing up for the night spotted them and began to play.

“Huh, how about that.” He smiled, nodding at the gentleman who nodded back.

“Don’t you know French Quarter is full of magic?” Sarah grinned as they slowly danced around.

“Well consider me a believer.” He replied before giving her a kiss.

They danced until the music ended, then Bucky gave him a large tip in thanks. The guitar player was collecting his earnings and was putting his instrument back in its case when someone walked past him. The player gasped.

“Hey! Give it back!” He hollered, touching his back pocket before running after the thief who quickly sprinted.

“Stay here.” Bucky told Sarah before taking off after them both, moving with a quickness that was startling.

The guitar player stopped at a corner, shocked. “Wha- How does he run like that??”

Sarah smiled innocently. “He’s…gifted.”

“No shit!”

There was the faint sound of a scuffle that ended with something, or someone, getting shoved violently into a trash receptacle. A few minutes later Bucky jogged back with only a light sheen of sweat on his face. “Here you go. Sorry about that.”

“Nah man, it’s cool. Thanks!” He replied amazed, taking his wallet. Once Bucky turned back to Sarah, the man silently mouthed out, “Is he an Avenger??”

Sarah would’ve loved to be honest but subtly shook her head. “Done playing hero?” she said before they resumed their walk.

“Hey he played for us. It’s the least I could do.” Bucky shrugged. It seemed like no one else noticed what happened. The lampposts gave out their ember glow, the bars still had their neon lights and music still played on.

“You’re very sweet you know that?” she teased, giving him a small kiss on the cheek, then she winced a little. “I loved this night walk, but I think I’m done for the night. My dogs are barking.”

“Here,” He picked her up, carrying her bridal style as he walked with greater purpose back to their temporary abode.

Sarah held onto him. “I didn’t imply that you carry me the rest of the way, you know.”

“I know, but I rather like it.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned over. “My hero.”

Bucky said nothing just smiled and walked them home, leaving the magic of the French Quarter behind.

#sarah wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #sarahbucky #buckysarah #all caps bingo 2023 #sarahbucky bingo #tfatws #tfatws fic #in love in delacroix #fleur de louve #fleurdelouve

[paperbunny]

S2, E1: The Arrival, Pt. 1

Not a Meta, Just a tribute.

(Eldritch tendencies) Aziraphale could not give less of a shit about the rent, and doesn't appear to even realize that he should. It's waved away seemingly because as soon as he's there he is thinking about getting his records. He completely dismisses the rent with the air of someone who is keeping a record shop for the sake of not learning how to find records elsewhere? Money seems to be no object, but it also seems to hold little value. It's like he's been playing The Sims with this neighborhood and has it just how he likes it, thank you very much.

(Van Life Crowley) There's no way that Crowley has been living in his car that long. Less than a year. Not only was he in his apt seemingly during Lockdown, but Shax is delivering mail and it seems like the first time that she's telling him about the issues with the bills. 4 to 6 months seems reasonable, up to a year if it took awhile for them to establish this communication.

(Boss!Shax) She's not able to get the bills paid because her signature isn't being accepted as his replacement. . . . Why? Is she squatting in the apartment? Is this promotion through sheer force of will via takeover? Also if she can't get the bills paid does that mean the apartment is going to get the utilities shut off? Are there no lights in Crowley's flat, Shax? Was the wifi cancelled? Why isn't her signature good enough, if she's a valid replacement?

(Eternal Beings Don't Get It) Shax doesn't get why the mail service can't be forwarded to the Bentley. I enjoy the total lack of understanding that is maintained both textually and subtextually.

(Fashion) I love Shax's whole outfit. She looks fantastic.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) Confirms that Hell doesn't know Shax is checking in/seeking advice. Crowley doesn't seem adverse to talking but isn't taking it seriously either. Hell doesn't care how jobs get done. Why does any of it matter if ... they don't even care? It's all a sham. Nothing matters as long as the numbers are good and everything appears as it should. The bureaucracy is always a secret favorite part of mine.

(Boss!Shax) She really wants to do a good job. She's planning things! She's trying to get thngs done! but.... it's secretly easy and the humans basically self-punish constantly in new and ingenious ways. Feels very First Grownup Job where you realize that no one is actually a grownup and office politics are worse than you thought but the job itself is easier and it feels like a confusing look behind the curtain.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) Crowley is still on the outs, yeah, he knows. Doesn't care. But he still wants the information. Protective/Defense Crowley. I know he's called Protective a lot, but I lean toward it being much more of a hyper-vigilant defense mode. Not as worried about being attacked as he is about disrupting his small piece of existence where he finds meaning, peace, or happiness.

(Boss!Shax) (Afterlife Conspiracy) Half rations for demons? Is this Beeze being upset or more Hellish cutbacks? Why is Hell having so many issues? We know people don't become Demons when they die, they go to an afterlife, but we have very little to suggest that anyone actually ends up in Heaven. Is everyone going to Hell, possibly except a very few? Is this going to be a problem? All the musicians that Crowley lists in season one are said to be in Hell, plus all the nazis we saw, but no mention that I can recall of someone actually going to Heaven. Shax is excited to have some juicy dirt. She's so willing to play the political/office game of favors here, and in 1941, and later. Someone wants Employee of the Month.

(Best Buddies Mentioned) Shax wants him to report back if his "contact" in the bookshop mentions anything. Is she playing nice and not suggesting anything untoward? She's clearly still somewhat deferential/intimidated by Crowley (who by all accounts was considered a star employee until he wasn't, so that makes sense for our Non!GirlBoss).

(Boss!Shax) Bless. She tries too hard. There's an attempt to get Crowley to agree to trade info or to give up some in the moment. Though it's an understandable try, Crowley is not phased. He is, as per usual, thinking about ducks. This non sequitur is enough to throw her off balance.

(Future Hopes) I would really love a mini origin moment where we find out how Crowley learns about feeding peas to ducks. I would like it to be something that Aziraphale tells him, as a gesture perhaps, since Aziraphale knows Crowley loves ducks. Even so, any origin would be fun.

(Maggie/Nina) She's a skinny latte but it feels like they've never had much interaction? Is this maybe the only time she's come in when it wasn't the morning rush or something? How is she a regular and Nina knows her order, but it seems like they've never even said hello? It's not wild, just a little odd.

(Fashion) Maggie's sweater is so cute. I particularly love the embroidery on the back. Not into the rockabilly look but she wears it well.

(Jim!Gabe) (Nina The Shit Stirrer) People are straight up filming Jim!Gabe and I wonder what happened to that footage. Is public nudity legal in SoHo? If not, why isn't anyone concerned that a naked and seemingly unhinged man came out of the pub (that's where the elevator is) totally naked. Maybe there's a reasonable assumption that he lost a bet or took a dare? Maggie seems shocked and Nina seems delighted. Do the tomatoes mean anything? Just a standard fruit stand gag?

(Bookshop Omens) The Book with the story of Job is on display next to Aziraphale as he listens to his music. It is open to three dancers? Not sure. The music is Shostakovitch Symphony No. 5 in D minor, Op 47 - Allegro Non Troppo. Fast, not too fast. Are you listening, Crowley?

(Aziraphale the Comfy) The Bookshop Owner, supposed seller of books, during what is clearly working hours, is very annoyed that he has to answer his shop door. He is made very uncomfy by the visitor and seems alarmed but not embarrassed by the crowd? Like he's more worried that he's on Heaven's Candid Camera than just a horny bookseller getting a Sex Delivery (as per Nina). He stands there talking to the naked man on his doorstep for what feels like an eternity. No attempt to cover him up or even the very reasonable closing of the door and leaving. Also Jim!Gabe asks to come in. Could he enter without permission I wonder? Bless Jon Hamm for being so silly. I don't know what sort of modesty garment he was wearing but his whole ass was out and there were SO MANY people on that set.

(Maggie/Nina) First soft moment, laughing about the Stripper-deliver-o-gram, and Nina smiles, enjoying the moment, only to instantly push Maggie away when she introduces herself. (Wouldn't it be funny if I did the right thing and you did the wrong one? Hahaha... NO!) Mirror moment to Az/Crow shutting down their soft moments with harsh turns.

(Heavenly Scandal) Michael is talking to someone on the phone about Jim!Gabe. Is it Beeze? Xray doesn't indicate. She neither confirms nor denies whether Heaven is complicit in his absence. First mention of Extreme Sanctions and the Book Of Life.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) Gives Jim!Gabe some hot cocoa in his own mug. Seems unlikely that there were no other mugs. Is this THE cocoa mug? Or is it a good host sort of move? Why give Jim the mug that he clearly uses for himself and was purchased as some kind of joke or nod to his Angelic identity? Aziraphale seems upset at the idea of Jim not knowing who he is and then relieved at the thought that does, only to be tentative and confused when Az realizes that no Jim is still saying that he has no idea. He's playing carefully, neither wanting to give information or to get in trouble. A trepidatious host.

(Aziraphale the Company Man) He's only half listening. It looks like half his brain is dedicated to damage control/wondering what is happening. "Why did you come to my shop?" Thoughts nervously immediately seem to wander. He's nodding along absently until Jim!Gabe's words sink in about wanting to be near one person. Everyone knows there's at least some kind of ... loose co-worker relationship with Az and Crowley, but Az still instantly has to stomp any possible thoughts of recognizing that relationship into the ground. "No. Certainly not! I have no idea what that feels like." Buddy. Come on. Nothing louder than a guilty conscience. He's fired but he still wants to stay in line with company policy. Eating and drinking aren't against company policy it seems, just not really encouraged. Like people who microwave fish or use someone else's defacto mug in the canteen. Instantly moves away and gets defensive. Seems ruffled and flustered, very aware of the actuality of the situation IMHO. I fully believe that Aziraphale knows exactly how he feels about Crowley and is, like an asympote on a graph, constantly trying (albeit verrrrry slowly) to get as close as he can without actually making their situation a reality. He's passionately dedicated to that fine line. I don't see it as a homophobic Heaven (and that wouldn't track with GNeil's comments) but more of a divided loyalty, anti-personal relationships sort of Jedi mindset. It weakens one's resolve and dedication to The Cause if there is a worldly attachment, even if it's to an otherworldly creature. Doubly so, I imagine, since Crowley is a demon.

(Heavenly Scandal) The Something Terrible. Do we know exactly what this is? Is it the Re-Pocolypse, or is it his memory being wiped?

(Aziraphale the Comfy) Az is of course instantly trying to get more information but also treading somewhat carefully still. Both boy-shaped-creatures are very worried about protecting their peace. He's trying very much to not snap at Jim!Gabe, but also very frustrated. Is this Aziraphale more tightly wound than before? He seems more stressed. Are both the Husbands feeling very precarious about their precious niche of peace? I feel like S1 Aziraphale was more confrontational?

(Jim!Gabe) Ever an optimist. Things will be fine! Also he carried a very nearly empty box down an elevator and less than half a block. Maybe even just across the street basically? If his arms were tired, that says a lot about Gabriel's use of the Heavenly Gym facilities.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) He throws away all his junk mail. Or all his mail. What kind of mail is it? What lists is he on? Does he park on the same street always? He still gives advice to Shax though. A reluctant mentor. He's so pleased to hear that there's something wrong with Gabriel. It's kind of nice to see him get a bit of good news, considering. He immediately gets in the Bentley and drives off. Clearly already heading toward the bookshop to deliver the news.

(Good for me) I saw the fly. I didn't make any connections but I saw it and I knew it meant something.

(Aziraphale the Company Man) This makes me so sad. One of the ways that G&B bond is kind words and actions that are so clearly lacking in their respective departments. Az is tickled by Jim!Gabe saying he loves Az, but can't say it back. These words going unsaid feel like foreshadowing to refusing to speak things aloud (their precious niche) and being unable to speak things later (A group of the two of us).

(Aziraphale the Comfy) he's at war with himself a bit. He wants to throttle Jim!Gabe, but also isn't sure what is happening. Not sure why he doesn't call Heaven to clarify the issue, except that I definitely think his instinct is to protect his niche until he knows more. I don't feel like he's protecting Jim!Gabe yet, I feel like he's trying to figure out the problem and protect their little oasis. There's no softness towards Jim, just questions and fretting and finally the start of "hiding" Jim!Gabe by giving him a different name. And, naturally, calling his Good Pal Crowley.

(Jim!Gabriel) Jon Hamm. Just. Love.

(Domestic Moments) I'm convinced that Crowley drives to the Bookshop almost every day. This call is to re-route him, not to call him over. I know Crowley moans about the reasons that Az calls, but honestly. He's clearly already driving and if he's two minutes away then he is 3 miles away, assuming he is going 90 mph. Obviously they spent more time apart during lockdown, but there's way too much casual intimacy with the space of the bookshop to be only a rare visitor. Others have covered this deeply and well. Small note, Az is calling on the store phone, and while he is able to call via both dialing and just talking to the phone, it seems like the Bentley has some kind of call feature? Crowley hangs up by pressing something in the rearview mirror region. If he was speaking through the radio like others have, the switch would be on the dashboard instead.

(Pratchett) We see Jim!Gabriel through a bookcase and the shot is framed with what I assume is PTerry's hat. Also, the sound of a fly. The clues are really up front in retrospect.

(Muriel!!) She's still a Scrivener, we find out later, but she's walking the heavenly halls so she isn't by herself in that office allllll the time. She immediately notices the matchbox. How many others passed it?

End: 22:22

#good omens 2 #aziraphale #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #aziracrow #crowley #good omens #ineffable dumbasses #meta #good omens meta #muriel #bible verse #bible #amazon #amazon pride video #amazon prime #reaction

[forgiveness-in-the-misery]

Our Flag Means Death and a massive lack of fandom understanding:

It took a while for OFMD to be green lit for a second season, like to the point the crew seemed to be accepting it might just never happen. Then it was green lit and they got to start work.

But then we found out they gave them significantly less money to make season two, they gave them less time to film season two, gave a shorter deadline for them to send in the final cut, and found out season two would have less episodes.

Once the season was finished and edited we waited….and then we found out HBO deleted Batgirl, a movie they put an ungodly amount of money into making, they decided they didn’t want it and removed it from existence before anybody could watch it. They became very blatant that they could do this to literally any project.

We saw the people who worked on OFMD say they didn’t even know when or if season two would actually premiere. They knew fuck all. Then HBO did bare minimum to promote it or let people know when it was coming back as if they were praying it would bomb.

Season two is fucking amazing and it is better than season one was for me personally.

I really hate how people complain about season two being too short and being rushed and how they should have drawn things out more etc

Because those complaints are not valid criticism. You’re opinion is wrong, because it is about something the showrunners had no control over. People assume it is getting a third season as if season two existing isn’t a bizarre miracle in of itself. If you are told to tell chapter two of your story in 100 words or less and told you may never get to write a third chapter then yeah it will be a bit rushed because there is a 100 word limit and somebody warning you that they can fire you at any time and burn your writing up if they choose to do so.

The show worked with what little it was given and it did great. There was a method with Buffy the Vampire Slayer that seasons would end as if it was the finale of the series. Why? Because it is insane to just assume you get another season to continue your story.

And it worked. Nobody complained about it. The Righteous Gemstones and What We Do in the Shadows and countless other shows have season finales that feel as if they could easily be a series finale. I don’t get why with OFMD people are upset by this? Especially considering a lot of the same people are angry that Good Omens ended with a cliffhanger which don’t get me wrong I agree. It is dumb as fuck of Neil Gaiman to assume Amazon will give a season three.

Also I have watched hundreds of shows and main characters can be killed. So I don’t get people acting like the show can’t exist without Izzy when most people wanted him killed off in season one. Buffy killed off Buffy, not for long, but they did. Metalocalypse killed off Charles temporarily. The Magicians killed off Quinten the guy that was the main main character for most of the show. Countless shows kill off main characters either temporarily or permanently.

It isn’t a personal vendetta against you or the actor. It just happens.

Also this is gonna be my last post in regards to Our Flag Means Death because honestly after that finale a lot of my interests in looking at the show tag and interacting with shit just died with seeing how deranged and just gross a lot of people were behaving on here.

If people abandon the fandom it isn’t cause the finale. It’s cause the toxic psychosis.

#our flag means death

[raytorosaurus]

funny how everyone says boy division is their fave when spotify play counts for light behind your eyes and world is ugly are higher. also boy division is overrated (i love it but i'll die on the hill that everyone is just blinded by it being an upbeat opening track) (tomorrow's money is far superior to boy division) (and number five is the best of the collection)

lol i can see why those two from number three have a lot of streams from more casual fans because they have like...'sing-alongable' lyrics and are that classic kind of palatable angst yk, but boy division is very solidly the fan favourite in more dedicated bandom circles. and yeah i kinda agree sjdkgl - tho i hesitate to call things overrated bc often ppl take it to mean "i don't like it just because it's popular" when in this case i really mean i do love boy division and think it's a great song but just genuinely don't understand why it's this much more popular than the rest of cw, you know? (poll here)

i do get that it's really fun and that they played it a lot this tour and we were all excited about that together so that makes it more fun - what i don't get is why they played it so much this tour (i.e. why it was so loudly a fan favourite above all the others before then). it just really surprises me that it was The most played song besides the every-show staples, with the single exception of mama. look in your heart is it truly anywhere near as good as mama </3 (stats from this awesome awesome spreadsheet by @onedaythisday)

i know that sometimes things are fun to love because they're loved - like it's much more fun to be really hyped up about them playing a "deep cut" fan favourite when everyone can lose their minds in excitement together, i totally get that. a similar thing happens with heaven help us imo. boy division and heaven help us - both really great songs that i love, but which have a reputation of being the stand-out "best" from their respective collections that i don't understand. tomorrow's money is by far my favourite on conventional weapons - of course personal taste accounts for a lot but i do genuinely believe that if any song on cw could be called underrated and truly hold up against their best stuff, it's tomorrow's money. it's lyrically and musically much more interesting than a lot of cw, the production is really fun, the breakdown and distorted screams scratch my brain soooooo good, and it really plays on mcr's strengths as a dual guitar band with a ray toro up their sleeve lol. i also think kiss the ring is a lot more interesting than boy division and sooo fun but they didn't play that one at ALL :( again, just my taste - i defs get boy division being people's fave, just struggle to understand why it's considered such a singular standout.

my actual unpopular cw opinion is that i think surrender the night is a bottom tier mcr song JSDKFLSDF sorry anon. bottom tier mcr already puts them at better than most other songs out there at least. i definitely appreciate it wayyyy much more now after seeing the live version where it actually feels like the guitars are doing something interesting (it might actually have been promoted to second-bottom-tier actually) but the studio version feels kinda flat to me. also imo gerard shot himself in the foot by saying it sounded something geoff rickly would write because if it was a thursday song it would sound better SDKLGJSDKLGJLDS. but that's just me tho i understand why people like it. number one (tomorrow's money and boy division) is probably my fave overall, tho number four (kiss the ring and make room) comes close. then five because burn bright slaps hard.

#sorry for writing like a whole essay i have strong opinions about cw on the setlist #WHY WOULD YOU JUST PLAY ONE YOU'RE IGNORING TWO OF THE BEST SONGS YOU'VE WRITTEN (tomorrow's money and kiss the ring) #now as a disclaimer. some have said that i am contrarian by nature. this is not untrue. #HOWEVER it is untrue about my music taste - when it comes to songs i truly like what i like and don't like what i don't like #there are very very few mcr songs i consider overrated but plenty i consider underrated #answered #cw

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Losing Game [Antoine Griezmann x fem!OC] (Chap. III)

Requested: No​

Pairing: Antoine Griezmann x OC!Gabrielle Darian; more to be added.

Warnings: OC's mom is a bitch, English is not my first language!

Wordcount: 4K+

A/N: Thank you for reading! GIF IS NOT MINE. Enjoy!

Previous chapter

CHAPTER III

“He told me”, Sabrina continues, “that they would donate a lot of money and that they will talk about the company and charities on social medias, etc.”

Very strange. Generally, we’re the ones that invite the celebrities. But the entire French National Team is excellent from a marketing point-of-view. Oh God, I sound like my mother.

“Do we need to tell your mo-I mean, the Director of Operations?” Sabrina asked.

“I'll tell her,” I answered. “We never know, but knowing her, she’ll want to impress them and I’m gonna have to restart all the organization. Thanks for letting me know, Sabrina.”

“Of course, beautiful. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

I hanged up, and spent my time in the supermarket wondering what my mother will want me to change and how I’m gonna change it. After thirty minutes, I go back home. Louisa is cmoing back in thirty minutes, and even if I’m hungry, I decide to wait for her to eat, but I barely had time to store the groceries that I hear the entrance door open.

“Yo.” She said, putting her school bag on the bar.

“Already here?”

“Yes, the teacher left us leave early. Did you take that apple juice I like?” she asked after noticing the groceries bag.

“Did I ever forget to buy what’s on your list?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

“No, never. So, how was work?”

“Oh, it was good…Surprising.”

“Why?” she asked, eating a bit of bred.

“Didier Deschamps and the French Team want to come to the gala,” I told her.

“No way! But how could they possibly know about the gala?”

“I have no clue,” I said, realizing I never thought about it. “I guess they saw the article on the website. They’re fast, in that case, considering we published it this morning.” I added.

“If they publicly talk about the company, it will be a great promotion. Your mother will be thrilled.”

“Yes, before she tells me to change everything I prepared, just to impress them.”

“Yeah, probably.”

We prepare lunch together, mostly talking about football players inviting themselves.

“Honestly though, have you seen these handsome dudes?” She laughed. “If we’re lucky enough, we could get one of them.”

We both laughed and I shook my head. I don’t really watch football, but I have to admit, some players are rather handsome. But still, I don’t feel like starting a relationship. We sat to eat, and she tells me about her classes. Like her, I can’t wait to finish college so I can get a job in a translation company and finally leaving the family’s company. I know it’s gonna be hard, as there are not many jobs available in that sector, but I’ll do whatever it takes to be independent, even alienating my family.

“What did you plan to study today?”

“German. It’s not like I’ll ever go to Berlin or Munich, but that exam might compensate for bad marks, so…”

“Good luck. And don’t fall asleep!”

“Me? Never.”

She went to her room muttering against the German language. When I see her German lessons, I’m glad I took Spanish since middle school; even though I’m not good at it at all. I studied in the living room, the television’s sound in the background of my head. Exams are coming soon, for both Louisa and me. I can’t wait to have them, just so the stress can go away – even though it’s gonna be replaced by the anxiety of waiting for the results. After one hour, I got up and went to see Louisa to make sure she wasn’t falling asleep. I knocked on her door, and I heard a “No, I’m ain’t sleeping”. I went back to the living room and stayed focused on my studies. When I decide it’s enough for today, it’s already 5:30 pm. Crap, mother. I took my phone and called her. She finished work earlier today, she then should answer. After a few seconds, she answered at the same moment Louisa came back from her room.

“Yes?”

“It’s me.”

“I know it’s you. What do you want?”

Alright, great.

“It’s about the gala. The French National Team want to come.”

“The football Team?” she asked, more surprised than I expected.

“No, the soap bubbles team,” I retorted, “Of course, the football team.”

“Don’t be insolent. Who did they call?”

“Sabrina,” I answered. “Deschamps called her this morning. He told her they would donate money and promote the company. But how did they know about the gala?”

“It does not matter. Tell Sabrina to call them back to accept the invitation.”

“Alright. So, what am I gonna have to change? We’ll have to put on a show, right?”

“Send me the services you chose. I’ll see that tomorrow.”

“As you wish.” I answered.

And she immediately hangs up. I shook my head and sat beside Louisa on the sofa. She proposes we go shopping tomorrow, in order to clear up our minds, and I accept.

*-*

Between college, studying and the gala’s preparation, the 31st of May arrives way sooner for my liking. Coming home from work, I went directly to pick a dress. I try to tell myself that every detail is organized, but to tell the truth, I had never been more anxious in my entire life. I also try to tell myself that I don’t care what my mother will say about the evening I’m organizing but I know deep down, I’m anxious to see her reaction. I sighed and stared at the dresses I had before noticing a long black dress with straps. As for my hair, I decided to put in a bun with some locks around my face. I put my make-up at the same as Louisa does in our small bathroom. She is still as excited about meeting the football player, but she thankfully has given up on the idea of get one of them. She’s wearing a long red dress and let her curly brown hair down.

“Thank you for coming, bestie,” I told her while putting back my make-up in the cupboard. “It’s really helpful to me.”

“Are you kidding, I wasn’t gonna miss your first night as organizer.” She said smiling me through the mirror.

Once we’re ready, it’s already time to go. Like my mother does, I arrive early at the place to take care of last-minute details, and Louisa is coming with me. Jerome comes picking us up as usual, always so nice. In the car, I can’t help but to bite my nails, which I do when I’m stressing out, and even Louisa’s ‘Tsst!” can’t stop me from doing it. Once we have arrived, Jerome wishes me good luck and assures me everything will go okay. Damnit, give this man a raise already. The photographs, more numerous than last time, that my mother has forced me to invite, are not here yet, which amazingly suits me. I entered the room, and quickly the services’ bosses came to me to tell me everything is ready to welcome the guests. I inspected the decoration, put exactly as planned, and the tables put like my mother usually does.

“You nailed it, Gaby.” Louisa told me, looking around.

“Thank you. Hey, if something wasn't working, you would let me know, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would, don’t worry. Relax.”

I checked the last details and the time, and realized the guests should arrive any minute now. I barely had time the waiters coming with plates full of drinks and food and to go place myself by the entrance that the first car is already coming. It’s the adorable elderly lady from the last gala, giving me a big, warm smile.

“Good evening, my dear,” she said before kissing me on the cheek. “I’m glad to see you, you look beautiful.”

“You too, ma’am.” I said, taking the wrinkled hands she gave me. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me, my dear child. It’s always a pleasure to see the Darian family.”

I invite her to come in, and she goes to Louisa, who she greets warmly. The other guests then arrive, and I pray none of them notices that my hands are sweaty. After a while, Louisa comes to me.

“You parents are not here yet?” she asks. “It’s unlike them to be late.”

“Yes, except when it’s for something involving me.”

Giving only them and the football boys are yet to arrive, I decide to go inside. I ask the waiters and the cooks if everything is okay, and their positive answer relaxes me a little. I go back to the room, psychologically preparing myself to have a conversation with boring, arrogant people when nearly all eyes suddenly turned to the entrance, where a group of twenty people or so just came in. They’re all wearing the same classic yet elegant suit and most of them did their hair. Most of them are silent and look around them with curious looks. I walk to the man with white hair leading them both as like a father and a teacher.

“Good evening,” I said, more intimidated than I thought I would be, before shaking his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you all.”

They all answer with a nod, a smile or a rather shy “Good evening”.

“Nice to meet you, too.” answered Didier Deschamps warmly. “Thank you for allowing us to come.”

“Thank you for asking. It’s not everyday that we have high-level athletes coming at our galas. I hope you’ll have a good night.”

“No doubt about it”, he smiled. “Benjamin was not able to come tonight because, well, of a last-minute problem, I hope you’ll excuse him. He says hello.”

“Oh,” I said, “I hope he will be fine.”

“Yes, thank you”

I vaguely nodded and stared at the 22 players standing in silence in the entrance.

“Well, have a good night.”

“Thank you very much.”

Most of the men gave me smile and I smiled back. Then they scattered, and right after, a silhouette came in, and I immediately recognize my mother. My mind is screaming at me to turn my back and ignore her, but I don’t have the energy to start a fight. I walked towards her, more insecure that I wished I was. She looks around with a probing look before turning to me.

“Hi, mom.”

“The decoration isn’t that bad. I would have picked another color, though. Gabrielle, what is that awful dress you’re wearing? The color is just dreadful. This robe is barely good to be wore at a cocktail party. Especially with famous guests…And let’s not talk about your hair.”

She sighed heavily and I felt a red light coming. She grabbed a glass when a waiter passes before us, took a sip and grimaced.

“For God’s sake, Gabrielle, what is that champagne? I specifically told you to pick Mr. Sandrin’s champagne!”

“I did!” I defended myself, trying not to raise my voice. “This is the champagne you asked for.”

She stared at her glass and then raised her shoulders, not convinced.

“Dad and Noah aren’t here?” I asked, changing the topic.

“Your father had an impediment, and your brother is sick.”

With Noah, “sick” means “at a party” with the option “girl” or “has a hangover”. I try to see Louisa among the guests but can’t find anywhere. My mother tells a waiter to come and grab a hors d’oeuvre.

“Gabrielle, do you even know how to read? I thought I told to the Menu number Three! The Second one is horrible.”

“Well you know what? Next time why don’t you just organize your freaking gala yourself?”

Before she can answer, I turned around and nearly ran to the bar, my eyes watering. On my way to the bar, I rapidly meet of the footballers’ blue gaze – Antoine Griezmann. Hell, now one of tonight’s most important guests saw me cry.

“Good evening, Miss.” The barman said with a smile. “What can I serve you?”

“Something strong.”

“Coming up.”

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. I usually only drink champagne at galas and don’t drink alcohol outside of galas, but right now I need to relax. At the same time the barman put a glass in front of me, I hear a voice in my back.

“Hello. Gabrielle, am I right?”

I turned around, and to my surprise, saw Kylian Mbappe standing before me.

“Oh, hello.” I answered with a voice that I hoped sounded confident. “Yes, you’re right. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you. Very cool night," he said, pointing out the room.

“That’s nice of you.”

“What it will be, sir?” the barman asked Kylian.

“Do you do alcohol-free cocktails?”

“Sure. Right away.”

The French Team’s striker walked to the bar, which gave the perfect spot to observe him. He was actually cute, with his frank smile and his sparkling eyes. I supposed he was barely older than me, maybe by one year or two. He thanked the barman, grabbed his glass, and then turned to me. We started talking about anything and everything, and his kindness and his sweetness almost made me forget my mother’s comments. It’s obvious he remained humble and down to earth despite the fame. He asked me about the company, and I asked him about football, his club, and the World Cup coming up. Suddenly, as he’s giving an answer I’m doing my best to understand – I didn’t know anything about football – my eyes move far behind him. Antoine Griezmann is talking with one of his teammates – Lucas Hernandez, if I’m not mistaken – and some other guests, but his eyes are on me.

I tried to focus on what Kylian was saying, but every fifteen seconds, my eyes turned to Antoine who continued to staring at me, and every time I looked at him my heart beated faster. For God’s sake, dude, why are you looking at me like that? Don’t be silly, Gabrielle, he’s probably looking at Kylian. A few minutes later, I’m still giving a quick glance at Antoine when a young man dressed exactly like Kylian comes to us. He was rather tall, pale with blond hair and tired brown eyes, who looked a bit older than Kylian. He had like him a big smile, but seemed more confident than Kylian.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Hugo wishes to see you, Kylian. It’s urgent, apparently.”

“Oh,” said Kylian. “I’ll just go then. See you later, I hope,” he added to me.

“Of course.”

Even though I didn’t know anything about football, I still knew who the most famous were. And this blondie wasn’t one of them, I thought. But I didn’t have to ask who he was, as he’s quicker:

“I don’t think we've met before. The name is Emilien.”

“Gabrielle,” I answered politely.

“What your family does is really wonderful. I mean it.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Maybe we could have a partnership? I’ll give you my number and-”

“Emilien?”

I jumped and turned to see a young man with dark blond hair and large blue eyes standing before us, his hands in his pockets. My hearts stopped, and I almost let my glass fell.

“Ah,” said Emilien, “Yeah, Antoine?”

My heart was beating so fast I could hear pound in my head.

“The coach wants to see ya, it’s important.” Antoine said.

My, they sure do have a lot of important things to say to each other.

“Oh. I’m coming, then. See you later,” he added to my direction.

I just nodded, and he disappeared. Antoine took a step in my direction and gave me a smile.

“I hope they weren’t too awful”, he said with the same smile.

“Not at all,” I reassured him with a smile.

Damn it, his eyes are so blue. Blue like the sea, soft, and warm.

“Your teammates are very nice.”

“Kylian thinks you’re very nice, too.”

I searched for him, but he was invisible.

“You’re the one that organized this gala, right?” he asked.

“I am.”

“You did very well. I love the decorations.”

“Well you’re alone in that,’ I muttered.

“I-I accidentally heard your conversation with your mother.”

Sweet Jesus.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. You must think I’m a crybaby who can’t handle her mother’s critics.” I said, embarrassed and looking at the floor.

“Not at all,” he assured. “I never speak ill of someone else’s mother, but what she said is totally wrong. The decorations are nice, the two glasses of champagne I had were really good and, personally, I think the food is good as heck” he finished with a little laugh.

His laugh is so cute and contagious that I can only laugh as well.

“For real, you’ll have to give me the name of the cook.”

“Sure.”

“Believe me, you shouldn’t let other’s opinions get to you – even your mother’s,” he said with a voice that sounded sweeter, and more adult. “Especially since no one agrees with her – and agree with me.”

“That’s nice of you to say that. And you’re right.”

He smiled again, and I realized I never saw such a beautiful smile. Hell, everything about him is beautiful. The way that strand of hair falls on his forehead, his childish smile, the way his suit fit perfectly on his body which I imagine fit and firm…I felt my cheek turn pink and suddenly felt hot. We started chatting, but unlike earlier with Kylian or Emilien, I’m only focused on him and the words that come out of his mouth. I don’t know how much time had passed, five minutes or five hours. I can no longer hear the waiters walking, the soft music in the background or the conversations around us. It’s like…They was only us on the planet. I answered his questions, and saw him bit his bottom lip. He got closer to me, and I shivered when he rose his hand and put my hair on the side of my face back. Before I can even breathe, his face gets closer to mine, so much so that I can smell his intoxicating perfume and his breath on my neck. His hand is only a few millimeters from my cheek, and my heart is beating so fast that its gonna explode.

“Gabrielle!”

A cold hand grabbed my arm, and reality comes back. The voices, the somehow fresh air, the food’s smell coming from the kitchen. The charm is broken.

“Come here, hurry,” my mother said, pulling my arm before I could react. “You must announce diner!”

Antoine’s eyes became more and more distant, and soon I can’t see him anymore no matter how I lean. My mother puts a microphone in my hand and tell me to hurry with her hand. I cleared my throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the diner.”

Slowly, the guests went towards the round tables, and instinctively, I look for Antoine. Louisa, who went missing, comes from nowhere and smiles at me.

“Hi there.”

“Lou’, where the hell have you been?” I asked her.

“I was talking with Mr. and Mrs. Aubret,” she said with a bit surprised voice. “I saw you talking with Griezmann, I thought you didn’t need me.”

“It’s fine.”

Around us, people are sitting, and we do imitate them. The adorable elderly lady comes slowly and sits in front of us. Her smile comforts me, and I smile back. My mother then arrives and sits silently. A few days ago Louisa begged to let take care of the seats, and I eventually gave up and said yes – only if none of the players would be sitting with us – and I suspect her of putting us with important people so my mother can’t talk too much. I need to talk to her about it. The dishes arrive one after the others, and even though I’m talking with Louisa and the adorable lady – whose name seems to be Mrs. Orment – my eyes are looking for a striker. I finally find him, sitting at a table not far away from us. His eyes meet mine and he gives me a smile. I’m about to smile back when Didier Deschamps, sitting on his left, lean towards him and whispers something in his ear. Antoine vaguely nods his head before concentrating on his plate.

“Gaby?” Louisa asked. “Are you okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah, of course.”

“The diner is delicious, my dear,” Mme Ornent said cheerfully. “You chose well.”

“Absolutely,” his neighbor, a doctor who were about to retire soon, said. “You have good taste, miss. It must be a family thing, right, Anita?”

My mother had a laugh I knew was hypocritical and took her glass.

“You’re too kind, Doctor.”

Thankfully the dessert arrives soon after.

“Damn, that cake be good as heck!” a voice which I guessed was Adil Rami’s said loudly and his neighbors laughed.

The other guests seemed to like it too, and that comforted me a bit. I look in Antoine’s direction without realizing it, and I see him talking with the CEO of a multinational company. Once diner is over, those who wants to have a coffee walk toward the bar. Then arrives the auction, which is eventually very successful.

“Excuse-me,” I said once the auction is over.

I really need some fresh air. I grabbed my bag and went to the door. I tried to breath, and a few seconds later, I felt better. To my surprise, I saw a silhouette coming.

“Oh,” Emilien said while walking to me, “you like some calm sometimes, too?”

“Oh yes,” I said with a smile. “You can feel like suffocating at this kind of event. Even if you’re used to it.”

“You’re doing very well, though,” he smiled.

“I appreciate it. You still want to do the partnership?” I asked him.

“You’re reading my mind,” he laughed. “I’d be happy to do what I can: meet people with illness, sign autographs or jerseys, make videos to promote the charity…”

“That’s good, because you’re very likely to be asked to do that,” I laughed too.

“Perfect then!”

“I’m gonna give you the number of the person in charge of that, she’ll explain everything.”

“No problem.”

I opened my bad and took out a piece of paper and a pen. I scribbled a phone number and gave it to him.

“Thanks a lot. It’s really important to me help others, you know…”

“That’s wonderful.”

Suddenly, Didier Deschamps, followed by the rest of the players, arrived and the coach turned to the blond man.

“Emilien, there you are. Sorry to interrupt, but we are leaving.”

“Very well, coach. Goodbye, then,” he said after turned to me. “I guess we will see each other again at some point.”

“I think so. See you soon, then.”

He smiled, and went to his teammates. When Emilien joined the group, Kylian walked up to me with a smile.

“It was a fun night.”

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“Say, do you wanna come to the match against Italy tomorrow night? With your friend Louisa?”

I didn’t see that coming. I didn’t go to a football game since I was ten – Noah’s birthday gift – and I barely remembered it.

“Well, yeah, with pleasure.”

“Great, I’ll send you tickets. If you want to invite other people, please let me know.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you.”

I expect all of them to get in the cars, but it was Deschamps’ time to walk up to me.

“Thank you for tonight. Do you mind me asking you something?”

“Please go ahead, sir.” I answered.

“Would you mind mentioning us in the article you will write about tonight’s gala?”

“Hum, no, not at all. May I ask why?”

“Oh, well, people sometimes think that with money and success, football players forget about helping others and compassion. I’d like to prove, in some way, that it’s not true when it comes to my men.”

“I see. Well, I sure will be talking about you guys.”

“Thank you very much. See you soon, young lady, take care.”

He patts my arm in a fatherly way and showed his players the cars. They all waved at me and said discreet “goodbye” which I say back. I hope the ones I didn’t talk to didn’t find me mean or rude. They all get in the different black cars that brought them, and when Antoine walks past me, his arm grazed mine and he stared at me until he sits in the car.

NEXT CHAPTER

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Masterlist

#antoine griezmann #griezmann #football #france nt #football fanfic #les bleus #antoine griezmann x reader #soccer #hugo lloris #olivier giroud #kylian mbappe #benjamin pavard #grizi #original female character #losing game #fanfic #antoine griezmann x original character

[dancingbabya-notes]

Don't want to be a burden

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I gotta remind myself that I don't have to post a final product, or something that everyone likes. Here is an Aizawa x prohero oc

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Adults make mistakes. While working in a certain field I got close to a particular co-worker. As a transfer intern from America, I wanted to keep a low profile. Everyone assumed that just because I was from America that I wanted to be in the spotlight.

Whiplash was not a spotlight kind of hero.

“Oh, hey Whiplash, are you doing alright?” Present mic is a close friend of mine and Eraser head.

“I’ve been feeling queasy, maybe I forgot to clean my fridge again,” I laugh anxiously.

I knew what was wrong. But I was going to wait for two more weeks before stopping. It’s hard to be a hero and have a child, and Eraser was doing such a good job I didn’t want to mess it up. So instead of telling him the real reason I reluctantly admitted that heroism wasn’t my calling, especially with the money and tailcoats chasers.

“Are you sure about leaving?” Eraser asks on my last day of patrol.

“Yeah, I gotta help my family back in America anyway,” I flick my vine whip and sigh. “Thank you for being my friend while I was here though.”

He frowns. “I guess you could call it that. Will you be okay over there?”

“Why do you think I have a full body suit, face mask, and I get my hair done. I’m practically unrecognizable in civilian form,” smirking I look at him with a sad smile. “I know I’m the one who decided to leave but try to keep in touch, alright?”

“I can only try.”

After returning to America I had everything set up. A place to live, and a job for after. You could take me out of heroism, but you can’t take the hero out of me. My twin bundles of joy are like heaven on earth. I got an email from Eraserhead just after they were born. Keep safe. And I did.

“Bea? You have kids, right?” My superior asks.

“Yes, I have twins why do you ask?”

“Would you be interested in going back to Japan?”

I blink. No one would recognize me so I should be fine. “Sure. Sounds great. My boys are due for a scene change.”

The twins are both boys. I felt like I had no right asking Eraser to pick a name for them and giving them Japanese names could be taken the wrong way. Luckily, I felt better giving them names from my family.

Dayo and Ejiro. Both my sons had black hair like their father and Dayo had his standoffish demeanor. Ejiro was more like me with his bubbly actions always clutching to his brother. They had combination quirks. My quirk is the ability to use plants as I please, so Dayo could look at a plant and make it grow using it as he saw fit. Ejiro could erase the plants that he would touch only if he activated them.

“Mom? You said our dad lives in Japan; you think you’ll run into him again?” Ejiro asks as we pack our things.

“No, your daddy doesn’t like to get a lot of attention. And I’m sure by now he’s got a different job,” I sigh.

During my time with Eraser, we never exchanged our civilian names. And I felt bad not even being able to give them that. But Dayo and Ejiro were more than okay with having the same last name as their mom. Free.

They were only four. Everything was supposed to be cleared away. It was for the most part. By proxy, I got a three-bedroom apartment. I wasn’t going to force the twins to share a room, they would probably be at each other’s throats. And considering the length of my work here it could be extended at any time.

They would be starting school in Japan. Luckily, they only really knew Japanese. I couldn’t get rid of the habit of speaking in Japanese at home. Once we were all moved in, I met my employer.

“Ah, so you’re the new employee. Our promotional manager,” the man states.

“Publicity, yes pleased to meet you,” I state with a bow.

“I didn’t expect a woman with your name Kirabo,”

“That’s my given name, I’d prefer if you used my surname: Free,” asserting this, I wait for a second.

“Alright.”

It was a bumpy start. A lot of people didn’t want to listen to me, but eventually, I was able to do my job. And my boys started school. I felt like I was riding on a roller coaster, but five years already went by.

Dayo and Ejiro were getting ready for middle school. I wasn’t going to pressure them they could pick where they wanted to go. But I got a call.

“Oh, hey Whip.”

I blink, it had been ten years since anyone referred to me that way. “Hello? Who may I ask is calling?”

“You don’t recognize me? I’ll be the best talk show host ever, it’s Mic.”

“Sorry for the skepticism, but it’s dangerous to even consider revealing that to you.”

“Slow down, I got in touch with your agency and they told me that you came back to Japan a few years ago. I wanted to see if you wanted to catch up a bit?” He laughs.

“Oh.” I look at the lights on in the rooms and shake my head. “I’m sorry Mic, I can’t leave my kids alone for too long.”

“YOU HAVE KIDS!?”

I retract the phone. “Yeah, I have twin boys. Sorry, I never told you.”

“No, it’s fine. But I never expected you to settle down and get married?”

“I didn’t though.”

“They how to do you have kids?”

“We’re both adults, do I need to give you the talk?”

“Wait, you didn’t leave Japan because someone hurt you right?”

“No,” looking down I sigh. “I left Japan because I didn’t know how to tell their father I was pregnant.”

“Really? Have you talked to the guy?”

“Yeah like once just after they were born.”

“That must have been rough on you.”

“Look, I don’t mind catching up with you or Eraser, just come by the apartment when you’re free. My boys are just trying to figure out what middle school they might want to go to,” I offer.

Giving him the address, I felt a bit better. They did drop by on a Saturday. I was thinking about what to buy for dinner and they were at the door.

“Hey, how’s it been?” Mic grins.

I smile. “Come in, also call me Bea. My given name often confuses others.”

Arms engulf me and I chuckle. “Nice to see you too.”

“Kayama,” she answers.

“Yamada,” mic grins.

“Aizawa,” Eraser nods.

I smile “I would change it to calling me by my surname, but I’m sure the boys will jump out of their rooms for something.”

Kayama smiles as she looks at me again. “You’ve changed so much.”

“They have taken my energy. But I still have people asking me if I’m in my twenties. I feel like they say it to be nice,” I laugh a bit.

“How come you never told me you had kids?” Aizawa looks at the picture I had on the wall.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Yamada groans. “How long has it been since we spent any time together.”

“Eleven years.” Kayama points out. “You got anything to drink?”

“I was just about to pick up some things for dinner if you three wanna stay that long?” I state.

“Sure, Nemuri and I can pick it up for you,” Yamada offers.

“I don’t want to put you out,” I frown looking at the agenda for today.

“What are you making?” Aizawa asks.

“Yakiniku, Dayo likes it. Tomorrow is Ejiro’s favorite though. I wanted to treat them since they’ve been studying so hard,” I explain.

“We can buy the stuff then,” Kayama smirks.

I hand her my wallet and thank them as they leave. Aizawa sits at the table with a coffee I clean the dishes a bit. Dayo walks out holding his travel-sized greenhouse.

“Mom, Fi isn’t looking alright. Can you check her for me?” He thrusts the container my way.

“Sure, let me dry off my hands.” I peek at the container and pout.

Focusing on the plant I didn’t notice that he grabbed his juice and sat on the other side of Aizawa.

“Hi.” I hear Dayo say.

“Learning how to grow plants from your mom?” Aizawa wasn’t a talker so this struck me as odd.

“Sort of. I’ve always been able to grow things if I stare long enough,” Dayo replies.

“Dayo, where did you go?” Ejiro calls as he runs out. “Oh, there you are.”

“They look so similar,” Aizawa comments.

“They’re twins.” I place the greenhouse back. “I don’t think the chocolate vine is taking very well. I’ll see if I can find a space for us to grow our plants.”

Ejiro runs toward me. Grabbing my shirt, I raise a brow.

“Did you two know that your mom used to be a hero?”

Ejiro nods. “Mom said that she met our dad while she was a hero.”

Dayo pouts. “She also said that she stopped being a hero so she could raise us.”

“Hey, are you both sad that I’m not a hero anymore?” I look at them.

Dayo pouts. “But if you didn’t have us, you would still be a hero and be with dad.”

I pat him gently to avoid messing up his braids. “Did someone say something?”

“Our classmate said that if we weren’t born, you’d be with someone else,” Ejiro admits.

“I’m sorry Aizawa. I didn’t think this would come up at a time like this,” I pat Ejiro gently.

“Your names are Dayo and Ejiro right?” Aizawa asks.

They nod.

“Who named you?”

“Mom did.” Dayo states.

“Who has taken care of you this whole time?”

“Mom.”

“Is she any less of a hero since she’s taking care of you two?”

Dayo pouts. “Mom is our hero.”

“That’s all you need to understand then.” Aizawa nods.

Ejiro realizes something and frowns. “Dayo, have you been feeling that weird feeling too?”

I watch them for a moment, and they walk over to Aizawa. I tilt my head a bit confused. But Aizawa moves a bit as they look at him and inspect him further.

“You look exactly like how our mom said our dad looked,” Dayo finally states.

Ejiro asks looking at him with a smile. “What is your quirk?”

“I stop other people’s quirks,” Aizawa states.

Both in unison ask. “Are you our dad?”

“Boys stop bothering him. I told you both before I’ll tell you who your dad is when you’re older,” I knead at my temple.

The door opens and Yamada is back with Kayama and the food. I busy myself with cooking and talking. By the time it’s time to go. Aizawa looks at me.

“We need to talk.”

“What if I said no?”

“Bea.”

“Fine, let me know when.”

“Next Saturday”

I felt like I was watching my own death sentence. They left and things returned to normal until the next Saturday. Babysitter for the boys and I went to go see Aizawa.

“Are they my kids?” He asks.

I roll my eyes. “Wow skip the pot and straight into the fire Huh?”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.”

“You went back to America because of your family?”

Holding my cup, I frown. “My parents have been dead for years now. I went back to America because I was pregnant.”

“So, are they mine?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth Bea.”

“Yes, are you happy now? Dayo and Ejiro are your sons.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to trap you. Like you said hero society is full of shallow people that aren’t doing it for the right reasons.”

“You were a hero for the right reasons.”

“Yeah, and nothing would have stopped you from thinking I used you. Or that I would publicize it and paint you the bad guy,” I roll my eyes. “Look if you want to, we can do a test. But I don’t want to ruin your life. That is the exact reason I left Japan eleven years ago.”

Getting up I smile at him.

“You don’t have to see them or me if you don’t want. I wasn’t even planning on telling them until they became adults,” shaking my head I fix my clothes.

“Bea.”

Bowing to him I flash a weak smile. “Thank you for listening to me.”

Walking out of the café as a fast as I could into the busy street. My head filled with regret as I did. I couldn’t just force him to leave, I might have to work with him later, and he had a right to visit the boys if he wanted. Shaking the feeling out I quickly get to my apartment to pay the sitter. She thanks me and leaves. I should just focus on work

“No.” Slamming the folder on to the desk I could already feel the ropes of vine twisting around my body.

“What? But Free we have to—“

“If we have to, please find someone else willing to. But when I used to be a hero, I had the displeasure of working with that man for a very short period and I doubt I’d want to do it again.”

“You worked with Endeavor before?”

“Not by choice.”

“What was it like?”

“I was told from a young age to only speak for what I can pay for. And speaking about my experience with this particular man is stories above my pay grade.”

Despite my wishes I was the only one qualified to work on this, more so because I worked with Endeavor personally.

“You’re alive.” He puffs out.

“So are you.” Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms.

“Free!”

Endeavor raises a brow. “I’ve worked with her before, nothing particularly nasty has come out yet.”

Turning away I huff. “I can’t afford to pay for the damages otherwise, and I have kids to care for, old man.”

Oh, do I hate his arrogant attitude. Walking home I didn’t expect to see Aizawa standing at my door when I walked up the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” I reach to unlock the door.

But it opens. “Mom you’re back, Oh, hi Mr. Aizawa.”

“Come in.” I wave as I walk into the door.

Ejiro looks at the man and pouts. “Mom, you said you’d help me with my homework today.”

“I know, bring it to the living room so we can work on it,” taking off my shoes I release a sigh.

Aizawa takes off his shoes and I look at him with a sigh. “Please make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’ll get you something to drink as soon as I get back from changing.”

“Mom, I don’t feel—“ Dayo pokes his head from his room door and I have barely a second to catch him with my quirk.

Moving slowly toward him I frown. “Ejiro, come here.”

He walks over and looks at me. I place my hand on his forehead and frown. They were both running fevers.

“In bed both of you. I’ll make some porridge,” I grumble.

“He looks fine,” Aizawa points out.

I look at him and shake my head. “No, Ejiro seems to be more hyper than usual. I don’t know if it’s because he’s running a fever, but I know the boys.”

Picking up Dayo, I walk toward his bed. We got a corner apartment, so all the bedrooms have windows, and Dayo was so serious about learning how to grow plants that his room looked like a nursery.

“Mommy,” Dayo frowns. “I wanna sleep in your room. I don’t wanna be alone.”

“What’s wrong?” Aizawa appears again.

“Change of plans, can you make the porridge? I shouldn’t ask a guest, but I need to pick up Ejiro to lay them down together.” I sigh.

Aizawa frowns. “They’ll get sicker.”

“Mommy.” Ejiro wines from his room door.

“Come on, we’re gonna have a sleepover in mommy’s room,” I smile.

Dayo and Ejiro are both the same in height, weight, and appearance. But their personalities were always very distant normally, they liked to be independent and do things on their own or together. They got sick together, and it was like having toddlers again.

Laying Dayo on one side of the bed, I help Ejiro climb on the other side. Pulling the cooling patches from the drawer I place one on their foreheads.

Changing the temperature setting, I walk toward the bathroom and quickly change. Tying my hair in a ponytail I walk into the boy’s rooms and take the sheets from their beds. Grabbing their matching plushies. Aizawa seems to watch me as I do my tasks.

The sheets lay in a bundle by my bedroom door. Placing their plushies in their open arms I sigh. Leaving my bedroom door open I start cleaning.

“Need any help?”

“Yeah, just make some coffee. I’m gonna run down the conbini downstairs and buy some sports drinks after I start the clothes.”

“Is this how you usually are with them?”

“Aizawa, are you gonna keep asking questions while I’m trying to make sure they are comfortable?”

He holds up his hands in defense and I roll my eyes. It was maybe ten minutes before I finished getting everything and walking back in. Both of them were sound asleep, but I kept the door open just in case they needed anything.

“So why are you here?” I look at my cup of coffee.

“Because I wanted to talk to you again.”

Rolling my eyes, I frown. “I hope this isn’t some sense of responsibility because they are your kids too?”

“What do you mean?”

“My parents got married because my mom thought she had to marry the man who got her pregnant. She hated him. She hated me, but she loved my little brother. When she died before I came to Japan, she told me that she wished I’d never been born that way she could have gone on about her life.”

“Then did you hate me?”

“No, I never hated you. I mean I don’t hate you, but I was scared that you’d hate me.”

He frowns. “Do you think so little of me?”

“Aizawa, we were twenty. I just barely knew what being an adult meant,” finding that I feel I'm just excusing my behavior I sigh. “What would you have done if I stayed?”

“We would have gotten married.”

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t have been ready, I felt ready to have the twins, but not to get married.”

“Are you still not ready to get married?”

“What?”

“I know it’s been a long time, and we haven’t talked but I want to be there for them.”

“I need time to think about it. Besides I’m not stupid. You think I haven’t seen the news, hell I work in All Might’s publicity department. I’m just—“

Hearing one of them wake up I get up and send him a weak smile. “Aizawa, maybe I would have said yes five years ago. But I need time.”

“I understand. But I can’t just let you go off like that,” he mumbles. “Talking about us and the boys wasn’t the only reason that I came here; I was thinking that the kids needed a kind of guest speaker. Someone who was in from an early age.”

Looking at him I nod. “Just tell me when.”

Dayo and Ejiro recovered from their beginning of summer cold. A car was sent and Aizawa let them sit at his desk while I talked.

Standing awkwardly in my hero costume I fixed my cape a bit. Class 1-A of this year at Yuuei had been on the news more than any other class. They only looked like children to me.

“Today I thought it would be better to get a word from someone who started off at your age as a hero,” Aizawa states and they seem to grow quiet

One boy in the back jumps from his seat excited. “You’re the bondage hero Whiplash.

“I was hoping that name would not stick,” chuckling I rub at the back of my back. “Yes, I am Whiplash, in english the name is actually supposed to be capture hero. But my agent at the time mixed up the translations so when I came to Japan at eighteen, I was known as the bondage hero.”

One girl holds up her hand and I nod for her to ask. “But you stopped hero work almost ten years ago.”

I nod. “Yes, see I started hero work at sixteen and I loved every bit of it. I haven’t exactly stopped working as a hero considering I still have my license for emergencies.” Pulling the clip from my belt under my cape I hold up the small device. “I carry this device everywhere I go in case they need me. It’s only very special cases that I’ve been called. Crowd control, sometimes damage control. I’ve had the pleasure of working with many heroes before I stopped my public actions.”

“Why did you leave?”

Thinking of my kids I smile. “Life happens, my little brother was in a tight spot back in America, and since I was his legal guardian I had to leave. There were other things involved in it too. I um—”

Aizawa raises a brow. “You can tell them.”

I take a deep breath. “The first nail I the coffin that made me leave was a particular partnership. See I was used to working with Aizawa when I went on patrols or for missions. So, imagine my surprise when I had to work with your current number 2. I’m gonna sum it up by saying that was a very unpleasant experience and having to work with him again recently was still the same. If I’m being honest, I wish I could have gone to a hero school like you guys decided to. The second nail was my body was no longer my own if you understand what I mean. I would have to be caring for new life soon. My dad didn’t raise me to be a quitter, so I talked to my agency and I got transferred back to America and into the Publicity department.”

“I’m lucky that I could keep my license. In America we are much more relaxed in certain aspects, if it is an emergency, I could use my quirk to save someone. An emergency can be boiled down to the endangerment of someone’s life. So,” I flicked at the projector and an image came up. “A bus directed for a store, someone walking in the middle of the street when the light is red, faulty construction equipment. Personally, my least favorite because I have to grow and wrap vines together since I use plants and not trees. A tree is a plant, but it’s not one I have a lot of control over.”

“Why’d sensei have you come by?” someone mumbles.

I raise a brow. “Well, I have maybe what two years’ experience ahead of your teacher. While he was learning to use this quirk, I was already working in the field in a country with a rather high reported crime rate. America doesn’t have many specialized hero schools, there’s only two. But they are filled with superficial people who do it for money and fame, when a real emergency comes up, they cannot protect others and barely themselves. So, tell me Mineta, would you prefer that every day you’re left at the mercy of what life usually throws at tenfold?”

“How many real heroes are there in America then?” Iida holds up his hand.

I think. “Quite a few, but not enough for the current population density. Think about it this way if there is a certain hero to civilian ratio, then I’d wanna say we have a one to one hundred—

“That’s not so bad.”

“One hundred thousand. In the city I worked there was two other heroes like me, and as the child everyone kind of didn’t trust me at first. That was until the dam incident,” I sigh. “I’ve never seen so many people change their tune so quickly. But I was never a hero for recognition, so as soon as I was able, I came to Japan to learn from the heroes here. I planned to be a hero for at least well into my thirties. While I technically still am, they don’t often call for a single mom to come patrolling.”

Throwing my hands up I force the net to catch the two falling children. The door opens and Yamada is looking round a little worried. Taking my mask off with the free hand I send both my children the look.

“On the ground, now. Both of you. Yamada, I’m not mad trust me,” I look to the worried teacher.

Dayo and Ejiro climb down. Placing my mask on the desk I retract the plants and hold my hand toward the kids.

“Who’s that?”

“These are my sons. Dayo and Ejiro, sadly it seems I’ve jumped the gun by trying to help them learn their quirks. They have the same quirk surprisingly, both stare at plants to make them grow and manipulate them. But Ejiro can manipulate them if he’s holding them.” I explain. “The staring factor of their quirks comes from their father’s quirk. Like I was trying to say, being a hero has consequences. All action has consequences, I could have chosen to stay in Japan and handle my little brother’s situation remotely. Or I could have left to handle that situation and come back to Japan. But I decided to return to America. I wouldn’t change my decision for the world. Since I haven’t stopped being a Hero, I could slowly return to hero work, but I find my work as a mom just a little bit more important. If I spend my life regretting an action, I’ll possibly cause a bigger problem by not focusing on the present.”

“Aizawa sensei, they look a lot like you,” one girl says.              

I look at Aizawa and then back at my children and I chuckle. “They do look similar, don’t they?”

His eyes go wide as I send him a wink before putting my mask back on.

“It was nice meeting you class 1A. Please remember that just because there were different actions you could have taken does not invalidate your choice. You chose it. Just like how all of you decided to become heroes and continue attending school. Also weighing your value solely based on how the public views you is stupid, and frankly it worked fine for the father of my children to not be a flashy hero.”

It was a quick venture back to our apartment. My frustration died down as I look over Dayo and Ejiro for any kind of injury. Even though I had yet to even utter a syllable of how worried I was, the moment I let go of him Ejiro began sobbing. Dayo looks to his twin brother with a confused look. Instead of scolding them I just let them rest in their rooms.

After making dinner and putting the trays in front of their doors I pick my phone. Aizawa wanted to come over a few days later. Letting him I felt a bit awkward as I fixed my sweater to sit in a comfortable position. It was the moment that I didn’t want to look like a tired workaholic that I did. He sends me a slight nod before taking to the dinner table and letting me make some coffee.

“So, what happened after?”

“Besides making Ejiro cry, nothing. I’m just upset that they thought climbing that high was okay,” I frown. “I can’t train them to be careful of things like that or people might think I’m a terrible mom.”

“Can I talk to them?”

“Yeah, getting scolded by a teacher a few days after the incident is good.”

These kids must have a sixth sense for when their dad comes into the house.

“Mr. Aizawa, do you like our mom?” Ejiro asks as he walks out of his room.

Dayo sighs and shakes his head. “Mom doesn’t think about romantic relationships.”

“I hate that you decided that on your own.”

“Then do you like Mr. Aizawa?”

I sigh. “Of course, I do, but there are a lot of adult details that change how I can approach that.”

Dayo groans. “Why didn’t you just stay with our dad?”

I frown. “Dayo.”

“Dayo’s right, mom why didn’t you stay with our dad?” Ejiro adds.

“I have an idea, why don’t we get some dinner and just watch a movie today?” Aizawa states.

I frown. “Fine.”

This isn’t a bad idea in theory, but I’m sure this man has something up his sleeve. He doesn’t do anything unnecessary. He picked where we got the food from, I went to go pick it up while he stayed with the boys. When I came back it was still fine, no fires or plants creeping from the rooms.

“Mom, your queen ann is looking sad,” Dayo points out.

“I haven’t had time to tend to my plants, remember who wanted me to come and record for your school sports festival?” I shake my head.

Aizawa looks at me and raises a brow. “How athletic are they?”

I chuckle. “Surprisingly Dayo is the more athletic one. Ejiro has his moments. Wanna see their pictures?”

“MOM!”

Putting my food down I lean toward the small bookshelf we have by the entertainment system. Grabbing the album, I place it on my lap and show Aizawa.

“Which pictures you want to see first?”

“How about the beginning?” he suggests.

“Mom no.” Ejiro whines.

“Oh, hush up.” I giggle. “Let him see.”

Dayo stops eating. “Let dad see what he missed.”

Aizawa practically chokes on his food.

“Yeah you two are too similar.” I roll my eyes.

After regaining his composure Aizawa takes the album. “So how often did you take pictures?”

“The invention of smart phones has been my saving grace. I’m surprised they even let me twist their hair at this point let alone invite me to sporting events.” I smile. “Finish your food and then you two can tell me how your twin sense told you that he was your dad.”

“That would ruin the surprise,” Dayo shakes his head.

Holding the album in my lap still I leaf through the pages slowly. Aizawa peeks over my shoulder as he looks at the pictures as well, the changes in his expression as I turn the pages makes the time it took to put everything together worth it. Ejiro and Dayo finish their food quickly.

“What is this?”

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve never met my little brother. Kaipo is a bit averse to pictures, but he was holding the boys while we were at the beach,” I sigh. “Surprisingly enough for someone with a water plant quirk he doesn’t like the ocean.”

He takes the album from me and looks at the page then back up at me. “You both look so similar I thought he might be your twin.”

“He’s four years younger than me.” I chuckle.

“Are we allowed to call Mr. Aizawa, dad, now?” Ejiro asks.

Aizawa chuckles. “I don’t mind.”

I nod. “As long as he is okay with it.”

“Dad, do you think we can spend more time with you?” Dayo whispers. “That way mom has more time to spend being a hero too.”

“Wait, Dayo- ”

Aizawa shakes his head. “I don’t think I can do that kiddo. I still got hero work on the side, and honestly my class has most of my hands tied. Maybe your mom will start hero work when she’s ready.”

Fixing my posture, I sigh. “I was gonna start patrolling while you guys were in class once you start middle school. If I could start now I would, but I’m not confident that you guys would be fine without me here after school.”

“What?! We can take care of ourselves.” Ejiro argues

“Five.” I glare.

He shuts his mouth, but this gets Aizawa’s attention.

“Five what?”

Dayo shakes his head furiously. Ejiro covers his ears.

“Five times. Let them be alone, each time I got a call because of the plants,” I explain. “Someone had to wear a quirk limiter while they were sleeping for six months.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Not our best moments.” Dayo grumbles. “But mom is really good at fixing plants, so the neighbors don’t mind.”

Aizawa starts chuckling. “Well if you ever need me to mind them when I’m not working, I don’t mind.”

#long post #aizawa x oc #prohero oc #bnha x oc #just fluff #I think it's fluff

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

https://www.tumblr.com/struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor/733626243826794496/im-sure-geffen-couldve-done-more-but-it-also?source=share

Won't sugar coat anything since you don't like back handed things I'll say i agree with anon. some of the relies that you gave to these chart related things shows that you are not that much around the charts of these songs so you don't know much. Just like anon said Geffen is their company who restocks Albums for all the members so they shouldn't be picky about who's CDs they restock and who's don't. All memebrs should be given same level of support atleast act based on the demand? Cause i remember them not restocking LC from 7months till now and just yesterday Along with v, yg (idk if other members' CD were released or not) that too just 235 without any notice and that too got sold out within 5min. They have been restocking seven's CDs for so many times since it's released even tho the previous CDs were not sold out in the first place so how you gonna restock CDs of a song who's previous CDs are right there without moving sells but the fans are tagging and almost beginning you to restock LC but you didn't move your finger at all?? How does that makes sense to U? Then you say it makes sense this and that like if the demand is there why you as a company won't fullfil it???

What doesn't make sense is the idea that Geffen is showing preferential treatment. If they are, it's from a business perspective. I don't even know the point of this post. I mean, not restocking albums impacts charting, right? I didn't consider that, because, like you said, I don't know much about charts and don't keep up with stuff like this when it comes to BTS. I occasionally see these types of posts but not often.

However, you don't have to restock an album only when it sells out. If you have a huge hit, or a song with huge potential, like Seven, you restock it so it never sells out and you keep making a profit.

Obviously, there is demand for Layover and Face so I don't know why the CDs weren't restocked. Are the suppliers the same? I don't know about these things, but if the company chose to only restock Seven because they had to prioritize it, then it also makes sense because Seven was literally one of the biggest songs of the year. But they should be able to restock all their biggest artists. I don't know. But the thing is, there are also things you don't know, on Geffen's side?

Like, yeah, Jungkook is being promoted a lot more and on a bigger scale, and from the remixes to discounted albums, etc. they're going all out on every level to support him. But SB and Bang PD are using him as a pilot for their US expansion so there's that. However, all of this is business? Businesses can be terribly incompetent and Hybe for sure is sometimes but these people know how to make money so it's weird that everyone's making it seem like the members aren't being given a chance to best Jungkook because Jungkook is getting preferential treatment. If they thought Jimin could do better than JK, they would've promoted him more, but I doubt Jimin wanted to do everything Jungkook has been doing or releasing an English pop album, and without that...

Okay, I'm done with these posts because I keep saying the same things over and over again and don't even understand what I'm defending anymore. I'm also unsure of my own opinion. I don't even know what's right or wrong right now.

#ask #bts #jungkook #jimin #v #text

[scopophobia-polaris]

I RECEIVED THE BOY AND I LOVE HIM. THANK YOU SO MUCH! I also wanted to say like, from what I understand, he didn’t sell that well (which is fucking whack he is beautiful 😭). However if at some point you have a lot of time to spare, I think you should really consider opening an Etsy shop and make more plushies. Your style is delightful, and I’d be willing to pay the biggest bucks to see more characters turned into plushies. Regardless even if that isn’t a possibility, I adore your art, and thank you so so much again for Lonk the plush 💚💚💚💚💚💚

AH THANK YOU!!!! BUt.....

I could never open an etsy store!!!! It's expensive!!!!

Like doing this plush was a spur of the moment thing cuz I realized hey I COULD do it I've been wanting a OoT Link plush for years! And Nintendo would never make a new one at this point (there should only be one official OoT Link plush and it's the UFO catcher one, there is one you can get on ebay and alibaba that I call bean boy that one is MM Link) but as I way saying the official one is expensive and not made of soft materials and it's the same with bean boy.

About the more plushies thing....I don't think I could ever do that again, I raised money to break even and then a little more but that was a LOT of stress and it was scary and

Yeah it didn't sell well! I didn't even get within 10 plushes away from my goal. That might be my own fault, promoting to me feels very annoying and I didn't want to make anyone annoyed.

But...if I ever had to make a plush in the future, I'd wanna do something for my wife because she likes TP Link so much, he doesn't have a plush and it makes her really sad.

#But im happy you like him so much thank you!!!! 😭

[yunwooz]

the one thing i can sort of commend kq for tho is knowing where their audience is. like the amount of groups that have mostly international fans and do literally NOTHING for them is bloody insane. skz is a good example of this- k-stays get all the good stuff depsite the amount of international stays being WAY more. like kq definitely has problems but one thing i cannot hate them for is doing a bunch of international stuff because i get it!! that's where the money is! but at the same time they really do need to balance it out with more domestic activities. most groups only do stuff domestically or internationally and never both which is a problem because it limits them a lot.

i kinda go both ways on this. on one hand, they do give a lot of good stuff internationally and they do pay attention to the international market! however, a majority of the merch is not very internationally friendly as they don't work with an international distributor and the shipping prices when buying from kq shop are so absurd that it makes it impossible for many international fans to justify buying, specifically birthday merch and tour merch. lately, they've also been blocking the possibilities for group orders to happen like with yunho's birthday merch, they limited it to one item per customer and that cut out a huge huge chunk of what they could sell internationally. i really think in regards to birthday merch and things like tour merch that you can't get through hello82 or on site at a tour location, they ought to consider an international warehouse or supplier?

the teezmon stuff as well is limited very heavily and they're excluding their international market right now, but i believe they are testing demand to see whether they want to sell those items internationally at some point. another thing that's a bit irksome is that a majority of events and things like streaming events also go to domestic winners rather than international ones despite allowing international fans to participate. but then they also only run those through fancafe or twitter when they could be promoting that on instagram for sure.

but yeah, what they're missing is balance and they are seriously struggling to find a good balance and an effective one as well, they need to make certain aspects more accessible to international fans and they need to explore the domestic market far more than they do right now

#luna.answers

[terrence-silver]

I would like to read more about your opinions of Terry and Mike. It could be thoughts about their dynamic back in Karate Kid 3 or present day or both. Do you think they might have stayed in contact? Do you think Mike could now be considered a 'friend' of Terry's rather than just a hired gun? What do you think it was like when they were boss/employee and sensei/student while also living together, since Mike lived with Terry for a while when Terry hired him. Anything you want to talk about regarding these two, because I think it's very interesting and I don't know how much the show will give us.

I've no idea what the showrunners are going to do because Mike promo is so scarce, but I can talk about what I personally feel is in character for both Mike and Terry? Would that help? Or maybe what I can vaguely squeeze out of what we were given? I don’t know. Here are my thoughts, make of them what you will!

---

I think Mike would've stayed reasonably pissed off at Terry purely because Terry and John put him through an incredibly difficult training literally, the way he sees it, for nothing and he lost anyway, which didn't do anything good for his track record or professional career as a martial artist. He didn't fly to LA back in the 80's to lose. You don't fly to LA to lose at anything. Not when some weird Billionaire who personally oversees to your teaching gets in touch with you as one of those lightning in a bottle once in a lifetime crazy opportunities, winning should be an assured thing, right? Not to mention that Mike also did a lot of Terry's dirty work that could've landed him or juvie or jail or at least earn him a seriously bad police record, like antagonizing Daniel and nearly throwing him and Jessica off a cliff with Snake and Dennis. Mike, as an adult, doesn't regret that as much as he realizes it was dangerously compromising, especially because it didn't even lead to him being a champion after he was already prominently featured in Karate magazines and was infamous enough to have The Bad Boy of Karate nickname. So what good was it then? It was literally risk without significant reward and the way he sees it, he only went backwards. Hey, he did get to sit pretty in Beverly Hills with a car and an allowance, he supposes, which feels like a fever dream even now. But, then again, being a bit of a mercenary indulging, the way I envision, the occasional odd job (Why do I feel he's a waiter nowadays, among others? He's dressed like a waiter in that promotional image), Mike might've done weirder things still since then.

He just doesn't remember when.

He was also probably disqualified and blacklisted from competing again.

All those dirty shots he gave Daniel under Terry's instructions?

Which were recorded? Yeah.

As for Terry? Terry doesn't feel he's got the champion he was promised by Mike. He doesn't feel he received the fighter he sought out for John's cause. Maybe he and John would've never developed so much bad blood if Mike Barnes simply won. Terry didn't get his money's worth and he in effect could've scammed or held back on the promise for 20% dojo ownership he and Mike agreed on...supposedly on paper, by noon...which seemed very shifty in the first place and the power play here is very skewed because when this all happened, Mike Barnes was a teenager too and people forget that. Sure, Mike might've gotten a compensation in the form of 'Here's some money, you punk, now get out of my mansion', but he never received his dues because around this time, John and Terry would've fallen out majorly or would've at least started falling out and Terry, I feel, wasn't taking it well and it had a majorly bad impact on his psyche to know he's failed his Captain, so maybe he wouldn't have cared just what Mike Barnes does so long as he's out of his sights, even though he might've went out of his way to repair the collateral in later years, when he was more stable because he would've tactically realized that having a friend in Mike Barnes is better than having an enemy with a grudge that could do bad things for his squeaky clean image if everything that happens in the past gets out because I think post-Rehab Terry is still very much a snake. Could've even done it post-rehabilitation in the sense of -"Mike, I realize what I did was wrong. I'm a changed man now."-

And Mike going like:

-"The fuck you are!?"- Absolutely not buying it and for good reason.

That phone call didn't go too far.

Thing is, from the rewards and proceits Mike was promised, he could've been as rich as Daniel Larusso, if not richer, but I imagine his life was very volatile in the shadow of his own loss, and ever changing since. He cannot get over how close he was to owning prime real estate in The Valley, but having his momentum stolen by merely doing what he was asked; winning a point, losing a point, Mike might be on a vaguely 'Yeah, we buried the hatched, but I'm still bitter with him even though he could be useful one day considering this mofo still owes me bigtime and one day, I don't know when, I don't know how, someone will cough up my reward' relations with Terry because for all of Terry's wise sayings about bygones being bygones, forgiveness and mistakes being made in the past, Mike might rightfully feel John and Terry fucked up his life and done him dirty. Especially Terry. John's in jail, but, Terry moved on to proceed living his rich, lavish existence the same as always with no scathing on him or his reputation, while Mike Barnes could've very well struggled to maintain a career and a living after the 80's whatsoever, undoubtedly slumming it occasionally, the way Johnny Lawrence did.

Not just in Karate, but in general.

Making his general penchant towards anger even deeper.

Remember John and Terry reunited and Terry cynically asked John if he wanted a cheque written? Present day Mike Barnes would probably bluntly retort that 'Yes, I want a cheque written, old man. Upfront.' and maybe Terry gives him a fondly amused look as he says 'Plan on failing me again, Mr. Barnes?' and maybe Mike holds up his hand to show off his wedding band that we see on his hand and reply with a 'Unlike you, I've bills to pay and mouths to feed.' and maybe Terry's internally struck by that in ways he didn't expect to be, because it is almost like their seats switched in a sense; Now Mike Barnes of all people is doing something toxic, awful and materialistic for the sake of devotion by falling in with this weird rich guy again and Terry is doing it just for the heck of it. Mike Barnes has something to fight for. Mike Barnes changed as much as he didn't change, but Terry almost envies him, not a lot, but enough for it to sting him a bit.

Schlossberg and Hurwitz being subversive by writing just one man in this damn show as a responsible father in spite of his own personal flaws and shortcomings, please and thank you, tired of the neglectful, absent, 'find your daddy' arcs.

#of course none of this will happen #so pay it little heed #mike barnes #terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #cobra kai season 5

[hekateinhell]

Glad to have shown up if your hour of need babes!! My DA senses were tingling and I couldn't ignore it. So. The betrayal is the most Armandstat coded shit I've ever seen lmao. Lestat tells a Rolling Stone journalist (who senses the UST between them and asks him about it) that everything between them is "make believe" and basically acting on his part to create a narrative, not "real life", he loves Louis etc. And the reporter (who's staying at the same hotel where Armand lives, The Chateau Marmont ofc), tells him about it and it enrages Armand who in turn tells the reporter about Lestat's stunt in rehab/past drug addiction. Then Armand sees Lestat at a party and tells him, "I have to tell you a secret. I think you're the most brilliant person I've ever met... besides me" ("does anyone else know the size of your soul?"). But before this happens they actually kiss in the parking lot. Lestat goes home to find Louis and their daughter sleeping in bed. Louis is definitely sure something's up now so he goes out on his own and ends up sleeping with Lestat's bandmate lmaoo this is a mess. The RS article comes out and turns out that to prevent the journalist from writing about Lestat missing his daughter's birth because he was too coked out to show up, he told him about Armand's current drug addiction. All this while they're still writing songs about each other. Lestat apologizes to Louis and says "history is what happened, not what almost happened" (ouch but... yeah). Armand fucks off to Greece. 3 episodes left and I feel like them not fucking is killing the vibe but YEAH.

Rocket Queen IS absolutely a Lestat/Armand song. A lot of 80's glam rock hits feel just like them 🤧🤧🤧 "groupie AU ties into them producing a vintage porno film together for 'promotional shock purposes'" oh my godddd YES, with them having to have sex in front of everyone while they make each other feel things they've never felt before. And it also fits into the "this is strictly business, no feelings" narrative that is clearly bullshit but they're too in denial to realize.

omg I'm dying lmao what the fuck 💀💀💀 that's so messy, that's so L/A... I'm devastated by proxy.

HISTORY IS NOT!!! WHAT ALMOST HAPPENED!!! How could you/they? 😭

[And it also fits into the "this is strictly business, no feelings" narrative that is clearly bullshit but they're too in denial to realize.] Exactly, you bet that's something that gets thrown in someone's face in the middle of an argument: "I did it for the money; I would've done it with anybody!" RIP. 😔

Love and appreciate this tweet fic style journey you just took us on. 🖤 Wish I had more to contribute but The Cramps Horrors are dominating me right now and every second is pain and I wish I was dead.

Hoping and praying I can get the 'Rocket Queen' one-shot posted by summer, I've been thinking about it far too long. 🥹💖 (I was also considering that title for an AU where 1981 younger reporter!Daniel picks up sex worker!Armand off a street in West Hollywood but instead of sex, he wants to interview him. And then promptly falls in love, etc etc, you know the drill).

Bonus music rec: T. Rex's 'Ballroom of Mars' is an excellent L/A vibe imo.

*disclaimer: y'all please don't make me regret sharing my WIP ideas lmao or I never will again and then what 🤧

#dungeon anon #<33 #you ask and hekate answers

[mariacallous]

hmmmm, I wonder about the wider and long term impact of Harry Potter on YA and middle grades books.

I mean hers was really the first such book to make all the money in the known universe, gain mega super unstoppable popularity, that lasted for years and years and years, everyone from age 8 to 80 read them, my grandma read them (she was a big reader and was thrilled her grandkids were reading and wanted to be able to talk to us about it) did that have the effect of focusing more punishing attention on YA? did its cross over adult appeal as well as long term cultural staying power cause more people who are adults now to feel comfortable staying in YA?

I mean, yeah, at least to a certain extent?

Plus, like with the Marvel movies (but done, to a certain extent, less blatantly, at least initially, in the HP case), there's that continued and built-in buy-in that makes you keep coming back because you have to know what happens next and you have to take advantage of the latest offering. But it was executed and done more creatively and, dare I say, enjoyably.

Plus there was the same phenomenon where it went from being kind of a niche underdog thing (you're reading a book about magic? from britain?) to this mega mainstream popular thing but a lot of people didn't accept or see how it had shifted and so it became totemic, on top of the appeal it already had (like in the Christopher Hitchens review I shared last night).

But because it hit in the right sweet spot both developmentally for a lot of people but culturally (the late 90s into early-to-mid-2000s) it took advantage of (and helped create) shifts in pop culture and media consumption (plus at one point it was the progressive/liberal option since it was targeted for promoting witchcraft and satanism by a lot of the Concerned Parents and right-wing groups, so it was able to coast on that cachet for a while). I could also argue that in a post-9/11 world there was the ongoing appeal of a relatively simple message about generic good triumphing over generic evil which cuts across age groups and ideologies and which was an element of stability - yes there are individual (sometimes lots of individual) pains and suffering but the overall arc goes to a positive result.

The thing is, YA (or books that would be considered YA) have always been popular - it's never not been a profitable genre. What HP and all that did was do, in a lot of cases, what Marvel/Disney did to movies, and sort of fundamentally reshape much of how it operates and what it promotes, and the specific type of book or book series matters less as long as it can follow the general path and rules that have been laid down.

Plus, nostalgia is also always profitable (it's why a lot of trends never go away and just get cycled back - it's one of the reasons why Barbie, to use a particular example, really kind of took off in the late 80s into the 90s, because the kids who had grown up playing with those dolls in the 60s and 70s were now old enough to both have kids of their own to introduce Barbie to but also had the money and ability to indulge themselves and start collecting) and HP has that mixture of general ("timeless" I guess could be a better word) and specific appeal which continues to carry forward in a way that other stuff doesn't.

[lifes-little-pin-pricks]

Can Do Attitude

Before we get to my ramblings... This quote kinda hits my hard.. Because I'm still trying to understand my mind.

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

I've been trying to assess what it is about the actresses that I like.

The ones that I wish I could be like.

June/Anne Lockhart in Trolls (1986)

Michelle Rodriguez in

Resident Evil

Fast and Furious

Jane Seymour in Dr. Quinn

Jessica Biel in Blade 2

Jennifer Lopez in Enough

Mary Stuart Masterson in Fried Green Tomatoes (Idgie Threadgood)

Lori Petty in In the Army Now

I don't know.. I'm sure theres more - But.. These are the ones I thought of currently. What trend do you see in these characters?

I think …. I THINK… I might have figured out part of it…. They didn’t seem afraid.

The 'CAN DO' attitude with the ability to ACTUALLY 'DO'

There is a Presence to them. When they talk, people listen. When they walk in the room, they draw eyes (even if its just to notice them and nothing more). They could kick your ass in some way be it with knowledge wit or fists. Nothing gullible about them. Always had some kind of strategy for situations they knew were going to be ugly.

Well Hell! - I'm in the middle of work and this thought crossed my mind and I started writing and now it's going down a damn rabbit whole with water dripping from my face.  Hell of a way to start the day. I notice my head feels like a lot went through it, but looking back, I've barely said a thing. It feels like a lot to me.

Anyways… These People… Characters, that I aspire to be like… They were SEEN.  They didn't have to be mean about anything, but they could still make a very sound point. They were the ones that would catch the fist that wanted to punch them, or someone else and spin it around, Capable.

I don't know what that says to me though.

This  reminds me of how invisible I felt most of my life.

I considered maybe it was because these characters were strong, could whoop some ass. But I don't think that is it at all. It never felt quite right, and I didn’t have any reaction to that thought. But this one… Has me feeling very broken.

I noticed recently  how I promote this invisibility.  I'm working very hard at not feeling like if someone thought of me, that I have been an inconvenience to them. Accepting Compliments and the want to hang out with me instead of feeling like all interactions with me are more out of pity than actual enjoyment.

I can already hear my friends clamoring to say that is so far from the truth. And While I think a part of me knows this, its super ingrained in me.

"Oh! Don't fuss over me, I'll be fine" - Physically. I always look at Physically I will be fine. Never really considered Mental health.

"Oh! You didn't have to go through the trouble for me!" - Please - don’t put effort into making me feel like I exist. And yet - here I am yearning for that.

Effort.

I also I go for things that are "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain" Gigs.  I wall flower or over share or feel like I suck the oxygen out of the room. For a JOB - I like the behind the scenes stuff, I even like being the agent level. But there is seldom recognition when you are the man behind the curtain. Seldom seen/noticed to be anyone.

You  don't make much money in those gigs. I hate being a Supervisor with required coachings and things like that. Its not natural. I will teach those who WANT to learn, I'm not going to force an uninterested party to pay attention just because its their job.  I'm Rambling and being very tangenty.

I had a conversation with my partner the a little while back about how I put so much into what I give. The thought.. Making sure whatever IT is, is carefully planned out to ensure that what ever I give is useful.  Ugh - I'm not explaining this well at all. At least this part. So were skipping it. You still get the mess of it though. Because - this is my blog. And yeah - it might be a diary/journal, but… Why do these have to be secret? Isn't seeing in other peoples heads sometimes helpful? To know you aren't alone? That you can find solace that you aren't the variant (so to speak)  or maybe you want to be the variant.  Or maybe you don't compare yourself to others because you have finally broke through this lack of self esteem and whatever else is the issue with us. Yeah. US.

You are part of this club whether you like it or not.

So on of the dawning realizations about these women.

They walk into a room with a plan and can execute that plan, They are determined, They Follow Through, Strong, Can use your help or do without it. They are what I would call "Bad Ass" - though I have learned in my years that not everyone defines things the same way.

Bad Ass: (My Definition): Strong, No Bull Shit, Catches Lip and Gives Lip back, Not Naïve, Action, Can hold their own in battle of wits, fists or otherwise. Skills that surprise others.  So I guess…. Well rounded? 

Ugh -- Inspiration to write has faded… Going back to work now LOL

#StrongWomen #Empowerment #ConfidenceGoals #FearlessWomen #OwnYourSpace #SelfDiscovery #BehindTheScenes #Determination #GirlPower #AspireToInspire #CharacterAnalysis #ConfidenceJourney #BeSeen