#Diva’s Writing Challenge

[itsawritblr]

(paraphrasing an Anon Ask): "your writing is shit, I write better than you you stupid c*nt, no one reads your p*do shit"

Tell you what, hon.

You post some fics on AO3.

We'll compare them to mine.

As for no one reading my "shit" . . .

[pparacxosm]

writhing on the floor ,gnawing on the heel of my palm ,,freaking out !!

as always the lightest touch with imagery and references and humour,, just enough to evoke the beautiful colourful y2k tia tamera world you’ve made for these girls, but not too much to overwhelm

a new compress/repress chapter could drop on my wedding day and i’d pause the ceremony to read it

Compress/Repress | Chapter 2: Sister, Sister

Pairing: art donaldson x black!oc x patrick zweig, tashi duncan x black!oc (platonic)

Summary: As the summer of 06' winds down, Maya is anxiously prepping for a secret adventure: flying to New York to watch her half-sister Tashi compete at the Junior US Open. The only problem? She’s doing it behind her grandparents’ backs.

Word Count: 5k

Warning(s): minor challengers spoilers (if any?), mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

BEL-AIR, CALIFORNIA – August 30, 2006

“Look, you’ve already got the plane tickets, right? And you’ve figured out how to get to LAX. You’re halfway there!” Tashi exclaimed. Her tone was light-hearted, like the gravity of the situation was no big deal, as if sneaking across the country wasn’t an act that could land Winston Pratt in the hospital.

It had been a year since they’d made their first connection—one impulsive friend request that had led to a secret sisterhood neither of them had anticipated. An outsider looking in would deduce them as a close-knit pair of sisters. Heck, maybe long-time best friends even. Now, they spoke almost every day—through texts, phone calls and sometimes in person, always careful to keep their connection hidden from their respective families.

Maya let out a low, breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. Like she was failing at convincing Tashi to change her mind and ditch the plan altogether. Her heart raced as she listened to Tashi’s voice echo through the receiver. Maya’s heart raced as she took in her sister’s words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling beneath her tummy.

“I know, I know.” Maya said as she paced between the four pastel walls of her room, her Paul Frank slippers gliding against the plush white rug.

“I can’t stop thinking about the worst-case scenario. Like what if I get human trafficked at the airport and the kidnappers want ransom. They’d freak!” She exclaimed, dramatically tossing her arms in the air.

“Oh my god, M!” Tashi blurted out, sounding both exasperated and amused at her sister’s active imagination. When her guard was down, Maya Pratt-Duncan’s true form always showed, she was an anxious nervous reck at the end of the day.

Maya shut her eyes and clutched her phone out of embarrassment as she heard Tashi's befuddled voice coming through on the other end. Despite being miles apart, she could almost see the jokes forming in Tashi’s mind.

“You watch too many movies,” Tashi quipped, trying to ease Maya's worries.

“They’re not going to find out,” She explained further, firm and unbothered, the usual confidence Maya admired in her spilling into every word. “You’ve got everything under control. This is our moment. And I want you there when I win.”

Maya made her way towards her bed, her suitcase laid bare on top as she prepared for tomorrow's flight. She carefully checked and rechecked all her belongings, her nerves still prickling despite Tashi's reassurance.

The thought of seeing her half-sister for the first time in action—on the court, in her element—made her heart flutter. But the idea of lying to her grandparents, Tabitha and Winston, weighed on her heavily. They had raised her, protected her, and shielded her from so much of the world. And now, here she was, planning to deceive them.

Maya's voice was soft and hushed, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips as she spoke. "I know you're going to win," she said, her words filled with admiration and confidence. "But...I've never done anything like this before, you know."

Tashi's laughter came through the other end of the phone, light and teasing. "Oh, come on, Maya. You're going to be just fine."

Maya couldn't help but bite her lip, a habit her grandmother couldn’t stand. "It's one thing meeting up at South Coast Plaza, but flying all the way to New York? That's a whole new level."

"Hey, trust me," Tashi reassured her. "You've got this."

“And besides, it's not like I've been completely innocent this whole time.” Tashi leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers fiddling with the telephone cord as she recounted one of their rebellious antics. “Remember that college party we went to? My dad definitely doesn't know about that!" Maya’s laughter echoed throughout her room as she reminisced about ditching the party in exchange for the local 7 Eleven at 2AM. Till this day she couldn't believe they had gotten away with it, but then again, Tabitha was under the impression that she was at UCLA college scouting.

A warm, genuine smile crept onto Maya's face as she listened to Tashi speak, feeling a sense of comfort and ease wash over her. Tashi had always been one to remain unfazed by anything--whether it be societal rules or the constant pressure of her successful tennis career. It was a trait that Maya both admired and secretly envied, wishing she could exude the same level of nonchalance in her own life.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Maya admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, her words carrying a hint of vulnerability and uncertainty.

“You won’t,” Tashi reassured her, her tone softening. “Look, you’ve covered your tracks. You told your grandparents you’re staying with that friend of yours, right? The one with the gap in her teeth?”

Maya nodded, despite Tashi not being present to see her affirmation.

“Yeah, I told them I’m going to Reneé’s for the weekend,” She confirmed, biting her lip. “I mean, they’re really good friends with her family, but I still feel guilty.”

"Maya, listen to me. You have nothing to worry about. You're not doing anything wrong," Tashi insisted, her voice filled with conviction and confidence. “You’re just… bending the rules a little. It’s not like we’re committing a crime,” Tashi said, her voice filled with the kind of certainty Maya wished she could muster herself.

Maya paused, her mind swirling with Tashi's words. At the end of the day, she knew she had to do this. Her entire life had been spent following the strict rules and expectations set by her grandparents. They lived in a world of high society and legacy, where image was everything. But Tashi's world was different. Spending time with her free-spirited sister had taught Maya to break out of her shell and live in the moment. She longed to let go of Tabitha's expectations and just be herself. This trip was for her, and it would be the last time her grandmother's disapproval stood in the way of her desires. As she gazed at the open window ahead of her, she could feel a sense of freedom and adventure calling to her, beckoning her to embrace this new chapter in her life.

“Okay,” Maya said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing it.”

"Hell yeah, you are!" Tashi's voice echoed through the phone, filled with pride and determination. Maya could practically picture her sister fist-pumping into the air. "Plane tickets aren't cheap, babe. But trust me, M. You're going to love New York City. It's vibrant, pulsing with energy." Tashi's words sparked a feeling of anticipation in Maya's chest. "And just wait till you see me on that court at the Open—I'm going to dominate."

"Now get some sleep and prepare for the most unforgettable weekend of your life," Tashi exclaimed with a wide grin.

They exchanged goodbyes, and after ending the call, Maya stared at her phone, still buzzing from the energetic conversation. She walked over to her window, gazing out at the dazzling skyline of Los Angeles as it shimmered under the night sky. The city lights twinkled like stars as a plane sawed the sky, beckoning her to join in on the fun. Her reflection in the glass appeared small and hesitant. Could she really go through with this? She had never been one to break rules or rebel – every decision she had ever made was with her grandparents' blessings. But this... this felt like stepping into a whole new world. A world where she could let loose and be free, even if just for a few days.

It’s just one weekend, she told herself. Just a couple of days. I can do this.

The Next Day

Now, most people would think the hard part was packing, right? How in the world do you fit a week's worth of clothes into a carry-on suitcase for a weekend trip? Well, lucky for Maya, that kind of job needed experience, and she’d been practicing for years. She had honed the art of over-preparing for every kind of situation—always with the perfect mix of practical essentials and stylish options, who cares if it ends up with you lugging around two suitcases in the middle of LAX. But packing was the easy part; it was everything that came after that was trickier.

The hard part was actually figuring out how to get out of the house without waking any suspicions. Maya knew her grandparents’ routine like the back of her hand; it helped that it hadn’t changed in years. Tabitha woke up every morning at 6:30 A.M. on the dot for her morning jog with "the girls"—her circle of wealthy friends who gossip as much as they power walk. Winston would follow shortly after, making his way down to the breakfast table with the morning newspaper already tucked under his arm. Ettie, the housekeeper, would be brewing a pot of Italian coffee for him. The whole ritual was so ingrained in the fabric of their household that Maya could practically set her watch by it.

Her grandmother always had a way of figuring out when Maya was up to something, so timing was crucial. If she was going to slip out unnoticed, she’d have to be long gone before Tabitha finished her jog. She calculated that the best window of opportunity was during those precious few minutes when Winston would be alone in the kitchen, sipping his coffee and absorbed in the day’s headlines. She’d leave a meticulously written note on the entryway table, some excuse about the early bird catching the worm and hope that would be enough to buy her a few extra hours.

Her heart racing, Maya reached the top of the grand staircase and paused. The entranceway below seemed impossibly vast; the polished marble floor gleaming under the faint light of dawn that streamed in through the stained-glass windows. A family portrait, prominently displayed by the foyer, seemed to gaze down at her—a beautiful oil painting of her grandparents, herself, and her late mother. Her mother’s soft eyes seemed to follow her every move as she cautiously descended the stairs, almost as if silently questioning her decision—Are you sure about this?

Maya tiptoed down the staircase, gripping the banister as if it might help her tread more lightly. The large grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily, the only sound breaking the quiet of the early morning. Her pulse quickened with every step, the echo of her shoes on the marble floor sounding far too loud in the stillness. She couldn’t risk alerting Ettie, who was always the first to rise before her grandparents. If Ettie caught her, there would be questions, and then she’d have to explain why she was up so early, where she was going, and why she had two packed suitcases for a sleepover with a family friend.

Her suitcase’s wheels glided silently over the marble floor as she made her way to the front door, keeping her movements slow and deliberate. She caught a glimpse of the kitchen down the hallway—Winston was already there, sitting at the breakfast table, absorbed in his newspaper. Her note, propped up against the sugar bowl, looked small and insignificant, and for a fleeting moment, Maya wondered if she should just go in and tell him the truth. But she quickly brushed that thought aside. There was no way they’d ever let her go if they knew where she was really heading.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle on the front door and slipped outside, closing it softly behind her.

A sharp gust of cool air struck Maya's face as soon as she stepped outside her front door, sending a shiver down her spine. The crispness of the early morning air seemed to whisper warnings in her ears, urging her to turn back while she still could. But Maya pushed the thoughts away with determination. She had made up her mind, and she wasn't going to let any doubts stop her.

In the pale light of dawn, Maya spotted Reneé's car sitting at the curb, its headlights cutting through the dimness like beacons. Reneé stood next to the driver's side door, wrapped in a thick jacket, her bonnet still on her head and rubbing her sleepy eyes. As soon as she saw Maya approaching, she perked up slightly, though her expression remained a mix of curiosity and concern.

Maya had always known she could count on Reneé, her best friend since childhood. They met in the most ridiculously “private school” way possible: at their elite academy’s spring fair. It was 1995, and six-year-old Maya was twirling around in a frilly lavender dress, sparkly shoes, and butterfly clips in her hair like a mini-Mariah Carey. Meanwhile, Reneé—awkward, with wild curls and a shiny new camcorder her parents bought to shut her up—was filming a “serious” documentary titled “Life Sucks When You’re Six".

The collision was inevitable. Reneé backed right into Maya, sending both of them sprawling. But instead of tears, Maya jumped up, adjusted her dress, and grinned. “Hey, can I be in your movie?” she asked, with all the confidence of a little girl who had just discovered Clueless. Reneé, who was usually more comfortable behind the camera than in front of people, couldn’t help but smile. From that moment on, they were inseparable—like two halves of a Spice Girls cassette tape.

Growing up in the same exclusive Los Angeles neighborhood, they were an unlikely pair, more like Cher Horowitz and Daria Morgendorffer at group sleepovers than your typical best friends. Maya was the girly girl: always perfectly put together, with glittery lip gloss and an impressive collection of Lisa Frank stationery. Reneé, on the other hand, had a style best described as “indie film director in training”—baggy overalls, thrifted T-shirts, and always a journal in hand to jot down her latest “brilliant” ideas. While Maya attended etiquette and ballet classes, Reneé was busy trying to figure out how to direct the next Godzilla movie.

Despite their differences, they shared everything: secrets, dreams, and even some epic middle school crushes. In Maya’s perfectly pink bedroom—walls covered in a fancy wallpaper imported from France and posters of NSYNC and fashion magazine cutouts neatly pinned on a cork board—they would lie on the floor and talk about how one day they’d move to New York City, where Maya would become the next It Girl and Reneé would direct films about “the real meaning of life” (whatever that meant at age twelve). In Reneé’s room, which was more of a creative chaos zone, they would brainstorm ideas for homemade movies, often starring Maya as a glamorous protagonist and Reneé providing the scene of what they thought a woman in her 20s would find themselves in

Their bond was unbreakable, forged through years of navigating the ups and downs of adolescence in a world where everyone seemed to have at least three vacation homes. They laughed at dumb celebrity gossip from TRL, whispered about grand plans that sounded straight out of Lizzie McGuire, and found ways to dodge the relentless expectations placed upon them by their parents. With Reneé by her side, Maya didn’t have to worry about being perfect; she could just be herself—even if “herself” meant spending a Friday night reenacting scenes from Titanic while Reneé filmed it as "performance art."

Even in the early morning light, Reneé’s voice was dripping with suspicion. "I can't believe you're actually up this early," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the car door. "This better be worth dragging me out of bed before sunrise. Did you finally get tired of the whole 'good girl' act and decide to run off with some older guy?"

Maya tossed her suitcase into the backseat, the car grumbling to life as she tried to sound casual. "What? No," she said, though her voice came out a little too defensive. "It’s just a quick trip. I’ll be back by Monday." But she couldn’t ignore the flutter in her chest at the thought of how close she was to getting caught.

Reneé raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing like a gossip columnist sniffing out a juicy scandal. "Right. 'Quick trip' is exactly what I’d say if I were meeting some mysterious silver fox." Her tone was teasing, but there was an unmistakable glint of curiosity in her eyes.

Maya forced out a laugh, shaking her head as she slid into the passenger seat. "Please. If I were running away to meet some older guy, I’d at least wait until I was done with high school. And I’d have a way better cover story."

Reneé leaned over the steering wheel, still eyeing Maya like she was trying to solve a mystery. "Uh-huh. But I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s up, and you’re not exactly packing like someone who's just 'going to visit a friend.' Spill it, Maya. What’s really going on? Did you get seduced by some rich guy who swept you off your feet at one of those boring charity events? Because honestly, that sounds kind of romantic. Also, kind of reckless, but still romantic."

Maya fumbled with the seatbelt, her pulse quickening. She couldn’t exactly tell Reneé that she was sneaking away to New York to meet the half-sister she’d only found out about a year ago. That kind of revelation was way too fragile, too precious to expose to anyone else’s opinions—not even Reneé’s. "I’m fine," she said, a little too quickly. "I just… needed to get out of here for a few days before the semester starts. You know, clear my head or whatever."

Reneé rolled her eyes but started the car, steering them down the empty streets. "Okay, sure. But if I find out you ran off with some guy who’s old enough to have his own yacht, I’ll say I told you so."

The car cruised through the dimly lit streets; the city still wrapped in the quiet of early morning. Reneé reached over and switched on the radio, landing on a station playing an old Britney Spears song. "Oh my God, remember when we did that dance routine to this?" she exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face. "Come on, Maya, don’t leave me hanging. Sing it like you mean it!"

Maya’s laughter bubbled up despite the tension she was carrying, and she joined in. As they belted out the chorus together, it was easy to forget, just for a moment, where she was headed and the secrets she was keeping. For those few minutes, it felt like they were back in middle school again, planning sleepovers and giggling about silly crushes. But as the song faded, reality crept back in, and Maya’s thoughts returned to the trip ahead.

The car rumbled to a stop at the departure terminal, and Maya took a deep breath, bracing herself for the whirlwind of the airport. The early morning light was just beginning to stretch across the sky, casting a hazy glow over the glass facade. Despite the hour, LAX was already alive with travellers dragging suitcases, taxi drivers haggling for fares, and the occasional lost soul wandering around with a coffee in hand.

Maya climbed out of the car, her steps slower than usual as she retrieved her suitcase from the trunk. Reneé stretched her arms over her head and let out a long yawn. "Alright, runaway princess," she said, still eyeing Maya like she was waiting for a confession. "Go have your mysterious rendezvous. But I swear, if you come back wearing a diamond bracelet, I’m going to need the whole story."

"Will do," Maya said, forcing a smile. But her chest felt tight. She wanted to tell Reneé the truth—about her real reason for the trip, about Tashi—but the words just wouldn’t come.

Reneé pulled her in for a quick hug. "Whatever it is you're doing, just be careful, okay? I’m all for spontaneous adventures, but try not to come back married to a guy who quotes The Great Gatsby unironically."

"I promise," Maya said, laughing nervously. "No secret weddings."

Reneé grinned as she climbed back into the car. "Good. See you when you get back, okay? And text me if you need a rescue."

Maya gave her a final wave as Reneé’s car rolled away, the taillights fading into the flow of early morning traffic. For a moment, she stood at the curb, feeling strangely exposed against the backdrop of the sprawling airport. She adjusted the strap of her bag and took a deep breath. She was really doing this.

The automatic doors slid open with a faint hiss, and Maya stepped inside, letting the chaos of the airport wash over her. There was a comforting anonymity here—a sense that she was just another traveller with somewhere to be, just another face in the crowd. She weaved her way through the bustling terminal, her suitcase bumping along behind her as she headed for the self-check-in kiosks.

As she tapped at the screen, printing her boarding pass, Maya’s thoughts wandered back to Reneé’s teasing. It would’ve been easier to lie and say she was sneaking off to meet some rich older guy. At least then, Reneé would have had something fun to speculate about. Instead, Maya was about to board a plane to meet a half-sister she hadn’t even known existed until a year ago, and not even her best friend knew the real story.

With her boarding pass in hand, she made her way toward the security line, her pulse quickening. She was about to cross an invisible line—leaving behind everything she’d known to find answers she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But there was no turning back now.

Maya found a seat by the window at the gate and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. There was a new one from Tashi, sent just a few minutes ago.

Tashi: Just got to the courts. Can’t wait for you to get here! It’s going to be amazing; I promise.

Maya smiled, a mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling inside her. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to finally meet Tashi face-to-face, to see the sister she’d only known through late-night phone calls and Facebook photos. It felt surreal, like stepping into a story that wasn’t entirely her own.

As her flight was called, Maya stood and gathered her things, ready to step into the unknown. Whatever lay ahead, at least it was her secret to keep, for now.

NEW ROCHELLE, NEW YORK - August 4th, 2019

The sun blazed relentlessly upon the crowd, its heat shimmering off the concrete in waves that distorted the air. Maya squinted behind her oversized sunglasses, their dark lenses doing little to shield her from the sun’s intensity. Her skin prickled from the overexposure of Vitamin D, making it difficult to focus on anything besides the sweltering discomfort that clung to her like a second skin. As she sat in the stands, the familiar scent of sunscreen and freshly cut grass filled her nostrils, triggering memories of summers long past—carefree days spent at her grandparents' estate in Bel-Air Crest, where her only concern was perfecting her bronzed tan.

The hum of the crowd rose and fell around her, but it felt distant, like background noise from an abandoned television. Maya’s gaze drifted across the humble country club, taking in the swirl of colors from spectators’ sun hats and vibrant outfits, and the flashes of bright white tennis gear as players gathered to bear witness to what they suspected to be the match of a century. She was scanning the rows of seats absentmindedly when a tall, slender figure caught her attention. The person was descending the steps slowly, almost as if they were reluctant to be here at all.

As the figure came closer, the cascade of mid-length blonde hair, the effortless grace, and the striking features became unmistakable. Even from a distance, Maya could tell it was Tashi. Her sister’s presence filled her with a complicated rush of emotions—part nostalgia, part unease. They locked eyes just as Tashi reached her row. Time seemed to slow, and an unspoken tension hung between them, as heavy as the humid air. Despite the match unfolding on the court before them, Maya couldn’t tear her gaze away. She watched as Tashi took her seat just a few feet away, their proximity at once too close and yet, not close enough.

'Get a grip Maya, you knew she would be here.'

Maya’s fingers clenched tightly around the edge of her seat, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of her usual caramel complexion as the internal struggle roiled within her. Her eyes darted anxiously to the tennis court, where the looming presence of the upcoming match filled her with a sense of dread. The players’ shadows stretched long in the late afternoon sun, mirroring the tension and anticipation coursing through Maya’s body. It was as if the scene was mocking her—a snapshot of normalcy while her mind was anything but calm. The roar of the crowd spiked in excitement as the players began their warm-ups, the rhythmic thud of tennis balls echoing like a ticking clock. Maya shifted in her seat, trying to shake off the prickly sensation that crept up her spine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tashi’s gaze turn toward her. Tashi—the sister who had once known her better than anyone else in the world, who could finish her sentences, who could always sense what she was thinking. Now, it felt like they were two strangers who had to pretend they hadn’t once shared everything. Maya’s breath hitched slightly as she felt Tashi’s eyes on her, the weight of that familiar gaze bringing a sudden rush of memories she had buried beneath layers of silence and time.

Tashi's features, once so easy to read, seemed guarded now. Her cool expression betrayed nothing, but Maya knew her sister too well to be fooled. The slight tension in her jaw, the faint crease on her forehead—it was all there, hiding beneath the calm façade. A year ago, they would have hugged, laughed, shared inside jokes to ease the tension. Now, they were separated by more than just a few feet; a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved issues lay between them.

Tashi's gaze landed on Maya, her once-closest confidante, now a stranger sitting just a few feet away. It unnerved her, how different Maya seemed, even in small ways—the slight slump in her shoulders, the tightness in her jaw. There was something brittle about her that hadn’t been there before, a fragility hiding behind the composed exterior. Maya's forced smile, offered to a couple of teenage girls who recognized her from a fashion magazine, barely reached her eyes. It was the kind of smile people practiced in the mirror, perfected for the sake of appearances.

As Tashi’s gaze drifted back to the court, she felt a pang of something close to regret. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She had imagined a different future, one where they could lean on each other no matter what happened. But life had taken a different course, and the choices they’d made—some willingly, others out of desperation—had driven a wedge between them that seemed impossible to remove.

The match hadn’t even started, but Maya could already feel the tension tightening around her like a coiled spring, ready to snap at the slightest touch. She stole a glance at Tashi, who was staring ahead, her jaw clenched as though determined not to show any sign of weakness. There had always been that fierce pride about Tashi, a need to present a strong front no matter how turbulent things were beneath the surface. It was one of the things Maya had admired about her growing up, but now it felt like a wall keeping her out.

"Nice to see you made it," Tashi said finally, her voice low and edged with irony, as though she wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant it or not.

Maya's lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, carefully controlled. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

Tashi’s mouth curved into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Right," she said, turning her attention back to the players who were now preparing for the first serve. "Because we’ve always been so good at being there for each other."

The words stung, though Maya wasn’t entirely sure whether Tashi intended them to. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and pressed her lips together to keep the sharp retort from escaping. Instead, she chose to stay silent, gripping the arms of her chair until she could feel the bite of the metal against her palms.

The crowd erupted in applause as the first serve cut through the air, the players diving into the game with all the precision and grace expected at this level of competition. But for Maya, the real match was happening here, in the silent exchanges and unsaid words between her and Tashi. Every ball that flew across the net seemed to carry the weight of their unresolved history, every cheer from the crowd a reminder of how long they had been pretending that everything was fine.

The tension hung between them like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. It wasn’t just a tennis match to Maya and Tashi—it was a collision of everything unresolved, a confrontation without words. The years of sisterhood, of shared secrets and broken promises, all seemed to blur together, fusing the past and present into one inescapable truth: no matter how far they drifted, they could never really escape each other.

And as the players battled it out on the court below, Maya couldn’t help but feel as if she and Tashi were the real competitors, locked in a game where neither of them knew the rules anymore.

[spotlight-if]

Lights, Camera…Chaos.

[PLAY HERE] (October 23rd, 2024) Act 1, Chapter 1, 64.2k words.

For as long as you can remember, your dream has stayed the same—you want nothing more than to make it as an actor in Hollywood. After years as an overlooked, overworked talent, your big break comes from an unlikely source. And it’s one that changes everything, for better or worse.

Hollywood is its own character within this world—sometimes it loves you, sometimes it wants nothing more than to see you crash and burn. Navigating this ever changing landscape while balancing your own interpersonal relationships is only half the challenge. The other half is memorizing your lines.

Navigate the red carpet, bloodthirsty paparazzi, cut-throat tabloids and complicated relationship dynamics with A-list celebrities (who may or may not be completely insane.)

But, hey: isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

Key Features:

- Customize your Actor: are you a classic Hollywood heartthrob? An eccentric and unconventional recluse? Are you kind and genuine despite the fame, or a cutthroat diva with undeniable talent?

- Navigate scandal, paparazzi, and stan culture: dodge or embrace the flashing lights. Interact with your fans, or distance yourself from them for your sanity. Wait—who are they shipping your character with?

-Build your legacy: choose between the stability of superhero blockbusters or turn into an indie darling. Or, maybe forgoe both to become a household name in the horror genre.

- Network and build relationships: whether they’re manufactured by your well-meaning publicist or spawned from real feelings, forge dynamic and ever changing relationships with other industry icons.

- Try to manage your mental health: the dark side of the industry lurks in every corner—the highs are high, but the lows are ever lower.

Characters:

Kendall Mays (gender selectable)—ever the loyal best friend, Kendall followed you into the throes of showbiz without hesitation. From fighting over toys on the playground to helping you run lines for a major motion picture, you can always count on them to have your back. That is, before they met Mason—their ever-present boyfriend who demands more and more of their time. You were never that great at sharing.

[Note: Kendall is not a romance option.]

Sutton Foster (he/him, she/her)—child star turned award winning powerhouse. Sutton Foster has everything an actor could want—well, minus the countless stays at rehab centers around the world. It’s undeniable that Sutton is a generational talent, but what’s even more notable is their messy personal life. You yourself have been caught in Sutton’s gravitational pull, once upon a time. The question lies in whether or not you’ll pull yourself away.

Wyn Grace (he/him, she/her)—on stage, Wyn is electric. The same cannot be said for Wyn off-stage. The lead singer of the up-and-coming Indie band is struggling with their meteoric rise to fame. As the awards pile up and the crowds get bigger, Wyn is unraveling at the seams. All they wanted to do was make music with their friends, but the fame makes them reconsider it all.

Lex Moreau (he/him)—an older, award-winning director with an…eccentric disposition. Yet despite his volatile nature and obsession with perfection, anyone who’s anyone would kill to work with him. Lex is always in search for a muse, a great beacon to pour all of his artistic vision into. And now, he thinks he’s found that in you. Lucky you?

[C is a conditional character, only appears based on choices you make.]

Carlo/Carmen Mencina (gender selectable)—C is harder to pin down than a stable acting gig in LA. When you’re together—it’s kismet. The problem lies in when you’re apart. C’s frequent disappearances abroad leave a bad taste in your mouth, and when a shocking truth comes to light, it’s not just your relationship in the spotlight—it’s your life, too.

Flings and other mini-romances will be available as well. But these I will let be revealed as the story progresses.

When writing this game, I knew what themes I wanted to focus on, and the care/detail needed to do so. Hence, this game is strictly 18+.

TW: death, substance abuse, suicide, bullying, explicit language, violence, and explicit (skippable) sexual content.

Thank you for reading my intro! Reblogs are welcome, and my ask box is open (:

And major thank you @thecutestgrotto for the gorgeous headers!

[chlorinecake]

🎙️ star-crossed lovers 【 薄幸な恋人 】 ⛦

summ✩ry ⭑⭒⭑ As rehearsals and promotions for your big collab stage with Enhypen become progressively more intense, you and Niki face challenges that might effect your secret relationship and standing with the company...

p✩iring ⭑⭒⭑ idol!niki x popstar!reader PREVIOUSLY

cont✩ins ⭑⭒⭑ band au, fluff, secret romance, kissing + a slightly heated make-out scene, mild bullying, LOTS of drama, reader is younger than Niki, 3.6k words

It felt strange having your hair, makeup, and clothes managed by someone else, especially in such a meticulous way.

Today was the big day of the Riot Grrlz x Enhypen fan meeting that Hybe was hosting in honor of your upcoming collaboration stage, the event acting as some sort of promotional.

The fashion theme for the day, as decided by the likes of an online poll distributed by Enhypen's Instagram account, was 'Schoolgirl / Schoolboy,' which meant everyone would be dressed in plaid neck ties and neatly-ironed button-down blazers.

“This'll have to do,” murmured one of the makeup artist's on duty, simply dusting you with a bit of blush, some gloss, and shimmery eye shadow because they couldn't find a foundation shade that matched your skin color.

“I can't find my contact solution!” Serenity exclaimed frantically in the dressing studio, searching through her sparkly teal duffle bag for the fifth time this hour.

Of course none of you were willing to assist her on the aimless contact solution hunt, especially not with the way she verbally harassed the makeup crew for not "lining her eyes right."

“Just let it go, Ren,” Sunghoon said with an annoyed sigh, “the stylists are making all of us wear glasses for the concept today anyways...”

“Okay first of all, don't call me by my nickname. Second, it's not my vision I'm worried about, but my image,” she clarified matter-of-factly, “I wanna impress the Korean fans with a big and bright boba eye moment...”

“You have sooo many problems,” Jade added with a similar irritation, rolling her eyes at the diva before a hairstylist ran over to clip in another track of fake hair.

“Tell me about it,” Serenity huffed despairingly, sticking her arms out like a scarecrow as the fashion crew adjusted the belt around her waist.

“Let's just try and maintain a good mood before the meeting guys,” you started optimistically amongst the tension, “the fans might pick up on our bad energy if we all show up pouting like this...”

“Easy for you to say,” Niki replied teasingly, “you slept like a baby last night… meanwhile, you kept me up with your insistent snoring…”

“Did not,” you whined in protest, looking back at his attractively playful expression, “it’s not my fault that the stories you tell in your groggy bedtime voice are so relaxing.”

Niki meant to reply but was rudely interrupted by Serenity’s stinky attitude, “Aww, late night bonding moment, I see? Hope a little ‘story time’ was as far as it got for you two lovebirds...”

You and Niki shook your heads in unison at her senseless comment, the rest of Enhypen and your band mates soon rushing out of the dressing room and outside to the awaiting limousine as the schedule manager directed.

“Make sure you have everything you need, guys! We’re running a bit behind on time and can’t afford any more set-backs,” exclaimed a tall, broad man in athletic wear, a black Hybe hat topping off his look.

“Got it, sir,” Jungwon replied politely, double-checking his leather cross-body bag before stepping into the vehicle, the rest of you following after him.

You didn’t expect to see Miss Kim in the front seat with the chauffeur, but you greeted her nonetheless.

“Morning, Miss Kim!,” You and Hearin started enthusiastically.

“Morning, Riot Grrlz,” she returned while not looking at any of you, writing hasty yet neat notes down on her clipboard, “I’ll be bold and assume you ladies have never attended any sort of fan event, correct?”

“Y-yes, that is correct,” Jade answered before you, crossing her legs in her seat, “this’ll be our very first experience today…”

“Oh, that’s cool for you then, isn’t it? Don’t worry if you don’t know what to say or do, by the way... just copy us,” you heard Heeseung encourage somewhere behind you, but your mind was more focused on the way Niki’s hand accidentally brushed against yours while you two glared out of the same window...

Accidentally… maybe…

“I was just getting around to that, Heeseung,” Miss Kim continued after clearing her coffee-stained throat, “Korean fans as a whole are pretty cutthroat, and whether you’re a foreigner or not, they expect you to present yourself a certain way…”

“Perfect,” Sunoo thought out loud, “they expect you to be perfect…”

“That’s just the way this idol life goes, I'm afraid,” Jungwon sighed from his seat, not empathetically, but in a realistic sense.

“Either way, you girls should be safe to mirror whatever the boys are doing if you ever feel confused…” Miss Kim trailed off, the limo being just a few feet from reaching the fan meeting center, “Good luck today, you all.”

▶︎ ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| • • •

Things were turning out surprisingly smooth at the event, to say the least.

Needless to mention, you and Niki stayed pretty close the entire time, and the fans seemed to be amused by your attempt at famous duo heart poses with him.

“Just extend your hand like this,” he instructed while giggling, watching as your overhead heart ended up looking more like an oval to the audience.

Serenity was received as a fan favorite, too, her “boba eye” look captivating the male attendees while others were more entertained in her beginner Korean skills.

“Hwaiting,” she exclaimed confidently before the fans one too many times for your tolerance, Sunghoon’s face clearly showing just how much he was enjoying not being the cringiest person in the room for once.

Or, at least that was until an older fan requested that he and Sunoo sing and dance to the infamous aeygo Ottoke song for good luck at the show tomorrow.

“The things we do for engene,” the two boys collectively thought to themselves while fastening coquette bunny ears atop their heads, hoping that their enthusiasm would override the embarrassment.

It was all just such a culture shock for you and your group.

“Uhhh, a little help here?” Haerin worriedly called out to Jake as a particularly excited Korean fan approached her with a lot to say that she could barely understand.

“Oh- allow me,” Jake offered between the language barrier, translating to Haerin what the fan was trying to tell her.

“She thinks I’m a what now?”

“A K-pop Idol, mostly because of your trendy look today,” Jungwon giggled warmly, “the prophesied eighth member of Enhypen, in fact...”

Haerin laughed with both embarrassment and flattery, trying her best to explain to the young fan that she was a member of the Riot Grrlz and Riot Grrlz only.

Interactive activities continued just as well after this, the event nearing its end as you and Niki did a few TikTok dance challenges for the fans on stage.

Dance challenges that you had practiced with him in eery hours of the night, or whenever you two were left alone in the dance studio.

That, alongside other things too… like stealing sweet kisses here and there… or nearly melting while staring into each others love struck eyes—

“____, right?” A fan asked, approaching you with a blue marker and square of paper.

“Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you,” you returned, keeping eye contact with her, despite the dark shades she wore.

“Nice to meet you, too! I have so many questions to ask you about what it’s like working with Enhypen!… and I really like your hair, too! The highlights look really nice with your outfit hehe… ALSO, I've been listening to a lot of your groups songs recently, and my favorite has to be the main track from your most recent album, it’s so unique!…” the fans voice eventually trailed off shyly.

“Oh my goodness, sorry for rambling!! Uhmmm, can I get your autograph by any chance?”

“Aww, thank you,” you smiled brightly, “and it’s okay! I find it cute how interested you are in my experience and music…”

Your hand reached out to grab the marker from her grasp, your body leaning forward slightly as you signed your name on the photo, resting your weight on the desk before you.

So lost in the moment, you didn’t even realize that the photo you had just signed was one of you and Niki hanging out just outside of Yeouido Park the other night.

It was impossible to hold back the gasp that escaped your throat at the realization, your finger loosing its grip around the marker as your stunned eyes met her knowing ones.

“Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she chuckled in a facetiously sweet tone, you and her hands fighting over the now autographed-polaroid before your grip overthrew hers.

“Where did you get that—”

“Your secret’s safe with me, alright?” She interrupted with a sharp whisper, “So long as you work on distancing yourself from Niki moving forward…”

You blinked in feigned confusion at her words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re just colleagues—”

“And he’s an idol,” she cut in again, “idols don’t belong to silly American girls like you… you don’t even belong in our world…”

At this point, you're certain she could see how upset you were with her, and you didn't even care to hide it. “Everyone has welcomed me here, expect for you… and to what gain? I’m here with my band solely for work purposes, and I can assure you there is nothing you have to worry about concerning my professionalism.”

Your strong reply seemed to have rubbed her the wrong way, one of her hands fastening the bag over her shoulder while the other adjusted the glasses sitting at her nose.

“Thank you for your time,” she nearly growled at you, that same phony smile plastered to her lips before she hurriedly walked away, disappearing into the crowd of fans.

You let out a breath that you didn't even know you'd been holding, trying to calm yourself down before anyone noticed the silent commotion that had occurred on your side of the meeting booth.

All you could do was hope that this was the only copy or evidence of you and Niki hanging out that night as you folded the paper into a small square, tucking it under your sleeve in a way that no one would notice.

Above all though, you were just glad that the event was coming to an end soon, a few on-set staff members already helping to put away some stage props, meanwhile Sunoo, Heeseung, and Jade helped themselves to bringing along some gifts from fans.

“Hey... uhm, Heeseung? Can I-”

“Yes, Jade,” Heeseung answered with a giggle, “you can have all of my kitty plush gifts...”

▶︎ ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| • • •

The limo ride back to the HYBE building was quiet, the sole thought roaming in the back of your mind being that one fan's cruel words…

…𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶… 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥...

It wasn’t like you were trying to infiltrate the world of K-pop.

You and your group were simply expanding your collab horizons upon being invited, and it seriously boggled you how anyone would have a problem with that—

“Knock knock,” Niki said with a smile in his voice from behind the door to your private backstage dressing room, waiting for your cue that it was safe for him to come in.

“You can come in, Niki,” you replied softly, standing in front of the body length wall mirror while struggling to fix your hair into a suitable style for the stage practice in a few minutes.

“Hi,” you greeted again once he reached you, watching as his eyes traced your reflection, almost immediately picking up on your nervous demeanor.

“You did great today, ____, y’know that?” He started with a low voice, guiding your stressed hands away from your head and resting them at your sides.

“Niki, I have to get ready—”

“And you already look more than prepared,” he encouraged, securing his hands around your waist before leaving a kiss below your ear, “gorgeous, even...”

“Thanks,” you answered shyly, somehow already feeling a bit better about things now that he was near you.

“So. Are you gonna tell me what’s got you upset or are we gonna make this a guessing game?” He teased, making you chuckle a bit as his attempt to cheer you up.

Your eyes fell to the floor, his grip on you loosening as a little sigh escaped your freshly glossed lips.

“A fan…,” you began quietly, “at the meeting today… she asked me to sign this photo.”

Reaching into your bra, you pulled out the mysterious square photo and watched with a pout as Niki carefully unfolded it from each corner.

“I… I don’t understand…” he stuttered, eyes glazing over the sight of you and him holding hands at the firework show that night.

“I know, it’s my fault that—”

“No…,” he interrupted your words before meeting your guilt-ridden eyes, “I don’t understand why you’re letting this get to you…”

“Excuse me?” You asked with a confused expression, “if something like this gets out, it could ruin both of our careers, y’know?”

“Sure,” he responded nonchalantly with a shrug, “but I couldn’t care less about some jealous sasaeng’s creepy little photo fest… by now, it’s gonna take a lot more than an innocent, harmless photo of us hanging out to make me question our status in this field.”

“You never take anything seriously, Nishimura,” you smiled with a sigh, shaking your head as you watched his fingers tear the photo to pieces.

“Well you’re definitely an exception to that trait of mine,” he smirked, tucking the torn shreds of paper into his back pocket before finding your face in his hands, placing a tender kiss to your left cheek.

“How sweet of you to say,” you whispered softly, grabbing the neckline of his shirt and pulling him closer to your height, “now how about you kiss me properly this time?”

He hummed at your teasing tone, sharp features softening as he tilted his head, sealing the space between you and him with the sweet kiss you’d been waiting for.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” Niki sighed against your lips, his right hand removing the rubber band securing your ponytail so his fingers could roam freely through your curls.

Things were escalating pretty quickly now, both of your breaths sounding more labored with each second as you stumbled backwards onto the desk, his energy leading the kiss as he remained on top of you.

It was almost more than you could handle, his hands roaming at your sides before your eyes barely fluttered open, the sight of his slightly blushed button-nose making you feel like melting on the spot.

Thats when you realized his pink hue was a result of two reasons: (1) The way your hands shyly clung to his shoulders right now, and (2) the shadow of footsteps peeking behind your dressing room door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hello? Miss ____, its Kim... Are you decent?”

“Erm, one second!” You responded in an obvious frantic.

Niki helped you get up from the vanity table, kneeling down quickly to hide himself under the it as the stern lady made her way into the room anyway.

“Sorry to intrude,” she began abruptly, not even taking note of your currently disheveled hair and flushed expression, “but I’ve unfortunately been appointed as the bearer of bad news for today…”

“Oh... uhm, w- what is it, is everyone alright?” You asked with a concerned tone, trying to take your mind off the fact that a Niki stained with the glimmer of your peach flavored lipgloss all over his mouth was literally under your desk right now, a mere two feet away from Miss Kim’s leather boots.

“For the most part, yes… but it concerns one of your band mates… Serenity, specifically… Since you are the leader of your group, I found it humble to have at least this much respect to tell you first in private.”

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them back up, restoring your usually confident aura and making eye contact with the woman.

“Thank you, Miss Kim… I’m listening…”

▶︎ ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊| • • •

The sounds of shoes rhythmically scuffing, mics going in and out of focus, and layered fits of heavy breathing filled your ears for the next two hours.

Design tech, stage directors, and performers alike were giving it their all to perfect things before the big show coming up.

You paced around the shiny stage, a sweat rag secured lazily around your neck as you and the Enhypen members just got through with rehearsing the main choreo at the performing arena for the first time.

Everyone except Jay and Jade that is, who were still busy with working on their guitar duet for the intro show backstage with the music writers.

“I have no idea how you can still see after being in front of these bright stage lights all the time,” you huffed out tiredly, glancing at Sunoo who only shrugged while taking a few gulps from his grey water bottle.

“I’m not too sure either, but for the lot of us, it’s just something you have to get used to,” he tried warmly before letting himself fall on the ground, limbs spread out like an exhausted snowman as sweat trickled down his forehead.

“Here, lemme show you a little trick I like to use,” Niki offered with a smile while approaching you from behind, his larger frame casting a shadow before you.

“Look down there,” he started, guiding your waist with one hand as he pointed ahead of you with the other, “do you see the tech crew down there?”

You looked to where his finger was pointing, eyes being met with the sight of workers who sat in reclining chairs while others drank some coffee, a few sporadic employees carrying clipboards with stacks of paper, giving out orders to their fellow floor members.

“Yeah, I see them,” you answered, making Niki laugh slightly for reasons you didn’t fully understand.

“That means you’re too close then,” he replied, still holding your waist as he guided you to take a few steps back, which ended up being more steps for you given the leg length differences.

“There’s a rule of thumb that if you can see the audience, they can’t see you… are the lights still bothering you now?”

“Not as much, actually,” you said, turning to face him as he still held you close, everything in your body fighting not to kiss him in this moment given the way he looked back at you, “thanks again…”

“Anytime,” he smirked smuggly, “but uhhh, I think people might be looking at us now—”

“Oh,” you giggled shyly, backing a few inches away from him.

“Ahem,” a nagging voice cleared from beside you two, breaking the wholesome presence of the moment.

“Do you guys think you’re invisible or something?” Serenity asked, crossing her arms while staring the both of you up.

“Uhm…. No?” Niki answered for you, furrowing his eyes at the blue-eyed diva.

“Then why’re you just standing there? You’re blocking my light…”

You let out a scoff at her words, feeling baffled at the thought of how insecure girls like her could have such egotistical tendencies.

“Sorry, Serenity…,” you said half-heartedly, “didn’t mean to disturb your… solo mid-break practice session...”

“Really appreciate it, leader lady,” she replied sarcastically, very intentionally bumping into your shoulder as she walked past you before stopping in her tracks, a loose copy of the stage schedule getting caught under her baby pink sneakers.

She leaned down to pick it up, examining the text before her eyes stumbled over a line of bolded words. All of this was for reasons she didn’t understand, but either way, would soon resent.

“Ugh?!!” She exclaimed with a confused scoff, “HYBE is kicking me from the show??”

Your eyes widened at her words, the furious, confused, and torn look on her face doing nothing but make Niki smirk to himself, “Serenity, I can explain—”

“And you knew about this, didn’t you?” She accused with balled fists, looking between your nervous face and Niki’s shamelessly proud one.

“I just found out today, okay? But Miss Kim specifically instructed me not to say anything about until she revealed it to you herself after practice,” you clarified with a shaky voice.

“Please,” she said with a scoff, “And what’s with the face, Nishimura Nimrod? Huh!? Your little girlfriend told you before she told me, her own band mat—”

“I didnt tell him anything!” You retorted with a slightly raised voice, cracking with nerves you couldn't keep buried anymore.

You never liked being in the hot seat unless you were sitting there with Niki, thanks to his ability to always maintain his cool under pressure...

However, for some reason, even with him next to you right now, you still felt like hurling yourself to the ground.

“You had to have told me him something, so just stop with your insistent lies, ____,” Serenity spat, poking a finger in the center of your chest. Hard.

“You couldn’t wait to get rid of me, its been all over your rotten little face ever since we got here… You’re so jealous of me and it’s honestly depressing at this point…”

Oh Serenity, you thought in your mind, if only you knew this was all brought on by yourself…

You’d had enough of her ignorant speech, holding a fierce eye contact with her while trying to conceal the tears forming behind your eyes.

The sadness growing in your heart…

“None of this was my decision, Ren, so if you have a bone to pick with someone, try taking it up with Miss Kim herself,” you said firmly, walking back a few steps in case she tried touching you again, “I'm sure she'd be more than happy to inform you on her reasons for exiling you from the main activities…”

“What’s going on you guys?” Haerin asked timidly in the midst of the chaos, having just come back from washing up in the restroom.

Serenity practically burned holes in your face with her venomous glare before turning sharply on her heel, footsteps loud and startling as she marched off the stage, murmuring a string of curses under her breath.

“Soooo,” Sunghoon started with a curious accent, “I’m usually not the best at comprehending things, but I’m assuming that whatever just happened was a lot more serious than the usual Riot Grrlz drama, correct?”

“Yeah, what's the big deal ____?,” Jade asked alongside Jake, who gave your shoulder a comforting shake.

You fought with everything in your body to not to let any tears fall...

Because in this moment, it just felt right to cry, but at the same time, was it really worth appearing weak in front of everyone?

Everyone who counted on you to remain strong?

You exhaled with a deep breath, wiping the pricks of moisture from your eyes before speaking, “Serenity won’t be performing with us for the special stage anymore… only the ending song.”

A cacophony of gasps filled the room at your words, Jungwon having picked up the loose schedule copy to analyze it for himself, the bolded words reading:

>> SERENITY TAYLOR Authorized to be PULLED from Furthering Her Performance Activities in Sight of Behavioral Decency Violations Under HYBE's Collaboration and Code of Conduct Standards

“Will she be allowed to attend the award show at least,” Heeseung inquired, not out of empathy, but curiosity as all of this was unfolding pretty fast.

“Perhaps, but for now, we can rest on the thought that we’ll have one less problem while preparing from here on out,” you answered, feeling a large hand take your hand in theirs before giving it a gentle squeeze.

Niki.

“Either way, the show must go on you guys,” he said with a deep voice, the faintest smile being on his face as he looked back at you, dark eyes sparkling with sincerity.

The stage lights flickered from ahead and above you, a key indicator that the radio would be picking up again soon, playing the instrumental to your practice track.

“Mic check everyone and it’s back to rehearsals in five,” yelled out a staff member from below the stage, the ten of you now lining up in formation while adjusting your headsets around your ears.

There was only one thought that remained in your head as the choreographer hopped up center stage to explain how the performance would accommodate for Serenity's sudden absence:

The show must go on.

🎙️For my baby, @microwvdstrawb3rri3s 💕 This is episode 3 for ya ~ Thanks for being so patient with me :3

⛦ TAGS: @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @yourmomscuntis2tighy @nikimeows @kimjiho1 @nikipedia07 @nishimuradaniel @ashgonedash @laurradoesloveu @caithefly @samhomo @rikikiynikilcykiki @3ngene--frvr @illymontyshit @filmofhybe @whoslug @nikiiitties

🎙️ Feel free to check out more fun reads on the pinned post at my home page ~

[sinsirellaxx]

I've been thinking about this for several days and I'd really love to know your opinion:

What do you think is the ideal type of each of the Slytherin boys?

Slytherin boys – Their ideal types

Warning: Toxic boys alert! (Not that bad though)

A/N: Ooh, this one was hard! Honestly, I had never really thought about that – or wanted to think about it … but here it goes:

PS: I didn't want to write about ideal body types, so I left that bit out – hope that is alright!

Mattheo …

… doe eyes – does not matter which color (although brownie points for brown eyes) – he’d spend hours just staring into your eyes. If you know how to use your eyes to your advantage, you’ll have him wrapped around your finger.

… pouty lips with a defined cupid’s bow. He’d always have to kiss you whenever he glimpsed at your lips – which was quite often. Be prepared to be kissed all. The. Time. Even during classes – which got you both detention for inappropriate displays of affection.

… he loves long hair, especially curly or wavy hair. Whenever he’s bored, he’ll twirl your curls around his finger.

… he needs a loving, affectionate, soft partner. He’s quite needy and possessive, so he’ll need someone who’ll constantly reassure him without judging him for being overly possessive.

… however, he’d bee head over heels if you also have some sass to you: Sweet, loving but make it spicy.

… loves sneakers and his hoodies on you. Especially if his hoodies still smell like him. The thought of his smell marking you makes him want to go feral.

… would love someone who is inexperienced ... because let’s be honest: the thought of you having been with other people would drive him mad and rob him of his sleep.

Theodore …

… loves long hair as well. He’d try to braid your hair for you – he’d lowkey be possessive over your hair and get angry whenever someone else touches it.

… thinks he wants a more sultry-seductive-siren-like partner, but I think he’d simp for a golden-retriever-type-of partner.

… would secretly wish for you to cook and bake for him – especially Italian dishes and pastries.

… he loved his late mom but she was taken too early from him, which is why he needs someone nurturing, mature and someone who tells him when he’s in the wrong – he won’t like his partner telling him what to do though, especially if he isn’t completely in love with them.

… has a corruption-kink, that he still has to recognize/accept, which is why he’d be crazy about an innocent partner – even if it’s a facade. Bat your lashes at him, and bite your lips and he’s gone

… loves – absolutely adores – milkmaid dresses on his partner

Lorenzo …

… loves a good struggle – so, someone with an attitude – a diva!

… although he wants sass, he’d be mad if his partner refused to listen to him – but as mentioned above: he loves a good struggle, so challenge him.

… adores long hair, especially if worn down.

… wants a partner who always dresses up prettily – just for him!

… play hard to get and he’ll be running after you like a starved dog – but don’t let him grovel for too long, otherwise he’ll be fed up.

… he wants someone who’ll take care of him and praise him, someone who radiates warmth, someone who lets him be the little spoon once in a while.

… wouldn’t want his partner to be taller than him.

… wants someone who only shows their true self to him – to people that they are close and intimate with.

… otherwise, he’d love for his partner to be more introverted.

Draco …

… wants someone he can pamper.

… needs someone who will pamper him emotionally.

… loves lighter hair.

… adores the dark academia style on his partner.

… needs someone who’ll listen to him – someone who is honest with him if need be.

… he’d need someone more goofy – a good-natured partner (that he can easily manipulate if he has to)

Blaise …

… loves long hair.

… is drawn to out-going and playful personalities – someone he can have fun with.

… if his partner does not shy back from telling people to fuck off he’d be on his hands and knees for them.

… would absolutely freckles and/or siren-eyes – he’d be simping 24/7.

… thick thighs for days for this boy.

… someone who is shorter than him.

Tom …

… wants someone smart, witty and strong-willed – but someone who will submit to him (although I believe the dark side of him would enjoy if they put up a fight once in a while, he’d enjoy the putting his partner in their place)

… would hate a clingy partner – but they would have to be ready to give him affection whenever he wants.

… does not care about hair length, but he’d like darker hair.

… needs (not wants) a caring partner, someone who’ll stubbornly tell him to finally eat or get some sleep.

A/N: What do you think their ideal types would be?

[slushfaerie]

omg also before i forget, the @artdcnaldson (angel and hero for hosting) challengers watch party was so fun. i've been a mega lurker up until recently and was nervous to join but everyone is so funny and nice and it was lovely to celebrate 6 months of challengers with cuties 🙂‍↕️✨

bratty-faced pre-match art is so important to me ! let him go back to sleep

[heliads]

Hello <3 I was wondering if maybe you could write a charles leclerc fic?? Reader could be in charge of social media and fans start to realise that charles flirts with whoever is behind the camera? Sorry if its too vague, but I love your writing and had to send something in

i cheered audibly when i saw this, please let me write more f1 fics

masterlist

When you were just getting started with your career, someone once asked you if you’d ever consider running a social media campaign for something cute, like a zoo or rescue company. You answered them with a firm no; everyone knows animals never work on camera the way you want them to, and you didn’t want that sort of stress in your life. 

You think the universe must be laughing at you, because funnily enough, what you’re doing right now is exactly like herding cats, but you don’t even get adorable animals for your troubles. No, the Formula One media circus is a nightmare, but it’s a well televised nightmare, and that means your job as head of social media for the Scuderia Ferrari F1 team entails a great deal more metaphorical manhandling of the drivers than you’d ever envisioned.

It’s not even metaphorical all the time, the manhandling. Sometimes it’s just you sending out a great deal of mass emails when someone says something they probably shouldn’t or the Ferrari TikTok page is going through a content drought, but sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it’s like today, when you’re forcing the two drivers to go through yet another competition so the YouTube channel can get another push of subscribers.

You’ve done a lot of careful research over the months that you’ve been here, all dedicated to finding out just what sells the best, so to speak. As of late, you’ve learned that the viewers at home really like competitions and challenge videos. Apparently seeing two men who are obviously great friends go head to head over something as pointless as music trivia or Ping Pong is the pinnacle of motorsport content.

It’s not like you’re complaining. More views means a better paycheck for you at the end of the year. The fans like what you’re producing, and Ferrari likes the fans. It all works out in the end, and who are you to deny the Tifosi their favorite entertainment?

Of course, if you were to actually tell the two red-suited drivers that you refer to them as content and entertainment in the private recesses of your own mind, they probably wouldn’t be too happy. That’s why you keep that to yourself. Besides, they’re your friends. Charles and Carlos may make a lot of problems in your life, but who doesn’t? You’re not exactly perfect either. 

You don’t have to be perfect, though, you just have to come up with good ideas and let the boys be funny on their own. Charles said he liked that best about you, actually, that you let them do their own thing most of the time. The previous social media managers had tried to get them to fit this specific picture of what a Ferrari driver should be, but you never did that. You just wanted them to be them. 

You’re perfectly willing to brush that off as a compliment to a coworker, though. In truth, you’re working constantly to paint these two in the best possible light. It gets stressful sometimes, constantly wracking your brain to make each video work, each post take off. You are affecting how millions of people see Charles and Carlos. Hell, you’re practically filtering their legacy all by yourself. 

It’s not a task you take lightly, to say the least. Maybe that’s why Ferrari is content to keep you around. This is a job that you’d like to extend as long as you can. Just like Charles has worked with overly pushy social media handlers, you’ve worked with total diva clients. Neither of the Ferrari drivers are like that in the slightest, which you appreciate more than anything. 

That isn’t to say that they only ever make your life easy. Right now, for instance, you’ve been begging them to focus for the better part of ten minutes. It’s like working with elementary schoolers. You put anything in front of them and they’re totally distracted before you’ve so much as told them what they’re supposed to be doing. 

Today’s video of choice is a long-anticipated cooking video. Charles versus Carlos, the drivers have been given a mystery basket of ingredients à la Chopped. They’ll have half an hour to come up with a dish of choice, and if the time crunch weren’t enough to stress them out, you’ll be judging their culinary creations when time is called. It’s the perfect setup for a hit video, so if all goes well, you’ll see this on the trending page soon enough. 

That is, if you manage to survive this encounter long enough to post the results. By the time you manage to wrangle the drivers’ attention back to you, Charles has attempted to learn the contents of the bag through interpretive dance and hand gestures with the cameramen and Carlos has accidentally turned his stove on thrice. The third time the fires clicked on, he almost set a napkin ablaze. Both drivers are red faced from trying not to break into mad laughter again. 

You clap your hands once. “Alright, are we finally ready to get started?”

Carlos nudges Charles in the side. “Look, she’s disappointed in you already and she hasn’t even tasted your cooking. This means I am going to win by a lot.”

Charles scoffs, but you swear his barely suppressed smile drops in a second when Carlos mentions your disappointment. “Y/N would never be disappointed in me,” he protests, “I am her favorite, obviously.”

He turns to you, raising his hands in your direction as if asking you to prove his point. You shake your head. “I don’t have favorites, Charles. That would not promote a fun workplace environment.”

“Of course,” Charles nods sagely. “If you had a favorite, though, it would be me.”

Carlos snickers, and in an effort to keep their focus with you before you lose them again, you clear your throat and read out the rules of the cooking contest. The drivers say their dutiful bits about how they’re each going to win this by a landslide, and then time begins and they’re off to the culinary races. 

The covers on the baskets go flying. Charles holds up each object in turn, announcing them in tones of increasing panic. “Butter. Flour. Eggs. Green olives? Three strawberries? A box of spaghetti? Pepperoni?”

“You forgot the chocolate and red onion,” Carlos points out helpfully. 

Charles tosses his teammate a withering glare, then turns the full force of his vexation back to you. “Y/N, you are trying to kill me.”

“Charles,” you say, “we talked about that.”

Charles’ brow furrows as he tries to remember what you mean. It hits him as last and he groans, slapping a hand to his forehead in mock desolation. You’ve noticed that Charles has been mentioning you by name a lot in videos, leading to general confusion among fans. As you’ve reminded him many times before, you’re not supposed to be the focus, he is, so he needs to stop bringing you up all the time. Viewers don’t care about who’s filming the content, after all, just who’s in front of the camera. It’s a tip handed down directly from your boss to you.

Charles still grins at you even as he continues unpacking his ingredients. “I can’t help it, you know that. You’re too good, I want to mention you all the time.”

You scoff. “Good at what? Keeping you in line?”

“Everything,” he says, and raises his eyebrows suggestively. 

You roll your eyes and tell him to focus, but even this instruction doesn’t last long. Barely five minutes later, Charles is bringing up the fact that he’s going to totally win this thing because cooking is, like, a love language, right? And he’s the best at love, he declares, winking conspicuously in your direction. Carlos launches an oven mitt at his head and mutters something that the microphones don’t pick up, something that conveniently has the same number of syllables as stop flirting. 

Charles is steadily making jokes the entire duration of the video, actually, and usually you wouldn’t mind this but they’re all spoken with the intention of getting you to laugh. Not the camera, as he’s been told to do before. You. 

You do your best to keep it off your mind. Both drivers have gotten better about opening up on camera since they started, and this is probably just Charles trying something new in an effort to improve his on-screen personality. After all, it can be hard to direct all your charisma towards a camera, why not aim all your smiles at the person filming instead?

The contest ends soon enough. You end up awarding Charles with the win, mainly due to the fact that Carlos’ hand accidentally slipped as he was attempting to strain his pasta and he ended up losing all of his spaghetti down the sink. His plate consisted of sauce and decorative strawberry slices, which, although tasty, did not contain several key ingredients and resulted in an automatic disqualification. 

Despite the rather shaky grounds on which his cooking victory stands, from the way Charles is acting, you’d think he’d won the WDC. He’s beaming at you, talking about how he’d called this from the very start and was proud that you liked his stuff the best. He even offers to wash the dishes, which is very un-driverlike. 

The video ends up a success by all accounts. Even days later, it’s still trending in Tifosi circles, and the view counts are way higher than expected. Curious as to why, you decide to do the unthinkable and check the comments section of the cooking video.

What you find is– unexpected, to say the least. Usually, comments on any post, whether it be Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube, will range from fans lamenting race outcomes to people mentioning their favorite driver to random spam accounts offering thousands of dollars to the lucky person to message them first.

On this video, though? Most all of the comments are about you. This makes no sense, because not only were you on camera for about one minute, you didn’t do anything other than give instructions and judge food. Antonio Giovinazzi did the same job on a video last year, and no one cared at all. Antonio’s actually well-known in the world of motorsports, so why is it that you, someone who largely operates behind the scenes, would be the cause of so much fuss?

Curious, you start scrolling in depth, but find yourself more confused with every reply you see.

He’s totally flirting with her, right?

Is anyone else seeing the fact that Charles is freaking out over trying to impress this girl?

His face when she declared him the winner… I can’t even with him!!

Charles trying to protect Y/N by refusing to let Carlos salvage his sink pasta– they’re dating, right???

You find yourself laughing over it. This can’t be real. Surely nobody in the world actually thinks that Charles Leclerc– F1 driver, Ferrari superhero, Il Predestinato and supporter of all Tifosi hopes and dreams, multi-millionaire– would ever have a crush on you. It’s absurd. It’s so absurd that you find yourself racing to the office of another one of your friends in social media to get her opinion on it.

Your friend looks up at you, startled, when you burst into her office. “Has someone died?”

“No,” you gasp out, “worse.”

Her eyebrows raise. “One of the drivers had a scandal? We can fix this. Get me B-roll of them volunteering or something. We can turn this around in no time.”

“No,” you say weakly, “the Internet thinks I’m dating Charles Leclerc.”

Your friend freezes in her seat, finger still hovering over the call icon on Fred Vasseur’s contact in her phone, then slowly sinks back again. “Well, yeah, I can see why.”

You gape at her. “What?”

Your friend spreads her hands. “He follows you around everywhere you go. He’s always asking about you, you know. I kind of thought you two had a thing as well, it’s not just the Tifosi.”

You break out into somewhat crazed laughter. “Charles? You think Charles likes me? No, that’s ridiculous.”

Your friend, however, looks less skeptical of this news. “Is it really? I mean, he spent the entirety of shooting just cracking stupid jokes so he could make you laugh. You should have seen the way he stared at you whenever you so much as smiled. Man was transfixed.”

You shoot her a disbelieving look. “No– transfixed? Are you kidding? He wasn’t transfixed. He wanted to win a contest because he’s a racing driver and they like to be the best at everything. I’ll tell you what it was, he was trying to win me over so I’d decide the competition in favor of his cooking.”

Your friend chuckles. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

You take a careful seat opposite her desk. “You’d better explain to me what you mean by that right now, or I swear, I’ll make you brainstorm TikTok ideas for the next month.”

Your friend shudders. “Anything but that, please. Those trends are so bad. Anyway, look, Charles has been obsessed with you since, like, the day you joined. I remember introducing you that day, actually, he was practically stammering over his words. Imagine that, someone who’s always so controlled with what he says whenever he talks to the press, and he can’t even say his name properly because a pretty girl is smiling at him.”

This whole situation feels insane. “Maybe you’re remembering it wrong or something. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t like me like that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Your friend asks slowly, and, well, it makes you think.

It makes you think about all of the videos you’ve shot with him, every discussion after a press conference. How taking candids for the Instagram of Charles always takes ten times longer than it should because he never looks at the camera, only at you. How you greeted him earlier this year at the first race of the season and he said what he missed most of all over winter break was you. How he wasn’t even kidding when he said it, just smiling, smiling like he’d never meant something more in his life.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, “Charles likes me.”

Your friend slaps her hand on the desk, startling you. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What do I do, then?” You ask.

Your friend looks like she’s about to scream. “You tell him how you feel, obviously!”

“I do?” You repeat haltingly.

“You do,” she says, “And he’s right across the hall now. Go talk.”

She all but pushes you out of her office, and then you’re alone in the corridor with Charles, who has just spotted you and is heading your way with the brightest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N!” He says, clearly pleased, “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t think our paths would cross until the next race.”

“Yeah?” You eke out, “Me neither, actually. Strange how things happen like that.”

Strange like friends with overly aggressive relationship advice. You’re certain that if you turned around now, you’d see her peering through the window in her door like some kind of stalker.

Charles nods. “I’m glad to see you, though. Did you notice that the last video did really well? I think that means you have to come around more often. You know, it’s what the fans want.”

“Speaking of the fans,” you say, “I happened to read through the comments and a lot of them seemed to think that you were flirting with me.”

You swear you can see Charles’ confidence fall in a flash. “What?” He protests a little too quickly, “that’s crazy. That’s, uh, really crazy.”

You nod. “That’s what I thought, but, on the off chance that you were flirting, I wouldn’t mind it.”

A small spark of hope forms in his eyes. “You wouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t,” you decide at last, “because I like you too. If you like me, that is, and it wasn’t too crazy of me to say that.”

He’s laughing now, and you– well, you really do like him, you do, and something about seeing the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles makes you think at last about how long you have liked him, all the ways you realized you loved him but never admitted it to yourself.

“Alright,” he says, “Maybe it wasn’t too crazy after all.”

A pause, then:  “This does mean that you’ll be coming around more often, right?”

You smile. “Yes, Charles, I think it does.”

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[olderthannetfic]

"Why I don't write F/F" thread proceeded just as unproductively as I expected. It wasn't about moralizing about the women not writing F/F, it was a question about why personal reasons for avoiding a configuration aren't reflected in opposite directions by other groups. Unlike race, gender has an almost 50/50 split, there's a scale to the proportions not there for other types of identity category. "The femslash police suck" is a factor I can understand. But why wouldn't "personal reasons I just don't feel it towards this configuration" end up an even distribution across the population? The expectation for women to write about women isn't a moral rule, it's that if you allow the logic "men in control of stories write about men (and that's why more mainstream stories center men)", then the flip side is, well, why people clamor for more women behind the camera and in the writers' room. Either accept the logic for both sides or challenge it for both sides. Instead we have the worst of both worlds, we accept it for one side and challenge it for the other. Where's the parallel universe where this imbalance somehow resulted in a different quadrant being the smallest proportion of ships?

--

Why wouldn't "personal reasons" be even? Because the kinds of issues people face based on their demographic aren't.

But I think the larger factor is how socialization affects choice of hobbies and volunteer efforts. Cis men and cis women, on average, go in for different flavors. The dudes tend to be more bothered by the idea of "not getting anything back" for what feels like work. When they do do unpaid labor, it's often the kind that accrues glory and career prospects rather than less showy social ties. Open source coding projects where they can be important, yes. Writing fanfic, no.

Looking up any analysis of volunteering and unpaid work that makes such-and-such a part of society function will get you a lot of discussion of this gendered difference. It's pervasive.

Of course, this is just a broad trend. Plenty of guys do write fanfic, and when they dominate a fanfic space, we see tons of fic focused on the female characters they find attractive, including f/f fic.

And if you're asking about cis gay men specifically... well... again, gendered socialization means that the issues faced by cis lesbians and cis gay men are not equivalent. The reasons and ways that people employ allegory to talk about things "too close to home" will likewise not be exactly the same. Traditional US gay male culture goes in for drag and for an obsession with Hollywood divas and The Golden Girls. Plenty is being mediated through female personas; it's just not translating into fanfic specifically. But most people making "Leave the fujoshi alone" arguments are not thinking about cis gays: they're thinking about people in messier identity categories.

The biggest difference is not behavior but simply that cis men are a small minority on FFN, AO3, and Wattpad, the three big fanfic archives. (Some ancient FFN research found that it was 78% female, and that's the archive known for having more men!) The places with more cis guys are much smaller and don't get talked about as much by most fandom history and fandom meta types from the AO3 side of things.

The reason cis men's taste in favorite characters isn't being "pushed back against" isn't a double standard: it's because:

Cis men simply aren't that relevant to site-wide trends on AO3

and

2. The reverse pattern does happen all the time with vanishingly little m/m and lots of f/f

You sound like you think we'd make this fanfic-specific argument about pro media. In fact, plenty of queer women are open that they produce original f/f but not f/f fanfic or they produce f/f fanworks but not fic. A lot of the "too close to home" arguments are specifically about the kind of id fuel, naked-in-public vibes of AO3-style fanfic. Writing that is less id-driven may not feel that same way. A given woman might have a much easier time writing a mystery novel about a lesbian detective who never gets laid on page than a steamy f/f bodice ripper.

The parallel universe you ask about exists. It's horny imageboards full of fan art of anime girls.

The reason you sound judgmental and are getting "unproductive" responses is that you're phrasing things as though we're refusing to solve a problem. In reality, we're attempting to analyze the situation that exists. It's a descriptive approach.

[marwolaeth-76]

UH I have no idea how this works but uh can you make a velvet x fem reader like enemies to lovers type of way…?

(Im sorry like I have no ideas I’m literally having brain farts right now)

- And it’s totally fine if you don’t write this🙏 -

Heoo!! thank you for your request and thank you for waiting, I changed the plot a little, I hope you like it🩷

Velvet x !femReader from hate to love

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Velvet smirked as she looked across the stage at you during the award show. As usual, you were dressed to the nines and looking as flawless as ever, though no one could hold a candle to her in her opinion. You had been nipping at her heels in the music charts for months now, your star quickly rising. Where once you would have been thrilled to be in the same room as the legendary Velvet, now you saw her as a threat, an obstacle standing in the way of your rightful place at the top. The rivalry between you was the talk of the gossip sites and tabloids. During Velvet's acceptance speech for Song of the Year, she made sure to throw a subtle dig your way, knowing it would push your buttons. Your face remained impassive but inside you seethed. Two could play at that game. When it was your turn to accept your award for Best Pop Album later in the show, you made an equally sly remark about how people were "starting to recognize real talent." The glare Velvet shot you could have melted steel. After the show, you found yourself cornered in the back hallway by an irate mount rageous. "You think you can challenge me, poppet? I've been on top for years and I'm not giving up my throne without a fight" , -she snarled in your face. You met her gaze steadily, refusing to back down. "Bring it on, Velvet. I'm not afraid of you." An idea suddenly came to you. "How about we make this more...interesting. A friendly wager. If I outsell you on this next album cycle, you will need to admit to everyone that this is not your talent" Velvet considered the proposal, a smirk curling her dark purple lips. "I'm in, darling. But when I win, I promise I'll make you rue the day you ever thought you could beat me." She held out a hand for you to shake on the deal. You grasped it firmly, already planning your comeback. The game was afoot. May the best pop diva win.

As a result of your little “battle,” Velvet’s popularity gains, The twins have sold more albums than you. You lose.. But to your great surprise, Velvet did not put forward her victorious demands, it seems that just your face was enough for her to enjoy the taste of your defeat. And now, a couple of months have passed. Velvet lets out an irritated sigh as she bumps into someone, stepping back to see who had disrupted her walk down the red carpet. "Watch where you're-" she starts to snap, before realizing who it is. "Oh, it's you." You're standing there, looking annoyed, you are still ashamed of your defeat. "Velvet", you greet coolly. She sweeps her gaze up and down you dismissively. "I see the loser is still trying to steal my spotlight. You'll never be as talented or famous as me." A smirk tugs at her lips, enjoying the way your eyes flash angrily. "At least I don't have to sink so low as kidnapping to get attention" , you retort. Velvet's smirk widens. "Oh please, like you wouldn't if you thought it would help. But we both know you'll never have what it takes to be number one." You open your mouth to fire back, but pause as Velvet steps closer, her voice dropping lower. "But maybe, if you're very nice to me... I could put in a good word with the fans. Lend you some of my talent, just for a little while." Her eyes rake slowly over you in a way that makes your cheeks heat. An outraged remark sits on the tip of your tongue, but Velvet continues before you can speak. "Think about it, darling. We could be quite the team, if you'd stop fighting me. I'll be waiting to hear your answer." With a flick of her hair, she sweeps past you down the carpet, leaving you in a slight stupor and embarrassment in your throat, amongst the flashing lights.

♡♡♡♡

PS. this is more likely the beginning of the development of a love relationship, not exactly what the request was about☠️

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 7 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Going gown shopping is proving to be a bit more difficult than you had expected and Jungkook doesn't make it any easier Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 4.7k~ Warnings: I don't think there's any need for warnings but so much teasinggg a/n: Sorry this too so long to get out 😭 I've lost motivation to write these days so it's been taking a bit longer for me to get chapters out but I hope you guys like it! p.s. kinda sorta edited lol I just wanted to get it out already Start from the beginning

After talking to Jesse last night about everything that happened between Jungkook and I, I've been even more confused than I was to begin with.

"HE KISSED YOU?!?!" Jesse yells into the phone making me cringe as I pull it away to save my hearing but ultimately fail. 

"I don't know, kind of but not really. He leaned in and kissed my cheek but his lips did brush up against the side of my mouth so I don't know. I'm just so confused because at the start I thought he hated me. He was rude and demanding and always tried to intimidate me. I will admit that it worked sometimes but I just never know what he actually wants from me" I complain while switching to my airpods so I can walk around my room and talk to him while looking for an outfit. 

"I think you're over thinking things. I think it all comes down to the fact that he found you challenging at first so that might've been why you thought that he hated you" he explains. 

"Challenging? What's that supposed to mean?" I question, flipping through the clothes in my closet, struggling to find something that's comfortable but not too casual, easy to take off so it makes trying on dresses a bit easier but doesn't make me look like I didn't put in any effort. You would think I was getting dressed for a first date or something based off the existential crisis I seem to be having. 

"He probably thought you were some bratty rich kid that needed a real push to break out of that mold. I bet he's had to deal with a lot of divas in his time. Don't take it personally though, I'm sure that he just goes into those first few lessons with that mindset and then loosens up a bit as you go along. Or at least that's what I would think based off of what you've told me" he explains. 

"You're probably right" I agree while trying to choose between two colors of what sweater to wear. "Pink or Blue?" I question and without hesitation he chooses pink. "What did you end up putting together?" he asks, eager to know what I've settled on. 

"Pink sweater, white skirt with nude colored leggings and some white boots. Oh and I'm pairing it with the white pea coat James got for me last Christmas" I relay, going through the outfit in my head, leaving everything on their hangers so I won't have to worry about too many wrinkles tomorrow.     

"Why are you dressing so...girly? I mean you're a girl obviously but I figured you would go with something a little more...black" he chuckles, thinking about my usual choice in attire. 

"Jungkook would send me back upstairs to change before he would take me somewhere dressed in all black clothing. He wants me to remember to dress like a lady so I might as well go into it right off the bat so I can avoid another scolding. Plus I figured a skirt would be a lot easier to take off and put back on again since I'll be trying on a few dresses" I say while finally getting myself ready for bed.

"Fair enough. If I were you though I would tell him that the only way I'm taking these clothes off is if you take them off of me if he had a problem with your outfit" he teases, making me roll my eyes at him, amused but embarrassed by his nonsense. "Jesse he's my teacher" I point out for the millionth time, hoping to get him to back off but I know it's pointless. 

"As much as you would like me to jump his bones I need to remember the purpose of our relationship. I don't want to cause James any trouble with messing around with him. I could just see the headlines, 'CEO's step daughter sleeps with her etiquette teacher', I do not  want to have to deal with the backlash from my mother either. If something were to happen between us it could ruin his reputation, making people think that he sleeps with all of his students. Plus who knows, he could've slept with his past students based off of how forward he has been with me" I say while throwing myself onto my bed and staring up at the ceiling. 

"He may be an adonis but I don't think he's the type of guy that would do that. Like he's an etiquette teacher girl, if he was to have had a scandal with a student in the past I'm sure it would've come out by now" he reasons with me and I hum in acknowledgement. 

"I guess you're right" I mumble and soon wrap up our call so I can get some 'Proper beauty sleep' according to Jesse but for the life of me I can't sleep a wink. With all of these questions spinning round and round in my head I just can't seem to ease my mind until I'm jolted awake by my alarm. 

'I guess I was able to sleep a bit' I think to myself before jumping into the shower and rushing to get ready. This'll be the first time Jungkook has seen me bright and early in the morning and not run down after a long day at school so I guess it's best if I make a good impression. 

After putting on my lip gloss to complete the look I'm met with my mother barging into my room. "You do know that Mr. Jeon is going to be here soon and oh-!" she nags quickly spewing out her speech before finally taking a look at me. 

"Look at you! I guess you really are my daughter!" she says while walking over to my mirror to stand behind me. "What's that supposed to mean?" I say crossing my arms and giving her an unamused look through the reflection. 

"It means that you look very beautiful and you're showing off your femininity and assets very well" she says referring to the shorter skirt that she hasn't ever seen me wear before. "Very funny mom now can you please leave so I can finish getting ready?" I ask, shooing her away so I can get her out of my hair, literally since she had started running her fingers through it from the back. 

"Okay okay I'm going. Would you like me to let you know when he's pulling up outside?" she asks and I nod my head and at that she's off to no doubt stand and wait for the first glimpse of him by the door. 'She's more obsessed with that man than Jesse is' I mumble to myself and quickly slip on my boots and take another look at myself before I hear my mother yelling for me to come downstairs.

I open my bedroom door and hear that Jungkook is already somehow inside the house and speaking to my mother when I had anticipated for him to just wait for me by his car. "Oh good you're here! Hurry along I heard you have a very long day ahead of you so behave yourself and do exactly as he says" she lists off and I don't bother giving her an answer. 

"Don't worry Mrs. Hart, I know she's a good girl" Jungkook shamelessly responds for me. My eyes bug out and I watch the amused look spread across his face but it's gone in a flash when my mother turns her attention back to him. "Shouldn't we get going? I know how much you hate being late and I'm sure she's waiting for us already" I say in regards to the modiste that we have an appointment with. 

"Oh yes, I'm sorry I'm holding you up. Have a good day both of you and I'll see you later tonight" she says with a smile while opening the door for us. "Oh I don't think it'll take that lo-" "I won't keep her out too late" Jungkook jumps in and I shut my mouth at his response, knowing I really have no say in the matter but also losing my wording when he places his hand on my waist to guide me over to the car. 

Walking over towards it I realize that he's switched from a four seater car to a two seater and I can't help but wonder if his motives were to not give me any other choice but to sit next to him. "I didn't realize you had another car" I say while he opens the door for me and I sit down and almost squeak at the feeling of the seats sinking down a lot lower than expected and he smirks at my reaction. 

"I have a few but I tend to take this one out every once in a while since it does best on longer trips" he informs before shutting the door for me. I nod my head while he walks around the car and gets in a lot more gracefully than I had which makes me roll my eyes and turn my face away from him. 

"Here" he says handing me an iced coffee "Oh thank you but I don't drink coffee, it makes me anxious" I say politely rejecting. "I know, Matthew told me so I got you a chai latte since to his knowledge, tends to be your favorite" he says. I thank him and receive it with both hands, my cheeks showing a dusting of pink at the thought that again he bothered to make sure he got me something that I would like. He even got me an iced one since I like those better even when it's cold outside. 

I take a couple of sips as he pulls out of the driveway and onto the street before taking notice that I had forgotten something. "Mr. Jeon I'm sorry but do you think we could turn back around? I forgot to grab my coat" I admit, cringing at the thought of inconveniencing him and messing up the schedule for today. 

"It's alright, you can just borrow mine" he says with a slight smile, no hint of irritation or condescension. "But I don't want you to be cold I-" "Y/n it's fine, I don't mind. If anything we can get you another coat once we go looking for the shoes to match your dress" he says and relaxes into his seat. 

His left hand on the wheel with his right placed on his lap where I notice that he's spreading his legs a bit further than I've seen him do before, making me gulp at the sight and turn my face away from him. 

"Is that alright with you?" he questions, making me look back over at him. "What?" I ask, not sure if I had lost track of the conversation or not. "Do you feel comfortable borrowing my jacket or should we turn back around?" he questions glancing over at me. 

"Only if you're sure" I say, wanting to give him the option to change his mind. "If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have offered. I'm asking if you're alright with it" he says and I reply simply saying yes but that's not good enough for him.

"Yes what y/n? I thought we had agreed upon using our words" he taunts and my breath hitches at the fist sign of his flirtatious attitude for the day. "Yes Mr. Jeon, I would feel comfortable borrowing your jacket" I say but he presses further. "I thought we had agreed on being more informal with each other as well" he teases and I look over at  him with a confused face as to why it would make a difference for him.

"Say my name" he says darkly causing a fluttering sensation to bloom in my stomach. "I-, what?" I stutter, not expecting this sort of behavior from him this early in the morning. 

"Say. My. Name. Or would you rather us go back to addressing each other formally?" he questions while he stops at a red light and cocks his brow at me. "Yes Jungkook, thank you for letting me borrow your jacket" I say quietly after a pause, my brain not being awake enough to come up with any smart remarks.

He smiles at that and focuses back on the road and offers me the aux to play some music since the drive is so far. "Try not to fall asleep on me again like last time. Wouldn't want to have to clean the drool off your face again" he teases while holding the chord up for me and making our hands touch since he doesn't seem to want to let go right away. 

I bring my hand down to plug my phone in and he lets his follow mine, keeping them connected for a second, letting his warm hand rest on my thigh before bringing it back towards himself and placing it back on his lap. I clear my throat to get my bearings again and quickly plug it in and play some low fi music which gets him to glance over at me again. 

"What? You don't like it?" I question feeling insecure about my choice since I don't really know what his taste in music is. Unless it's just the ballroom music that we've been dancing to for weeks now but I highly doubt that. 

"No, I do. I'm just sure that a playlist like this one would be the exact thing that would put you to sleep" he says with a crooked smile. "Well I just wasn't sure what you would like and so I figured low fi would be a safe choice" I explain and see that he's still smiling.

 "What?" I question and he glances over at me, making me suspicious of him and all of his reactions. "It's just cute that you put thought into choosing something that you thought I might like as well" he says with a lilt in his voice. 

"I just wanted both of us to enjoy the music that's all" I say, crossing my arms over my chest as a defense mechanism to hide the fact that he's made my heart rate pick up with his simple words. "And that's what I found cute about it" he says, rubbing it in since he can clearly see that it's making me shy. 

"You know, you can be quite irritating sometimes right?" I say as a way to defend myself and make him stop teasing me. "Who me? Am I not allowed to compliment a pretty girl for acting cute?" he plays coy and before I'm able to respond he corrects himself. "Excuse me, a beautiful woman from acting kindly towards me" he finishes and I can't seem to come up with any response to it so instead I choose to angle my body away from him and look out the window. 

"You can put on something you like instead. I tend to enjoy all genres of music" he says, reeling in the teasing and giving me a break thankfully. I in spite, choose to go with one of my angsty playlists full of artists like Simple Plan, Blink 182 and Linkin Park, thinking that it would be something he wouldn't enjoy but to my surprise I catch him drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat. 

As the playlist shuffles through the songs I catch him singing along to the opening of Bring Me to Life by Evanescence and it's then when I turn my body to face him again. "You know this song?" I question, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You didn't think that you were the only one who had their emo phase did you?" he laughs and again I'm given another reason to see him in another light. 

As the song progresses we end up doing the call and response of it, with him settling on the guy's part and myself on the girl's and somehow it all just clicks. It's as if we were just two friends on a roadtrip together and it feels, nice? Right? I don't know but it's as if we'd known each other for our whole lives.

There's a comfortable silence once the song comes to a close and we both glance at each other a few moments later and laugh it off. "You weren't kidding when you said you had an emo phase" I tease and he laughs in response. 

"We promised to be honest with each other have we not?" he chuckles after calming down a bit with me, wiping away the few tears that had fallen in the midst of my laughter. "You're right, we have" I respond and again we settle into a comfortable silence before he asks me a question to keep me talking. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" he questions, glancing over at me before turning his attention back towards the road. "I mean there's not much to tell" I say, not having anything in particular stick out to me but he unsurprisingly presses nonetheless.

"There must be something going on in that pretty little head of yours" he teases I take in a sharp breath, his compliments always catching me off guard. "Why do you always compliment me and tease me like that?" I say quickly without giving my brain a second to stop me. "Tease you like what?" he asks with a huge smile, not expecting me to just come out and say it. 

"Why do you do that Jungkook?" I ask, using his first name to show him I'm serious about this question. "Do you not like it when I compliment you?" he deflects. "Answer the question Jungkook" I reiterate since he doesn't have a care in the world at this point. 

"Because you're beautiful" he admits as if it would have no effect on me. "I-" "What? You expect me to spend this much time with you and not come to notice how beautiful you are?" he asks, looking over at me as we reach a stop light. I sit there without an answer, not knowing whether I should acknowledge his words or just brush them off. 

We had agreed to be less formal with each other but did he think that was a green light to trying to pursue me? I've gotta talk to Jesse about this. 

"Looks like we made it just in time" he states a few minutes later as we pull up to the modiste, seeing that the kind woman that had helped us out before waving at us through the window. 

"You ready?" he asks, scaring me at the sudden concern in his voice. "You're scaring me" I laugh off and watch as he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door for me.

"Let's just say it's going to be a long day" he explains, holding his hand out for me to take and I graciously do. Seeing how low these seats sink down I would probably make a fool out of myself if I were to try and get out on my own. 

Once I stand up I stumble a bit and lose my footing leaving me bracing myself on his chest, my hands pressed firmly against his pectorals but I push off of them once I feel them flex under his incredibly tailored dress shirt and again lose my balance but he pulls me in close by the waist before I can manage to tumble back down into the car. 

"You alright?" he smirks with his hand still firmly against my waist and his hand pressed against the car behind me, placing us in a similar position we had been in just last night. "I'm fine" I say after clearing my throat and placing my hand on top of the one he has on my waist as a way to request for him to let me go. 

"Hey, are we okay?" He asks, tilting his head to meet my downward turned gaze. "Why wouldn't we be?" I question, felling on fire being this close to him. "I just hope I haven't made you feel uncomfortable. I really do think you're beautiful" he says, placing a hand on my cheek and bringing my chin up to face him. 

"Can we talk about this later? She's watching" I ask, nodding toward the dressmaker inside who is clearly enjoying the show. "I don't mind, I just want to make sure that we're okay" he says, deepening his gaze if even possible and I just nod and utter a quick yes before slipping out of his grasp and speed walking to the door. 

He braces both of his hands on the roof on the car I had just been leaning against and lets out a dry chuckle before pushing off and closing the door, catching the last glimpse of me scurrying into the shop. 'Cute' is the only word that comes to mind for him at our whole exchange and my reactions to it all and it would continue to be his reaction throughout the whole day as he watches me try to find the perfect dress. 

~~~~

"Welcome back dearie" she greets me with a knowing smile, not even bothering to pretend she hadn't seen everything that transpired between Jungkook and I. "Good to see you again" I say, meeting her with a shy smile, hoping she won't address the topic, or at least with Jungkook right on my heels. 

"I'm sorry ma'am in all of the excitement from the first time I had been here I never managed to catch your name" I say, scolding myself for forgetting to even ask. "You can call me Genevieve dear. And remember, I said you could lose the formality with me, especially since I would love to have some girl talk with you about Mr. Jeon" she teases with a wink and before I'm able to protest she's already greeting Jungkook right behind me.

"Mr. Jeon how lovely to see you again. I see you've both become better acquainted with each other since the last time you were here" she says, stopping Jungkook in his tracks and leaving me clearing my throat and awkwardly requesting that we get started. 

I glance back at Jungkook and see how the tips of his ears have turned red, not having expected her to come right out with it but it makes me smile nonetheless, seeing once again that I'm not the only one that gets shy in this dynamic we have going. 

~~~~

After trying on dress after dress after dress we can't seem to find the right one. "What about the dress you picked out when we first came here? That one won't work for this event?" I yell to Jungkook from behind the curtain as Genevieve helps me out of what feels like the hundredth dress. 

"It doesn't fit the season nor the occasion. Just try on a few more and if we can't find one we can look through the catalogue and order one and come back for a fitting later on this week" he responds without a care. 

"It'll be a bit of a tight squeeze in terms of time if we were to do it that way though" she warns me as she zips up the next dress and before I can even take ten steps out of the dressing room Jungkook has already disapproved of it.

"You don't like this one?" I question looking down at it, but then after having seen it in a different lighting realize that I hate it too. "You really want to ask me that question again?" he cocks a brow at me. I let out a sigh and my whole demeanor droops as I walk back into the dressing room. 

"Hey" Jungkook says, walking up on me before I'm even able to close the curtain. "Don't scare me like that" I say, placing a hand over my chest as an automatic response. "Why don't we take a break? There's an Indian restaurant down the street from here so we can have lunch and then come back. That sound alright to you?" he asks and chuckles at seeing my face light up at the idea.

"I'll take that as a yes" he says with a smug smile. "Can you help me get out of this? Genevieve had a hard time with the zipper so I think her hands might be getting a little tired of doing this" I ask, turning my back to him and giving a perfectly innocent excuse as to why I'm seeking his help but I can see his amused smile in the small mirror that he doesn't seem to notice that's placed right in front of me.

"Of course Pretty" he smiles and he takes his time dragging the zipper down and his brows shoot up at the realization that I'm not wearing a bra with this dress and once he's finished he runs his finger along my spine, seeing a slight red mark from the constant rub of the zippers of multiple dresses and I see his brows draw together at the realization.

"Let's get you out of here. We can come back another day to continue but I think you've had enough" he says running his finger along the line once more, causing a shiver that I had been trying to hold back to run up my spine but at his concern for the slight marks the dresses had left on my skin he decides to ignore it.

"It's okay, let's go eat and once we're done I'll try on a few more. I feel like the both of us will be able to think a bit straighter on a full stomach. Don't you think?" I ask, turning around to face him with one arm placed over my chest to hold up the dress being the only space between him and my bare skin. 

"If that's what you want" he says, his eyes tracing the slight bit of bare skin he's able to see on my chest and up to my eyes. "I'll just ask her to get a few more dresses ready for us while we're gone" he says and tells me through the curtain minutes later that he'll meet me outside. 

"You're a sly one love" Genevieve says as I come out of the dressing room fully clothed. "What makes you say that?" I question, tilting my head in confusion. "You knew I was coming back in a few seconds but asked him to unzip the dress for you anyway" she says and I widen my eyes, surprised that she has seen that exchange. "Nothing goes on in this shop without me knowing love" she chuckles at my reaction and gives me a little jar of salve. 

"What's this?" I question curiously, turning the jar over in my hands. "Mr. Jeon noticed the red marks the dresses left on your back and got worried so he asked me if I had anything that might with that" she says giving me a quick wink. "Now hurry along love and I'll see you soon" she says ushering me out and watching as I walk up to Jungkook leaning against my side of the car and looking up when he hears me coming. 

"You sure you want to come back today? I can ask her to schedule another day for us to come back" he says, still leaning against the car with his arms now crossed over his chest and observing my form to see any signs of discomfort but the only thing that has me nervous are his wandering eyes.

"I'm fine Jungkook I promise" I say while looking down and pulling on the sleeve on my sweater in an effort to warm up my hands a bit and shield them from the cold. He hooks his finger under my chin and brings my eyes up to him and studies my features before making the decision that I'm still up for the task. 

"Okay" he agrees, caressing my face for a second before using that same hand and places it on my waist and turns to open the car door and helps me in again. He places his coat over my lap, noticing that I'm shivering. I murmur a quick thank you before he closes the door, going around the car to get to the driver's side, waving at Genevieve before getting in the car as well. 

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[pensat-i-fet]

I want you to stay (Pablo Gavi x Reader)

**Another cute fluffy request I had a great time writing. Apologies to any Danish speakers if the article I used for the few words in your language that I included deceived me. And enjoy reading! ❤️❤️ **

Word count: 2726

Masterlist

Wattpad

“Why don’t you come to my office later so we can go through the different internship options?”

“Sure. Is 4 ok?”

“Perfect. See you there”.

You left your class ready to pick up some food on your little break before the last two lessons of the day. Finally, after two years in uni, it was time to look at potential internships. You knew that was what could really get you a job after uni, not just the good grades.

At 3.55, always punctual, you arrived at your professor’s office. And when you got inside, you noticed all the pieces of paper on her desk.

“Hi. Sorry I’m early”.

“It’s ok, sit down, please. So, we’ve got a lot of options here for you. Let me tell you about them”.

She went through all the possible internships and it was a bit overwhelming for you. You expected two or three…not fifteen.

“Roger really wants this one but I think you’d be a better candidate”.

That caught your attention. Roger had been your nemesis during the whole time you were in uni. Always fighting to see who got the best grades and overall being way too competitive. So…the idea of taking the internship he wanted was appealing.

“It’s for Barça. They need someone for their media team. You know, to script and help film the videos for social media”.

“Why do you think I’m a good candidate? If you don’t mind me asking. It’s just that I’m not a football fan”.

“I know, but you are the most creative. Your ideas for assignments have always been the most original and I think you’d fit right in. Football is secondary. They won’t be expecting you to know about it. Just to create content the fans like”.

There wasn’t much time to think about it so you quickly thought about all the pros and cons for each option. And even if you weren’t too proud to say it, the biggest pro ended up being pissing your enemy off.

“I’ll take the Barça job”.

Three weeks later, you were in the Barça offices, being told everything that was expected from you and it was a lot. Did they realise you were just an intern and still had to do a lot of things for uni?

“Some players are a bit more…complicated”.

“You mean they are divas”, nothing you didn’t expect.

“I meant shy. Divas are great for this, actually. They love talking on camera. The shy ones…”.

“Who’s the one you struggle with the most?”, you asked, now curious.

“Gavi. And we know him being in the videos will give us so many more views but he just doesn’t want to do them. He gets too uncomfortable and we don’t want to force him to do something he doesn’t want to do”.

Even if you weren’t a big football fan, you knew Gavi. Who in Barcelona didn’t? But it surprised you to find out he was shy. He didn’t look it on the pitch.

“I can help with that”, your statement was met with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

“If you get Gavi to be in more than one video, I’ll give you a real contract. Not just an internship”.

You laughed nervously. He was joking, right?

“I’m not joking. I know you have great references from teachers but those of us who’ve known him since he was a little boy can’t get him to do it so I’m not sure how you’d be able to".

“I’ll find a way”.

If there was something you loved, it was a challenge.

                                        **

For your first couple of days, you didn’t really get to bring your ideas to the table but to see how everyone else worked. You tried to absorb as much information as possible.

“So…what would you like to do for your first video?”, asked one of your new colleagues.

“I thought a challenge could be fun. There is a Champions League match coming so how about a language one? We have a Danish speaker in the team, so we can get another player to try and say something in his language. It’s always fun to see them getting it all wrong”.

“Sounds great. We haven’t used Andreas much for videos either so good idea. Who do you think should be the other player?”

“Gavi”.

Did he really snort? “We can’t get him to speak Spanish and you want him to speak Danish. Are you a secret Madrid fan?”

“No, I just think it’s time for him to do more videos. I’ll sort it out”.

“You keep dreaming big. I guess it’s good for our profession”.

All these comments were getting to you. How hard could it be to get Gavi to film a video?

“Ga…”, should you call him by his nickname or his real name? Maybe nickname is better. “Gavi! Hi! Could you come here a second?”

He turned to look at whoever was talking to him while he was on his way to the dressing room. That voice…he didn’t recognise it.

“Who is…hi. Sorry, who are you?”

“I’m new here. I’m working for the media team and need you to do a video for us so I wanted to let you know in person. Just in case you had questions about it”.

“I don’t…have you not been told I don’t like being in videos?”

You realised then how shy he really was. And you actually found that so cute.

“I have. But I think it’ll be good for you to do them more often. So you get used to it. Do you like Christensen?”

“Sure. He’s really nice”.

“Amazing! You’re doing a video with him tomorrow at 2. See you there!”

The option of not giving him time to refuse wasn’t perfect but it’d have to do for now. You left the area with a little smile on your face. But because you didn’t stay to see his reaction, you didn’t see Gavi was smiling too. He didn’t know where you came from all of a sudden but he was intrigued. And if filming a video was the way to get to know you…well, maybe it was time to face his fears.

                                    **

“He’s actually here”, said one of the cameramen, making you look at him.

“Who?”

“Gavi”.

You couldn’t hide your smile when you turned to look at him. He looked so out of place. And then you noticed some movement by the door.

“Who’s there?”

“My stupid teammates who have been mocking me since they found out I’m filming a video”, said Gavi, rolling his eyes.

“Do you want me to kick them out? I can look very scary”.

He just laughed and shook his head. And you left him there to keep on getting everything ready for the video. Gavi kept looking at you moving around the room and then noticed his phone buzzing.

[Barça groupchat]: now we know why you said yes to the video 🤣

He shook his head again and locked the phone, taking a final look at his teammates who left laughing at him.

“Ok boys, sit there and here you have the script, Andreas. We just need you to read the sentences so Gavi can copy you and then guess what it means”.

“Right”, said Gavi, swallowing and wondering why he got himself in this mess.

“I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry”, laughed Andreas.

And so they started to film the video. The little intro you had written for them took longer than you thought and you ended up asking Andreas to say the lines instead to see if he was more comfortable in front of the camera.

“Stop worrying”, you told Gavi, touching his shoulder. “Just forget about the camera. You’re here with your teammate, who you get on well with. Imagine you’re chatting in the dressing room before the match. It’s just you two here”.

“And you”.

“Do you want me to leave?”, you joked.

“No. I want you to stay”.

Now it was your time to be nervous, feeling his intense gaze on you. But you just nodded and left to go back behind the camera.

“Hvordan har du det?”, said Andres, making Gavi stare at him with wide eyes.

“Oh God…can you do it word by word?”

And so Andreas did, slowly pronouncing each word and waiting for his teammate to repeat them.

“That wasn’t bad. What do you think it means?”

“No clue”, laughed Gavi.

“It just means how are you. Ok, next one: Hvad hedder du?”

“Which means?”

“What’s your name”, answered the Danish defender. “And then you would answer Jeg hedder and your name. So for you it’s Jeg hedder Gavi”.

“Jeg hedder Gavi. I’ll say that at the match”.

Everyone in the room laughed and Gavi turned to look at them. He had almost forgotten they were there. But when he saw you smiling, his nerves were back.

“That was great, guys. People will love the video. Thank you”.

Gavi approached you while you were making sure all the footage was ok. “Thank you, for the advice. It really helped”.

“Do you think you’ll do more videos in the future then?”

“I guess. If you’re here helping, maybe”.

You smiled at that. See? It wasn’t that hard to get him to film a video.

“I’ll take that as a compliment”.

“It was”.

That stare again…it was making you blush. “Then promise me you’ll film a video with Pedri so everyone can shut up about it”.

“I’ll think about it”, he said, but his smile said he’ll do it. If it meant spending more time with you, he will film as many videos as you wanted him to. But hopefully, he would just have to speak Spanish on the next one.

                                   **

The weeks passed and your crush on Gavi kept growing more and more every day. He was always trying to find ways to see you most days, even if he still hadn’t been asked to film another video.

When you were gone for two days, because of your uni exams, he panicked thinking you were gone. And seeing his overreaction when you were finally back didn’t help with the crush. Because…could he possibly feel the same way about you? You didn’t allow yourself to daydream much about it but the idea was still there.

“Gavi!”

“Pablo”.

“What?”

“Stop calling me Gavi, my friends call me Pablo”.

“Your teammates don’t”, you said, confused. He seemed to be friends with many of them.

“It’s different. They are football friends”.

“And I’m not?”

That stumped him. What were you? He couldn’t really put a proper label on how he saw you.

“Just call me Pablo”.

“Ok…Pablo”, you said dramatically. “I need that video with Pedri so no more excuses. It’s happening”.

“What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of knowing you’re making your fans very happy?”

He shook his head playfully. “Not enough. Come to the match with me”.

“The match? Of course I’m going, I need to get content from it. And you’ll be playing. Have you hit your head again?”

“Not that match. The Barça Athletic match from tonight. None of the boys are going and I don’t want to be alone. So you can come with me”.

He actually didn’t know if any of the boys were going but hoped they weren’t or it’d be hard to explain.

“So I’m like…20th choice?”, you laughed.

First choice, actually. “Pleeeeasse, come with me”.

“Ok. But you’re doing the video”.

“I’ll do all the videos you want”.

“Be careful making those promises”.

A few hours later, you were getting ready for the match. What should you wear? Gavi had only ever seen you wearing Barça clothes but this wasn’t a date, right? And it was a match, you couldn’t dress up too much. And if it wasn’t a date, why did you care so much about what you were wearing?

“Where are you going?”, asked your sister, getting into the room.

“A match”.

“You’re working today? I thought the match was tomorrow”.

“It’s not work. I’m going to watch one”.

“You’re going to watch football?”

“Yeah, I was invited to go…”.

“Who invited you?”

You didn’t answer right away but your sister knew you well. And the way you were blushing was very telling.

“Just someone from work”.

“Someone from the media team?”, she tried first.

“No”.

“A player?”

“I need to go”, you said, trying to leave the room but she stopped you grabbing your arm.

“Which one?”

“It’s not a date. It’s just me going to a match. I’m trying to learn about football”.

“Sure…which one?”

“Gavi”.

“And you’re wearing that?”

Thank you for the boost of confidence, you thought.

“It’s not a date”.

“Right”, she said winking at you, “not a date. But let’s pretend it is and dress like you’re going to one”.

She helped you pick an outfit that was cute but not too much for the place you were going to. And after wishing you good luck, you left to go to the stadium. The nerves got worse the closer you got there but when you saw Gavi, looking so cute with his hood on, you relaxed. It was just him, you’d be fine.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with that disguise on”.

“It works sometimes”, he said, looking down embarrassed.

“Really?”

He ignored your jokes and told you to follow him so you could go to your seats.

Once the match started, you both concentrated on watching the players. Gavi murmured things every once in a while and it took you a second to understand he was telling the players what to do. So cute.

At halftime, you decided to stay there while people left to go grab some food or use the toilet. It took him 45 minutes but Gavi finally found the courage to speak to you about…well, you. No work stuff, no football…he wanted to get to know you.

"So, would you like to stay at Barça after the internship? I know you have to finish your degree but I’m sure they would wait for you. Everyone speaks highly of you".

"Not really", you said, making him frown. That’s not what he wanted to hear.

"Why?"

"Can I tell you a secret?", he nodded. "I only took this internship because of a rivalry with another student. I don't even like football".

You laughed but he didn't find it funny.

"Why are you even here then?", he asked, harshly.

“What do you mean? I had to do an internship. And I’m glad I took this. I’ve had fun”.

“Fun…yeah”.

“Pablo, are you ok?”

“I’m great. Just…let’s watch the match”.

“It didn’t start again”, you pointed out, worried by his mood change. You’ve seen him doing that on the pitch but not off it.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back”.

When he got back, he just sat down and barely acknowledged you. And it hurt. What had you done for him to act like this?

“Are you mad at me or something?”, you finally asked, not liking the silence between you two.

“Why are you here?”

"Because you invited me".

"Well, soon you won't have to bother with my invitations or with having to babysit me when I film videos or whatever".

"You're not bothering me and I’m not babysitting you. I’m just doing my job".

“A job you didn’t want to do”, he muttered.

“Just because I didn’t love the idea at first doesn’t mean I don’t love the job now”.

“You don’t love it enough to stay”.

When he finally looked at you, you noticed he looked sad. Was he sad because of you not staying at the club? And what did it mean if he was?

“Do you want me to stay?”, he nodded, looking away. “Do you realize not staying at the club doesn’t have to mean we will never see each other again, right?”

That made him look at you again. “It doesn’t? I’m too used to people coming and going from my life so…that’s not an option I thought of”.

“So, do you want me to stay?”

“I already told you I do. And it’s not just me, other players really enjoy having you around and…”.

“No, Pablo”, you interrupted him. “That’s not what I mean now. I mean, do you want me to stay in your life?”

“Yes”.

[the-real-rain-world-confessions]

I'm not really a vanilla purist I just think vanilla rain world was one of the greatest works of art to ever grace the medium of video games and has an incredible soul, while More Slugcats/Downpour is kindof like a really fun fanservice-y fanfiction thing full of neat headcanons and tells a nice story. Rivulet is very cute, I agree. I like that Moon calls them "Ruffles." Videogames can be all sorts of things, they can be a medium for self-reflection which challenges your emotions and develop your world-view through the richness of direct experience, but I also like New Super Mario Bros Wii and GTA5 and stuff. I dabble in some Project Diva Future Tone. It's very cool, and inspiring, and fun that a bunch of fans were inspired by something like Rain World and came together to make such a project as More Slugcats that can provide a lot of new stuff to play around with and explore, in all of the unique world-building that comes from the lore fans writing some headcanons and stuff, and the lighthearted fun of the artists adding goofy things like the hidden dating sim. What I'm kindof trying to say is, a lot of the people who say "downpour isn't canon" aren't actually being haters, they're just people who are actually engaging with art seriously and want to distinguish entirely different creative works from one another. And tangentially, it's also just a bit unfortunate how much a lot of the fandom absolutely loves Downpour but seemingly can't comprehend how anybody would care about Rain World before it existed. It's fine to not like vanilla, it's a pretty niche game, it's just a bit unfortunate. Especially because it's what Downpour was meant to celebrate in the first place. I'm sure a lot of its developers would be disheartened to see fans say the game was "bad" or "incomplete" before Downpour, it's the game they loved enough to dedicate years of work to.

.

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Five

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE. THEY MEET. AH IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY. But I have just finished writing part 6! So I figured why not post 5? SO here it is, hope you enjoy? X

>Just a note! So there's no confusion, this first section of 5 coincides at the same time as the last part of 4, as in where heading into the studio it was seen from Matty's POV, this starts with Mouse's and then goes onto them actually meeting one another! Okay? ta:)

Warnings: um, moody matty, lil bit of self-consciousness, mentions of scarring

Masterlist

I was running a bit behind schedule. Which wasn't too unusual for me, what with being the single parent to a rambunctious four year old, but this time around I’d somehow managed to allow myself to be waylaid by Adi's antics.

Apparently upon entering the studio this morning, everything had just felt a little 'off'.

And after having announced that, I’d had to sit back and watch on whilst Adi had trudged out of the room in her heavy black boots, only to come back a few moments later with a stub of sage in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Honestly, I was pretty sure that I could still taste the thick plume of smoke that I’d been forced to inhale each time I breathed in, even after having quickly made my escape. But yet it clung to the back of my throat uncomfortably and I couldn't avoid the grimace that wrinkled my face as I tried to rid myself of the sooty tang which coated my tongue.

But that was just Adi, I supposed. And it was one of the many things I loved most about her, how she was so unapologetically herself- even if it meant that I was forced to cough up a lung-full of herbs every once in a while.

See, it was actually Adi’s grandmother that had gotten her into performing all of the rites and cleanses she did so often. The woman was a real spiritualist and had taken Ads in at a very young age, so Adi had practically grown up around it all. She often spoke about how her grandmother had wanted her to follow down the same path and show a deeper interest, but Adi had always been much more fascinated by music, fashion and all things that revolved around tech. 

She was a proper whiz with a computer, but that didn't mean she didn't have an appreciation for her grandmother’s beliefs, nor a knack.

"Are you still coughing up a storm, you drama queen?"

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, I thought dryly, as Adi reemerged from out of the hazy recording booth. The sage now nowhere to be seen.

I rolled my eyes at her and continued to fiddle with the wires I had wound in my hand.

"I can't fucking stand the stuff, Ads."

Adi merely smirked at me as she bypassed, practically skipping.

"I know, but it's always good to be prepared! Who knows what we'll have to deal with when the infamous diva finally arrives!"

I snorted at Adi's mocking tone and couldn't quite hide the quirk of my lip.

"Fair enough. Just leave that door wide open, will you? And grab the fan while you're at it, as well. Don't need him, and whoever's tagging along, catching on."

I watched Adi laugh in amusement as she wandered over towards the sofa, the sweet sound echoing around the open space.

"On it, Captain!"

The two of us worked quickly after that, whirling around the loft, and one another, in an attempt to get things sorted before our guest's imminent arrival.

It wasn't long before we both recognised the telltale sign of a car pulling up outside though, and upon hearing the engines rumble die out I immediately caught Adi's eye from across the room.

It was a silent challenge and with it there was a frenzied rush to see who could get to the nearest window first. Adi had promptly tossed her notes towards my desk and taken to skidding across the hardwood floors, whilst I had all but thrown myself over the back of the settee.

Adi made it there first, even in her heavy docs, and claimed the windowsill with an unnecessary amount of arrogance. She grinned primly at me as I reluctantly slowed my approach, leaving me to lean in close so that we could both try and get a good look in. 

But from this angle, there was practically no use. I craned my neck as far as my torso would willingly allow me and could only just make out the tail-end of a sleek car parked up on the curb. I assumed that meant Healy had arrived. 

"Can you see anything?" Came Adi's impatient voice, a hushed whisper even though we were three flights up.

"No." I grunted back, "Your fat head's in the way."

Ads scoffed at me and I didn't have to look at her to know that she was now glaring up at me. I grinned.

"My head is perfectly sized, thank you! But seeing as we’re on the topic of abnormalities, you're practically half giraf-”

Adi immediately cut her snide comment short when a loud voice suddenly trumped the usual roaring noise that went hand in hand with the large city that was London.

"Right my!" We heard.

The voice was sharp and irritated, fuelled by an obvious anger, and soon trailed off into a muffled grit. 

Adi's head snapped back to the window at the very sound of it, whilst I couldn't help but question just how exactly she’d managed to contort her body in the way she had, long legs tucked up beside her as she pressed her torso against the glass to listen closer.

The voice rang out again, sharper this time, and my eyes shot down to meet Adi’s own. 

In return, she gifted me a catty side eye- obviously enraptured by the sudden drama that had seemingly been handed to us- and I could do nothing but shrug at her in response, somewhat baffled.

I pulled away slowly when the voices didn't seem ready to rise again, and silently wished that I could've been a fly on the wall during a conversation like that.

Clasping Adi's wrist, I gently tugged her away. "Come on, you best get down there before things go sideways and we end up on the backend of it all."

"Me?!" Adi crowed back, her eyes wide in alarm as she let me drag her back from the windowsill. "Why not you?"

My face scrunched up at the very thought. 

"Ah go on, Ads. Please! You're so good with shit like this, can charm your way out of practically anything."

She narrowed her eyes in response. "I know what you're doing."

I pursed my lips together in an attempt to keep up the innocent act, already feeling a grin cropping up. “Is it working? ‘Cause we both know you’re the sweetest talker around, Wells. Could talk your way out of police custody, you like.”

Adi clucked her tongue but moved to cross the loft. “Yeah, yeah. But we both know you’re just being a coward! What, you really aren't ready to face him yet?”

I was swift to spin around on my heel to hide the truth my expression conveyed, and ignored the question altogether as I headed back towards the booth. I also pretended not to hear the cow’s delighted cackles as she began to descend the staircase.

"Just make sure the camera's are rolling before I get back! And wish me luck!"

"Luck!" I called out loudly over my shoulder before unplugging the fan and then storing it away. She was definitely going to need it. 

I busied myself with the last of my tasks afterwards, an odd feeling of anxiety welling in my chest as I went through the usual motions.

It was strange for me to linger too long on thoughts of nervousness, because I usually had too much going on in other aspects of my life. Making things a little too difficult to concentrate on the many things that could possibly go wrong.

This time around though, we weren’t dealing with the usual up and coming artist, new to the industry and overwhelmingly pleased to be invited on. No, this time we’d practically been fed to the sharks.

Because, of all the possible people, we’d just had to have landed Matty Healy.

I started to question it all again. How exactly I'd gotten myself wrapped up in a mess this big in the first place and only hoped that Adi fared alright with dealing with Healy on her own for a while.

Maybe it had been cowardly of me to send her in first but I really didn’t think I could face him just yet, seeing as it had been me that had set off the pyramid of fireworks that had seemingly burned a hole in his life.

A dull vibration pulsed in my back pocket, breaking me from my train of thought, and I found that I was very much thankful for the sudden distraction it offered.

Messages now Finnleyyy Just got back to the gallery, Teds was fine when I dropped him off! If the show goes on any later feel free to message me and I'll pick him up x

I smiled down at the message. 

At least that was one less thing I had to worry about, Teddy was safe and well, already settled in at the local nursery and in all honesty, I truly didn't know where I'd be without Finn, especially on days like these. 

I was quick to fire back a text full of appreciation before I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

It was just as I had finished clearing up the rest of the studio that I heard a sudden rush of voices trail up the stairwell, and stilled at the very sound.

It was Adi’s voice which carried the furthest and so I ran my teeth along my bottom lip before ultimately deciding that running and hiding was my best bet. So I shot across the loft floor and into the recording booth to stow myself away.

Adi didn’t give me the chance to worry excessively over every little detail that could go wrong as the group of visitors grew marginally closer. So to keep myself busy for a minute or two, or to rather calm my erratic heart, I chose to fiddle with the last of the cameras that had been set up.

I felt, more than heard, the moment they passed the top of the stairwell as the wooden floorboards of the studio tended to creak beneath added weight.

It was pretty much impossible to hear what was being said on the other side of the recording booth though, due to its soundproof walls, but that tiny fact didn’t stop me from practically sealing myself against the door in an attempt to decipher the perfect moment for me to intervene on the situation outside.

For days I’d been practically driving myself stir crazy over all of this, I knew that I just needed to get it over and done with, save myself the stress before I brought another headache on. Because I could do this, he was just some guy. Famous or not.

So with a final albeit shaky breath, I braced myself and opened up the door.

Thankfully, I was almost instantly met by the comforting sound of Adi's voice.

“Ah, there she is! Was wondering when you’d show your mug. Fancy a cuppa, babe? Fixing up a few.”

“Please.” I breathed out a sigh and dragged a hand through my hair as I wandered towards the kitchenette, catching sight of the two bodies currently commandeering our tiny seating area. 

I focused on the man sitting closest and the first thing I noticed about him was the sleek haircut he’d styled, it was clipped closely at the sides but left long on top to keep the thinning hairs going in one direction. He was different from what I’d expected, but not just because he was older, he also wore this brilliant smile when he moved to peer up at me, sincere enough that I felt my doubts ebb as I smiled back, taking in the rest of him and his fine fitting clothes which seemed to suit him well.

I dipped my head in a silent hello before my gaze flickered over towards our remaining guest.

It shouldn’t have felt as shocking as it did to finally set eyes on Matty Healy in person, not after all of the thorough planning I’d put into his very visit. But it was strangely surprising to bare witness to the way his lithe body was currently perched on the edge of our shabby armchair, the very same Adi, Finn and I had dragged back from the secondhand shop further up the main road. It felt wrong almost, having someone so obviously used to a certain luxury sat in the tatty thing.

I pulled my mind away from that last thought and focused on how I couldn't quite seem to tear my eyes away from the way Healy’s frame folded in on itself slightly, legs jutted out wide, elbows pressed against knees, and his chin cocked high. The guy’s overall stance was oddly domineering for someone so wraithlike, with hollowed cheeks and an aristocratic smile. It made him that much harder to read.

Healy’s own eyes were also hidden, so I couldn't make out the line of his gaze. Disguised behind a dark pair of glasses that I could only supposed cost more than what I’d make in two, maybe three months.

The question of what Healy might've first thought upon seeing me and the way I’d drowned myself in the oversized band tee I’d chosen that morning crossed my mind. But I was simply just thankful for the fact that I’d forgotten my knitted cardi somewhere behind me in the recording booth. Silently wishing that I had the balls, as well as the body, to pull off the outfits Adi liked to wear.

"Hiya." I finally greeted them, forcing myself to smile as I extended a polite hand outwards. "It's great to meet you both."

Even with the dark shades on, I easily spotted the way Healy's brows lifted in reply before he- rather reluctantly- clasped his own hand in mine.

I swallowed back the strained smile I wanted to give him in return and focused instead on the shake. Healy’s hands were apt, fingers long and slender, skin much softer than it should’ve been for any musician, and his knuckles prominent but wrist almost dainty. He was a juxtaposition if I’d ever seen one.

He was the first to pull away.

“Likewise.”

My jaw ticked at Healy’s sarky tone but I didn’t let it deter me. Staying professional, I turned to offer the same sentiment to his accomplice. 

“I’m Mouse, by the way. It’s lovely to have you both. Hope you got here okay.”

The other man was much merrier than Healy, practically a total contrast actually, and he showed it in the joyful way he shook my hand, still smiling away.

“You know London traffic.” He replied around a low chuckle and let our hands fall, “Lovely to be here though. I’m Matty’s manager, Jamie.”

I smiled as I nodded in remembrance.

“Got to say, I really love what you two have done with this place. Skylight’s incredible.” Jamie added and I grinned before settling into the adjacent sofa, leaving plenty of space for Adi to take.

“You saw that? But yeah, I honestly think it’s the only reason we were so sold on this particular building- ‘cause the stairs are killer.”

“I can see why! I’m dying to have something like that back at mine, but the conservatory will have to do for now.” Jamie enthused and stood up when Adi strode on over.

Skillfully, the man helped guide the wooden tray Ads had been carrying towards the coffee table and smiled when she thanked him for his efforts, the image of a perfect gentleman.

“Thanks, Ads.” I breathed out in appreciation when the girl handed me my usual milky brew, then took a quick sip.

Someone snorted as I did and my eyes instantly flew over to discover that the sound had been made by Healy, because of course.

He seemed all too amused by something and, from the way his body was still angled towards me, I could only assume that it was down to something I'd done.

I blinked in confusion before I moved to raise my mug high above my head, reading the large, industrialised font that covered the bottom of the cup. Cunt.

The studio was probably the furthest thing from a professional setting, we’d always wanted the entire space to feel comfortable, safe even. But this was supposed to be our big break and so we had been trying to convey it as though it was. But here Adi was dishing out the gag gifts Finn had bestowed upon the loft last Christmas like it was a regular Tuesday.

Still, with a shake of my head, I couldn’t quite bring myself to dim my grudging grin as I shot a narrow eyed glare Adi’s way.

"Ta for that." I voiced with a light chortle and tipped the mug at her in false cheers, before my eyes then flittered over towards Jamie, who had since stifled his own amusement in favour of taking a slow sip of his own brew. And ah, yeah, there was the matching mug.

Healy laughed to himself in the little corner he’d created and I caught the way he subtly surveyed his own cup, out of the corner of my eye, just in case Adi had got him too.

Somehow he’d managed to avoid that particular jest and I knew that the only thing Healy really had to worry about now was if there was a secret dirty message waiting for him once he’d finally polished off his drink.

"What can I say? The mugs, they do not lie." Adi jeered, a mischievous glint in her eye before she turned her head back towards the two visitors. "See you've met our wonderful Mouse then! Ain't she a looker?"

I grimaced away from the hand that reached out to grab at my chin and silently questioned what I'd done to suddenly be on the deserving end of all her taunts.

Jamie laughed at the pair of us, but even with it, I didn't miss Healy's quiet hum or the way he was now seemingly more interested in the contents of his cup than the current conversation.

"Quite. We were actually just talking about you on the way up here, mate." Jamie divulged and I dragged my attention back towards the man, eyebrows lifting.

"Only good things, I hope." I replied, somewhat uncomfortably, but smiling lightly at Jamie before I managed to catch Adi's eye.

Ads simply waved me off. "Of course! They were interested in the show- how it started and what not." She told me and I nodded, mostly to myself as I relaxed further into the settee.

"Oh, well yeah, we've been around a while now."

"Adi mentioned that you were just a kid when you started out, sounds mad putting it like that." Jamie pondered, appearing quite intrigued by the topic. "How did this all come about then?"

Usually, I liked to skirt around this particular subject, wanting to dive straight into the work and forgo most of the small talk, but I caught the way Jamie’s eyes darted around our quaint little studio. He wasn’t just asking for the sake of it.

"If I'm being truly honest, a lot of stuff happened all at once." I revealed with a soft chuckle, but it lacked any of the mirth I was aiming for as I thought back to my second year of university, the year everything had quite literally turned on its head.

"I was in between jobs and my best mate suggested that I take the Twitter account I already had and turn it into something with a bigger presence. At the time, I had nothing left to lose so I just went for it."

At least, that was the shortened version of it. I’d skipped the mental breakdown, the almost losing my flat, and the birth of my child for the sake of not looking like a total psycho.

Jamie looked impressed or, at the very least, understanding as he nodded along to my words.

"Can't say I regret it now though." I had to tack on and smiled before attempting to trail my way onto a more formal topic. "I got your list by the way- what not to ask and all that. Think one of your lot emailed it to me earlier in the week. But I just wanted to let you both know-”

I let my eyes flit over towards Healy for a brief moment before they settled back on Jamie. 

"That you don't have to worry about any of that whilst you're here. We want things to be relaxed, comfortable. I know your team was adamant on everything being a bit more structured, following the lines of an actual interview, but we don't do much of that around here. So I hope you're happy with just having a simple sit down."

"Like this?" Came a reply and I had to pause for a second before realising where the question had come from. Or who, rather.

I settled my mug down on my thigh, loosely supporting it with my hand, and looked over in the direction of Healy.

"A bit, yeah." I confirmed with an incline of my head, "That alright with you?"

The singer was silent for a long second and I couldn't help but take the opportune moment he gave to simply admire the way his fingers had wrapped themselves around his mug, mindlessly tapping away to a hollow tune.

Just when it appeared as though the silence had stretched on a beat too long, and Jamie had begun to shuffle forward ever so slightly in his seat, did Healy finally reply.

"If it's just you, then yes."

I tried not to let the reaction of how I really felt flash across my face then as I stared back at the man opposite. 

From the corner of my eye, I could see the way Adi's lips had pursed unhappily in retort and how Jamie’s expression had hardened into a somewhat steely glare, desperate for Matty to spare a glance his way. Probably to scold him for being so painfully rude. But Healy, to my utter disbelief, kept his head firmly fixed towards me, even as he pushed the dark sunglasses he wore up into his curly hair. 

It almost felt like we were in a stare off with the way I watched him for any tell that would surely give him away, slowly considering the proposition and not caring to cover up the way I could now stare into the other man’s dark brown eyes unabashedly.

From where I was sat, I could only just make out the darkened circles that rested beneath Healy’s pupils, as well as the red line that rimmed them. Their colour was far from unusual, brown, but his were not something you saw very often, they drew you in, kept you trapped. They harboured a multitude of other colours that blended ruthlessly into an array of raw umber.

As magnetising as they may have felt though, I found that I was mostly grateful to see that Healy’s pupils were of a normal size. The only thing I wanted to question were the walls that were so obviously barricaded behind them, giving me absolutely nothing in return.

"Just me?"

Healy simply stared back. 

I couldn’t look Adi’s way when I finally answered the request, simply hoping that she would somehow understand. This felt too much like a test to say anything other than, “Alright. If that’s what you’d prefer.”

I moved to push my mug onto the corner of the coffee table, allowing myself a seconds release from his stare.

“But Adi often controls what goes on behind the scenes when we record, so it’ll be harder without her there, especially with all the cameras.” I explained carefully.

"Look, just hang on a second-" Jamie tried, obviously wanting to defuse the situation, but was ultimately cut off by Healy. It honestly felt as though the man believed neither Jamie nor Adi were a part of the conversation any longer.

"Can you do it?"

His tone was almost challenging, the four words fell from his wicked tongue like a dare.

"Not the type to back down." Was all I could think to retort, my hardened gaze once again zeroed in on Healy's own.

***

The recording booth was smaller than he’d expected. A table sat in the very centre, surrounded by a swarm of cameras and microphones, all of which seemed to be connected to a variety of wires Matty could hardly even bring himself to be cautious of as he stepped past.

The table hosted an array of tech though, from computers and mixing boards to monitors and speakers. None of which Matty was the least bit interested in either.

Three of the four walls were lined with acoustic foam panels, one’s you’d typically find in booths, while the last had been turned into a mural of sorts. 

The mural was dark and edgy, a string of trees sprouted up from the ground and swept across the expanse of it, its branches winding upwards only to entangle in one another. A common field mouse sat crouched in between the trunks of the trees, its big eyes shining as it met Matty’s stare head-on. The walls centre held the name of the radio show and at first glance it looked as though it had been printed on one of those acrylic neon signs, but it was actually just extremely detailed.

Matty had to blink once or twice before he was finally able to look away.

"Who's work?" He found himself asking, filling the silence that had settled upon the closing of the booth's door. He jutted his chin out towards the far wall, sparing the art one last glance before he gave the girl his full focus.

Her eyes flitted up to meet his own before they sailed across to the mural.

"A friend." Was all she replied, but her voice had softened a touch now that it was just the two of them, Matty noted.

She offered nothing more than that and so Matty took it for what it was, nodding his quiet assent.

"Do you have anything in particular you'd like to talk about whilst you're here?" Mouse asked him as she clicked away at the computer, he felt strange using the name, even if it was just in his own head. "We've got a good hour or so before Adi comes snooping."

"I've got a million things I'd like to say," Matty let slip as he trailed on closer to the table, then forced a sardonic smile. "But I'm not particularly in the mood for a good tongue lashing today."

She looked slightly startled by his dry joke and Matty found himself having to hold back a smirk as he rounded the desk, fingertips gliding across the table's smooth surface.

"What about you, then?" He posed, not wanting to stunt their talk just as it had begun. Somewhat intrigued now. "Got anything you'd like to get off your chest for millions of people to hear?"

It was sarky, but when was he not? Though if he was being honest, Matty just found that he wanted to hear the girl talk, because for some reason he enjoyed listening to her. Her gentle accent had obviously been weakened during the time she'd spent in London but Matty enjoyed its easy lilt. It was almost soothing. He wondered where she was from, but didn't ask.

Mouse snorted, shaking her head. "Wouldn't quite say millions, a couple thousand at best."

Matty felt his eyebrows raise as he spared another glance over at her, thinking back to those eyes that had held his so solemnly. "What, even with me here?"

He was teasing, but her eyes widened briefly as though she feared she had offended him, but as mentioned, it was only a brief flicker before a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see how loyal your fans truly are, Healy."

"Guess so." Matty mocked.

***

The show had gotten off to a rocky start. I had been all too aware of the surrounding cameras and the way the menacing rockstar, sat centimetres away from me, liked to keep his stare fixed firmly on me at all times, following my each and every movement.

I couldn't quite help the way I shifted uncomfortably every time I looked up and caught Healy's eye either, or the way I’d chosen to angle my face away from the cameras to avoid looking directly into any lenses.

I was dead crap when it came down to things like this. It all became too much, the pressure to entertain, to pretend that I was fine, that I was comfortable in my own skin, to chat away like there weren't already a thousand eyes studying my every flaw.

Look, give me a microphone and any sodding topic that either pissed me off or positively enthralled me and I'd be happy to rant the ears off of any nutter willing to listen. But in scenarios such as these, I always felt slightly on edge. Teetering on the verge of falling right on over it.

‘Cause I knew what people saw when they looked at me. I was all too familiar with the pitying glance I often got spared, as well as the grimaces people couldn’t seem to hide when they walked by. 

I’d had to deal with it for years. Ever since I was a kid.

And upon hearing that, anyone would probably figure that I might’ve gotten used to all the gawking by now, especially with a toddler constantly keeping me on my toes. But ultimately my son’s presence often appeared to exaggerate the mixed reactions I received.

In truth, I’d never really been given the time to come to terms with the scars that marred my body, my face. The white lines that spoiled the features underneath.

So claiming it to be a rocky start, would only put a dent about the size of a pea into the way I was currently feeling! 

Healy was rather unhelpful too, just as I’d predicted. He seemed to almost get off on watching me writhe under his leer and his answers to the questions or topics brought up were half-hearted at best.

Really, I was beginning to doubt the way in which I’d figured this entire mess would end.

It was only supposed to be a quick and easy chat, the two of us sat there gossiping like old mates, proving to the rest of the world that there really was no animosity or underlying conspiracies to this whole setup. When in actuality, that really wasn't the case.

Time and time again I found myself questioning why exactly Healy had even bothered to come, why he had even agreed to the whole ordeal in the first place. Especially when he was so apathetic with his replies.

"So," I trailed off, somewhat desperate to save what was left of the segment- for my sake at the very least. I didn't even want to think of what sort of issues this would cause for the show. "Music! I mean, from an outsider's point of view, we never really got the whole backstory on how you and the rest of the band really met. I mean, you’ve said you started it in secondary school, but you yourself were kind of pushed into the limelight at a really young age, so how did you and the guys connect?”

Healy tensed at that particular question, his shoulders forming a more rigid line as his gaze flickered away from me for only the briefest of seconds before it returned, but it was enough to alert me to the fact that I was treading into murky waters. I tried to backtrack.

"But in all honesty, what I really want to know about are all the sordid details, life after all that crap, the answers to the things people never think to ask. Like, I've seen pictures of your clearly extensive guitar collection all over your Instagram feed, you must have a favourite!"

Matty's lips curled into something which almost resembled a smile then and it honest to God threw me through a loop. A metaphorical loop, of course, I wasn't quite sure if we could fit any sort of loop-like shape into a space this small.

But I was letting myself get sidetracked and couldn't help but question whether that was the sort of thing Healy typically thrived off of. He’d smiled, and nothing wicked or sarky had tinged it, it’d been a genuine smile. And I had to blink just to make sure my eyes hadn't been playing tricks on me as Healy edged forward in his seat, a coy grin now dancing at the corners of his muted pink lips.

"A favourite? Now that's the question to ask! Honestly? It'll have to be the '63 Jazzmaster I've got. It’s wicked, used by the Ramones on their debut album and then by David Byrne on early Syre demos. So it’s seen quite a bit."

After that, I just sat there. Stunned as Healy continued to rant about this poxy guitar he was so obviously smitten with and couldn't help but be utterly captivated by each and every word that slipped from his mouth.

Apparently all I had ever needed to get past the games and ginormous walls Healy had defensively built around himself was to simply be myself. Ask the questions that maybe only I wanted to know the answers to. 

See, I wasn't the biggest people person but I figured myself to be somewhat of a skilful conversationalist. What with my past, I’d kind of had to force myself to be. But I was glad to have finally been given an in with Healy, no matter how small. It helped the interview pass by a lot easier. 

Although the new spirit Healy adopted after that only seemed to last until nearing the very end of the show. 

In truth, I had all but forgotten about the cameras and microphones set up, the fact that people were still listening in, were watching us converse, whilst I simply lost myself in listening to Healy prattle away. Positively enraptured by the way the musician's mind worked as he explained the complexity of a certain riff he adored, or the time he'd pretended to get off in Madison Square Garden- much to the dismay of his PR Team.

"They went absolutely mental when I first proposed it. I'm telling you! Yapping about time and effort, and it being too much for the younger viewers, then the plans that would have to be put into place- all that merry shite. And I’d just been sitting there in these, these skimpy leather trousers, quietly debating over when, or if I'd ever, get the feeling back in my legs. And don't even get me started on my knob. I mean, it must've shrivelled up and die- hang on, I can say knob, right? On air?"

Looking at him in that moment, forgetting everything I already knew, it was like I was seeing this whole other person. Someone who wasn't so confrontational, so quick to defend, or easy to recoil. 

It was clear, to me at least, that Healy wasn't the image the media painted of him, he was simply human. A troubled man who truly loved music, in every sort of variety, and wanted to vocalise and share that love with everyone else. He was eccentric for sure, but sincere.

I could see that, even if it only felt like I'd only been given the tiniest bit of insight into the person Healy so obviously tried to keep concealed.

It wasn't long later when I startled somewhat upon seeing the flashing red light of one of our cameras go off to my left and immediately, I jolted upright in my seat.

"God- crap!" I blurted out stupidly as I grabbed at the headset that had threatened to fall off my head in my sudden haste. "Hold on. Sorry, got really sidetracked there- one of the camera's is telling me it's on its last legs, so we'd best start wrapping this up."

Healy deflated ever so visibly, shrinking back in his seat as he huffed a soundless chuckle.

"Can't seem to stop me once I get going." Healy widened his eyes to emphasise his point and I observed how he had hastily retreated back into himself to haul his guard up again.

I was quick to shake my head. "No, truthfully I can't remember the last time I just got to sit here and listen. It was nice not having to do all the work for once."

Matty licked at his top lip upon hearing that and rewarded me with another mirthful smirk. I realised I'd properly put my foot in it there, stressing over why I’d even worded it like that. 

Whilst he chuckled to himself at the picture I must’ve made, I decided my best bet was to hurry on and end the show, reciting what needed to be said before I finally signed off, clicking a button.

It was just as the 'ON AIR' sign above the door went off that Adi barged straight through the entrance, gracing us with her wonderful presence. Jamie was just behind her, peeking his head around the doorframe.

"Well I think I can say that that went as well as it could’ve!" He announced, coming to a standstill by Matty as he clapped his client heartily on the back. "Well done, Matt. You as well, Mouse."

"Appreciate it." I smiled up at him before tugging off my headphones and pushing away the mic.

With all four of us now crowded into the makeshift room, the booth suddenly felt a lot smaller than it usually did, and so I tried my best to disguise the way my body immediately reacted to the realisation.

"I'm in dire need of a fag though. Will you be alright tidying up in here, Ads?" I announced as I pulled myself up onto my feet, already beginning to shuffle towards the exit. I picked up the cardigan I'd left on the back of one of the chairs as I went, using it as a shield almost. 

"Yeah, of course. Glasses here wanted to discuss one more thing before they made a move anyway."

I shot an arched brow at the man in question but Jamie waved my curiosity off. "Nothing too detailed. Just some forms that need signing."

I didn't much like the part of the arrangement that came after recording, but with an understanding ‘Ah’, I forced myself to ask, "Erm, don't suppose you need me to stick around for any of that do you?"

"Nah," Jamie laughed lightly, "Go on, you're all good."

I smiled, silently praising the stars above as I nodded once and resumed my exit, tugging the cardi on as I hastily made my way over to the fire escape.

Praying that our luck hadn’t run out just yet, I hoped that no one else was up on the roof waiting for me when I pulled my feet up the rickety metal staircase. It was just about the last thing I needed at that moment.

I already had my lighter in hand by the time I'd made it over to our little makeshift patio we’d created, which consisted of a few wooden pallets and a couple of large cushions that overlooked the neighbouring buildings.

It wasn't much, Islington. It was inner London sure, and had its fair few classier joints to show off, but I much preferred what else it had to offer. Like how the hustle and bustle of the city quietened just as you lost yourself down the backroads. And all the parks that had been scattered in and around the main developments and the dozens and dozens of buildings that were constantly cropping up. How there was a pub on almost every street corner and a Sainsbury's never too far away. I even enjoyed the gentle rattle of the overground, it was all too familiar now. Felt more like home than the Isles ever had.

Looking out across the surrounding rooftops, I wondered again just why my mum had yet to leave our tiny town as I lit a cigarette and lifted the filter to my lips.

The first chance my father ever got he’d gone running for the hills and then me, myself, had upped and left the confines of our small cottage as soon as the offer had presented itself.

It wasn't that the harbour town I'd grown up in had nothing to offer. It had a sense of community, a beautiful shoreline (even in the colder months), and of course, the local rugby team.

But speaking in a manner of careers, well, unless you were breaking out on your own and had the cash to open up a shop on the high-street, then you were probably destined to either work in the local greengrocers, serve behind the village bar, or get a shift down by the docks.

You were lucky if you had a bit more meat on your bones though, because then you also had the added opportunity of getting an offer to start laying bricks for one of the few building companies. Most of which were family based.

We had the main school too which housed both primary and secondary  kids, and the local college was available if you wanted to further your education. But the closest University campus was a good hundred miles away. 

I had applied, but only to lessen the guilt I'd felt towards my mother when I'd started looking for courses available in just about any place apart from home whilst filling out uni apps.

I could still recall the day I’d finally told her I'd be leaving for London. Felt like a lifetime ago now really.

I'd definitely have to call her up again soon, to make sure that she was doing okay, even if it meant that I'd be forced to listen to her rattle on about coming home for Christmas. Again.

I sighed contently to myself and it was just as I flicked away a stump of ash that I heard someone approach.

[player1064]

gary goes into business instead of broadcasting post-retirement. carra still goes into puditry. they don't know each other/end up as friends.

they both end up on the same season of I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and fall in love. this is highly apparent to the entire audience.

I've not done a request fic in like two months bc I've been so zoomed in on the beville fic but I wanted to write something quick and silly and yes this request has been sitting in my inbox for more than THREE months but dont worry i did not forget about it I haven't forgotten about ANY of u.

and this really is quick and silly it is Mostly dialogue bc idk how else to convey the Vibes of im a celebrity but I had soooooo much fun with this dkjfgdfjsgkk...

---

 “I’m Gary Neville, I’m a businessman but I’m probably best known for my football career, playing 602 games for Manchester United and earning 85 caps for England.”

“What am I doing in the jungle? Mid-life crisis, I suppose.”

“I’m no stranger to public humiliation – just look at my coachin’ career! My only worry is the food – I do love a dairy milk, to be fair.”

*

“I’m Jamie Carragher, and I’m best known as a football pundit with Sky – am I allowed to say other broadcaster’s names on here? – and for winning the Champions’ league with Liverpool.”

“I’ve always said the jungle is the only reality show I’d consider doin’, so I guess it’s time to put me money where me mouth is.”

“Scared? Eh, no, I don’t think there’s many challenges I wouldn’t do. You don’t get to where I’ve got without that drive to win.”

*

Jamie walks into camp, takes one look at the group of people stood in front of him, and almost considers walking straight back out. Would that work, saying the catch-phrase outside of one of the challenges? ‘I’m a celebrity, get me away from Gary fucking Neville?’

“Jesus Christ,” Gary mutters. “Don’t you ‘ave some children to spit at or somethin’?”

“Don’t you ‘ave a football team to coach – oh no, sorry, they both fired you.”

“How the fuck are they lettin’ you take three weeks off in the middle of season? What’re people gonna do when they want to listen to two hours of Scouse gibberish?”

The rest of the campers watch on, no longer even attempting to come and introduce themselves to Jamie.

“And how’s your club gonna manage without yous, eh? What if they need someone to fire another manager?”

*

“Yeah, I uh… is it mean to say I hope one of them gets voted off soon? Don’t get me wrong, they’re both perfectly nice guys, but…”

[yelling heard from outside the hut]

“…Yeah.”

*

The first pairs challenge, shockingly, goes off without a hitch.

This is not a surprise because the challenge was particularly difficult – it’s early days, they’re still easing everyone in – but because of who the public had voted to complete it. Because the public is the public, and they’re nothing if not predictable.

“All twelve stars! I’m pretty pleased w’that, you know.”

“Typical fucking Neville, taking the credit for his partner’s hard work.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall you crawling about in the mud to get the –”

“—I was the one doin’ all the heavy lifting!”

“Of course you were doin’ the heavy lifting, look at the fuckin’ size of you!”

“Ugh.”

Jamie storms off camera and back into camp, leaving behind a bewildered looking Gary.

“He’s a bit of a diva, in’t he?”

*

“The first few days? Erm, it’s been goin’ alright, I think. I’ve been told I’m not always the easiest person to get on with, so it’s a pleasant relief that the others seem to – I mean, obviously not all of the others, but – but he’s –”

*

“Oh, I’m loving camp. Missing the gym a bit –” for emphasis, Jamie slaps his bicep – “but the food’s not as bad as I were expectin’, and the banter is sound – we’re all great friends already –”

“—well, no, but you can’t count him. He’s so weird, ‘ave you seen him? Like a little robot, doin’ everything exactly the same every day.”

*

“Another pairs challenge…”

“I don’t get why people keep voting for us to do these trials. You’re useless at ‘em anyway, do they want to see us starve?”

“Maybe I’d be able to get more done if you didn’t always insist on bossing me around, James. Can barely hear myself think over that Scouse screech of yours, it’s a wonder me eardrums haven’t burst yet.”

“It’s a wonder nobody’s killed themselves in the boredom of having to listen to you drone on and on all day. Did I actually hear you talkin’ about the stock market the other day?”

“The stock exchange, oh my god. It’s my hotel, which you’d know if you took part in any conversation that’s not about you.”

*

“I can’t believe they let you have that.”

Jamie looks with pride down at the football he’d chosen as his luxury item, then drops it and kicks it towards Gary’s head. It’s wide by about a metre.

“Oi! If you were a half decent footballer that could’ve actually hurt me, you twat.”

“’least mine can benefit everyone in camp, what even is yours?”

“Fidget toy, innit. My niece got me into them, gives me something to do with my hands.”

“You’re a strange little man, you know that right?”

Gary, who’s still positioned closest to the football, picks it up and lobs it into the trees surrounding camp.

*

“Come have a kickabout with me?”

Gary looks around but there’s nobody else sat nearby. “Me?”

“No, Cristiano Ronaldo. Of course you, who else would I be askin’?”

“Literally anyone else here?”

“It’s not as fun when you’re better than everyone else –”

“—ah, so you admit I’m a better footballer than you!”

“That’s not what I said!”

*

“What are you actually doin’ in here? ‘cause no offence, Gary, but you don’t really seem the reality show type.”

“Dunno. Was having a rough week when the email came through, thought it might be nice to get away from everythin’ for a bit.”

“’and you, Jameh?’” Jamie says in a squeaky parody of a Manc accent. “Oh, thanks fer askin’, Gaz. I was worried I was goin’ soft, now that I’ve been retired for so long. Wanted to prove to myself I can still be a winner.”

“Still? When were you ever a winner before?”

“I’ve won a Champions’ League, I’ll have you know!”

“I’ve won two!”

“Have you fuck.”

*

“Who’s your letter from, then? Missus?”

“No, my brother,” Gary says absently, then he looks up from his letter with a frown. “I don’t have a missus, what’re you on about?”

“Don’t you? I could’ve sworn, in Baden Baden with the WAGs –”

“You’re basing your knowledge of my relationship status on a tournament we played in more than fifteen years ago?”

“You realise you’re literally wearing a wedding ring.”

“And you’re not. Any other observations you’d like to make? Sky is blue, maybe?”

“Normally people wear wedding rings to show they’re married.”

“Maybe some people wear them to avoid annoying questions. Anyway, Philip says that I’m coming across very well so far and that ITV has received hundreds of complaints from people who can’t understand your accent.”

“He did not fucking write that, give it here –”

*

“Am I getting along better with Jamie? I dunno, I never had a problem with him to be fair, it’s him that’s always –”

*

“Friends? With Gary? Behave. Have we managed to go a single day so far without him shoutin’ at me for somethin’ I did, or somethin’ I didn’t do right, or for – for breathing in the wrong direction. Christ, I’ve never met anyone this fussy. He’s too easy to wind up.”

*

“He must be doin’ it on purpose, surely nobody is that thick – I mean, is it so hard to stack a couple of dishes when you’ve finished washing them?”

“Well, no, yeah, he did stack them, but did you see – they were all out of order, there’s no stability – they’re certain to all fall and break in the night thanks to him.”

*

All the effort that goes into the Dingo Dollars task and all the camp has to show for it is a single square of chocolate each. Gary nibbles carefully at his, trying to preserve it for as long as possible.

Jamie gets up and goes to sit beside him.

“Here.”

“Wha?”

“Here, I don’t like sweets.”

“You don’t – what kind of a psychopath don’t like sweets?”

“Will you just take the bloody chocolate before I change my mind.”

*

“You’re limping. Why are you limping?”

“Done my ankle in the last trial.”

“Trust you to get injured doin’ a trial. What’d you do, you slip or somethin’?”

“Why don’t you ask your mate, he’s the expert on slipping.”

“Ha ha. But really, Gary – you alright?”

“I’m fine, Carra, ‘s not even strained. Just a bit achy. Twenty years as a professional athlete will do that to you.”

“Give it here.”

“You what?”

“Give it here, I do an okay massage. Maybe that’ll stop yer whining.”

“I literally didn’t say a word until you brought it up.”

*

“I don’t know, he’s – ugh, he’s…”

“He’s not what I expected. I dunno. He’s just not what I expected.”

*

“D’you know how many times me and Gary played a full ninety together with England? One. We only ever played one full match on the same side, and it was shite.”

“It always felt like there was only room for one of us, so I just – I fucking hated him. ‘cause it wasn’t me the managers were picking, was it?”

*

“Carra?” Gary whispers

“What.”

“Carra, I can’t sleep.”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

“Jamie.”

Jamie reluctantly sits up in his camp bed, squints at Gary in the dark. “What.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You already said that.”

“I want to go for a walk, clear my head.”

“Good for you.” Jamie lies back down and pulls his sleeping bag over his face.

“Jamie.”

“I swear to God, Gaz…”

“Yer not gonna make me go out there alone, are ya? It’s the middle of the night.”

“What are you, twelve? Fine, just give me a minute to find my shoes.”

*

“It’s very dark, isn’t it?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

They hadn’t ended up walking very far, just to the log benches in the next clearing over before agreeing the risk of tripping over tree roots was too high and sitting down to just talk instead.

“My internal clock’s all thrown off, we’ve been here nearly two weeks and I still can’t get the hang of it. At home to be fair I’m normally in bed by ten, half ten.”

“I remember, from England. You and Phil were such geeks, weren’t you?”

“Most capped brothers in England, thank you very much.”

“D’you miss him?”

“Nah. Don’t get to see ‘im much anyway, to be fair. He’s off in America, Trace is out here, they’re both just – getting on with it, aren’t they? I prob’ly miss my house more’n anything else.”

“Your house… not your friends? Not football?”

“I like my house! It’s got everythin’ just the way I like it.”

“Alright, alright. Fine, you can miss your house.”

“Wha’d’you miss? Your kids? The missus?”

“I dunno really… kids are both all grown up now, missus went back to being a ms a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

“Is what it is. Anyway, I miss football even if you don’t, honest to God, what kind of a footballer are ya? I wish someone would slip me this week’s standings, feel like I’m going insane tryin’ to imagine all the results.”

“Should’ve said something sooner, twat. I can tell you how the league’s going.”

“You can?”

“Yes. Manchester United are on a – how many games’ve we missed now? – they’re on a three game winning streak and have shot to the top of the league.”

“Oh yeah? What about Liverpool?”

Gary tuts and shakes his head. “Relegation zone, I’m afraid.”

“We were top of the table when I came in ‘ere!”

“Well, you know what they say – anything can happen in football, can’t it?”

“You’re right, what’s that… I’m getting reports from Old Trafford that Salah’s just scored a hat-trick, Stretford end as well –”

“You twat! As if your Liverpool could win away against United, you’re dreaming!”

*

“Erm, yeah… it’s good to be going home, ‘course it is. Glad I wasn’t the first voted out, hah, I actually think I’ve done alright in ‘ere.”

“Yeah, no, it’s been a brilliant experience to be fair. I never thought I’d make such good friends – yeah, even him. I know, I’m as surprised as you are! Anyway, I’m wishin’ them all the very best of luck in the semi-finals.”

 *

“I mean, I know fourth place isn’t bad, but I do think I deserved to get to the finals. I’ve worked harder than anyone else here, so –”

“Well yeah, ‘course, it’s up to the public, so – if it’s my time then it’s my time.”

“What’ll I be doin’ when I get to the hotel? Dunno. Check my messages first, probably!”

“What, Gary? I saw ‘im yesterday, it’s not like I’m missin’ him already! Might get ‘im to buy me a pint, though, least he could do after I had to put up with him for three weeks.”

[spookiegh0st]

Miku vs. the Italians.

Below is a story i wrote over the course of a 2 hours for my friend groups art club, the theme was "hatsune miku" and one friend jokingly suggested i write a story about miku vs the italians. I was told i should post it here.

Hatsune Miku, twin-tailed teal titan of the music industry, virtual diva extraordinaire with a voice to command the hearts of her people, found herself in an inner strife, a conflicting turmoil that caused her chest to pound and her stomach to tumble.

This story starts with humble origins, our heroine would find herself in the midst of a charming Italian countryside as part of a much needed and friend mandated vacation after she let slip the strenuous toll that a most recent tour had placed on her, her friends, families, and loved ones cared deeply for her and pooled together enough for her to take a trip somewhere far away from her chaotic and busy lifestyle, deciding upon the picturesque hamlet of Corniglia.

"You are going to Italy." She would be told only after discovering that she had been tricked into boarding the plane alone. A uniquely horrifying situation to find ones self in. It wasn't all that bad, a coastal village at the edge of a cliff surrounded by the sea, the landscape was beautiful and the people pleasant, her room was accommodating and the air was clean. There was just one thing, a nagging sort of itch at the back of the brain that built up over the course of the week.

Miku had always loved food; the rich flavors, the delicate balance of spices, and the tradition steeped in every dish. But after days of indulging in pasta, pizza, and gelato, she felt something stirring within her, something that urged her to challenge the very foundations of this beloved cuisine.

"Why is everything covered in cheese and tomatoes?" Miku mused aloud, twirling a strand of her hair as she sat in a cozy trattoria. The chef, Sheff, a stout man with a bushy mustache, overheard her and chuckled. "Because, signorina, it is our tradition! Italian food is a masterpiece crafted over centuries!"

Miku smiled politely but inside, her mind was racing. She had performed in so many countries, each with its own unique culinary traditions, and yet, Italian food seemed to dominate the world’s taste buds. This dominance, she felt, stifled creativity and diversity. Why did everyone have to conform to the same palate?

She carried these thoughts well past the vacation, lingering on her soul like a stain, she found it distracting her even on stage. The performances would go same as they ever would, but she would find herself distracted, trance like in her thoughts of the culinary world, working on autopilot. Culminating in the decision one morning, the night of her last stop of her latest tour, that something would have to change.

That night, in the glow of her holographic stage, Miku made a bold declaration. "People of the world," she began, her voice echoing through the digital ether, "I declare a culinary revolution! It’s time to break free from the tyranny of Italian food culture and explore new horizons! Let us create a world where flavors are boundless and traditions are ever-evolving!"

Her words sent shockwaves through the culinary world. It wasn't a war against Italians, but rather a challenge to the idea that one cuisine should reign supreme. Miku’s fans, always eager to follow her lead, took up the cause. They began experimenting with fusion dishes, blending Japanese, Mexican, Moroccan, and countless other flavors in ways that had never been done before.

In kitchens around the globe, chefs donned aprons like armor, wielding knives and spatulas with newfound purpose. The air was thick with the scent of spices from far off lands, and the sound of sizzling pans was like music to Miku’s ears.

But not everyone was pleased. Traditionalists scoffed at the idea of sushi pizza or ramen carbonara. "This is an affront to our heritage!" they cried. But Miku, ever the diplomat, reminded them that innovation did not mean erasure. "We can honor tradition by allowing it to grow and adapt," she said during a televised interview, her voice gentle but firm.

The heart of Italy itself began to pulse with indignation. In Naples, the birthplace of Bologna, and the cradle of rich, meaty ragù, chefs and food lovers alike took to the streets in protest. "Our recipes have been passed down for generations," they shouted, waving wooden spoons and rolling pins like weapons. "They are not just food, they are our identity!"

As the tension escalated, prominent figures in the culinary world began to choose sides. Some of the most celebrated chefs in Italy formed a coalition, declaring their intent to protect the sanctity of their cuisine. They called themselves the Custodians of Tradition, and they saw Miku’s challenge not as an invitation to innovate, but as a threat to everything they held dear.

In Rome, a group of traditionalist chefs staged a dramatic demonstration. They set up a massive cauldron in the center of the Piazza Navona, where they began cooking a colossal batch of spaghetti alla carbonara, the air thick with the smell of sizzling guanciale and pecorino cheese. As the dish reached perfection, they threw copies of Miku’s digital albums into the boiling pot, symbolically rejecting her influence over their culture.

As the battles raged on, the tone grew darker. Miku’s message of culinary freedom was now seen by some as an existential threat. The Custodians began spreading rumors that Miku was intent on wiping out Italian food altogether, painting her as a villain who wanted to erase their heritage. Hackers sympathetic to the Custodians infiltrated Miku’s digital concerts, disrupting her performances with messages that read, "Respect Tradition, Preserve the Past!"

Miku, for all her influence, began to feel the weight of the conflict she had ignited. What had started as a call for innovation was spiraling into something much more serious. She had wanted to inspire creativity, not incite a global feud. But the fires were lit, and they were burning out of control.

She knew deep within her heart of hearts what needed to be done, quitting the world of music for the time being, now was not the time for symphonic melody, now was the time for war. Donning her toque and her apron, she reached for her own Excalibur, a cleaver she had received as a gift one winter as a part of a collaboration she had done with a restaurant specializing in shrimp.

She stepped out onto the worlds stage with her newest challenge. "Send me your best, Italians, and i shall introduce upon you a world of humility that you have never known" Her announcement would send ripples down the culinary community, a schism would start to form down the middle of the traditionalists, each vying for the chance personally take down their ultimate foe, each more confident than the last. that was until one competitor would rise above.

Everyone bowed their head in respect of the Iron Nonna, her skills in the kitchen were seemingly unmatched, the way she worked a knife was like an artform unto itself, honed through years of rigorous practice, as though she had trained all her life for this moment. "who was this upstart, to shake the foundations of her world, and from where had she come. this woman was no chef, this woman had no place in the kitchen, and who better to show her her place than I?" she would think, her cold glare cutting through the room at the young idol.

Miku however had an unshakable confidence about her. She knew exactly what need be done.

The culinary battleground was set. The world watched with bated breath as the stage was transformed into a kitchen, its gleaming surfaces reflecting the intensity in the eyes of both combatants. The Iron Nonna stood tall, her presence commanding, with decades of culinary mastery under her belt. The traditionalists, with their arms crossed, stood behind her, their faces etched with the belief that this would be the moment Miku would finally be put in her place.

Miku, on the other hand, was undeterred. She tied her apron with deliberate precision, her twin tails bouncing with a determined energy. The cleaver in her hand glinted under the spotlight, a symbol not just of her culinary resolve but of her intent to challenge the very core of what people believed food should be.

The battle began, and the tension in the air was palpable. The Iron Nonna moved with the grace and speed of someone who had lived a life dedicated to the kitchen. She started with a dish that had been in her family for generations: a perfect osso buco, the veal shanks browned to perfection, the marrow rich and indulgent, the sauce a symphony of flavors that told the story of her heritage.

Miku, however, did not shy away. She did not attempt to mimic the Nonna’s approach but instead embraced her own philosophy of fusion and innovation. She began crafting a dish that married the flavors of Italy with those of Japan, a sushi risotto. The rice was cooked in a delicate broth infused with dashi, and instead of the usual Parmesan, she used a light dusting of yuzu zest, topped with slices of seared tuna, and finished with a drizzle of miso sauce.

The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, the air filled with the sounds of sizzling pans, chopping knives, and the murmurs of the crowd. Every movement, every decision, was scrutinized. The traditionalists watched with narrow eyes, certain that the Nonna’s years of experience would triumph over Miku’s youthful exuberance.

As the final dishes were plated, the judges stepped forward, esteemed chefs from various culinary backgrounds, representing a global palate. They were given the task of deciding not just the winner of the battle, but the future direction of food itself.

The Iron Nonna presented her osso buco with a flourish, the dish embodying the essence of Italian tradition. The judges nodded in appreciation, their expressions serious as they tasted the perfectly balanced dish.

Then came Miku’s turn. She presented her sushi risotto with a quiet confidence, knowing that this dish was more than just a meal, it was a statement. The judges tasted it, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Their eyes widened as the flavors unfolded, a blend of familiar and new, a harmonious dance between two distinct culinary worlds.

The moment of truth arrived. The head judge, an elderly chef with decades of experience, stood between the two competitors. His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady and resonant.

"This battle was not just about food," he began, "but about the future of how we perceive our culinary heritage. Tradition is important, it grounds us, gives us a sense of identity. But innovation is equally vital, for it is the force that propels us forward."

He turned to Miku, his eyes filled with respect. "You have shown us that innovation does not have to erase tradition, but can enhance it, create something new and beautiful out of what came before. Your dish was a testament to that vision."

The room was silent, but the meaning was clear. Miku had won, not just the battle, but the hearts of those who had once opposed her. Even the Iron Nonna, though visibly disappointed, gave a nod of respect. She, too, recognized that the world of cuisine was evolving, and perhaps it was time to embrace that change.

Miku smiled, not in triumph, but in relief. She had not sought to destroy tradition, but to show that it could grow, adapt, and become something even greater. The culinary revolution she had sparked would continue, but now with a newfound understanding: that the past and the future could coexist, each enriching the other.

As she left the stage, her cleaver sheathed and her apron untied, Miku felt a sense of peace. She had started this journey with a simple desire to see the world’s palates expand, and now she had shown that even the most steadfast traditions could welcome new ideas.

And somewhere in the picturesque hamlet of Corniglia, the scent of innovation mixed with the aroma of tradition, a reminder that food, like music, has the power to unite people across the world.

[musicalhell]

What is your favorite scene you've written, whether that be from your YouTube series or your AO3 fiction?

I really enjoyed writing the last exchange between Diva and Donna. There are worse legacies to have than making someone feel better for just a little while.

As for PG, my favorite scene (so far published) might be Antoine talking about his asexuality, both because it made me (hopefully successfully) rise to the challenge of writing someone with a life experience different from my own and because I like it when historic settings explore things that we know about now but weren't understood then. (For example, Claudia Grey's The Murder of Mr. Wickham clearly codes Darcy and Elizabeth's son as autistic, and that influences his character and perceptions even though he doesn't have a word for it.)