#I'm really on brand today aren't I

[pyrepostings]

Magical Brands

Magical brands that give whumpee abilities or qualities that whumper wants them to have

A mark on whumpee's throat to make it impossible for them to choke, but still feels every bit like they're asphyxiating

Could be used for torture, it's always nice when the pain doesn't actually kill, and so you don't have to show restraint while waterboarding your interrogatee

More effective gags can be used, the kind that actually stuffs whumpee's airways and vocal cords up without worrying about them passing out

Perhaps the mark can let whumper mute whumpee altogether on a whim, or have them say the things they want

Magical brands enchanted to resist healing magic so it can't be erased

A useful brand on a visible spot that only slaves get

A brand on their tongue that glows and burns when whumpee lies

A brand that burns when whumpee uses their old name or otherwise disobeys orders - maybe this one fades after some time but reemerges when triggered

Instead of stamping sigils onto skin, maybe it needs to be drawn on with a woodburning pen - much slower and delicate

Marks on the bottom of whumpee's feet that burn when they go where they shouldn't

A collar burned into their neck that serves all the signaling to others as well as a way to inflict pain as a regular shock collar

A brand that grants fire magic to a living weapon, and of course it burns whenever that power is used

[wilwheaton]

What the actual fuck, Larry David.

So I heard about it, but didn't watch it until now. Holy shit it's even worse than I thought. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Elmo is, like, the best friend to multiple generations of children, and is currently putting mental health and caring for others in the spotlight.

And Larry Fucking David ... did ... that? And thought it was going to be ... funny?

What an asshole. What a stupid, self-centered, tone deaf asshole.

Hey, fucko: First of all, you aren't even in the segment, but you just decided to barge in and draw focus because ... why? You couldn't stand that a puppet brought people together in a meaningful way that you can't? You couldn't stand that your appearance on national television to promote your wildly successful series was delayed for a few seconds while the adults talked about mental health?

I really want to know what raced through his tiny little mind, and why there was no voice or person who spoke up to stop him.

You know who is watching the Today show with their parents? Kids who also watch Sesame Street. Elmo is an avatar for children all over the world. Children who are too small to understand Elmo is a puppet will know that a man attacked him for no reason, and that will frighten them.

Elmo inspired a deeply meaningful and important moment of collective support among disparate people who have been struggling through the traumas of a pandemic, daily mass shootings, the rise of fascism and everything associated with Trump's violence and cruelty.

And shitty idiot Larry David couldn't stand it, for some reason. He had to indirectly tell everyone who opened their hearts to a Muppet that they were stupid, and he thought it was a good joke to physically attack and choke this character who is beloved by children and adults alike.

I've been bored by and totally over Larry David's brand of being an asshole to everyone because they had the temerity to exist around him since the day it started. It was easy to just ignore him. But this thing he did was hurtful, it wasn't funny, and his bullshit non-apology tells all of us everything we need to know about him.

Larry David strikes me as a person who mocks and belittles people who are vulnerable and sensitive, who is cruel because he enjoys it and is untouchable. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's who I see whenever I can't find the remote and he's on my television.

By contrast, Elmo and the Muppets teach and model that kindness and empathy aren't weak or stupid or any of the things people like Larry David and my dad think they are. Elmo and the Muppets teach children to be gentle and kind, to celebrate our different cultures and to embrace all of our complicated feelings.

I hope that, when the dust settles, Larry David's appalling behavior will be a footnote to a larger story about how, for just one day, a Muppet made a difference by helping all of us who are struggling feel just a little less alone and anxious.

A man who would belittle and mock that isn't much of a man at all.

[luveline]

Jade I’ve been WAITING and HOPING for you to ask about spider verse and/or Miguel requests. He is the epitome of grumpy love interest falls for sunshine reader, would you maybe write something where he’s like in the midst of being scary and intimidating and then when reader walks in he is trying to maintain that image in front of whoever else is there but she just like totally ignores it and basically exposes how soft he is?

Obviously feel free to take or leave whatever parts of that you like I just love grumpy x sunshine

SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE BELOW

thank you for your request! for you my love, grumpy (lovesick) miguel x sunshine spidergirl!reader, 1.5k

Miguel spends a lot of time arguing with Peter B. Parker, or as you've so fondly nicknamed him, Sweatpants-Man. Well, Miguel spends a lot of time yelling at him. It stopped for a while; Peter B. Parker took some time away from the Spider Society, but eventually he returned with a brand new spider. A baby girl. 

You linger at the door, startled to find him in company, but pleased when he isn't yelling as loudly as he could be. He looks desperately as though he wants to shout, and is holding back through sheer force of will, his eyes widened and his hair falling in unruly waves over his forehead, strands of it curled into his eyes. 

Miguel is a worrier. It isn't his fault. He's a great man with responsibilities beyond his control, and he may not always react how he should, but he tries his best. You don't agree with everything he does, but you like him. You adore him. For all of his goodness, his bravery, and the smile he gives you when you're alone. 

He's clearly troubled by something. 

"I don't really see the harm, I won't tell him a thing," Peter B. Parker says.

"Why do you refuse to listen to me? No. End of discussion." 

"I think we should reopen the discussion," Peter B. Parker says. 

He and Miguel are friends, you think. They would have been best buddies by now if Peter could abide by Miguel's rules. Then again, you ignore the rules often and indiscriminately, and Miguel likes you.

He's scraping his hair out of his eyes now, a fierce glare fixed on Peter's face, and you have the urge to go in there and try to persuade him to give Peter whatever it is he's asking for. You're almost certain you could do it. 

Not through your sheer mastery of the persuasive arts, though you have mastered them, but because Miguel O'Hara has a soft spot for you. He tries to hide it and you refuse to let him. You haven't tried to kiss him or anything (you secretly aren't that brave) but you run circles around him for fun, only letting him boss you around every now and then to keep things loose. You could be much meaner about the whole thing: what is so humiliating as falling for your lackadaisical subordinate? But you don't hold it against him, because he likely isn't finished falling yet, and because you really do like him. 

You pull your mask off of your face and then your gloves, shoving them into a concealed pocket on your thigh. 

"Miguel," you murmur, knowing he'll hear you no matter the volume, "what's wrong?" 

Miguel doesn't glance your way. 

Peter B. Parker's shoulders sag in relief at your appearance. "Thank god you're here," he says. 

You hadn't realised Peter knew who you were. "I'm here," you repeat mildly. 

"Tell Miguel that the risk involved with visiting Earth-1610 is super, duper small." 

"Well, it is negligible," you murmur, though Peter's quest isn't your prerogative. 

Miguel groans loud and unapologetically. 

You stand near Miguel and look up at him. He's ridiculously tall. You’d have to crane your neck if you stood at his feet. You maintain some distance and look him over from a gentler incline, cataloguing the dark circles under his eyes for the hundredth time. They don't look too bad today, but you wish he'd get more rest. 

He has a very fierce face, but you know how it softens when he laughs. It's hard to find his glaring intimidating when you've witnessed the white flash of sharp teeth as he smiles, the way his eyes light up and his eyebrows relax from their stern set when you bring him something to eat on late nights. It's almost always smothered as soon as it happens, but it does happen. 

"The risk involved is not super small," he says, still not looking at you, "the risk involved is actually incredibly big, and it isn't worth it." 

Peter puts his arms out just as Mayday drops from the rafters above. You huff a laugh at his coordination and Mayday starts to laugh, her knitted beanie drooping into her eyes. 

"Hi, baby," you say softly, reaching out to hold her hand. She squeezes your fingers. 

"It's worth the risk. Absolutely, it's worth the risk, and I would argue that me visiting would actually strengthen the state of the multiverse–" 

"In what scenario–" 

"–and, like, make your job easier." Peter stops Mayday from climbing up your shoulder. 

"If there's one thing you've never done, Peter, it's make my job easier. I can't believe you're asking me again," Miguel says, taking a big breath, like he's going to pop. 

You step away from Peter to catch Miguel's attention. When his eyes lock onto yours, you smile as fondly as you're able, the kind of smile you know he likes. Your eyes widen just a touch and your eyebrows rise, the corners of your mouth not quite dimpling. It's a smile that says all the same stuff you love to say aloud. Hi, handsome. What's got you so stressed today? 

"Don't be like that, Miguel," Peter says. 

You tilt your head to one side. "You don't look very well," you say. 

"I'm fine." There's a thread of gentleness there, almost indistinguishable from his serious tone. "Or I would be, if Peter would listen to me for once." 

"I'm listening, man, I just think you should see sense." 

Miguel's face flickers like he wants to correct him, but he keeps getting caught on you. Nothing specific, just that his gaze lands on your face or your shoulder or your arm before he looks at Peter, and all the steam rushes out of him. He’s trying not to smile at you.

"I see sense," Miguel insists. It's like he wants to be angrier than he has, gritting his teeth weakly. "It's not feasible right now." 

You smile at that. Right now. You're not sure he's ever said something that could lead to a compromise. You are sure that he hadn't meant to. Peter is understandably thrilled, hiding his own smile as he puts Mayday back into her carrier. 

"Alright. Well, I've gotta take her home. But I'll see you both again soon," Peter threatens, wiggling his eyebrows. "Thank you," he adds, nodding at you. 

You laugh as he leaves. Miguel is nowhere near as pleased. 

"You did that on purpose," Miguel says. 

"I did what on purpose?" 

"Coming in here." 

"Yeah, of course. I come to see you all the time on purpose. Did you think I was drifting in here on the breeze? That would be difficult, considering." You gesture to the entrance of his office, which is far from easily accessible. 

Miguel looks at you, unimpressed, with his hands on his hips. You wonder what it would take to make him put his hands on yours. 

"Don't even think about it," he says. 

"About what, handsome?" 

"You think I don't know what that look means?" He sounds fond rather than angry. It's a win. 

"I bet you know, but I'm in the dark, so if you'd… illuminate it for me, that would be greatly appreciated." 

He checks that no one's about to enter his office. You feel your heart jerk in your chest, and if his super senses are anything like the other Spider People, he can hear it. 

"You really can't come in here when I'm trying to set people straight," he says. 

"Why?" you ask. You could pout at him, but you think that might be too much. 

"You know why." Somewhere between words he drifts closer, soundless, his face inching down toward yours with a surprising swiftness. "You know why," he repeats.

You lift your chin as much as you dare, which isn't much, but enough that your giggly confirmation fans over his lips, "Yes, I do." 

He nudges you away, and it isn't without affection. His warm, big hand lingers on your shoulder, even as he says, "Go, go do something." 

"Miguel, I came to see you." 

"I know, and I have a meeting with Jess in a minute, so you can't be here. It'll undermine my authority." 

"What will?" you ask, smiling, because you already know. His fondness for you. 

"Go away. Come and see me later," he says. 

You sigh and spin away from him. "I will, but not because you told me to!" you call, leaving the office with an awful sense of victory. 

Miguel scrubs his face with his hands as you go. He's really not sure what he's going to do with you. His plan to hold you at arm’s length isn’t working anymore, and honestly? He doesn’t think he could stand it a minute longer. Thank whoever’s watching over him that you actually do as he asks for once and leave. 

Miguel was one sweet smile away from kissing you up against the wall.

[schoenpepper]

Hi teh needing some all time comfort so can I request for Trey, Jade and Floyd where their S/O got injured? Like sprained their ankle or something. Or broke their toe nail from taekwando because they had a miscalculation kick🙂

(Totally did not happen to me haha)

It Hurts, Doesn't It?

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, trey's is suggestive kyahhh idk what i wrote for him

A/N: Sige beh para sayo <3 HAHAHAHAAHAHA unahin ko req mo kasi kawawa ka naman pagbibigyan na kita. My phone died and it ain't charging on any cable so I'm gonna cry haha goodnight good morning good afterevening

Masterlist

Trey's hands are warm and gentle, massaging your ankle with practiced motions. "You uh, do this often?" you wince when he rolls it a bit too much to the left.

"Too much. Children are clumsy."

"I'm not a child."

He shoots you an unimpressed look over the top of his glasses, his fingers slowly pressing on the spots that make you hiss and thrash under his touch. "Stay still or it won't get any better."

"Okay," you pout, "big brother."

There's something dangerous in his honey dipped eyes that makes you attempt to pull back, but there's just no escaping him when he gently tugs on your leg and makes you lose your balance. "You aren't my sibling," he whispers, "and I am not your brother." You get it, you really do. You nod your head and try to pull back again, but suddenly, his lips are on your skin, pressing light kisses over the painful parts.

"What are you—?!"

"I wouldn't do this for my siblings," Trey's kisses slowly continue to climb up your leg, "so don't call me that again."

Floyd thinks the situation is funny, so he pokes and prods at the reddened skin on your ankle while laughing. "Shrimpy, how'd you manage to do that? Did you trip over yourself?" You know better than to regale him of your sad tale, so you purse your lips and pull your leg away from his restless hands.

"Floyd, it hurts. Cut it out please."

He frowns and leans in closer. You lean back against the bench, trying not to move your foot too quickly when he's closing in the distance without leaving you any chance to breathe. "But you promised to spend today with me. You can't back out on your promises."

You shake your head. "Nothing I can do, Floydie. I can't play with you when I can barely even walk."

"You can't walk, shrimpy?" you're suddenly hoisted up into his arms, "I'll carry ya'."

"Floyd! Put me down, please!"

He shakes his head and runs off, forcing you to wrap your arms around him for support.

"Nah, don't feel like it. Let's go play in Azul's office!"

Jade regards your ankle with his typical smile that betrays nothing of his true thoughts, slowly rubbing the area in a rhythm that almost lulls you to sleep. His gloves are tucked on your lap, his hat sloping down on your head almost covering your eyes. "Still," he speaks in a soft, low tone, "it is rather impressive you could injure yourself in such a situation."

Translation: That was dumb. How the fuck did you get hurt like that?

You give him a sheepish smile, pulling up the brim of the hat so that your view of his pretty face, all tense with the slightest tinge of worry, is unimpeded. "Thank you for helping, Jade."

"Of course. It's not as if I'm doing it for free."

Well, you should have expected it already. Octavinelle's brand of benevolence is often expensive. Your hands subconsciously fiddle with the satin of his gloves. "Of course, what do you want?"

His smile turns a little more genuine.

"And I could ask anything of you?"

You grimace. "Within reason."

"Then perhaps," his tone is a bit breathier when he gets closer to you, "a kiss for your knight in shining armor?"

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[ddejavvu]

can I request a drabble or fic about Curtis sister getting bullied?

sigh. writing curtis!sister stuff is so nostalgic and personal to me. inside of me lives a thirteen year old girl who desperately wanted them to be my brothers. this is for little meimei <33

send me requests for the outsiders!

--

You'd been expecting Steve to pick you up from school, but there must have been a rush at the DX, because it's Two-Bit's creaky old car that chugs along the back street. That's fine too - you could use a laugh after today.

There's a certain level of teasing that you've come to expect because of your social status, but lately some of the older girls around school have made it their personal mission to go above and beyond the standard. Just today they'd begun making fun of the keychain attached to your bookbag- a mickey mouse pendant that had been a gift from Two-Bit himself. Stolen, of course, but not from just any corner store. No, that one had come from a big fancy Disney store, in a big fancy mall hours outside of Tulsa.

He'd been grossly proud of himself when he'd given it to you for your birthday, but according to those older girls, Mickey Mouse was for kids, and that made you one.

You'd tucked it safely into the front pocket of your bag, but Two-Bit notices its absence when you slide into the front seat like there's a neon sign advertising it.

"Hey, kid, where's the keychain?" He nods at your bag, "Did it break off already? Damn Disney, makin' cheap, lousy shit."

"No, it's- it didn't break." You settle into your seat, "I just- took it off."

Two-Bit's hands tighten slightly on the wheel, and he clears his throat, attempting to remain nonchalant.

"Oh. Any reason?"

You think you've hurt his feelings. He's quiet in a way that he usually isn't, and there's no trace of his signature brand of playfulness.

"It's not that I don't like it, Two." You reassure him, reaching over to brace your hand against his leg briefly. He glances at it, throwing you a smile, albeit a wounded one. "I just- I had it on my bag this morning, but then- I dunno, some girls were teasing me about it. I just wanted to avoid trouble."

You'd been attempting to relieve him of any hurt, but now he looks like he wants to hurt the girls you're talking about. He doesn't go to school very often, choosing instead to bum around at your house with a beer and a slice of cake. But you have a sinking feeling that he's going to have perfect attendance from now on, as your personal bodyguard.

"They're pickin' on you?" He asks, glancing over at you from the side of his eye as he tries keeping his focus on the road.

"It's not that bad," You lie, shrugging and reaching into your bag to put your keychain back where it belongs, displayed proudly on your zipper, "They're just high school bullies, Two. Don't worry about it. And don't- don't tell Darry. Please?"

"I don't know, kid." Two-Bit's jaw tightens, shifting as he turns a corner towards the east side of town, "I don't like this. No one should be picking on you. And not to brag, but I know how much you like that keychain. If it's bad enough for you to hide it..."

"It's not that bad, I just- I'm trying to make sure it doesn't get worse. I'm fine," You vow, but there's still a pool of dread in your gut whenever one of the girls' faces flashes in your mind.

"I'm comin' with you tomorrow to school," Two-Bit decides predictably, "And I'm gonna see it for myself, and if they're really layin' into you, I'm rallying the whole gang. Including your brothers. Let us help you, kid."

"No, please-? I don't wanna make it a big deal," You gush, "Two-Bit, everybody's stressed enough. Darry barely has any time to sleep, Soda's worryin' all day about Sandy, Ponyboy's gotta study or Darry'll be on him, just- I don't need to make things worse."

"You aren't makin' anything worse." He frowns, pulling over to the side of the road to turn towards you without the threat of crashing, "Those girls are. Listen, kid. Your brothers care about'cha. We all do. And all of us'd be happy to stick up for you. You know how much fun me 'n Steve would have rippin' into a bunch of mean girls?"

"Don't tell them yet." You insist, but you feel the sincerity of his speech, "Just- wait and see tomorrow. You'll probably scare 'em off anyways."

"I'll wear my best Mickey Mouse shirt," Two promises, his usual shit-eating grin now triumphantly returned to his face as he merges back into the road, "And by that I mean my only one- 'nless you count the old gym shirt my sister drew on."

--

You're nervous about walking back into school with the Mickey Mouse keychain hanging from your bag once more, but you're flanked by an unknowing Ponyboy on your left and a determined Two-Bit on your right, so you know no harm will come to you. Two-Bit is, in fact, wearing his Mickey shirt beneath his leather jacket, practically a dare for anyone to come and say something to him about you.

You think you're in the clear until the three girls you'd been cornered by the day before spot you, and neither Two-Bit nor Ponyboy notice their expressions, but you feel their gaze on the back of your neck. You're sure your keychain is bouncing around in plain sight from the movement of your stride, but with your two bodyguards around none of them dare to say anything.

Two-Bit drops you off at the door to your first class, raising his eyebrows knowingly but subtle enough that it slips past Ponyboy.

"'Kay. I'll meetcha here after class. Wanna sit with us for lunch, kid?"

You nod, thankful that he phrased it as an invitation so that Pony is none the wiser. In reality, you'd been planning on clinging to Two-Bit's leather jacket the entire lunch period. You're glad you have an excuse to do so, now.

You're lucky enough to have B-track classes today, which puts you in different groups than yesterday's A-track. It means that your only possible encounters with the three girls are in the hallways, but Two-Bit makes it impossible for anyone to pick on you by tailing you to each of your classes.

You think you've made it out alive- hopefully forever, by the end of the school day, and the ride home in Two-Bit's creaky little car feels miles better than it had the day before. Ponyboy's silent in the backseat, but that's usual for him, and you think nothing of it as you enjoy the ice cream that Two-Bit buys for the three of you.

It's when you're home that things really go downhill, sitting quietly around the dinner table when Ponyboy speaks for the first time all night.

"Y/N, why didn't'cha tell us you're getting picked on?" He raises the question quietly, but it's just for show- you know he's irritated, and Darry and Soda both straighten in their seats.

"What?" You feign innocence, digging your fork through the spaghetti on your plate, "What are you talkin' about, Pony?"

"These girls were talkin' about you in my history class." Ponyboy grumbles, and shit, you hadn't even considered the possibility of them sharing a class with your brother. You know he's smart for his age, that he was placed a year ahead of his grade level, but you hadn't connected the dots that they'd be in the same classes.

Darry's focus is on you now, but you know him and Soda are both still waiting for Ponyboy to continue. You avoid all three of their gazes, scrutinizing your spaghetti instead.

"They said they were planning on cornering you today. But they said since Two and I were with 'ya, they couldn't. Why didn't'cha tell us they were bothering you?"

Darry shifts forwards in his seat, more intimidating than he means to be. He's worried, you know that, but that's what you'd been trying to avoid.

"It's nothing serious, Pony." You try placating him, the whole table for that matter, "They're just mean girls. I'm handling it fine, really."

"They were talkin' about cornering you?" Darry finally speaks up, his voice unconsciously booming, "Y/N, I don't think you could've handled yourself then. Now I know you don't like makin' a scene but they could've hurt you. How many of 'em are there?"

"Three." You mumble, "Darry, I- I would've got out of it okay, really! They're real preppy, put-together girls, they probably wouldn't fight. Pro'lly just wanted to call me names or something."

"I don't want someone callin' you names, either." Soda frowns, his own plate forgotten as he focuses on you, "Did you tell a teacher about it?"

"No, it's- it's not that bad! Really, guys, you're overreacting. It's just high school drama. It sounds worse than it is."

"I don't like it." Darry decides, a note of finality in his voice that you're not happy about, "That ain't okay. And you know we'd back you up, kiddo. Pony, Johnny and Steve are there every day, and if you told Two-Bit, I'm sure he'd show up too."

"I did tell Two-Bit," You admit reluctantly, and rush to finish before your brothers get offended, "He got it out of me on the way home yesterday. That's why he came today, to make sure none of 'em got a hold of me."

"See, you do need a bodyguard," Soda reasons, leaning back in his chair, "Maybe I oughta take a day off from work. Drop you off tomorrow, give 'em the death stare or somethin'. If you want, I can have Dally tag along, that'll really scare 'em."

"No! No, don't take the day off, and- and don't show up! Especially not with Dallas," You groan, "This is why I didn't tell any of you guys. You have enough to worry about, you don't need to get involved in girl stuff."

Darry kicks your foot under the table, not hard, but reassuring, "Don't say that, kiddo. It ain't just 'girl stuff' if you're gettin' cornered at school. And we'd be more worried if you came home with a black eye. Now you let us all pick you up from school tomorrow, m'kay? Keep the boys with you, and Pony, keep an eye on those girls in class to see if they talk any more about Y/N."

"I will." Pony vows, and Soda finally relaxes, going for another bite of spaghetti at the same time that he tries speaking.

"Steve and I'll whip 'em if they act out," He promises through a mouthful of food, eliciting a sickened laugh from you, and two groans from your other brothers.

"Chew your food, Soda," Pony grimaces, and Darry elbows Soda unimpressed.

"Thanks, guys." You mumble, bashful for needing help but grateful your brothers are so willing to step into the ring for you, "It's- it's really not that bad but thank you for helping me anyways."

"Anytime, kiddo," Darry promises, a rare smile crossing his face, "Can't have the best of us gettin' beat up at school."

"Hey! The best of us?" Ponyboy glares at Darry, stabbing his spaghetti, "What happened to my big brains?"

"I dunno, I think you lost 'em when you fell from the top of the drive-in fence," You smirk at your youngest brother, still older but easiest to tease, "You hit the ground pretty hard."

Soda erupts into laughter at the memory, and Ponyboy continues his vicious assault on his dinner while Darry smothers a laugh, trying to keep the peace.

"But we mean it." Darry looks at you again, a hint of that former sternness crossing his face again, "If you need muscle, you got it. Ain't nobody gonna mess with my kid sister."

"'Specially not if Dallas shows up," Soda snickers, "Them girls'll go runnin' for the hills when they see him helpin' you in the car."

"Tell him to behave himself," You groan, "I don't need to be called into the office 'cause my brother's friend flashed a heater 'round the parking lot."

"He never behaves himself," Pony scoffs, "But if them girls are smart enough, they'll stay away from you before he has to get crazy on 'em."

"They'll stay away from you," Darry vows, and you believe him with the way the muscles in his strong arms flex as he leans forwards on the table, "Or they're gonna have to worry about somethin' worse than Dally."

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 7

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

A/N: okay after a long while, here we have an update! huge shoutout for @olesyaexperience for the lovely message she left me for this series. i hope you enjoy this!!

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444

2010, Winter break

If anyone asks, Y/N was not waiting on Sebastian's call.

She definitely was not checking her phone every five minutes to see if Sebastian left a message or anything. In her defense, she was just a bit worried that Sebastian must have been upset with her not being around. This championship is a big thing and a once in a lifetime achievement so she should have forced herself to celebrate yesterday with the team. With their abrupt leaving yesterday, she fed the media with the narrative that Webbers are crybaby and can't accept that Vettel won.

But she might have given herself away when she picked up the phone without it going on a single ring.

"Whoa its like you were waiting for me to call" Sebastian's teasing voice greeted her.

"Well hello there Mr. World Champion" Y/N replied back "Seems like you've been busy"

Sebastian chuckles at the other end and Y/N could just picture that smile on his face right now.

"Not too busy, just chilling around" Sebastian shrugs.

Y/N wraps her jacket closer to her body. It was snowing today in Australia, a big contrast to the tropical weather of Abu Dhabi. She finds herself thinking if Sebastian is inside his hotel room and taking a break from all the media duties.

"How are you feeling champ?"

"Amazing. Unreal. Phenomenal. High" Sebastian enumerates.

She was brimming with joy for Sebastian. It was really a well-deserved win. She wished that she could be there for Sebastian but her health is really taking a toll on her.

"You don't have to worry"Sebastian reassures "I'll win the championship again next year and you could celebrate with me then"

"Really? You are that confident?"

"Of course especially when you are smiling wildly like that"Sebastian teased.

"You got that I'm smiling from hearing my voice?" Y/N confusedly asked.

"Look out your window"

There was no way that Sebastian would be traveling all the way to Australia just to see her. However, there was the german driver standing with a grin on his face. Y/N didn't waste any more time and ran down to hug the world champion.

"You're fucking crazy Seb" Y/N exclaimed before hugging him.

They could feel both of their hearts pounding as they exchanged gleeful chuckles with each other.

"Only for you Y/N" Sebastian whispers "Only for you"

And Y/N swears her heart just went faster.

2011, Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit

It was a different feeling walking back to the paddock and having so many people cheer your name. For Sebastian, being the current world champion, has instantly given him a boost of fans especially among the young boys, who wanted to be a world champion just like him.

He never felt intimidated by the kids but with the way that this blonde kid has been making his way to him, Sebastian would like to rethink his decision that kids aren't scary.

"You are Sebastian Vettel right?" the blonde-haired kid asked.

The kid was dressed in a casual way without any team merchandise or branding with him. He looked pretty serious looking for a kid of his age and Sebastian swears he seen this look before. He cautiously looked at the paddock passes that hung around the child's neck, Mick Schumacher.

"I am Sebastian" Sebastian straightens himself up.

"I have heard a lot of things about you from Y/N" Mick said "I need to talk to you privately about her"

Sebastian could only nod as he led the young Schumacher to his driver's room. He honestly didn't think that he would be following a young kid's orders but here he is.

"What do you wanna talk about?"Sebastian started to ask

"I heard you went to her over the christmas break that's why she couldn't join us to go for skiing" Mick paced the room "And I heard you also took her to Monaco for her birthday"

The way Mick looked at Sebastian, he honestly doubt if Mick is actually a Michael Schumacher in disguise.

"And so what's your deal with her?"Mick crossed his arms "Do you like her?"

"What? How can you possibly say that, that's cra-"

"You do things for Y/N that my Papa does to my Mama"Mick said

His face was heating up by the ambush questioning of Mick and he felt himself sweating with the pressure building up. Sebastian already knew of his feelings from long ago but he couldn't understand why he doesn't have the guts to admit it.

"Well, I'm waiting here"Mick was an impatient kid "Do you like her or not?"

"I like her" Sebastian mumbles as if its a secret he only wanted to shared with himself.

"What? I can't hear you"

"Fine, I like her. I like Y/N" Sebastian admits louder.

It was the first time that Sebastian saw a small smile appear on Mick's face. He felt like his shoulders relaxed a bit while the young boy sits on one of the couches.

"So if you like her then why don't you make a move on her?"

Sebastian was stumped by the boy's question. Why doesn't he make a move on her?

"Well its complicated Mick and its not easy because I might lose a friend" Sebastian argues "It's not that I don't want to make a move on her but I don't want to put her in a difficult position"

"But isn't this also difficult for the two of you? Pretending you two are friends when you two are so much more"Mick had a good point.

He scratches his head. He actually had a plan long ago about confessing to Y/N when he becomes world champion but its been months after he became a world champion but he has no where near a game plan of how to confess to Y/N.

"You adults are so complicated, no wonder Mama doesn't want me to grow up"Mick complains.

"You won't get it, its too complicated and dangerous"

"You drive fast cars for a living and you say that telling a girl that you like how you feel is dangerous" Mick pouts.

Sebastian could only laugh how smart Mick was. He cannot believe that a young boy is telling him what to do with his love life.

"I only came here for one thing and that's for you to make a promise to have good intentions with Y/N"Mick added "Y/N is one of the best person out there and she takes care of me and my sister when our parents are not around"

There was a clear adoration in Mick's eyes and Sebastian felt himself warm up to how Mick is here because he is looking out for Y/N. He gave him a small pat in the back.

"Don't worry about it, I got her"

"Promise me that you won't hurt her okay? Even if it takes time for you to say your feelings"Mick reiterated.

"I promise Mick"Sebastian chuckles.

The little boy felt comforted by Sebastian's words and soon enough the two were engaging about a topic on motorsports. It turns out that having a great adoration for Y/N isn't their only shared interest. As they were heading out of the Red Bull motorhome, they encountered a very stressed out Y/N.

"Ohmygod Mick, we have been looking everywhere for you" Y/N worriedly states "Your Papa and Mama has been worried sick"

"I only went to have a chat with Seb"Mick grins.

Y/N looked at Sebastian suspiciously as if trying to figure out what the two talk about.

"Should I be worried?"

"You shouldn't stress about it"Sebastian assures "C'mon lets get little Schumi back to Michael"

The walk back to the Mercedes motorhome was how Mick held on both Sebastian and Y/N's hands. The three were giggling with each other while the cameras capture them. If there were new fans on the grid then they would have thought that they are a family walking at the paddock.

Somehow this thought couldn't leave Sebastian's head.

2011, Sepang International Circuit

Sebastian's dominance for the season is being affirmed with his second win for the current season. Y/N understands how this puts a lot of pressure on Mark especially when he feels frustrated that they have the same car but they are performing differently.

Usually, Y/N would congratulate Mark with a stellar drive because he went from P10 to P4 but her older brother is having a tantrum.

"I'm not doing well so save your congratulations for when I win a Grand Prix" Mark was furious with his words.

"Can you be a good sport and just for a second think rationally before speaking"Y/N pleaded.

"I don't give a crap about this" Mark replied "I am here to win and not be Mr. Congeniality"

Y/N slammed the door shut so no one could overhear them talking. With the way their voices are raised right now, Y/N's main goal was not to let the media get a whiff of this whole conversation.

"Seriously Mark, this isn't you... What is happening to you"Y/N asked.

"I'm actually done playing nice one with Sebastian and I'm focused on how to beat him this season" Mark stated "I don't care if he is your friend but on track he is a different person and I'll start acting like that"

"Mark, this isn't good for you"

"Just shut it Y/N if you're not going to help me win" Mark's words were cold.

And he left Y/N with her devices. Y/N couldn't believe that Mark could say such words but she attributes it to the pressure that must have been building up at his side of the garage. She just brushes it off as a bad weekend attitude from Mark.

2011, Silverstone circuit

Webber made the second driver again.

Mark Webber must have thought that he can secure a win for this weekend with his pole position advantage. However as the race began, Sebastian Vettel, his teammate and current world champion, has received a better start. Vettel was quick to surpass his teammate and hold a comfortable distance between them. Webber was able to retake the lead when Vettel had a pitstop but his victory was only shortlived after Webber suffers a horrendous pitstop.

By the end of the race, the controversial radio of Red Bull telling Webber to retain his position behind Sebastian. But Webber disobeyed the orders and continues to fight for Sebastian at the very end. Unfortunately for the Australian driver, Sebastian Vettel stays ahead claiming P2 and him in P3. Well its not bad for a second driver, atleast you are still in the podium Mark.

Webber and Button reunited in McLaren.

Y/N Webber and Jenson Button are spotted leaving the Silverstone Circuit last Sunday. Eagle-eyed fans spotted how they went straight to the McLaren Technology Center. It is quite funny because as one may recall it, Y/N Webber is technically a Red Bull employee as Mark's personal assistant. So what is she doing winding up in the enemy's territory?

2011, Nürburgring

Sebastian would like to think that this is all just an elaborate prank and that Y/N transferring to McLaren is just a joke. However, as race week start to approach and he sees how Y/N is wearing a McLaren team merchandise, Sebastian was out of focus.

He immediately seeks out his teammate because how could he have let Y/N go to other teams.

"Mark, what the fuck is going on with Y/N?" Sebastian barged in "I just saw her entering McLaren"

"What do you think it looks like?" Mark scoffed.

There is no way that Y/N would have been supporting McLaren unless she wasn't actually supporting McLaren.

"You fucking fired her?"

It was the only logical explanation available for Sebastian. Y/N got fired by Mark and Y/N had to find another job to sustain herself. Sebastian already know that McLaren has been trying to poach Y/N since Jenson moved there but he was always confident that Y/N would only switch if Mark fired her.

"I have to"Mark confirms "She is a distraction for me and a liability"

"A liability? A distraction?" Sebastian was bewildered.

"Yes because as long as she is here then I cannot fight you for the championship because I'm thinking how my personal relationship is at stake if I fight you"Mark was placing the blame on Y/N "But I want to fucking win"

Sebastian was beyond speechless. He have seen how much Y/N has tried her best to seperate their friendship and her family relationship especially during the championship. He felt so angry because all Y/N has been doing for the past few years has been to support Mark. But Mark has a too big of an ego to see that.

"You better watch yourself because I'm going to run you to the wall" Sebastian promised.

There was a certain anger in Sebastian's eyes because he felt like he would be driving with a personal vendetta for the next few races. Y/N has been so wronged by her brother and Sebastian promises that he will make it much more difficult for Mark.

"Is that a threat Vettel?"

"You bet it is"

[slasherscream]

Wash Day

pairing:  jordan li x fem black!reader

"You wanna go out to dinner tonight? Know I've been busy this week. Feel like I've barely seen you." Jordan mutters against the shell of your ear. You shiver as he gives the skin a teasing kiss.

Already you're pouting, knowing what your answer has to be even though you wish so desperately that you could give a different response. "Wish I could, Jordan. But my night is already spoken for."

You're spun around by a hand on your hip, playful and fast so that you can't stop yourself from falling into his chest. Your hands grip his jacket for balance, and he reaches up to hold one of them with his own. "You got plans? With who? Cate? Cancel them."

"Brat." You laugh.

How demanding Jordan is would be less cute if they ever asked you to do something they themselves wouldn't. As it stands, with the way they do anything you ask at the drop of a hat, all you can do is roll your eyes and pretend to be exasperated instead of smitten.

"Fine, don't cancel. I'll just come with." Jordan sighs, as if seeing his best friend is a great tragedy (Which it is. Cate being there means you'll smack Jordan's hand away when he tries to sneak it up your skirt at dinner.)

"What if we want a girls' night?" You shoot back, grinning.

Jordan shifts. The hands on your waist are smaller now, but pull you in closer, "You're the one who's feeling bratty. Really have been neglecting you this week, huh baby?" Jordan smirks, in that condescending way she does when she realizes you're trying to get a certain reaction out of her.

"The plans aren't with Cate, and they aren't cancellable." You sigh, deciding not to rise to the bait of her tone, smirk, or the little circles she's rubbing into your skin.

"What are these oh so important plans?" Jordan asks.

"Do you know how many white boys have complimented my hair today, Jordan?" You ask.

"Pardon?" Jordan blinks at what seems to be a completely unrelated topic.

"Six! Six white boys complimented my braids today. I'm about to kill myself, if we're being honest. I must looked fucked up, and you didn't even say anything." You pout.

You've been having a bit of a rough day, to say the least.

"You look beautiful. What are you talking about?" Jordan asks, confused but nonetheless, wanting to make you feel better. "If you didn't look good I'd very politely... have Cate tell you. But you look great! You've been getting compliments all day, you just said it yourself!"

"Wow, you'd throw Cate under the bus, huh coward?"

"Cate isn't interested in making out with you every spare second of the day. I am. You can be mad at her. I've got stuff I wanna do." Jordan's grin is downright salacious. You smack her arm, trying not to smile.

"Ah. You are operating under the same delusions of the white man. I see that now, I'll let go of the anger." You say, sighing and kissing Jordan on the cheek.

"First of all, don't you ever fucking insult me like that again.... Second of all, what particular delusion am I sharing with the white man?" Jordan asks.

"White men only compliment a black woman's hairstyle at two points in time. When it's brand spanking, fresh off the lot new. Or when it's started to look like shit. I've had these braids in for longer than... is your business. So guess which compliment I'm getting right now?"

"I fucking refuse to say your hair looks like shit, and this conversation feels like a trap. You're always beautiful to me." Jordan says.

"Thank you, baby. But we live on a campus where the diversity win photographers lurk around every corner trying to get pictures of 'The Diversity Win Couple' in our most natural state. I need to take out my braids tonight before I talk crazy in the group chat, and Andre sends me a 'this you?' pic that will devastate my argument." You shake your head somberly, already imagining the fate that lies before you.

"You could stop talking crazy in the group chat." Jordan teases.

"You know damn well I'm not capable of that."

The two of you burst into laughter, unable to keep it together. Jordan has always been obsessed with how easy it is for you to make them laugh.

"Is that gonna take up your whole night, though, baby? We don't have to go to dinner early! We'll go wherever you want." Jordan insists, tone bordering on begging.

Whenever they come out of a particularly busy week, they spend the next two weeks glued to you. As if to make up for it. The clinginess is a stark difference from how they acted before you made things official.

"Jordan, look at the braids on my head."

"I'm looking at them."

"Are you seeing them with your eyes?"

"Yes, and my eyes are sending the image to my brain, which I assure you is working. What's your point here, baby?"

"How long do you think it will take me to undo these, detangle my hair, wash it, deep condition it, and then wash it again?"

Jordan squints at you for a long moment, analyzing your hairstyle and the utter displeasure on your face. "I dunno? Maybe... four hours?"

"I should fucking murder you. Just for that, you're helping me with wash day now."

Jordan's face breaks into a grin like sunlight breaking through clouds, "So I do get to spend the day with you, is what you're saying?"

"Yeah, baby, you get to spend the day with me." You click your tongue at them. Pitying them for the ache in their fingers they're about to feel. They complain about curling their God damn hair a couple of times a week. You suspect you'll be ready to kill one another by hour two.

But you also missed them a lot. Or whatever.

"Don't cut too high up, Jordie. " You whine, shifting his grip lower on your braid, to an acceptable cutting length of the hair extension.

"Baby... can I ask you a very serious question right now?" Jordan hums, obediently cutting where you instructed.

"What?" You ask, already starting to unbraid the piece.

"How... long... do you think your hair is?" Jordan, to be fair to him, does ask the question quietly and with the proper amount of hesitation.

"How dare you! Are you calling me bald?" You gasp, stifling a laugh.

"Don't do this to me. You are prolonging the process. We can cut these braids at least four inches higher than what we're doing right now." Jordan says, you can't see his face but you can tell he's also trying not to laugh. Bastard.

"My hair grew!"

"From the top of your head. It did not magically lower itself further into the fucking braid extension." Jordan loses the battle and laughs.

"Jordan Li do not fucking cut off any of my hair or I'll cry and then blow up this school."

"Of course, princess." Jordan kisses the top of your head and gives in to your terrorist demands because you're cute.

"So how am I supposed to do it, baby?" Jordan claps her hands and you smile at how eager she sounds to help.

"You're gonna want to section it off. Do like... eight parts of hair. That'll make literally every step after this easier. Then you're gonna comb the hair from the bottom, 'kay?"

"Got it."

Jordan starts the process of parting your hair, careful and slow. Fingers sectioning off eight chunks of hair that she keeps apart with the silky hair ties you hand her over your shoulder.

"You sure you don't want me to comb it, Jordie?" You ask Jordan.

"I'll be gentle, don't worry. You always say your shoulders hurt at the end of wash day. Which is crazy, because I've seen what you can bench. I've got you, baby." She spritzes extra detangler spray on each of the parts she just made.

You move around slightly, a little sore already from sitting still between her legs for so long, but smiling to yourself nonetheless. A pillow is suddenly shoved into your face and you lean away, confused.

"Sit on this one instead. It'll be better." Jordan says.

You switch out the pillows and tilt your head back to look at her. "Why're you always right? Is that your kink?"

"No, my kink is bossing you around." Jordan smirks and leans down to give you a kiss. Despite the awkward angle you can't help trying to deepen the contact. The feeling of her soft lips sliding against yours, firm but gentle, is always irresistible.

She hums and gives you a playful nip before pulling away. "Don't start something we can't finish."

"Who says we can't?" You shoot back, staring up at her.

"You will be pissed an hour from now if you glance at your phone and we haven't made any progress." Jordan runs her thumb along your bottom lip before pushing your head forward.

"Who says it will take an hour?"

"I do. If we start, I'm not stopping." Jordan's voice dips seductively and a line of tension runs up the length of your spine.

You smack her thigh for teasing you, "Shut up."

"Is this comfortable?" Jordan frowns, staring at the angle your head has to be at to fit in the bowl of the sink.

"No, but this is the best angle this chair can get me to." You say. Usually you just wash in the shower, but since Jordan is helping the sink makes more sense.

Jordan stands, scowling at how uncomfortable you seem. Suddenly he grins, "Baby! Make a chair with your shields. Something that leans."

You were getting a lot better with being able to make complex shapes, with less concentration. You stand up from the chair you'd dragged from the common room. Jordan pulls it out of the way and gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

It takes you a minute, but you conjure a shield that resembles a salon chair and the both of you let out identical cries of delight.

Jordan pushes you to sit down with a kiss on your forehead. "That's my fucking girl. Tell me if the temperature is too hot."

Jordan washes your hair with the perfect amount of pressure and thoroughness. He's nearly rhythmic in his methodical cleaning. You didn't realize your eyes had fluttered closed until you hear him laugh. You open one eye to glare at him playfully, knowing he won't get soap in them.

"What's so funny?"

"You're like a cat. You gonna purr for me, baby?" He smirks.

"If you keep going like that, yeah. Or I'll fall asleep. Please don't make me fall asleep. I'll fall on my ass." You say.

"I'll endeavor to make the rest of the wash as unpleasant as possible."

He does not do that. And at one point you do fall asleep. Jordan catches you before you can actually fall. 'Thank God for Supe reflexes', you both think. You spend the rest of the wash with your eyes wide open and Jordan laughing at you.

"Did we put too much?" Jordan asks, dabbing at another drip of oil and conditioner down your brow.

"No, this is typical. The hair has to be saturated. It's dripping because the oil is you know... getting hot and even more liquid-y." You say, eyeing the episode of Property Brother's you'd both decided on. "Hm. I think that woman should be put to death."

Jordan was keeping vigilant about dabbing at the sides of your face. You'd been in charge of one side, at first. But Jordan seemed to have a sixth sense for when the other side was dripping as well, and kept interrupting you before you could get to any trickles of oil. You'd given up and just started narrating the show for her as she wasn't taking her eyes off the line of your brow.

"Why? What did she do?" Jordan dabs again.

"She wants to put up a fence that blocks the view of the historical house that she did not have to buy if she wanted a fence so bad." You roll your eyes.

"Is the city gonna let her?"

"No."

"Haha. 500k down the drain." Jordan cackles.

"Anti-gentrification win!" You hold out your fist for a fist-bump and Jordan obediently obliges, oil soaked rag still held in her fist.

A comfortable silence falls over you two, besides the noise of the portable hair dryer.

"I really think we put too much, baby." Jordan mutters, dabbing again.

"I have been doing this since I was twelve, Jordan!"

"Play the video again, one speed slower this time." Jordan's eyes are glued to your phone.

You're sitting between his legs again, cushioned by the (superior) pillow of his choosing. You were trying to decide on a simple hair style when Jordan saw a picture of Mini Twists and got excited to see you in them.

("You've already seen me in mini twists, Jordie. What are you talking about?"

"You weren't my girlfriend the last time you wore them though! Now you are, and I get to look at you as much as I want."

So that had decided that.)

"Okay, I think I got it. 'M gonna start with a braid base, without making the parts too big, then start twisting the hair with two strands, and that will make it last longer, right?"

"Right." You smile at how focused Jordan sounds.

They're hot when they're in the zone. You just didn't think they'd get so into helping you with your hair. But you should have known, really. Acts of service paired with their inner perfectionist? You're completely relaxed at this point. You know Jordan won't have you walking out of your room looking crazy, come hell or high water.

"Is this okay?" Jordan shows you a picture of the back of your head, three rows of twists done.

You gasp, snatching the phone, "That's my head?"

"Uh... yes?" Jordan answers slowly.

"The back of my head? The head on my body?"

"Should I start over?"

"Fuck you! These are almost better than mine. Who's hair are you playing around in when I'm not here, Jordan LI?"

"Stop using my fucking government name." Jordan tilts your head back to look at him with a gentle grip on your neck, grinning down at you. "You play too fucking much. You sure they're good, princess? It's okay if I need to redo them."

"I'm gonna give you orgasms that will make you lose brain cells."

"Baby!" Jordan laughs, rolling his eyes. "I'm serious. Do any of them need redoing?"

"The first row is really fucking good for a beginner but the second row is damn near perfect." You say.

"I'll redo the first row then." Jordan kisses your temple before moving you to face forward again.

"I said they were good!" You protest.

"But the second row is better. I want the whole thing to look good. Don't want you feeling self conscious cause I fucked up the style, y'know." Jordan mumbles.

You tilt your head back to look at him, ignoring him sucking his teeth (a habit he picked up from you) at you moving.

"I love you, Jordie. Thank you for helping me today." You coo.

You watch his face go red with a grin. He grins back, leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. When he tries to pull away too soon you whine, holding him close by the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Wanna kiss you. You're sweet." You breathe the words against his lips, insistently continuing the caress.

He sighs, smitten, and let's you lead for a moment. Hand finding it's way back to your neck and tightening just enough to make you gasp. Still, he pulls away too quickly.

"I'm gonna fuck you up." You scowl at him.

"The only thing you're gonna fuck up is your neck, brat. This is a horrible angle for you." Jordan's smile is so soft at the edges it's your turn to blush.

"Speak for yourself."

"No, I'm too busy speaking on behalf of your neck."

"Well, I'm speaking on behalf of my-"

"Pussy?"

"I was going to say raging hormones but that's a lot more to the point, yeah. Or maybe I was going to say something romantic. You ever think of that, Jordie? Huh?"

"Were you going to say something romantic?" Jordan hums.

"No."

"Let me do your hair in peace." Jordan turns you forward again with a laugh.

"Turn this way." Jordan instructs, snapping another picture.

"I don't know whether you're worse than an Instagram hair stylist or a Mom." You ponder, words barely audible because your girlfriend is scary.

"Shut up and smile." Jordan scowls.

As if engraved into your genetic code the words make you do just that. You suffer through another 20 pictures being taken before you say enough is enough.

Jordan happily shows you the pictures, as if you hadn't seen yourself in the mirror just a minute ago. Or ever. The grin on her face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"You like it, baby?" Jordan asks again.

"It looks so good, Jordie. It looks like I paid someone honestly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You drape your arms around her shoulders. "How's this angle?"

"For what?" Jordan tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

"For kissing. Since you were so worried about the angle before."

Jordan scoffs, but she's the one to pull you in. She doesn't pull away this time.

A/N: i needed reader to have a goofball vibe because i have a goofball vibe. if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anonymous ask saying you enjoyed it! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

[genericpuff]

The Derivative Fashion Sense of Lore Olympus

So I'm usually out here going Gordon Ramsay on Rachel's ass about her writing and art, but for this unsolicited essay I will be wearing a different hat.

Yep, we're going Miranda Priestly today. Specifically the Miranda Priestly who talks fashion, not the Miranda Priestly who abuses employees lmao (though rest assured, I'm gonna have a lot of curt words throughout this).

Disclaimer: I am not at all an expert on fashion, these are just my thoughts and observations from studying fashion styles as part of my own artistic journey, so as always, take what I have to say with loads of salt. I also realize the irony that I am addressing the derivative nature of Lore Olympus when I, myself, am creating a derivative retelling of Lore Olympus.

Alright, enough small talk.

There's this general misconception in runway fashion that all those "impractical outfits" are meant to be worn by the average person, people such as myself who see these outfits and go "what the fuck do you mean Lady Gaga wore a dress made out of meat?!" When we see these crazy fits, our first impression is often "Why would anyone wear that?"

Well, because they aren't outfits. They're art pieces.

And not only are the outfits themselves art pieces, but the people wearing them are the canvases. These outfits aren't designed for just anyone to wear, especially not your average Joe, they're designed both with the artist's vision as well as the model in mind. A lot of thought, expression, cultural influences, and personal messaging is sewn into these designs.

Think about it this way, you couldn't take that aforementioned Gaga meat dress and put it on Taylor Swift. Not only would it not be physically tailored to her, but it wouldn't align with Swift's brand of music. Gaga, at the time of wearing that dress, was making a statement that came about from a collaborative effort between herself, the canvas, and her fashion designer, the artist. The meaning would be lost if you put Swift, Katy Perry, or any other musician into it, because the fact that Gaga is the one wearing it is part of that meaning.

What would happen if you did take the meat dress and put it on someone else? Well, that's how you get the controversial 2022 Met Gala when Kim Kardashian wore the sequin dress that Marilyn Monroe wore for JFK back in 1962.

Not a replica. Not a re-interpretation. The actual literal dress that Monroe once wore. This was a very bold - and in my opinion, reckless - move on Kim's part, because not only was she forcing herself into a dress not tailored to her (and yes, there has been deliberation on what damage was caused to the dress on account of this) but rather than working with a fashion designer to come up with a fresh new interpretation of the same concept, she just went "yeah I'm gonna wear the exact dress", in what many interpreted as a disrespectful power move to artificially put herself on the same level of prestige as Monroe. But she still isn't on that level of prestige and it speaks volumes that she thought carving out her own legacy would be as simple as just taking someone else's. The wolf wore the sheep's clothing with the intent to fool the sheep, but it was still a wolf.

But okay okay, WHAT does this have to do with Lore Olympus?

Well, Rachel released a new interview clip.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Rachel Smythe (@usedbandaid)

I will say, these seem to have all been recorded at once probably when she was back at NYCC and they're probably going to be released daily leading up to the free release of the finale. Why they're hyping up the free version rather than hyping up the FastPass version that actually generates income, I have no clue, but I digress.

As always, the transcript is as follows:

"I really like looking at like, uh, vintage clothing and silhouettes that are... y'know, timeless. I mean, obviously it's really hard to future-proof work that's set in the modern setting because of course the times are gonna change, like, rapidly and there's not a lot you can do about it, but in terms of, like, fashion, there are just some silhouettes that are always going to look very classy, so... I try to put things that will not age. Like, I think there was a chapter recently where she [Persephone?] had like a very vintage Dior look which I really liked, um... and I feel like that will always look nice, like in 10 years time I'll be like, 'She looked good'. But there are some outfits which are more modern where I'm like, 'That probably won't look good in 10 years time'. But, y'know, we still got the inspired vintage Dior outfit so that's good, that's safe."

There isn't much to say about the actual transcribed text itself, but I do think it's very telling that Rachel tries to upsell her sense of fashion sense in LO when... much of it is just flat out derivative. At best she's often referencing real life people (mostly Hollywood celebrities) and at worst she's usually just grabbing stuff off Pinterest inspo boards without any consideration towards the influences or who she's putting into them.

That said, I do think she told on herself quite a bit in that final line of the interview clip - "that's good, that's safe."

I can understand wanting to play it safe in terms of knowing your limitations and not wanting to create something that would be dated in a few years.

But fashion... isn't about playing it safe. Because ultimately, how something ages in the long term isn't something that you, the artist, can control, and like many art mediums, you need to be focused on what to create next, not on how well your old art pieces still hold up in the present where they've been removed from their original context.

And I think this rings true for a lot of Lore Olympus, beyond just the fashion. It's all just a little too safe. We see it in the fashion, we see it in her uncommitted writing decisions, we see it in how often she's willing to retcon things just to write herself out of corners.

And I think that's really Rachel's biggest weakness as a creator at the end of the day. As much as she's tried to put on the persona of "screw you, I'll do what I want", her actions are always the opposite of what she says. She says that the fashion in LO is very vintage, but I can count on one hand how many outfits were actually vintage. The vast majority of them are a lot more modern, with a lot of Western influences, and sometimes with a boob window thrown in.

Case in point, the most recent outfit of Persephone wearing a practically-nude sparkle dress?

That's Rihanna's Swarovski dress that she wore in 2014.

Now, to Rachel's credit, she did find a way to personalize this to Persephone by removing the cap and giving her a rose-shaped bun, but the outfit itself is still just copied directly from Rihanna. Not only is there not a whole lot of Persephone's influence beyond her being literally made out of roses-

-but there isn't anything calling attention to the fact that this is a Greek myth retelling. And this isn't just a problem with the Swarovski dress callback, this is a problem EVERYWHERE.

And of course, that's not even touching on the fact that Hades and Hecate are forced to wear suits constantly. Because, according to Rachel, the fashion inspiration for Hades and Persephone only went as deep is "he's the groom and she's the bride"-

Rachel plays it safe by sticking purely to the inspirations she consumes from modern American media. The "modern twist" on the myths in LO is literally just "it's Greek myth but it's set in Los Angeles". She doesn't seem to want to put herself out there and actually consume Greek content any deeper than what she can find on Google, and it shows in how little Greek there is in this Greek myth comic.

There is, ironically, as I've been told by community members in ULO, a fashion collection called Persephone created by Paolo Sebastian, and in it you can see the actual Greek influences in these outfits far more than what you see in even Persephone's most visually stunning outfits:

These are dresses and yet Paolo uses them as an opportunity to tell the story of Persephone, somehow even more faithfully than an actual written adaption of The Hymn to Demeter. Because fashion, too, can tell a story - and Lore Olympus' fashion, like its writing, has no story to really tell, at least not in Rachel's hands when she's just pulling whatever she can find from what she treats as a pile of "stuff" on Google.

And that's not even getting into how the writing plays it safe much in the same way as the fashion influences and artistic choices. A good example is that S3 premiere sequence, in which Hades and Persephone are pulled away from each other so that... they can get washed down by their family and peers.

Rachel doesn't really do anything to re-contextualize this reference for the context and setting and circumstances of LO, she just goes "I liked that bath scene from Beauty and the Beast so I'm going to put it in LO."

And of course, it doesn't work as effectively as it did in Beauty and the Beast, because the whole original point of that scene was to showcase the big and scary Beast being washed down like a dog by his servants-turned-into-furniture while he stresses over how he's going to win over Belle. It's a comedic subversion, artistically by showing the ferocious beast reduced into a wet dog, but also on a narrative level by showing through his dialogue and actions how nervous he is to impress Belle because his own fate - as well as the fates of his servants - depend on her falling in love with him. He can't afford to mess this up.

But in LO, it's two naked people who we already know love each other and are committed to each other, we've already seen countless scenes of them being sweet on each other and showcasing that they're into each other, and by all accounts they've already gotten their happy ending, so it makes no sense for them to just be like "OMG SHE LIKES ME?? I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE LIKES ME!" "should I seduce him?!?!??" because this seems like a no-brainer and there's zero actual stakes riding on this the way that there was with Belle and the Beast. Plus the people washing them down aren't their servants who are in the same situation as them, they're random gods from the Pantheon whose affiliation ranges from "family" to "never even had a conversation before". One of the women washing down Persephone has literally never spoken a single line of dialogue to her; another one of them was literally dumped by her partner because he wanted Persephone more than her. Who are these people and why are they enthusiastically appearing to give her a bath? Why is Hades being given a scrub down by his own brother?

And that's really the most striking difference between inspired references and derivative ones. Undertale was a game created by a guy who was in love with retro games like Earthbound and Megaman. Stardew Valley was a game created by a guy who loved Harvest Moon and used to play it with his girlfriend. Content that's built on the foundation of another is natural and the basis of inspiration, but you have to go further with it than just going "yeah this thing existed and I'm taking it", otherwise you miss the purpose of why those inspirations were created the way they were.

And when you don't actually explore how you can re-interpret those influences and add your own voice into them, that's how you wind up writing like Rachel whose writing is about as inspired as a cheap character swap cutaway gag from Family Guy.

Rachel's great at referencing, but that's not at all an impressive thing to do as proven by Peter Griffin. She's not at all re-contextualizing or expanding on what inspired her... but she still claims that she's exactly what she's doing because she calls Lore Olympus a "deconstruction". But her deconstruction only ever goes so far as "well what if Aphrodite left Ares for Hephaestus instead of the other way around?" and then just showing that question and never answering it or delivering on the potential of what that could cause. At best, she'll ask a "what if?" but then never actually show us the what if, it begins and ends with the question and the question itself doesn't provoke any thought deeper than "huh, yeah, that would be neat I guess." Episode's over, next scene. What if we showed that clip of Bill O'Reilly freaking out on set, but like, replaced it with Stewie Griffin and changed nothing else about it except for that? That's the joke, next scene.

I know, we're digressing hard off the fashion here, but the fashion itself is just a symptom of a much bigger problem that expands even beyond Lore Olympus - Rachel plays things way too safe. Even her responses in her interviews are painfully subdued, often resorting to the same tired answers that we've heard 823190589320 times before to the same hand-picked questions that are undoubtedly chosen ahead of time to ensure she doesn't have to answer anything too complicated. And when she does say "I have thoughts about xyz" she never actually... expresses her thoughts. She just says she does and then moves on without any further elaboration because she can't wholeheartedly commit to whatever thoughts she has going on.

Granted, I'm sure that part of that is owed to the fact that she might feel like she can't say anything while the critics are breathing down her neck. I can understand that. But it's gotten so chronic that it's now bleeding into the work itself and it's led to even more criticism of her work. Need I remind you that this is the same person who copy pasted the definition of "xenia" from a first result Google search into her comic instead of naturally writing it into the script:

Rachel played it so safe that she basically treated her own audience like kindergartners by explaining what a scene meant even after explaining it in the text:

As true as it is in fashion, writing stories and making art takes risks. That doesn't mean you have to completely throw caution to the wind, but if you don't take risks, you do yourself the disservice of writing something that can truly be called unique and special to you. If you don't use your influences wisely, if you don't analyze and re-analyze what's influenced you over the years, you're going to wind up losing a lot of subtext in those influences and missing out on the opportunity to add your own voice into the re-interpretation. Rachel does take a lot of risks in LO, but they're not calculated risks, they're not risks that actually have any meaning behind them, she's sort of just throwing stuff at a wall and seeing what sticks, and worst of all, when it doesn't stick, she herself doesn't stick to it, she backpedals, she cowers away from the decisions she's made.

Rachel expressed her worries about depicting fashion that would become aged, but Lore Olympus is already aged through her own inability to commit to her decisions, take risks, and find her voice. It's aged itself through its poor interpretations of the myth, it's aged itself through its reliance on Tumblr tropes that have already been replaced tenfold, and it's aged itself through Rachel herself riding off the initial innovation of creating Lore Olympus and then never continuing to challenge herself or raise the bar for herself.

It proves true the discussion around why Lore Olympus became popular - at the time, it was groundbreaking, drawn in a style that we hadn't seen much of before, with fresh new takes on the myth; now, in 2024, its 'takes' feel tired and half-baked, and its art style has become a corporate-scrubbed shell of what it once was. And yet, Rachel is still rewarded for it all the same, so settling for comfortable mediocrity has become the name of the game.

Rachel may be trying as hard as the Disney life action remakes and Kim Kardashian to put herself on the same pedestal as the greats of yesteryear simply by copying what they did, but in playing it this safe and refusing to find her own voice out of the voices that influenced her, Lore Olympus isn't timeless. It's soulless.

[leidensygdom]

Hasbro's CEO is, once again, expressing interest in using AI at WOTC

Not surprising, but I think his own chit-chat about it (directed at shareholders, of course) is quite the read (derogatory):

"Inside of development, we've already been using AI. It's mostly machine-learning-based AI or proprietary AI as opposed to a ChatGPT approach. We will deploy it significantly and liberally internally as both a knowledge worker aid and as a development aid. I'm probably more excited though about the playful elements of AI. If you look at a typical D&D player....I play with probably 30 or 40 people regularly. There's not a single person who doesn't use AI somehow for either campaign development or character development or story ideas. That's a clear signal that we need to be embracing it. We need to do it carefully, we need to do it responsibly, we need to make sure we pay creators for their work, and we need to make sure we're clear when something is AI-generated. But the themes around using AI to enable user-generated content, using AI to streamline new player introduction, using AI for emergent storytelling, I think you're going to see that not just our hardcore brands like D&D but also multiple of our brands."

This directly fights against WOTC's already very weak claims about not wanting to use AI (after massive backslash from players anytime they had tried to get away with it), and does paint quite the bleak future for DnD and Magic the Gathering. AI usage doesn't really benefit the consumer in any way- It's like a company known for nice homemade cakes trying to tell you that factory made cakes are actually also good and you should be buying them too. The cakes aren't better. You can get those cakes elsewhere. The only person benefiting from factory made cakes is the one selling them, because they're the one saving time and money by making them that way.

But short-term benefits (through firing large portions of their artists and replacing them with AI made slop) outweighs any attempt to maybe get some trust from their already alienated consumers back. I also find it kind of incredibly funny and pathetic how this man claims to play DnD with about 30 to 40 people and "how every single one of them uses AI". I'm not entirely sure this guy is even aware of how DnD groups are usually sized, and how you would not have any physical time to do anything if you somehow played with 40 players on the regular (that'd be about 10 games!)

Anyways, as always, there's nice TTRPGs out there that don't absolutely despise their customer base nor are obsessed with cutting any remains of humanity out of their product to save a few cents. Play Lancer, play Blades in the Dark, play Pathfinder or Starfinder 2e if you want the DnD experience without the bullshit. Plenty of options out there that deserve your money far more than DnD.

[riki-riks-chick]

Chainsmoker┃L.HS

smoker!heeseung x reader

heeseung smokes cigarettes, but yn wants him to quit.

cw: arguments, cigarettes, smoking, addiction.

wdct: 748

this is a request to make a longer version of this req.

═════════════

Third Person POV~

"Heeseung.. Wake up, baby.." You shake his shoulder, trying to wake him as he groans. "What?.." He asks sleepily as you sigh. "We're supposed to go shopping today, and then we're going to lunch. Get up." He nods, sitting up. "Okay.."

The two of you spend the next hour getting ready before heading to the front door, but you stop, turning to Heeseung.

"Give me your lighter.." You sigh, holding your hand out as he sighs, giving you the lighter. "Baby.. Do I really have to?" He asks as you nod. "Yes, smoking is terrible for you and I hate it.. I'll carry your gum if you want, but at least try the patches.. You're not making any effort to quit.."

He sighs, pretty much ignoring you as you roll your eyes, grabbing your keys before stepping out the door, locking it behind Heeseung.

Throughout the day, Heeseung is in a bad mood. And you know it's because he wants to smoke, but you physically can't stand it. It's not only a very unhealthy habit, but it's annoying. The nicotine kisses, the brand new outfits that now smell like cigarette smoke. You're so over it to the point that you're considering Heeseung not moving in with you permanently. And that's not something you want because you love your boyfriend, but he can't seem to give it up.

"Heeseung, do you think this is cute?" You ask, holding up a cute cardigan as he nods. "Yeah, whatever." You roll your eyes, hanging it back on the rack. "I get that you're pissed, but don't take it out on me. I'm only trying to help, Heeseung." You whisper yell as he scoffs. "Have you ever considered that I don't want your help?"

His tone is seething with anger, and it only makes you more upset. "Fine then.. Don't expect me to ever help you again. And you can move back to your apartment while you're at it."

Your tone is bitter, and he simply scoffs, turning to walk away. "Where are you going?" You question as he turns around, glaring at you. "Somewhere you aren't."

He then walks away as you sigh, running a frustrated hand through your hair. He's so stubborn sometimes. You've tried to get him to quit smoking multiple times before. You had even given up clubbing and drinking because he said, "I can't be the only one to give something up." 

Now it's been a year and you haven't had an alcoholic beverage at all, but he's still smoking.

And you're not perfect, and you can't judge him for his addiction, but you're only trying to help.

You walk around for the next thirty minutes, trying to give Heeseung time to cool off before using his location to find him.

His location said that he was at the convenience store just a block away, so you walked there, taking your time. Soon enough, you found him outside the convenience store, a cigarette perched between his fingers as he took a slow drag. 

Once his eyes met yours, he exhaled, putting the cigarette out. You walked over to him, ignoring the strong and recognizable scent of cigarettes on him. "I'm sorry I spoke to you that way."

You apologize, not wanting him to stay mad over what you said. He doesn't seem to want your apology, though.

"I don't wanna talk right now." He speaks lowly, and you sigh, grabbing his hands in yours. "Please, Hee.. I didn't mean that.. I was just upset and I misspoke." You apologize again and Heeseung's gaze drops. "So you do wanna live with me?..." He asks as you nod. "Of course I do.. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, baby.."

You hug him and his wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back. "Sorry, I probably stink.." He pulls away, rubbing the back of his neck as you smile.

"It's fine.. I'll try to be less controlling.." He shakes his head. "No.. You were right.. It's a bad habit and I'm gonna quit.. I don't want you to resent me.." 

You smile, kissing his cheek. "I could never resent you.. Don't worry.. We'll help you quit together. Okay?" He nods, hugging you again.

"I'll try my hardest.."

═════════════

[respectthepetty]

scared of your thoughts on fk - i think they confuse their friends & each other - feels so intricate

You asked about one specific pair, but . . .

You opened a floodgate!

I already wrote that I like fan service; therefore, I like First and Khaotung's special brand of teary-eyed fan service. However, I also wrote that JoongDunk are my GMMTV favorites because Joong is always hyping up his homies, and Dunk stays Pretty Boy Petty.

So I'm excited to see all four promote The Heart Killers when the show is ready to be released since I think it'll be a hoot watching First and Khaotung call each other best friends with tears in their eyes while Joong sits next to them commenting on how banging Dunk's body is and Dunk openly agreeing that his body is, in fact, banging. Joong and Dunk are always firing shots at First x Khaotung for no good ass reason, so I'm thrilled they will get to do it to First and Khaotung's faces for an extended period of time.

Because to me, most fan service is good since it allows people to see people of the same sex casually being affectionate with each other without the belief that it should be shameful or hidden, so give me all the styles of GMMTV fan service! Give me Force x Book's eighty year friendship, Pond x Phuwin's nerdy fashion model energy, Earth x Mix's marriage and divorce era, Tay x New's fist fights over dessert, Off x Gun's evolution of skinship, Jimmy x Sea's intellectual companionship, Gemini x Forth's "fuck it, we ball' attitude, and all the other 31 Flavors of Branded Pairs the BL world has to offer us.

Because I really do not care what these men do or do not do or if it is real or not. What bothers me is these companies (not just GMMTV) encourage this behavior, then when fans get toxic, the companies leave the actors to deal with the fallout. I also don't like that out actors aren't as well protected and even straight actors and their girlfriends are targeted by fans, which only encourages queer actors to stay closeted while delivering a queer performance and for straight actors to feed into this mind fuckery by being in a pseudo-monogamous relationship with their acting partner which is an extension of our heteronormative societies and their belief that affection can only be reserved for one person.

So my thoughts on First and Khaotung are irrelevant because I'm going to like all these pairs regardless of what they give me. Max and Tul were as open as possible about Max having a girlfriend and Tul being gay, yet that in no way influenced how I enjoyed their fan service. Yin and War have stated several times that what they do is their job, and I'm still clapping every time War chokes Yin. And as much as I truly believe Mos and Bank are married, if they came out today and said they actually hate each other and cannot stand the sight of each other, I'd be proud at their acting skills all these years because I have faked liking my coworkers for a lot less money.

As a Catholic and a slut, I think there is a great sociological study here about how branded pairs help with queer representation regardless if the people in the pairs are queer or not, yet how the pairs must still fit into a digestible frame of traditional (hetero) relationships with affection only being given to one person forever and ever until death (or their contracts) do them part.

So First and Khaotung aren't the only ones confusing people because this entire setup is confusing. They aren't creating some intricate strategy but these companies are. These actors are just out here telling their homies they look cute and going on (hopefully) company-sponsored trips. And if they like it, I love it.

Because I've been pretending to like Karen from Finance for years when I can't stand that bitch, yet I still have a job that pays my bills, so "get it how you live it."

And make it a little queer along the way.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

The Elevator - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 1741>

You had just gotten into the elevator of your apartment building, eyes glued to your phone as you texted a few friends. You knew there was someone else in there, but you didn't pay them much notice. 

As the elevator started to ascend, the lights above you started blinking. The elevator rattled, before grinding to a stiff halt. "Shit," you mumbled, unsure of what to do. The stranger stepped forward to see if he could find the 'open doors' button on the control panel, but he just looked downright confused.

You finally got a good look at him, and he was handsome, to say the least. His dark brown hair was slightly overgrown and his green eyes glowed under the emergency lights of the elevator. "Normally the door button works," he mumbled, pressing the button a few times.

"I think you should probably press the 'get help' button," you explained, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea," he lightly smiled, pressing the button with no more back-lighting. "And now, we wait," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

"These guys take a while to fix this thing, so we're going to be here for a while," you said, knowing how long the maintenance people took to get to the elevator and find out the problems with it. "You live here?" he asked, trying to make conversation so that it wouldn't be awkward.

"Yeah, I've been here for about a year now, and I have taken the stairs every time apart from today," you said, causing the stranger to chuckle along with you. "What about you? I've never seen you around here before,"

"I'm just here visiting a friend, but I don't think I'll be seeing him anytime soon," he nodded, sighing. Silence settled over the two of you, and there was some sort of tension in the air. Both of you wanted to say something, but neither of you knew what to say.

"So, what's your name?" You asked, his attention averting back to you. 

"I'm Charles, what about you?" he asked back, glad you were getting acquainted.

 "I'm Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," you said, holding your hand out to him for him to shake. You had never done that before, so you were mentally asking yourself why you were being like that. Normally you just smiled or hugged someone, not shook their hand. 

But, Charles was cordial and extended his hand out to you,  shaking it. "The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," he said, something in his eye sparkling as he looked at you.

"So guys, we think the problem is something to do with the wiring, but we'll need to get a team down the elevator shaft to be sure. The minimum time we're going to be able to do that is an hour, the maximum... I don't know. It is a Saturday after all. The cameras aren't working, so if you two want to find a way to entertain yourselves, be my guest. I'll give you a five minute warning," the voice of someone rang out over the speakers.

You and Charles were both visibly creeped out by his suggestion, and you had a feeling that the cameras were in fact working and he was probably just being creepy. "I am perfectly entertained, thank you," you said, as if he could still hear you.

Charles chuckled at your comment, knowing it wouldn't come to that. Probably. 

"We've got an hour, so there's time for a movie or something?" Charles asked, getting his phone out of his pocket. "You don't happen to have any popcorn, do you?" You smiled, taking a seat next to him as he also sat down. 

"No, I don't, but I do have Netflix," he smiled, shuffling up closer to you. 

"It's a good job I have bad habits when it comes to leaving the house," you said, producing a bag of popcorn out of your bag. "Every time I go out, I have to get some from the store around the corner. It's an own-brand, and it is the best," you explained, opening the bag and placing it in-between you. 

"What kind of movies do you like?" Charles asked, taking some popcorn and popping it in his mouth, "This is really good, by the way,"

"I like comedies, or a nice romance. Or even better yet, a rom-com," you told him, taking some of the popcorn yourself, "But whatever you like is fine, I'm not too fussy,"

"Action comedy?" he asked, scrolling through his phone to try and find a movie. 

"Sounds good to me," you nodded, taking your jacket off and making a pillow for yourself out of it. It was a lot better than sitting on the cold floor. "Now that is a good idea," he said, shrugging his jacket off as well. "Can you hold this?" he said, handing you his phone. 

You took it and immediately scrolled to his 'continue watching' section. "You've got good taste here, Charles," you said, looking through what he had. "You've got some classics, The Office, Friends, Drive to Survive? What's that? And why have you only watched like, two random episodes?" 

"Because they're the best ones, they have this guy called Charles Leclerc in them. He's great," he smiled, knowing full well you didn't know who he was. "We have the same first name, it's pretty cool," he smugly smirked, taking his phone back off you. 

"How's Murder Mystery with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston sounding?" he asked.

"Pretty good," you nodded as he clicked play. You both sat there, laughing along to the movie and he had made a pretty good choice. 

"Hello lovebirds! This is your five minute warning. I know the phrase is 'don't come knocking when the elevators' rocking', but we have to do what we have to do," the maintenance guy said over the speaker.

"This guy is so strange," you said to Charles, and he nodded in agreement with a laugh. 

"And very horny," he said, causing a blush to creep up onto your cheeks.

"You got that right," you said, wanting to resume the movie. You stood up to put your jacket back on, since the temperature in there had dropped significantly. You decided you were just going to deal with having a sore behind.

Even with your jacket on, it still wasn't warming you up like you thought it would. You tried not to physically shiver, and Charles noticed. "You alright?" he asked, turning to the side to look at you. "Yeah, just a bit cold,"

"Here, take this," he said, pulling his jacket out from underneath him and draping it over your shoulders. "Are you not cold?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. Sure, it was a bit cold in there, but you looked like you needed it more. You were shivering.

After a bit, you heard some banging and crashing going on above you. "It's either help is here, or the sky is falling down," Charles said, pausing the movie so you didn't get interrupted anymore. 

"Thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully for you two, the issue is nearly resolved and you can be on your merry way in around five minutes," the weird speaker guy said. 

"Does your friend still want you to go over?" you asked.

"Yeah, he said he's made dinner for us," he nodded, as the elevator sprung back into life and whirred into action. It started ascending the apartment block again, and stopped at the floor you had been waiting to go to for hours. 

The doors opened with a ding, and the pair of you stood up from the cold floor. When Charles looked away for a second, you slipped a small piece of folded paper into his jacket pocket. "After you," he said, standing beside the door. 

"Thanks," you said, stepping out and glad to stretch your legs. "You going left or right?" You asked as you stood in the corridor. "I'm going to 118, so that is...?"

"Left. Wait, 118? I live in 116," you said, smiling. 

"You must know my friend, then,"

"I sure do, he's a nice guy," you said, leading the way and walking down the hall. "This is us," you said, standing outside of your apartment door. "Well, I enjoyed spending the world's longest elevator ride with you, Y/N," Charles smiled, standing in front of you. 

"I enjoyed it too, Charles," you said. Charles didn't move, he just stood there with you. 

"Hey, Charles, Y/N," your neighbour said, opening the door to his apartment. 

"Hey, I'll see you later, Charles. I'll let you get to dinner," you smiled, unlocking the door. Charles reluctantly walked away, stepping into the next apartment along. As you took your multiple jackets off, you realised you still had Charles'.

Quickly running out of the door, you knocked on the next door and Charles opened it since he was still in the entrance hall. "Hey, your jacket," you said, handing it to him. "Thanks for that, I needed it," you smiled, turning away.

"Have a nice night, Y/N," Charles said, poking his head out of the door. 

"You too," you chirped, closing your door. 

When Charles went home that night, after taking the stairs, he rummaged around in his pockets to try and find his keys. As he pulled them out, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up, and unfolded it when he went inside. 

'We should go and get fresh popcorn next time - Y/N,' it said, with your number scrawled on the bottom. He smiled, opening his phone and immediately punching your number into his contacts. He didn't message for a while, but his curiosity got the better of him. 

"Hey Y/N, it's Charles. You free on Sunday? There's a carnival in town and my friend said they make popcorn with any topping you want, would love to go with you," he said, rewriting the message over and over before plucking up the courage and sending it. 

You were about to close your eyes for the night when your phone beeped, and you saw a text from an unknown number. A huge smile spread across your face as you saw who it was from. "Hey Charles, I'd love to go to the carnival. We could walk from mine? Saves you driving all the way," you replied.

Charles was itching with excitement when he saw your text, and was immensely glad to have been in that elevator. Taking the stairs was overrated anyway. 

A/N - Do we want to see Charles and Y/N go to the carnival in town and have popcorn?

|masterlist|

[moonswolfie]

Princess of the commoner cafe

Oikawa, Miya twins, Ushijima, Hinata, Akaashi x fem!reader

ohshc AU!!

I've been watching a bit of ouran high school host club lately (still havent gotten very far but i am HOOKEDDDDDD) and i'm sure others have written something like this before but i wanted to throw my own hat in the ring and write this delulu ass scenario

also i apologise PROFUSELY if anyone is ooc it has been a WHILE since my last haikyuu rewatch

(btw i am working on your request anon dont you worry ;) )

Somehow, you managed to get into the prestigious Ouran Academy based on your academic success alone. Your parents were overjoyed to send you off, even if you felt embarrased about not even being able to afford the official school uniform. You stuck out like a sore thumb on your first day, that's for sure.

At first, you thought you wouldn't fit in with anyone here. Your hypothesis was mostly correct. Everyone in your class is always talking about their latest designer bag or bragging about their new lambo or bugatti. Needless to say, it's like they're speaking in a foreign language.

They quickly lost interest in you after you couldn't list your top ten designer brands (with reasons as to why you chose those specific ones!!!). Yeah, friends are kind of out of the picture.

So when your curiosity got the better of you one day and you visited the host club all the girls in your class keep squealing about you didn't expect things to develop like this.

"Are you gonna visit today too? Are you?!" Hinata, the boy from the other class attached himself to your arm and looked at you with sparkling eyes. "Of course I am." you smiled at him, a little giddy about returning to the club once more.

"We have a special theme today, just for you..." he told you that while wearing a mischevious grin but refused to elaborate. The boys at the club always go through great lengths to get you curious and draw you back into the club. Not just Hinata, all of them.

Let's just say you've become quite the sensation among the hosts of the Ouran High school host club. You aren't exactly sure how you managed to get yourself in this situation, but you aren't really complaining, either. You'd definitely take being adored by the 6 hotties of the school over being ignored by everyone for all your 3 years of high school.

All you did was visit the club a few times out of curiosity, far too afraid to actually openly interact with the hosts considering the crowd of girls always gathered around them. Not to mention you'd definitely get gawked at for your clothes, mannerisms and conversation topics (and not in a good way).

Akaashi was the first to take notice of you, and somehow that evolved into every other host becoming interested, too.

Anyways, Hinata seemed very satisfied with your promise to come visit once again and ran off, shouting that you have to promise to come visit him first.

Well, there's nothing to it but to do it, you suppose.

.

"Welcome, dear guests, to the host club!" all the guys greeted you and a group of other girls who also came as soon as they possibly could. They were practically pushing eachother in front of the door. Not that you can blame them.

As soon as you stepped into the room, you felt like you were standing at the local cafe located just around the corner from your house. It felt warm and homey. So this is what they went for this time. A strange choice, considering their usually extravagant themes.

"Heya, gir-" Atsumu's smug voice greeted you from behind and you turned around to see that he was about to envelop you in his arms. "Hey, ya lost the bet. I get her first." Osamu pulled Atsumu back by his barista apron before he could actually touch you. Atsumu grumbled something you couldn't quite hear, which you presume was some not so nice words directed towards his brother.

"Actually, I made a promise to Hinata that he'd be the first one I visit." you smiled at the twins apologetically. Neither of them seemed too pleased about the prospect of that, though. "Why? Ya like him more than us?" Atsumu placed his hands on his hips, glaring at you.

"Hahaha, a promise is a promise. I'll be back for you two right after, don't worry." you waved the twins off, winking. That seemed to soften their expressions a bit. But maybe it wasn't the smartest idea, looking back on it. They're definitely going to fight over which one of them you winked at later.

Hinata greeted you enthusiastically, looking overjoyed at seeing you. His cheeks blushed a nice pink color when he smiled at you. "Wait here, wait here." he held out an antique looking chair for you and you sat down behind one of the tables. Then he ran off somewhere.

You're always impressed by how lavishly they decorate their club. I guess being rich can really do wonders for club decor.

"Are you enjoying today's theme? I made sure to pick out some fitting decorations." Akaashi suddenly appeared behind you. You could have sworn you didn't hear his footsteps. Maybe you were just too absorbed in observing the theme, though. Haha, even all the hosts are dressed like baristas.

"Yeah..." you looked into Akaashi's eyes, admiring their color. You've always found him to have a calming presence, even if he can be mischevious at times. That just adds on to his personality, doesn't it? You think it's quite a shame that he isn't as popular as a certain someone in the club.

"It seems to me you're enjoying something other than the theme." you got snapped out of your thoughts by Akaashi's voice. Oops, you must have been staring at him again. You turned away, making a quick apology. You felt a little giddy all of a sudden.

"Oh, but when did I ever say I dislike the attention?" Akaashi gently grabbed your chin, turning your face back to him. Somehow, he seems more affectionate towards you than he does to the other girls who request him. Atleast you've never seen him grab other girls' chins. You were sure you probably looked awestruck in this moment.

"Hey! Stop hogging her to yourself!" Hinata was running back to the two of you, holding a fancy cup of (presumably) coffee. On his way to stop Akaashi from wooing you, he didn't notice a wire below his feet and he tripped over it.

...Which happened to spill hot coffee all over your shirt and shattered the cup to pieces. "Ugh... I'm okay, don't- AAAAH!" Hinata yelled upon seeing your shirt.

"I'll go get new clothes!" Akaashi seemed tense, quickly turning on his heels and running off.

Luckily, the coffee was cool enough to not give you burns. You aren't even worried about the shirt that much either, you've been on the fence about donating it anyways.

"Aaah, I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry." Hinata seemed almost dramatically apologetic, bowing down before you in apology over and over.

"What is going on over here?" you heard a smug voice that could belong to one person and one person only. The leader and self proclaimed king of the club, Oikawa, was now approaching the two of you. And he didn't seem very happy, mind you.

"Ah, Oikawa! It's, umm..." Hinata nervously whipped his head around to meet Oikawa's charming chocolate eyes.

"Hinata accidentally spilled coffee on me." Hinata looked at you sadly, like you just betrayed him. You gasped, realising you weren't supposed to reveal that unless you wanted Hinata to feel Oikawa's wrath. Normally he would just scold Hinata for his clumsiness, but when it comes to you specifically, he gets protective. Somehow, he even looks like a supermodel while wearing a barista uniform.

"He... Oh, that won't do. You should spend less time with clumsy good-for-nothings and spend more time with..." he tilted your chin towards him "...Me."

As much as you think Oikawa is an obnoxious jerk, he always manages to charm your negative feelings away when he does something like that. Gets you feeling all giddy like the main character of a badly written shojo anime.

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say, bro." you kept your face as cold as you possibly could in that situation. It seemed to you like the word "bro" was a direct stab to his heart, but he quickly recovered, putting on his best flirty face. "I will help you clean yourself up, my princess. We simply must get you out of that dreadful shirt." Oikawa shot poor Hinata a glare. You're definitely buying him "that one good commoner chocolate" (as Hinata likes to call it) later.

"Uh, Akaashi's already-"

"Now now now, what's goin' on here?" things are about to get a lot more complicated, you reckon. Because now the twins have showed up.

"We heard precious china shatterin' and wanted to see what caused it." Osamu added. A few girls were blushing a few meters behind the twins, probably too nervous to approach the two right now.

"Ya said you'd come visit us right after! And now yer here with this a-" Atsumu immediately stopped complaining when he saw your shirt. Both the twins shot poor poor Hinata a glare. (One "poor" for each twin.)

"See, I told ya I was a better fit for ya. I'd never spill coffee on ya." Osamu crossed his arms.

"What do ya mean "the better fit for ya"? Clearly, I'm the better one 'round here. And say the wink was meant for me while we're at it, won't ya?!" Atsumu's anger was now directed back at Osamu. (Akaashi would joke that it's back to where it's supposed to be.)

"I was kinda winking at-"

"Oh, please. Don't joke around with me. We all know I'm the best fit for her." Oikawa posed dramatically, which looked funny because of his not very prince-like outfit.

This always ends up happening. At this point you've given up on stopping it. The twins start bickering with Oikawa while girls on both sides squeal for them to calm down, tearfully inviting the boys back into their embraces.

You look behind you, where Ushijima is staring at you knowingly. You give him a relieved smile, knowing what's about to come. Whenever the other guys get into duels over who gets to recieve your attention, Ushijima is always there to pull you out of the situation.

The duels get so heated that you get to spend a few minutes alone with him before the others even notice you're gone. And so you follow the routine of letting him whisk you away to a lonely corner of the club room.

"Do you know why the theme is a commoner cafe?" he asks after a few moments of silence. He's looking at you with complete seriousness, but you don't miss the hint of a smile on his face. Enchanted by such a sight, you shake your head no dreamily.

"It was to impress you. Akaashi thought of the idea." Your eyes widened. Now you just feel giddy that Akaashi actually remembered that one time you told him you used to visit a cozy cafe close to your house with your parents growing up. It was all the way back when he first acknowledged your existence and decided to sit around with you for a few minutes, sipping tea from a cup that probably costs more than your phone.

"Oh... I like it. I really do." you smiled up at Ushijima. You could swear a bit of blush appeared on his cheeks. He silently put an arm around you, pulling you close to him. You like when he does that.

When all of the hosts are swooning over you like this while wearing barista uniforms, you feel like the princess of a commoner cafe.

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[hushberry]

i'm glad quackity is becoming more involved in running the actual server, and i think he's handling the situation as well as he can. but it sucks a lot that he wasn't ALREADY highly involved in how his passion project was run and how his money was spent. he is very young, he is a busy law student and content creator, he is intensely private. this was a tough lesson for him on responsibility.

i think those of us who've been watching since the beginning aren't super surprised by how little he knew about things behind the scenes. his character wasn't even allowed to /op because he wanted to be on equal footing with the other players. he constantly mentioned how he "doesn't know what's going to happen today" during events when other members would ask questions. he doesn't seem to know shit about the mods they've chosen or how the custom game mechanics work. he's doesn't play on the server much at all!

so seeing dream stans and other mcyt fans huff and puff about how quackity is lying and obviously knew about everything bad going on is odd. like this man really doesn't know shit about how his server is run or what happens on it. THAT'S a fair thing to criticize and something i agree is irresponsible. it's not fair to claim he's lying about not knowing things when every indication for the last year has pointed viewers in that direction. he's really been super hands off about everything except adding new languages, which is kind of his whole focus.

anyway kudos to the french admins and aypierre for speaking up and sparking workplace change. very on brand for the french LOL

also reminder to any younger viewers who are like REAAAALLY invested in qsmp to stop catastrophizing. it'll be alright. it's literally just minecraft, no one is in any danger.

[serxinns]

I GOT AN IMAGINE JUST HEAR ME OUT

Ok, so you know this post? Made by @lets-get-kraken-boys I wanted to make an image of another reason why readers went to the big 3 for comfort and help HEAR ME OUT

So imagine one day you weren't in a good mood and didn't wanna deal with your classmates today but their overbearing behavior towards you was just making it worse

"C'mon y/n just one more game!" Mina said while pulling your arm rather strong "Mina I said no please leave me alone I don't feel like it "But it'll be so much fun!" Hakagure said while pulling your arm you "I said NO" you yelled pulling away from hakagures grip harshly and walked away the 2 girls stood there in shock and hurt a bit are u ok? were you hurt!

"Y/n why aren't you coming to eat dinner with us is everything OK?" You groaned just wanting to be left alone and eat in your room but were interrupted by your class rep iida knocking on the door every second you didn't respond "Yes iida I'm fine I just wanted to eat alone" you said not wanting to sound annoyed to make iida leave "but all your friends are worried and want you to be there even Mina and hakagure said you were in a bad mood so-" "I'm fine iida you can go now I don't want to eat dinner with you, especially with all of you today goodbye"

Iida was shocked at your behavior and response you were usually the one who never gets angry or upset which made him more nervous than before he had to go in there and help you out! "No y/n there's Cleary something wrong! You can talk to me ill listen" Iida began banging on your door which made you more overwhelmed and pissed so without any hesitation "I DONT NEED HELP LEAVE ME ALONE YOURE MAKING IT WORSE" You threw a heavy book at the door which surprise Iida as he backed up, defeated he went slowly went back to the dinner table the class looked at him confused and ask how were you doing but he didn't answer just looked down

You just got back from the convenience store to get some snacks Lucky for you they got your favorite snack and brand all at a cheap price with a drink in hand but unfortunately for you, there were some of your classmates were in the common room and it and even worse it was bakugo and his gang watching a movie you quietly tried to sneak pass with all your might trying not to make a sound, it was all going smoothly until bakugo saw your shadow figure "Oi! Fuckface!" You mentally cursed at yourself you just had to encounter the person you didn't wanna deal with today, the infamous Bakugo Katsuki.

"what do you want im not really In the mood to deal with your Bullshit" At the moment you just keep walking ignoring him for the best but it wasn't the best option for Bakugo "Oi don't ignore me!" He was now off the couch "Bakubro that isn't very manly" Kirishima sternly said while but Bakugo scoff "Fuck off shifty hair, hey why aren't you joining us for a movie what are you scared?" He said teasingly like he was trying to taut you "Bakugo I'm not in the mood for your Bullshit today so please just leave me alone" You once again turned away and began to walk to your dorm until a strong hand grabbed you and yanked you

"Ha!? What do you mean you're not in the mood jeez are you ready to cry or something because of my comments why are you even trying to be a hero if your feelings get hurt so easily!?" Now he was pushing it, your hand was gripping the plastic bags Hard now shaking... tears threatening to swell up "Bakugo that's enough! You're making it worse! it's okay sweetie" Mina said hugging you even tho you tried to push her off but she kept insisting trying to hold on to you to the point it was suffocating was rather discomforting

"Aw, now you need an alien to hug you, wow you're really that weak I can already see the tears haha! If your gonna be a hero your gonna have to suck it u-" "SHUT UP"

*thud*

You breathe heavily seeing your blonde classmate, butt on the floor, stunned holding his bloody nose but you weren't done you tackle him, pinned his arms down with your legs, and decided to punch him repeatedly "YOU THINK *thud* YOUR SO BETTER THEN ME *thud* ALWAYS TOSSING ME AROUND LIKE SOME STUPID TOY *thud* MAKING COMMENTS ABOUT HOW I LOOK *thud* ABOUT HOW I FIGHT *thud* ABOUT...ANYTHING* WHY *Thud* CANT*thud* YOU *thud* JUST *thud* LEAVE *thud* ME *thud* ALONE!! *thud* bakugo's face was already caked with blood and bruises and a black eye

Bakugo tried to pry you off telling you to stop but his face was so beaten up and his throat hurt from your punching it hurt for him to try, but you made her his arms were pinned, and all the anger, the frustration the memories the everything that happens to your life plus adrenaline was making you keep going

every single one of your classmates was screaming panicking, confused and begging to calm down, Kirishima tried to pull you off telling you thats enough but you used your quirk making him crash to the wall a bit causing a dent and him having a bloody nose, everyone watched in horror, shocked some even amused the girls mostly hakagure, Mina, and momo cried and begged desperately for you to stop they didn't want you to get more house arrest days or worse expelled, Iida managed to get out of his shocked and pry you off of him

It should've made Bakugo angry at you and PISSED even cause the great Bakugo katsuki was getting beaten by an "extra" like you but it strangely made him giddy...? Was he more determined to be the big bad wolf or Was he enjoying you berating and beating the absolute shit out of him, proving to everyone how insecure and stupid he was for underestimating you?

When Iida Finally pried you off of Bakugo you stood up ready to say even more stuff to him but you froze in shock, fear, and confusion a passed-out blonde caked with blood and bruises all over his face red and purplish spots forming on his cheeks his nose oozing out blood like a waterfall but fortunately no teeth have been knocked out you looked at your work in horror you slowly raised your hand shuddering seeing that it was full of bruises and blood and your clothes covered in blood his blood

Every classmate was looking at you it wasn't in hate nor disgust but pity, worry, and scared as much as they were worried about Bakugo they were worried about you more, Iida slowly tried to come to you to talk to you or to at least comfort you "y/n... I" before he could speak you ran pushing past your classmates not caring if they fell, Iida stood there in disbelief while Kirishima and Denki carefully grabbed bakugo by the shoulder escorting him to recovery girl

while the rest of your classmates were still in shock they wanted to go find you!! they do if they all talked about it nicely and you behave and force Bakugo to apologize then everything is ok!! They banged on your dorm room but you weren't there they searched all around the school the bathrooms, the halls everywhere but you weren't there!! where could their darling be!?

You crouched down in an empty hallway and managed to get some of your snacks you held the snack in hand still bloodied, you slowly took a bite out of it while a big glob of tears was finally released you were crying now like a fool, like you didn't just beat the shit out of your classmate, just when you were about to take another bite and just mope alone 3 familiar voices made you lift your head they ran up to you worriedly when they saw your bloody clothes and knuckles

The big 3 crouching down to your level Neijire on one side rubbing your back Tamaki giving you a handkerchief to blow your nose and dry your eyes and Mirio couching down at your level rubbing your shoulders giving you a smile

" What's wrong lovebug why all the tears," Neijire said looking sympathetic