#an odd combination of all of their accents

[thefaeriecreek]

Ok so Link was intended to have a little sister in before the Calamity, so I thought I'd do my own take on her.

Aryll is 7 years old and Link (in my headcanon) is 20. Link's an absolute goof, so he's good at flipping on the big brother goofball mode. Her best friend is a cucco named Helmaroc, or Roc, who follows wherever she goes.

She sits on the roof of their cottage telling Roc of all the adventures those birdies that soar above Mt. Lanayru must've seen on their flight across Hyrule.

[johnbrand]

Yusuf Says

When Raymond and I had decided to pause take a break so I could reorganize my life a bit, I had thought that him moving in with his coworker Yusuf was a smart play. My lovable white twink of a partner had nothing in common with the brutish Arab whose scattered English revolved around soccer scores and picking up girls. Raymond and I had even lightheartedly joked that he would pick up a thing or two from Yusuf by the time he came back, somehow be influenced by the overwhelming persona. I would have never expected for that comment to become more than just something to laugh about.

Three months, that was how long we had planned for our separation to be. I had so much on my plate with work and family that I needed time alone to figure everything out. Yusuf had been more than welcoming to Raymond, poking fun at the fact that the two would become “closer than boyfriends” by the time my lover returned back to me. He had even promised to take him out on “dates”, taking over my role as I got knocked back like a divorced dad who only got to see his son on weekends. It was hard, but Raymond and I both knew it was for the best.

The first time I got to visit Raymond at Yusuf’s apartment, I was greeted by the immediate blast of pure masculine stench at the door. It was a combination of used gym clothes, foul-smelling shoes, and strong body odor all fruitlessly covered up with some cheap body spray. I commented on it immediately after hugging my boyfriend, although he noted he did not smell anything. “Yusuf says men should show off their body odor,” Raymond shrugged. “Men should stink and let their pheromones flow naturally.”

This “Yusuf says” statement became a recurring phrase in all of our conversations. Whenever I brought something new up, Raymond would respond with what Yusuf had to say about it. “Yusuf says that men should be muscular, helps us secure our place in society,” “Yusuf says men should spend more time worrying about sports than literature, as it helps relate better to other men.” I should have been worried by my boyfriend’s newfound obsession with Yusuf, but I knew the Arab was not his type. Raymond liked guys that looked like me: hairless, a little twunky, but just barely large enough to make it evident who was topping.

Over the first month, I did not notice many changes about Raymond, but some things did point themselves out as odd. The first time I discovered body hair on my boyfriend I was shocked. “What?” Raymond had asked innocently. “Yusuf says that growing out your hair is natural, it displays masculinity.” I had had no comment to that, surveying the black fur that had begun to coat my boyfriend’s arms, legs, and chest. I had not even known Raymond's body hair was black, as he was a natural blond. 

It was not long until the muscles came too, although I knew that had been coming from the get-go. Yusuf had promised to take him to the gym frequently, and the results were beginning to show–just faster than I had expected. Structured biceps, rippling abs, thick thighs. But eventually when I had met Raymond at the door and his eyeline was above mine, that was when I had started to ask questions. “Yusuf says a grand height is expected of men.” He then swaggered over to the couch, opening up his longer legs before stating “Yusuf says men need to be above 187 centimeters.”

I had not known Raymond easily understood the metric code (as most Americans did not), but I quickly learned there was a lot that I did not know about my boyfriend. When I had tried to gift Raymond new shoes, I had been scolded that they were too small for his big, meaty EU Size 46 feet. When I had politely advised him to be more vigilant about sunscreen, he had rebuked that his olive tan skin was natural. And at one point, I had even accidentally referred to him by the wrong name. “It’s Rahim,” he corrected, his response deep and accented. Of course, all of these responses were followed by some iteration of “...that’s what Yusuf says.”

Finally, the three months came to an end, but by that point it was obvious that Rahim and I’s relationship had too. Rahim wanted to live with someone more masculine, more alpha, more like him. “More Yusuf,” Rahim had dumbly concluded, scratching at his thick, black beard. I could only sigh with disappointment, trying my best not to bone up over the half-naked, manspreading Arab god displaying his glory before me.

I should have known nothing would have ever happened between Rahim and I. As Yusuf had said through Rahim, “Real men like to conquer pussy and continue the traditions that have protected them for so long.” If the state of affairs in the apartment had not been enough of a clue, then Rahim’s constant back-and-forth pit-scratching and finger-sniffing should have been enough to cement his heterosexuality. Bummed, I stood up to leave, but Rahim quickly protested.

“Where you going, bro?” he asked.

“Home,” I replied, lifeless. “We have nothing in common.”

Rahim frowned, “But we do! Are you not a man?”

I paused, watching as Rahim got up and lifted his arm over my head. My eyes widened in fear as I was brought into a damp, musky pit.

“After all, Yusuf says men should show off their body odor.”

[santanasaintmendes]

“i wish i was who you drunk texted at midnight”

wc!: 5.2k (i’m sorry i’ve got serious problems 😔)

ollie bearman x reader + childhood friends to ?

warnings: angst asf, heartbreak, swearing, let me know if there are any more!

part 2

summary: after moving to Chelmsford you meet ollie, the two of you quickly become friends but unfortunately you fall for Ollie. he moves away for f2 and leaves you, until he’s supposed to race in Jeddah. you fly there only to gain more than what you bargained for

type: angst (cliff hanger ending IM SORRY)

a/n: this is just something I wrote because I was sick in bed the last few days, it’s super long but so hope yall like it! Also i’m sorry if it’s bad lol i am still sick and this is just something i wrote for fun to entertain myself. ALSO no hate to Estelle Ogilvy (is that how i spell her last name) i just used her for the plot of the story please don’t come after me.). The name is inspired by “drunk text” by Henry Moodie, please give it a listen it’s such a good song, enjoy xxx

They say that you should always be friends with the person you like before you start to fall for them. Well, that’s one thing you could check off the list if you looked back on your friendship with Ollie. The truth was, being in love with your best friend sucked. Friends can break your heart too, something people tend to forget. 

6 and 6 

The first time you ever met Ollie was in a library. A week prior to that you had moved to a strange town named Chelmsford. A name that 6-year-old you found difficult to pronounce, to be frank everything in the new town sounded different to what you were used to. The people there spoke with such a different accent to what you were used to, it would take you quite a while to get used to it. As you sat in the back of the taxi with your backpack at your feet, you stared out the fogged up window. The sky was a gloomy grey and the landscape seemed to be an endless plain of sad looking meadows. 

You couldn’t seem to understand why your parents would choose to move to such a sad looking place, it didn’t make any sense. The taxi soon came to a slow stop, the brakes squealing loudly. You glanced out the window hopefully, rubbing the condensation away with your sleeve. Only to be disappointed to see a boring brick building of some sort. It was an odd combination of white wooden window frames and red bricks, like something out of one of those 1600s movies your Father once showed you. You anxiously looked back to your Mother who was watching you as your Father sorted out something with the taxi driver. Upon seeing your unhappy face your Mother chuckled softly.

“I heard that there’s a library just down the street, maybe sometime this week we could visit it.” she offered. You nodded, slightly content. Reading books was something you enjoyed and maybe with a library being close by, not all was lost. 

As it turned out, that boring brick building was your new house. 

Despite having to unpack and sort adult-y things out, your Mother took you to the library just as she had promised. As you skipped down the cobbled road, your Mother held a bright yellow umbrella over your head to shield you from the rain that was pouring down from the cloudy grey sky. 

You pushed upon the heavy front door to the library which also happened to look like a sad white brick square with a pointy red roof, a depressed mushroom if you will. You halted in your steps as giant wood bookcases rose before you, shelves full of books. Never had you ever seen so many books before. In the corner there was a lady sorting things in a trolley with her back turned to you, she still hadn’t noticed you. 

“C’mon, let’s head to the kids section.” your Mother said, taking you by the hand and leading you deeper into the library. Stunned by the amount of books that filled the shelves you couldn’t help but wander off when your Mother told you to stay put while she set up a borrowing card for you. 

Luckily, the children’s section of the library was much more pleasant looking than the eerie hallways of adult books. You scanned the shelves in search of something to read, until you came to a stop. Two round brown eyes among the books blinked from the other side of the shelf, scaring you. 

It was a boy. 

You blinked back, unsure of what to do. So you did what any other 6 year old did when they believed they had found a new friend. 

“Do you want to read with me?” you abruptly asked the boy who was still staring at you with wide eyes. A moment of silence passed before he nodded slowly, the boy rounded the corner. He wasn’t much taller than you with chocolate brown hair and small freckles that spilled over his face like tiny stars. He stuck out his hand, “I’m Oliver. But my friends call me Ollie.” he greeted, a smile taking over his face. His voice sounded odd, like the taxi driver who’d driven you from the airport to your new house. Ollie reminded you of a rabbit with his two front teeth that seemed to take up over half of his face, but you didn’t say anything because your Mother told you that saying things like that wasn’t nice. 

You took his hand cautiously in yours, “I’m Y/N.” you replied slowly. He enthusiastically shook your hand, taking you by surprise as he led you to sit down on the bright coloured bean bags. You watched curiously as he picked a book off the shelf before plopping down next to you again. You peered over as he opened the book to the first page, you frowned, not recognising the book. 

“It’s a book called Where’s Wally (Where’s Waldo if you’re American). You have to find the characters, there’s Wally, Wenda, the wizard guy and Woof - that’s the dog.” Ollie explained to you, pointing to each character on the page. The initial nervousness of meeting another kid, melting away. You began to feel excited as you nodded along while Ollie continued to explain how to play. The two of you spent the next hour doing all sorts of things, talking about favourite colours, favourite animals, reading books, drawing, playing board games together. Both getting along so easily it was as if you guys had known each other forever. That was until you heard your Mother calling your name to go home. 

You stood up, looking down at Ollie who was still seated on a yellow bean bag. He blinked up at you, with those big brown eyes that had scared you only an hour earlier. “I have to go home now.” you told him, a wave of sadness passing between the two of you as you both realised your fun had come to an end. 

“That’s okay, maybe I’ll see you at school.” he suggested hopefully upon seeing your downcast face. You broke into a smile, “Okay, bye Ollie.” you waved slowly as you began to walk away. Ollie waved back with a giant grin on his face as he watched you disappear behind the wooden bookshelves. 

“Hey Mom!” you called out to your Mother as she came into view, she was chatting with the lady who you’d seen at the desk sorting books. She paused and turned to you, “Hey, I was just talking to the librarian, she was saying about how she has a son who hangs out here while she works on the weekend.” 

Putting two and two together you realised that the book lady was Ollie’s Mother. You smiled at the lady, “I was playing with Ollie, we were reading that one book, ‘Where’s  . .  .” You trailed off, racking your brain for the name of the book he’d shown you. 

“Where’s Wally?” the librarian offered, she nodded fondly. “That’s his favourite book.” You grinned up at the lady, looking back in the direction where you’d been playing with Ollie.

“Mom, am I going to the school as Ollie?” you asked, looking up at your Mother. She chuckled softly before nodding, “As a matter of fact, you are.” 

Those golden words were what made you unbelievably excited to begin at your new school. You had barely been able to sleep with the thought of seeing your new friend again, so on that Monday morning you bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. “Good morning!” you greeted both your parents, taking a seat at the dining table, legs swinging off the chair impatiently. 

“Someone’s excited for their first day of school.” your Mother hummed as she set a plate of pancakes in front of you. You nodded, “I get to see my new friend.” you replied as you stuffed your mouth with your breakfast. 

You were basically pulling your Mother through the front gates as you scanned the sea of other children in the same uniform as you. The uniform also happened to be grey, it complimented the terrible weather perfectly. Your eyes fell onto the brown haired-freckled boy from two days earlier, you ran up to him, “Hi Ollie.” you smiled. A giant grin took over the boy’s face, “Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. From that day on, the two of you were inseparable. Where one of you went, the other followed right behind, Ollie helped you adjust to your new school, showing you around and never leaving you by yourself. As the years passed the two of you only became closer, though you would soon find out that that wasn’t the greatest thing. 

13 and 13

As the two of you grew into teenagers, things began to change and not always for the better. Ollie and you still remained close friends, having dinner at one another’s house on Friday’s, walking home together after school and occasionally spending afternoons playing Mario Kart with Ollie’s siblings. Your families were also extremely close now courtesy to both you and Ollie, his younger siblings becoming like your own. But the worst thing? 

You’d caught feelings for Ollie, it had been so sudden almost like it had crept up on you, taking you by surprise. You didn’t understand. It felt so wrong. 

One day out of the blue it hit you like a pile of bricks, you just couldn’t stop staring at him. Absolutely enchanted by him, his chocolate brown hair, those pretty freckles that you’d memorised on his face. 

Ollie was like a brother to you, he was your best friend, so how come you felt these things for him?

To make matters even worse for little 13 year old you, Ollie liked another girl. A girl who absolutely hated your guts. 

What had you done to her? You didn’t know. 

You and Ollie had been having a sleepover when he told you about her, her name was Estelle Ogilvy. She was gorgeous and untouchable, by far the prettiest girl you’d ever seen. You didn’t hold a candle to her and you knew it too. Ollie had been hopelessly in love with her since the start of high school when he shared science and maths class with her. Time and time again he would ramble on about her to you, completely oblivious to your feelings for him. You could only nod along wishing it was you who he was talking about. That’s just how it was, you were stuck in a bubble of unrequited love. So all you could do now was watch from afar as Ollie ran after a girl who you just knew would never like him as much as he liked her. 

15 and 15

Ollie’s karting career really took off in the last few years and you couldn’t have been prouder, those feelings for him still lingered around but you’d come to terms that he’d never like you in the same way. Because there he was, still stuck on chasing Estelle. You couldn’t blame him, and maybe that’s what you were always just supposed to be, friends. 

Yet you were jealous, something you refused to admit. Jealous of Estelle because oh how you wished to be talked about so fondly by Ollie. To always be on his mind, to be the girl he liked and would never shut up about. You still didn’t understand why you felt this way, in your mind it made absolutely zero sense. Then why did it feel so right when you were by his side, almost like you belonged there next to him? But Ollie being Ollie could just never get a hint whenever you tried to subtly let him know. It sucked because there’s nothing worse than loving someone who’ll never love you the same way. 

18 and 18 

It got worse as the years passed, your feelings for your best friend would just not go away. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you tried to find another boy to fawn over, your gaze would always fall back on Ollie. But he was dating Estelle now, he was in Formula 2 now. It almost seemed like an eternity ago when you first met him in the library just down your street. An eternity ago when you would attend his karting races, cheering the loudest for him in the stands. All of that was now in the past. You barely even saw him now that he had dropped out of school to pursue his career in Formula 2. Now all you could do now was watch from a distance as he looked the happiest you’d seen him in ages.

He was spectacular at what he did, you would watch him race on TV every week no matter what hour the race was or even if you had school the next day. 

Yet inside of you there was a giant hole, a hole that Ollie had left behind when he abandoned you. Abandoned was a bit of a stretch but it was the only word you could use to sum up what you had felt when he left. Ollie had to move to Italy for his career, news that he hadn’t even told you in person, you had to hear it from his Mother. He’d taken your hands in his at the airport as he waited to board his plane and promised you he’d stay in touch, that he’d call every week but here you were with the last time you’d spoken to him being over a month ago. 

You refused to be the first one to reach out to him, you felt like he owed you that much effort at least. So you waited  . . . and waited only for the world to keep spinning while you were stuck in the past. That was until you finally realised that you had never meant as much to Ollie as he had to you. 

19 and 19 - present day 

“Y/N! WAKE UP OR YOU’LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!” your Mother’s voice echoed up to your bedroom, rattling the glass in the window frames. You groaned as you groggily sat up, pulling open the curtains only to be greeted with dark overcast weather, rain pouring down outside. You rubbed your eyes, yawning as you dragged yourself out of bed. It was your second year of university studying mechanical engineering at the biggest university in Chelmsford. It proved to be difficult with its endless nights of staying up doing work but you knew it would be worth it in the end. 

Your university never failed to confuse you and make you late for class with all of its giant identical hallways. You ran down the corridors, heels clacking on the marble floor until you came to a stop at the door to where your lecture was for that day. Slipping through the door you weaved through the seats of the auditorium to find an empty seat. Luckily for you, your friend Bianca saved a seat for you. 

“Thanks.” you whispered only to be shot dirty glares by the students around you. You winced as you looked ahead at the teacher in an attempt to catch on what he was droning on about. Bianca gently nudged you, passing her phone to you. You frowned, eyebrows knitted as you looked down at the screen. A notice on Ferrari's official instagram with Ollie’s face plastered above the words “Oliver Bearman to race in Jeddah this weekend for Carlos Sainz.” 

You narrowed your eyes and huffed, passing the phone back to Bianca who smiled nervously. “What was the point of that?” you whispered, leaning closer to her. Bianca sighed, “You’re not fooling anyone, I know you still have unresolved feelings for him.” she whispered back only to get a loud shushing sound from a nearby student. 

Bianca shot them a glare before turning back to you, “You have to go, I don’t care what you say. You are going. This is his Formula 1 debut, whether you’re still friends with him or not you’ve got to be there for him.” she whispered-shouted, looking at you sternly. You sighed, leaning back into your chair, shaking your head. 

“It’s not the same anymore. He’s clearly forgotten about me, the last time we spoke was last year and he’s been back home 4 times in the last 12 months.” 

Silence hung in the air, only the voice of the teacher rambling on and on about something you still hadn’t caught on about. 

“That Estelle girl, she’s clearly using him. You were his best friend, surely that means something to you both.” Bianca tried again but it wasn’t any use. There was no purpose in bringing up something that you both had clearly tried so hard  to forget about. 

So then why were you here booking a flight to Jeddah to watch your old best friend debut in Formula 1? 

It was something you couldn’t answer and didn’t want to. 

The thing that you hated the most is that you didn’t even think twice before booking those tickets. 

How could you care so much about a person who had so blatantly forgotten about you?

Deep down you knew the answer, it was because to you Ollie was like your home. He was the first person to make you feel like you actually belonged somewhere, he never abandoned you to eat lunch alone at school, he never cancelled plans once you made them, he was a good person, a good friend. 

Or at least he was. 

Were you insane? The answer was yes, yes you were insane. Being here was so crazy; it nearly made you want to turn around and jump on the next flight back home. You were standing in line to go through the gates when you heard someone call your name. You secretly hoped it was Ollie but much to your disappointment it was . . . Arthur?

Ollie had introduced you to Arthur back when they had raced in Formula 3 together. You hadn’t seen him in forever. 

“Arthur?” you questioned as he pulled you into a hug, you hugged him back before pulling away, still unable to believe it was him. 

“I was about to ask what you’re doing here but that would be dumb.” you confessed, only noticing now the massive crowd that was surrounding the two of you. Arthur chuckled before nodding in the direction of the gate, “C’mon, I can get you in, you’ll be my guest.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you began but Arthur was already pushing you through the gates. Walking back onto a race track was like taking a breath of fresh air after being in a car for a long time. You used to accompany Ollie to all of his karting races each weekend in Chelmsford, so being in the stands had become like a second home to you. 

“Are you here for Ollie?” Arthur asked as you walked in the direction of the motorhomes. You caught yourself before you could answer too irrationally, “No, I’m just here to watch the race.” you shrugged, realising how dumb that sounded as soon as it left your mouth. No good person would fly all the way to Saudi Arabia to watch a race if there was a Grand Prix in their own country.  If you wanted to “just watch a race” you could’ve watched it on TV or gone to the Silverstone GP. Arthur only hummed, you knew he had already caught on, it was so obvious it made you want to dig a hole and jump in. 

“Anyways,” you quickly said, eager to move onto a different topic.

“Anyways.” Arthur agreed, looking at you, eyebrows raised. “You can’t fool me, I’ve known it since the moment I met you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “What am I going to say to him?” you asked, looking to Arthur for help. He shrugged, “No clue but you might want to think of something quickly because he’s walking over right now.”

“Y/N?” 

You blinked as you came face to face with the person you wanted to see so badly for the last year and now that you were here facing him it felt like all the air in you had gotten sucked right out. He looked  the same since the last time you saw him. In the last year you wanted to hate Ollie so much but it was impossible because you still loved him and that was the big terrible truth that you refused to admit. 

“Hi. Ollie.” you said, to not let the jumble of words that you’ve kept in since the last time you saw him spill out. Arthur sent you a quick salute, “Gotta go, I’ll see you afterwards, Y/N.” and with that he left you with Ollie in silence. 

“What are you doing here?” Ollie finally asked, he was acting so . . .  so normal. As if nothing had changed between the two of you.

“I’m here because I’m your number 1 fan, remember?” you scoffed, looking up at him. A reminder of the time when you were both 10, Ollie gifted you a t-shirt at Christman with the words: “Ollie’s No.1 fan.” plastered on it for you to wear to his karting races. It was sure to be buried deep in your wardrobe somewhere. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah you are.” guilt written all over his face. 

“Why’d you leave me then? Tell me the truth, did I do something wrong? Was I too normal for you?” you asked, questions pouring out of you. 

“We were best friends, how could you just leave me like that? Do I mean nothing to you? Because you were everything to me, my best friend, the first person who made me feel like I actually mattered to someone, so tell me, why did you abandon me?” 

Silence hung in the air as you stared up at Ollie. You wanted answers, perhaps it would be the only thing that would let you move on from him. He looked away, unable to meet your gaze. This was so. . . so unfair. You wanted to yell, scream at him even so he could feel even a fraction of the pain you’d felt in the past year. 

“So that’s it? You don’t even have an explanation?” you asked him, your voice shaking with anger it made your throat ache as you blinked back tears. 

“I waited and waited for you to call me, to even send a message but that was a mistake. You’ll never love me in the same way that I love you.” 

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, Ollie finally meeting your eyes as the three simple words left your lips. 

You’ll never love me in the same way that I love you.

The world stopped like everything had been put on pause as you realised your mistake. You felt like you’d gotten hit on the head with a cricket bat. 

“I have to go.” is all that left your mouth as you turned around. The ground was moving like a spinning wheel - a blurry mess of colours. It made you sick to your stomach as you walked away, your cheeks flushed hot and your forehead sticky with sweat. Ollie didn’t even call out for you, nor run after you for an explanation because it was so blatantly clear what you’d just confessed to him. 

You wished you could hate him, hate the fact that he’d left you, forgotten you like an old stuffed toy, you hated that he didn’t love you. 

You sat on the curb, clutching your knees outside of the entrance to the racetrack wallowing in self-pity. Wiping away tears that just kept falling down your face much to your distaste. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the buildings, the sky now a deep shade of orange. You stared at your feet, it was dumb, you should’ve known that coming here to Jeddah was a mistake. Ollie had moved on, something that you hadn’t done in the last year. You felt so stupid, why did you believe you could repair your friendship?

Why did you-

“Excuse me?” a voice interrupted your train of thought, you quickly wiped your tears and looked up to see Arthur standing beside you, a pitiful smile on his face. You looked away, “What do you want?” you grumbled, folding your arms across your chest bitterly. Arthur sat down beside you, watching you closely as you stared at the trees in the distance. He sighed, “The race is about to start and Ollie’s not coming out of his driver room. Estelle said she’d be here but she’s not and he’s locked himself in.” 

The words hung heavy in the air, “And what does that have to do with me?” you asked flatly. You knew exactly what he meant. But you weren’t going to do that, you were done with Ollie and everything to do with him. 

“You know exactly what it has to do with you. Did you really think Ollie forgot about you that easily? You’re dumber than I thought.” he quipped unhelpfully. 

“Thanks,” you muttered miserably, Arthur winced. 

“What I meant is that you can’t give up this easily, you and I both know how stupid Ollie can be sometimes.” 

You chuckled softly, letting a tiny smile creep onto your face. Arthur wasn’t wrong. When you and Ollie were both 8 you invited him over for Easter to make coloured eggs. It resulted in 20 cracked eggs on the kitchen tiles when Ollie accidentally knocked them off the bench. The two of you had stared at the mess on the ground before bursting out laughing until you were both in tears. It was safe to say that you both spent the next 2 hours scrubbing the tiles and the yolk that had stained the grout in between them. 

“Yeah.” you said softly, looking at the sun that had been swallowed by the top of the palm trees, the stars in the sky beginning to appear as you sat in the light underneath a lamp post. 

“So?”

“Okay, I’ll get him out of the room but after that I’m out of here. I want to go home.” 

Arthur gave you a quick thumbs up as you raised your hand to knock gently on the door to the driver’s room. There wasn’t a reply, only dead silence and that’s when you heard it, crying from inside the room. 6-year-old you would’ve kicked down the door and done anything to get to your best friend. But here you stood outside the room, sending hopeless glances at Arthur who was standing behind you. 

“Ollie?” you called out hesitantly, the crying halted and there was another long moment of silence. You pressed your ear up against the door, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah?” his shaky voice replied, you breathed a sigh of relief. You turned around, beckoning Arthur to leave you both, he only nodded, mouthing ‘OK’ as he slipped down the hallway. Turning back to the driver’s room you took a deep breath in, you didn’t want to go in. You didn’t think you could face him after what happened earlier. 

“You came,” he said as your hand rested on the handle of the door but there was resistance, it was still locked. 

“Of course, are you okay?” you asked, immediately regretting asking as soon as it left your mouth. You cursed yourself silently as you awaited Ollie’s answer. Soft sniffles came from the other side of the door, “Yeah.” he finally replied quietly but loud enough for you to hear from the other side of the door.

What were you supposed to say to get him out of the driver’s room?

“Everyone’s waiting for you, you can’t stay in there forever.” you gently reminded him, sighing as you sat down, back leaning up against the door. There was another long moment of silence as you rested your head on the door, stretching your legs out for comfort. 

“I don’t think I can do it.” he said, taking you by surprise. The Ollie you’d known wasn’t afraid of anything, he was confident in almost everything he did, almost it seemed. 

“Oliver, you’re being crazy. You are by far the most talented driver I’ve ever seen.” you told him, staring at the roof of the building as you heard a sigh from the other side of the door. “You’re just saying that because you’re my girlfriend, Estelle.” 

You froze as if you’d just been stabbed by icicles, Ollie thought you were Estelle. 

Of course. He’d been expecting her, Arthur had told you before. You scoffed to yourself quietly, you would’ve stood up and left if it wasn’t the fact that you were here to get Ollie out of the driver’s room he had oh so nicely locked himself in. You let out a soft sigh as you racked your brain for what you should say to him. 

“I’m not. It’s the truth, Ollie.” you told him with a heavy heart, feeling as if you were just setting yourself up to get your heart broken all over again. You took a deep breath in, “You are such an amazing driver it’s literally insane, not only that but you’re by far the kindest, most selfless person I know. It’s crazy that you think you can’t do this, because I know that you can. Ferrari chose you to drive for them for a reason, they know what you’re capable of, everyone else does too. I see you and you’re extraordinary, you have this spark inside you that’s amazing. And . . . maybe that’s the reason why I love you. I always have, and when I had the chance I should’ve told you but I didn’t because your friendship has always meant more to me than my own feelings.” you let out a shaky breath. 

“You’re a good person, Ollie. You’ve earned a chance to show the world just how great and insanely talented you are, are you really going to throw it away?” 

You blinked back tears, who knew you could get so emotional after giving such a life changing speech?

You rubbed your eyes and cleared your throat, letting out a deep sigh. It was time to leave now, Ollie would have realised by now that it was you who was speaking to him and not Estelle. As you began to get up, leaning against the door for support you heard a click!

Oh shit, was the only thought that went through your mind as you lost your footing and fell backwards, the door frame offering you no help at all as you grasped at it helplessly. You stared up at Ollie as you laid at his feet, a million thoughts racing through your mind. He was in his fireproofs with his race suit tied around his waist as he looked down at you, eyebrows knitted. There were tear stains on his flushed cheeks as he stared at you with those wide brown eyes you’d seen among the books all those years ago. 

“Y/N?” 

a/n: sorry if it was so quick and rushed i just wanted to post something! Thank you if you got the end, ik it was super long for no reason, so thank you! Please let me know what you think, likes and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you and have an amazing day xx

[electricphantasy]

Hey everybody, back again with my art! I thought I'd come out with my designs for if some A.I.s had a robotic, more mobile form. I kinda wanna go through my thoughts about their designs, so here we go!

HAL 9000: I wanted him to be very human-like with a lot of his details resembling human muscles. No colors, and all monochrome except for his bright red accents. I imagine he was built to be more so function over form, so he's kind of simple compared to the other A.I.s. His outfit is very professional - suit, tie, and all. His cape being a reference to his memory banks, since I love that scene despite how sad it is.

AM: Now I also wanted him to be human but in a more spooky, skeletal way. Very hunched over, broken down, and needing repairs. He has a little monitor where his heart would be that says HATE. Also, I took away AM's leg privileges, so underneath his HATE cloak is just more confusing wiring. I also want to reference the HATE monolith, so his entire cloak is covered in the word, hate. If that doesn't scream AM, I'm not sure what does.

Edgar: Edgar basically has 2 different designs - The design of the movie, and the design of the poster. To combine them I made most of his body based on the one in the movie, like taking his monitor from the movie and putting some limbs on it. He also gets a devil headband and clip-on belt to reference his more common, movie poster design. Edgar also gets the comfiest wardrobe with a heart tee-shirt and jeans.

TAU: Now TAU gets a very odd body shape, mostly because I wanted him to match Aries, (The robot in the movie) but in a less threatening way? Also floating limbs, because I said so. TAU actually has quite a few colors, despite advertising just using red, so he gets a gradient of red to green in his accents. I tried for the life of me to give him a wardrobe, and the closest I could get was a little, see through cloak. :(

[zeroseuniverse]

Princess Treatment

WC: 910

Pairing: Yunho X reader

“Can I have three powdered donuts, please?” She asked sweetly, the worker almost beaming at the sweet face ready to serve her quickly. 

“Right away miss.” He bowed, rushing to put together the order.

The quaint shop was seemingly empty, but she couldn’t help but notice how homey the decor was, warm tones with odd accents here and there to make the place more inviting, magazines and books littering some of the tables making it look lived in. She found herself quite comfortable in the shop, that was until she heard the bell chime behind her, the clerk parking up to see the new customer while she idly avoided turning to face the newcomer.

“Can I help you sir?”The older male asked sweetly.

“Just give me her bill please.” The deep voice rumbled behind her, his body coming up to almost pressing against her before he spoke again. “Can you not run off like that again?”

“Can you stop letting women flirt with you?” She snarked still not turning to face the man, instead setting her eyes on scanning the variety of candy for sale in the small shop.

“Here you go, miss.” The clerk smiled, bringing her the box of sweets and taking her partner’s card to ring up the bill.

“She wasn’t flirting!” Yunho protested, earning an eyeroll from his girlfriend who turned on her heel to face him, slipping a hand into his pocket to grab the spare cash before heading over to the tip jar.

“Here sir, have a wonderful day.” She yet again offered a sweet smile as she dropped the large wad of money into the tip jar and grabbed the card after the transaction was completed. She turned to her lover who was watching her with a shocked face before yet again turning on her hell, only this time heading to the car instead.

“You sure do have your hands full with that one.” The clerk commented as he came to stand near Yunho to hand him back the large sum of money.

“Keep it, she knows a safe place when she sees one. She wouldn’t have left that money if she didn’t see value in your shop.” Yunho sighed, making a mental note of the shop’s name so he knew where to check next time she ran off.

“A sweet face and fierce personality is a dangerous combination.” the clerk said, placing a wrinkled hand onto Yunho’s shoulder with a wry smile.

“Yea.. Wish me luck.” Yunho said with an airy chuckle at the end before walking to his car quickly to not leave his lover waiting. Heading to his sleak black car he climbed into the driver side, instead of starting the car though he looked over at her with exasperated eyes. 

She was eating a donut while scrolling through her phone, not bothering to clean up the sprinkled powdered sugar all over the seat of the car. 

“Can we talk about this please?” He sighed, watching her sip on her drink she had gotten on their date to wash down the donut. 

“She was flirting with you.”

“No she wasn’t.”

“She literally touched your hair.”

“I had food in it because SOMEONE threw a piece of bread at me.”

“She literally called me immature.”

“Well you’re acting like it right now love.”

“She bad mouthed your girlfriend and you’re agreeing with her?”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to say anything before you took off.”

“You smiled at the comment.”

“Sarcastically. I was about to ask for a new waiter, can you calm down and stop stress eating now. I know you’re feeling bad and that you think you’re overreacting, you’re not, your feelings are valid and how you handle those feelings is valid as well. I’m not upset, I just wanted you to hear what actually happened before you got too hurt by your own mind. I love you and everything about you, even how jealous you get.”

“So I dirtied your car up for nothing.” She said quietly looking up at him with watery eyes as guilt hit her. She had purposefully gone out of her way to break his no eating in his car rule, to try and upset him. Only for him to be the perfect boyfriend he always is.

“What do you mean?” He asked confusedly, tilting his head slightly, almost resembling a puppy.

“You don’t like people eating in your car, that’s why I got the messy donuts to get you as upset as I was. It’s petty and ridiculous. I'm sorry. I’ll clean it the second we get home.” She rushed out an explanation, hurrying to put away the trash.

“Now hold on.” He said almost sounding offended as he stared at her incredulously. She froze in her actions before looking at him wide eyed. “That rule never applied to you, and it never will. And when we get home, you’re going to sit your pretty butt right there and I will carry you inside, we will have a nice warm bath and I’ll do your skin care and your night routine with you, then we will snuggled up in our warm bed and handle the mess tomorrow first thing in the morning. Let me show you how much I love my princess.” He grinned, starting the car and quickly taking off before she had the chance to protest. 

He’d give her the princess treatment whether she wanted it or not.

[ellecdc]

The Drink Snob

mafia!Remus Lupin x fem!reader | 3200 words

p1 // p2 // p3 // p4

CW: mentions of spiked drink (no one drinks it), reference to past spiked drinks, complaining about misogyny, bad reputation of American tourists in the UK (I'm sorry!)

The short of it was: it had been a long day.

The long of it though, by God, was that you really, really needed a drink.

You got to your favourite pub which was only a brisk 7-minute walk from the university; a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub which probably had several thousand identical pubs lined across the UK but that didn’t matter, dammit, because this one was special – this one was yours. You chuckled at the irony that you had moved half-way across the world to England only to sit yourself in an Irish chain pub that you’d likely be able to find back home a mere 6000 kilometers away.

You relished the feel of the warm air hitting your rosy cheeks after marching your ass down to the pub in the biting wind in naught but a long coat and a scarf. The warm air stung but in all the best ways as you shucked off your outer-layers and plopped down on a stool by the bar, unawares of anyone else within your vicinity other than the bartender promised to serve you your drinks.

“Alright there, Lass? What can I get for ye?” The fellow asked and you could have kissed him right then and there.

“Can I have a negroni and your tallest pint please.” You asked, hoping the desperation in your voice wasn’t noticeable – the fact that the bartender didn’t comment on the odd combination of drinks let you know that is was noticeable. No matter – you were desperate, what did you care?

Turns out you should have cared more.

“I’m sorry but I must tell you, that is an awful combination of drinks.” A lilting voice came from your left side. You groaned audibly and held your hands up to your temples like blinders to avoid even looking at the voice who dared to speak to you after such a day.

“S’pose its good nobody asked you then.” You muttered darkly. You didn’t make a habit of speaking to people this way often – people already spent enough of your time in the UK mistaking you for an American on account of your accent anyway, you needn’t add fuel to the fire by adding to an already bad reputation.

“Please tell me that you’re ordering for a friend. You’ve surely just ordered for someone who’s meeting you here?”

You knew better – you really did. You don’t let strange men in bars know that you’re alone; make them believe someone could show up to save you at any minute. But dammit, you’ve been fending off jackasses all day – what’s one more?

“Apparently, I live to disappoint men, sir, so no – both drinks are for me. Is that quite alright with you? I didn’t realize I had to pass this decision by the board.” You spat, finally turning your what you were sure was a burning gaze to this mystery guy on a stool to your left.

You hesitated in your ire for a moment: the man was quite a bit larger than you had pictured in your mind – not large in a particularly broad way but the man seemed to be excruciatingly tall; he sat basically spilling off his stool, while still managing to look elegant in doing so. He was dressed sharply but not in a way that made him stand out – respectable but forgettable, he blended into this bar well. Or he would if he hadn’t been so fucking handsome.

He had warm, honey-coloured curls that seemed to artfully fall in front of his face, and eyes to match. You’d never seen amber coloured eyes before, but you couldn’t seem to pull your gaze away from them. You did – by god you did – because the rest of the man was too enticing not too. He had a chunk missing out of his left eyebrow which was arched mischievously at what you assumed was your attitude with him, and his crooked smirk matched. He had a few scars littering his face – most were small, but there was one large one that crossed the bridge of his nose, and another nick on the right of his upper lip that may have continued onto his lower, but you didn’t want to get caught staring at his mouth. And of course, of-fucking-course he’d have a dimple. Why wouldn’t he? Could this day get any worse.

“What was the thought process, then?” He asked, his smirk growing deeper.

“What?” You guffawed. He couldn’t seriously be doing this; people didn’t do this, right?

He gestured between the two drinks sat in front of you with his own – a rum and coke if you guessed correctly. “Why those drinks, specifically? They don’t exactly pair well together.”  

You stared dumbly at this hot, audacious man. You hoped he’d decide you weren't worth the breath and move along. He only stared back at you.

“There wasn’t any.”

“Hm?” He queried.

“There wasn’t any. Thought process, I mean.” You muttered, taking a sip of the negroni. “I like both drinks – usually separately, but I’ve been dreaming about getting my ass down here since practically 9:30 this morning and I couldn’t choose which I wanted first and I knew that I planned on getting at least a little bit tipsy in order to pretend I didn’t have a completely mind-fucking day so I thought ‘fuck it, I’ll order both’ and I thought since it was no one’s business but my own what I put into my body that I could get away with it but clearly, I was wrong.” You felt winded after your mini rant as you looked back at the man. He seemed genuinely entertained at your story, though his eyes grew a bit softer.

“Thinking of drinking at 9:30 am, hm?” He pondered out loud. “You know, that’s usually the sign of a problem; one might call it alcoholism.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah, you call it alcoholism, I call it Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Ah, so boy-problems then, is it?” He asked in a laugh.

You shot him a warning look. “It is not like that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” He offered with his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Tell me what it’s like then.”

You sighed dramatically. “It’s really not that big of a deal, I’m just mad about stuff at school.”

“Ah, you’re a student, then?”

“PhD candidate, but technically, yes.” You offered, downing the rest of the negroni.

“Very neat. What’s your focus?” He asked again as you began sipping on your pint, trying not to grimace at the change in drink. You're sure you failed.

“Music.”

“Hm, I didn’t know one could get a PhD in music.” He queried.

“Music theory, but yeah.” You offered, moving your drink back and forth between your hands.

“And that brought you here? To England? Why not stay in Canada – if that’s where you’re from, pardon my assumption.” He quickly apologized.

You smirked at his correct assumption – thankful that you didn’t come off ‘too American’ today.

“She goes wherever the wind takes her.”

Your statement was met with silence, so you turned to see the man had frozen in his movements and stared at you incredulously.

“Are-are you quoting Disney movies to me?”

“So, you did get the reference.”

“I did, I just fail to see how Pocahontas relates to a PhD program in England on music theory.” He mutters, looking up at you from the rim of his drink.

“I finished my Masters, then the wind changed.” You offered with a shrug, “It brought me here.”

He seemed to study you for a few moments before coming to the conclusion that you weren't going to elaborate further. “And what does this Gabriel fellow have to do with the winds of musical theory?”

You snorted indelicately. “Nothing. He just, I don’t know, it sounds stupid now that I try to say it out loud.”

“None of that, now.” The man said gently with the same smirk on his face, “a smart girl like you doesn’t strike me as the type to overreact to male foolishness.”

He seemed honestly interested in your answer, at least, the most interested anyone has ever seemed in your ramblings about your toe headed fellow PhD’er. You tried facetime’ing your friends from home about him many-a-times before, and they listen but they don't get it. And your schedules don’t align and with the time-difference one of you is always either just waking up or going to bed. But this random, handsome guy in your bar making fun of your drinks has done nothing but listen so far and you really wanted to get it off your chest.

So, you did.

You told him how your morning started terribly as you ripped a hole in your stockings and only noticed once you got to campus and you usually don’t dress this formally to campus, but you were guest lecturing for Minerva and you know professors didn’t technically have a dress code, but she always looked well put together so, dammit, so were you. You explained that your mother always was the superstitious type and had you carry an emergency pair on you at all times, so you were thankfully able to change, but only after you spilled coffee on your blazer and had to shrug that off for the day and the lecture halls are ridiculously cold always; you know these stone buildings were built before electricity but surely with the great minds this school has churned out, they could find a way to keep the warm air in and cold drafts out?

And if all that hadn’t been bad enough, the other PhD candidate working under McGonagall is this absolute bell-end that you're almost positive has plagiarized half of his written work because everything he spews is absolute nonsense. He’s rude, and condescending, and spoke over you throughout all of your lectures to wax poetic about different Opera’s he’s performed in across the world - that you swear to God you will fact-check one of these days - that had absolutely nothing to do with the course content. And then, and then, he had the audacity to suggest you were only here because the school was required to accept a minimum number of foreign students and since you were, quote, just a woman, you also checked off their minority requirements too.

“People don’t get accepted here because of their nationality or their gender or their status as a minority. They’re supposed to get here because they’re good.” You muttered, finishing your pint you hadn’t realized you had guzzled during your rant

“And how’d Gavin get in, then?” He asked. You choked on the last of your beer.

“Fucked if I know.” You sighed.

A few more pints were placed in front of you as you continued to rant about the ins and outs of being a scholar in the world of music [for Christ’s sake, what was I thinking? I’ll never work a day in my life.] The man interrupting only to say that switching back to liquor would be a choice you would regret in the morning, and who were you to argue?

And he listened. He scoffed at some parts when you quoted Gilderoy suggesting something ridiculously altruistic that he’d done for the less fortunate while being nothing but condescending, he sprinkled in a few you’re kidding me’s, and even asked you to repeat something he couldn’t fathom the first time.

“See? I knew it. A smart girl like you wouldn’t overreact like that. Sounds like you’re perfectly justified in your ire.” He said.

You hummed as you finished your last pint. You felt thoroughly warm and heavy which was your intention of coming to the pub in the first place. You looked over to notice that the man – whose name you still hadn’t got – was still holding the same drink he had when you first arrived.

“Who are you here waiting for, then?” You asked him.

He looked confused for a moment. “How do you know I wasn’t just in desperate need of a drink myself?”

You nodded toward his still half-full cup in his hand. “Because you really haven’t been drinking.”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked at you. “Observant, aren’t you? Clever girl.” You rolled your eyes at the compliment.

“I was supposed to meet a business associate, actually.” He offered as he looked behind you towards the bar door. You turned to take in the rest of the bar yourself; it didn’t seem like the sort of place one would meet a business associate. The bar was dimly lit and somewhat claustrophobic; it didn’t offer a lot of privacy to talk business. You liked it because it was small - you’d be able to see everyone who was currently in the building with one sweep of your gaze save those who may be in the washrooms, and you could see out onto the street from your seat at the bar.

“I think it might be safe to say they stood you up.” You offered with a smirk as you turned to look back at him, only to find him already looking at you.

“I think you might be right.” He offered, looking you up and down.

You couldn’t help but admit he was quite attractive – and not just in his honey-blond curls and mischievous smirk and long limbs way, but he seemed clever, smart, and clearly he was a good listener. You sort of hoped he’d offer you his name, maybe even his number. You wouldn’t mind waiting around for a business associate of his with him again sometime.

You had no such luck.

He began to stand with an expression that bordered regret crossing his face.

“It appears I must be off.” He offered with a sad smirk as he placed some bills down on the table. You weren't quite familiar with the bills in the UK yet, but it seemed like an awful lot of money for the one drink he had at the bar that was still unfinished. You took notice of said drink as you came to this conclusion and got a weird feeling in your gut as he took the drink by the rim and brought it to his lips.

“Wait!” You said as you grabbed his arm. He tensed immediately and you pulled your hand away as if it burned. “I’m sorry. Just, is that the same drink you had when I first arrived?”

He looked from the drink back to you with furrowed brows. “Yes, why?”

You pointed to the drink he still held in his hand. “It’s old.”

He smirked. “Are you a drink snob, miss orders-two-incompatable-drinks-together-and-drinks-them-at-the-same-time?” You rolled your eyes and snatched the drink out of his hand as he brought it to his lips once again, which earned you an indignant ‘oi!’

“No, you berk, what I mean is, this drink is old. It’s warm to the touch, the ice has all melted and it should be as flat as a board but it’s bubbling, like, a lot.” You said as you held it in front of his eyes. He watched you for a few moments before you continued.

“It looks like someone put something in it.”

His gaze shot back to his drink where, sure enough, his should-be-flat diet coke was fizzing wildly as it began to turn a slightly murky shade.

You watched as he gently plucked the drink from your hand and casually put it back down on the bar and shrugged on his jacket.

“It appears you’re right.” He said in monotone. “Looks like we both ought to take our leave, hm?”

You nodded and followed suit; replacing your jacket and scarf you had ripped off unceremoniously as you had entered and headed for the door. The alcohol made you wobble for but a moment, but you were quickly righted by a gentle hand pressed to your lower back. Mortified, you put your best foot forward and marched out the door, hoping your embarrassment wasn't to evident in your cheeks.

You had to admit, you were beginning to panic. Why were you trusting this man? You had spent the last – you checked your watch – nearly two hours talking to this man whose name you still don’t know completely unaware of what was happening around you, and it turned out that there was someone here drugging drinks.

What if it’s him? An unhelpful part of your brain supplied. Why would he spike his own drink and then almost drink it? You argued back.

“You should be more careful.” You offered in what you had hoped to be a playful manner, but it came out strained. “Do you know of any reason why someone may want to spike your drink?”

He seemed to consider your question as you both walked somewhat briskly down the busy street to the subway station.

“No reason that would be suitable to share in the presence of a lady, I’m afraid.” He offered with a wink, leaning down slightly with his hands in his pocket. This answer didn’t make you feel any better.

“Any particular reason why you’re familiar with the signs of a spiked drink?” He offered back.

“I have a feeling most girls would be able to answer that.”

“Hm, perhaps. But I do not believe all would be as quick to catch it as you were.”

You didn’t answer him; you decided you had shared more than enough with this stranger tonight, and you were officially feeling all sorts of uncomfortable with the situation. You were mostly uncomfortable with how not uncomfortable you felt. It felt easy, walking with this stranger, as if you’ve been walking down dreary streets of London together for ages and this was just another Tuesday.

He stopped suddenly and flagged a taxi. You scowled at how quickly a cab stopped for him and his long as arms.

“Here, it’s too muggy for such a lady to brave the underground.” He offered as he opened the door. You began to protest, you had a tube pass through school for a reason, but his hand was on your lower back again as he gently led you into the car and closed the door before sticking his head in the window of the front passenger seat and tossing a handful of bills at the driver.

“Anywhere she wants to go.” He said, stepping back to the middle of the sidewalk and waving you off.

Between the alcohol, your nerves and being disarmed by the attractiveness of this man, you simply spouted the address of your flat to the driver and turned your face forward. The whole evening seemed otherworldly – like you were missing a big chunk of information of what happened tonight, even though you could account for every minute of it.

Your suspicions would have been proven correct if you had turned around to see your mystery man again, who was now accompanied by two other similarly dressed men - one with an unruly mop of brown curls and a shorter man with long black hair tied back haphazardly - who began chasing a fourth man in earnest down the street in the opposite direction.

Continue to part two here.

[respectthepetty]

The Odd One Out

All roads leads to Home x Peach

Home's grandfather wanted a ceremony with a strict dress code of orange only.

And I thought it was just because the grandfather really liked the color orange.

Because in a show with a Pink Person, a Cyan Cutie, a Brown Beauty, a Red Rascal, and a Black Brooder (single father of four not pictured), I thought I had my fill of colors.

But as the maids carried out the grandfather's red and orange suits in episode eleven, it hit me.

This is a family of fiery personalities.

Phon is also a Red Rascal.

But she is everything negative about them.

She is vengeful.

She is murderous.

She is hot-tempered.

But Red Rascal Home doesn't have to worry about turning out like her because he has Brown Beauty Kan, Pink Person Pang, Cyan Cutie Home, and Black Brooder Suradech to keep him humble. And, of course, his uncle Somkid.

Who's been an oddity from the very beginning.

And I do mean the very beginning.

However, I trusted Somkid because Orange Oddities are normally optimistic and energetic, which he has been shown to be, but Somkid has his own mysterious and secretive Black Brooder.

Who helps Somkid be everywhere the color-coded kids are.

And I mean everywhere.

However, I didn't realize it because I was too busy focused on Home's wearing Peach's color all the time, which I have believed shows he loves Peach.

Which is why I was also excited when Home wore green (which is part of Peach's cyan) on his chest with his red accented shirt, yet ignored the orange on the stomach of Peach's shirt.

So when the cursed eleventh episode began I felt bad for Peach because he seemed to be struggling with his color as he believed Home didn't care if he left.

The same way Home struggled with his color when he thought his relationship with Peach was irredeemable.

Even though Pang maintained her color.

So when Peach magically gained his color back at the morgue, I knew something was off.

And, thankfully, the showed went back and told us that the Cyan Cutie and Red Rascal had actually worked everything out, so it would make sense that Peach would gain his color back before the morgue scene.

Because the thing about Peach is, unlike Home who has continuously worn Peach's blues and greens throughout the series, Peach isn't so quick to wear Home's red. He likes to save it for big moments, like when he signed "love"

So it was strange that the boy who has gone a journey with Home as they have both evolved (and fallen in love!) barely wears Home's red, while Somkid finally decided after decades of being the oddity of the family to wear red in solidarity with his family.

As if he was trying to prove he belonged in the family.

But the bad thing about Orange Oddities is, because they are attention-seeking and impatient, their actions can quickly become insincere if they feel slighted.

And their true color will easily emerge.

But as mentioned before, Peach likes to save his love red for Home for big moments, like when it's written over his heart with his color below as they prepare to take down Somkid. (Shoutout to the wardrobe department for grabbing a Rolling Loud Music Festival shirt!)

So we enter into the finale with

Black Brooder Suradech being rushed to the hospital,

Somkid showing his true color,

Home wearing his and Peach's combined colors in the same purple sweater he comforted Peach in when Peach faced his past,

Pang supporting her bother in blue with her pink on her chest,

Kan being the secure Brown Beauty,

and Peach in the same blue shirt he wore when Home made his dreams come true that proudly proclaims that "IT'S UP TO YOU" because he is the one who has the save the Red Rascal who quietly crept into his bed in the first episode and into his heart all season.

And now that "YOU" sits on his heart for everyone to see.

[yuurei20]

Hey! Could you explain to me why Vil is so insistent on correcting Epel's accent? I haven't gotten to chapter 5 yet but I'd like to understand this, like, why does epel's accent bother him so much?

Hello hello!! ^^ Thank you for this question!

The short, spoiler-free answer is: the way that Epel is used to speaking back home includes something that is particular to the Japanese language, and it might be impossible to translate into English!

Aniplex USA is doing their best with the localization, but a lot is getting lost in translation just because the Japanese language and the English language are so different.

If you don't mind seeing screenshots from Book 5, this also came up back in 2023, and a user from a Scandinavian country (and Epel's hometown can come across as fairly Scandinavia-coded, even borrowing words from the Finnish language) mentioned a similar experience in their own life, which is amazing! (And possibly an influence on the creation of Epel's character and his head-butting with Vil.)

1st: I see some people saying Vil is just correcting Epel because he's swearing a lot?

2nd: I also recall seeing someone say that apparently Epel speaks Tsugaru dialect in Japanese...

3rd: ...Vil trying to teach Epel that it's not about hiding your dialect/culture, it's about being considerate to those around you...

I also recently combined all of the information above into a video ^^

If you'd prefer a spoiler-free explanation, I think it might be summed up best as:

Epel's accent itself is much heavier in the original game than the English-language adaptation, to the point that even JP users are sometimes unable to understand him, because we're not actually supposed to! That is part of Vil's issue: a member of his dorm is essentially speaking in code. Not maliciously, but this is Epel's first time outside the tight-knit community of a small village, and he is experiencing culture shock as a result.

Epel's accent aside, he is using forms of speech that are inappropriate to use with teachers and upperclassmen (and that don't exist in English). Since everyone back in his village treated him like family (there were no other children his age), he is used to speaking very casually with older people as though they are his equals. Vil cannot have a member of Pomefiore obliviously insulting the students of not only his own dorm but those of other dorms and the school's faculty. But Epel isn't intentionally being rude--it's just all he knows! So he is rankling at Vil instituting what he sees as frivolous rules, but it is Vil's job as Epel's housewarden to guide him in this new territory. (An anon in one of the posts listed above mentions how odd it is that Epel's grandmother/parents did not properly prepare him for life outside the village before NRC, which is true! And now the responsibility has fallen to Vil, instead, which neither character is very happy about. It is less so a personal vendetta of Vil's than it is just his responsibility as housewarden!)

[ldrfanatic]

you might still have me

Theodore Nott x Reader "13" Series pt 2

warnings - angst, theodore nott's asshole friends, cursing

translator

series masterlist <previous chapter next chapter>

slytherin boys masterlist works

The entire rest of the week took forever to pass. All you could think about was your Hogsmeade date with Theo. Astoria was downright giddy that he'd asked you and was currently helping you pick out your outfit for the event, which was finally tomorrow. Daphne on the other hand was unsurprisingly, sitting on your bed with a slightly disdained look.

"I'm telling you, Y/n." Astoria flashed her sister a look that begged her to please, shut up, but Daphne continued while picking at the edges of her cuticles. "It's really suspicious that out of nowhere he just suddenly wants to go on a date with you." You rolled your eyes and attempted to ignore the slightly older girl.

"Besides, you've had a crush on him for so long there's no doubt that at least someone else has noticed who might've told him or something, not to mention, you've barely spoken more than two sentences to the boy save for your carriage escapade--"

"Daphne will you shut up!"

Immediately the room was silent. Both girls were staring at you with their eyes wide. You'd never yelled or exploded like that. Ever. Everyone knew you to be a shy girl who mostly kept to herself save for a few longing looks at Theo when you were sure he wasn't looking.

The rest of the time in your dorm was suffocatingly silent. When you opened the door to head down to dinner, tension exploded from the room like a pressurized cannister and seeped into the quiet halls. You could feel that your face was still hot from the interaction. Why couldn't Daphne Greengrass just be supportive for once in her life? You hadn't meant to scream at her like that, but you were riding a high for the first time in a while, and you didn't want anyone to ruin that. As your best friend, you thought she'd understand.

Instead of sitting with Astoria and Daphne at dinner, you sat secluded at your own little space at the table. A little while into the meal, Theo entered the Great Hall. You made eye contact with him and smiled. He smiled back and offered a small wave while blushed covered his olive colored skin.

Your surprise (and smile) widened when he made a beeline straight for you instead of making his way over to where Mattheo and Draco were perched on the other side of the hall. Draco look confused and honestly a little put off while Mattheo was smirking slightly to himself. You tried not to think too much of Mattheo's weird looks. He was known to be quite an odd boy, always well beyond his years, older than he needed to be. If anything, your heart clenched for the poor boy who had to grow up far too quickly.

"Your face is quite red, Y/n. Are you feeling okay?" Theo pressed a hand to your forehead and you reveled in the feeling of his skin against yours for a moment or so before pulling back and offering what you'd hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm okay, Theo. Just a little minor disagreement among friends." Theo nodded in mutual understanding and threw both legs over the bench, one after the other, until he was plopped comfortably at your side.

He stared at the empty plate in front of him for a bit, then suddenly, an intricate and delicious looking pasta conjured. Magic never ceased to amaze you, even though you'd been around it since you were born. "What's that?" Theo's head turned slightly and he made partial eye contact with you. A light sparked in his eyes before fizzling out.

"An italian dish my Nonna used to make when she was alive. It's called cassarecce di pollo." The deep drawl of an Italian accent made it's appearance as he spoke. You leaned over to get a catch of the scent. The smell of the dish in combination with Theo's natural earthy swirl had you practically drooling. In your bliss, you didn't notice Theo subtly scoot closer to you on the bench. When your eyes opened, he was there. Inches from your face. He kept his eyes locked on yours while he collected some of the dish onto a fork and held it out for you to taste.

The moment the pasta hit your tongue, flavor exploded. The sauce was creamy and tangy. The tomatoes were perfectly cooked. The chicken was grilled and rubbed in a sort of dry seasoning that you surely couldn't name, but which made your tastebuds dance on the tip of your tongue.

"Well? What do you think cuore?"

"It's delicious." The word he used with you had your eyes flicking to his in a moment. "What's that word you used?" Theo smiled amusedly and started to dig into his dinner like nothing happened. "Don't worry about it. Eat your food."

After consuming the entire plate of your most favorite dish and laughing vibrantly with Theo, you were on clouds. Daphne had to be wrong. There's no way that Theodore Nott could ever do anything like that to anybody. Sure, he'd never taken much interest in girls before, but he was finally breaking that streak. And for you no less. To be the girl that Theodore Nott chose was nothing short of explicit and perpetual happiness.

When the sun rose the next morning, you all but skyrocketed out of bed. It was finally the day of your date with Theo. The warm September sun was casting bright golden rays throughout the open fields of the castle grounds and you could only imagine what Hogsmeade looked like at such a beautiful time. You grabbed the cute sundress that you'd picked out last night and slid it down your body so quick that you may have gotten carpet burn.

Finally, the fruition of three years of longing stares. There was no way that life actually got this perfect. When you made your way down to the courtyard with a thrung of other students, Theo was already there waiting. He jogged up to you with a bright smile and his permission slip clutched tightly in his right hand. The two of you exchanged greetings and made each other howl with laughter on the trip to the village.

Theo was crouched over and holding his stomach with hoots of laughter bursting uncontained from his throat when you arrived at Hogsmeade. You'd made a joke about Draco's unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter bordering on an occult following and the poor boy doubled over. His laughter was booming and contagious. Seeing the boy you'd liked for so long, so happy made your heart swell against your ribcage. Like it always did when Theodore Nott was around.

The two of you began your day with a trip to Zonko's. When you'd mentioned wanting to go, Theo's eyes lit up. I've never met a girl that liked Zonko's. Your body blushed from the inside out at the comment. Something about Theo subtly implying that he'd never met a girl like you make your skeleton feel like dancing right out of your skin.

After a long few hours at a few other places in Hogsmeade, the two of you decided to end the date with a stop in the Three Broomsticks. Madame Rosmerta smiled largely at Theo as he entered. She asked of his Aunt Georgia, to which Theo happily replied that she'd had a healthy baby girl and was recovering nicely.

The entire date was going perfectly. Until Mattheo Riddle walked into the Three Broomsticks. Theo's eyes widened as Mattheo took a seat next to him at your table. You'd never really interacted with him too much. Mattheo's crass and abrasive personality set you slightly on edge. Still, wanting to be friends with Theo's friends, you offered him a smile and a small wave. "Hi Mattheo."

Mattheo offered a conniving smile that made you so uncomfortable you wished to look away. You held your ground though. "Well hey there Y/n." He slung a heavy arm over Theo's shoulders and leaned his other thick forearm on the rickety table. "You two seemed pretty content."

Theo hastily shoved Mattheo's arm off of him and put a good five inches between himself and the dark haired boy. "Shove off, Mattheo." Mattheo's eyes darkened and his smile faltered before he turned his attention back to yours and the same unnerving grin returned. "Aww don't be that way, Theodore. I just figured since you and Y/n are clearly so close that she should know."

Your head cocked sideways in clear confusion. Your eyes flickered between the two and when neither of them spoke, your patience began to run thin. "Know what?" Still both boys were silent. Mattheo was staring at Theo intensely and clapped a large hand on his back. "What Theo?" You hissed at the boy across the table.

Mattheo released a heavy sigh that seemed far too fake. Your suspicion grew tenfold. "Here's the thing Y/n. Theodore here only asked you out because Draco and I bet him twenty-five galleons that he couldn't break your heart in less than a week." An iron hammer appeared out of nowhere and swung at your ribcage until the bones shattered and your heart fell right from your chest onto the floor.

Theo didn't deny the accusation and stared at you apologetically with tears brimming the bottom of his eyes. He didn't have any right to be crying. You stood from the table so loud that all the patrons in the Three Broomsticks stared. A few nearby even offered you pitying looks. Tears clouded your vision so heavily you didn't see the withering look that Theo cast at Mattheo or the disappointed one that Madame Rosmerta cast at Theo.

Theo was on your tail as the door to the Three Broomsticks slammed behind you. He caught you just outside on the pavement. The setting sun gave your skin a glow that was nothing short of angelic. But the broken look that you gave him caused permanent shards to stab at his insides until they twisted themselves into dozens of little knots.

"Y/n."

"Theo why would you ever do this to anyone?"

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to do this to anybody, let alone you."

"Then why?"

"Because! I've been in love with you since the moment we met and I saw an opportunity to get close to you! What was I supposed to do? I never planned for you to find out."

You laughed brokenly through your sobs and had given up on trying to wipe your running mascara. Your heart shatters all over again. Not only did Theodore Nott do a downright horrible thing to you, but he did it out of 'love'. The biological phenomenon labeled 'heartbreak' settles into every cell in your body. Evidence of your blind, trusting faith in Theodore Nott. Faith that broke and bled and now moves in shockwaves through your body, mind, and soul. The only person capable of truly hurting you had obliterated every part of you until the pieces lay on the ground at his feet. All for a stupid bet.

"You should've said no, Theodore." His name was soft from your lips but the boy still noticeably winced. The sound cut his skin like knives leaving invisible scars. "I should've known that loving you would be the end of me. To love you Theodore Nott, is to lose my mind. You and your stupid little friends justifying it. 'She's already fucked in the head.' Is that what you've been telling yourself to sleep for the past week?"

The rage began to simmer under your skin until it felt like it was pouring out of every inch of your body.

"Actually don't answer that. I don't care."

For the first time in three years, your heart rate didn't jump when you looked at Theodore Nott. Your heart didn't swell, it deflated. Your cheeks didn't heat up. For the first time in three years, when you looked at Theodore Nott, you felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

---

2.9.2024

series masterlist

<previous chapter next chapter>

[the-universal-sun]

Do you have any little Fiddleford hcs?

I haven’t really thought about before, but you’ve inspired me. Thank you! Please let me know if this is what you were thinking of!

I don’t really think he’d start regressing until after the memory gun is created and Ford goes through the portal. His mind is in shambles, he’s stressed, anxious, and neurotic all the time basically. He’s probably homeless/living in the dump at this point, too. So all that combined leads his mind retreating to a safer age, a younger age. It’s the one good thing besides the Society that he has.

Now, let’s imagine he goes to the Mystery Shack to confront Ford after a memory is triggered and he finds Stan instead, after Stan explains his connection to Ford, Fidds tells Stan that he used to be Ford’s research partner but left for reasons he couldn’t and didn’t want to remember. Stan, feeling sorry for the squirrelly little man, offers to drive him home, but when they reach the dump he’s been staying at, he offers Fidds to stay back at the shack. He doesn’t do it out of kindness, though a part of him is sympathetic given he was homeless for a decade up until a year ago, but because he thinks he can convince Fidds to help him with the portal. Stan’s a conman, so it doesn’t take him too long to get Fidds to agree to stay, just for the winter at least.

I would imagine that they don’t spend time together until Stan convinces Fidds to help with the portal, which took weeks to do. And he’s still not happy about and refuses to go down to the basement. He’ll do the equations and teach Stan the engineering bits, but that’s all he does, and he’s only doing that much because Ford still is his friend.

Onto the actual headcanons:

- Stan doesn’t really notice anything too out of the ordinary at first, Fiddleford is already an odd, fluttering, and anxious mess with a fractured mind, so seeing him act less like an almost 30 year old and more like a 7 year old isn’t out of the question, who knows the effects of the memory gun?

- It only clicks for Stan after living with and observing Fidds for a couple of months. Stan is actually not surprised or weirded out. He’s lived on the streets for 10 years, he’s seen his fair share of different behaviors, and this is one he actually sort of knows about. One of the prisons he was in made him go to weekly group therapy and this was brought up more than a few times.

- For all the fronts that Stan puts up, he’s a deeply caring and emotional man when it comes to his loved ones, and Fiddleford wiggled his way into his heart quite easily, so he’s going to look after the little guy. That being said, he won’t make it obvious that he knows and cares (he’s being so obvious it’s painful). He speaks softly to Fidds when he notices him feeling smaller, offers kid friendly food and shows, and doesn’t let him work on the portal’s math. And sometimes rocks him to sleep. He’s not obvious at all.

- Fidds is a smart man, he knows what’s going on, he knows that Stan knows what’s going on. But he doesn’t mind so much, having Stan there just helps his anxiety and quiets his mind. Plus, he hasn’t been called “Little Fella/Guy” since he was actually 7 years old, and it feels nice to be taken care of instead. He took care of his 5 younger siblings, his cousins, Ford, his own family, technically he takes care of the town with the Society of the Blind Eye, so this is a nice change

- He does have the energy and eccentricity of Old Man McGucket when regressed. He’s just a boy from the south who loves to run in the dirt and hock loogies sometimes. Stan encourages it, encourages Fidds being loud and playful and full of energy, something he never got to be. It was beaten out of him, but damn if he ain’t gonna make sure that his boy can experience childish joy

- You know how sometimes kids from the south have the strongest and cutest country accent? That’s how Fidds sounds when regressed and Stan cannot get enough of it. He usually hates the accent, but coming from his Little Man? It’s the best sound he’s ever heard, and if he hears anyone making fun of it, he’s punching their lights out

-Fidds is an engineer at heart, always has been, so Stan swipes him some wooden stacking blocks, some child’s robotics sets, and some advanced looking Rubix cubes. Of course when Fidds is feeling overwhelmed and super anxious, not wanting to think for a little bit, Stan acquired some kid friendly books from the library, some crayons and marker, and regular old printer paper

- About every picture Fidds ends up drawing gets put on the refrigerator by Stan. He’s so happy and he loves them

- I headcanon that Stan shows love through home made gifts and quality time, like with Dipper and Mabel’s fishing hats and the time he spent with them, so he makes gifts for Fidds. He’ll draw with him and give him the drawing to keep afterwards (they’re all in Fidds’ little treasure/memory chest), he’ll spend time learning and making food he grew up eating, home made biscuits and gravy, buttermilk pie are the first he learned and are what Fidds wants to eat the most. He hand sews stuffed toys for him, Fidds’ favorite is a dog that was made with different cloth patches, he carries the affectionately named Copper with him everywhere

- Fidds loves being with Stan, his Bubba, he loves the care he can see and feel with each action. His soft touches when Fidds gets into a fit, his soft voice, he never yells and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows why, but his head is too fuzzy to think on it. Fidds was always the one in charge, the big brother, so it’s nice having his Bubba take care of him. He gets fed, he stays warm, and on the days when Fidds feels awful in his mind, he gets wrapped up in a blanket burrito and just held and carried everywhere, all day. He loves Stan

- When Fidds gets scratches and scrapes from playing outside, Stan kisses his boo boos for healing and puts a colorful bandage over it. And then kisses them again for good luck

- His juice has to be watered down or he’s bouncing off the walls and talking a mile a minute, which is cute and all, but not when it’s been nonstop running for 4 hours

- He once had an accident after a nightmare during his nap. He just sat there sobbing until Stan came, he was so scared that Stan would be disgusted and would yell at him. But when Stan found him, all he did was whisper a soft “Little Man”, pick him up, and bring him to the bathroom to give him a warm bath, wrap him up in a burrito with a clean blanket and Copper, and rock him back to sleep.

- Stan loves taking care of Fidds, he likes being needed sure, but he truly does care for Fiddleford, whether he’s the genius engineer helping his get his brother back, or his Little Guy, who loves to draw horses and pigs and can solve a Rubix cube in 15 minutes. And Fiddleford loves Stanley, his best friend who’s helping him stop with the memory gun use and eagerly listens to his engineering lessons, and his Bubba who draws with him and kisses his boo boos when he falls down

- In conclusion, Fiddleford H. McGucket is just a little guy

[deepwoodmotte2]

ok me again many thoughts this evening!formal investigation into cregan x dornish reader if you write dorne as a generic combination of South American/Latinx cultures below!! (inspired by me, who is Latinx. super super promise i am not being weird i was making salchipapas while I thought about this the first time.) (reader is referred to as a princess, she/her pronouns. her appearance isn’t referred to besides long hair. i can also write a GN version of this if people want it!!)

ok so in my mind cregan would only be likely to end up with a dornish reader if the war necessitated it, OR, in my favorite rendition, she was his third wife. I love Alysanne blackwood too much to write her out entirely. so cregan, single dad again at, say, 35, attends a council at King’s Landing. Why? Not Important! maybe a grain deal?? but reader, who is a dornish princess, is there as an envoy (think when oberyn attended the wedding!) in place of her parent, the current ruler of dorne. reader is mid or late-twenties, married once before and widowed. she has one unnamed son, who’s 10.)

the council pair off, and somehow, a deal gets struck between the north, dorne, and king’s landing. maybe for spices? and so suddenly you, reader, are having to work very closely with this imposingly tall, broad northerner with a thick beard and long hair and a nose that’s clearly been broken a couple times and apparently a crop of children and you cannot look away. i like to imagine the north as scotland when Scotland was heavily populated by the danish - cregan has a unplaceable accent to you, but his voice is so rich and gently firm that you can’t help but swoon a little. he’s stormy - he’s dour, and he gets a little tiny mischievous smirk when he’s talking sometimes that you think you want to see in your child’s face someday. he’s a bit older than you but in an appealing way, he’s a lord, he looks like that, and you, who have always been independent, strategic, and witty, are suddenly at a LOSS. i always like to imagine my readers with happy families so i’m imagining reader speaking furiously to a bastard sister she’s brought with her in spanish like “¡¡¡si si si !!!!! y es MUY alto y…. tienes que jurarme que guardarás silencio… pero es tan guapo….” and the whole time reader is completely unaware that cregan stark is having a moral crisis in the corner because he doesn’t really just WANT to be like “this is the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen” he wants to grieve and sit with that for longer for the sake of his children. and so he finds himself at odds. and not about to do anything about it at all!!! dornish princess is ruining his life and she doesn’t even know it!!

and then maybe one day a Lannister or someone else we can guarantee wolf-man would loathe says they intend to ask for your hand. and suddenly cregan realizes he might lose something he never even had - and he never loses. he makes a vow to himself to try, and seeks you out. maybe reader likes to hunt or walk or swim; either way, you’re in the godswood, on a blustery evening, and it’s you and a couple of personal guards. cregan stark rides into the godswood with his own guard, ice on his back, in a light grey tunic with a divet in the middle and riding pants. his boots are black leather, cut high and to his calf. they frame his thighs, which are are as wide as a barrel; the muscle in them ripples when his horse gallops. you are thinking nothing the faith or your septa would approve of. his clavicle peeks through the top of his shirt, the enormous sinewy muscle of his neck visible. you think, for a half second, that he would look ravishing in martell yellow.

you clear your throat. and try not to stare as he comes off his horse and his back muscles peek through the thin material of his shirt. even in this weather, which is not warm, he’s a little sweaty. you don’t realize what he knows - it’s not weather, it’s nerves. you’re exactly what he wants and what he is most terrified of. you’re widowed, too - you know his pain. you’re of high - incredibly so - rank, and you’re beautiful, intelligent, and while he’s unfamiliar with your culture, he wants to know everything he can about it and you. he wants you. he barely knows you and the idea of not getting to further feels like it’s eating him alive. his shirt sticks to his back some more. he turns to face you.

“lord stark-“ he cuts you off, accidentally, but confidently. “Princess, i had hoped to speak to you alone.” you jolt, surprised. had your sister repeated what you’d told her? was he here for council business? had you offended him somehow? you look at him, studying his eyes as best you can as the distance between you slowly closes and he walks forward, and you see, for the first time, an unsureity. he looks afraid. you dismiss your guards as he does.

“what is it you need, lord stark?” his Adam’s apple flexes as he swallows, his neck muscles twitching as his jaw tenses in worry. you’re almost worried - he looks pained. had something happened?

“I thought we might walk while we speak.” you take his arm, gently, trying to look him in the eye. his beard seems unkempt, unlike him. his hair needs to be shorn. he looks wild. you walk, and out of the silence, he says “my first wife, who i married at six and ten, proposed to me. my second wife did the same.” before you can respond, he continues, “as it stands, i have never arranged my own marriage - i… have wandered into them without set intention. it leaves me at a loss then, of knowledge of how to ask.” you swallow, expecting the worst - is he asking you how to propose to someone else? but you’re both too recently widowed, grieving, and then he takes a deep breath in, and says “Princess, i understand that you may not agree to it, and i respect that. i also understand that lannister intends to ask you the same.” you breathe in in shock at that - lannister? - and then go “agree to what, lord stark?” he takes an unconfident stride, turning his face quickly away and then back. you stop walking. you need to look him in the eye.

“i wondered, princess, if you would be willing to be my wife.”

a moment passes. you realize you’ve just been staring at him. he takes a breath in and goes “i have caused-“ you hold a hand up. “you have caused no offense, lord stark. i merely had no expectation of this.” you’re red in the face, but not in a bad way. it’s certainly not warm out right now, for what you’re used to. “i… i would. i would very much like to. i took pause because i did not expect you to ask.”

there’s a long pause before cregan stark asks if he can kiss you. you need him, in every way. your hands grip his shirt collar, his neck, his beard, and eventually, into his hair - one of his hands has encircled your waist, pulling you into him. you are not fragile, nor particularly petite, but you still disappear behind his figure with ease. his beard burns against your skin, but the friction does nothing to cool your fires - he bites at your lip, hard, wolfish, and you gasp, taking in air. he does it again a moment later, and you realize you will end up in this man’s bed, lest it kill you. it goes on for a while before either of you formally come up for air, and it’s only because a raindrop hits you in the forehead.

“i am glad of your offer,” you say, placing a hand on his chest, “and glad of you.” cregan stark, lips red, beard tangled from your hands, hair askew, looks at you like you know a secret. he doesn’t smile, not ever, that you’ve seen. you like to imagine he does for his children. you want to ask about them. (you’ve met his only son, an equally stormy and dour teenager, who you suspect your own son, a boy of ten, all chubby-cheeked and spritey, would find terrifying. cregan and his son, however, seem to share a kindness - an earnest one - and you are not blind to that. you wonder what else there is to cregan you can’t see.) a brevity graces his stern brows, and there is a warmth to his voice previously unheard to you when he says “and i of you, princess.” you smile then, lightly and truly.

[rockanroller]

i actually watched the first two episodes and i just gotta say they left me feeling just kinda…meh?

beautiful BGs, props to the animators and designers, some really good character acting.

but the plot flow… was so… empty? yeah, they packed in a lot of exposition and character intros but to the point there was little room for you to like…sit with the info, laugh, or enjoy a moment before having to listen for the next piece of lore or story point. not to mention some of the lore was straight up confusing.

some shots gave enough pause, just overall it felt very like… bloated/rushed/one thing and then the next with no real interest or entertainment taking place inbetween (to me) if that makes sense?

i can see how less critical folks that are attached to the characters would enjoy this though. but of course it leaves the question of how would this experience be for fresh new audiences who *don’t* know all the lore?

ironically Adam had me dying. i was not expecting to laugh at him after reading his various lines showing a misogynistic douche but the way they were executed slayed me—though tbf i suspect it was due to the ep already had worn me down combined with his first batch of lines being more “Preppy Jock Thinks He’s Cool But He’s Clearly A Dumbass” vibes to me, then of course the misogyny trickled in and it was like ok jerk villain got it.

other occasional moments gave me a chuckle i can admit as much.

Katie Killjoy was awful. to me she was completely out of place with Brandon’s voice, that was just…him. she only had a few lines so who knows if she’ll show up and they felt it was fine for a one-time gag—idk we’ll see.

Valentino… …bro… his accent was all over the place… i couldn’t even tell what it was “supposed” to be until he delivered some pre-song lines but until that he was slipping between accents i couldn’t place, back to a flat American “Just Some Guy” accent then back to a deeper accented voice that I couldn’t place…woof, just odd.

Angel’s trauma felt sudden/forced in like a lot of things in the episodes did.

the whole redeeming sinners thing i felt wasn’t executed great either, i had a hard time understanding Charlie’s outlook as it was shown in the episodes. and her values? she literally **applauds** Sir Pentious for his performance in a growth exercise for declaring that he will not do drugs and he will wait to have sex until after marriage, and Angel Dust is standing right there like…girl what?

does Charlie believe that shit or is she just going by what she thinks will get sinners into heaven? it’s unclear. she also seems generally off-put and disturbed by several of the sinners in the Happy Day In Hell song that she allegedly wants to redeem so badly/cares so much about so…what does she see in them?

idk, thems my first impressions. opinions subject to change.

[ultram0th]

The very second Derek walked into the cramped, dimly lit room, he struggled to maintain his composure. His eyes landing on the nerdy game board that rested on the tiny table in the center of the cramped room. Around the table stood three skinny guys along with Stiles, all of them dressed up in geeky cosplay— Stiles wore rubber elf ears.

Trying his best not to irk his boyfriend, Derek forced a smile on his face as he headed closer. “You almost done?” he asked Stiles, putting an arm around the human’s small shoulders.

Stiles, pursing his lips, shook his head. “I’m stuck at an obstacle and I don’t quite know how to defeat it,” he muttered, his eyes laser-focused on the tiny plastic figurines on the board.

Derek had never played Dungeons and Dragons before, so he was totally lost and didn’t really have much to offer his boyfriend in the way of advice. “That sucks,” he finally said, growing antsy and wanting to leave.

It was due to a combination of not having any interest whatsoever in Stiles’s fantasy game, and also because of the creepy stare he was garnering from some nerd dressed up in Halloween wizard clothes.

In fact, Derek couldn’t help but notice that the scrawny wizard’s stare was a little too intense for his liking, seeing the corners of his mouth slightly pull up to form a mischievous smirk.

“Stiles the Great,” a nerd who was dressed up in cat ears chimed, adding a fake accent to her voice, “doth thou desire’th to employ the usage of thine trusty steed?” She nodded at Derek, making him grimace.

Stiles, unfortunately, gasped loudly, indicating that he thought the nerd’s idea was a good one.

Derek’s broad shoulders fell and he knew that they’d be stuck in the cramped room for longer than he’d initially wanted.

“I run across my boyfriend, Derek the Hotness, and he uses his skills to defeat the aboleth—”

“Hold it!” the wizard interrupted, narrowing his gaze at Derek. “You can’t just add in another character midway without giving us his backstory!”

The others around the table murmured in agreement, making Stiles blush.

“Um,” he stalled as he tried to think up a backstory for Derek the Hotness, which Derek promised he’d bring up later that night, “Derek has twenty strength and—”

“What is he?” the wizard cut off again, making Derek swell down a growl.

Again, Stiles took a moment as he searched his mind for an answer, his eyes darting all over the board as he looked for an idea.

The wizard’s smirk grew even larger. “Why don’t you roll for it?” he suggested, reaching into his pockets and placing a ruby red die on the board. It shimmered under the faint light of the room, and the numbers on it had a glittery quality to it.

Stiles eagerly snatched the die off the board and shook it in his hand, even blowing on it for luck. “Fine!” he agreed. “With this die, I declare that Derek the Hotness is…” He tossed the die onto the board, letting it clatter around until it landed.

Eight.

The wizard cocked his head to the side, his smirk fully formed now. “It looks like Derek the Hotness is an orc,” he mused, snapping his fingers playfully.

At first, Derek cocked his eyebrow in wonder at the odd actions from the nerd. However, he was soon alerted to the tingling sensation that ran all over his body. His boyfriend gasped again, and Derek then noticed something terrible happening.

Holding his hands up in front of his face, Derek’s eyes widened when he saw his skin steadily darken to a greenish hue. Before he could further react, Derek tensed up as his body underwent further changes.

He couldn’t exactly see it firsthand, but all of Derek’s muscles began to inflate to obscene proportions. His arms packed on pounds of muscle, bulging with power. His chest grew to crazy proportions, tearing his shirt to shreds and further exposing his green muscles. His thighs widened and caused him to reposition his feet, his legs pushing against each other so much that his walk would now resemble something closer to a waddle. All of Derek’s muscles had pumped up, but they appeared more so for strength as opposed to aesthetic, as was evident by their rotundness and the lack of abs. Instead, his stomach had a powerlifter belly that hung over his tattered pants. Speaking of pants, the bulge in the front of them inflated and a large beer can-width snake crept down his pant leg. To top everything off, Derek’s lower jaw widened and dimples, looking large and cartoonish. His brow pushed forward, giving the hunk a brutish appearance. Finally, his lower canine teeth elongated and protruded out of his mouth, effectively giving Derek the appearance of a muscled up, dim-witted orc.

Stiles’s jaw hung low in silent shock as Derek swayed slightly to and fro.

Not understanding exactly what had just occurred, Derek shook his head and rubbed at his temples. “Uh,” he groaned, noting the much, much deeper quality to his voice, “Derek feel funny.” His eyes widened to the size of saucers, having intended to say that he felt weird, unsure as to why he’d sounded all slow and had spoken in the third person. Derek cleared his throat and tried again. “Why Derek talk funny?”

Finally, Stiles stomped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Derek’s green bicep. “Turn him back!” he ordered, narrowing his eyes at the wizard.

Derek shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that seemed to be creeping up in it. He knew that something had definitely happened to him. However, he couldn’t stop but admire how cute his boyfriend looked and how perky his butt looked in his tight pants.

Without thinking, Derek wrapped both of his large arms around Stiles, grinding his enlarged cock against the tiny human. In his haze, Derek noticed something else. “Stiles…” he grunted in his baritone, “Stiles smaller?”

Stiles bit down on his lower lip, looking completely adorable as he did so, making Derek grind his hard cock into him even more.

The wizard continued to smirk. “Sorry Stiles the Great,” he mock-frowned, “the only way to turn him back is if you defeat the aboleth.” He gestured back down at the die.

“Fine!” Stiles shouted, snatching it back up off the board. “But let me warn you, once he’s back to regular self, I will personally kick your ass!”

[Fifteen Minutes Later]

“Yeah, sorry, I thought that I could win,” Stiles muttered, his head hanging low as he and Derek walked out of the house and towards the Jeep.

Derek lumbered as best as he could, trying hard to get the hang of waddling with his extra large, green muscles. His thighs kept rolling over one another, and his chest was so heavy that he had to arch his back in order to support his huge pecs. His muscle gut jiggled slightly with every step he took. However, his hard footlong cock waved tantalizingly in front of him, oozing precum at the sight of Stiles walking in front of him. Derek’s slowed mind struggled to piece everything together. He knew deep down that something had happened to him, but his brain was full of such lust for his tiny-looking boyfriend that it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

“Stiles cute,” he gushed in his deep voice.

“Yeah thanks, but focus, Derek!” Stiles said as soon as they reached the Jeep. “We need to go to Deaton to see if he can fix this!” He hopped into the driver’s seat and looked at his orc boyfriend expectantly.

Derek struggled to get inside the Jeep, trying to get the hang of moving his muscled body. His broadened shoulders kept banging against the sides of the door, preventing him from getting in head on. His lower IQ prevented him from immediately turning to the side until Stiles coaxed him into it. Once he was inside, his massive arms and pecs kept getting the way of him fastening his seat belt, leaving the orc struggling with the tiny strap.

Derek cocked his eyebrow in wonder as he stared down at his inflated, green pecs. “Derek has big muscles!” he gasped, his eyes widening in shock. The surprise disappeared as soon as Derek looked over at Stiles. “Stiles cute.” His hard cock bobbed in front of him in the air, twitching with want.

“Well…” Stiles mused, “maybe we can go to Deaton in the morning.”

[poppetsisters]

So, what/how do you think and feel about the FF suit that Joseph was wearing in that video message for D23?

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED BECAUSE I WAS GONNA MAKE A POST ABOUT IT!

My gut reaction was that I got a little scared. The combination of white AND black with the base colour reminded me a lot of Professor Impossible from Venture Bros, especially when leaked set pictures of Vanessa Kirby seemingly show her in a black skirt/shorts/it's hard to tell

But let me start from the top. I'm gonna recount a few points in my Valentines Day video but time has given me more thoughts.

Let's start with the Logo on the suit, which is best rendered in the Title graphic. It's such a nice, elegant logo, smooth curves with subtle accent lines. the way the line crosses into itself on the 4 makes it look like a star. It's not sharp like the teaser logo we got (and was used on MoM Reed) but friendlier, bouncier, while still keeping a strong structure.

The colour scheme itself was a surprise to me when I first saw it back in February. Instead of any traditional colour combination, we're getting white on azure, this is a combination I've only ever seen on season 1 of the 90s cartoon.

Unlike my reaction to that show, the choice of colours looked way better than I expected. The blue really pops with the white, and (as I'm sure was intentional) gives them a fun astronaut aesthetic. Honestly, it's such a relief after so many dull grey militaristic MCU costumes that we're finally getting something based on 60s NASA instead.

These suits also look very comfy. I know the actors are for sure gonna have a different opinion on that, but they look snug on the actor's body, not needing any muscle suit underneath to portray strength. I don't know what material the suits made out of, but it gives off something that allows for stretch and warmth, like a sweater. Great choice.

Now let's look at the elements itself. The Logo is clear and readable, something I was nervous about with previous suits having their logo too small. It's centred on a good part of the suit, maybe I would've raised it higher but then it'd be intersecting with the brim, so I'm not gonna be fussy about it.

The brim itself is much wider than I was expecting, and the turtleneck isn't too large, which is nice since you don't want to make the actors have a double chin.

The biggest departure from traditional suits is the white from the collar extending Spider-Man like down the arms. It seems a little odd that a detail like that doesn't connect to the gloves, leaving a blue gap between that and the entrance to the glove. It reminds me of a symmetrical version of the Jim Lee suits from 1997. I'm trying to find a precedent for this design decision in 60s NASA era space suits, but I can't find any. Aesthetically, it feel unnecessary, but maybe they want to call attention to the arms in the design for some reason. Maybe it's something to do with his fire form.

The gloves however being starkly white on the outside and black on the inside do hold a precedent. Some space suits, indeed most practical gloves, use a different material for the inside of the hand to aid in grip. I believe that's what's happening here. The gloves appear to have that same strap that Carlos Pacheco introduced in 2001.

Since we don't get a good shot of the legs, my final notes are on the belt. A friend of mine commented that Johnny has a camera on his belt, but I think the reference is to the Belt-Buckle Solenoid, the micro-beam key that unlocks the elevator to the Fantastic Four's residence. This is a really cool detail to put into the belt, and it's silver colour blends nicely with the while so it doesn't interfere with the colour or shape language.

The last point I want to make, speaking of Sue, is that according to this suit reveal and the leaked Susan Storm pictures, it appears that every member of the team gets a distinct costume, and that's probably for the best. My only real desires is that they should all still look like they're on the same team with a unified colour scheme and logo, which is probably a given but I still wanted to point out anyway.

Overall, this costume is leagues better than the 2015 costumes and even the 2005 costumes. They're bold, colourful, proud of their 60s design heritage, and most important of all, fun!

[canisvesperus]

I’ve seen some discussion on this, so allow me to explain something.

Some people do not seem to grasp why artists like me draw so much fashionable Eridan. He’s not fashionable at all, just look at his canon outfit, they say. Well, it is simple. Eridan is one of the few trolls actually experimenting with fashion at a young age in the comic. Look me in the eye and tell me you too weren’t a hot mess trying to dress “fashionable” in middle school. Yet, chances are that if you had that awareness and drive early on, you will also develop a sense of style and grasp on aesthetics earlier in life compared to your peers. This was my experience. I was well known for being very stylish as a kid, but this didn’t happen overnight. Indeed, if you were one of these kids you most definitely started off with some odd or disharmonious clothing combinations that you threw together in an attempt to express yourself aesthetically despite inexperience in that type of self-expression. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I usually draw young adult Eridan. Obviously given some time, his tastes would develop and mature into something derived from those original aesthetic visions, but far more cohesive.

It’s clear he’s trying to assert his individualism and status in his clothing choices, and most of y’all shrug him off as having bad taste while not also foreseeing the intent and vision behind those choices. I see it, and so do other artists. We differ in how we portray this derivation because there are frankly a dozen different directions he could take it depending on the circumstances of the post-canon/fix it scenario. This is why you may see me refer to the Eridan in my depictions as “my Eridan”. I don’t presume to depict something identical to Homestuck proper, nor am I particularly interested in doing so. If you’re the type of person who is married to the events of canon and cannot consider a scenario involving an older Eridan who was allowed to grow and change, this is why we are not seeing eye to eye— and I’m certain this is the root cause of various other discourses as they pertain to portraying the character in post-canon fanworks. That’s fine. That’s your choice. My choice is different.

Eridan consistently demonstrates concern (an excess, really, which backfired for him in the cruelest of ways poor thing) with respect to how he is perceived, hence the consciously thought out image-crafting and classic Eridan façades that his own peers call him out on for being poorly executed, transparent, and otherwise not believable. They were kids. This is normal. Of course he doesn’t have himself figured out yet. It’s a process. Some people in this fandom believe his façade in the most literal and uncritical of ways but this is all a story for another day. Is his drip game shit though, without regards for fan interpretations? If you’re asking me, I don’t think it’s really that bad considering his age. I really don’t think it’s that bad. That kind of scarf with the cape is a bit much to wear around the neck. Maybe he’ll swap the big scarf for something similar in function and category but less top heavy— a cravat, jabot, bandana, or lavallière? If the cape is too overwhelming for the rest of the outfit, a smaller caplet, shawl, or a coat will work. To accommodate some of the alternative neckwear, a shirt with a collar would be preferable. What many people perceive as a turtleneck sweater, need not be entirely sacrificed. Put a sweater vest on that boy. I see lots of complaints about the shoes and pants. More discreet pinstripes and more formal shoes (field boots, paddock boots, oxfords) will work. Of course he can go in the opposite direction, less formal, in that case the cape can go and the long scarf can stay, get some cool sneakers, consider denim bottoms or casual slacks in a single color, accents welcome. However this isn’t the derivation I pursue so I feel less qualified to speculate. He could ditch all of it even. Start new and fresh especially if he were to go through a markedly subversive reclamation of identity and character redemption sort of process. In any case, he can work with it!!! You just have to believe in him.

I believe Eridan had a lot of narrative potential that was wasted, possibly out of disinterest for the character. It’s only predictable that artists like me simply want to devise a world in which these characters had a chance to actually live their lives. I truly do not understand why there has to be so much confusion over this. That‘s all.

[sucker-for-yanderes]

Secret Admirer Pt. 2

Yan!Izuku x Reader

Contains: Stalking, hidden cameras in reader's home, unhealthy obsession and other yandere behavior, masturbation.

The green haired boy let out a light, disturbing chuckle as he now had full access to a certain someone's house. Due to all the secret cameras he had hidden to the spare keys he made himself. He could easily slip in and out whenever he pleased. He could take her whenever he pleased. After all, with his super human quirk, it'd be a piece of cake. This girl was quirkless after all so it's not like she could defend herself even against a person who had a lowly type quirk. But where was the fun in taking her so soon? No, Izuku liked playing the waiting game. There was something about the stalking and watching from afar that he loved. He liked the thrill of the waiting game. To be able to observe her so closely yet not getting caught or even suspected once! Man, he was a natural at this. He sighed lovingly as he watched her get ready for work. She put on the same uniform that they had met in. 

Izuku first laid eyes on her at a coffee shop he visited frequently. She was the new employee they had hired. This was her first job. How did he know? The questions she asked and the way she operated and not to mention her inadequate social skills. Anyone could tell she was a newbie. In fact, she had spilled coffee on his pants. That was the first time they'd actually conversed besides her taking his order. She frantically apologized and began wiping the hot liquid off of his pants causing the two of them to blush. She apologized again and offered to give him some spare clean pants they had laying neatly folded in the back room. He turned down the offer as he saw there was no use crying over spilled coffee. It was from that interaction that the two of them began talking more and more everyday. And it was from there that an obsession grew. It started off small, Izuku not even noticing it. But he subconsciously began doing things out of the ordinary such as spilling things on "accident" or ordering a large meal and then offering (Name) to sit down and eat it with him. He would even watch her up at the register, cleaning, and making drinks. His eyes observed her well sculpted face, down to her firm breasts, to her curvy build. He even found her legs to be appealing for some odd reason and her small hands as well. He took notice to the little details about her and it only made him admire her more. He adored seeing her in that uniform. The light tan jeans that fit her legs so comfortably. Her black, short sleeved shirt fit her so snug. A short, brown apron with the coffee shop brand logo on it hugged her waist perfectly. Not to mention the uniform accented her breasts, thighs, and ass all in one sitting. Izuku had never seen anyone look so cute and even sexy in a coffee shop uniform before. Never. But that wasn't the only thing he cared about. No. He cared about so much more. Her voice, her kindness to others, her enthusiasm, determination, patience, and the way she could light up the room when she walked in. Izuku was so intrigued by this girl. You could find a girl with a good body anywhere, but to have a good personality combined with that was rare. Izuku was so intrigued by this girl that it didn't take him long to find out where she lived. She even lived close by his apartment. How convenient~

Now, in present day, it was after work that he managed to slip into her house without being detected. Izuku thanked the gods who gave him such stealth. Whatever room she was in, he was watching from another. His heart raced. Oh, how he loved the thrill. The risk of getting caught. It was a wild high. But the thing he truly loved was being close to his crush. The one he admired most. The one who occupied his heart. Izuku couldn't help but bend down to the ground and bring his hands to his now red face. He was internally fanboying over that girl again. He couldn't wait for the day he would be able to call her his. The day she would moan his name over and over again. The day she would say " I do." It was all so exciting to Izuku. But he maintained his composure for now. There was a time and place for his fanboying and fantasizing. 

Izuku was now standing in the bathroom. The hot steam from the shower filled the room as mist formed on the mirror. Izuku began blushing madly as he was standing not even four feet away from the girl of his dreams! It was easy for him to slip in undetected as she liked to listen to her casual tunes whilst in the shower. Izuku could only imagine what lay on the other side of the curtains. They were in the same room. One clothed and one naked. Only to be separated by a curtain. (Name) was focused on cleaning herself until she shivered due to a sudden chill. Izuku had left the door slightly cracked. However, she found it not to be a big deal as she was getting out soon anyways and didn't want to get out of the shower, close the door, then get back in. Absolutely clueless. Focused on her own tasks at hand because that's the kind of person she is. Focused on herself in order to keep improving and moving forward. Yes, that's right. Keep on doing what you're doing. Minding your own business as the boy so close to you watches. Nothing kept secret. 

(Name) twisted the knob in her shower causing the water to turn off. Izuku swiftly stepped out of the room into somewhere he wouldn't be detected. She opens the curtains and dries herself off, turning the bathroom fan on to dry off the moist room. The girl then continued with her nightly routine, all while Izuku watched. However, he was respectful to turn away when she was completely nude as he wanted to save that for himself one day. The day he would see her fully naked would be the day he would take her, not just watch her. And he couldn't exactly take her right now, it would screw things up. Izuku concludes the night while watching his precious girl sleep from the window. The gods seemingly blessed him again providing a tree with the perfect, supportive branch to watch her from. Izuku watched her sleep for hours and hours before he had to go home. However, that's okay. The micro cameras he set up in her room would allow him to watch her in the comfort of his home while she was comfortable in hers. And there, he would continue his fun. 

Midoriya was so smart to have done that. He pat himself on the back for it. Yes, he absolutely loved watching you up close and personal, but he couldn't all the time. He looked at the tapes often. Her sleeping in bed was enough to turn him on. As usual, he pleased himself to her. Fantasizing. What her naked body would look like pressed up against his. What her mouth would look like around his long, thick meat. What his cum all over her face would look like. She would look so adorable. This was the only thing that kept Izuku restrained. It gave him a sense of self control. But make no mistake, he was definitely planning on how to make (Name) his forever. He wanted (Name). He coveted her so bad. Izuku wanted to own her. Own everything about her. Her body, her psyche, her soul, her very entire essence, and most importantly, her heart. She would be his entirely.