#here you go fans of my most popular tag[SARCASM] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strafepanzer · 2 years ago

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atmospheric | act i: cumulus

masterlist | act i | act ii | act iii

a @mybigbangacademia collab with @54prowl

rating: explicit (for future themes)

word count: 9.4k

tags: katsuki’s sailor tongue, staged (and non-staged) meet cutes, mentions of grief

a/n: oh my lord, i thought this would never come to fruition! i wanna thank @kweenkatsuki @kingkatsuki @karikarasuno and especially @54prowl for keeping me sane throughout this! thank you for reading my stuff and screaming about it and helping me through writers block and just being there for me when i was at my most anxious. i adore you all so so much!

“Hell fucking no.” Katsuki laughs. Laughs at the gall, at the sheer audacity. “I don’t need this. Why the fuck would I need this?”

His publicist shares a look with the rep from The Hero Commission. “Bakugo,” she takes a breath, clenches her jaw a little. He’s known Kira for a long time, knows she honestly tries to do what’s best for him, what he needs. “You could be number one.” She states confidently. “And I’m gonna be candid here, because we’re not strangers; I’ve been with you for six long years,” she doesn’t break eye contact with him, if anything she leans into him more. “I’m frustrated. It’s goddamn frustrating watching you sit at six. Six? You’re Dynamight.”

“That’s right!” The rep all but throws his hands up in the air. “Dynamight! You always catch the bad guy! Your merch is one of our best selling lines, you always file your work correctly— and on time!” He stresses, blue eyes as big and bright as All Might’s were. “Your issue is popularity, the polls; you don’t take fan pics, you don’t sign merch—“

“That’s not the point of bein’ a fucking hero—“

“We don’t want you to change, Bakugo, that’s the whole point of this. You don’t have to become a whole different person; in fact, we don’t really expect you to do much, especially during the first few months of the project.” The Project. He wants to snort, to cross his arms and lean back in his chair, show his disinterest; but, shit, he’d be a fucking liar if he didn’t admit sitting at six didn’t drive him up the wall.

“It’ll just start with a chance meeting here, another there, just so social media can get wind of it, and rumours can spread.” Kira relaxes a little, frown lines evening out as she takes in Anderson’s excited vibes. Katsuki huffs a little, meets her eyes. “We’ve had a team working on your story for a while.”

“Story…” he tests the word in his mouth as his brows draw together. “So there’s a script?”

“We have a timeline and set meetings,” Anderson smiles, leaning back in his chair. “Some social media stories we’ll need you to post, more she has to post; but as far as a script goes… it’s more of the direction we need you to go in.”

Katsuki sighs, grabs the surprisingly heavy booklet they presented to him earlier in the meeting. GOLDFISH takes up most of the cover page in giant letters, a corny TOP SECRET stamped in red takes up the rest of it; fucking stupid, dramatic, pretentious Hero Commission shit. He flips through the pages, glosses over the words until he gets to a sub heading titled Chance Meeting One.

They’re lucky he doesn’t peg the fucking book at Anderson.

Subject A bumps into Subject B on the red carpet. Subject B stumbles, Subject A steadies them, asks if they are okay. The two share a look, then get back to business. Paparazzi in the vicinity—

“So, if I’m subject A, who’s the mysterious Subject B?” His voice is dripping in sarcasm as he tosses the book back onto the table. He’s mildly surprised— concerned, even?— when neither of them jump to tell him.

“We can’t… tell you… until you sign the contract.” Kira says quietly, the nerves he’s so accustomed to seeing, creeping back onto her face.

His scowl must deepen astronomically, because she turns to Anderson with her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re not the only hero suffering in the popularity polls.” Anderson shrugs, gesturing with his hands. “Kira’s just been meticulous about you getting the boost. In reality, this would be a good deal for all of the top 10 heroes.”

Katsuki feels his eye twitch.

“Shouto, for example, isn’t that great with social cues, tends to shy away from media; he’s already at three, we could get him higher.” Anderson is 100% goading him, and Katsuki knows it, but it’s working.

“Is she a hero?”

“No,” his agent says confidently. “She’s not in the business, not a part of the commission either.”

“She’s well-loved, fawned over. Attractive.” Anderson turns to Kira. “Would you say so?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. We’d never set you up for failure, Bakugo, I can promise you that.”

“I don’t care what she looks like,” he huffs, slightly agitated. “I just don’t wanna drop in the polls.” He grumbles, glare set on Anderson. “Do they know it’s me?”

“Nope, she just knows you’re a hero.” He answers with a toothy smile.

Katsuki presses on. “Does she know I’m in top 10?”

“Her contract states it’ll be a hero in the top 50.” He shoots back, unblinking.

“Just say yes Bakugo, I promise it’ll be worth it.” Kira interjects, eyes hopeful. “And hey, you might actually really like her.”

Katsuki’s snort of laughter is loud. “Doubt it.” He grabs the book and flicks through the pages again, what’s the harm in taking it home and having a read? “Do I have to decide now?”

“Yes.” They answer together, Anderson steadfast and Kira flat.

“Really?”

“No time like the present.” The rep shrugs, the Cheshire grin on his face only growing with Katsuki’s frustration.

“You’re a real fucking ass you know that?” The hero grumbles, throwing his glare over his shoulder, pretending to be interested in the view of the setting sun from their vantage point on the 47th floor of the Hero Commission.

“The sooner you sign, the sooner we get the ball rolling.” Anderson drums the table like a fucking salesman.

And Katsuki signs the contract.

—

Katsuki still lives in the same apartment he bought when he was a rookie. Granted, back then this place was far too good for him, with its timber floorboards, prime location, and it’s five burner stainless steel natural gas cooktop. The previous owner was selling to move abroad; a retired chef who allowed Katsuki a walkthrough of the place as a ‘favour’ to one of Aizawa’s friends.

She—the chef— must’ve seen something in Katsuki when his eyes roamed the sparkling appliances, the range hood, the dishwasher, the fridge, because she accepted his offer, and he’d moved in the next week. It wasn’t until Eijirou had mentioned a couple months into living there, that his bathroom tiles were pink, that Katsuki had even noticed; that’s just how smitten he was with that fucking kitchen.

Now, years later, he feels shitty looking at his commercial grade kitchen.

When was the last time he cooked? Shit, the only time he even uses his kitchen is when he makes himself an instant coffee before work, or reheats takeout from the night before. He’s so busy at TDA, so busy bagging baddies and fighting crime and filing fucking paperwork that he’s gotta eat and run, with the shitty haired idiot eating into his days off with god damned babysitting duties at his place.

Katsuki sinks into the worn leather of his camel coloured couch, A4 envelope in his hand. He should open it, should find out who exactly this mystery girl is, should prepare. Instead, he sighs, tosses the crisp wad of paper onto the seat next to him, runs a hand down his face.

If even one person finds out he’s doing this, he’s over.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands drawing down his face, crimson staring into the white of his ceiling, the elaborate cornices joining the muted grey of his walls. Bare walls.

The chef had paintings on the walls, heavy velvet curtains over the windows, colourful rugs, buffets covered in photos, house plants, and so much furniture. But Katsuki— young and pretentious— didn’t get that. He liked how huge the apartment seemed without it all, how high the ceilings felt, how large the rooms were.

Now, as much as he’s loathe to admit it, it feels kinda lonely.

But, he’ll do what he usually does when that nagging emptiness nips at his ankles, when he’s alone and actually feeling it: he’ll head to TDA. He’ll get to work, ignore Deku and that half and half bastard when they tell him they’ve got everything covered, ignore sparky when he teases him about not having a life, ignore pink cheeks when she reminds him for the millionth time he’s not getting paid overtime.

With a heaved sigh, he sits forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. That envelope glares at him from the other side of the two seater lounge, sitting there as if it’s some kind of placeholder, as if the girl herself is going to materialise next to him if he dares to open it.

He doesn’t open it.

—

TDA—The Deku Agency (yeah, stupid fucking name)— is lively in the afternoons. Heroes and rookies mingle with civvies in the foyer, sitting at cozy little tables and ordering overpriced drinks and cakes from the café Deku had installed in the far corner of the lobby in a bid to improve relations between them. The Commission loved it.

Katsuki uses the back door.

He takes the maintenance elevator up to the office floor and wordlessly finds his desk, revels in the pssssssht as he sinks into the bright orange, high-backed ergolux. It’s comfy for an office chair, just the right amount of worn in, without the irritation of squeaky screws his old chair had.

“Don’t you have today off?” Icyhot’s glare is blank, cold soba (probably) noodles suspended between the chopsticks held at lip level.

“None’a your business, half ‘n’ half.” Katsuki glares back heatedly, spinning in his chair to face his monitor. It, too, is… orange. Just like Deku’s is broccoli green, and round cheeks’ is pink, and fucking half ‘n’ half’s is… half red, half icy blue. According to Deku, some computer company brought out a whole range of hero inspired computers in a collab with the Commission and he just had to get one for everyone; with matching chairs.

The colours throw off the serenity the floor could have, with its glossy white floors, floor to ceiling windows, the greenery delicately placed around the space. But, that’s Deku and Pink Cheeks to a tee, and the icyhot asshole just goes along with whatever half-baked plan the two of them conspire.

“Was it expensive?” Todoroki presses, those eyes still staring holes into Katsuki.

“Haah?” He knows he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he’s tense as it is, so that red glare of his is burning through Shouto in an instant.

“The fine? Property damage, Uraraka thinks, but my money’s on defamation?” He says it with such disinterest, that it almost takes Katsuki off guard.

“It was a meeting, dipshit; about my career. I don’t have any outstanding fines.” He almost snarls, irritation a growling monster in his gut. “Asshole.” He adds, filing away Ochako’s involvement in the back of his mind. He’ll call her out for it later; she’s always the one putting ridiculous ideas in that two-toned space cadet’s head.

“Ah, sorry.” He hears him mumble back, followed by a loud slurp that makes Katsuki’s left eye twitch.

“You should be.” The blonde huffs, irritation mounting at the lack of sincerity in his voice. “Who the hell did you think was suing me?”

“Hm? Didn’t you badmouth Grand on Twitter last week?”

Katsuki actually laughs. “If that asshole wants to go to battle, he’ll need to be ready for fucking war.”

“What was the meeting about, then? Your public image? Are they mad at you?”

Yes and no.

“You’re awfully chatty today.”

“Well, I’m having a meeting next week,” Shouto admits, piquing Katsuki’s interest; he swivels in his chair, watches his friend as he plays with his noodles absentmindedly. “Just… Don’t know what to expect.”

“Oh.” Is all Katsuki can really say. He vaguely remembers Shouto mentioning something about almost slipping in the polls, and although he’s higher than Katsuki, he bets his own agent’s been getting a beat down from the Commission. While they don’t really care who sits at number one, they do care when merch sales drop and social media interaction is low.

“I just hate… all of that extra stuff. All of the unnecessary competition that comes along with this job. Reminds me of… Father.” As if sensing he’s stepped a foot wrong (for once in his life), Shouto mumbles a sorry and turns back towards his computer screen.

Normally, a mention of Shouto’s father leaves a bittersweet taste in Katsuki’s mouth, has him turning cheek to cheer his friend up in his own asshole-y way… but guilt nips at his heels. Guilt that his contract might actually have him surpassing Shouto with a leg-up Katsuki doesn’t technically need. Katsuki isn’t Shouto; he’s a prick on purpose, not out of childhood trauma-induced ignorance. Katsuki knows that the things he says and his shitty actions have god damned consequences.

Todoroki’s just a little weird.

Fuck, another reason to feel shitty about signing that fucking contract.

After a few moments, Shouto’s slurping starts again, giving Katsuki the green light to get his head out of his ass. He turns back to his own computer, taps the space bar a few times to wake it up, and logs into the portal.

Time to catch up on some incident reports.

—

The Kirishima Household is lovely. Pro Hero Red Riot bought a place out in the ‘burbs when he got married, a semi-renovated two-storey place with a yard. It’s hard to find a place with a yard so close to the city, especially on rookie hero wages. The place has three bedrooms upstairs, with the living and dining, kitchen, and bath and toilet downstairs; Eijirou’s been trying to convince Katsuki to claim the third bedroom as his, even bought him an alarm clock and an All Might sheet set for the bed, but Katsuki chronically takes the couch.

When he comes over the night before the Gala to watch Akari, the father-daughter duo are playing MarioKart. Katsuki shakes his head at them— concealing his grin— and takes his groceries to the kitchen, set on making dinner for the two of them before Ei has to head off to work.

He must be thinking too hard, the anxiety of the Gala etched on his face, because Eijirou is hovering.

The red head’s also giving him the look.

Between serving his little girl dinner— which Katsuki assured him, he could do— getting his shit together for his shift, and making small talk with Katsuki, he keeps staring. It’s the goading look; the one that says: hey man, I know something’s wrong, but you’re just gonna say nothin’ if I ask, so I’m gonna need you to tell me.

Katsuki’s not gonna tell him.

He can’t.

What, just come out with a: yeah, I actually accepted an offer from the Commission to fake date someone in order for my public perception to improve, so I’ll climb the popularity polls. No chance in hell; not even if the place froze over.

Sure, if anyone were to understand, it’d probably be Eijirou. Either him, Deku, or Shouto, but… he just can’t. Especially with Red Riot sitting at number 8.

Katsuki has to usher him out the door at 6pm, has to pretend he’s fine, and that nothing’s bothering him; he even tries to give Ei a reassuring smile as he hops on his motorbike, but thinking back on that moment, it probably only worsens his perception of Katsuki. Since when does he smile and wave him off to work?

Shit.

He settles onto the sofa next to Ei’s mini me after tidying the kitchen and tossing a load of laundry in the wash. A replay of the morning news should relax him a little, should take his mind off this stupid Gala, the stupid red carpet, the stupid fucking contractual dating.

The news anchors are achingly boring, droning on about the finance sector, the stock market; Deku’s into all that shit, pulled Katsuki into investing almost a decade ago. The idiot even told Katsuki not to waste his first hero pay check on stupid stuff… then went ahead and bought some 160,000Y All Might figure that looked achingly out of place on his coffee table in his tiny loft studio apartment.

Then he’s on the news, a flash of blonde and green and orange flying through the sky. He’d apprehended a villain last night, and the news loves reporting on all of the property damage that usually comes along with Katsuki’s quirk; he’s gotten so good at holding back, but since signing the contract, he knows he’s been acting a little more recklessly. And of course, snakey fucking journalists have to jump on that. Reminds him how much he fucking hates the news.

At least the weather girl’s cute.

“Uncle Kats? You okay?” Akari blinks, looking up from her iPad. She’s the spit out of her father’s mouth with those big red eyes and inky black hair, not to mention how much she loves Katsuki. Must run in the Kirishima genes.

“Why d’ya ask, kiddo?”

“I knew it,” she sighs, pulling her feet underneath her as she locks her iPad. “Dad’s got another girlfriend, doesn’t he? You always get weird like this when he’s seeing someone.”

Katsuki snorts laughter. “Always? Your dad has dated two people since you’ve been alive.”

“You’re acting weird!” She argues, arms gesturing wildly.

“You’re ten, you have no idea what weird even is.” He brushes her off, hoping to relive her of her street, but unable to do it nicely. He doesn’t really do nice.

“Dad was staring at you funny, and you were being weird.” She scrunches her little nose up at him, and Katsuki knows he’s not getting out of this conversation without putting a little bit of work in.

“Your dad stares at me funny all the time, squirt; you should’ve seen him when we were in high school.”

“He looked worried.” Akari frowns, because it is strange when Ei’s not being carefree.

Still, he’s gonna pretend he didn’t notice. “Did he?”

“Yeah and you did too!” She accuses, voice rising, annoyed. “Like, right up until now”

“So, because we both look worried, your dad’s dating again.” Its not a question, it’s her conclusion.

“Yeah, because he’s worried you’ll tell me, and you’re worried you have to keep it a secret. You don’t, by the way, I’m double digits now, so you can trust me with your secrets, I promise, Uncle Kats.” She bats those lashes at him, eyes shining with what he can only call mirth. The one thing she seemed to pick up from Katsuki after all these years babysitting.

He sighs, midway between impressed at her reasoning skills, and bummed that he can’t give her the answers she’s looking for. Still, he lets out a low whistle. “Double digits, huh? Sounds like you’re too old to hang out with Uncle Kats at the parlour.”

Seems like redirection still works for pre-teens, because her ruby reds light up like it’s Christmas. “You said you’re too famous to go out in public!”

“Are you arguing with ice cream, squirt?” He fakes a glower, sends her a little glare that can only be taken as playful.

“No way!” She bounces from the couch and practically runs to the landing. “I’m just gonna put my coat and shoes on!” She calls, talking way too fast. But then her little face pokes back around the corner, brows furrowed. “No take-backs.” She glares, wary.

He sighs, rubs a huge scarred hand over his too tired face. “No take backs.” He shrugs, shaking his head.

Akari seems content to leave his sight after that, her fast footfalls trekking up the stairs, her bedroom door slamming open. Meanwhile, he sinks a little into the sofa, annoyed with himself; mostly for acting so obviously emotional in front of a child, but also for promising her ice cream.

Looks like a beanie, face mask, and sunglasses type of night.

—

Eijirou rolls up the driveway a long thirteen hours after he left.

Katsuki’s made Eijirou a decaf tea— he’s gotta sleep today, and all that— and he’s stirring his coffee with a teaspoon as he leans against the countertop in the kitchen, eyes on the front door in anticipation. He needs to talk to him, needs to reassure his best friend that he’s okay, that there’s not really anything wrong.

Tell him what’s going on without explicitly telling him what’s going on.

“Daddy’s home!” He calls, bursting into the house with far too much energy for coming off an overnight shift.

“Dude, she’s asleep.”

“What?” His face falls, eyes darting around the kitchen like Katsuki’s telling lies. “It’s seven am, she’s got school this morning.” He grows more panicked by the second. “The bus gets here at seven-fifty—“

“Eiji, c’mon, all she’s gotta do is get up, get dressed, and eat breakfast.” Katsuki grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“How are you letting her sleep in? I knew it, something’s wrong. You were acting so weird last night, but this is… this is worse.” He dumps his work bag at his feet, puts his hands on his hips and gives him those god damn puppy eyes that are generally reserved for begging Katsuki to go somewhere with him. “You’re harder on her schedule than I am, Katsuki.”

Katsuki sighs, steps over to rinse his teaspoon in the sink. “I took her out for ice cream last night, and we stayed out past her bedtime, so I told her I’d let her sleep in until seven-thirty.” He picks up Eijirou’s tea, hold it out for him to take. “I’m fine, really, it’s just a work thing.”

Eijirou accepts the mug, takes a few steps to sit at his four-seater dining table. “A work thing you can’t tell your best bud about.”

“It’s—“ Katsuki hesitates, taking his coffee with him to joint Eijirou at the table. “The Hero Gala is coming up, and Kira is making me go. You know how I hate doing publicity shit.” Not a lie. It’s true, he has to go to the pretentious fucking Hero Gala, and he hates all that stupid shit, and, yeah maybe there’s something else going on at the Gala, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he doesn’t wanna go.

Eiji’s mouth hangs open. “That’s it?”

“Hah?” Katsuki glares.

“You’re freaking out about the Gala?”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, I— geez, Kats, I actually thought there was something eating at your soul. You looked like you made a deal with a crossroads demon or something.” He shakes his head of whatever thoughts he’s been having and lets out a laugh, takes a sip of his tea.

Eijirou has no idea just how on the money he actually is.

“Nah, I just don’t know what to wear, how to act. You know how I can get with camera flashes.” He sighs, remembering the last press release he went to— all of the cameras and loud noises, and… fuck, it’s uncomfortable, and reminds him of being out in battle. Maybe he actually needs to get onto someone about PTSD like shitty Deku keeps suggesting.

Eijirou lets out a breath, the weight falling off his shoulders. “Well, you’ve always looked good in red; brings out your eyes.”

Katsuki chuckles then. “You’re a biased little shit, Ei.”

“I know.”

—

The Gala is everything Katsuki expects it to be: loud, crowded, and brightly lit. Paparazzi and fans line the streets for blocks leading to the venue, and it makes his nose twitch. He’s not the best with his public image, but tonight he has to at least try. Has to put in some goddamn effort.

Not only for himself, but for TDA, for his… to be girlfriend.

God, it even sounds fucking stupid in his head.

He drove himself, the plan to pull up in the valet cue and open the envelope, prepare then. In hindsight it’s pretty last minute, but knowing a name threatened over overthinking on his part. He’s never really been known for his level head, and in that respect, he’s his worst enemy.

He’d argued with Kira a couple of days ago about a pre-meeting meeting, something to ease his anxiety, somewhere for him to meet this woman and form some kind of fool-proof game plan; but he was shot down.

What if a pap sees them entering the same building before they even meet?

That’ll ruin the meet-cute for the fans, destroy everything the commission worked hard to create. Which is fair, honestly; she’d asked him if he read the plan, reminded him that until they can’t even have phone contact until the third meet just in case anyone catches wind of anything.

Stupid Commission and their goddamn paranoia.

So as Katsuki sits in the cue, venue a beacon of light a couple a blocks away, he opens the centre console of Maserati Gran Turismo and pulls out the envelope, unrolls it and flattens it against his thighs. This is it, no time to mull over the results, because as he idles, the cue slowly rolls forward, bringing him closer to the Gala by the minute.

As calloused fingers carefully pull at the tab, his mind races. He thinks about just how long he’s waited for this moment, how on edge he’s been since he scribbled his signature at the bottom of that contract. As much as he’s loathe to admit it, he needs to do a good job with this, needs to put in the effort, needs to milk it for all its worth.

For some reason, he thinks back to Shouto sitting in his office chair, clearly worried about his own standings in the ranks, looking sorry as hell. He wonders how Shouto’d feel if Anderson were sitting across from him at the table, offering him help he doesn’t quite need, giving him an opportunity he might not be fit to take.

But, shit, that worrying? It’s so unnecessary. Icyhot might not have even wanted to sign the fucking contract. Sometimes Katsuki doesn’t give him the credit he deserves.

He tugs the paper from the envelope and scans the page.

Your name sits there in bold block letters.

But he has no idea who the fuck you are.

Kira’s got his phone and wallet in her bag so he can comfortably walk the carpet, so he can’t even Google who the hell you are. He says your name over and over in his brain, trying to light up electrodes, trying to think of anything that could bring a face to your name.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading the name again, skimming through the document. There’s nothing there about you, no occupation, no bio, no nothing. “Fuck.” He growls, glancing up to see the venue way closer than he anticipated.

It’s fine. It’s fine because no other person would even think about bumping into Dynamight, not even on accident. This woman is going to knock into him, he’s going to steady her, not glare at her, and then it’ll be over. He can do this.

It’s going to be fine.

By the time he realises he’s shaking his leg, he’s the fourth car in the cue. He remembers the wise words of wisdom Ei shot him as he left his house that morning: you’re gonna look good, bro; just don’t blow anyone up.

He checks his hair in the rear view mirror, makes sure the lapel of his deep, deep red suit jacket is laying nicely against the matte black if his dress shirt, that his black silken tie is sitting centre. He didn’t wanna wear red, but Kira agreed with Ei, insisted it brought out the ruby of his eyes, and would make it easier for the girl to spot him.

For you to spot him.

Fuck, he’s next.

When the limo in front of him drives away, he rolls up until he’s gestured to stop, puts the car in park and presses the handbrake on. At least the anxiety of meeting you and following this script is taking his mind off how much he hates red carpets.

Oh, great, he’s gonna blend into the fucking flooring.

“Dynamight, big fan,” the valet— tall, lanky, cat-like— opens his door, gestures widely for him to exit the car.

“Hey, thanks,” Katsuki nods, points to the button to the left of the steering wheel. “Handbrake’s on; don’t drop the clutch too fast or you’ll stall her.” He explains as he slides out of the seat, stands tall to meet the valet’s eyes. He’s still a couple of inches taller.

“I will be very gentle with her, I promise.” He grins, holding a ticket out for Katsuki as he shoves his hands into his pants pockets, lifts his chin as if assessing the slightly shorter man.

Then— deeming his valet adequate— Katsuki takes the ticket, slides it into his pocket, and nods him a good night.

When Katsuki turns towards the golden— not red, thank god— carpet, it’s as if someone’s just unmuted the television; it’s suddenly way too loud, his name being screamed from all angles, camera flashes blinding him, people crowding him. He’s ushered to the first little black X taped to the carpet by a busy little woman in a black suit, is briefly told to pause and pose for pics, before she hurries off in a blur.

He straightens a little, softens the agitation on his face a bit, but doesn’t smile. Why the hell would he? The paps are all desperately calling a mixture of his last name and his hero name, shouting at him like he’s some kind of prized pony, and he hates it. He hates the showboating, loathes the OTT smiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Kira, her dress a tight purple bodice with a midi length circle skirt; she’s got a headset on, just like the other PA’s and Gala staff, and a black satchel bag slung across her torso. She beams when their eyes meet, but gestures for him to keep posing, uses her pointer fingers to elongate the smile on her own face, then loudly mouths smile.

The audacity of her has a smirk sliding onto his face, and he glances at the paps for a bit, before heading towards her.

“You look good!” She beams, dusting absolutely nothing from his shoulders and looking up at him like a proud mama. “Are you ready?” She leans up to ask him, voice more muted than before.

“Yeah, I just—“ he glances around, leans down to her ear. “I don’t know who she is.”

“Huh? Really?” Kira’s eyes almost bug our of her head. “What do you mean?”

“Shit, I—“

“Bakugo Katsuki willingly participating in a photo op? I think my depression is cured.” Katsuki would know that low drawl anywhere, his gut instinct affirmed when he’s met with lazy lavender eyes, and a just as lazy smirk.

“Shinsou?” Katsuki’s eyes widen. Last he heard about mindfreak, he was working the underground, so seeing him here is kind of throwing him off.

“Nice threads; when did hell freeze over?” Shinsou’s purple hair is in a messy bun, showing off a faded undercut, his suit pirate-esque with a too-open white shirt, brown suspenders and matching brown slacks.

“Funny. Who are you here with?” Katsuki snips, looking around for a possible date.

“What, am I not famous enough to work the golden carpet?” He snips in return. “You caught me, I’m here with Denks.” Then he nods behind him, at Kaminari who’s looking in his element in fucking sequins.

It brings a grin to Katsuki’s face, and he holds out his hand for Shinsou to shake. “Good to see you either way.”

“Bakugo,” Kira tugs his jacket sleeve, eyes wide as she nods for him to keep moving. “We gotta get inside.”

“Oh, sorry dude; I know how this makes you antsy.” Shinsou watches him exchange a look with Kira, takes his hand and gives it a shake.

“See you in there?” Katsuki nods.

“Bet.” Shinsou grins, dropping his hand, sauntering off towards Denki.

“You don’t know who she is? So what, you’re just gonna look clunky and hyperaware of every woman coming within a foot of you on a busy red carpet?” Kira is hissing at him as she directs him towards where semi-retired Mt Lady is having an interview with a reporter. “Did you not open the envelope?”

“I did, I just don’t know who the fuck she is, sue me.” Katsuki snips at her, just as annoyed with himself as she is.

“Oh, if this gets out, you’ll be getting sued Bakugo, don’t you worry.” She shakes her head, and points to the X’s plastered in a zig-zag all the way up to the entrance of the building. “Make your way up, hit each black X. Don’t worry about the white or the red, just hit the black ones.”

“There’s like eleven of them.”

“I’ll meet you inside,” she smiles without her eyes. “Don’t overthink it, and be fucking nice.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Go.”

He heads towards the first X when Denki moves on, a pretty reporter in white standing there with a crew and a smartphone wave him over.

“Dynamight!” She tucks a lock of pink hair behind her ear, bounces excitedly in place on the tallest pair of stilettos Katsuki has ever seen.

For all intents and purposes, this could be her. His heart absolutely hammers in his chest and he’s not entirely sure if he’s nervous because he hates the media, or if he’s about to meet the woman he’s gotta ‘fall in love’ with.

“Good to see you, number six! How’s things?” She asks into the bottom of her phone, before holding it out to him.

“Evening,” he greets. “It’s… loud here.” He makes a point to soften his scowl, looks at all of the fans and other people on the other side of the barricade. Be fucking nice, she said. Be fucking nice.

They absolutely roar.

“I don’t think your fans are used to seeing you like this. Who dressed you tonight?” She eyes him up and down, looks like she wants to touch him, but thinks better of it.

“I dressed myself, actually.” He says with a bit of bravado, that shit eating grin splitting his face as he tucks his thumbs under the lapels of his jacket and runs them down.

She laughs, a full-bodied thing that catches Katsuki off guard, has him looking awkwardly between her and the cameraman. “No, I mean who designed what you’re wearing?”

He doesn’t know. And he can’t be rude to this girl just in case she’s her; there’s a split second of internal struggle within him before she interrupts his chain of thought.

“You don’t know, do you Dynamight?”

“Am I gonna get in trouble from my agent if I don’t?” He looks behind himself, through the crowd for the purple dress, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

“No! No way! Just tweet it later!” She laughs, patting him lightly on his upper arm.

He laughs, almost bitterly. “Right, twitter, sure.” He suppresses an eye roll, lifts his hand to wave at the crowd, the camera, then her. “Enjoy your night.”

“We love you, Dynamight!” She cheers, setting the fans off again, the noise absolutely deafening him; and he’s used to loud, used to explosive. But not like this. At least when he’s detonating, he’s full of adrenaline, not fucking nerves.

The second, third, and fourth X interviews are all more of the same; more questions about his look, about how he’s unusually chatty, about how he actually showed up. It’s hard to be fucking nice, but it does take his mind off the reason he decided to show up tonight.

Until someone’s knocking into him, and he’s instinctively wrapping an arm around their waist to stop them from falling flat on their ass. There’s a collective gasp in the immediate vicinity, but all Katsuki can see is you. You in your shimmery peach gown, eyes bright and wide, face flushed and lips parted in awe.

And he recognises you immediately; sees you almost every morning when he’s got an office shift, sometimes even nights. Ochako’s a stickler for the news, watches the same channel every day like clockwork to keep an eye on the stock market when Deku can’t; and he’s always liked the addition of you, keeps an ear out for your sing-song voice under the guise of needing to know what kind of sky he’s gonna be flinging his body into if he has to fight that day.

“Weather girl?” He breathes, finally putting a face to the name.

You just kinda gawk at him, a special kind of shock that he can only describe as wonder.

“D-Dynamight? Can you help me up?” You blink, not quite knowing what to do with your hands while he has you suspended mid-fall.

As if breaking his trance, he curses a quick, “oh, shit,” before helping you back to your feet.

“Thanks,” you smile a little awkwardly. “And sorry. For, you know, knocking into you.”

“No, uh, harm done.” He mutters back, all of the bravado he’s built up over the course of the carpet walk going down the drain as he watches you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “You okay?”

You process his question without breaking eye contact with him, then you nod once, real slow. “Yeah,” you say, smile growing on your face. “Yeah, I think I am. Nice to meet you.”

He can’t help but mirror your smile. “Likewise.”

—

There’s a photo and an accompanying video going ‘viral’ when Katsuki wakes up in the morning. He knows this because not one, not two, not three, but seven different people send him links to varying posts, with people going a little nutso over his little meeting with you.

Kira’s happy too; she was all smiles for the rest of the night, texting on her phone, disappearing to relay things with Anderson before giving Katsuki his personal items back out of her satchel, and knocking off for the night. He didn’t plan to stay, but he did; had a few bourbons and hung out with Shinsou and Denki and their little gang until daybreak.

Shinsou’s sent him a few messages— he’s a double texter— and Katsuki touches base with him before delving into the world of social media, just to see how successful Meeting One was.

He’s fucking trending.

As much as he’s loathe to search his hashtag, he clicks into it; he scrolls through candid and posed photos of him in his red and black ensemble, people’s text posts commenting on how they would let him “eat them alive” among other—more intense—things, and pictures of you.

He looks at those the longest, studies the lines and curves of your face, compares how you look when you’re at ease versus when you smile brightly. You’re pretty in a… normal way. He’s kinda blown away that they didn’t pick some overly glamorous pop idol, that they found someone that’s practically his type.

Fuck, it makes him a gross type of nervous, though. The way that he’s not going to hate this makes it worse and better, and he’s conflicted because this might not be as bad as he anticipated, and he’s not sure if he likes that or not.

His social media deep dive takes him to your page, and he lays in his bed for what feels like hours scrolling through your content. You’re the weather girl for the nation’s most watched breakfast program, Good Morning Japan, and you’re clearly the show’s sweetheart. There’s photos of you with fluffy animals, on boats, at the beach, with celebrities. Katsuki feels like a dunce for not knowing your name when he read it on the paper.

One of the top posts in your hashtag is a photo of you in a bikini and a sarong, feet ankle deep in the shallow waters of Furuzamami Beach.

Fuck, you’re hot.

He throws his phone towards the end of the bed and begins his morning routine; Deku’s given him the office shift this week, and he intends to make the most out of it.

—

“Hey,” Katsuki pants, breathless.

“Katsuki, bro, the weather girl from channel 5?” Eijirou’s voice is smug as all as it rings through his AirPods. “She’s cute!”

“Eijirou, I will hang up on you.” He threatens, taking the museum stairs two at a time. He’s on his afternoon run through the city, pushing himself a little further than usual because of… reasons. The best part about being on office shift, is he finishes his shift as soon as paperwork is caught up on. And Katsuki is efficient as fuck.

“Akari keeps asking me when you’re over next, by the way. She said that you promised to take her to the parlour again.”

“Oh.” Yeah he did do that. Had her pretend she was feeling sick so he could slip from the grasp of some fans.

“Yeah, you’re bribing my daughter with ice cream again, aren’t you?”

“When’s your next overnighter?”

“Oh, I’m on days for the month,” he sighs, content on the other end of the line. “Tamaki’s taking my nights so I can spend more time with Aki; I’ve also got tomorrow off for the Maru’s anniversary visit.”

“That’s… nice of him.” Ah, yeah, it's the anniversary tomorrow; Eijirou’s taking it a little easier with each passing year, but the death of his wife is a painful cross to bear.

“Yeah I know, he’s a good guy. Anyways, just wanted to know if you wanted company tonight? I’m making breakfast for dinner.”

“Oh, your favourite.”

“Yeah, can’t go past it, am I right?”

“I’ll come around for a bit, but I’ve got a big day tomorrow, so I can’t sleep over.” By big day, he means he’s meeting you again, and he needs the night to himself to overthink the whole thing.

“You got a whole room there, though.”

“Ei, as much as I love you and Aki, I love my bed more.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” There's some shuffling on his end, paperwork probably, then he perks back up. “How long have you been feeding me decaf tea?”

“What?”

“I have decaf tea in my cupboard at home.”

“Ei, I give you decaf every time.”

“Oh.”

“See you tonight; do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nah, I’m all organised.”

There’s a pause where Katsuki contemplates bringing up the anniversary, but thinks better of it. “Be over around six.”

—

He’s not all organised.

If Katsuki could pretend to be surprised, he would, but, “You forgot the eggs? For breakfast for dinner? No eggs?”

“Dude, don’t do this, Akari’s already given me shit for it.”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki suppresses a grin. “I’ll run down and get some. Aki, want anything from the corner store?”

“Chocolate milk!” She yells from her room upstairs.

“Hey, get beers, too.” Eijirou says offhandedly.

This makes Katsuki pause. “Ei.”

“Kats.” He says in response, not meeting his gaze.

“Ugh, fine.” He grunts, sliding his shoes back on and toying with the black facemask in his pocket. “You can thank Maru for my leniency.” He says, glare hot on his friend. Eijirou just grins back as he fixes his stupid ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron behind his back, and Katsuki pulls on his beanie and mask, setting out for the walk.

He knows he wants to settle down a little further from the city. Ideally, even further than this. Sure, it’s a quiet neighbourhood, safe, where the houses have yards, and there’s grass, and trees, but… Katsuki needs more space. Privacy.

His relationship with the spotlight is rocky at best, and there’s this nagging in the back of Katsuki’s brain that warns him off all of this social media shit, the trending, the paparazzi, the overzealous fans.

The bell jingles as he enters the corner shop; it’s later than rush hour, but earlier than the typical teenaged late night snack visit, so the place is quiet.

He grabs the eggs from the shelf and heads down the aisle to the fridges, set on pulling the door open and grabbing a six pack of Sapporos.

“Oh!” A woman gasps, about to grab the handle as he reaches for it. “Sorry!” Her apology slips from her lips, and he feels his face flush a little under his mask.

It’s his fault, he’s been in his own head all afternoon. “No, I—”

It’s you.

You seem to make the realisation just as he does, your eyes widening and a gasp leaving your lips. And you both stare, his own eyes glued yours as if he were stuck in some kind of trance, as if you had him under some kind of spell.

You blink first, and he forces himself to look away for a second, so he can catch his bearings.

“I’m sorry Bakugo, I wasn’t paying attention.” You’re wearing a facemask as well, but your smile pushes your cheeks up to crinkle your eyes.

“Nah, neither was I,” he admits. “You live around here?”

“Me? No, I’m cat-sitting for a friend.” You laugh. “Gosh, this is surreal, isn’t it? Imagine running into you here of all places.”

“Yeah, both of us buying beers,” he does his best to joke— which sounds fucking stupid, by the way— but you laugh a little more, glance around the shop before leaning closer to him.

“Feels like we shouldn’t be talking yet, doesn’t it?” Your eyes almost sparkle under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and he can’t help but stare. “I just wanna say thanks, though— for catching me at the Gala. I wasn’t going to trip so hard, but you were standing there like some grumpy Adonis, and I—” you lean up to whisper in his ear. “I got nervous and actually tripped.”

“Lucky I got good reflexes, huh?” He quips back, suddenly feeling super nervous— which is weird as hell.

“The best— Oh, I better let you get back to your night.” You take a step back, open the door and grab a bottle of wine, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor when you crouch down to grab a 6-pack of beers. “These ones?”

He nods, points to the pink knee-length rain boots you’re wearing. “They’re cute,” he can’t help but snicker. “All part of the weather girl uniform, I guess?”

You hand him the beers with a laugh as you stand. “I happen to think they suit me,” you say in defence, pointing and tapping a toe dramatically.

“You’d be right,” he says a little too gently, clearing his throat when you look up at him with surprise through your lashes. “I, uh,” he starts, those damn nerves not going away. “See you around.”

“Y-yeah, sure.” You nod. “I’m gonna check out the ice cream, bye!” Then in a flash of tan coat and pink boots, you’re heading back towards the frozen section, and he’s shaking his head, eggs in one hand and beers in the other.

He tries not to stare too much, tries not to dwell on the lightness of his heart, or how god damn likeable you are. Instead he hastily grabs a chocolate milk, heads to the checkout, pays for the goods, and leaves.

—

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow that he can feel Eijirou trying to push down all evening. It doesn’t quite seep into Akari— she was only a baby when her mum passed— but Eiji’s frayed edges scratch at Katsuki, and deep into the night they’re both tipsy, sitting on the back porch nursing beers after Akari heads to bed.

They don’t need to talk— far past silence being uncomfortable— but when Eijirou’s shoulders start to shake, Katsuki wraps an arm around him, pulls his head to his chest, and lets him sob.

He stays on the couch, still not ready to christen those All Might bedsheets.

—

The second “official” meeting is supposed to happen while he’s on duty. He read through the file this time, so he’s prepared; maybe even a little… over prepared.

It’s morning, and you’re supposed to be at a certain famous bakery, sampling the goods in an advertising bid between the cafe and your work; weather on location, or something ridiculous. Then, he’s supposed to enter, and he’s supposed to look at you like ‘oh, you’re from the Gala’, and you’re supposed to look at him the same way.

The Commission didn’t account for Katsuki running into an actual villain.

He wipes his bloodied nose on the back of his glove, watches as Iida drives the crook away in the back of a paddy wagon, then pulls his other glove off with his teeth to look at his watch.

9:15am. The meeting was scheduled for 8:10am.

“All good, Dynamight?” One of the EMT’s waves him over and he inwardly groans.

“It’s just my nose, I’m fine.” He insists, swatting the little green man away.

“Just let me do a couple of observations, dude, it’ll take two minutes.” His pink eyes narrow up at Katsuki, and the grumpy blonde gives in, following him over to a bench and sitting down, letting him work his paramedic magic on him.

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his tac pants, and his watch tells him it’s Kira. He taps a few buttons on his watch, connects it effortlessly to the earpiece in his left ear. “Hey,”

“Bakugo, what happened? Anderson is pissed.” She hisses through the earpiece.

“I am currently with…” He glances down at the short man crouching around his med-pack, reads his name badge. “Midori— Really? Your name is the colour of your skin?”

“Bakugo.” Kira presses.

“That’s my Japanese name, my real name’s Timothy.” Midori sasses back, pink glare venomous.

“Timothy, huh?” Katsuki tests the name on his tongue, gauges Midori’s reaction to the pronunciation; the other man seems to soften a little.

“Bakugo.”

“Just use Timothy—“

“Bakugo, focus!” Kira borderline barks in his ear.

“Right, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” Katsuki sighs, looking up at the puffy white- grey clouds overhead.

“We have to reschedule for tomorrow,” Kira sighs, probably doing that thing where she pushes her glasses up and pinches the bridge of her nose. “She’s heading to the coast, though, so you’re gonna have to—“

Kira wants him to what?

His semi-sunny disposition sours. “I can’t do that.”

“Bakugo.”

“Kira,” he starts, feeling his blood pressure rise along with the octave of his voice. He glances down at Mido—Timothy, tries to control his volume. “I’m on patrol shifts this week, I can’t do that.”

He can’t let Izuku or Shouto or Ochako down. That, and he can’t think of a good excuse to be heading to the coast.

“No, you’re right. It’d be better if she could meet you halfway or something.” Kira sighs, conceding a little.

He drops his chin, focuses that glare of his at the pavement next to Timothy. “Not half way—”

“Oh, ouch, are you okay?” Pink rain boots step into his vision, and when he looks up, you’re smiling down at him. He just… stares stupidly up at you, feels something warm and wet drip over his lip as your eyes widen. “You’re bleeding, Bakugo.”

“Shit,” he turns away from you, swipes at the wetness of his upper lip, knowing he’s probably just spreading it.

“Here,” you gently bully his hand away from his face, dab at him with something damp and smelling of coconut. It takes a moment for him to register that you’re sitting next to him, wiping at him like a nurse while the god damn EMT is kneeling at his feet, and Kira is screaming for his attention in his ear.

Without even thinking, he ends that call, silences his earphones on his smartwatch.

“You’ve got your work boots on,” he starts, wary. “You on the clock?”

“Oh, I had a thing a few blocks away, and heard my new favourite hero apprehended some bad guy in the same district.” Your focus isn’t on him, you’re in your handbag, fussing around with wet wipes and a little plastic bag and a handkerchief.

“So, you came for a walk?” He asks, staring. Staring because seeing you on social media is vastly different to seeing you in person, and so close. He could count your lashes, could reach out and test the softness of your skin, your glossy lips—

“Yep.” You grin, looking up and meeting his eyes.

It’s a spark— the same one from the corner store— and it pulls deep in his chest, your beauty and charm and the peace you bring almost overwhelming, yet entirely endearing—

“Hey— sorry, I know this is a wrong place, wrong time type thing,” Timothy stands up, fishes his phone out of his pocket, your spell broken as you both look up at him. “But I’m a huge fan,”

“Of me?” You chirp, surprised. And it takes Katsuki a moment, because usually it’s him being approached with nervous apprehension.

“Yeah, who else?”

You send a sideways glance to Katsuki, “uh, the actual top ten hero in our midst?”

“The top ten hero doesn’t look good in a swimsuit.” Katsuki says under his breath, and you giggle while Timothy pales.

“I’m sure you do,” you whisper back to him, before standing up. “Alright, sure, a selfie?” You ask, all of your attention on Timothy, who smiles at you, his pink irises akin to sparkling hearts; and much to his horror, Katsuki feels like he wants to steal you away from him.

“S-sounds good to me,” Timothy stammers, just as enamoured as Katsuki feels.

“‘Kay,” you agree, smile big and bright and Katsuki has to look away or he might get giddy by proxy. Timothy’s cheeks flush when you stand close—too close, probably— and you direct him into taking a few pics, before making him show you each of them, your nose scrunching as you scrutinise each one.

“Why does my nose look like that?” You frown at the EMT, a little wounded kitty.

“You look great though! You don’t mind if I post it to social media?” He asks, and Katsuki resists an eye roll.

“Of course not! Make sure to tag me so I can follow you back.”

Katsuki stands, hands on his hips. “Perfect, are you done? We’re busy.” He means to say that he’s busy, and he also means to glare at both of you, but it just doesn’t pan out that way. So, he runs with it, throws caution to the wind, and offers his hand to you.

All to quickly, he’s got anxiety nibbling at his heels— the fear of rejection, of ‘am i doing too much too quickly?’ of ‘should I be going off script just because you are?’. It sets in, and almost sends him spiralling. Almost, is the key, though, because before that little beast can sink its teeth into him, you’re taking his hand, practically skipping to his side, and beaming that too-brilliant smile up at him.

“I know a cafe,” you say, waving that pesky EMT off and almost pulling him away from the little crowd Katsuki’s pretending not to notice.

“I bet you do,” he can’t help but look at you— and it feels so schoolboy, and too soon, and off script— and he can’t help but get swept away in the ease at which you flow.

“We can share a parfait,” you lean into him with a little smile, whisper it like a secret. Your arm links around his then, and you lean against his bicep, look up at him through your lashes like a Disney branded cherub.

“Bet you’ll eat the cherry,” he snickers, trying to gain the upper hand, trying to gauge whether or not you’re getting swept up in him, too, because this… this thing isn’t natural, isn’t created from a want, but a need, a contract—

“Silly,” you pull away a bit and pout, “we’ll get two cherries.” And, fuck, you’re pretty. Pretty in all of the ways he loves, like the Commission have his tastes on file. You’re kind where he’s mean, and fun where he’s serious, edges soft where his are hard.

The seed of doubt’s been planted, though, because he can feel himself closing up, shutting down. Even though he’d love to stay in this flirtatious little moment with you, soak up all that attention you’re showering him with, he needs to be realistic— is wired to do so.

You’re acting.

He’s acting.

At least, he’s supposed to be

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #mybigbangacademia #atmospheric fic #panzer.writing #leese writes

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antiloreolympus · 3 years ago

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10 Anti LO Asks

1. Sometimes I feel bad about the rage I feel about LO because like, bad works really should be allowed to exist. It's fine to turn off your brain for Fast and Furious or get horny over 50 Shades. The problem I have is LO's fake deep lessons it gives, pushing toward the WRONG direction. I'd be far less annoyed if it was just another trashy romance. Hades would have been fine as a shit guy; people love getting hot for fictional villains. This "aktchually he's the good guy" angle is embarrassing.

2. LO fans are more than happy to imagine the gods are neon pink and blue but at the same time get offended you fancast the actual gods as anything but blonde, blue eyed white people to be "accurate". even LO fan casts are overwhelming white people (and never greek, mind you) unless it's a villain like apollo or minthe, then they just HAPPEN to be black 🤔🤨

3. assuming the PJO Disney+ show is good and gets more seasons, just get ready for LO fans to try and review bomb it and harass the crew/cast because they'll see a popular series they already hate be mythology accurate with HxP and even show Hades would leave her to be with (gasp) a mortal instead. Apollo is even shown positively in it too!

4. The idea massive age gaps are "normal" IRL is a huge lie. It's basic statistics that most couples are within 2-5 years of each other's ages, while much older partners is a HUGE abnormally. Going off RS's ages for them (19/20 vs 40s mentally) that's barely 1% of the population, with divorce rates being HIGHER for these couples than closer in age ones. Just because old rock stars, actors, and businessmen marry women who can be their daughters' ages does not make it the norm, far from it actually.

5. RS claims she's "fighting against the toxic nature of purity culture" as if the FIRST EPISODE didn't set up the Madonna/Whore trope in Persephone and Minthe. Even them being with men that aren't Hades is framed this way. Persephone is still the pure heroine who was assaulted, she'd never willingly sleep with anyone who isn't her eventual husband! Meanwhile Minthe is the cheating whore though Hades also cheats on her and they're not exclusive. RS just lies so casually about what she depicts.

6. Ive LO fans say the Trojans deserved to be killed because they're "the bad guys" to the Greeks and bc Apollo is their patron god like?? Really?? The countless innocent men, women, and children deserved to DIE because of your shitty understanding of mythology and you not being able to tell Rachel's bad depictions apart from the actual gods? Did they read about Hektor's baby son being murdered and think he deserved it because Apollo may have liked him? These people are so gross.

7. Remember that one time when RS slutshamed Minthe for wearing a revealing dress to kid's party? Same kid who brings her mom alcohol drinks like it's nothing? And some chapters later we learn it's perfectly normal for gods to be naked around each other even if they are underage? And the shaming words come from a guy who is lusting over teenager's barely covered ass? And it's supposed to be women empowering webtoon? I just love the logic and consistency! No sarcasm, seriously!

8. Good time of the day to you I came with some news! This news may not be relevant or interesting, but when browsing the tag "Circe" here, I found this-https://why-i-love-comics.tumblr.com/post/658087925147369472/wonder-woman-black-gold-2-the-acquaintance comic. This piece was done by RS, as you can see. Sometimes I compare her monochrome art, and the art her team colors off her sketches, and in my opinion LO would look better in black and white color scheme with some details in color! But that wouldn't work very well the color shading is inconsistent and would not look good!

9. i feel like LO fans are the same people who watched Labyrinth and got mad the MC didn't want to be with the Goblin King because they ignore the fact she was a sixteen year old girl who got over the initial desire for an older man praising her to instead see he was manipulating her and he was, duh, the villain of the movie. Like guys, there's a reason "older powerful man chases and lusts after an impressionable young girl/woman" both in fiction and in real life is seen as a BAD thing.

10. Something that I wish is Amphitrite being more important, she’s a queen and I don’t think she’s had one speaking line in 2 seasons.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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lamp-calm-sanders · 4 years ago

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Racism In The TS Fandom

You know the racism issue goes way beyond the b/l.m Roman posts in this fandom.

This racism issue is beyond Thomas and deals more with the culture we have created here in this fandom. It deals a lot with the fact that most Fanders are white and probably not pick up on any racism in their actions.

As I’ve spent time in this fandom, talking to other POC fanders and learning, I realize that there are people in this fandom who feel comfortable saying racist things. There are people here who have biases and refuse to check them.

And I know a bunch of you are young, but you got to listen to POC when we tell you something’s offensive.

A lot of Fanders are queer so here’s a scenario. Say your in another fandom and none of the characters are canonly queer. And most fans are straight. But people will occasionally draw the characters with LGBT stuff? It’s not super popular and while you like it, the fandom tends to not do that. Some LGBTQ+ fans even get harassed for their art

But then someone gets homophobic comments on a post with a straight character with a gay flag saying I’m gay. The artist is straight and has never experienced homophobia and never will. Understandably people are upset so they make art to help. The most popular ones, for the most part, are made by straight folks, most of which tie there art to an event that’s a serious fight for equality for LGBT folks and trying to change homophobia and tagging it with the name of that event. Some of this art ends up being offensive because straight people don’t understand small things that are offensive to gay people

You and other LGBTQ+ people try to call this out. You go, “Hey what your doing is offensive! Don’t!” Some listen, some ignore it, and others start calling you the f-slur. Things only get better when straight people start speaking up, and even then they still spread misinformation. More people get it but people still attack gay folks in the fandom. You make posts but people still divert from the point.

That’s what it’s been like here. For all POC fanders, but particularly black fanders.

Y’all might want me to say “Don’t call people the n-word and its fine” but I’m not going to. Because not saying a racial slur is the least you could do. You don’t get any appreciation for that.

You might think “This is a minority of fanders, it’s not that big a deal” But it is. If racists feel safe here, we’ve created a culture where racist feel fine attacking POC. There’s POC who are hesitant to share there thoughts and call out problematic behavior because of the bullying and hate sent to those who do.

And you might even say “Well POC handled this rudely.” Which is wrong. I’m so so so sorry that a lot of us are so sick of dealing with systematic oppression and with racism that’s supposed to come from “safe places” (Note sarcasm).

Also a lot of us are polite but you all keep trying to “debate” whether something is racist when your white. And you expect kindness from people you hurt? People who already have so many issues beyond this?

Even if your intentions are good, if we tell y’all something is problematic! Listen! We most likely know what we’re talking about and can probably pick up on racism more than you can.

You need to be anti-racist. Look at your own biases, which is something we all need to do, including me. I had to unlearn behavior and problematic mentalities. You need to question things. Ask POC if things are okay. @skyscrapersanddandelions @mxnte and I have said a lot and given great advice you can find on our blogs and I’m sure there is more. If you have more questions ask us if it’s okay to ask us something. (Respect whatever our response is). You can also find stuff for yourself by searching it online. (Especially if it’s a question about if a certain art style is offensive, like references and posts explaining things are out there).

My inbox is open and so are my PMs. I’m usually willing to have a conversation.

Also for the love of god learn the difference between valid criticism and hate. A good portion of this outrage comes from people not understanding the difference.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #fanders #cartoon therapy #ts shorts #ts fandom #racism cw

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sakumareikun · 3 years ago

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@nnatsume gave me permission to use their oc so here we go with pt.1 of the “AU where nori makes a deal with a demon to become an idol”

⇨ Kobayashi Noriaki wasn’t meant to be an idol.

How bitter.

⇨ Arriving home after the failed audition, Nori had to tell his parents exactly how he failed them. Their hard work, their sold house, their son’s tremendous effort - it was all for nothing. The hopes and dreams he'd had for his entire life had fallen to the ground. Like Icarus in Greek mythology, he'd flown too close to the sun, so to speak.

⇨ ...

⇨ Why did he fail? None of the judges explained that. No one told him ‘why’ to his face, no one said ‘you weren’t strong enough’, no one offered him any way to improve. They'd just sent him home with nothing but his crushed hopes and dreams.

⇨ There were only three judges and maybe twenty others in the audience. But out there on social media websites, there were hundreds (thousands, or hundreds of thousands?) of potential fans.

⇨ That kid in middle school that told him he couldn't play violin was the exact reason he kept playing violin - and he was great at it now. Who cared about that kid? Who cared if the 23 people in the audition room didn't like him? He could just be an idol without their help. He'll just have to do all the work himself (and working independently was nothing unusual.)

⇨ But where does he even begin? What does he do? How does one become an idol?

ꃸꄱ ꌥꄱꌇ ꓅ꋪꌇ꒒ꌥ ꅏ꒐ꇘꃄ ꓅ꄱ ꃲꑾꉓꄱꂵꑾ ꋫꁹ ꒐ꃸꄱ꒒?

⇨ The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice in his head shook Nori right out of the state of both spite and confusion. He wasn't losing it, right? He was still sane? Right?

⇨ With full sarcasm, internally: 'Isn't it obvious, voice in my head? Yes?'

꒐ꄘ ꓅ꃄꋫ꓅ ꒐ꇘ ꇘꄱ, ꒐ ꉓꋫꁹ ꃄꑾ꒒ꉣ.

⇨ With his bad mood he wasn't taking it especially seriously. 'How?'

ꅏꄱꌇ꒒ꃸ ꌥꄱꌇ ꃸꄱ ꋫꁹꌥ꓅ꃄ꒐ꁹꁅ ꓅ꄱ ꃲꑾꉓꄱꂵꑾ ꋫꁹ ꒐ꃸꄱ꒒?

⇨ Spooky. 'Anything? Like what?'

꒐ ꅏ꒐꒒꒒ ꂵꋫꀗꑾ ꌥꄱꌇ ꋫꁹ ꒐ꃸꄱ꒒ ꒐ꁹ ꑾꋋꉓꃄꋫꁹꁅꑾ ꄘꄱꋪ ꌥꄱꌇꋪ ꇘꄱꌇ꒒.

⇨ 'I shouldn't have expected anything else.' He shrugged in person even though he was mentally speaking, and to a weird voice he wasn’t convinced was anything more than him daydreaming for some reason. 'Sure. Make me an idol, then. Whatever.'

ꌥꄱꌇꋪ ꅏ꒐ꇘꃄ ꒐ꇘ ꂵꌥ ꉓꄱꂵꂵꋫꁹꃸ.

⇨ He really didn't think about it after that.

⇨ When he went to set up an account on Instagram, he posted a few pictures with a dark filter, ornate borders, and then captioned it with something fitting with a bunch of tags. These were simple things - stuffed animals with his skull hairpin on top, an old book that had its pages a bit worn out, pictures of the cats by a rainy window, etc.

⇨ They all had more than five likes by the time he finished dinner. ⇨ He posted more pictures. Ten followers overnight. ⇨ More pictures the next day. More likes, more followers. ⇨ More days, more likes, more followers. ⇨ He’d receive comments on the smallest things. ⇨ He’d get positive feedback for things he didn't think were important. ⇨ This was all confusing, but also exciting.

⇨ The most popular posts were the ones he put his skull hairpin on.

⇨ Eventually, someone asked for a picture of Nori himself, so he put that hairpin back on and took a selfie. The amount of likes and comments that came in while he had dinner with his parents and grandmother made him stare at the phone so long that all three of them were staring at him, too.

⇨ But he smiled at them, just told them how well his social media accounts were being received. They seemed as stunned as he was when he showed them nearly a hundred likes on his picture, looked at him with the proud smiles he'd always thought would look nice on them.

⇨ He'd just hit two hundred followers when, out of the blue, the voice spoke to him again.

ꋫꋪꑾ ꌥꄱꌇ ꑾꁹ꒑ꄱꌥ꒐ꁹꁅ ꓅ꃄꑾ ꄘꋫꂵꑾ?

⇨ ... 'Wait, you were for real?'

꒐ ꋫꂵ ꑾꁹ꒑ꄱꌥ꒐ꁹꁅ ꌥꄱꌇꋪ ꇘꄱꌇ꒒.

⇨ 'Are you real? Like, are you a demon or something?'

ꇘꄱꂵꑾ꓅ꃄ꒐ꁹꁅ ꄱꄘ ꓅ꃄꋫ꓅ ꁹꋫ꓅ꌇꋪꑾ.

⇨ It was that moment that Nori realized he did, in fact, sell his soul to a demon in exchange for fame. That thought should've been scary, but he couldn't be afraid with how much success he'd been having.

⇨ So, basically, he befriended the demon that stole his soul.

⇨ Sakuma Rei, he said. He introduced himself with a lot of pride as 'the eldest son of the Sakuma clan' and that they were 'vampires' when they were alive, that the clan had been ended long ago by a religious sect he told Nori he'd talk about sometime, that he and the youngest brother had been turned into spirits to spare them before the sect arrived to burn them, etc.

⇨ The whole story was unbelievable, but at the same time, it was unbelievably cool.

⇨ The clan apparently really did exist, but even with Rei's help and guidance, the Internet didn't have much information on it. Rei should have known that, but he was probably super old and didn’t comment.

⇨ ... But in the process of all that research, Nori discovered he knew English now!

⇨ His newfound internet fame rewarded him with a lot of fans, and they encouraged him with everything he did. Naturally, they encouraged him to try to become an idol again, too.

(Rei wanted to be hands-off with the idol training, said he knew nothing about how to be an idol, but then said he was still supporting in his own way.)

⇨ When Nori applied for Yumenosaki again, he might've been afraid of the same result repeating itself - it was only two months after the first audition. And yet... he was invited to audition again.

⇨ ... And there were no others auditioning this time to take any attention away from his own performance.

⇨ This time, when he sang his heart out with music he made on his own, the judges and audience were stunned silent. But he was up there having the time of his life, no one stopped him, and it wasn't long before a few heads nodded along and some of the crowd got into the music.

⇨ After the end of the song, there was applause from the crowd, and the judges clapped too.

⇨ And then:

Noriaki Kobayashi was accepted into Yumenosaki's idol course.

—— [to be continued]

i rly hope i have done him justice. thank u sunny, i am treating him as carefully as i can, lmk if i mess anything up!

the weird text fonts in the first bit say: “do you truly wish to become an idol?” // “if that is so, i can help.” // “would you do anything to become an idol?” // “i will make you an idol in exchange for your soul.” // “your wish is my command.”

second bits: “are you enjoying the fame?” // “i am enjoying your soul.” // “something of that nature.”

there are plenty of plans for 2nd/maybe 3rd part but i’ll be out of commission until friday/saturday at earliest - nothing bad, i just have to go off a few meds before a lengthy diagnostic test on thursday. i might still be able to do stuff but idk if i’ll be here but. we’ll see.

(i also want to finish the 5th other request first, but i figured i’d just put this here for now)

#note at the end has the fancy dialogue in plain text #i'm like 90% sure there'll be some major boxes for some browsers/phones #ANYWAY TY sunny i hope you enjoy the Attempt #lmk if i mess anything up #or need to change anything? etc

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yourfriendlymrpoliceman · 3 years ago

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Why I decided to copinglink

This isn't about what a copinglink is and what I wrote down here is for people who are familiar with the word along with its meaning. If you never came in contact with this word before, I'd suggest checking out the other posts in the #copinglink tag. Have fun and once you get more familiar with it, you can come back to this post.

Now, a few warnings: Mentions of abuse in fictionalized media, undiagnosed mental illness, (extreme internalized) misogyny, mentions of sexual harassment, anxiety, toxic relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms and possibly transphobia.

Also, one more thing, I was initially planning on focusing mostly on my experiences of copinglinking, but I am unable to separate that from the issues I had in my life. This might sound more like a potentially triggering vent than informative and this may very well be true considering I am talking about what led me to copinglinking. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't nice and many things I had to leave out for being too heavy.

Now that this is out of the way, we can begin. Everything started when I was a young preteen when I got heavily attached to a specific fictional character. His name was John Carver and he appears on Dead Space 3 and Dead Space: Liberation. A very short description I can give of him to those who are unfamiliar is that he is an abusive father and husband, having such a temper and self isolating behavior that he struggles even to keep relationships. The game DS3 states that he has PTSD and implies he may have anti-social tendencies to no one's surprise.

Back then, I couldn't understand why his behavior was problematic. Nowadays the fact that both the fandom and the creators barely talked about the issues related to his abusive behavior shocks me quite a lot considering it wasn't even something that was subtle. He could be quite cruel towards others with sarcasm or just being extremely cold towards them. It wasn't a secret to nobody that he was abusive and the fans still shipped him with another more popular character Isaac Clarke while completely ignoring this fact about him. Sometimes they even excused the fact that he if was dating a man, he wouldn't be abusive towards him as if anti-social behavior was a purely misogynistic issue.

Funnily enough, I had related to him at the time because I quite genuinely believed I was as bad of a person as he was and I ironically was actually much more likely to become the victim of abuse than being the abuser in any kind of relationship. Why I related to him, you may ask? Well, at the time, I was experiencing an event that was extremely stressful at the time. Or rather, many events that accumulated and led me to a very dark place in my mind.

To give some background, when I was a kid, I had no friends at school and was bullied daily. Not through beating, but by other children humiliating me with words and rather awful pranks/"games". I can barely remember most of it now, but these experiences were probably the main reason I have trouble interacting with others and public speaking. I get extremely nervous and would rather choose not to talk to strangers or acquaintances. The only thing that allowed me to feel better and like I was important were my grades and the fact that I was a very obedient child.

My family was proud of me and my teachers praised me, so I genuinely thought that if I kept getting good grades, I could get whatever I wanted out of life. If I simply obeyed, then they would allow me to do whatever I pleased. So, when it happened... When my first bad grade came, I felt like my life was over. What was I going to do if the only thing that proved my potential as a successful person was taken away?

Of course, I knew my parents wouldn't be happy about it, so I hid it. All the while I attempted to forget about it with gaming and roleplaying. Mostly, I was roleplaying and focused on this character I mentioned before. I couldn't tell why I was drawn to him at the time and if you asked me right now the reason, I wouldn't be able to give you more than theories that do seem to make sense. Not much else than that, however.

Then, I would get more bad grades, hide it, roleplay. Bad grades, hide it, roleplay. Bad grades, hide it, roleplay. I never addressed the issue. I never wanted my father to know his child was a failure, so I kept hiding it until I couldn't anymore. When he found out, he was very disappointed with me and he did attempt to help me in every way he could. He tried to put me in a more strict study schedule, kept an eye on what I was doing, took away my internet/phone and everything else related to that. Nothing that he did to make me get good grades did help and to this day I still experience a lot of anxiety over doing homework/studying when he is around. I pretend to be having fun because I fear he will ask me what I am doing, my deadlines or how I am doing my homework. The funny thing is, he isn't doing any of that anymore and I still hid some of my grades because I didn't want him to know I got 7.5 out of 10 in one of them. I'm an adult and currently at college.

Anyway, aside from that, I was getting at this moment that many females go through which is the moment their bodies acquire more feminine traits common to adults of this sex. As you can expect, males stopped being just humans of the opposite sex and became actual threats to my safety. I often blame my father for giving me this kind of fear, but the other men identifying males didn't help. I used to hang around with a group of boys at the time that weren't really good influence with their lack of focus on studies and sexual jokes. They would stalk me while I was having classes, make sexual jokes that did make me feel uncomfortable and one of them even did touch me when I wasn't okay with that (I would laugh, but I'd feel a lot of anxiety at that and either push him away or move away from him). Besides, there was this one teacher I'm suspicious to be... You know, inappropriately interested in minors and he would give me special attention, but I only managed to understand that after my father told me about that issue.

Thanks to that and some other guys being awful people, I eventually learned to despise my body. I wasn't really teached that some people do not respect others' boundaries and that sexist views do give a lot of liberty to men on this regard. What I learned was that the reason they were treating me like this was because I was a female and that they were just following their biology, doing what was natural. The hatred I was supposed to be putting on their terrible behavior I ended up by inflicting against myself. My body was no longer my body. It was a disease that I had to cure myself from.

At the time, I had learned about transgender people and I had attempted quite a lot to present as a guy not because it was the right thing for me. I wasn't trans and still am not, but simply because I thought that if I wasn't a woman, then people would begin to see me as a person. In a way, the copinglink that I had allowed me to indulge in that, especially when I roleplayed. However, I didn't really use that as an excuse to be a bad person (although I did hurt a lot of people at the time) since I was mainly projecting on this character, not truly caring about being canonically accurate and also fearing others would point this out.

These things happened before I knew of the word copinglink. It probably wasn't even coined yet, so I was mostly in the fictionkin community trying to fit in, pretending to experience things I did not at times and constantly asking if I could be fictionkin even if I wasn't experiencing fictionkinity.

Basically, what led me to start copinglinking was the fact that I'd rather be anyone else, but myself. I still have struggles related to that and I am extremely bad at dealing with mental distress, so I keep copinglinking. As you might have already guessed, I'm currently Keiji Shinogi from Your Turn to Die. I will probably take this identity off by the end of this week if everything goes well (which I assume they won't) or by the end of this year when college stops putting so much load on my shoulders.

The reasons why I continue to copinglink might be discussed at another time. I spent too much time typing all of this down and I probably have a lot of typos I don't plan on correcting so soon.

I hope this won't be taken down due to the heavy topics.

#copinglink #c'link #coping link

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drawlfoy · 5 years ago

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The Wonders of Ohio P.4

masterlist - find parts 1, 2, and 3 here

request guidelines

did you miss me :P

pairing: draco x reader

requested: by prepubescent me

summary: american high school student y/n y/l/n’s senior year gets turned upside down when her family hosts a british exchange student that’s clearly keeping some secrets.

warnings: language and drug use mentions

a/n: hi everyone...i know that this has been a long time coming but. here she is. i finally finished this after the draft sat for over 6 months...here she is though! i’m excited weeee

tags tags tags

word count: 2k

music recs: hate candidate by BLOODHYPE, archie, marry me by alvvays

“No, no,” Y/N interrupted, gently pushing Draco’s hands away from his locker. “It’s right to the number, left past the next number once, and right straight to the last number. You twist it right to reset it...no, like this...”

“This is pathetic, I don’t even need to put anything in a box in the wall,” Draco snarled, his gray eyes flaming.

“It’s really not that deep,” she said, snorting at his attitude. “Do they not have locks in England?”

Instead of answering, he huffed dramatically and scowled. “Open it up for me, will you? It’s not worth my time to learn.”

“You’re going to be here for a whole year, you know.” Y/N’s remark contradicted with her actions as she reapproached the locker and twisted out the combination. “But how can I say no to you, ever the gentlemen?”

She held out a hand out expectantly as he stared at her, his eyes full of confusion.

“Your phone,” she said.

“My...my what?”

“I know, it’s weird, but they prohibit phones in orientation. Something about bonding or whatever. Just give it here, and we’ll keep it in here. If it goes off in any of the activities they’ll take it from you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, okay, I respect that attitude.” Y/N smirked, patting him on the shoulder as he flinched away from her. “Just don’t be mad at me when they confiscate it until 2.”

He stared at her for a few seconds longer before clearing his throat and nodding.

<^>

The speeches at the beginning were always the longest part--the unnecessary dramatization of the importance of high school, the faux motivation mantras, the “love yourself” bits ironically being performed by some of the most insufferable members of the ASB--and Y/N was ready to get it over with, Draco seemed to feel the same way, as every time she looked at him, he looked another shade of uninterested.

She tried poking fun at the performances a couple times to see his reaction, and surprisingly enough, it was slightly well received.

“You see the redhead down there?” she whispered to him, gesturing towards the current speaker with her chin. He gave her a tight nod in response. “That’s Heather, our ASB president. She’s a total tool. Spews all this ‘vaping in the bathrooms isn’t cool!’ shit but one time I walked in on her doing lines in the performance wing bathrooms. She’s crazy, I’m telling you.”

Draco seemed amused at this, resting his cheek in his palm and watching her intently. “Lines?”

“Cocaine.”

“Cocaine?”

“You know what? I’m gonna quit while we’re ahead. I don’t want to be the one to corrupt you.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re worried about corrupting me?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I’m not the one who doesn’t know what cocaine is.”

He sniffed at this, turning his attention back to Heather’s mind-numbing anti-bullying presentation that was clearly put together moments before. Silence ensued for the next few moments before Draco sucked in a breath and turned to look at her. “What’s an ASB?”

“Oh, you should be so glad that you have to ask that,” Y/N stage whispered. “It’s student government. It’s an acronym for something. I never cared enough to remember it. The elections are super corrupt--it’s basically a popularity contest. They don’t do anything either...I don’t even know why it exists anyways.”

“So I take it you’re not popular?”

“By choice, I’ll have you know,” Y/N pointed out. “I just made friends with the people I had stuff in common with. We all just happened to not be big fans of putting vodka in our Hydroflasks and the like...What I mean by that is that we aren’t big partiers.” She was quick to clarify when she saw the confusion on Draco’s face.

He didn’t seem to understand any more of what she had said, or at least didn’t show any interest in it, scooting away a few inches from her and turning his head back to Heather’s speech.

The presentation ended within another 10 minutes, much to Y/N’s delight. One had been enough for her--two orientations was pushing it.

Maybe that’s why all the ASB kids are so awful she thought to herself as they made they way to Draco’s first class on the schedule. If I had to be here every year, I’d probably be a grade A rat as well.

“How’d they put you in AP Physics C?” Y/N asked him as they walked into the science lab. “I’m in your same period...and I had to take two years of physics before that to be qualified to take it. Did you take a Physics A level or something? Is that what they call it?”

Draco blinked twice. “Er...sure. My professors told me that I was skilled in Arithmancy, if that’s what you mean..?”

“Arithmancy? Is that just a fancy word for math?” she pressed. “I thought you guys just called it maths.”

“You could say so.”

Before she could push for any more answers, someone behind them cleared their throat. Y/N spun around, her face lighting up when she saw who it was.

“Mr. Whitacre!” she exclaimed.

“Y/N, my least favorite student,” he greeted, a cheeky smile concealed by a rather bushy black beard. “I’m surprised they haven’t kicked you out of orientation. Haven’t you head? This is supposed to be an event for new students...not jaded old souls such as yourself.”

“Oh, you know me.” She rested one of her hands on a lab table, raising an eyebrow. “I just couldn’t stay away from the thrilling suggestion of physics.”

“Sure. And you are...”

Draco just stared at him for a few seconds with a disgusted expression until Y/N elbowed him in the side, hard. “You’ll have to excuse Draco. He’s still going through jet lag. Aren’t you, Draco?”

Y/N sent him a death glare until he wiped the expression off his face and uttered an awkward, “Er, yeah.”

The rest of orientation was just as uncomfortable and unnatural as Draco’s introduction to Mr. Whitacre. Y/N was surprised to see that they had a very similar schedule as Draco seemed entirely clueless to what the subjects even were. She mentioned her concerns to him briefly, but he seemed entirely unbothered.

“It can’t be any harder than school back home,” he told her in his prim and proper voice, prompting a small smile to grow across Y/N’s face.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, her voice hardly containing her sarcasm.

The rest of the morning was spent toiling around each of the empty classrooms and memorizing room numbers so Draco wouldn’t be lost come Thursday morning. Y/N wasn’t having an entirely terrible time, as, much to her surprise, Draco wasn’t a complete dickwad. There were moments where he actually had something interesting or worthy to say, and when he didn’t look like he just stepped in something disgusting, she enjoyed the walks between classes. By the end of 5th period, she had concluded that Draco could make absolutely anything sound beautiful in his accent.For once, they were both being entirely civil to each other, and Y/N found herself wishing that the school day went on a bit longer. At least...until the walk to French.

“Excuse me,” a voice carried over Y/N’s as she was in the middle of telling Draco some particularly hot gossip from last year. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Heather stood to their left, leaning coolly on the wall of lockers, her right shoulder just subtly dropped in their direction.

“Hey Heather,” Y/N greeted. “This is Draco. He’s our exchange student this year.”

“Hello.” Draco’s voice was stiffer than usual.

She smiled, her lips stretching out over perfectly straight white teeth. “Hi Draco! Listen, I know it can be hard here at first, especially if you haven’t grown up around here, but I swear we’re all super friendly.” She held out her hand, smiling even wider. Y/N hardly managed to hold back a laugh as Draco took it and limply shook it like one would fondle a dead fish.

Heather’s face remained just as cheery. “I just want to say that, as ASB president, it’s my job to make sure you feel like you fit in. Let me give you my snapchat, so if you ever need anything, I’m just one snap away.”

“Oookay, thank you Heather,” Y/N interrupted, wrapping her fingers around Draco’s sleeve and pulling. “I’ll give it to him tonight if he wants it. We have to find French now.” She couldn’t tell if it was just her imagination, but she swore that she could see Draco send her a slightly grateful look.

“AP French? Quelle coïncidence! I’m headed there too.”

No matter how briskly she dragged Draco along, Heather was able to catch up and chatter away, asking him about life in the UK and how he found Americans. She couldn’t help but allow a little smirk when he answered, telling her “a little annoying, quite frankly.”

French was even more insufferable than she was expecting it to be. The strict teacher, M. Smith (despite being more American than everyone in the room, yes, he did insist on being called Monsieur), coupled with the weird, forlorn glances Heather kept sending Draco made Y/N feel crushingly uncomfortable. With the way that Draco was fidgeting, she could guess that he felt the same way.

Suddenly, 2 couldn’t come soon enough.

<^>

“So, what’d you think?” Y/N asked as they made their way back to Y/N’s car. She toyed with her lanyard, turning and twisting the keys until they couldn’t twist anymore.

Draco stepped over to the passenger side door, waiting for her to press unlock. “Your friend Heather is very friendly.”

“She’s not my friend, Draco, I already told you that.”

“She certainly comes up to talk to you a lot for someone who isn’t your friend.”

She shifted into drive and began pulling out of the parking lot. “It’s an American thing. And plus, she wouldn’t be talking to me if I didn’t have a pretty boy with an accent living with me.”

Draco froze up, sending her a weird sideways look.

“Don’t be so overdramatic, kiddo,” she continued. “American girls go crazy for British accents. Trust me. There’s going to be so many girls throwing themselves at you come tomorrow that you won’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Y/N tried to keep the bitterness from creeping into her tone as she told Draco this. It wasn’t like she liked him or anything--no way--it was just frustrating to know that the moment he stepped foot on the school grounds tomorrow, he would be snapped up into a flurry of admirers. These few days had felt like she was keeping a delicate, sophisticated secret in the guest room in the hall over, but it was time for her to snap out of it.

“The feeling certainly isn’t mutual,” he finally said. Y/N could see that his head was rested against the window as he looked out into the trees as they passed by a particularly wooded area. “American accents give me a migraine.”

“Funny, me too.”

“But you have one.”

“Your point? Pass me the Advil.”

“The...the what?”

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep herself from bursting out into a cackle. “Paracetamol, maybe? I think that’s the British version.”

“Er...I’m sorry?” Draco had moved his head from its resting place on the window to send her a confused look.

“Forget about it.”

The drive back was silent for the rest of the way. Upon arriving, Draco made a beeline for his room and made no indication of wanting to come back out, so Y/N spent the rest of the evening ironing out her physics problem sets and getting her backpack ready for school.

My last first day she thought to herself as she zipped her binders and pencil pouch up, a hint of nostalgia threatening to choke her up for a moment.

The entire situation felt eerie and strange. All her life, she’d been waiting to get out of school so she could go to college and meet new friends and have her fun life experiences, and now it was all beginning to happen. She tried to imagine how Draco must’ve been feeling in that moment and could hardly manage to come up with anything she could relate to. He’d been uprooted from his home, his family, his life, all to move to fucking Ohio of all places to finish out school. Y/N would feel a twinge of pity if he wasn’t such a prick.

Which, by the way, now that she really thought of it, was perhaps becoming overshadowed by all the little things she noticed about him. Obviously, he was very pretty, but there was something else just magnetizing about him that she’d never seen before in a person. The way in which he carried himself, the regal manner he spoke in, the delicate and practiced motions of his hands whenever he did anything menial--it all added up to paint Draco as the picture of elegance. She came to the realization that she’d never met anyone quite like him before as she was getting into bed and turning her lights off. He seemed so incredibly detached from reality, but decidedly so, that she couldn’t help but feel fascinated with it all.

And he was all hers to figure out for the next 9 months.

final a/n: huhhhh isn’t that funny that i actually came out with a different fic than i said i would? i think i want to do that quarantine thing a little bit later and make it a series. i’ve planned that i want to finish mirror, mirror in the coming weeks and then transfer to writing the “one shot” that was scheduled to be posted today as a series as well as this. exciting stuff to come!

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco #draco malfoy #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

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otonymous · 5 years ago

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Served (MLQC Victor) - Chapter 4: Lady In Red

Description: Victor whips it out…(exactly what remains to be seen) Warnings: N/A Word Count: 1722 words (~9 mins of “will they or won’t they?!”) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: If you’re still reading, thanks for sticking around for this crazy ride! Hope you all enjoy this chapter 😊

Jump to other chapters: Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 5

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

You: Sorry again about tonight. I had no idea we’d be interrupted twice.

Victor: Thrice.

You: Oh right, the delivery man.

Victor: You’re quite popular.

You: Come on, the delivery guy doesn’t count!

Victor: No, but the sender of the package does. How do you know Kiro?

You: That’s...a long story. Why, are you a fan? Want me to get you an autograph?

Victor: What makes you think I don’t already have one?

You: Never mind then. By the way, tonight’s dinner doesn’t count. Let me take you out for a proper meal, one that isn’t burnt beyond recognition. I’ll treat you to whatever you want!

Victor: ...

After a solid two minutes, the ellipses were finally replaced by words.

Victor: Friday after work. I’ll pick you up at your office.

You: Ok! See you then.

Just when you begin to worry about whether or not your account balance can contend with Victor’s upscale tastes, a notification sounds on your phone.

Victor: Don’t be late. Victor: And keep Thursday evening free.

You: Why Thursday evening?

Victor: Just do it.

You: But what are we doing?

Victor: Must you ask so many questions?

You: Must you be so secretive?

God. Victor will be Victor. Rolling your eyes, you relent, thumbs flying across the onscreen keyboard:

You: Fine. Will there be anything else, Your Royal Highness?

Suddenly, your phone rings — “Victor Li, LFG CEO” displayed on the screen.

“Hel—“

“Don’t get cheeky.”

The line cuts before you have a chance to respond. Even still, you swear you sensed a smile in the deep bass of his voice.

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Carpets so plush you felt the give in the textile as you walked. The sweet, subtle scent of fresh jasmine in the air. Soft light inviting as it glanced off buttery leather ottomans, highlighting luxe fabrics and elegant hues hung with care on racks like so many pieces of art.

Your palms had started to sweat as soon as you stepped foot in that designer boutique. Surely Victor knows your company isn’t doing THAT well!

“Victor, why are we here?” Speaking in a hushed tone, you glance up at him, telling yourself the flutter in your stomach was due to the impending damage to your credit card and not how handsome this dictator looked in profile.

But before he can respond, a saleslady rushes over, smiling from ear to ear. “Hello Mr Li! We’ve been expecting you. The dresses have been set aside as you’ve requested, if you and the lady would please follow me. May I get you anything to drink?”

As soon as you enter a dressing room the size of your apartment, you are greeted by your bewildered expression reflecting off a wall of mirrors. And to the side, a rack of dresses — all of impeccable taste, all carrying price tags with an impossible number of zeroes.

Waiting till the saleslady was out of ear shot, you hiss from behind the door as you pull your blouse over your head. “Seriously Victor, what’s going on? Why am I trying on dresses I could never afford in this lifetime? Wait…don’t tell me…of course! It all makes sense now!”

Seated in a velvet settee on the other side of the door, Victor takes a sip of his espresso, the corners of his lips tugging up into an amused smile. “What makes sense?”

Adjusting the straps of a silk dress onto your shoulders, you reach for the zipper on the side as you say,

“You know, I’ll be your model for tonight. But I warn you, I don’t exactly have Chik’s physique, so the next time you want to buy a girl a dress, you ought to bring her here yourself. All the same, I can’t say I don’t understand you wanting to give your girlfriend a surprise.”

Smile transforms into a frown as espresso flows down the wrong tube, Victor coughing so violently you open the door just wide enough to poke your head out to ensure the man was still alive.

“How can anyone be so thick in the head?” His eyes flash with annoyance.

“What, am I wrong? The tabloids had pictures of the two of you together at the Loveland City Film Festival—”

“Which was sponsored in large part by LFG. As CEO, of course I had to make an appearance on opening night.”

“But what about all the gossip sites saying you took her to Saint-Tropez for a romantic getaway a few months ago?”

“And you believe that garbage?”

“I…I suppose not. So…if not Chik, then…”

Suddenly nervous to see the expectation in his gaze as it searched your own, you retreat back into the dressing room, voice trailing off as you lean against the door.

A revelation had floated in the depths of your subconscious for a while since you’ve known Victor, surfacing periodically with every instance of hard-won praise, every disguised gesture of kindness…every moment when your heart ached to find him studying you with the softest eyes when he thought you were unaware.

But he was Victor Li, the man with the most financial clout in Loveland City. The prodigy of the business world who built an entire empire with his own two hands, all before the age of thirty. Tall, dark and handsome, Victor was considered a highly coveted prize by young and beautiful socialites and celebrities the world over.

He was also the man who held the fate of your company in his grasp.

The idea of you and Victor together was just too unbelievable, and you suddenly felt uncomfortable under the spotlight of his attention, wishing the man had lectured you instead.

For you were used to his sass and sarcasm. What you hadn’t anticipated was…his affection.

To your relief, Victor doesn’t press the issue, waiting patiently as you parade in and out of the dressing room until you emerge in elegant crimson. And it isn’t until you catch his reflection in the mirror — staring intently at the curve of your exposed back — that your cheeks warm to match the shade draped across your body.

Victor swallows, throat bobbing as he nods at you. Then, summoning the saleslady with the slight raise of one hand, he says without ever taking his eyes off you, “We’ll take this one.”

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The drive to your apartment was silent but lacked the usual ease you felt with Victor in his car. The dress he bought for you — cooly whipping out his black card without even so much as glancing at the price tag — sat heavy on your lap, weighed down by the implications of the evening’s events.

In accepting his gift, you couldn’t help but think you were crossing the line from something that was purely professional into…what? Just what was it that Victor wanted from you? It was difficult to know, because the man was hardly forthcoming with his thoughts when it extended to anything beyond matters of business.

But then again, what of your desires?

You snuck a glance at him. Features looking like they were chiseled from stone, Victor’s eyes were trained on the road, large hands soft as they rested on the steering wheel. And as his chest rose and fell slowly beneath his seat belt, the rhythm of your own breath unconsciously matched his, that is, until the gentle flex of his forearms — visible with the sleeves of his dress shirt folded up neatly to the elbows — made it race once more.

You knew what you wanted. You just knew better than to ask for the impossible to happen.

“Goodnight, Victor. Thanks for the lift.”

“Wait.” He lays his hand on top of yours, the electricity of his touch rendering you still in the midst of unbuckling your seat belt. Your breath catches in your throat.

Then slowly…slowly…the features of his face draw close, notes of cedar wood and pine warmed by the heat of his body to drift in enveloping currents until all you could focus on was the impossible length of his eyelashes — how had you not noticed them before?

Just when the proximity makes you think to close your eyes, Victor reaches behind you to retrieve an elegantly wrapped gift box from the back seat.

“Wait until you’re home to open it.” Breath brushing against the shell of your ear, you fight to suppress a shiver of pleasure, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek.

Then, over as soon as it began, Victor drew away, the air around you suddenly cooler for want of his warm body.

“Also…you looked stunning. Ahem. In that dress.”

Hand paused on the car door, you were rendered speechless for the second time that night. Glancing at Victor, you were relieved to see him staring straight ahead; it embarrassed you to know that one little comment could bring so much heat to your face.

“Thank you…Victor.”

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Victor’s voice stayed with you long after his car pulled away into the night. Still you stood, hands splayed against your apartment window as you willed your heart to calm.

For there on your coffee table, lying amidst mounds of tissue paper and an open gift box, were a gorgeous pair of red-soled stilettos and fine stockings. But what touched you most were ink and paper, Victor’s thoughts conveyed in fine cursive:

“Shoes and stockings to replace the broken and torn. I had meant to give them to you as thanks for dinner that night but, as you know full well, was denied the opportunity. Please accept the dress as an apology for the tardiness of my token of appreciation.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, the final line:

“Wear all three to dinner on Friday.”

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Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fic #mlqc smut #fanfiction #my writing #elex

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 26

Chapter Summary - The newspapers give some of Taylor's thoughts on the matter, leading Tom to discuss things with both Luke and Benedict separately, while Danielle has to try and get back to life behind the camera, with people taking interest in her for what they've read.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

So, the headlines are in Italics again, but most disturbing is the fact the four last ones are not ones I fabricated, but actually published pieces. If Taylor's PR is the ones putting these out there, then they are scum, if they are not denying it, they still are scum, and what scares me is the fact that there are some morons that will swallow this shit up. But she cannot always play the victim.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum@nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Taylor – Tom made me break up with Calvin; the worst mistake I could ever make.

Taylor holds head high after Hiddleston’s secret lover revealed.

Taylor broke off relationship when she suspected Hiddleston’s affections lay elsewhere.

Taylor Swift – “I knew there was something going on.”

Tom Hiddleston’s secret girlfriend, the real reason Taylor left him.

Taylor Swift “I feel used.”

Tom Hiddleston, Taylor Swift 2016: Actor Lied About Calvin Harris To Solo the ‘Bad Blood’ Singer?

Taylor Swift and Calvin Harris Split after Tom Hiddleston Lied about the DJ.

Tom Hiddleston Is a First Class Home-wrecker.

Taylor Swift: Tom Hiddleston Was the Reason Why She Dumped Calvin Harris.

Tom stared at the headlines that faced him before rubbing his face with his hands, sighing, and then groaning in frustration. He knew Taylor would say something, but he had not expected this. “So I am a Home Wrecker, a user, and abusive?”

Luke bit his tongue for a moment, knowing no good could come from him saying that the moment Tom introduced himself to the star; he was on course for terrible accusations against him once it all ended. “Apparently, yes.”

“Does anyone believe this?”

“A few, mostly fools who think that the woman is incapable of wrongdoing and blindly follow everything the brat says solely based on the fact she donates money to some good causes.”

“What?”

“I have had people watching social media; apparently her generous nature regarding charity absolves her from any faults as an individual.” Luke scoffed. “There are too many fools in the world.”

“What are the chances she never releases more songs?” Tom groaned.

“As likely as Theresa May coming out as a supporter of left-wing liberalism.”

“Seriously, political sarcasm?”

“You asked.” Luke shrugged. “Any word from Ms Hughes?” Tom winced slightly. “I shall take that as a resounding no.”

“She hasn’t deleted me from her Facebook,” Tom commented hopefully.

Luke grimaced. “Please do not tell me you are Facebook stalking her?”

“She’s back in Ireland for a week, and then she is off to a new set.”

“Tom, that is not normal, I mean seriously, you get weirded out by fans that do that to you.”

“What am I going to do Luke?”

“Nothing, I told you, you need to back off, she has a boyfriend. Can you imagine how hard it will be for her to explain all of this to him?”

“He knows she is friends with the family, he has gone to dinner with Emma and Jack and mum has had him over.”

“That’s some good news, but if she mentions the kiss?” Tom did not respond, “You see, you have caused her enough trouble Tom, just give it time, she forgave you for the shit you pulled when you were seeing “PR Barbie", so she will probably forgive this too.” Luke gave an encouraging smile.

“I just…” tom shook his head. “Why didn’t I ever notice?”

“Your infatuation?”

“It’s not an infatuation.”

Luke rose to his feet. “You never realised your feelings for her because she never allowed you to realise that you were envious by not having a partner, and upon her having one, you, my friend, left it too late.”

“What do you mean? Do you think we could have if I had…?”

“Could you have started seeing her, yes. Would it have lasted, well, the odds, however, were never in your favour.”

Tom bit the inside of his cheeks. It was against the odds to succeed in Hollywood, but he had done it, he could easily have worked on making things work with Danielle too, if only he had tried.

The news reached the set before Danielle did, and much to her chagrin, she noticed that it seemed to be a popular topic of conversation for some people.

“Hughes, a word.” She grimaced as she walked over to Irlam. “You never mentioned that you know Tom Hiddleston.”

“His mum is my next door neighbour.”

“But you said nothing.”

“Why would I?”

“Well, in this industry, it helps to know people.”

Danielle’s nostrils flared slightly. “It may help, but there is no merit behind it, besides, what would I say? That I know the man to see once a blue moon between movies that comes to visit his mum for a day or two, that I salute him if I see him having a jog.”

“If papers are to be believed, you know him considerably better than that.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read.” She smiled and winked.

“He’s a great guy, isn’t he?” Irlam chucked. “I worked with him, so willing to try and do everything right.”

Danielle smiled sadly, “Yeah, Tom is a good man, those photo’s, he brought me and his mum to a restaurant to celebrate me getting all of this.” She explained. “Nothing else, just because I get on well with his sister and mum, and because I never try and use them for anything.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end, her hurt at what she perceived to be a mistake on Tom's behalf becoming harder to disguise as she spoke of him, and some of his traits she had always adored. “Sorry.”

“Are you alright?” Irlam asked in concern.

“Yeah, just…the publicity from all of this, I mean, I am…there’s a reason I wanted to work behind cameras, you know?”

“Well for me, I go with the idea that I have a face meant for radio.” He joked, causing her to laugh slightly, “But yes, I understand, I see it sometimes with actors, they realise that the life of anonymity is destroyed once they become famous. What you are saying is you are not even in a relationship with Tom, yet you are receiving the attention of such, an even more horrible situation; especially if you never wanted such in the first place.” He added more solemnly. “No to mention, you now have the attention of one bitter brat.”

“God, what is that bitch saying now?” Danielle was half afraid to ask.

Irlam frowned, “You’ve had interactions with her before?”

“Sadly yes, she was at his mum’s with him, and well, she is as crazy as that supposed skit song implies, like literally, batshit crazy. She genuinely thought I would be envious of her.” Danielle scoffed.

“Well, she is the victim.” Irlam began.

“When is she ever not?”

“And he is abusive, a user and a home wrecker.” Danielle felt terrible for Tom. “From what I have read, prepare for a song about you.”

“That’s what she does, isn’t it?” Danielle sighed.

“Sadly yes, now, back to what we do. I need to talk to you regarding a scene where we have the dragon breathe fire.”

“It had to be a fucking dragon.” Danielle groaned, readying herself for the madness of the day ahead.

“Do I want to ask?” Benedict walked into Tom’s London home, looking around at what would probably be described as slight untidiness to most other people, but in Tom’s case, could only be called chaos. “The place is a wreck.”

“I kissed her.”

“Who?”

“Danielle, I kissed her Ben, and she rejected me.”

“Tom.” Benedict looked at him sympathetically.

“I just…I don’t think this actually hurt so much before.”

“I…I get it, in a way, I mean I was with Olivia for a decade, I thought that she was it, and it wasn’t to be.”

“You think Danielle isn’t…”

Benedict raised his hands. “I am not saying she is or she isn’t, I cannot answer that for you, but I can say this; if it hurts this much, there has to be more to this than simple lust.”

“I love her.”

“Fuck Tom, I’m sorry mate.” Ben gave a sympathetic look. “What exactly happened?”

Tom relayed everything, the meal, the conversation, the paparazzi, and the issue outside her door. “The way she acted, she was almost crying as she told me to leave, like I destroyed everything.”

Ben cocked his head slightly, “Wait, what do you mean crying? She was crying.”

“No, nearly crying, she just kept begging me to leave,” Tom explained.

Benedict’s eyes darted side to side for a moment as he thought about what Tom had said. “You need to just get some rest; you’re off to Oz again tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I need to redo a few scenes; apparently one of the minor actors has had to be swapped out.”

“The joys of the industry,” Benedict commented sarcastically. “Well, go, get some vitamin D, because fuck knows we are getting none here with this weather, and when you come back, we will have to further this conversation.” Tom scoffed a little, but said his goodbyes and made his way home to pack. Taking out his phone, Ben texted Sophie what Tom had just said, wanting her opinion on the situation. When his phone indicated a new message received a few minutes later, he chuckled to himself as he read his wife’s reply. “I thought as much.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #I Hate you I Love You #chapter 26

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badbadmovies-blog1 · 6 years ago

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The Magic of Mika Penniman

Or, why you should watch Stasera Casa Mika

If you don’t currently live in western Europe or eastern Asia, you’ve likely never heard of Mika. You’d be forgiven for this. Despite being a household name in Italian and French speaking countries and a serious force in Korea, China and Japan, Mika is a virtual unknown in the English speaking world. This is a real shame. Mika is a pop star with a message and a countenance and a fandom distinct from any other. His greatest work is his 2 season Italian primetime variety extravaganza, Stasera Casa Mika, but it’s truly impossible to understand the show or its importance without an understanding of the man and the people who love him.

Mika is a man of many places and many languages. He was born in Lebanon, raised in Paris and London, is a fixture of television in France and Italy and keeps homes in Paris, Milan, London and Miami. One of his most immediately impressive talents is his ability to rapidly switch between speaking 3 or 4 languages across just a few sentences. On top of his native French and English and fluent Italian, he also speaks Spanish (moderately) some Arabic, and some Chinese. Search for him on YouTube and you‘ll find hundreds of videos of the man meeting his fans; it’s not uncommon to see him speak to 3 different people in 3 different languages, switching to respond in any language without so much as pausing. He’s tall and certainly handsome, albeit the latter in a non-traditional sense. His hair is curly and voluminous and sometimes completely out of control. His eyes are golden brown with hints of green, his jawline is sharp; yet still he describes his own face as “odd”. The chiseled handsomeness is offset by plump, often flushed cheeks and deep dimples. His smile is wide and bright and his front teeth are crooked. His appearance truly depends on his expression: when neutral or serious he’s solidly what anyone would call sexy. But he’s giggly and good natured, he smiles easily and often, and as soon as he does he shifts from sexy to simply adorable. With the crooked front teeth and plump pink cheeks he sometimes looks something like a bunny or a chipmunk. But still, a beautiful chipmunk.

Mika, serious

Mika, goofy

Even with his beauty it’s his personality that’s earned him so many fans. He’s bubbly and energetic on television and onstage, and while that’s 100% genuine, it’s more one of his moods than an accurate representation of his personality as a whole. There’s another side to him, equally entertaining but very different. Mika was snarky and loud when he first rose to fame at the age of 23 but as he’s aged he’s mellowed and calmed quite a bit. It’s an absolutely lovely transformation to witness if you’ve been following him for some time. Young Mika was hilarious and good hearted but sometimes brash and rude (to be fair, always entertainingly, endearingly, sassily so). The man he is now is pure and gentle. He’s soft-spoken and exceptionally kind. Watching him interact with his fans is like watching the human version of a cup of hot tea. The man also seems to have stunning talent for feeling a room. He picks up on his fan’s emotions without a word being said. One of the best “Mika picking up on people’s feelings” stories involves him noticing a woman in his audience of thousands crying, and pulling her onstage mostly to hug her. Another fantastic tale tells of him going out of his way to ensure one of his fans felt included in a conversation when another person seemed to be getting all the attention. He told a fan on an airplane that he would meet her at the destination airport baggage claim to take a picture with her, and not only did he make good on that promise, the fan discovered he had no luggage of his own and went to baggage claim exclusively to wait for her. He’s got 2 dogs he dotes on and a penchant for sweater wearing. There’s something about him that just seems inherently huggable.

Mika’s claim to fame is his one of a kind brand of dark bubblegum pop. He pairs cheery, poppy music with dark, sometimes disturbing lyrics. Between the beat and the brisk singing, it’s easy to miss the lyrics entirely and get wrapped up in dancing around; this is the key to the success of formula. You may be thinking that cheerful music and dark lyrics are not unique, but this isn’t Melanie Martinez. Mika doesn’t lean on the darkness of his lyrics, singing to the camera with dramatic pauses to make sure you get it. He just sings, and trusts that his audience is smart enough to understand the point on their own. It’s on you to notice that the cheery song about teenage freedom you’re singing gleefully to on a summer afternoon contains the words “Left here on my own/ I’m gonna hurt myself”.

Mika’s first two albums, Life in Cartoon Motion and The Boy Who Knew Too Much, are about his childhood and adolescence viewed through an abstract lens. Most of the songs are vignettes about imaginary characters in metaphorical and absurd situations, but all of what might first seem like nonsense has meaning. It’s a distanced way to talk about real things, and Mika has plenty of real things to work with. His family was evacuated from Lebanon during the Lebanese Civil War in 1983 and his father was held as a hostage in the Gulf War for 8 months when Mika was just 8 years old. Mika suffered badly from dyslexia, did poorly in school (not helped by cruel teachers), and was mercilessly bullied to point of going mute for a while. His music draws on all this inner pain and a talent for empathy to write darkness in a way that feels authentic. It never feels like just an emo aesthetic. His third album, The Origin of Love, diverges from theme for an airier sound and more cheerful lyrics. It’s an album about love in forms both positive and negative, and it feels much warmer and more optimistic than the work that came before. His 4th (and as of this writing, most recent) album, No Place in Heaven, is another departure from his previous work. If Life in Cartoon Motion and The Boy Who Knew Too Much discuss Mika’s life and problems in metaphor and simile, No Place in Heaven is the clear, plain English version, without the euphemistic wordplay. The album discusses Mika’s anxieties, from the trivial to the existential, with detail and without fear. No Place in Heaven is the modern English facing page translation to Life in Cartoon Motion and The Boy Who Knew Too Much’s Shakespearean stanzas. “Good Wife” is about the pain of a gay man in love with his straight friend and speaks his thoughts that he would be a much better partner than his friend’s unkind wife; “All She Wants” is an unflinching description of Mika’s fears that he’s a disappointment to his mother. “L’amour Fait ce Qu’il Veut” is an uncomplicated love song which manages to simultaneously remain unpolitical and make a clear statement by simply using the grammatical gendering system of the French language to assign male pronouns to the entity of love. The musical sound itself is different from his previous music. It’s more singer-songwriter, more guitar-heavy, and less electronic, but the whole thing is still recognizably Mika. This album feels like a catharsis for him. It’s not that he ever seemed sad or depressed, but post No Place in Heaven Mika seems like a new man. He looks healthier and happier than he ever has before. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Mika’s honest lyrics and cheerful music have attracted a large, exceptionally dedicated and tight-knit fan base. Mika’s fans aren’t fans simply because they enjoy his music. They’re fans because they find comfort in his lyrics and his philosophy. You’ll always find at least some people in any fandom who feel this way, but for Mika fans it’s the rule. Ask any of them why they love Mika or how they discovered him and they’ll tell you a story that describes Mika or his music being there for them at a point in their life when it was most needed.

Mika is deeply important to people. Celebrities have fans, Mika has a flock. His fandom, largely (though not entirely) young and mostly (though not entirely) female, flourishes predominately on Twitter, Instagram, and a dedicated fan forum, where they communicate with each other across time zones and language barriers, often learning parts of languages they otherwise don’t speak. There’s a warmth here, a deep love and concern for each other. These people, most of whom are in some form of school, are spending their spare time learning languages by choice only to understand each other, and Mika, better. Due to Mika’s aforementioned cross-language popularity and success, to be a Mika fan is to be at least partly bi- or tri-lingual. A short venture into #mikainstagram on Instagram (Mika and his fans have dedicated their own tag based on his Instagram handle, as #Mika is flooded with posts about a coincidentally named anime character) will show you thousands of affectionate posts about Mika, common for any fandom, but they talk about him in the kind of elevated language people normally use to discuss royalty. Even the absolute briefest interactions with his fans prompt deeply emotional responses. Even a smile matters. And it’s sincere - there’s no sarcasm here, no snark, absolutely no “too cool for it” artificial lack of concern. The people who speak about how Mika’s smile changed their life aren’t kidding in the slightest. He genuinely has that power and that kind of energy; it’s unique and almost impossible to understand without being inside it. When he’s part of Q&A sessions (he tends to do at least one a year), he doesn’t get asked nearly as many questions about himself and his music as he gets asked for general life advice. When given the opportunity, Mika’s fans literally bring him their problems, as if to the world’s coolest advice columnist.

All this information is necessary because what Casa Mika is and the effect it has is hard enough to explain on paper alone, and becomes completely impossible to explain without all the context (watching the show, however, will provide all this context pretty immediately whether you’ve ever heard of Mika or not; he really is magic and you’ll pick up on his energy immediately). Mika is a source of wisdom and a protective presence to his fans. He’s trusted and relied on in a way that celebrities rarely are, and he therefore finds himself in a position of power to influence many young people’s lives for the better.

Being a judge on the Italian version of The X Factor launched Mika into household name status in Italy as people who discovered him through his television appearances then discovered his music. Italy has become his strongest market since his time on X factor. Italy also has a long tradition of primetime variety television shows, and 2016 they were ripe for a new one. Mika’s creative wheels happened to be turning, and so Stasera Casa Mika was born.

Casa Mika (almost always referred to in this way, the “Stasera” is generally left off) is a very hard thing to put into words simply due to it being…really hard to put into words, but “variety show” still comes the closest to a concise description. The concept is fairly simple: Mika is your host, inviting you into his home. “Stasera Casa Mika” translates roughly into “Tonight at Mika’s house” in Italian. There are skits, comedy segments, and many musical performances, some starring Mika and some not. In between all this Mika talks to the camera and undergoes a breathtaking number of outfit changes. The first episode opens with Mika driving the tiniest car imaginable and singing to his dogs, and it really only gets warmer and softer from there. He’s got a co-presenter in both seasons. The first, Anglo-Italian actress Sarah Felberbaum, has a presence and warmth that mixes perfectly with Mika’s. They make fantastic presentation partners. Sarah is replaced in the second season by Luciana Littizzetto, who’s a pure gem and brings a whole lot of love and light with her. It works extremely well in the context of the second season.

There’s a whole genre of media that I adore but find it hard to put a name to. For lack of a better term, call it “self-confident”. It’s art that doesn’t care if it’s objectively good or if it has wide appeal. It’s only concerned with being whatever it’s going to be, and trusts that the right audience will find it. Sometimes it turns out objectively good and sometimes it doesn’t, but’s always interesting. Within this genre you’ll find the shamelessly and unabashedly joyful and pure things. Joyful and pure are not en vogue. Media was forcefully sugar coated and inaccurate to real life for so long that a collective decision was made that everything has to be realistic and gritty, that we’ve got no time left for fearless joy. But every now and then you find a movie or show that’s just good and pure and has no qualms about being so.

My personal benchmark for this genre is Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. If you’re a child of anywhere between the early 70s and the late 2000s and you spent time watching American public television, you probably at least occasionally watched Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Hosted by Fred Rogers, a man who can only be accurately described as an angel walking on the face of this undeserving earth, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was a slow paced and kind children’s show which discussed very real and serious problems and current events in grounded and intelligent ways that children could understand. Yet between the much needed and challenging social commentary was a lovely, caring show that wanted nothing from you. It protected you. Fred Rogers ended every episode with a lovely song about how he loves and cares for you, he’s just happy you’re alive. Mister Rogers and his show hold a very special place in the hearts of the people who grew up with them. For those people mere mention of it is bound to start them crying. It stuck with people, and it does to this day.

Casa Mika, to me, feels like a version of Mister Rogers for adults. It manages to be joyful without ignoring problems in life and in the world. Old media was joyful as it pretended that life was always perfect and nothing was ever thorny. Casa Mika is joyful despite the thorniness of general existence. It doesn’t shy away from problems or politics; it just takes them in its joyful stride. It’s sort of like an uplifting emotional movie. You’ll cry but it will still bring you up in the end. Mika talks about human and civil rights, about poverty, about crime, about prisons, and you still come out the other side feeling a whole lot better than you did before.

Most episodes of Casa Mika follow a similar format: Mika opens the show with a pre-filmed skit that leads into the opening number of the show, a large and energetic performance of the show’s theme song. The show itself is a mishmash, with any number of live and pre-filmed skits and performances. Common segments include: Mika driving a taxi, learning how to do a job from someone, traveling Italy meeting talented musicians from unlikely places, musical performances by Mika and others, and interviews with celebrities. Mika ends every episode by climbing into an oversized bed while wearing pajamas, gently bidding goodnight to the audience, and shutting off the studio lights. It’s important to know this show originally went off at 11:30 PM – people really were going to bed; he’s truly bidding his audience goodnight.

Stasera Casa Mika promo photos

The cheerful opening, the calm come-down ending, and the clearly defined structure brings to mind children’s night time television. It brings to mind children’s television in general; it brings to mind Mister Roger’s Neighborhood. And somehow that’s exactly what it is, simply aimed at a very different audience. Casa Mika is Mister Rogers for the 2018 young adult or teenager. It’s darker and slightly cracked. It’s facing the real problems of the world but it’s facing them led by this lovely, protective figure of a man. He’s even got the sweater and sneakers at one point. It’s as if Mister Rogers was painted by Picasso.

It’s important to draw a distinction between the two seasons of Casa Mika. They’re two seasons of the same show but they’re still separate entities in a lot of ways. They’re both uplifting but season one is more purely joyful while season 2 deals more consistently with harder topics. Season 2 introduces Gregory, a large monster who looks like he jumped straight out of Where the Wild Things Are. Gregory is introduced as Mika’s close friend, and It’s made clear in unambiguous language that Gregory suffers from crippling, chronic depression. If you started watching Casa Mika to forget all your problems this show has other plans for you. Mika’s more or less taking care of Gregory, and he explains that he does this because sometimes you have to, and that sometimes the best way to help people is to simply be present. Gregory gets a whole lot of screen time over the course of the season, and every moment he’s on screen is taken as a moment to provide some simple but effective comfort for everyone watching who’s going through a mental illness of some kind or other.

The first season of Casa Mika is free, joyful, loud and pure. The skits and performances are hilarious and uplifting. It’s all one giant party, bringing as much energy as it can straight to your heart. It lifts you out of your problems enough that you feel strong enough to look them in the eye. The second season of Casa Mika gently guides you through those problems, in the kind of way that makes you weep, but it’s a good weeping. It’s a cathartic, detoxifying weeping. Casa Mika came right on the heels of Mika’s newfound lightness after No Place in Heaven, so watching the series feels a bit like joining him on a journey, an emotional experience you’re on together. Much like you, the viewer, Mika takes a season to be truly free and the next to face problems, some of which are quite clearly his own. If you watch the show, the whole show, all 8 episodes, in order, you’ll be taken on a teary eyed trip through Mika’s mind and your own, and all the dark corners of both.

If you go into this show with a feeling that no one cares about you and no idea who Mika is, you’ll come out the other side feeling slightly better because now you know there’s a guy named Mika who cares about you. And like Mika’s music, this somehow manages to feel truly authentic. While there have been a million people and a million celebrities who speak and post and tweet encouragement to mental illness sufferers, Mika is easier to believe. I tend to think it’s in his presentation. His message is less of a blithely optimistic (and often annoying) “THINGS WILL GET BETTER” and more of a soft hug from a friend telling you that yes, things will eventually get better but even more importantly that they still love you while things AREN’T better. Mika focuses on the normalcy and okay-ness of sadness and depression, that there’s nothing to be ashamed of in your struggles. He’s got so many of his own (it’s heavily implied that Gregory is not only a fictional character but an anthropomorphization of Mika’s own mental health struggles) that he’s able to talk about mental health from the perspective of someone who’s not only been there but has developed a philosophy that holds optimism and realism in just the right balance to be comforting but not infuriatingly positive. Like a really good therapist, Mika makes you feel better about the future without making you want to punch him.

It’s all written and presented in such a way that it will only really affect you if you too suffer – if you have no struggles, Casa Mika’s discussion of them won’t bring you down. The show remains uplifting and energetic throughout, and if you take it on without needing any particular catharsis it will simply be one of the best and most entertaining things you’ve ever watched. Mika is like human sunlight, an actual joy on your television. But let’s face it: that’s not the case for most of us. Something about the present is just hard for everyone, and most of us are struggling with something. Maybe you, reader, don’t. And that is FANTASTIC! Now go find a TV and watch Casa Mika, because it will only make you happier. But perhaps you DO suffer from something. Many things. Maybe you’re a little sad or a little afraid. Or maybe it’s worse. Maybe you’re reading this in a bed you don’t feel like you have the energy to get out of. If that’s the case, here is my advice. Join mikafanclub.com . It’s free and easy and all they want is an email. Joining will give you access to their thread of English subtitles. As Casa Mika’s broadcast language is Italian, you’ll probably want them. From that thread you can find watch links for all 8 episodes of Stasera Casa Mika. Watch them. Watch them all, in order. They’re about 3 hours each, so it’s a solid 24 hours of television. I recommend a pace of about half an episode a day. There’s a lot going on and there’s so few of them, so it’s best both to give yourself time to absorb each half episode and to stretch them out as long as you can. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry a lot.

To be clear, I’m not claiming or suggesting that 24 hours of Italian television will cure your depression. But it will put you through something. You’ll be made happier and more introspective in turn. And in the end, the very end, the part where I always end up grossly sobbing, you’ll probably be grossly sobbing too. And it’ll feel like crying out emotional toxins. Like a really intense therapy session, emotionally exhausting but purifying. Sometimes the cure we all need is a little bit of snot running down our faces.

Written by Savannah

Find me on Instagram Twitter Mika Fan Club

Useful links:

Mika Fan Club (site with English subtitles for Casa Mika available after free registration)

Stasera Casa Mika on Rai 2 Season 1 Season 2 (watch for free,no registration required, no strings attached)

Casa Mika season 1 trailer

“Won’t You Be My Neighbor” (documentary film about Mister Rogers) trailer if you aren’t familiar with Mister Rogers

#mika #mika penniman #stasera casa mika #casa mika #rai 2 #tw: depression #mikainstagram #michael holbrook penniman jr #no place in heaven #the boy who knew too much #the origin of love #life in cartoon motion #long/good #all time favorites

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shaggyturtlestudiostotallyradbro · 6 years ago

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Thanks. To @akiseyu for tagging me. I don’t normally participate in these chain things. But y’know what? Why not? It’s good to ge out of your comfort zone sometimes.

Rules: Answer 21 questions then tag 21 people you want to get to know better. However, I’m not gonna tag 21 people. Out of respect.

Nicknames: I go by a few. Quinn actually isn’t my real name. It’s a nickname. I also sometimes go by Q-Ball, Shaggy and Shags. And some of my real old online friends knew me as QX.

Zodiac:I think I’m a Virgo? I never put much stock in these things.

Height:I’m not sure. I’m taller then 5 feet. But that’s all I really know. Can’t measure myself right now.

Last movie I saw: Recently rewatched The Goonies with some of my siblings. Still one of my favorite films.

Last thing I googled: “Megazone 23 SIN”. So. Like, there’s this old Anime I like called Megazone 23. And supposedly there’s some sort of remake in the works. That’s what I was investigating. Didn’t find much info. And I ain’t holding my breath.

Favorite musician: I can’t pick one. But I can give a list of bands and artists I enjoy. Iron Maiden, Dokken, Queensryche, Lion, Alien, REO Speedwagon, Stan Bush, FM, Journey, The Midnight and last but certainly not least, Rick Astley. I listen to a lot of 80s Rock, Metal and Pop. And I’m also a huge fan of the Synthwave scene.

Song stuck in head: “Not Enough” by Starship. It’s been stuck in my head all day.

Other blogs: I run a few. My most popular one is @cyndaganda, a Pokémon fan page about Cyndaquil. I also run @raichu-propaganda, and @pokeoddities, a fan page about the weird stuff in Pokémon, which I run with two other admins, whom I’ll tag.

Do I get asks: not really. I’ve gotten a couple on Cyndaganda. But that’s it.

Following: 42.

Seems more then a few of them are porn bots. Funny. I thought the NSFW purge was supposed to take care for that. @staff, got an explanation, huh?

That said, my Pokémon pages have tons more followers. With Cyndaganda being over 600. I’m honestly and pleasantly shocked.

Amount of sleep: I have a weird schedule. Bedtime at 3:00 AM. Wake up at 12:00 PM. You do the math.

Lucky numbers: three is my lucky number....if you got that reference, awesome. But really, in my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.

What I'm wearing: I mean, what I usually wear. a variation on one of these.

Dream job: Tough Question. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a game developer. But now, I really just want to tell my stories in whatever format possible.

Dream trip: There’s a lot places I’d like to visit. Ireland is pretty far up the list. I have a friend in France I’d love to meet and of course, no weeb would deny the chance to visit Japan.

Favorite food:I’m supposed to have a favorite? XD Actually, there’s this Chinese restaurant near me that I absolutely love.

Play any instruments:Keyboard actually. I make Synthwave tracks occasionally. You can find a lot of my work here: https://soundcloud.com/user-768657140 (shameless plug)

Languages:only English currently. But I’m looking into learning Japanese and French.

Favorite song: I say this sincerely. Without a trace of irony or sarcasm. My favorite song is Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley. Most people only like it ironically because of the meme. But I legitimately think it’s an awesome song.

Random fact: if there’s one thing you’ve gotta know about me going in, it’s that I have a form of Autsim known as Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s lower on the spectrum. But still on the spectrum. Knowing this will probably go a long way towards explaining some of my weird behaviors.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: a fountain (of useless knowledge.) A neon sign with some lights out.

Tagging: I usually don’t bother people. It’s a matter of respect. But if I had to tag a few people, it’ll be some of my fellow Pokéganda admins, (there’s so many of us now.) @sunshineandshitpostss @mala-sadas @thelonelyabsol @ellixtt and @leavanny-propaganda. There’s a lot more and anyone who wants to try this can feel free!

Like it or not, I’ll be back. Next time.

~Quinn.

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tcfkag · 6 years ago

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15 Questions 15 Mutuals

Thank you @when-in-doubt-sing when for tagging me! Here we go!

Are you named after anyone?

No, but Erin was a very popular option for all those parents looking for the perfect “Irish” name in the early ‘80s.

When was the last time you cried?

Probably yesterday? If not, the day before for sure. But, to be fair to me, I just had surgery which doesn’t help....and I seek out sad YouTube videos and stuff because it’s cathartic. The last time I cried because I was genuinely upset was probably Friday, the day before I got out of the hospital because I just wanted to come home.

Do you have kids?

No, we would like to, but with my health being as it is, it hasn’t happened yet. I don’t know if it will.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Lol, yes. I also have the URL “sarcasmfont” on Tumblr but haven’t figured out what to do with it yet (any suggestions?).

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Smiles and shoes. Or other interesting clothing items, like jackets or purses or scarves, those are always things I notice (not in a bad way - usually in an admiring way).

What’s your eye color?

Hazel.

Scary movie or happy ending?

Happy ending - not much of a fan of scary movies.

Any special talents?

When I founded this blog, it was as a “vicarious shopping” blog because I have a weird skill for shopping and did sort of informal personal shopping for people. Give me an item, a price range, and sizes/colors and I can usually find you SOMETHING you’ll like, if not something you’ll buy. My old Weebly site is still up if you want to know what I mean, lol.

Where were you born?

Providence, Rhode Island. What what.

What are your hobbies?

Marvel movies and comics and I enjoy cosplay, though I’m not very advanced at it. Cooking and meal planning. Hanging out with my dogs. Reading.

Have any pets?

Two beautiful pupsters. Tucker is a 75-pound lab mix and is a giant lover. Abbie is 30-pound weird mix (her four main results on her DNA test were: miniature poodle, dachsund, Rhodesian Ridgeback, and “Generic Terrier” and yet she looks like a hound) and she is the boss of Tucker. She also loves humans more than any dog I know and is great about cuddling with me when I need it most.

I love them both dearly.

What sports have you or do you play?

I was a competitive swimmer growing up so by eight or nine years old, I had quit every other sport to “focus on my swimming”. I was pretty good as a kid, but then everyone hit puberty and I stayed short. But I loved swimming - I trained 20-30 hours a week in high school and then swam in college. Now I coach part-time, mostly for fun because it’s great being back on deck.

I also played field hockey in high school and ultimate frisbee in college. I suck at sports on land.

How tall are you?

5″3′ (160 cm).

Favourite school subject?

In high school, it would have been history probably. In college, I majored in political science and my favorite classes were on Comparative Politics and Political Theory. In law school, my favorite subject (which I’m going to think of in terms of the generalized first-year courses) was probably Constitutional Law.

Dream job?

I would love to be an attorney at the federal agency I worked at right out of college, that was a great place to work. And it’s work isn’t too impacted by different administrations, which definitely holds a certain appeal. But for now, I really like my current job, it’s everything I need - reasonable hours, interesting (enough) work, and pretty good pay - and they’ve been very understanding of my health issues. I like it there.

I usually don’t tag people in these but, @artielu and @santhipoma and @abreathoffresherica and @alaric-greyson and @betterthanyou should do it. Or whomever else feels like sharing since I feel like these are fun but they go around way less often than they used to.

#tcfkag #about me #what were these called again?

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merinathropp · 7 years ago

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Tanz der Vampire - Vienna 2018: Detailed Breakdown

Guys, this was such an amazing experience, I have a real mixed bag of opinions (both good and bad) and a lot of emotions. I feel so lucky to have seen this production. Now, to get all my thoughts down on paper!

First night - from middle stalls front row Second night - from middle stalls seventh row

Graf von Krolock - Drew Sarich (second night) Graf von Krolock - Florian Fetterle (first night) Alfred - Raphael Gross Professor - Sebastian Brandmeir Sarah - Diana Schnier Herbert - Charles Kreische Magda - Anja Backus

THE GOOD STUFF

ALFRED - Hello yes first off I would like to marry thank Mr. Raphael Gross for his powerful, heartfelt portrayal of one of my all-time favourite characters. He was everything I could ever want in an Alfred: sweet and devoted, full of energy and expression, and completely freaking adorable. He scurried around the stage like a frightened hedgehog, but I mean that in the best way possible. He was a ray of (very anxious) sunshine, you couldn’t help but love him and want him to win against all the odds.

- Für Sarah was An Experience, in the best way possible. Raphi’s Alfred started off very soft and uncertain, sort of pep-talking himself into summoning up the courage to keep going, but as the song went on, he seemed to sort of...grow and strengthen in front of your eyes? Like he was channelling all his love for Sarah into fighting against his fears, and by the end of the song, he had defeated them completely. He was practically punching the air and thrusting the bag all over the place with passion and determination. It was sweet and stunning and perfect, and the audience rightfully cheered at the end :’)

- Loved this detail: when the Professor was demonstrating to Rebecca how he was going to stage Chagal, Raphi turned his head away and cringed and closed his eyes for the actual moment of staking. Such good foreshadowing, setting up how frightened Alfred is by the whole staking process, so early on!

- When the Professor gestured in Ein Guter Tag for a bowl of gruel, he leapt up and charged around the bed at such a speed, he completely forgot where he was going :’) because he headed straight for the Professor’s clothes instead of the trolley! He had to skid on his heel and go charging back to fetch a bowl of gruel instead. It was the most Alfred-y thing to do (being in such a desperate hurry to please the Professor, he forgets what the Professor actually asked him to do) - I loved it.

- When the Professor is chiding him for stepping on the creaky floorboard at the end of Act 1 (even though it’s actually the Professor himself), Raphi’s Alfred stood there with this expression of half-bewilderment, half-hurt on his face, kind of like: “But Professor I’m not...doing anything...” and it was both hilarious and sad all at the same time. Then when Alfred himself passed the creaky floorboard, he walked very carefully to make sure it didn’t creak again, which is the most Alfred-y thing and I loved it.

- Okay, this made me laugh so much at the time, even though I always feel so bad for Alfred: when the Professor does his “Hast du ihn provoziert oder was?!” line and tries to investigate his trousers, Raphi’s Alfred went into a complete panic and struck this ridiculous wobbly pose where he tried to turn his legs in and cross his knees, he looked completely silly and like he was about to fall over at any moment :) poor Alfred, it’s just the icing on the cake in that scene...

- The bite was 10x more traumatic than it needed to be, because inbetween the usual screams of pain, Raphi’s Alfred cried out Sarah’s name, and that pretty much broke me. I don’t know whether he was begging her to stop or just crying out in horror, but either way, it was gut-wrenching.

- He undid four of his shirt buttons in the bathroom scene??? revealing a lot of bare chest to the audience??? I think this is the most scandalous thing I’ve ever seen an Alfred do??? (not exactly complaining, it was just...unexpected)

- Raphi lost his red coat somewhere over the course of his dance with Herbert and it was the greatest thing I have ever witnessed in a rendition of Wenn Liebe. Literally, it was hanging off his shoulder, and he couldn’t pull it back up because of the mirror-reflection. This + drenched in sweat + his hair looking like he’d come through a hedge backwards = I felt bad for laughing, but it was hilarious and adorable in equal amounts, just the icing on the cake in that scene.

KROLOCK (DREW SARICH) - I was not prepared.

- Seriously, nothing could have prepared me.

- Nothing, I tell you.

- Don’t get me wrong, I’d seen this guy on YouTube before and always thought he was a perfectly decent Krolock. But seeing him live...oh boy, seeing him live was an experience I will never forget. I finally understand all the hype for Drewlock and it is so. freaking. justified. I’m now going to fangirl for a couple of paragraphs and probably say 19023 things that all his fangirls have been analysing for decades, but what can I say? I’m a shiny new fan!

- I think the best way to describe Drew’s performance is hypnotic, charismatic and animalistic. There was something so intimate about his portrayal, you hung on every single word he spoke. Each line was given purpose and meaning, every gesture controlled and planned, every tiny inflection mattered. He was magnetic to watch, sending this incredible hush over the audience whenever he spoke or sang. When he was onstage, it was like the entire world and all the other characters revolved around him, and each time he left the stage, I found myself wishing (for the first time) that there was more Krolock in the show.

- He glided around with this incredible predatory grace. His hands were constantly moving and arching and flexing, like a cat with its claws. He’d snarl, hiss, bare his teeth, twitch his lips, lick his fangs etc. in a way that somehow always came off incredibly chilling, never silly or pantomimic. During his numbers, I kept noticing my heart literally pounding in my chest, or having to to lean back in my seat and let out my breath in a gush because I’d been holding it...ridiculous, but true, and completely awesome.

- His personality for Krolock was full of charisma, pathos, wit, genuine menace, and humour. Proper humour, that was what surprised me the most, e.g. his sarcasm with the Professor and mocking reaction to Alfred’s candlestick charge both made me laugh out loud.

- His dynamic with Alfred was...full-on seduction? Vor Dem Schloss was surprisingly intense! I’m not a Krolfred shipper, but I can see where the inspiration comes from now, and understand why this ship has climbed in popularity recently. Drew’s Krolock approached Alfred and moved his fingers in front of his face, like he was casting a spell, and Raphi went all dopey and wide-eyed, like he’d slipped into a trance (much more interesting than Alfred looking mildly scared and awkward through the whole scene). Then during the ‘Ich lehr dich, was es heißt zu lieben’ line, when Alfred was gazing sleepily out into the audience, he tucked a finger under Alfred’s chin, guided it around and upwards to look at him, then begin to draw them together (literally, I thought a kiss was coming and was ready to throw a riot) - before breaking off at the last second and sweeping away. I was like: “This. This right here, is when the ship was born. I’m holding you personally responsible, Mr. Sarich.”

- In fairness though, I like that Drew’s Krolock kept his interest in Alfred consistent throughout the show and made a proper ‘arc’ of it: during the He Ho Reprise, when speaking directly to Alfred (who had hunched in on himself and turned away, like he was hiding), he reached out a hand over the battlements and beckoned with one finger, and Raphi’s Alfred slowly looked up to meet his gaze, and started to shuffle towards him across the stage, like he was falling back into a trance again. Tom’s Alfred did something similar when I saw him in Hamburg, but this was much more obvious and a nice throwback to Act 1.

PROFESSOR - This guy was perfect. Hilarious, frustrating, easy to love, fond of Alfred. Ticked all the boxes and an amazing voice to boot. What a great performance.

- Once Alfred had helped him undress in Eine Schoner Tochter, he reached out and held his hand to Alfred’s cheek and gave him this proud grandfather smile like “Thank you my boy, another good day’s work done :)))” and I cried a lot on the inside...these two will be the death of me I swear...

- During the He Ho Reprise, he brandished his umbrella threateningly at Krolock, and then when Krolock spoke directly to Alfred, he encouraged Alfred to take his umbrella instead, so he could brandish it at the Evil Vampire Overlord too and presumably protect himself more effectively :’)

HERBERT - Why, oh why is no one talking about Charles?! This guy is sheer perfection as Herbert! Hands down one of my all-time favourites. He reminded me strongly of Kirill Gordeev from the Russian production, but with his own personal flair. Very much a graceful, charming, vain, ‘spoiled princeling’ Herbert with the perfect amount of underlying menace. He felt very fresh, and there were so many little details to his performance that stood out. Best of all, he never played for laughs or threw Alfred around like a sack of potatoes to get an audience reaction.

- On the line: “Was macht dich so blass? Bist du krank?” he said the last part as if it were a dry witty joke, and then giggled and swept his hand like “I’m so funny!” and it made Alfred’s nonplussed reaction twice as hilarious :)

- When the minuet began in Tanzaal, he swept off his cloak and tossed it over Koukol like he was a hatstand, it was priceless. And 110% Herbert. Somebody write that into the official blocking for this character, please.

- Throughout Carpe Noctem, he was very much embodying the ‘MC’ role and pulling all the strings. Lots of elegant gestures to pull dancers on and offstage, that kind of thing. At the end of the song, he focussed his attention completely on Alfred, watching him sleep with this :) expression whilst all the other dancers exited the stage. Then he clambered off the bed, and started to exit the stage...before pausing, and turning back to look at Alfred again (kind of like a kid sneaking a last glance at something special, it was unexpectedly sweet?) with this little smile on his face like “Awww look at my human! :3” and finally slinking offstage after that. Definitely stealing that for a fanfic someday...

KENTAUR SETS & COSTUMES - Are stunning and beautiful. ‘Nuff said. The vampire outfits in particular are exquisitely detailed and lovely to watch, all that sweeping velvet and heavy embroidery. The rotating set in Act 2 is also super neat! I think the projections are best seen from middle of the stalls, rather than front row though.

ORCHESTRA - Sounds like a dream, y’all were right, it’s a thousand times better than the German touring version. Full and luscious and gorgeous. Loved it so much.

THE BAD STUFF

SARAH - Oh boy, time to brace myself for the hate mail. I really, really didn’t like Diana’s Sarah. I found her belt shouty and downright painful at times, and her acting choices very confusing and inconsistent. I don’t want to turn this into an unnecessarily negative post, so I will just say: she’s clearly a wonderful talented young person, I just personally didn’t like her performance for Sarah at all.

KROLOCK (FLORIAN FETTERLE) - Again, didn’t care for this guy’s performance. Very sedate, bored-by-his-eternal-life Krolock that came off...downright dull, for me. I felt as though he had no stage presence. He didn’t seem to want to give Krolock any real menace or personality in general, though I understand that this might be part of his take on the character as a vampire with ‘deadened’ emotions. Full respect to the guy as a performer, I just personally really, really wasn’t a fan of his Krolock.

DANCING - Went wrong in multiple places, both times I saw it, which absolutely broke my heart. The cast I saw in Hamburg were flawless, not a foot out of place, but this was a whole different story. During Red Boots Ballet, Sarah didn’t even hit her splits on both performances I saw, and Krolock’s dance-double let one of her legs drop on that amazing ‘spinning’ lift at the end, which must have thrown him off balance, he was staggering around all over the place. Carpe Noctem was equally messy, with some really nice moments and some really “huh?” moments as well. White Vampire/Sarah seemed to lose their marks halfway through and face the bed instead of the audience, several moves felt like they were being ‘marked’ rather than fully danced, or left unfinished in aid of keeping up with the music. I spoke to two other fans who warned me that the Vienna dancing could be sloppy sometimes, but I genuinely didn’t think it would be this noticeable. I know we’re spoiled with all the Moscow/St. Petersburg bootlegs of insanely polished Russian dancers, but still...

BLOCKING ETC. - During my first performance, it seemed as though bits of blocking were being lost or accidentally messed up, e.g. when the Professor pushes his bag off the table using Chagal’s body and Alfred has to catch it...well, the bag was positioned wrong, so Alfred just picked up the bag and the joke was lost. The ensemble also managed to get out of time with the orchestra during Vor Dem Schloss, which was funny at first and then just frustrating. I’m going to put this down to the heat of the day, because it was pretty stuffy in the theatre and maybe the cast were just finding it hard to concentrate...?

I’ve now seen Tanz four times in total, and continue to love this show more every day. Time to start saving for a trip to Russia, that’s the production next on my bucket list! Unless someone attempts a heavily, heavily revised Broadway revival before then...I mean, a girl can dream, right? :)

#tanz der vampire #dance of the vampires #tanzblr #bal vampirov #musicals #merina rambles #save

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prettylilparker · 7 years ago

Text

nightmares and ‘i love you’s

my masterlist ;)

summary: peter has the recurring nightmare he’s had for the past week, you getting taken away from him and him being voiceless to it, and this time he just needs to know if you’re okay. so he calls you and of course you can’t resist his request to sleep over at yours for the night. and three words somehow manage to slip past his lips in the middle of the night.

warnings: best friend turned lover trope that i can’t resist, also so much fluff? and cuddles and sad!peter that turns into lovestruck!peter and soft!peter just wow read this it’s so g r e a t

word count: 2.5k (a holiday gift for all u babes)

author’s note: it means the world to me that our fam has turned into 400!! wow i’m so grateful for everyone who even reads this fic :) also!! have a happy holiday season loves!!!

Peter lurched forward, his chest rising and falling as he took in sharp breaths, fingers trembling and eyes bleary. However, the rapid thumps in his ribcage kept him grounded; they kept him from breaking into shards of glass to be swept away by the tide of the ocean. He counted the beats on his fingers to ten, then counted to ten again, having to remind himself that he was okay and alive, that his dream had just been a dream and that was all; but the way his shirt was completely soaked and clinging to his torso made everything just seem so real, like he was there.

He felt cold. It was as if ice was seeping into his flesh as he recalled the moments that occurred in his nightmare. There was darkness; crimson red blood; a shriek; more darkness. It was utterly consuming and terrifying and Peter hugged his knees to his chest, his breathing becoming unsteady once again as he counted on his fingers. “One, two, three-“ he said aloud, the sound of his voice reassuring him that this was real. He couldn’t still be dreaming, because in his nightmares he couldn’t speak.

As much as he wanted to scream out at the vague figure of a man, yanking you back by your collar, taking one of the people Peter vowed on everything he would protect away from him, Peter’s lungs failed him. He had opened his mouth and urged himself to form the words on his tongue and articulate the syllables, but they never passed his lips. He was so out of breath, although he hadn’t even uttered a sound.

And here he went again, counting his heartbeats on the tips of his fingers, now questioning your safety. His heart might be beating and his voice might not be failing him now, but were you okay? Was that shadowy figure not grasping the delicate, too-good-for-this-world body of yours?

Peter was unsure and his teeth bit down on his lower lip, compelling it to not quake. The next minute he was pressing the call button next to the picture that he had for your contact; you effortlessly laughed at one of his terrible, overused science puns, your lips stretched in a ginormous grin and your head tilted backwards. Peter remembered that scene, smiling softly at the memory of him fumbling with his phone to snap the photo quickly, basking in the happiness that seemed to radiate off you so easily. He was envious of that. He was envious that you could make any room light up with a small giggle.

He raised his phone to his ear, listening to the other line in a burning desire, longing to hear the softness of your voice instead of the heartbreaking rings. He assumed you were asleep, as it was 3:48 a.m. on a school night and he knew your habit of going to bed at 9 p.m. and always teased you relentlessly for it, but he just needed to hear you, even for only a second and even if it were only one syllable.

The last ring got cut off short, a sigh passing Peter’s lips and his heart skipping a beat as you said a groggy, “Peter, it’s nearly 4 a.m.” You were okay and your voice soothed the boy in more ways than he could have hoped or imagined, the tenseness in his shoulder blades and the creases along his forehead disappearing.

Then, your end of the line went silent, Peter parting his lips gently and running the words over in his head of what he wanted to ask. It wasn’t a strange question, or rather more of a request, but he’d only ever thought of the idea, never acting on it. “Y/n, could I maybe come over?” he queried softly, his words almost dissipating the moment they hit air. Peter was afraid you hadn’t heard it, maybe having fallen asleep as your line stayed silent, but that wasn’t the case.

You were devastated and your whole body ached and felt numb when you heard the suppressed whimper and distress in his voice, your eyes resting on the photograph across your room of you and Peter as kids in the yellow-tinted glow of your bedside lamp, only about five years old at the time, smiling toothy grins at the camera held by your mother, probably saying ‘cheese’ for a split second before running off and playing tag, the popular activity among the two of you then. Rubbing the palm of your hand over your eyes and weighing the possibility of your parents lecturing you about boys in the morning, you nodded, then remembering that Peter couldn’t see you, you answered. “Of course, Peter. You know I’m always here for you, no matter the time.” Then, you added onto your statement, treading carefully, torn between saying what you were just about to or not. “Especially, when you’ve been having nightmares.”

You knew that they’d come back, the nightmares that wrecked Peter, similar to the ones he’d gotten when he lost his uncle, the figments of Peter’s imagination that made you shudder. You could read Peter Parker like a book and the pages on nightmares were heart-wrenchingly endless. You knew that they had come back because you just knew; his distant and wandering eyes, the dark bags contrasting underneath that he blamed on lack of sleep, and the overall scarcity of crooked grins that overtook his pink lips. Some would just say finals were kicking his butt and he just needed a good night’s rest, but you knew better. You knew that your Peter was an absolute genius and could pass any test with zero effort, so those lines under his eyes that you just wanted to kiss away so badly, were for another reason, a reason that you hated to admit.

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. “How did you know?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he moved off his bed, standing at his doorway and peering to his aunt’s room to see if the light below her door was still there; his superstitions were eased as he saw the hallway drenched in darkness. He opened one of his drawers, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he searched for a pair of socks and a sweatshirt to wear for his short elevator ride to your apartment.

“I can just- just tell,” you whispered into the phone after a few moments, deciding how to word it exactly. “Best friend senses are sometimes stronger than spidey senses.”

That made Peter laugh lightly as he tugged the black, drawstring sweatshirt over his frame. He was glad that at least someone else knew what was going on with him lately. The past week had felt so lonely; he felt estranged and almost invisible even among his group of friends at school. Michelle and Ned tried their best to cheer him up at lunch, but all he could supply them with were empty smiles that didn’t reach his usually warm, but suddenly cold eyes.

He shook his head, clearing it of the thoughts of the past and moving onto the future. The future filled with you, and that laugh that would hopefully fill him up with the happiness he’d been missing. “I’ll be there in a few,” he said, then smiling and adding, “best friend.”

The line cut off with a click, the buzzing of that light in his room that needed to be fixed disappearing. You sat, criss-crossed on your bed, then falling back into your comforters, holding your knuckles up to your outstretched lips as you stared at your ceiling fan.

Sooner than you imagined, Peter was sitting beside you, his hair beyond tousled, sporting a lopsided grin while looking at your pajama pants, a bunch of Spider-Man masks displayed across the soft flannel fabric.

“Those still fit you?” He chuckled, his fingers brushing against one of the masks identical to the one he was wearing a couple of hours ago during one of his patrols of the city.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing and pushing off the bed to stand up, pointing down to your legs. The pants ended halfway up your calf and you sent a pointed look at the boy. “They’re just the slightest bit small,” you said, your words dripping with sarcasm while you held your thumb and pointer finger close together, but not quite touching.

He couldn’t help but smile at your ridiculous use of sarcasm. Your sarcasm; another thing he was envious of. He also couldn’t believe you still wore the gift he got you last year, even though it didn’t fit you anymore.

You sat back on the bed beside him, your thighs brushing against one another as Peter bounced his leg up and down. He was nervous. What if he had another nightmare? Right beside you? What if it scared you so much that you didn’t want to be close with him anymore?

Your fingers grasped his knee, his eyes finding yours, still filled with worry, but also with a bit of admiration, not to mention how flustered he was at your touch. “You’re okay, Peter. We’ll go to bed and hopefully you won’t, but if you have another nightmare I’ll be here.” You grabbed his hand, emphasizing your concern for him as you stroked the skin above his knuckles. “You’re not alone. I’m here. Right here.”

Peter’s eyes didn’t leave yours the entire span of time and he kind of wished he never had to. This was the most intimate he’d felt with you in the whole twelve years he’d been friends with you. It was the best he’d felt in the whole fifteen years of his life. The late night conversations over the phone, rambling over the universe, philosophy, extraterrestrial life, and love; he could talk to you for hours about literally anything that was on his mind and it felt as if all those intimate conversations led up to this one, singular intimate moment. He knew every inch of your mind and added with your comforting words and hand intertwined with his own, this moment was perfect; you were perfect.

Before either of you could comprehend what was happening, he was leaning in and you were gazing at his lips, slightly parted and perfectly kissable. Time seemed to stop, his lips ghosting over yours as your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, twisting the curls between your fingertips. Peter moved his hands, placing them on your cheeks, hot to the touch, undoubtedly due to the blush burning through them.

You pulled apart, smiles plastered on your faces. He wanted to say it so badly, just those three letters. “I- I-“ he couldn’t. “I think we should go to bed.” The disappointment in your eyes was enough for Peter to regret not saying it, but he knew there was a time for everything, and he guessed that now just wasn’t the time.

“I guess. You’re right; it is a school night.” Although, you doubted either of you would be going to school in the morning. You nodded solemnly, yawning. You knew Peter was right, pulling the covers over you and patting the space beside you, enticing him to come lay next to you.

“Oh,” color rushed to Peter’s cheeks. “I thought I would sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious.” You sighed. You weren’t complaining that Peter was a gentleman, but couldn’t he have chosen a better time? He scratched the back of his neck, looking at the unappealing carpet compared to the warmth of your bed, not to mention the warmth of you.

“Come on…we can cuddle,” you teased, half-joking and half-serious, but the way Peter’s big brown eyes became wider, bright with excitement, made the statement completely serious.

He jumped next to you on the mattress, making you bounce up and fake scold him while giggling your head off. There it was. That laugh. Peter turned off your lamplight and settled beside you, his hand tentatively trailing your hip. “I really love your laugh,” he whispered, watching your lips curve upwards.

“I like yours too, Pete. And this week I haven’t heard it as much.”

He frowned, not having thought about how his recent nightmares had affected you. He felt lonely these past few days, meaning you must’ve felt that too. In a way, you had lost your best friend for a week and he hated himself for doing that. Almost reading his mind, you reached out and outlined the bottom lip with your thumb, whispering. “It’s not your fault though, babe.” The last word slipped past your lips way too easily; the years built up of wanting to call him that showing.

It was Peter’s turn to try out the nickname he’d always held himself back from calling you on his tongue. “I know… angel.”

Both of you laid there, smiling so brightly, brought together by Peter’s nightmare and staying together for those hearts seemingly popping out of both of your eyes. After a while, Peter having missed hours of sleep was overcome by his heavy eyelids, feeling comfortable enough to fall into a slumber without the fear of a nightmare entering his head. He wasn’t threatened by his imagination when he had you by his side.

You gingerly pecked his lips once he gained a steady breathing pattern, surely in a peaceful sleep. You were comfortable with falling sleep now that you knew he was okay, tossing over on your side. “G’night. I love you.”

Your eyes opened immediately at Peter’s sleepy declaration, softening at him not even knowing what he’d just said. He wrapped an arm around your waist lazily, tugging your body closer to him like a teddy bear. Someone once told you that people were the truest when they were asleep, closest to the state they were in the womb. They were as human as they could get while asleep, so Peter saying those three words while asleep was the most meaningful thing he’d ever said to you thus far in your relationship. Not even a ‘tag you’re it’ could top it.

In the morning you woke up, Peter already awake with his caramel eyes fixated on you, soaking in the sight of you sleeping just seconds ago; you were so beautiful to him. You smiled at his sweet demeanor, the soft curls falling over his head and pink blush gracing his cheeks. “I love you, too,” you blurred out, cockily, watching his face morph into utter confusion.

You sat up, stretching your arms. Peter was quick to follow, sitting up and turning to you with his brows furrowed and his lips pouted in confusion. “When did I-“

“While you were asleep.”

“Shi-“ you placed your hand over his mouth, muffling the profanity. “I was supposed to wait for the right time.”

You laughed gently, taking your hand off his lips and replacing it with your own lips. “It’s okay Parker. That was the most perfect time I could’ve ever imagined.” And you were right Peter thought. Sometimes there wasn’t a perfect time for something until you made it perfect yourself and with you kissing him like that, how could he deny that it hadn’t been the right time.

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bluethepaladin · 7 years ago

Note

What do you have against Bex? (Can u also provide evidence thanks 💜)

When I first got this ask, I was tempted to play it off as a joke and say “the fact she exists,” and leave it at that. But I feel like it’s important to stay informed. And if you genuinely don’t know, I’ll give you the complete rundown. It’s long, it’s messy, and it’s nasty, so bear with me.

First, and introduction. When I talk about Bex, I’m referring to the actress Bex Taylor-Klaus, who is the voice actor (or VA) of the character Pidge in the show Voltron Legendary Defender on Netflix.

It all began a while ago when Bex liked a comment of a picture. The picture involved a ship called Shei//th. I censored the name so it doesn’t show up in the tags of that on tumblr. But essentially it’s a ship between two characters, Takashi Shirogane, a 25 year old pilot who is the leader of the team, and Keith Kogane, one of the other “paladins” or fighters on the team. People like me find this ship to be distasteful, since Shiro is an adult, and the others are teens (it’s actually a bit messier than that, since an official Voltron source listed Keith as 18, but the producers of the show, Lauren Montgomery and Joaquim Dos Santos, said they were not consulted on the book so there’s some question as to whether it’s canon or not). Either way, the consensus by most reasonable people is that it’s probably not a healthy thing to depict in children’s media, when you consider the considerable age difference, the power imbalance (leader, senior officer with someone they are in charge of), and finally, the iconic line by the character of Keith himself when he defines their relationship as a familial one.

Nonetheless, the ship persists, as nasty things on tumblr are wont to do. There’s a lot of shipping discourse on tumblr between two distinct groups which can be labelled as “antis”–people who are not in favor of any Shiro/paladin ships, or what has become to be known as “shaladins”–people who ship any variation of Shiro with the paladins.

Here is where Bex got involved. On Instagram there was a picture of a black shoe and a red shoe together and the joke was about the shoes being a prophecy that Shei//th would be canon. A joke, mostly, considering all the evidence above. But here’s where Bex got herself in trouble. She liked a comment on the picture where someone said “Keith is a power bottom confirmed.”

Obviously, this caused a bit of an uproar within the fanbase, especially between the discourse between antis and shaladins. Shaladins were celebrating that an Official Voltron Source liked their ship, and antis were angry about that acknowledgement of the ship at all by official sources, and the sexualization of a kid’s show (more on this later.)

So of course this sparked the discourse on tumblr. One user, @lancehunks, who was receiving asks about Bex, tagged her in the replies.They were definitely unfavorable.

and

and a few more.

Bex, being the big strong, adult, woman she is, decided that she could not take this obviously grievous insult to her name [sarcasm], and decided to reblog them all and respond to them. Keep in mind, that @lancehunks was just 13 years old. And Bex (22) decided that these were appropriate responses:

Yep, you read that right. Not only an adult but employed on a kid’s show! To a 13 year old! The target audience of the very show she’s a part of! (Oh, the hypocrisy). But wait, there’s more:

Just in case you’re confused, let me tell you the many, many reasons why this is unacceptable.

Bex is an adult. You’d think she’d be a little more mature by now just in general. It’s the internet and there are trolls.

The person she was addressing was 13!!!! Do I think it was mature to tag Bex in all those posts? No. But it’s… behavior that you can expect from 13 year old’s on the internet. If we swore at and tore down every single one of them every time they did something dumb, we would need a lot more therapists for teens in the world. Plus it’s really disingenuous to pretend that we wouldn’t have done something similar when we were younger if we were in that position.

Bex is famous. While she’s certainly not on the caliber of massive A-List stars like Tom Holland or Zendaya, she has a fanbase that exceeds the normal person’s friend group. Just because she’s been on TV before, she has groupies that will support her no matter what, who will troll for her, who uncritically and unconditionally worship her. I’m not a Bex fan, nor do I really care to know her well enough to know just exactly how many fans she has, to be certain she does have them. When she publicly reblogged those words, that “motherfucker,” those fighting words, she weaponized her fanbase. What I mean when I say that is her behavior gave her groupies permission to behave the same way. By targeting someone who didn’t like her (a thirteen year old!!!!!), she opened the gates to her fans and groupies doing the same thing, to a kid.

This lead to some terrible things happening. The 13 year old was getting death threats, sexual violence threats, and nsfw content, all because Bex just couldn’t let it go.

What does this mean? Finish it? Finish the kid? If you’re so sick of the fighting, then why did you even respond in the first place? Bex is the one who escalated the situation. Bex is the one who caused the fighting in the first place (by that I mean the fighting between the two that night, the fighting between antis and shaladins has been going on for as long as the show).

There we go. Now he have something resembling dignity. But unfortunately the damage was done, and user @lancehunks deleted their blog. As a direct response to Bex’s actions. Bex caused a 13 year old to leave tumblr.

When hearing this news, Bex offered a half-assed apology:

This is the most insincere apology I have ever seen. “The internet has Bad things on it and it’s YOUR fault for seeing them” is not an apology. The best part is that she’s a big fat hypocrite. “Sometimes, when it’s harmless, the best thing I can do is shake my head and keep scrolling.” So why didn’t you Bex? Why didn’t you keep scrolling instead of targeting a 13 year old?

In light of recent political events, though there’s one thing that stands out to me:

Sound like anybody you know? The esteemed President, perhaps?

*disclaimer* I am in no way claiming that Bex is a Trump supporter. I don’t know enough about her–and I don’t want to know enough about her–to know where she leans politically. I’m just drawing the attention to the similarities in moral equivalency going on, here.*

Sure you targeted a 13 year old and weaponized your fanbase, but someone tagging you in a snarky post is just as bad, right? (Wrong.)

You’d think that would be the end. You’d think that Bex would be capable of living and learning, or maybe even just taking her own advice, and keep scrolling. But here we go again.

The next bit of drama started when the possibly canon guide book was released, stating Keith’s age as 18. There was a big celebration on the shaladin side because technically, that would make it “legal” for Keith and Shiro to have sex. Besides the fact that legal ≠ moral, again, Voltron is a kid’s show. But on tumblr this time, Bex posted this.

This time, the discourse surrounding Bex was a little different., This time, the discourse mostly focused on the fact that even if Shiro and Keith disregarded canon and morals and the fact that it’s a kid’s show ever did get in a relationship, the only thing that matters is how they like to have sex.

This is a problem for a lot of reasons. There’s a culture, pretty prominent on tumblr of women, mostly white, who are obsessed with gay sex. They write fanfiction and p*rn solely for their own personal gratification. This, of course, is a gross misinterpretation to wanting LGBT+ representation. If you aren’t a mlm (an acronym for men-loving-man, that includes many sexualities) then writing p*rn about is sexualizing them, using them as a tool to get yourself off, and not like complex human people. Mlm are more than how they like to have sex. In fact, that shouldn’t be a part of a discussion for anybody except between willing partners. This also feeds into the popular and damaging stereotype that gay men are predatory by nature.

So, as a whole, not good.

And again, we have a whole situation escalated by Bex. The worst part is, to people who tried to explain this to her, the only response they were given was a gif:

So once again, a minor dared to express their distaste for Bex on tumblr. But this time, they didn’t tag her. This time, they censored her name. But Bex found it anyway. And she decided to do the exact same thing that led to a minor leaving the website, and to stop watching the show.

Have no fear, this time though. This time, Bex is going after a 14 year old, at least she’s not going after kids anymore, right? [sarcasm]

Some final notes.

Bex claims to be an LGBT+ rights activist. I’m also pretty sure she’s a lesbian herself (again, I already know too much about her, I’m not looking to get to know her better.) So, you’d think, as someone who wants equality for LGBT+ people and communities, she’d have the wherewithal to listen to specific subsets of that group when they say something about themselves, like, for example, young mlm who don’t appreciate being sexualized by a white woman. So I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I saw this on her blog:

Now, I happen to agree with the above statement, but it’s so ironic, so hypocritical that Bex is talking about the sexualization of anything. Because kid’s shows aren’t safe from her sexualization and mlm certainly aren’t. How can one person be so incredibly oblivious? A mystery that I don’t have any interest in solving.

I also want to address something a little more devious and a little more dark. I personally know of at least 12 different people who sent Bex asks, politely explaining some of the things I’ve talked about here, or relaying how her words hurt them personally. Bex never answered any of them. But she did answer this:

Just to be perfectly clear, I do not condone or encourage hatemail. Do not send people anything wishing them death or harm in any way. I have never sent nor do plan on sending hatemail, and you should be ashamed of yourself if you do.

However, this is incredibly nefarious. Bex doesn’t answer any of the many asks she got that were polite, but proved her wrong. She didn’t answer any of the young mlm who gave her their personal stories and who weren’t anonymous. Instead, she publishes this. And she did this on purpose, to make her look innocent, to make her look like she’s the one being attacked. I get hatemail every single day too. Things along similar lines to this. I block the user. Delete them, One, because I don’t want to expose my followers to that kind of negativity on a daily basis, two, a mature person knows that deleting them is the best kind of revenge because the user will be constantly looking for a response and they will know they had no effect on me and three, because if you do that, eventually they stop. This is intentional on Bex’s part to make the people who don’t like her look bad. I don’t like Bex at all, and I certainly do not support that message. Any reasonable person wouldn’t. Also the fact that it’s an anonymous message adds a certain air of doubt as to who sent it.

The point is, Bex is purposely ignoring polite and well-meaning people and posted this to “prove” she’s the one on the “good” side because no good person would send that message.

This is also worth noting:

This was posted after the lancehunks debate but before the power bottom comment she made. In this post, Bex admits that a relationship between Shiro and any of the paladins is predatory in nature. She said that. Her words. And then after that she said that Keith was a power bottom.

The last thing I want to say, is that Voltron is a kid’s show. It’s rated US-TV-Y7. Which means for years 7 and older. Regardless of the ship, there should be no sexual content, be it fanart, of fanfiction of Voltron characters at all. We are all collectively responsible for keeping content age-appropriate for the target audience. So, stop it. All and any ships.

For minors, this is my advice to you:Bex is a predator, a hypocrite, and a liar. Do not engage with her. Block her. Do not tag her in any of your posts. She has a history of targeting minors. Protect yourself. Do not engage.

#Unlike Bex I take my own advice and I have blocked her so she can't target me #but you never know with these ones #she can find a way #bex taylor klaus #anti bex #anti bex taylor klaus #voltron legendary defender #long post #anti shaladin #bexcourse

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