#international academy reputation

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

pairing ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is. Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

here is part two!

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A Challenge from Lobelia Girl's Academy!

The collar of your white button down carved into the skin of your neck, only cutting deeper each time you swallowed. The (s/c) of your suit set seemed like a good idea this morning, but now it blared at you from your peripheral, a warning of possible danger ahead. 

Room A326 was a bland one, only consisting of a podium, a projector, and your teacher perched neatly on a chair in the back. In the middle of the room, a long table sits three of your high school's most influential people, one of them being Chairman Suoh. The man’s blonde lashes flickered over you and Kyoya as each of you ran through your practiced dialogue, the presentation not suffering at all from your time apart. 

It was almost eerie, in fact, how easily the both of you fell into the groove of working together again, as if it was second nature. 

But the thing that made your nerves stand on end wasn’t the investors watching your every single move. It wasn’t the fact that you and Kyoya had barely gotten together maybe an hour or so before one of the biggest presentations of your life. And it wasn’t that that hadn’t gone very well. 

It was the fact that if you were shaken by just how natural this whole thing felt, working so fluidly together without so much as a word to each other in days, Kyoya was knocked off his feet. 

People who hadn’t known him for years wouldn’t have caught the tick in his jaw, or the long looks behind his frames when it was your turn to present a slide. He gripped his index cards a little too tightly, and his tie rose too high up on his neck, the material crinkling the fabric of his shirt. 

It appeared that you weren’t the only one about to burst at the seams because of how unfair it was. That the both of you had finally found someone that understood you both inside and out, made you feel comfortable in your own skin, supported you, brought you back to earth, and shared your ambitions and secrets. All for one petty, rotten, evil argument to bring it down like a gust of wind on a tower of cards. 

As you fixed the lapel on your blazer, you caught eyes with him again while he spoke. His gray irises quickly flitted to look somewhere else as he swallowed thickly, and you huffed through your nose. 

Rolling your eyes internally, you turn back to the projector, smiling for the investors while a million thoughts ran through your head. 

Why was he acting like this? He was the one that broke your heart, and he was too stubborn to apologize for it. He had only spoken to you when absolutely necessary, and ignored you after one of the most traumatic events of your life. You knew that that day on the cliff had been a shock to everyone, but everyone else had gotten over themselves.

You knew he had an ego bigger than Mount Fuji, but you had hoped you meant more to him than his reputation. 

Such a stupid thing, hope. 

“And that’s why this product should be dispersed globally.” You hear yourself saying, walking in a synchronized motion to the front of the podium alongside Kyoya. “It could change the lives of millions globally, and redefine what we label technology today.”

“Thank you for your time.” Kyoya’s voice resonates in the beige room, and as you both bow deeply, your presentation ends with a period written in black ink. 

Applause scatters throughout the room, but you swallow. The presentation was easy, planned. The hard part is what follows, answering questions. 

“Nicely done.” One of the investors says, a woman with streaks of gray in her black hair. “Your charts were extremely easy to digest, and very well organized.”

“Agreed.” The investor to Chairman Suoh’s left nods, fixing the glasses on top of his nose. “And your idea to use rising social media as a way to advertise your product is smart. Effective.” His voice is grumbling, barely audible behind his dangling jowls. 

You hitch your breath as Suoh hums, fixing his hands into a pyramid on the table, like a god about to give judgment. “The two of you have created something that could truly sell itself, and maybe become a staple in a household’s everyday life. It really could change the market for products like this.”

Kyoya’s lips stretch into his business smile. No dimples, no teeth, just kind, practiced eyes. “Thank you, Sensei, that means a great deal coming from –”

“...in theory.”

The smile drops. 

“Sir?” You ask, trying to drag your heart out of your stomach. 

Both of you turn to look at the Chairman as he reaches for his reading glasses, perching them on his face before glancing back down to his notes. “Isn’t that what this all is? Theory?”

“Absolutely not, Sensei.” Kyoya says, briskly walking back to his computer and bringing up the slides of the detailed plan he made to put this idea into production. “As stated previously, it would all start with the investments from–”

“Oh, please.” The Chairman dismisses Kyoya with a wave of his hand, almost laughing. “I admire the to-do list you have here, son, but it takes more than a checklist to get things off the ground. It takes research. It takes money.”

“The research is in production as we speak, sir.” You say, joining Kyoya at the computer to access your resources that you cited at the end of your slides. “While it is in the newer stages, the results have been consistent, even leading to brand new–”

“How many patented technologies have been made with this research?”

You swallow, the blue light from your screen being projected into your irises as you look up your friend’s father. “None, sir. This would be the first.”

“So it’s a risk.”

“It is.” Kyoya confirmed next to you, his lengthy form crossing to the side of the podium. “But what is reward without the risk?”

“A guaranteed one, Ootori.” Suoh clips, and he rests his reading glasses on the table.

“It might take some trials, Chairman Suoh, but you said it yourself.” You say, taking center stage. This could help millions, possibly even billions of people across the globe.”

“And how expensive is one of those trials?” He asks, his ego spilling from his chair. 

You swallow, and Kyoya meets your gaze before answering in a cold tone. “Seventy-five billion yen, Sensei. As stated.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear you say it again.” The billionaire chuckles, along with the two other investors as they shake their heads, as if that amount of money could even put a dent in their personal checking accounts, let alone their savings. 

Then, his face falls gently, and Suoh’s violet eyes pierce into yours, but they don’t hold the same warmth that Tamaki’s do. Just the judgment. Just the cold. 

“(L/n)-san. Would you spend seventy-five billion yen on a risk?”

The collar of your shirt suddenly isn’t a smooth blade. It’s a jagged knife, tearing your skin and cutting through your windpipe as you force yourself to think. How could you be so smart and not be able to defend this project that you had poured your blood sweat and tears into?

Can you even recover from this? From the doubt that is clearly in the scowls of the investors in front of you, the disappointed frown from your teacher in the back. How could you show your face to Tamaki again, after his father had humiliated you so thoroughly? And Kyoya, god knows Kyoya is raging inside his ice-cold demeanor. 

If there was ever a chance that your relationship would go back to the way it was, it was drowning in whatever vengeful emotion the Shadow King was feeling. You’re sure you’d make it back to the club room tonight and see your uniform folded neatly on a table, a note written in perfect cursive telling you, curtly, to get the hell out of his sight. 

“Respectfully, Sensei. If I may.”  Kyoya’s voice rings amongst your spiraling, and you’re pulled back into reality as he places a hand on your shoulder. You even feel him give you a gentle squeeze, causing you to let out the breath you have been holding. 

“We can agree that seventy-five billion yen does sound like a large sum. And, yes, it is risky to bet on a product that is based on theory and predictions, therefore leaving the end result undetermined.”

Kyoya paused, and you watched as Suoh’s smirk just grew larger, nearly showing his canines in the process. “But hasn’t that been the start of all revolutionary businesses around the world? We all know that Apple Inc. started in a garage, but did you know the same was true for Amazon? Google?”

Kyoya’s back was turned to you as he began to speak to these investors like equals, his potential lighting up the room like an upcoming star. 

“The same can be said for Blockbuster.” The woman said, tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear. “Or MySpace. Blackberry.”

“All startups that ultimately failed in the long run.” The man added on, a permanent frown on his face as he analyzed the straight-A student in front of him. 

“Because they couldn’t adapt.” Kyoya emphasized. “Our product is not only revolutionary, it’s evolutionary, and will change with the ages.” 

“It may be a large investment, but it’s a worthy one.” You speak up, feeling supported under the confidence of the Ootori son’s words. 

“I believe in this product. I believe in us as spearheads for this technology. This project will not fail with the two of us overseeing the development.” You say, gesturing between yourself and the suited host next to you. 

“You two do work well together…” Suoh surmised, his cocky grin twisted into a slight frown. 

You swallow the emotion you feel, playing the angle that you know will get the best response. “In the years I have come to know Kyoya, he has never once gave up on something he believes in. He is always going after what he wants with the finesse and ambition that anyone would want to have on their team.” 

Kyoya brings his fist up to his throat, clearing it before fixing his lenses. “And I could say the same for (Y/n). Her creative intelligence and determination in her work is unmatched, making her not only an asset to this product, but also to Ouran as a whole.” 

You look at him then, catching the way the veins in his jaw pulsed under the stress. His posture was straight, hands clasped in front of him maybe a little too tightly as he finished his praise. 

He’s practically shaking, breaking his own pride to admit that he needs you. Believes in you, just as he always had. And that breaks something in you as well. 

“Fine then, you two can talk to the investor panel at the end of this year.” Suoh grunts, earning the slow nods of the other two judges. 

You whip your head around and smile brightly, taking a deep breath to thank him before he holds up a finger. 

“However, there will be conditions. Find solid research that dilutes the risk of getting it produced.” He stands, the rest of them following suit as they begin to pack their things. 

“Yes sir.” You say, vowing to do whatever you can to get your idea off the ground. 

“And find a way to lessen the price. No matter how much you believe in something, it doesn’t change the price tag.” 

“Of course.” Kyoya acquiesces. 

Sighing with his briefcase in hand, Suoh is the last one out the door, on his way back to his office for the rest of the school day. He looks back at the two of you with his mouth in a straight line, but you can see a little bit of pride in his violet eyes. 

“Congratulations, you two. We will be in touch.” 

With that, he closed the door behind him, leaving both you and Kyoya with bewildered stares as his disappearing form. 

“So…” You start, creasing your brows. “That went well. Right?”

The megane’s eyes shot to yours, before shaking his head once. “Not even close.”

“I mean, maybe it started out rocky, but we got the deal!” 

“Barely.” Kyoya cuts your excitement in half. “We barely were able to pass through to the investor panel because our project was flawed.”

“It couldn’t have been perfect the first try.”

“It would’ve been better if you had answered the question decently, instead of standing there frozen.”

You stand there, shocked. “If I had answered honestly, the panel would’ve been discouraged against production. I was trying to find a way to-”

“Saying anything at all would’ve been better than letting the Chairman’s question hang in the air.” 

Scoffing, you turn your back to him, shoving your laptop back into its case. “Well, everything turned out okay. You saved it with the connections to some of the biggest companies in the world, you should be proud.” Distaste leaked from your tone.

You hear the click of his briefcase echo as he packs his things, the lifeless room surrounding you. “I can’t save you everytime.”

Your hands pause, hovering over the zipper of your purse. The room is silent then, only the ruffling of clothes and the pounding of your heart making any noise. Your mouth is dry as you close your eyes, willing the rage and sadness that you feel to go away, just go away as a dark voice plays in your mind. 

Stop it. Stop it, (Y/n). Don’t do this to me. 

A briefcase clicks shut right as your zipper closes your purse, and you curse whoever made you and Kyoya forever in sync. 

“Is that what this is about?” The tension strains your vocal chords as you ask, but you don’t turn to face him.

He isn’t looking at you either when he swallows. “It’s complicated.”

Nodding, you pull your purse onto your shoulder, and Kyoya barely has time to react before you’re furiously brushing past him. 

“Let me make it less complicated for you, then. Since everything else is.” Your voice is cold as you push open the exit, still avoiding eye-contact. “You won’t have to save me anymore.”

Your shoes clack as you fly out the door. 

Kyoya heaved off his glasses slowly, rubbing his eyes and the indentions that his frames had made on his nose. 

“Christ, Ootori.” He mumbled to himself, running his hand down his face. 

Why couldn’t he let you go?

Multiple people had made him angry to the point that he had cut off all contact with him, but it had never left him feeling so empty, so desperate for what was lost. 

The director justified that it was because you were everywhere. He couldn’t get over your relationship because he saw you everytime he stepped into school, into the club he built. You were in his classes, his extracurriculars, your contact was pinned to the top of his messaging app (purely for easier access, of course). Your name was even signed on the same documents he had to fill out for his father because of the damned partnership between your two families. 

He just couldn’t get rid of you. Physically or mentally. 

Not only were you an active presence on campus grounds, but in the late hours of the night he saw your face smiling down at him in the sunlight, your laugh rang in his ears when he made a sarcastic comment. 

He saw you disappear over a cliff’s edge. 

His heart spiked and he threw on his glasses once more, sharply exiting the presentation room. He willed himself not to dwell on how things used to be, just what they were now. You had been reckless, so reckless that you could’ve been seriously injured. The pain he would’ve felt if somehow you hadn’t come back from that, or if your injuries were greater…it scared him.

All that feeling, the attachment, the wanting. It terrified him. 

“No, Mom, I just–I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Your voice trailed along the empty hallways of the business building. School was still in session, but it was between periods. Everyone was in their classes. 

Kyoya froze and expected you to be around the corner, fully prepared to turn the other way. But when you weren’t there, he listened again.

“I don’t think I want to stay here.” Dark eyebrows furrowed as he followed the echo to the women’s bathroom. Hearing you stutter and interrupt your mother made him lean against the wall outside the door. 

“No, I know Ouran's the best, I know. And I really like it here. It’s just…” He heard you take in a breath while he held his own. “It’s getting too difficult. Were you able to send over the blank transfer application? To Lobelia?”

Kyoya’s head dropped against the wall as he suppressed a groan. Immediately, his body pushed off the wall, and soon he was walking quickly down the hallway. The afternoon sun traced his body through the exposed windows as he took tight turns, his long legs putting in their work as he jogged up the carpeted steps. 

His head and his heart were at war as they both pounded on his way to Music Room #3. Just let her go, his mind yelled, then you can be free from whatever feeling she is holding over you.

But what would your life be, his heart cried, without her?

Kyoya busted through the pink doors, alight and tie slightly askew.

He clears his throat as he adjusts the tie, storming up to a surprised Tamaki. 

“Kyo, hey. Is your presentation over? How did it g-”

“Will it work?”

“Will what work?” The blonde stands at his full height. 

“Your plan to keep Haruhi and (Y/n) here at Ouran. Will it work?”

“Of course it will.” Tamaki gets a knightly gleam in his eye, pounding his fist into his palm. “We just need to do a few more things.”

“Leave it to me.” Kyoya states, his lenses flashing. “How can I be of service?”

The crowd around you cheers as you hug your middle. The Zuka Club performs gloriously on the stage in front of you, your front seat perspective making them seem larger than they actually are. And, you have to admit, their pompous, look-at-me attitudes are really helping their cause here. They are great actors. 

Benio, Chizuru, and Hinako all move fluidly to their final positions, getting ready to set off the performance's grand finale. 

“Lo~”

“Bel~”

“Li~”

“A~!” 

The cheers get even louder, and you wince at the noise. Sighing, you look around at the crazed fans with hearts for eyes, wondering if this will really be the kind of people you will go to school with. 

Not like they are any different from the fan girls at Ouran.

As the Zuka Club descends from the stage, a fan bumps into you as they try to get closer to the stage, knocking the enclosed letter out of your hand. You scurry to pick it up, praying that nobody steps on it as the crowd disperses. Your fingers are just about to wrap around the cream-colored paper before a lithe, manicured palm picks it up. 

“What’s this?” Benibara’s smooth voice rings in your ears as you watch her read the front. 

“Hey, wait, that’s not for you-” You scramble, but the squeal of Hinako’s excitement stops you from speaking. 

“Oh my god! You’re transferring to Lobelia?!” She jumps, hands over her mouth.

“No!” Your voice cracks at the volume, and you bring it down as you clear your throat. “I was just…thinking about it. The forms are blank.”

“Well, thinking is over, maiden.” Chizuru smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. “You are wanting to become one of us! Isn’t that great, girls?”

“Don’t get too excited,” A warning laces your tone as you pull away from the blonde. “I was just thinking about it. I’m not sure I’ll even get in.”

“Please, beauty.” Beni says, spinning you as she and her gang begin to walk back into the halls of Ouran. “If you were intelligent enough to be accepted into Ouran High School, then you will be just as openly invited to join Lobelia Academy.” 

“Are you saying that Ouran has better academics?” You say, raising an eyebrow at the hand on the small of your back.

“Absolutely not!” Hinako scoffs. “Lobelia is the best in every wa-”

“Admittedly, yes.” The leader’s voice dips, and you can tell it pains her to have Ouran be the best at something. “But our grades have always placed second.”

And isn’t that where you should be?, you think as you pace back to the Music Room, somewhere that accepts second place? 

“Oh, hello there, young maiden.” Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, Benio calls to a figure that rounded a corner, unfortunately crossing the path of you and the Zuka Club. 

You see Haruhi whip her short hair around, eyes widening as she makes eye contact with the three girls in maroon skirts, before meeting yours. 

“Oh, hi ladies. Hey, (Y/n).” She waves, waiting for you to catch up to her. She eyes the way Benio’s hand guides your back. 

“You shouldn’t call her a maiden in public.” You hiss at the girls, pulling away from them for a second time. “It could raise the wrong idea.”

“Not for long.” Beni smiles, a song of victory in her inflection. “Are you prepared to leave, Haruhi?”

A confused look crosses over her visage. “Leave?”

Chizuru nods. “Yes! With (Y/n) on our side, we are prepared to confront those boys and set things straight once and for all.”

“What do you mean ‘set things straight’? (Y/n)? What are they talking about?”

“This, beauty.” Benio says, and to your horror, hands her the transfer forms she had stolen from you.  Haruhi’s brown eyes go wide, her intelligence making it so she connects the dots at a lightning speed. 

“No, no Haruhi, I promise, it’s not what you think.”

That makes her even more perplexed. “So, you’re not transferring to Lobelia?”

“She sure is.” Hinako nods, a smirk coming onto her face.

“All she has to do is sign, and we will-”

“Stop. Just, stop for a second and listen to me.” You’re begging at this point, already seeing the hurt sink into Haruhi’s eyes. 

“You three, shut up.” Pointing at the Zuka Club, you drag them to the otherside of the hallway. “Stay here while I talk to Haruhi.” 

You begin to move before you hear shuffling behind you, so you whip around, glaring. “In private.”

The Zuka Club just roll their eyes, but they turn anyway.

Turning back, you swallow when you see Haruhi has her mouth in a thin line, but you’re so grateful that she is reasonable enough to let you explain. 

“Haruhi, I’m not transferring.” You pause, taking a breath. “Yet.”

“Yet?” 

Taking the letter out of her hands, you straighten out the crinkled paper. “I was going to bring this to the meeting today to let everyone know that I was going to apply. I didn’t want you all to be blindsided.”

“Yeah, well. I feel pretty blindsided right now.” Haruhi scoffs, crossing her arms. “(Y/n), what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know! I just, I’m trying to fix things. And I keep making it worse. I thought that if I just left, things would get better on their own.”

“With us?”

You almost whine at the hurt look she gives you, like a hesitant deer coming out into the sun. “No, no, that’s not it. I love you, I love being your friend.”

And you realized you did. You had missed the silent support she gives you through your times of anxiety and stress, but you had been pushing her away because you were sad and angry. 

“I-I know I haven’t been around recently, and I really don’t want to talk about why.” You bite the inside of your lip again. “But I know that I want to be better, so I thought…”

“You thought leaving would help you be around more?” Haruhi asks, an exasperated smile highlighting her cheekbones. 

“...Yes? When you put it like that, it sounds stupid.” You chuckle. 

Haruhi shakes her head, punching you lightly in the shoulder. “That’s because it is.”

You stare at the ground for a minute before see her shift her weight. “Look, I don’t know what’s bothering you. But I won’t press.” The honor student holds her hands in a mock-surrender. “But I do want to be here for you. Just like you are for me.” 

Your eyes meet hers again, brown crashing with (e/c), and it’s warm and sisterly. “Let me do that for you.”

A stuttering breath keeps your tears of joy at bay. “Yeah, yeah. I will.” You smile wetly. “I’m sorry.”

Haruhi just hums, taking the envelope in her hands and ripping it in half. “Yeah, you should be.” She finishes with a smile. 

A disappointed Zuka Club meets you back at the clubroom’s entrance. 

You quirk an eyebrow at them. “You eavesdropped, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but we still haven’t heard Haruhi’s answer!” Chizuru exclaims.

Haruhi rolls her eyes. “Actually-”

“Nope! No time!” Benio rushes, pushing Haruhi through the doors as you follow behind. “Let’s show them that you, maiden, should come to school with us and be with your own kind!”

But all of them freeze. 

Stepping around them, you see their pale faces. Confused brows scrunching, you follow their eyeline to see colors and makeup, wigs and dresses and then-

Holy shit. 

Kyoya’s wearing a corset. 

“Ouran~!”

“Ouran~!”

“Ouran~!”

Off-key harmonization rings throughout the room, making sure to dampen the name Music Room #3. A bright light suddenly comes up on Tamaki, draped in a red gown with blonde extensions wrapped into a high ponytail. Red lipstick floods his mouth as he sings, posing in his very own spotlight. 

“Host Club welcomes you~!”

There’s silence as you scan each and every one of your hosts. The twins look elegant, Honey is just darling, and Mori is dashing in his blue suit. Kyoya is perched on the couch, a fan in one hand as his purple dress cascades over his long legs. 

Their makeup is terrible, their hair is hanging by a bobby pin on their heads, and once you and Haruhi meet eyes, it’s all over. The two of you double over laughing, clutching your sides as you collapse to the ground. 

Benio is raging, smoke practically coming out of her ears. “What is the meaning of this? Are you trying to make fun of womenkind?!”

Tamaki gasps dramatically. “Absolutely not.” He begins to make his way over to you, his ankles bending as he fails to walk in heels, making you laugh even harder. “My dears, you all have lived sheltered lives, and may not know that Haruhi and (Y/n) like free things.”

In the midst of your tears, Tamaki gathers his voice, raising his voice a few octaves which makes you wheeze. “You ladies may be distracted by the Zuka Club, but choose us! And you will not only gain a club of brothers, but sisters as well! See?”

He bats his false eyelashes, the glue coming off the edge of his eyelid. “Aren’t I pretty?”

The Hitachiin Twins pop out, and you and Haruhi can finally stand. “We’re the Hitachiian sisters! We’re just teasing you.” They giggle like girls, a hand over their lips. 

Honey-senpai prances about. “Listen, (N/n)-chan, Haru-chan, call me big sis, okay?” He asks, big eyes staring up at you as Mori taps his tambourine. 

You looked expectantly at Kyoya to pose, flounce, do something, but you smirk when he just rolls his purple-shadowed eyes, his fan covering his face. 

“Do you idiots really think you can win them over like this? I mean–”

But Tamaki’s head piece tilted off his head, floating to the ground, and it made both the honor students crack up again.

“Oh my god, I can’t breathe. I’m dying!” You cry, trying to catch your breath. 

“This is too much! I don’t even know what you are trying to do?” Haruhi adds, and your laughter sings across the pink walls. 

“You really think we’re that funny?” The twins come up to the both of you, purposefully swaying their hips. It breaks you down, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. The twins lunge at you and start chasing you, only for them to stumble as they run in heels. They try to catch you around your middle, your tears of joy flying back behind you.

“Maiden, what is your decision?” Benio gets Haruhi’s attention as they watch you three run around, and Haruhi just shakes her head. 

“I’m sorry, but your club’s not for me. I think your school is great, but I came to Ouran with a goal and a plan for my future. I don’t think I was ever going to really leave Ouran.”

“Haruhi~!” Tamaki practically melts, violet eyes glistening as he twirls over to her. But then, he stops suddenly, pointing at her with an accusatory grimace. It was hard to take seriously. 

“Wait, if you knew you weren’t going to leave, then why did you act all angry yesterday?”

Haruhi put her hands on her hips. “How would you feel if I took something of yours without asking? I really liked that pencil!”

“But I asked if you wanted my teddy bear pencil in return and you refused!” The prince whined, bringing the pencil back out from the confines of his skirt. 

“That’s right, and I still don’t want it.” She says blandly, causing Tamaki to whimper. 

Throughout the chaos, the Zuka Club stands.

“Um, Benio…” Chizuru starts. “Maybe we should-”

“Yes, I know.” The leader of the Zuka Club sighs, a frown creasing her handsome features. “We are not going to give up on you maidens! I swear, someday, we will come and rescue you from this place!”

No one is paying attention. Benio growls, spinning around and mumbling to herself as they walk out of the clubroom. 

“And when we do, we will abolish the host club.”

The afternoon’s session ends with a bang. The guests loved the get-ups and the dresses, absolutely swooning over every host in the room. But now, as the chaos dies down and things are being cleaned up, you square your shoulders. 

I deserve to be here. You think over and over, and it lightens the weight on your chest. I deserve to be here, to be happy and to get answers. I deserve to try. 

Taking a sharp breath, you find a tall form, black hair a little messy from the absence of a wig as Kyoya reaches behind his back, struggling with the strings on his corset. 

“Need help?” You ask gently, but he still jumps, his head turning ever-so-slightly to look over his shoulder. 

A deep sigh rumbles through his chest, and you see the tips of red that color his ears. “Unfortunately.” He admits.

A small chuckle breaks through your lips, and your fingers begin to work the strings of the corset off of him, brushing against the button-up shirt he kept underneath. 

Looking up, you realize that he is impossibly taller than usual. “You’re still wearing the heels?” He is standing straight, perfectly balanced as if he immediately mastered the art of wearing them.

“I couldn’t bend over to take them off with this corset suffocating me. I don’t know how women ever wore these monstrosities.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” You laugh, and the tension eases slightly, both in the air and on the straps of his corset as the piece comes undone, and you step away. 

He steps out of it and sighs into a chair, pulling his ankle onto his knee to work on the strap on the shoe. You bite the inside of your lip, shifting your weight on your feet a little-

“You need to stop doing that at some point. It’s a bad habit. ” Kyoya’s voice interrupts your awkward shuffling and you stand straighter, looking up at him.

“Doing what?”

“The lip-biting.” He says, not even looking at you as he ties his own dress shoes into place. “If you have something to say, then say it. Don’t sacrifice the integrity of your lips just because your anxious.”

“Right.” You release your lip from between your teeth, a small smile being placed on them instead. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trying to keep me here at Ouran.”

His gray eyes flick up at you as he works his laces for a brief moment before he nods. “I think everyone would agree that you are an asset to this organization.”

“And for speaking to me again.”

This time his foot drops off his knee, and he is looking up at you from his seat. It’s as if he’s realizing he has subtly lifted his cold shoulder. 

“Yes, well, I thought that maybe, if you weren’t going to apologize, it was time.”

“Uh huh.” You tease, crossing your arms. “Because my pestering did nothing to push that along?”

He simply pushes up his glasses. “Your presence is quite grating.”

A smile pushes it way to your mouth before you can stop it, and soon you are pulling it back, remembering why you came over here. 

“Look, I know you’re mad at me.”

“Because you were unsafe, reck–”

“Reckless, stupid, yes I know.” You finish for him before he can repeat what he berated you for on the beach. “But, I’m mad at you, too.”

His shoulder straighten at that. “Wh–”

“I,” You sigh, holding up a finger. “I can’t tell you why. Not yet. But I just wanted to say, if we are going to be mad at each other without trying to fix it, then we need to set some ground rules.”

His sharp features deadpanned. “And what, (Y/n), would those be?”

“You can’t call me stupid. We both know that I’m not” Assertiveness races through your voice, and you see him wince at the memory of him doing just that.

“We have to talk to each other. It doesn’t have to be as…constant, as it was.” You swallow, and the atmosphere depresses just a little. “But we have to be communicative.”

“Except when you don’t want to talk about something? How is that fair?” The businessman pushes, leaning his elbows onto his bent knees. 

“I told you I will. When I’m ready. I know you might not think so, but I deserve that.” You can tell that Kyoya wants to retort, but one look from you, and it dies in his throat.

“And lastly,” Your voice loses that harsh, dictatorial tone, growing softer as you watch him intently. “I want you to know that I’m thankful you took that dive for me.”

Kyoya stops blinking, those calm gray clouds switching between each of your pupils. 

“I don’t know what it ruined, but I’m sad that what I did broke whatever was, or what I thought was possibly…growing between us. But I will forever be grateful that I had a friend like you who would jump off a cliff for me.” You take a beat, grasping at your hands. 

“That’s it.” Looking back up, you see Kyoya looking at you with the warmth that you thought you had lost, but then it’s gone as he shakes his head. “I’ll see you around.”

Spinning on your heel, your shoes clack across the tile before you hear Kyoya’s voice call out behind you. “(Y/n).”

Turning, you look at him, standing with a loosely buttoned shirt, his voice floating through the air. 

“You’re welcome.”

Next Time on Lavender Roses

“Is Haruhi really suffering in poverty? I have to see for myself!”

“She is probably fine, we don’t need to go over.” 

“Wait, (Y/n), how did you know about that?”

Day in the Life of the Fujioka Family!

thank you again for being patient! let me know what you think in the comments!

if you would like to be in the taglist, please go to the taglist link and comment underneath it!

love you :)

[howi99]

Prince of Vale 6

Meeting with Ironwood

Ironwood: *entering the headmaster office, saluting Jaune* I came as soon as i could, your majesty.

Jaune: *saluting back* General Ironwood, your punctuality is greatly appreciated. Did headmaster Ozpin give you a round down of the situation?

Ironwood: *sigh, shaking his head in disappointment* He did, yes. Jacques misconduct towards you was both an insult to your authority and to our alliance.

Jaune: *nod* Indeed. *Sigh, taking a seat and inviting Ironwood to do the same* As you must know, his demands cannot be acknowledged, as the Royal family is strictly prohibited from political marriage, with only a few exceptions.

Ironwood: *taking a seat, acquiescing* I am well aware you majesty. The law was implemented so the king or queen wouldn't be influenced by foreign interest. The exceptions being of course nobles from your own country or the rulers family of another nation.

Jaune: Yes. And Jacques claims that as one of the ruling oligarch's family of Atlas, his demands are in conformity with the second exception.

Ironwood: *sigh* And as you probably know, the Schnee family was one of the cadet branches of the Mantleese royal family. His claims are legitimate.

Jaune: *shaking his head* If he was a Schnee of birth. Jacques Gelé has no legitimate right to demand I marry one of his daughters. Willow is the one who has authority on that matter, even if she delegated her duty. And he knows that, hence why he is using his monopoles of the Dust industry as leverage.

Ironwood: *pensive* ... And you want me to pressure him out of the idea, i presume?

Jaune: Indeed. You might not be one of the Oligarchs, but you have your reputation and two seats at the council.

Ironwood: ... *Sigh* The huntsman academy and the military are greatly dependent on dust. You have to understand that i cannot go against him.

Jaune: *looking serious* James, the entirety of Solitas is dependent on food importation from Vale. Should i remind you how your country lost the Great war and the Faunus war?

Ironwood: *angrily* Your majesty, you cannot be serious! You would starve my people for a marriage!?

Jaune: *shaking his head* Of course not. I wouldn't do something so drastic for a reason this stupid.

Ironwood: Then why are you-

Jaune: *cutting him* But the nobles can certainly cut their exportation in sign of protest. And i can't go against their wills General. *Looking at the ground* I am young, inexperienced and i have no power over internal affairs for the next 4 years. *Shaky breaths* They are bickering now and one wrong move could mean a civil war.

Ironwood: I... See. *Sigh* The best i can do is show no support at the meeting.

Jaune: *nod* It is plenty enough.

Ironwood: Was there anything else?

Jaune: *shaking his head* Nothing to do with you, except if you can magically fix the Faunus discrimination problems of Mistral.

Ironwood: If i could have done that, i would have fixed my country first...

[whiskeylover75]

Sophia Loren, born Sofia Villani Scicolone on September 20, 1934, in Rome, Italy, rose from humble beginnings to become one of the most celebrated actresses of her era. Growing up in poverty during World War II, Loren’s beauty and ambition propelled her into the world of modeling and beauty pageants. Her big break came when she caught the eye of producer Carlo Ponti, who became her mentor and later her husband. Under his guidance, Loren transitioned to film, gaining recognition in Italian cinema before achieving international stardom with films like "The Pride and the Passion" (1957) and "Houseboat" (1958).

Loren’s talent for blending sensuality with emotional depth was showcased in "Two Women" (1960), for which she won the Academy Award for Best Actress, becoming the first performer to win an Oscar for a foreign-language film. Her subsequent collaborations with directors such as Vittorio De Sica and co-stars like Marcello Mastroianni solidified her reputation as a cinematic icon. Loren’s performances in films such as "Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow" (1963) and "Marriage Italian Style" (1964) highlighted her versatility and enduring appeal.

Throughout her career, Sophia Loren maintained a balance between Hollywood success and her roots in Italian cinema. She received numerous accolades, including an honorary Academy Award in 1991. Even in her later years, Loren continued to captivate audiences, embodying grace and resilience. Her life story serves as an inspiring testament to overcoming adversity and achieving greatness.

[mightdeletelater]

A speech made at the Academy Awards by Jonathan Glazer, along with the subsequent reactions, sheds light on how people tend to distort others' words to portray themselves as victims and, more concerning, their willingness to reside in a dystopian bubble as long as it doesn't affect them directly.

Rather than idolising Hollywood, I've previously posted about the complexities of my evolving parasocial relationships. But to disregard the influence wielded by these elites would be naive. It's frustrating to witness those in power facing backlash when they attempt to bring attention to pertinent issues.

While the Oscars' prominence in Western pop culture is waning, the ceremony and the fervour surrounding the nominees and winners, especially in the major acting categories, still hold significant sway in film culture and the broader world.

So when such a speech is delivered at the Oscars, it's bound to garner attention:

All our choices were made to reflect and confront us in the present — not to say, “Look what they did then,” rather, “Look what we do now.” Our film shows where dehumanization leads, at its worst. It shaped all of our past and present. Right now we stand here as men who refute their Jewishness and the Holocaust being hijacked by an occupation, which has led to conflict for so many innocent people. Whether the victims of October the — [Applause.] Whether the victims of October the 7th in Israel or the ongoing attack on Gaza, all the victims of this dehumanization, how do we resist? [Applause.] Aleksandra Bystroń-Kołodziejczyk, the girl who glows in the film, as she did in life, chose to. I dedicate this to her memory and her resistance. Thank you.

Glazer highlighted in his speech that victims of the ongoing situation and the last 75 years, whether Palestinian and Israeli, all stem from the occupation and are casualties of entrenched ideologies like Zionism. But when he said this on stage and was immediately misquoted online on social media and by reputable news sources, alleging that he simply renounced his Jewish identity.

He also faced considerable backlash from those indicating a persistent conflation of anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism. It really parallels previous speeches of resistance at the Oscars. Boos rang loud and clear during Michael Moore's opposition to the Iraq war (which we know was a colossal failure by Geroge Bush and the US Government who perpetuated and pardoned multiple war crimes in the region after lying to their own people about evidence of weapons of mass destruction).

There was also Sacheen Littlefeather's advocacy for Native American representation and the direct of attention to the Wounded Knee Occupation, a speech that had bodyguards having to restrain people from getting on the stage and attacking her.

And, of course, Vanessa Redgrave's aim at “a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums whose behaviour is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world and to their great and heroic record of struggle against fascism and oppression”, which still feels relevant today.

Turning to Glazer's film, I am baffled at those who vehemently objected to it: Did they actually watch it? Because if they had any negative feelings towards Glazer's speech, especially after watching his film, it suggests, to me, a deficiency in critical thinking.

Glazer's film portrays a chilling atmosphere where genocide becomes normalised, echoing real-world situations like the ongoing conflict in Gaza. The film serves as a stark reminder of humanity's ability to coexist with atrocities, often turning a blind eye for the sake of comfort.

The horrors adjacent to the characters' lives evoke contemporary parallels, particularly in regions like Gaza. With over five months of relentless violence, Israel's defiance of international court orders, and Western governments passively reprimanding while fueling the conflict with arms shipments, the spectre of genocide looms ominously. It risks becoming a mundane backdrop to daily existence. It is a stark portrayal of how affluent lifestyles can be linked to neighbouring atrocities, challenging the notion of denial and complicity.

The film doesn't centre around the Holocaust (Glazer's own words), with its specific historical context. Instead, it delves into a more universal theme: humanity's ability to coexist with atrocities and even derive some form of reconciliation or gain from them. The discomforting reflections are on purpose. It prompts us to acknowledge that the threat of annihilation of any people is always closer than we might imagine.

One of the most poignant moments in the film occurs when a package filled with clothing and lingerie pilfered from the prisoners of the camp arrives at the Höss household. The commandant's wife decides that everyone, including the servants, can select one item. She claims a coat for herself and trys on makeup discovered in one of its pockets.

How can the people who are so staunch against Glazer not draw parallels with Israeli soldiers who have recorded themselves rummaging through the lingerie of Palestinian women and slut shaming them? (Why are Israeli soldiers obsessed with Gaza women's underwear?) Or proudly displaying stolen shoes and jewellery for their partners back home (Israeli soldier loots Palestinian homes for his engagement party). Or celebrating International Women's Day with a photo of women soldiers posing for selfies against the backdrop of destruction (How an AP photographer made this image of Israeli soldiers taking a selfie at the Gaza border).

The film is rife with these parallels that it feels like a documentary. It is a grim reality: the potential emergence of the first live-streamed genocide, captured by its very architects.

Gaza doesn't mirror the systematic mass murder machinery of Auschwitz, nor does it approach the scale of Nazi atrocities. However, the entire purpose behind establishing the postwar framework of international humanitarian law was to equip us with the means to collectively recognise practices before history repeats itself on a large scale. And disturbingly, some of these practices – such as the construction of walls, creation of ghettos, mass killings, openly stated intentions of elimination, widespread starvation, plundering, gleeful dehumanisation, and deliberate humiliation – are recurring. And have been long before October 7th.

How do we disrupt the cycle of trivialisation and normalisation? What actions can we take? There are persistent protests and acts of civil disobedience to "uncommitted" votes, disrupting events, organising aid convoys, fundraising for refugees, and creating radical works of art.

And as genocide fades further into the background of our culture, some people grow too desperate for any of these efforts. I am certainly one of them.

Yet, these efforts seem insufficient, particularly when those in positions of power remain indifferent. It's insufficient when I watch a video of a little girl saying that the violence has made her feel less beautiful before she talks about her father being kidnapped by Israeli soldiers or of the orphans visiting their mother's burial spot in the street. It is insufficient when the death toll rises to exceed the daily death toll of any other major conflict of the 21st century.

Perhaps it's unfair of me to prioritise one tragedy over another, given the multitude of suffering in the world – the ones that are in the news cycle and the ones that are not. Yet, my connection to Palestine and its plight feels as personal as it can be without me actually being Palestinian, fostered from childhood teachings and further enriched through my own research. I have loved ones directly impacted by this conflict: friends in the diaspora grappling with survivor's guilt, friends in the West Bank enduring the daily hardships of occupation. And my friends in Gaza are all either dead, dying or being pushed straight into the arms of death.

The realisation that my efforts to help them are insufficient fills me with frustration. I'm angered by the indifference of those in power and by the hostility encountered by those attempting to bring the truth to the forefront.

[ballet-symphonie]

Which ballet companies and which ballet schools you consider to be currently world best? I see often Paris Opera listed as a number one, but who much this is about because of its reputation and history and what do you think about Mariinsky and Bolshoi, is their level declined / declining? Thank you for really interesting and great blog!

The companies referred to as the best tend to be the oldest and historic ones, think big national companies like The Royal Ballet, Paris Opera, Bolshoi, Mariinsky, La Scala, Dutch National Ballet, Australian National Ballet, National Ballet of Canada, New York City Ballet, American Ballet Theater, San Francisco Ballet. Nowadays, I think its very hard to compete with the quality, emotional pull, and technical brilliance that comes out of the Royal Opera.

About Schools:

There are lots of good ones, Academie Princess Grace has to be near the top of the list. It's a finishing school, not a foundational one, but nearly everyone who graduates from there gets a job at a reputable company. They are also one of the few schools that has prioritized keeping its curriculum at the forefront of the dance world with a fantastic contemporary and neoclassical program.

I'm consistently impressed with the level of Royal Ballet graduates who have the skills and stability to rock up to any company and instantly demand attention. Look at Takumi Miyaki at ABT right now.

The level of talent coming out of South Korea in particular is absolutely stunning, schools like SunHwa, the YeWon School, and Korea National Arts University are producing complete, company-ready dancers left and right. Through the competition circuit, these schools are slowly starting to gain more international prestige.

I think BBA/MRAX has been in a state of disarray for a while now. Far less competent graduates, due to a lot of internal messiness in administration and a decrease in the rigor of acceptance with many 'paid' places. The level is just not there, especially if you go back and watch videos of exams from the 90s and 2000s. Now sure, many are still getting accepted into Bolshoi, but with the war....there isn't exactly a lot of choice in hiring. There are occasionally some bright lights, Kokoreva being the most notable recent grad, but they seem to be a rarity and not the norm.

Vaganova under Tsiskaridze has generally continued to produce decent female graduates- if you want to live and work in Russia. I pray Tsiskaridze goes back to coaching or teaching boys because the classwork shown by his class of girls left a lot to be desired. I think there are many better places to train for men, particularly after the retirement of some of the older, more experienced faculty. The casting in Mariinsky is already beginning to reflect this drop-off, performances are dominated by Kimin Kim, Nikita Korneyev, and Even Capitane, Timor Askerov - none of whom are VBA graduates. They've also been hiring graduates from Eifman- something they certainly weren't doing a decade ago. Compare their current videos to some of the talented students coming out of the US, Europe and South America...the level isn't always there. I'd urge a talented male student to consider John Cranko, Tanz Academie Zurich, or the Royal Ballet School. Stateside, Houston Ballet, The Rock School, and San Francisco Ballet have excellent programs.

[agentc0rn]

Another Pretty Long Character Analysis: Kieran and Nemona - Strength

disclaimer: not claiming this to be objective, just another writing piece full of thoughts done for fun because Kieran is such an interesting, in depth character ever

Okay so I mentioned this in my older post about kieran being the foil of nemona and their shared struggles with being at the top, socially excluded, and how strength as social arbiter displaced them in social settings. Like Kieran, Nemona became overly strong that no one wanted to compete and keep up with. Her passion is misread because of that plus the top statuses she holds as a wealthy multi-talented, high-achieving student. She is a good person and true to herself (her naivety to social cues perhaps is because of her lack of social connections with others). She means well and just want someone to battle with their efforts no matter the outcome and enjoy to the fullest. Battling is her expression of self, her way of enjoyment and connecting with others. Kieran is alike to an extent, with his strength already at a high level (stated by Carmen in the beginning), and his joyous expression seen during our first fight. This is supported by the fact as stated by Drayton how Kieran had fun battling pre-Teal Mask. These two rivals' love for battles run parallel with each other!

However, Kieran's transition reflects a common mindset that artists, athletes, musicians, etc. all resonate with: competitiveness + measure of worth in the things you like the most - you have to be good at them. I feel this strongly as well with art being my major source of passion - I pressured myself into thinking I had to be really good at it and not enjoy for the sake of doing it regardless of skills.

Battling was not only something Kieran liked doing, it was his main source of confidence and self-esteem.

We see that clear in Blueberry Academy, in dialogues and student culture, competitiveness is high, demanding, and brutal. Kieran may have internalized the idea, provided with his insecurity of weakness and his goal to become independent and reliant. Seeing that we were able to defeat him and sister with ease, he grew to admire but also envious of our esteemed strength, how our power seems to be favored by luck (having speical mons like Koraidon), inducing him to believe that if he worked hard, he could get to our level too. To add further, his lifelong admiration of Ogerpon supports his motivation and his aforementioned desire to be stronger. He wanted to be strong and cool as the ogre, not caring what others thought.

What I find interesting is how Kieran and Nemona handles their way of battling with us. Nemona guides you through the journey while challenging herself to learn in new ways - she restarts her journey essentially. For Kieran, even though he has experience, he struggles with the losses against us (confidence issues and again, aside our MC Role, there is some skill difference given that we fought the titans, area zero mons, team star, and gym leaders). He does change up his tactics, but ultimately does not see victory. He ends up restarting in a way back at BB academy. As a result, Kieran becomes more isolated throughout his training arc and his domination in the league. Him strictly calling out others for slacking inadvertently turns him into the fearsome "oni" figure that he idolized and thus earns him an unfavorable reputation as the president (similar status with Nemona) of the League, for instance, a dialogue between two students mentions how how ever since he became champ, the League club became less fun....Despite the contrast of tensity in these circumstances, Nemona is misunderstood in similiar manner with Kieran.

If memory serves correct, Nemona really gets into the battling mood and sometimes forgets about hers and others' limits, but does acknowledge them given a few instances when she does not battle you. Whereas for Kieran, once he entered the extreme zone, he fully devotes himself to strength at the cost of his mental, social and physical well-being. He discards his limits, giving everything he has got that ultimately eats him from the inside. The final scene when he reacts to losing may also show not just his struggle to grasp reality but a literal side effect on his health (no sleep = poor mood, poor thinking)

He desperately clings to the idea that endless training would grant him the guaranteed chance to beat you ("I know I am making the right choice") and no longer enjoys battling. Battling became a constant test of worth, the last and only means of proving himself. Even though he did become stronger, it drained his health, energy, sanity and reputation. Again, in an ironic way, he really became the oni (self filling prophecy).

at the end however, when we reach out to him to be confident in himself, that we needed his help, it gave him that confidence boost. We all believed in him - he really needed that support. Maybe seeing terapagos going berserk had him gain self awareness that he was like that too and how that caused harm to not only himself but to others.

One small thing to point out that he is like Terapagos in a way. Both are small, secluded and strong lads who end up going wayhire with their mass power.

Not to sound corny but I really felt Kieran’s frustration about losing. I was competitive too but soon let go of that. It’s fine to improve yourself but doing that to be better than others as your main reason can really cause burnout. Anyways this is a disorganized list of thoughts I wanted to share but if you read it the entire thing I really do got to say thank you for taking the time to do so.

EDIT: fixed some grammar and stuff because this was just a run-on draft lol

[mybeingthere]

Peter Randall-Page was born in the UK in 1954 and studied sculpture at Bath Academy of Art from 1973-1977. During the past 40 years Peter Randall-Page has gained an international reputation through his sculpture drawings and prints.

His practice has always beeninspir ed by the study of natural phenomena and its subjective impact on our emotions. In recent years his work has become increasingly concerned with the underlying principles determining growth and the forms it produces. In his words “geometry is the theme on which nature plays her infinite variations, and can be seen as a kind of pattern book on which the most complex and sophisticated structures are based.”

He was awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Arts from the University of Plymouth in 1999, an Honorary Doctorate of Letters from York St John University in 2009, an Honorary Doctorate of Letters from Exeter University in 2010, and an Honorary Doctorate of Letters from Bath Spa University in 2013. In June 2015 Peter was elected as a Royal Academician in the category of sculpture.

https://www.peterrandall-page.com/category/drawings/

[yestrday]

what's so special about the academy that it's considered elite and high-end enough for mc to be deemed as an outcast? (or close to one, by her peers and whatnot) like is it just some rich school and mc is the Haruhi of the story and comes from a poor background? or is it known for having the most successful students who grow to be equally successful business people, or most records/awards given to a school? just a thought!

huehue 🌟 lore 🌟

the academy has it roots way back in the distant past, going back as the cataclysm. it originally started as a small mobile classroom teaching children while the parents were hard at work rebuilding their houses, but over the years, it eventually grew into an academy.

it didn't actually have a glamorous start— it was just a normal school in liyue. however, during the era when liyue harbor grew in prosperity and businessmen and their families all over teyvat started flocking to liyue to start their money, the academy became a melting pot of cultures. eventually, it started to churn out businessmen and top leaders that revolutionized not just the liyue market but that of teyvat.

with enough money in their pockets and a stellar reputation teyvat, they moved to a remote island just off the coasts between liyue and mondstadt so that they can be unrestrained from any one nation's government rules. this is so to avoid biases towards nations and guarantee equal opportunities among the seven nations. so it's an institute looked after whatever international institution between the seven nations.

their education system consists of middle school and high school which has a smaller island of their own. however, the main land has the college and all its facilities as well as a little city there complete with an entertainment district. this institute is popular among professors and geniuses in the continent thanks to its massive pool of resources, so it's not just a fancy school with little brain.

so yes! it's an academy filled with rich history and so much connections that you're basically guaranteed a position in high society once you graduate!

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.1

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 1/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 6000

Chapter summary:  In which there is a Hate on Spectre Day. There's no other explanation.

Series masterlist

Warnings: brief mention of canon-typical violence, mention of A+ godawful parenting and its consequences, issues of self-worth, language

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: So. This was supposed to be one chapter but, to the surprise of no one, it’s not. The first half is to blame, because that was supposed to be mentioned in passing and then it just… spilled out like this. Oops.

Natasha Romanoff was a force to be reckoned with.

Now, that was hardly any news to you; besides her reputation preceding her, you had seen her in training, in action during missions, observing her in an interrogation room from behind a thick glass and sometimes even wishing for the poor bastard at the end of her treatment to get punched as an act of mercy, a relief from the wolf-like smile on her perfectly painted lips and brilliant tongue speaking words that should not have been more effective than physical torture but they were.

Projecting in front of her to save her from catching a bullet did not change how highly you regarded her; and it certainly didn’t make you feel any more like you could compare to her than before. That had never been your goal however; trying would have been just as foolish as try to compare to Agent Melinda May or other legends of the spy world. You had mad respect for Natasha Romanoff’s work, no matter the path she had walked to earn her skillset.

But between her dedication to her friends and her attempts at making you feel at home in the team, you had learned to appreciate her as a person too, trusting her; it was a paradox that exactly that was the part of your perception that changed after the attack. Or, more precisely, after what followed it.

As it turned out, the Avengers did very much care about their own; no surprise there. The Avengers also didn’t sleep on the little intel you had been able to provide and much like you believed, they did suspect a leak from within their own ranks given how advanced and detailed the retrieved research on Steve’s biology was.

They had lunched an internal investigation.

The attack on Natasha on The Avengers’ Day was now believed to be an unfortunate consequence of her being in charge of the very investigation and squeezing information from anyone who even remotely appeared they could be connected to the leak or at least might have the smallest piece of information leading to discovering the mole. The attack was thus linked to the Hydra facility raid – even as the perpetrators appeared to be a pair of hired muscle; in fact, even more so for that.

Natasha Romanoff informed you of all that casually as you were pouring yourself a coffee in the communal kitchen and made the mistake of lingering there to learn more. You only realized the error in your actions as it gradually dawned to you why Natasha told you she herself was conducting the investigation and why she was sitting with you face to face.

Up until that point, you had not been asked questions about the incident with the data retrieval beyond trying to put together as precise of an image of the gathered intel as possible. In fact, no one had questioned your allegiance to SHIELD since you had been graduating the Academy – but you sensed that was about to change.

Something about the feign casualness of Natasha sipping her own coffee as you were seated opposite to her begun to rub you in the worst way possible – and that was when you realized.

“Is this an interrogation then?” you asked, heart pounding as you tried to sound at least a bit like you were joking. Because, certainly, this could not be an interrogation, could it? That would be absurd.

A brief smile that didn’t reach her eyes in the slightest passed over her lips, gaze intent on your face. Reading microexpressions, you realized, your blood running cold.

She couldn’t be serious.

“You tell me, Spectre. Maybe this is what you expected to come at one point or the other. Maybe you already knew that I was the one to take lead on this. Maybe it put you into a tight spot and you realized it was just a matter of time before I’d come and question you – and you knew, like you do now, that I always get the information I want,” she said calmly, a thin layer of ice coating her words as she continued to examine your expression, every minuscule move of your muscles.

You hoped that whatever she read in your body language, she liked. The wild pulsing of your carotid, as your fear spiked along with your heartbeat. Yes; you had witnessed enough to know that she could dissect a person without touching them, reaching for their darkest secrets and retrieving them with a figuratively bloody hand as she ripped them out – she had known quite a few secrets of your own already. And yet. You hoped that your fear was all she could see, because the feeling that slammed into the most was hurt. She could have slapped you, hell she could have dashed the hot coffee to your face and you’d be less stunned.

Did she really think that? That you’d be capable of something like this?

You sat there frozen, hand resting limply by your cup, heart threatening to burst out of your chest. But hey – good news, right? At least they were investigating and they were very thorough about making sure Steve was safe.

Comfort had never felt so cold.

“Maybe you needed a heroic safe to maintain cover,” she continued, titling her head to side a fraction. “And conveniently, if you failed to step in in time, you’d have the person in charge of the internal investigation eliminated.”

The switched inside you flipped without any conscious effort – and perhaps even against in – the fear and hurt was consumed by anger and spite, the lump in your throat turning into a burn.

You didn’t seek gratitude from her, not really – you had indeed only been doing your job yesterday and that was it, no matter Rogers’ initial reaction that had made you feel not only useful but appreciated beyond what you deserved – but hostility and accusations were a touch a bit too far. Especially since hadn’t it been for you, she could have been shot at best and shot dead at worst.

“You’re welcome,” you said flatly, expression free of any emotion at all.

The anger inside you felt empty.

Her expression didn’t change, not even a twitch of her brow – of course it didn’t. This was Black Widow. The legend. The ruthless spy. Perfectly deadly.

“Have you been playing for the other team the whole time you’ve been here? Is the only reason why Steve isn’t dead yet because you caught feelings and can’t bring yourself to do what you’re supposed to now?” she kept questioning and you couldn’t keep the indifferent face anymore – you must have slipped, because you felt like your breath had been knocked out of you.

Forget slaps and burns – those words felt like a stab straight to your gut with a wicked twist of the blade for maximum damage.

It shouldn’t have shocked you, it truly shouldn’t have. But for a second, you felt the suffocating burn of betrayal in your chest expand with every heartbeat, filling your entire being.

You’d been taught better. And yet... Not only implying you were a traitor, but also hitting exactly at the spot of our biggest insecurity – not being good enough at anything – and using the knowledge of your rather complicated relationship with Steve Rogers was the one low blow you hadn’t expected, even from a woman of her reputation, because she had seemed genuinely kind the last time she had mentioned it. She had seemed understanding, caring and invested; and apparently, she was well-aware of that. She read you like a book and used your trust to her advantage. You should have known better and perhaps deep inside, you had anticipated a stab in the back – but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like son of a bitch.

You hadn’t even begun to be friends, you reminded yourself, so there was no reason to be upset. In addition, she was also being perfectly reasonable, only doing her job; it was only natural she hadn’t treated you in kinder gloves, didn’t pull any punches. Steve was her friend, the best friend of her boyfriend no less. She was only protecting someone she cared for deeply. You knew all these things and yet – it stung.

You leaned on your elbows, hoping your voice was steady and neutral, rather than razor sharp – because she didn’t need to know, didn’t deserve to know, that she had hit exactly where it hurt. And you didn’t need her to evaluate you as unstable on top of clearly suspecting you were a traitor.

“Why don’t you tell me, Romanoff. You seem to know everything,” you whispered, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

It was funny really – it was that, you feeling yourself break from the naïve hope that you could ever be more than just an asset to the team, that had her face slip back into a friendly mask, whatever test she had prepared for you ending. Her hard eyes softened, face relaxing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’re a traitor. But I have to make sure and get a rise out of everyone either way, to get a good read on whether they could know anything even remotely useful based on their reaction, try to have them remember anything that wouldn’t come up unless when in raw emotion. With everyone,” she repeated slowly, looking straight into your eyes to show she meant every word, a silent apology, “whether they are my friend or not.”

Your smile felt foreign on your lips as you reached for your coffee, sipping at it to neutralize the bile rising in our throat, to fill the hollow in your chest with the bitter taste of the dark warm liquid. You understood. You truly did. You had just been an idiot, even as you hadn’t been fully aware of your hopes until they were crushed.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, rising to your feet and setting the mug down, “with me anyway. But I’m not sure your friends will feel the same way when you ask them.”

You all but registered a flash of what you imagined could be regret as you spun on your heels and walked out, a pit of dread in your stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You had no right to feel wounded.  You have been taught better. Skills. Abilities. Assets. Those mattered; not people. Not in S.H.I.E.L.D., not in the AI. Barely anywhere; Coulson’s team had just been full of unicorns, keeping up the illusion that every individual was worth more than their resumé, the illusion of a loose family.

There was no place of that kind for you in the Avengers team. The fact Tony had gone and protected you was the exception to the rule and you had made the mistake of thinking it was anything but pragmatism. They needed your powers; that was why you had been brought onto the team. The team might have been relatively tight-knit, but granted entry to no outsiders, welcomed no newcomers – not into their own strange family they had grown into.

You shouldn’t have been disappointed; and yet, even as you were aware that all Natasha had done was indeed following protocol, protecting fiercely one of her closest friends at that, it was the blatant use of information she had gained by taking a closer look and trying to make conversation, that allowed her to cut deep. You had been raised well to be aware of this approach and still you committed the error, even if unconsciously, of ignoring one of the few things your parents had tried to drill into you so hard. You shouldn’t be this careless.

Shaking your head at your own naivety, you rounded the corner, telling yourself that the slight shake to your hands was neither rage nor grief; just caffeine overdose, since you had poured a cup from Tony’s pot. You nearly groaned when you noticed the unmistakable tall broad figure walking the very same corridor in the opposite direction. Facing Steve Rogers of all people right now sounded like a thing from nightmares; especially since the moment he spotted you, a peculiar look appeared on his face, the kind of expression that told you a conversation awaited you which you’d very much rather not have. You swore that if he was going to have a single thing to say about yesterday, if he was about criticise you at least, to ask you anything at all-

You weren’t proud of it, but you did it anyway. Pulling out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you pretended you had felt it vibrate with a text, fully immersed in whatever was on your screen. You barely looked up when you were three steps from him, but nodded with the respect a man of Captain Rogers’ standing deserved regardless of anyone’s personal opinion on him, the ‘Captain’ firm on your lips as a formal greeting you hoped was all you were going to exchange. He returned the courtesy, sounding all but a little taken aback, and – thank heavens – continued walking past you. You gritted your teeth as not to release a relieved breath you were certain he’d hear.

Whirlwind of emotion pushed aside by suffocating emptiness, you continued your path and headed to your room, deciding breakfast simply wasn’t in the cards for your today. As you entered the familiar space, your gaze fell on the gym clothes you had tossed over one of your chairs yesterday when you needed to release the pressure after being tense ever since the attack.

Releasing tension now felt like a good idea, as the sting of betrayal and self-loathing simmered in your ribcage despite your attempts to make it all go away.

Without a second thought, you grabbed after it, ready to loosen the messy bundle of emotion the only way you were ever allowed.

By punching it out.  

The scent of leather and sweat had been bringing you an odd sense of comfort since your rather early age. Even as it was associated with heavy breaths, soaked t-shirts, competitiveness and shouts of various trainers you had encountered over the years, it was also an epitome of solace and familiarity; a reminder that you could always improve and you had done that more than once. It was a sanctuary to broken shards of a soul, where one let all the nasty things buried inside tear the body apart, only to feel like they started to build yourself up again. You had learned a long time ago that fighting was far from being about rage or any other wild emotion; but if one got the flow right, they could release all the suffocating emotions through it either way until peace – relative peace at least – took over again.

So after exhausting your body almost to its limit, you moved onto your mind; after kicking and punching and sweating through your clothes, you cooled down, stretched, and sat down cross-legged only to do it all over again. This time through your spectre.

The quiet gym was an unusual luxury, making for an easy projection and making it almost laughably easy to maintain it; you had tested it in training before, keeping focus even as your fellow agents shoved you around or even punched your gut – or in Daisy’s case, sent quaking vibrations through your body with increasing intensity, enough to almost rattle your bones. You were aware of the sensations, always, naturally seeing its benefit as a fail safe in whoever was in charge of protecting you failed to do so – not that Mr. Captain America had that problem. But at the same time, pushing the limits of how much you could take in case of such complications and in the face of needing to hold on despite of it was essential – as much as being able to take a hit to your spectral body without losing focus was.   

It took time, but it had become a second nature to perceive sensations from both your bodies, recognizing which came from which and separating them. The real trial, the most surreal feeling which took some time getting used to was seeing yourself and touching your actual hand with your spectral one, simultaneously being the initiator of the sensation and its receiver on the very same part of your body. The first time you tried it, it knocked you out for over half an hour, your brain unable to handle the contradiction. However long path you still had to walk to perfect your skills, you remembered that handling this one had been a win and eventually, the sight of yourself and the touch turned almost mundane.

However, others didn’t feel that way.

The visual of Tony Stark entering the gym, gaze flickering between your sitting form and your punching form several feet away from each other, as if he couldn’t decide which one to address despite only one of them levitating and emitting a faint glow, brought a sad ghost of a smile to your face, renewing the tense feeling in your gut you tried so hard to punch and kick away. Usually, you couldn’t help it; perhaps it was mean, but the bewildered, and admiring look in people’s eyes, was not only pleasing but also entirely hilarious. But today, the satisfaction wasn’t coming – and unfortunately, Stark approached your very conscious version.

Couldn’t the world just leave you alone for a bit? You were alone; you’d appreciate if the number of people in the room reflected the reality of your life.

“What did that poor bag did to you?” he lamented as you caught a glimpse of his frown and pursed lips between focusing on every hit to the heavy bag. “You hit it any harder, you’re gonna rip it off the hinges like Cap does.”

Right. For sure.

You swallowed the scoff threatening to escape you, gritting your teeth as your punch landed even stronger than intended, sending painful vibration through your arm. You added a knee and an elbow, speeding up to distract yourself form the sensation.

Focused on your workout, you couldn’t see his raised eyebrow; but you could definitely hear it in his annoyed and slightly amused voice.

“Same attitude too, I see.”

This time, you did scoff as you continued punching. Yeah, right. You and Steve were practically twins now, weren’t you.

“Too bad, Casper, you are not getting away with ignoring me,” he insisted, peeking from behind the bag on your left. “Cease fire for a sec.”

You kicked hard with a loud huff, making the bag swing wildly, catching it with your hands as it returned to hit you in the face and only then dropped your hands, turning to Tony.

Despite your rudeness – one he didn’t quite deserve, you reminded yourself guiltily – you found him grinning at you as you paid him attention at last. It only made you frown. He seemed too gleeful to be a bearer of bad news – but way too gleeful to bring any news that would be good for you.

“Pick up your Sunday shoes, Casper. You’re going out tomorrow!”

You sighed, already feeling the wholesome effects of your workout evaporating. “Hello to you too. What on Earth are you talking about?”

Given the mischief in his eye, you felt like you should be worried – and yet, despite your better judgement, you felt a small smile tug at your lips at his antics.

That said, if he had set you up for a blind date or something of that sort – because you wouldn’t put it past him if he did that – you’d be out before you could get in. But the fact that he simply announced that you were going out couldn’t mean anything good. Why didn’t he ask? Because Tony Stark, you thought, as bitterly as affectionately.  

He waved his hand in a too innocent greeting, pulling out a light blue envelope with golden framing from his hoodie pocket.

“Hi. This is yours. You mind?” he hummed as he beckoned to your paraconscious body, already throwing the paper its way.

With a sigh, you snapped back just as the envelope landed in your lap, ignoring the low thud of your boxing gloves hitting the mattress since you couldn’t take them back with you and they suddenly didn’t have anything to hold them up. You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the slight sway of the world as you suddenly changed both body and positions, turning the envelope in your hands with a frown and an unpleasant feeling of anticipation in your gut.

“Tony… what is this?”

“An invitation.”

“Right.” Knowing there was no scenario in which you’d get away with never opening it, in which he’d leave before you did so, you slipped your fingers under the edge and tore it open. Fancy paper, you observed. As your eyes quickly scanned over the text, Tony spoke up again.

“Shake hands, rub elbows. Make the Avengers look good. Have a drink or two.”

You frowned. The words Tony Stark was stringing together made perfect sense individually, but not together. Then, they made sense together and then even more sense in connection to the invite. But none of that made them make sense in connection to you.

“A charity auction at the Smithsonian?” you asked dully, voice full of the scepticism you felt upon imagining yourself doing what he had suggested, parroting his words dubiously. “Me, making the Avengers look good? I’m not even a--- Stark, what the-“

“Please,” he cut you off with a scoff, “you literally saved Natasha’ ass and several kids, very publicly, just yesterday. Plus, me and Pepper can’t make it and everyone else is either on a mission or has already said no.”

You perked up in an instant. Could you say no then?

“No, you can’t say no, nope,” Tony blurted out before you could even open your mouth. You glanced down at the invite again. The last thing you wanted right now, or ever, to be honest, was to go to some stupid function, meeting arrogant wealthy and sadly influential assholes with a fake smile on their face, one that held even as they insulted your choice of wardrobe in a way you couldn’t really return because they had the power to make your life a living hell. “It’s your mission now, no veto rights.”

You resisted the urge to stomp your foot and whine; but for a very good reason. Many, many good reasons. You genuinely despised those thighs, hating them on a visceral level. You could survive them if there was an important mission objective like gathering intel that could save countless lives, securing a sample of a virus and preventing a global pandemic, locking up an arms dealer – but socializing? Networking? Useless chitchat with pretentious jerks? Bootlicking? Because that was what awaited you, whether you were representing the Avengers or not – which itself truly was an absurd concept.

You ran a hand down your face, skimming over the text once more, resigned.

Much like there hadn’t been a scenario in which Tony would leave before you’d listen to what he had had to say, there was no way you’d get away with not attending.

“Couldn’t they have at least hold it at the NYC building? Does it have to be DC?” you muttered under your breath, annoyed further. That meant flying and many complications in case you’d try to pull an early disappearing act.

“Yeah, one of the reasons why the others said no. The disgrace of these people – a free ride on the quinjet with a pilot assigned and they still scoff at this. Heathens. If you weren’t hiding out, I’d stumble over you earlier and the can’t-say-no would fall on someone else, but here we are. I mean honestly, who would think finding two people willing to go drink expensive champagne could be such an issue?”

Your head snapped up to his face, horror and relief seizing you at once. You wouldn’t be alone; then again, you wouldn’t be alone.

You really wanted to call Tony on his bullshit about finding you last, because if he found you last, it was because he asked FRIDAY about you as the last, but your whole brain capacity was overtaken by a single thought and a prayer to heavens. You weren’t sure whom you’d want as a company, but you still prayed it was someone bearable.

“Two people? Who’s the other one?”

Please let it be Wilson. You were sure he’d feel almost as uncomfortable as you. Rhodes too, even though he was good at politics and would snatch all the attention to himself. You doubted Vision or Wanda were the ones and you could hardly imagine one without the other; similarly, you doubted Barnes, with his past still lingering in the minds of many, had been chosen, and even if he had, you doubted he would go without Romanoff. Thor was off to Asgard, Banner would be, bless him, probably even more distressed than you, and Tony and Pepper were literally the ones handing over the invitation. Clint could be a nice option – you didn’t talk much, but his easy-going nature would probably make for a good company. Honestly, probably anyone would be better than-

“Capsicle, obviously, they love the guy. Have a big exhibition on him and all that,” Tony said as if it was clear as day and as if that didn’t make him sound like a lunatic. And as if that didn’t send your heart racing like mad, eyes widening, throat tightening.

Headache started to build in above your brows as you imaged the horror-like scene. As if the function itself wasn’t bad enough – Tony wanted to make you suffer through it with the one person from the Avengers whom you fought the most often?

Tony was, naturally, completely blind to your reaction – or more likely, pretended to be, because he might be an owner of what kids these days called a galaxy brain, but he was two halves of a whole genius – continuing his monologue at the speed of three hundred miles a minute.

“…and he’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it. So, focus, my dear Ghost of Christmas Past,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face, only to start counting on his fingers. Mutely, you watched him, still hoping this was a very badly constructed prank. “Make us look good, look good, buy something nice on my card in the auction and try not to kill each other. Easy as American pie. All four objectives of the mission are equally important by the way… I think.”

“Tony…”

That was all you manged to force out, a disapproval and a plea.

“What?! You shouldn’t have been hiding in a gym! I’m innocent!”

You were not impressed with his antics in the slightest. It was a Hate on Spectre Day, you were sure. First Romanoff with her accusations about Steve, then Tony-

Oh. Oh thank god.

It was blasphemy to be grateful for such thing, but you were not picky about your salvations as an important thought occurred to you – a fairly reasonable one at that, one that didn’t only serve as a convenient excuse.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for Steve to make a public appearance like that?” you questioned. “I know he made a public appearance just yesterday, but that was different. We’re still… working out how to deal with the Hydra cell and their antiserum. The investigation is still active and pretty intensive at the moment as far as I can tell.”

No kidding.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up, something akin to compassion appearing on his face, probably in reaction to something that you involuntarily let show on yours. Fuck.

“Ah. Got bitten by Black Widow, huh? It stings, doesn’t it?” he said, scrunching his nose and almost shocking you speechless.

You were slacking if Tony, living in his own world for at least eighty percent of the time, with his mind usually lightyears away from where a conversation had originally started, read you so easily.

That, or he watched the footage, perhaps even with Natasha herself, to evaluate whether you were indeed a mole or not. Was this another test? Was Natasha the proverbial bad cop and Tony landed the role of a good cop? Were you supposed to open up to him? The thought of Tony playing you like this was somehow even more nauseating than Natasha’s game had been. With her, you should have seen it coming; with Mr.I Don’t Need to Watch My Mouth, not so much. He was direct. He spoke his mind, always. You liked that about him. Or used to.

What would he know about Black Widow’s verbal bites?

“Like you’d know.”

One of his brows creased, lips curled by a smirk full of snark.

“What, you think the original six was spared? Please.”

Despite yourself, you blinked and perked up. Because Tony seemed honest – much like most of the time, frankly.

“Rogers was the only one who wasn’t questioned by Romanoff – or in her case, by Barnes – though some of us might argue that when it comes to saving his dumb ass, Rogers’s the one most willing to serve it to HYDRA himself on a silver platter.” He paused, a grimace twisting his features. “That was a weird imagery, forget I used those exact words.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. Tony was hard to stay mad at if he did something relatively harmless like this – he was direct and slightly chaotic, but that was just part of his charm, one might say. And honestly, since you trusted him that he had spoken the truth, the fact that Natasha had gone down at everyone as hard as she had on you, learning that you weren’t the only one under scrutiny did make you feel a bit better. Though for a brief moment, you allowed yourself the luxury of questioning the reliability of Barnes interrogating Romanoff and vice versa, given their enormous bias. How had the mutual interrogation even happened? What, did they just hold a knife to each other’s throat instead of a foreplay?

You shook your head at yourself, earning a grin from Tony as he probably assumed you reacted to his antics. He wasn’t completely wrong.

Leaning onto his wannabe-friendly behaviour had a strong scent of fool me once, since you had literally had got burned today, but it was hard to resist it despite all the rational voices in your head screaming. You were an asset. You had a mission and that was it – and protecting this team was a big part of it. Tony did make an excellent point when it came to Steve’s tendency to overlook the magnitude of threats posed to him. Which had you go full circle – that besides pairing you and Steve off for a public appearance was an awful, terrible, no good, very bad idea, it was almost as bad of an idea as sending Steve out there in the first place.

“I still think letting him do this is too risky. I’ll go, even if I’m going to curse you the entire time,” you noted matter-of-factly, “but honestly. I think Steve really shouldn’t go.”

If it was possible, Tony's face lit up further, much to your chagrin.

 “Aww, are you worried about him?” he teased you. You deadpanned. “Kidding. Relax, Spectre, it’s a museum, not an underground casino. And it’s a charity auction, not an arm deals convention, those are more up my speed. There are no suspicious names on the guest list, FRIDAY doublechecked. The most dangerous people there will be you and him.”

You breathed in to protest further, because one, he was literally just giving out his invitation to someone dangerous, which other people could do as well, and two, there were still so many crazy things about what he was suggesting and your stomach was in knots just trying to imagine it-

A quick clap of hands startled you, Tony’s hands suddenly palms up.

“Alright, great, thank you for accepting. It’s settled then-“

Your horror returned, mouth opening uselessly as he began to walk back, still facing you. “I didn’t-“

“Oh and it’s only black tie, but you should still buy something nice,” he continued, smiling conspiratorially as if he was sharing an inside joke you were supposed to be a part of but did not understand one bit, except for feeling like you were the subject of it.

“Tony-“

“’cause representation and all that. And don’t worry about the cost, ‘cause it’s on the Avengers, so in fact, go wild, Cinderella. I gotta run now-“

He cut off his wild gestures with another clap of his hands to drown the sound of you calling out his name, the stupid invite still in your hands, feet frozen to the ground when the automatic door opened behind him and he spun on his heels, walking out.

“But Stark!”

He was already gone.

You massaged your forehead and the skin above your eyebrows as your headache grew, your shoulders sagging. You eyed the invitation with distaste, inspecting it as if it could burst in flames any second; that was how nuclear you felt the evening might get, for multiple reasons.

Oh. Speaking of the invitation going up in flames, perhaps the museum would require the actual paper rather than an e-invite. Fire might be the best possible solution for-

The sudden voice sounding from the speaker cut off your inner musings, and crushed your hopes, fuelling your anxiety in the process.

“Agent Spectre, Mr.Stark wants me to inform you that the charity auction is assigned to you as any other mission and not participating would thus be considered a serious breach of regulations and a breach of your contract with the Avengers Initiative, which would result in corresponding disciplinary action.”

You scowled, tossing the envelope and its content aside. Low blow, Stark. Really, really fucking low blow.

“Bastard,” you muttered under your breath.

“And that his explicit orders, as he is one of your superiors, are to, I quote, have fun,” FRIDAY added, causing you to roll your eyes and look at the ceiling as if your glare and your next words dripping with sarcasm could be delivered to Tony himself. Which they could – they just wouldn’t have the desired effect, you were sure.

“Gee, Stark, thanks. I’m sure I will.” Not.

Grabbing your gear with a sigh coming from the very depth of your soul, suddenly tired despite the clock claiming it was still before noon, you tried to steer your mind away from the tight feeling in your gut.

The one upside was that your mission might be to have fun and rub figurative elbows, but one never knew when he needed to use actual elbows to punch someone in the face in your line of work.

That meant that if you were to follow Stark’s explicit orders, you should get yourself a special dress for the occasion – something at least black-tie worthy. But you were truly about to spend a public evening with Steve, who would be putting himself into nonsensical danger by merely showing up, you needed a sensible dress. Long enough to have it pass as fitting for the dress code, but with a slit high enough to not limit your range of movement if you needed to kick out or run. Nothing too revealing, because you’d rather not worry about your cleavage if you were about to punch and duck. Shoes would be a pain – heels were a necessary evil, but you’d need to dig up some with thick straps at least, to feel like you were actually wearing them and not like you were trying to keep them on by the sheer power of your will with every step.

It seemed you had some shopping to do. If Tony was so inclined on you to follow his orders, you would. You would go wild with his credit card indeed. And because you had a glutton for punishment, you tried to contact a distant ally to help you with that, even as you doubted that she’d have time to answer.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Yeeeeah, I know that I promised you a bit of trip to fluffville as well, but it’s only coming in the second half… then again, the moment with Tony was kinda sweet too, no?

Happy New Year, loves 💕 May it be kind to you ✨

[sketchfanda]

Kirishima’s Mystique:Ninjas and Heroes!

Long before the dawn of quirks, the taimanin secretly kept people safe from the shadows to protect them from unimaginable horrors but after quirks came to be, they found themselves without the need to hide thus becoming vigilantes and then professional heroes using the taimanin name as a private international hero organization, one that didn't answer to the HPSC. However, they were a select group who took dangerous black op missions ranging from fighting terror cells to assassinating would be dictators, it was messy and risky business but it was booming.  Fun fact, Edwin Black in this timeline was killed by AFO alongside his orc army all because AFO saw him as disgusting, which says something (apparently he had done similar disposing of scientists who had perverted ideas regarding the Nomu), but also because he didn't want a rival for the title of the Master of Evil, who knew the faceless dirtbag had standards? Now in regards to the taimanin themselves of course, in the current age they also have another personal task they oversaw with dedication and focus.

That consisted going undercover throughout public society with the aim of seeking out new members to add quirks to their roster numbers and repertoire often via recruitment or their most preferred method in using their natural charm, feminine wiles and sensual charisma to mate and breed with strong quirk wielders to ensure a generation of gifted kunoichi and shinobi for the future. UA High of course was their latest proving ground to sort through, undergoing undercover infiltration in the guise of visiting students from a different academy but for the Igawa sisters Asagi and Sakura, it was proving to be slim pickings for them and their fellow kunoichi. In terms of both looks and genetics, there was a pick of the litter but circumstances like personality and background were also a key deciding factor. It was an understatement if anything when it came to the black ninja girls tastes to say the very least.

For example Izuku was considered a high priority candidate given his powerful quirk, but was found to be too shy when a member approached him while Bakugou was deemed unworthy due to his temper and the personality that could only be described as a heap of garbage covered in sewage. They got one look at the Todoroki family drama and decided to steer clear of Shouto and then of course there was Mineta...instant rejection as a few described him as a mini orc just from how he as drooling over their uniforms. However, the Igawa felt they’d struck gold if not outright platinum when learning of Kirishima and his reputation as a stud, from the reliable source of his own two girlfriends. It was simply a matter for Asagi and Sakura to approach him through Mina presenting them as a pair of sisters looking for a fun time and let the dominoes fall into their place.

Oh certainly Asagi and Sakura had to say the redhead was quite a looker, a good balance between pretty, cute and handsome yet so humble but gung-ho. Soon as they had him bring them back to his dorm, they began to make their move and they found it rather and adorable how nervous and overwhelmed he seemed at having a pair of hot as fuck stunners flirt with and come onto him. But ooh did their intrigue blend with their growing arousal when they started to strip him, feeling up those firm muscles while slowly overwhelming that himbo brain of his with their ninja girl seduction game. Especially when they found him becoming more assertive as they took turns kissing him before they sliced up with a little dash of incestuous lesbian make out followed by a three way dance of spitswapping tongues.

But oh soon as they go his cock out, to say they were in shock and awe was an understatement, that length and girth pulsing in the silky grasp of their hands as it’s potent musky scent triggered the primal switches in their brain. Further fuelling their desire to have this chivalrous stud mate and breed with them as they commenced with a tandem blowjob, licking and sucking on his cock and balls as the hard-headed himbo felt overwhelmed by their secret kunoichi arts of seduction and arousal. Before they suddenly felt Kirishima firmly grasp their hair in his hands and soon found him pumping his hips like a piston as they found themselves in the receiving end of a ferocious facefucking. Each Igawa sister finding inches of fuckmeat pounding balls deep into their mouths as if giving them an oral preview of what awaited their pussies, making their slits gushing and drench their thighs in sticky warmth, their tastebuds dazzled by the taste of his pre before it got even better when the penetration finally followed.

Sakura:”Aahn!! Asagi-neechan!! He’s so-Aahn ooh god! So big! So deep!! Aahn keep going and fill me with your fucksauce!!” *The blonde haired Igawa sister cried with lusty abandon as Kirishima plowed her in the spread eagle position, her tits bouncing as she gripped the bedsheets for dear life. Asagi hugging the himbo from behind as she kissed and licked his neck and shoulders, hands caressing his muscular torso as she looked on with awe and delight at her sweet little sister in the throes of passion. Her own stunning rack pressed and rubbing against his strong broad back as Kirishima thrust and pumped his cock like a jackhammer. Knowing her turn would be just as good, as soon The chivalrous stud finally came inside Sakura, after all their goal was to ensure Impregnation.”

Asagi:”Aahn please Kirishima-kun!! Just like this, show us what a real man You truly are…”*The elder Igawa sister was not unlike her sweet Sakura in how she was drowning in ecstasy and bliss as she conducted a seated lotus position with Kirishima. Her tits bouncing and rubbing against his firm pecs as their tongues danced together with sloppy desire, bouncing in his lap as she rode his cock. Shuddering as his firm hands grasped and squeezed her well toned yet bubbly, juicy ass as Sakura watched on. Fingering her creampied snatch as she recovered her energy for her next turn while turned on at seeing her sister be such a wanton bitch in heat.*

Every second went into minutes that passed into hours of unrelenting, animalistic passionate rutting that would put pornstars to shame as much as Sakura and Asagi’s bombshell bodies. Kirishima’s room filled with passionate steam caused by the heat of their marathon rutting as the echoes of skin slapping on skin and lusty moans as the Igawa sisters perhaps got a little too into their mission. But then again when they had such angelfaced Adonis himbo like Kirishima being such a stud, now could they not? And love every fuck damn second of it of course.

Asagi certainly thought so as she commenced her latest round with the Red Riot bull, hands clasped together with his as she rode him cowgirl style. Hearts flowing in her eyes as her bubble butt bounced away on his shaft, relishing his attention on the hypnotic jiggling of her first while Sakura laid just behind them, licking away at their joined loins. Her womb pulsing with an endless thirst and hunger for more of his manly seed all to ensure a strong baby for the next generation. If anything Asagi woild be willing to bare a whole army worth of children from this studly gift from the heavens.

A feeling that was certainly mutual with Sakura had her own latest round of mating and breeding with Kirishima as he took her from behind. Plowing her like the bitch in heat that she and her big sister had become, after all as taimanin kunoichi, they were still women with needs and desires of which both were being met. Her own eyes glowing with lust as her sturdy bull had her pressed up against the window of his dorm room, her perky titties rubbing and pressing up against the cool smooth surface. Asagi looking in with pride and admiration at how much her sweet little sister shined and flowed like a woman in the throes of passion, groping herself as she massaged and probed her pussy that overflowed with their breeding bull’s essence.

It was a constant shift and tangle of bodies as the Igawa sisters switched between taking turns with Kirishima one on one before all too naturally opting for 2 on one. Ranging from One sister eating the other out as their sturdy himbo bull uk d them missionary or doggy style, to laying atop one another and making out or eating out their pussies in a 69 as he thrust and pumped away. Of course he was good at plowing them anally or orally and he certainly was no slouch at eating a moan out either but when he was fucking them, oh he was a natural animal. As if their raw desire and intent to want babies from him drew out the wild beast within, calling him to claim them.

It was a major turn-on for Asagi as much as an inspiration, just thinking of how many of her fellow kunoichi in the Taimanin corps could gain so much from the right candidates at UA like Kirishima. His quirk, basic and plain as he considered it personally, would work wonders combined in tandem with the natural gifts of many a taimanin woman. From Murasaki to Yukikaze, the kunoichi of the corps were as breedable as they were deadly, hell Mizuki Shiranui would want a cut of that prime slab of meat. It was a an erotic vision to say the very least.

Speaking of erotic, before the Igawa sisters knew or realised it, Mina and Maya had entered their man’s dorm, lust twinkling in their eyes as they stood naked. No doubt used to walking in on their bull in the midst of rutting as he was currently balls deep in Asagi in the downward dog while he was fingering and making out with Sakura and deciding they’d done enough waiting around for the kunoichi to get addicted to their stud. Thus it now seemed only right to turn uo the sensual volume and spice things up, turning this three way into a 5 way. Which Sakura and Asagi certainly didn’t mind, more the merrier after all.

So once more Kirishima’s dorm became filled with the rhythm of passionate mating as five bodies became a tangle of limbs. Heavy petting, groping and sloppy kisses abound amidst a barrage of 4 girls on their one guy to 3 on one when one of them needed to recover snd regain their energy. To steamy acts of casual lesbian passion and making out as two or one of them enjoyed a little intimacy with their chivalrous bull. His stamina, endurance and staying power of course getting quite the mileage thanks to his little bone trick of channeling 1% of his quirk on his dick, much to their delight of course.

It had gone on for hours to a point that dusk had arrived, the sun setting and bathing their room in its warm orange glow. The party of 5 finally spent into exhaustion as they laid in the sweat and juice stained sheets of Kirishima’s bed, the Igawa sisters and his bubblegum coloured girlfriend duo laying atop his muscular tank of a body as they snuggled against its warmth. Skin glistening with a sheen and their snatches overflowing with his potent white hot seed as their hands idly caressed his torso and their own. Dreaming sweet, kinky dream as they basked in the afterglow of what had been a very fun little sexual marathon as Mina and Maya looked forward to a later round of fun later in the evening or the morning.

Asagi and Sakura likewise had the same thoughts in mind, all the while they dreamt of the children that they no doubt had now conceived from Kirishima. Of the many he could and would no doubt provide to many other kunoichi in the corps, enough to provide a small platoon, hell that unofficial twin he had in class B seemed like a pretty good baby daddy candidate too, they knew they’d strike some gold mining for potential in UA but this was like finding platinum or diamond. Of course they knew they’d need a few more rounds just to be sure they had some buns in the oven. Professional kunoichi had to be thorough after all.

Granted for Asagi that might have been her inner self talking as well, that primal demonic voice within her that urged snd compelled to indulge in her desires. Which even now filled her dreams with ideas about unleashing this hardheaded redressed bull upon her enemies like that traitorous evil bitch Oboro. A small smile on her peaceful sleeping face just thinking of that treacherous sow being fucked snd knocked like a bitch in heat as Kirishima ruined her for other men and turned her into his personal baby factory. Now that to Asagi woild be such cold, sweet revenge……..

To be continued?!

[justforbooks]

Marisa Paredes

Spanish star of films by Pedro Almodóvar, Guillermo del Toro and Roberto Benigni, and a champion of leftwing causes

The actor Marisa Paredes, who has died suddenly aged 78, was renowned for her elegance and “calm grace, that gentle cheerfulness that she ignited with one look of her pale eyes”, in the words of Gilles Jacob, former president of the Cannes film festival. She is best known for her roles in six films directed by Pedro Almodóvar.

After seeing her in a play, Almodóvar cast her as Sor Estiércol (Sister Manure) in Entre Tinieblas (Dark Habits, 1983). Later, she starred in his surreal melodrama Tacones Lejanos (High Heels, 1991). For her performance as a writer of romantic novels in his slightly more sober La Flor de Mi Secreto (The Flower of My Secret, 1995), she was nominated for a Goya best actress award. She also featured in Almodóvar’s Oscar-winning Todo Sobre Mi Madre (All About My Mother, 1999).

She became one of Spanish cinema’s great figures, but was also outspoken throughout her life in support of leftwing causes. As president of Spain’s film academy from 2000 to 2003, she attacked the participation of José María Aznar’s Conservative government in the planned invasion of Iraq. Her televised speech at the annual Goya awards in 2003 helped mobilise mass demonstrations: “There is no need to be afraid of culture, entertainment or freedom of expression, and much less satire or humour. We should be afraid of ignorance and dogmatism. We should be afraid of war.”

In the 1980s Paredes built a solid reputation in Spanish cinema, working with up-and-coming young directors, such as Fernando Trueba in Ópera Prima (Debut, 1980), Jaime Chávarri, Jaime Rosales and Agustí Vilaronga in Tras el Cristal (In a Glass Cage, 1986). Her performance in Vilaronga’s macabre anti-Nazi film was her own favourite. For José Sacristán’s comedy Cara de Acelga (Like Death Warmed Up, 1987) she was nominated for a Goya as best supporting actress.

In the 90s, her leading parts in Almodóvar films broadened her career into international cinema. She worked with Alain Tanner in France, Manoel de Oliveira in Portugal and shot two films with the Mexican Arturo Ripstein: Pintura Carmesí (Deep Crimson, 1996) and El Coronel No Tiene Quien le Escriba (No One Writes to the Colonel, 1999), a successful adaptation of a Gabriel García Márquez novel. She was in the Italian Roberto Benigni’s La Vita è Bella (Life Is Beautiful, 1997) and Guillermo del Toro’s El Espinazo del Diablo (The Devil’s Backbone, 2001). Over her six-decade career, she acted in more than 70 films.

The youngest of four daughters, Marisa was born in Madrid, in the block of flats on Plaza de Santa Ana where her mother, Petra (nee Bartolomé), was the concierge. Her father, Lucio Paredes, worked in the El Águila beer factory. These were years of hunger after the civil war (1936-39) and her family was poor. From the age of six, she told her mother she wanted to be an actor: the Teatro Español, one of the city’s main theatres, just across the square from her home, inspired her. Reasonably, her parents opposed this insecure career: they aspired for her to become a secretary. Paredes was always proud of her working-class origins. “My elegance comes from my grandfather, who was a farm-worker,” she would say.

Focused on her ambition, she left school aged 11, defeated parental opposition to study at the Madrid dramatic arts school and pushed her way into small film roles at the age of 14. In 1962 she met Fernando Fernán-Gómez, anarchist and brilliant actor and director, who helped mould both her acting and her view of the world. She acted in his film El Mundo Sigue (The World Continues, 1965).

In the 60s and 70s she worked in many films without breaking through to leading roles. The story was different on Televisión Española, where she acted in around 80 plays, often dramatisations of novels. “I had the good fortune that, as I don’t look Spanish ... when television was cultured and broadcast plays, I was in all the dramas of Chekhov, Dostoevsky, Ibsen. I was the Russian soul,” Paredes explained. She was an all-round talent, acting not just in theatre and highbrow TV, but in musicals, comedies and even a spaghetti western.

With her height, aristocratic bearing and blond hair, Paredes was reminiscent of a classic Hollywood star. Yet she was not vain: she had a warm smile and generous nature, and had the enthralling gift of great screen actors of expressing emotion with a single look or grimace.

She won prizes for her theatre, television and film work, and an honorary Goya for her career in 2018.

Paredes supported #MeToo vigorously and campaigned in the July 2023 general election for Sumar, the junior leftwing partner in Spain’s coalition government. As recently as 30 November, she read the manifesto in a demonstration against Israel’s actions in Gaza. She understood her political commitment in no narrow terms: “Freedom, education and culture are fundamental to human life. This is what remains. Art is what remains.”

Paredes had a daughter, María, with the film director Antonio Isasi-Isasmendi in 1975. From 1980 until her death she lived with José María Prado, director for 27 years of the Filmoteca Española (Spain’s film institute). She did not believe in marriage.

Prado and María survive her.

🔔 Marisa (María Luisa) Paredes Bartolomé, actor, born 3 April 1946; died 17 December 2024

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — profile 2

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

❥･• 4.0 gpa (satire)

note: they are all 19 years of age except for heeseung (20)

Yang Jungwon, Decelis Academy’s star athlete and youngest Korea Open International Taekwondo champion to date. He is perceived as a bad boy and known to be the campus heartbreaker, following his reputation of rejecting rows and rows of girls. In truth, he’s actually just too busy to commit to a relationship. He’s always leaving class early because of training and sometimes doesn’t even show up. The faculty can’t say much about him even if they wanted to, because they know the academy cannot afford to lose him as an alma mater.

Sim Jaeyun (Jake), member of Decelis Academy’s dance club. Part of the 6 campus heartthrobs together with Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, and Sunoo. Despite the reputation that his clique holds, he’s actually pretty studious and have been spotted studying with you in the library.

Lee Heeseung, member of Decelis Academy’s dance club. Took a year long break from school and is finally back to finish his final year. The original campus heartbreaker before Jungwon came along

Kim Sunoo, treasurer of Decelis Academy’s Student Council. Is actually considerably close to you because of council activities. He admires you as a leader but he would never express that out loud unless he wants Jungwon roundhouse kicking him.

Park Jongseong (Jay), member of Decelis Academy’s dance club.

Park Sunghoon, player of Decelis Academy’s ice hockey team.

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♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

taglist open! send ask, comment or submit form to be added!

[hellohiyoko]

Danganronpa: Legacies

My Danganronpa Next Gen Fanfic WIP

Makoto Naegi, known as the Ultimate Hope, had managed to defeat the Ultimate Despair, save the world from Despair's clutches, and finally reopen the prestigious Hope's Peak Academy, repairing the infamous reputation the Tragedy had bestowed upon the institution. Hope had been restored to the world, and now with the talents of the next generation, Makoto and the staff at HPA would lead and mould them into respectable citizens of society. Things had finally begun to look up, even if the new Ultimates had huge shoes to fill.

The previous Steering Committee and other former HPA staff weren't as optimistic about the future. To them, even if the world had been restored, HPA was essentially to blame and a mere reopening wouldn't be enough to smooth things over. They needed Ultimate ultimates; talents that had exceeded their predecessors, talents that were envied and adored, talents that were undeniable. These hypothetical students would be seen as national treasures, celebrities to be idolized, and more importantly, distractions from HPA's dark past. Where would they find such students though?

Simple. They'd create them. By secretly extracting DNA from their students and gene splicing different combinations to make preferable talents, these students would be the exceptional of the exceptional. Unfortunately, those responsible for the Ultimate Natural Child Project all died during the Tragedy, and would never live to see the fruits of their efforts.

Instead, someone else would kick start the project for their own selfish gain. And thus, the Ultimates were created.

Makoto, his friends that made up the current staff of HPA, and the Future Foundation couldn't let news of this incident become common knowledge. The children's identities and origins had to be hidden to avoid another potential, international tragedy that Hope's Peak Academy would once again be responsible for.

Unfortunately, history would once again repeat itself.

[icedsodapop]

Sunday night’s Academy Awards is the marquis night for Hollywood’s film industry. But while cinema might be the biggest cultural US export, its international reputation is tarnished by its tendency to romanticise – if not altogether ignore – the West’s dispossession of much of the world, especially the Global South, several film scholars told Al Jazeera. This is because the primary purpose of Hollywood movies is to entertain, and not to raise consciousness, prompt social transformation or challenge class relations, such as the Italian director Gillo Pontecorvo’s 1966 classic, The Battle of Algiers, Senegalese director Ousmane Sembene’s Black Girl, released the same year, or Asghar Fahradi’s 2011 masterpiece, A Separation, to name just a few.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Without defending the citadel of the mind, how can we build a beautiful city? Without the conviction of true propositions, whence do we think beauty will come?

- Sir Roger Scruton

La Sorbonne was named for its founder, Robert de Sorbon, chaplain and confessor of Louis IX. The history of the institution has always been closely linked with that of the University of Paris, one of the most important medieval universities of the French capital. Throughout the centuries, la Sorbonne became and remained a prestigious symbol of the university, training and teaching many of the great philosophers and masters of theology and history.

The University of Paris opened its doors in the 13th century. It was formed from a conglomeration of all of the colleges of the city's left bank. It was here that training occurred for all of Paris' clergy, administrators of royal institutions (courts of audit, courts, parliament, the council of state), as well as agents of ecclesiastical institutions ((bishops, abbots, education and hospital agents). Young students of the Four Nations at the time (French, Normandy, Picardy and English) came there to study law, medicine, theology and the arts. Thus, the University enjoyed unmatched prestige and international renown. In 1253, Robert de Sorbon opened his school on the Parisian Mountain, Sainte-Geneviève. The institution was primarily meant to train the poorest students (like many other colleges on the hill), but soon the Collège de Sorbon acquired a reputation, gradually becoming the famous theological faculty La Sorbonne .

The 17th century brought change. In an effort to bring new life to the old buildings, Cardinal Duc de Richelieu appointed architect Jacques Lemercier to undertake updates to the Sorbonne's structures. Cardinal Richelieu was very involved in the life of the Sorbonne and would go on to become headmaster in 1622.

The turmoil of the French Revolution would force the doors of the Sorbonne to close for a time. Starting in 1801 the Sorbonne housed simple artist workshops. During the Restoration, Louis XVIII decided to restore the buildings of the Sorbonne to their original purpose: education. In 1821, the Paris Academy and the École des Chartes (which trained students in archival conservation and preserving written heritage) took possession of the Sorbonne.

[ultimate-worldbuilding]

Creating a SCHOOL

School Name and Location

Name of the school (origin, name changes, nicknames)

Geographical location (Any unique features or characteristics of the location?)

Description

Type of school: Which stage is this school is? (middle school, university, academy, etc. [🔗Educational stages from the world], or add your own system)

Identity

Motto, and purpose

Mascot, Symbol animal

Colors & Crest or Logo

Uniform description (if there’s any)

Reputation

School Background and History:

Founding year and founder(s)

Purpose and mission of the school

Historical events or notable moments in the school's past

School Architecture and Layout:

Description of the buildings and campus layout

Architecture style , architect

Any unique architectural features or magical elements

Building year, story and remodels

Special locations within the school (library with scrolls or holograms, potion laboratory, biolab, magic combat training yard, simulated battle arena,

Disability accommodations

Academic Subjects and Curriculum:

List of core subjects taught at the school (e.g., magic, advanced technology, history of the realm, etc.)

Elective or specialized courses available

Unique or exclusive areas of study offered

Studies

Cost of Education

Grading System

Schedule

Faculty and Staff:

Types of teachers or instructors present (e.g., wizards, scientists, mythical creatures, etc.)

Notable faculty members and their expertise

Support staff and their roles (librarians, caretakers, etc.)

Student Body:

Groups: Are there any type of groups, based on abilities, magic, personality or species enforced by the school? (e.g. Heroes vs Sidekicks, or Hogwarts houses, etc.) Example phrases you can use: guilds, clubs, professions, houses, leagues, groups, syndicate, etc. Are there ones that developed naturally amongst students?

Do these groups have their own space, or where they hangout regularly after shcool?

Total number of students and their demographics (species, age range, etc.)

Admission process and requirements

Student organizations or clubs available

Extra-Curricular Activities:

Sports teams or magical competitions

Clubs and societies for various interests

Annual events or festivals celebrated at the school

Meal times, meal qualities

Special Facilities or Resources:

Laboratories for conducting experiments or magical/Scifi research

Libraries containing ancient texts or futuristic databases

Training grounds or simulation rooms for practical training

School Rules and Regulations:

Code of conduct for students and staff

Punishments and disciplinary measures

Policies regarding magic usage, technology, or any other unique aspects

Security

Notable students:

Famous or influential individuals who graduated from the school

Their accomplishments and contributions to the world

Surrounding Community:

Relationship between the school and the local community

Impact of the school on the surrounding area

School Hierarchy and Governance:

Administrative structure (headmaster/headmistress, deans, etc.)

Governing bodies or councils responsible for decision-making

Funding source

Unique Features and Traditions:

Special ceremonies, rituals, or traditions practiced at the school

Magical or technological artifacts unique to the school

Potential Conflicts and Challenges:

Internal or external conflicts the school might face

Challenges related to the school's purpose or unique features