#it's still something i should maybe aspire to? give me something to do when i have time? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrysgal · 11 months ago

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (2)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

I know I’m just starting and don’t actually have much experience with this, but I’m actually having a lot of fun doing it and already can’t wait to post more.

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

About yn: although the character does not have a faceclaim, pictures suggest reader is white.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

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PART 1 — MEET YN / MASTERLIST

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I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 2) — LAS VEGAS

liked by bestfriend, yourmom, mollyjane_x and 22,108 others

yourinstagram HELLOOOOOOO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS NEVADA

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user1 soooo… a new full time job that took you to las vegas? 👀 yourbrother Please behave bestfriend don’t get (too) drunk without me pls harryfan STOP FIRST LOT SHOW IT’S IN VEGAS

↳ harryfan2 She’s going to the show right???? I mean it can’t be just a coincidence anymore IT JUST CAN’T ↳ harryfan NO I KNOW THIS IS IT I CAN FEEL IT IN MY BONES

Aug 26, 2021 •

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liked by bestfriend, cuteguy, mollyjane_x and 22,451 others

yourinstagram you’d think a lady in vegas would be out there getting wild but this one actually has been locked in her hotel room for the last 27 hours overthinking her ideas and freaking out about this new job lol if any of you could send me a pizza or something id appreciate it. thanks.

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user1 nooooo you’re so talented whatever it is i know you can do it!! bestfriend yn ✋🏻 cuteguy Should I give you a call? 😊 harryfan17 I would too be freaking out if I had to work for THE harry styles lol

↳ harryfan16 we still don’t know if she is tho ↳ harryfan17 C’mon she’s in vegas and molly and jeff are following her ↳ harryfan16 still 🤷🏻‍♀️ tour doesn’t start for another few days so this could be just about something else ↳ harryfan16 also maybe she’s there because she wants to be and not bc she’s “working” for him. she’s done videos about several artists and she isn’t working for any of them is she? ↳ harryfan17 Well yes but she literally just said she was starting a new job so 🤷‍♀️ ↳ harryfan16 so everyone just assumed HARRY, out of all people, hired her? c’mon guys lol she could be working for just anyone and STILL go to a show. one doesn’t have to be related to the other.

Aug 28, 2021 •

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liked by anthonypham, bestfriend, lookitsnyoh and 25,103 others

yourinstagram fun fact: if you post something on the internet people around you might see it 🫠

guess im lucky this lovely group who still don’t know me at all cared enough to drag me out of my room and show me around the city. sometimes i get so caught up inside my mind that i forget how important human connection is — which is funny if you think most of my videos are exactly about that lol. so plssssss make sure to surround yourself with (nice) people. also get some sleep, drink water and feed yourself. it’ll do wonderful things for you!!!

anyway my mom was worried about my “not leaving the room post” so this is just me saying everythings good!! (i also already called her of course <3)

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bestfriend LOVE YOU harryfan the new followers the new likes 😭 it’s happening i knew it user1 so true bestie!! this reminded me of your 2nd video i think

↳ yourinstagram omg yesssss!! ↳ user1 ahh i missed your interactions <3 ↳ yourinstagram i knowww! promise i’ll try my best to keep interacting even if it’s not as much as before 💗

lookitsnyoh my belly still hurts from all the laughing

↳ yourinstagram and my mind is still rushing from all the talking ↳ anthonypham go to sleep you two

harryfan9 I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING BUT OMFG I’M SO HERE FOR IT

Aug 29, 2021 •

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liked by anthonypham, mollyjane_x, bestfriend and 27,257 others

yourinstagram sightseeing left me speechless. but here’s a picture from tonight.

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user1 omg you’re feeding us this week! i’m so happy you’re being active again <3 harryfan78 POST A PICTURE OF YOURSELF I WANT TO MEET YOU AT THE SHOW BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE

↳ user4 calm down pls? we like to behave as respectful human beings on this profile

bestfriend ❤️❤️❤️ bestfriend i’m losing my mind but i’m also so excited and proud! user7 I miss your videos :( lookitsnyoh when was this? where was I? bummed that I missed it!

↳ yourinstagram sorryyy just a last minute decision after dinner :( ↳ lookitsnyoh ohhhh makes sense now! Glad it left you speechless ↳ yourinstagram i mean the city is beautiful ↳ lookitsnyoh sure thing it is 👽

Sep 1, 2021 •

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liked by harryfan, harryfan2 and 15,157 others

fanwhometharry GUYS I JUST MET HARRY I’M SHAKKNG I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE NOW

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harryfan64 omg where did you meet him??

↳ fanwhometharry AT THE BELLAGIO ↳ harryfan64 is he staying there??? ↳ fanwhometharry NO!! I MEAN IDK?? I DONT RHINK SO I JUST MET HIM OUTSIDE AT THE FOUNTAINS ↳ harryfan74 hmm not tryin to be rude or something but that sounds like a weird place for him to be tbh ↳ fanwhometharry I FUCKKNG KNOW THAT?? I MEAN MY PARENTS WANTED TO SEE THE WATER SHOW SO I TAGGED ALONG BUT NEVER EVER THOUGHT ID BUMP INTO HIM THERE

harryfan62 you’re so lucky!! was he alone???

↳ imetharry I DONT KNOW?? I DONT REMEMBER I WAS SO NERVOUS ↳ imetharry I KNOW THERE WAS A GIRL NEARBY BC SHE HANDED HIM A PEN WHEN I COULDNT FIND MINE BUT I DONT KNOW IF SHE WAS WITH HJIM OR NOT ↳ harryfan62 who was this girl? Anyone from the LOT crew? ↳ imetharry IDK I JUST SAID I DONT EVEN KNOW IF SHE WAS WITH HIM OR NOT 😭

harryfan15 Hi hun! Don’t listen to people, they're just jealous. It was really sweet of him to sign that for you! Hope you have a great time at the show 💕

↳ imetharry THANK YOU 😭😭 HE WAS THERE JUST WATCHING LIKE A NORMAL PERSON SO I DIDN’T WANT TO TAKE A PIC IF PEOPLE DON’T BELIEVE ME THEN I DON’T CARE I KNOW IT’S REAL 😭😭

Sep 1, 2021 •

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liked by gemmastyles, anthonypham, jefezoff and 35,109 others

yourinstagram having to keep this secret from the world was the most cruelest thing that anyone has ever done to me. but whatever… it’s fine… i’m okay… i’m just gonna pretend this wasn’t a big deal and i didn’t just watch one of my favorite artists perform my favorite songs… and then i’ll just casually say: pls stay tuned for next wednesday when my new video will be up 😇

(i’ll be back and share more details once my serotonin levels have normalized again)

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bestfriend i love you so much thank you for representing us so well harryfan I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT OMFG I CANT WAIT I KNEW IT harryfan2 YN KASDHUHHD PLS OMFG YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THIS AND LEAVE user1 😲 i can’t wait for this one! harrystyles soz

↳ harryfan OMFG HARRY ↳ harryfan5 ?????????????????????????? ↳ harryfan3 AUIDHIAUSHDBAJH WTF ↳ harryfan9 ARE YOU F KIDDING ME WHATS HE DOING HERE

cuteguy Nice! Glad you’re having a good time darling.

Sep 4, 2021 •

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PART 3: DENVER

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If you happen to read and enjoy this, pls let me know? 🙏 thanks!! it would be nice to know if this is working, or what else would people would like to see.

#harry styles fake social media #harry styles social media au #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smau #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months ago

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A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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npookie0 · 11 days ago

Note

HEY!!! Omg the BEST scenario thought came to me while I was riding on the bus! Doing Ronin’s hair while he’s asleep!! Honestly any of the Li works for this tbh. BUT imagine plaiting, parting, designing, and adding accessories to their hair! It’s actually so perfect

Hobbyist Hairdresser

Woah, your boyfriend is asleep and you're bored and his hair is so fluffy and long enough to braid it... oh no where did those butterfly hairclips came from???

Words: 641

Cws: Spoilers for Killer Chat

You woke up, the sunlight creeping through the blinds and shining directly on your face. With a frown on your face you slowly sat up, Ronin still having his arms wrapped around you like you're his personal plushie.

"Hey Ro..." You were about to wake him up, but then you looked at the clock on the bedside table and realised that it's not even six in the morning yet.

Stupid spring.

You thought and sighed. You couldn't fall back asleep anymore and there wasn't much you could do with Ronin still asleep.

He probably came home late, I won't wake him up so early.

They should give you some sort of reward for being the best possible partner, many would wake up their partners if they were in your shoes. And maybe you should aspire to be like them, because after ten minutes of just sitting you got extremely bored.

You started to pat Ronin's head, brush your fingers through his hair and just playing with them. Your mind started to create images of Ronin with different haircuts. Those visions were truly interesting.

"Mm, why is his hair so fluffy?" You murmured and stopped playing with the plum strands between your fingers.

You looked around the room and then you saw them. Laying on the bed strand right next to you, your hairclips, hair ties , bows and a comb. A sinister idea popped into your mind and it was too late to get rid of it.

He may be asleep, but I still need to kill my boredom!

So like that you were not trying your best to not wake up sleeping Beaufort and braid his hair in the best possible twin braid known to mankind. Was it a hard challenge? Yes. He moves more than you when you were a child. You had to switch the sides you were braiding whenever he changed his side. And he did that a lot.

The braids weren't the prettiest or the most perfect things you've ever made, but other than Ronin moving in his sleep every five minutes, his hair isn't the longest either, braiding it is hell.

But you somehow made it work, parted his hair into two semi-even halves, then each part into three really small sections and began braiding them, middle through right, right through left and so on until you made something that looked like a braid. You put a red bow around the hair ties you used for the braids for the pretty aesthetic. Then, you slowly started putting the pastel butterfly hairclips into his hair. How did you even get them or when did you even took them to Ronin's house? No one knows, maybe it's just fate that put them in that exact place... Regardless!

Once you've put the last hairclip in his hair and was about to move your hand away, he grabbed you by your wrist. "What do you think you're doin', baby?" He asked. His voice hoarse.

Normally you would gasp or yelp in shock, but now? You could only giggle. Seeing the most wanted serial killer in all of Elysium with cute hairclips in his hair? It was way too funny.

"Nothing." You replied with a cute smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Nothing my ass. Guess I hafta see it for myself." He grunted and got up, letting go of your wrist.

Ronin walked up to the mirror in his room and busted out laughing when he saw your creation. "Oh my fuck. No way!" He held himself by his stomach and laughed. "Damn darlin', never knew you were such a great hairstylist." He shook his head in disbelief. "What's next? you'll dye my hair? Or maybe cut them?"

"Why not both?" You replied with a cheeky smirk.

"Oh you dare devil. Be careful or I'll take ya up on that offer, sweetheart."

A really short drabble but it's 11 pm and I wanted to write somethin' quickk

Teehee

Love you all

Nate <3

#killer chat #asks #fanfic #killer chat ronin #fluff #gender neutral reader #ronin beaufort #silly fic #whimsy fic #ronin x reader #ronin killer chat #killer chat fanfic #killer chat ronin x reader

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mcflymemes · 2 years ago

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AS SAID BY DORIAN PAVUS * assorted dialogue from dragon age inquisition, updated version

i don't care what they think about me. i care what they think about us.

i like you. more than i should. more than might be wise.

discretion isn't your thing, is it?

all this dancing, politics, and murder makes me a bit homesick.

i suppose it really depends. how bad do you want to be?

living a lie... it festers inside of you, like poison.

i'm a man of many talents. what can i say?

the moment i saw you, i thought "there's a man who knows quality."

if you don't come through this, i swear i'll kill you.

i'm curious where this goes, you and i. we've had fun. perfectly reasonable to leave it here.

here is my proposal: we dispense with the chitchat and move on to something more primal.

i tease you too much, i know.

i'll have to find something we can do that doesn't involve teasing.

time to drink myself into a stupor. it's been that sort of day.

i see you enjoy playing with fire.

i like playing hard to get.

i'm not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity.

if it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. you're good at that.

talk to me. let me hear how mystified you are by my anger.

oh, i'm not arguing. just pointing out the ridiculously obvious.

if you choose to leave your door unlocked like a savage, i may or may not come.

now... what was i talking about? ah, yes. me.

i am apparently an incredible ass at accepting gifts.

i prefer the company of men.

would you prefer me bound and leashed?

sometimes the ones you love are also the ones who disappoint you the most.

you are the man i love, [name]. nothing will truly keep us apart.

the things you ask are just... very personal.

sometimes... love isn't enough.

there will always be an "us." we'll just be... farther apart, for a time.

i had no idea something like you was possible.

i'm imagining what you would look like in a dress.

i've never seen you smile so much!

i have no idea what you're talking about.

you stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest.

you're shaping the world for good or ill. how could i aspire to do any less?

my footsies are freezing, thank you.

don't you ever bathe?

you're not suggesting we're similar.

watch where you're pointing that thing!

i'm not wearing a skirt.

it's significantly more impressive than hitting them with a sharp piece of metal.

i only meant to say i'm very sorry for your loss.

we can continue this dance forever, if you wish.

i'm saying we should be careful what we assume when it comes to such matters.

demons don't appreciate a man with good hair.

what i wouldn't give for some proper wine.

your outfit's entertaining. i'll give you that.

he had to leave early on account of assassination.

it's nice to know you have friends.

i'm here to do what is right.

come on, just answer the question.

they were asking me about you. personal things.

you said we'd be ass-deep in trouble. this is more like knee-high.

so what's your estimation? think we can win?

you can't call me pampered. nobody's peeled a grape for me in weeks.

you startled me. you're always so... nondescript.

you're a special and unique snowflake. live the dream.

i wanted to see you make flowers bloom with your song. just once.

you've done a lot less dancing naked in the moonlight than expected.

i've never seen anyone in this part of the world do it.

i realize there's more to you than that.

have i offended you?

for hating the outdoors, you sure seem to like bad weather.

i can't figure you out, [name].

you don't play their stupid game, they send an assassin or three your way.

i can't believe you're scared of magic.

i'm going to take that as a compliment.

still don't like me, [name]? after all this time?

[name], i owe you an apology.

i suspect people will use any excuse to hate us.

why be ashamed? power should be respected, not swept under the carpet.

maybe you're not a complete moron.

i just need to know you're capable of higher thought. for my own comfort.

it would take work. and soap. lots and lots of soap.

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nocturnalangelicx · 21 days ago

Text

Sundove fanfic (Drew tanaka x will solace)

Will Solace wasn’t used to feeling awkward in the infirmary. The place was his domain — clean cots, soft light, the smell of ambrosia and lemon balm in the air. A sanctuary in a chaotic world. But today, sitting across from Drew Tanaka, his hands wrapped around a roll of gauze and his heart thudding like a war drum, it felt anything but peaceful.

“You know,” she said dryly, “when I said I wanted more attention, I didn’t mean you had to stab me with a hydra fang first.”

Will chuckled, too aware of how close they were. “I wasn’t the one trying to show off in front of the Hermes kids.”

“Please,” Drew scoffed. “They need role models. I’m giving them something to aspire to.”

He rolled his eyes and dipped the cloth into nectar. “A concussion?”

She smirked. “Flawless combat form and a sense of fashion under pressure. I was wearing lip gloss.”

Will glanced up at her — and there it was. That fire in her eyes that used to scare people off. Not him, though. Not even in middle school, when he’d first sat next to her in their 7th-grade homeroom in New York.

She was the only other demigod in his class, both of them unknowingly placed in the same mortal school for “protection.” She wore eyeliner and attitude, corrected their math teacher in front of the whole class, and talked to him like she expected him to keep up — not like she pitied him, like others did.

They dated for three months. Three awkward, chaotic, strangely sweet months. He gave her a seashell bracelet (even though she hated the beach), and she gave him a hard time every chance she got — and maybe her heart too, just a little. Then came Camp Half-Blood, monsters, gods, and the quiet decision to stay friends.

Mostly.

Until now.

“You’re staring,” Drew said, bringing him back to the present.

Will cleared his throat, flustered. “I was just… checking the wound. You’re lucky it didn’t get infected.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t stab you with my dagger.”

“You love that dagger more than most people.”

“Maybe. But not more than a few.” Her voice dipped then, quiet, like she wasn’t sure if she meant to say it out loud.

Will’s hands paused.

They’d always been good at dancing around things — middle school feelings, summer flirtations, inside jokes nobody else got. But in the aftermath of the war, something shifted. Camp wasn’t the same. People had changed. And so had they.

“I still have that stupid seashell bracelet,” she said suddenly, staring down at her hands. “Found it in a drawer after the war. I don’t know why I kept it.”

Will swallowed. “I… remember the first time you wore it. You said it clashed with your entire aesthetic and then refused to take it off for a week.”

“It was ugly,” she said with a tiny smile.

“You liked it,” he said softly.

“Maybe I liked the person who gave it to me.”

The silence that followed felt like a live wire — electric and fragile all at once.

Will set the gauze down. “Drew, why do we do this?”

She met his eyes. “Do what?”

“Pretend we don’t see it. The looks. The late-night talks. The way I always end up patching you up because I care way more than I should.”

Drew was quiet for a long moment, then stood up from the cot, walking to the window. Camp glowed outside — campfires, laughter in the distance, stars overhead. Safe, finally.

“When I lost Silena,” she said, “I promised myself I wouldn’t depend on anyone again. That loving people just made you weaker.”

Will stood too, a few feet away from her. “But it doesn’t.”

“No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t. Not with you.”

There it was. Everything they hadn’t said since 7th grade, since their lives changed, since they learned that gods played with hearts like chess pieces. But not here. Not now.

“Then don’t run from this,” he said. “We’ve already done that.”

She turned to him, eyes shining with something soft and uncertain. “And what happens if we try again?”

Will smiled, the kind of smile that made her stomach twist in the way she hated and secretly loved. “Then maybe we do it right this time.”

She hesitated — Drew Tanaka, never hesitant — and then stepped closer.

And when she kissed him, it wasn’t dramatic or fireworks-filled. It was quiet. Familiar. Like a memory and a promise all at once.

When they finally pulled apart, she raised an eyebrow. “Still think the seashell bracelet was a good idea?”

He grinned. “Terrible. But maybe I’ll make you a new one.”

She rolled her eyes. “Better not be pink.”

“No promises.”

#pjo hoo toa #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo ships #will solace #drew tanaka #sundove

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imshymorph · 1 year ago

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Happy valentines everyone, here’s some more Death!Ghost x Life!Reader for your enjoyment. Here’s Part One in case you haven’t read it. And now, Part Three

He doesn't wait for an answer, his hands moving from the side of the mask to the eye sockets, fingers fitting in them to pull it away. Out of pure habit you quickly drift your eyes, looking away from him to honour his privacy. His heart seems to fill his chest when he notices.

“It's okay.” He murmurs, his voice raspy but also a more clear than usual, making you realise that the bone usually muffles his voice. “I want you to see me.” He encourages, his hand dropping the mask between the two of you.

- - - - -

You still feel a little hesitant, but let your eyes move back to him. Taking in the sight of his dark robes covering his chest, the hood he usually dons now loosely covering his shoulders. And when you finally reach his face you take your time, like an aspiring artist studying a piece in a museum.

His skin paler than most, although you already expected it from the few peeks you had gotten as his sleeve rode up. The veins that moved up from his neck and onto his face showed through the white tone, combining along the scars that littered his skin. The lines and shapes they created reminding you of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas with gold.

Despite the sharper edges on his jaw and nose, there was something soft about his features, something reminiscent of when he was first given life. His pale eyes, a foggy mix of greys and blues being highlighted by the dark edges around and under his eyes. Just as if the shadow that the mask produced was permanent around them.

What managed to surprise you most was his hair, with soft curls and waves and with a blond tone that reminded you of the first sunbeams to illuminate the earth in a summer morning.

“Didn’t think you’d be blond.” You say after a moment, your usual sweet smile returning to your lips. “Expected it to be a rich brown, like soil after a full day of rain.” You admit, your eyes scheming over his blond curls once more.

He felt his whole body relax, a soft sigh leaving him as the tension did. It must’ve been the first time someone saw him since his beginning as Death, since he could pretty much remember.

A soft chuckle escapes him at your comment, his expression going soft and a smile lifting the corner of his lips. It was strange to see Death smile, but also a welcome sight. “So, you did wonder about how I looked?” he dares to say, his smile pulling onto a grin.

You chuckle, being the one to have to drift your gaze away this time, fighting to hide the heat that is gathering on your cheeks at his teasing comment. He chuckles as well, being the one to give you space now.

“I might have been curious.” You murmur after a moment, a small grin on your lips as you still avoid looking at him. You still can see the way he looks at you through the reflection of the creek in front of you. Feel his eyes on you.

“Have I met the expectations, then?” He pushes lightly, that teasing tilt still on his tone. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he surprised himself with how easy it was to make the change. To be more open, to show himself to you.

You don’t answer for a moment, looking at the landscape surrounding the two of you before nodding. You turn your head, facing him once more. “Look imposing enough without the mask… Although that smile it's like an open invitation to befriend you.” you say, returning the light quip back.

“We aren’t friends already?” He asks, his tone sounding surprisingly offended but the small smirk on his lips reassuring you that he was just playing along. “Maybe I should just leave then.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be good. You can’t have Life without Death. What would I do without my other half?” You ask, raising your brows as you put the ball on his court.

He chuckles, looking back up to the sky once more, letting his body fall back and rest against the combination of grass and moss under your bodies. “Have no purpose i guess… Just as if I were to be without you.”

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x oc #x oc #cod x oc #cod x you #ghost x you #death!ghost #oc: life #death x reader #death x life

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mytaiyakeylover · 2 years ago

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so precious.

synopsis: you’re finally ready for your first kiss, but shoto can’t seem to get the hint.

pairing: shoto todoroki x gn!reader

warnings: none. just fluff, fluff, and even more fluff! well…maybe just one minor curse word.

word count: 1k

Heterochromia eyes blinked in confusion at the lonely piece of paper lying on the desk. The words 'Kiss Note' were written in cursive across the blank space. There wasn’t much else written on it, aside from one single sentence that said, ‘If you can guess how many times I’ve tried to kiss you this week, I’ll give you a big surprise<3’ —(Y/n).

Shoto furrowed his eyebrows as he read the words. An invisible question mark seemed to hang above his head. The boy scanned the nearly empty classroom, hoping to find your familiar figure. It was still early in the morning, and only a few members of the Bakusquad and some other students were present.

Your desk appeared empty, leaving him confused as you were usually one of the first to arrive at school. His gaze then returned to the note, the invisible question mark still very much present. He just couldn't seem to comprehend the message you had written. Have you been trying to kiss him? The aspiring hero struggled to recall any such moments.

A sudden gust of wind softly blew against the shell of his ear, accompanied by a quiet “Boo.” The dual-haired boy blinked at the familiar voice as a pair of arms sneaked around his waist. Your chin rested on his broad shoulder, and Shoto could see a small pout on your face.

“(Y/n)-chan,” the boy spoke, tilting his head slightly downward to get a better look at your expression. ”I'm sorry, but I can't remember any attempts you made to kiss me.” You huffed at that, arms unwrapping themselves from his waist as you crossed them over your chest. Cheeks puffed out frustratedly, making you look like an angry chipmunk.

“Does this mean that I won't be getting a surprise?” The expression on your boyfriend's face showcased nothing but utter cluelessness, making him resemble a confused puppy dog. You couldn't even bring yourself to be angry with him because of how adorable he looked in that exact moment. Though he had never been one for surprises, it still made him feel somewhat disappointed that he would not be receiving one from you now.

Shoto will admit, he did notice that you had been acting rather strange these past few days. For example, that brief moment when you had applied lip balm after commenting on how dry your lips were. He didn’t think much of that, but then you asked him if he wanted to try it out himself — which he did — and you ended up pouting for several hours straight, refusing to even look at him. Back then, he simply thought that you did not like to share your things with him and meant that he should go and buy one himself.

Truth be told, he still failed to understand how that could be related to your kissing attempts.

Then there was that time when you had introduced him to a strange game that was called the ‘Pocky Game’, where two people were supposed to eat one Pocky from each end, and the first person whose mouth comes off the Pocky or the player that gets to the middle first loses. He had found it pretty odd at the time as he didn’t understand what the main purpose of it was. Neither did you give any further explanation.

You didn't get to see who would win because Mina suddenly interrupted, dragging you away while claiming that you had something serious to discuss. Now, as he recalled that moment, he could faintly remember your shouts at the pink girl, whining about how she had just "ruined everything" while Ashido sounded like she was laughing at something extremely hilarious.

Lastly, he remembered yesterday evening when you had been watching a romantic movie together. The main leads were sharing a passionate kiss, and Shoto could still remember the way you sighed while saying, “I wish someone would kiss me like that.”

Was that what you were trying to do? Trying to get him to kiss you? Then why didn’t you just ask him? Shoto wouldn’t mind kissing you. That’s what couples do, right? He would be happy to fulfill your wishes.

“(Y/n)-chan, are you trying to say that you want me to kiss you?” His words were so blunt, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks heating up. You thought you heard some snickers and noticed more of your classmates entering the classroom. Mina sent you a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

“Sho-chan,” you mumbled, hiding your now red face behind your hands. “You’re too precious, I swear...”

The dual-haired boy took a hold of your hands gently before removing them from your face. A faint pink hue dusting his cheekbones as he began to lean in. His lips were soft against yours. Warm, sweet and tender. It was relatively short, but for you, it felt like an eternity.

Hearts beating erratically within your rib cages, a stark contrast to the slow and sensual movements you were displaying. A part of you would like to continue, to never stop, and Shoto seemed to share your sentiment. He was such a good kisser, a part of you wondered if this really was his first time. He was just being so careful, like he was afraid to hurt you — were he to make any sudden movements. Treating you as if you were as fragile as glass.

However, the sweet and tender moment was short lived as a loud growl could be heard coming from behind, urging the both of you to finally break apart — albeit hesitantly. Then your eyes fell on a certain angry pomeranian who was thrashing around, while Sero, and Kirishima were struggling to hold back. A giggle escaped your lips as your (e/c) eyes made contact with his crimson. Right eye twitching he spoke in a low, irritated tone, “Get a room you damn extras.”

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localplaguenurse · 8 months ago

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Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 6

So ever since my last update, I've gotten a new laptop because deadass the same day I posted chapter 5 like "oh hopefully I'll get it back soon," they told me my old acer aspire is so old they don't even make the parts for it anymore. This has nothing to do with the fic, I just thought it was funny.

Notes: still sfw, semi dysfunctional/controlling family dynamics (I assure you they will get progressively worse), ableism in the form of reader being coddled and patronized by his parents. Check masterlist for previous parts, will eventually make an actual masterlist for this fic.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

You did not immediately tell your parents about your interaction with Pantalone when you finally returned, as once again they were in the midst of an argument. Your mother’s scoldings about how your father knows better, and your father’s arguments about how you’re a grown man who should fend for himself by now could be heard the moment you stepped through the door. Colleen gives you an awkward, sympathetic smile as you shuck off your coat. Before the maid can hang it up, you fish the letter from your pocket, and seeing your name in the Guuji Yae’s handwriting fills you with nervous excitement once more.

You can’t really hear the fighting from your study. If you try to listen, you can, but otherwise it is very peaceful. You open the letter again and set it next to your typewriter, while also tucking the briefcase with your manuscript under your desk. You proceed to load your typewriter, ready to type a response, when it occurs to you that maybe you should hand write this letter. Would it be disrespectful to just type a letter? Maybe. A handwritten letter is more personal, after all.

By the time you finish your letter, there are six other letters crumpled up in your bin, and you hear your mother’s voice informing you that it’s dinner time. The tense atmosphere of dinner keeps you from talking, let alone telling your parents about Pantalone. You really don’t want to set off yet another argument with how much these two have grown apart. As horrible as it is to think or say, you will not be surprised if the word divorce comes up in their next fight, and that next fight is probably tomorrow.

This tense silence continues the next day, and the day after that, until a full two weeks have passed where you have not heard a single argument. Not because your parents made up, mind you, but because they have barely spoken to each other. Nothing beyond standard small talk or informing the other person about meals or receiving something in the mail. The air is oppressive, and you try not to let it show how much it is starting to stress you out. Instead, you have been waiting patiently for a letter back from the Guuji, hoping to surprise them with some good news for once.

(You’ve also been replaying your last interaction with Pantalone in your head, because you know you did not mishear him.)

The silence breaks when your father throws your bedroom door open one morning, when you are in the midst of getting changed out of your sleepwear.

“You!”

You jump, having just put on your pants. Your face heats up in embarrassment. “Would it kill you to knock?” you snap. It’s not even ten.

You hear your mother somewhere behind your father. “Darling, calm down.”

Your father storms inside and an envelope is shoved in your face. “Do you care to explain this?”

You step back and take the envelope. You rub your eyes, shoot your dad a dirty look, and read the envelope. That’s your name and address, but you don’t recognize the return address in the corner. The name, however, you do recognize, and your father does too.

“Why is it that I haven’t had contact with the Regrator in two weeks,” your father asks, “but when I finally get a letter back, it’s for you?”

“Yes, why is Pantalone writing to you?” your mother asks in turn.

Your brow furrows, and with your father glaring daggers at you, you break the seal on the back of the letter. Before you can actually open it, your dad snatches the letter from you. He tosses the envelope aside and unfolds the paper within.

“Hey!” You grab your father’s arm. “If you’re going to barge into my room, at least let me read my own mail!”

“There has to be some mistake,” your father says. “There’s no reason for the Regrator to talk to you.”

“While I disagree with his approach,” your mother says, “your father has a point.”

“Maybe if you let me read my mail, I could tell you,” you reply sarcastically. Your father rolls his eyes but hands the now crinkled letter back to you. You straighten it out and let your eyes scan over the words.

Your father’s voice is impatient. “Well?”

You squint. “It’s an invitation.”

“An invitation?” your mother asks.

“What the hell for?” your father asks.

“An invitation for tea,” you answer, “for… tomorrow, at two.”

“Anything else?”

You flip the paper over. It’s blank. You flip it back over. “No, it’s just tea at two at his estate.”

“No, you fool,” your dad says, pulling the letter out of your hand again. “I meant if he mentions your sister or myself, because I find it hard to believe he’d invite you to his estate.”

You cross your arms. “Why’s that?”

“Your father means it’s odd that you would be invited over when you are not, ah, working with him,” your mother says, making up an excuse on the fly. “You’re not working with your father and sister, so if you were to be invited over, then that would include the rest of the family.” Though she’s out of your limited line of vision, you know she’s glaring at your father based on the way he averts his eyes from you.

“Then why is it addressed to him? It doesn’t address anyone else in the family.”

“I’m not sure, dear. Perhaps there’s been a mistake?”

“Pantalone would not make a mistake like this. Perhaps the post office lost our invites, but not his.”

“Or he just invited me,” you butt in.

Your father gives you a look.

“Think about it,” you say, “if we all got an invite, surely mine would have said something about it, right? Hope to see you and your family, or something along those lines.”

“Perhaps mine would have it,” your father retorts, “as he’s my business partner.”

More like marriage partner at this point, you think and know better than to say. “You’re also assuming this has anything to do with work,” is what you say instead. “What if it’s just tea?”

“No, a man like him wouldn’t invite someone over for just tea,” your mother says.

Your father goes to put your invitation in his pocket, but gives it back to you when your mom gives him a look. He clears his throat. “Well, we’ll have this sorted when we visit tomorrow.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“We’re not going to just turn down this invitation,” your father says, as if you’re an idiot for not understanding what he was getting at.

“We? We?”

“That’s right,” your mother chimes in, “we really shouldn’t go if we don’t know his intentions.”

“That’s not…” You groan, annoyed. You point at your father. “You aren’t on the invite.” You turn and point to your mother. “And we’ve talked about the coddling.”

Your mother shakes her head. “That was about when he visits us, I don’t want you alone at his estate.”

“No, no, we’re not getting into the semantics,” you say, “I have told you time and time and time again to stop treating me like I’m seven! I should be allowed to go have tea with someone else by myself.”

“Watch your tongue,” your father snaps, “and our decision is final. If you want to go to the Regrator’s for tea, then your mother and I are going as well.” He turns to walk off, and stops in the doorway. “And put a damn shirt on.”

The door slams shut, leaving you and your mother in your room. She offers you an apologetic smile, and gets the hint you want space when you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. Her exit is much quiet, a soft apology and a gentle closing of the door.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to find the envelope your father carelessly tossed aside. It slid most of the way under your bed, only the corner of it is immediately visible. You pick it up and feel your heart thump in your chest.

So this is what your name looks like in his handwriting.

----

While the novelty of Pantalone’s social status has worn off, the estate that comes into view through the snowstorm is a reminder of his intimidating wealth. It’s a beautiful building, and significantly larger than your family home. Your eyes are glued to the sight of it through the covered sled’s window. You can also just see your mother looking at it as well through the reflection of the glass.

“Remember what we talked about,” your father says, and you make a face of annoyance similar to the face your mother’s reflection makes. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Don’t touch, trip on, or break anything,” you reply, “and only speak when spoken to. I’m aware of the whole routine.”

“And watch the attitude.”

“And you remember what I told you,” you reply, not bothering to turn your head. “If it turns out Pantalone didn’t invite you over, you need to leave.”

“Look at me when you talk to me.”

There’s a thump. Your mother most likely gave your father a nudge with her foot. Silence takes up the last few minutes of the ride as it slows to a stop right outside the snowy steps. You slide over to the opposite end of your seat and open the door, sucking all the warmth out of the sled. You make no effort to wait for your parents before you step down from the stairs. The snow pelting you in the face diminishes your vision, so you only make it a few steps before you trip on the first step. You catch yourself before you tumble forward and smash your teeth into the stairs.

You hear your mother’s voice from the sled. “Please be careful!”

You shout back that you’re fine, and climb up the stairs. Pantalone must have just had the steps cleared off before the blizzard hit, as there’s no crunch beneath your feet, merely the puff of snowflakes puffing out of the way with each step you take. Your father calls for you to wait for them as you stand before the door. You grab one of the large knockers and give it a few hard knocks on the door.

You feel your father’s firm hand on your shoulder just as a gust of heat rushes out and envelops you. You find yourself standing face to face with an older gentleman dressed in pristine servant’s attire. The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment he offers a welcoming smile before he notices you’re not alone, then it becomes confusion.

“Oh, hello there,” he says, “this is a little unexpected.”

“We’re here for tea with the Regrator,” your father butts in before you can even open your mouth.

“I had assumed as much, but I was told we were expecting a single visitor,” the man says. He brings his gaze back to you. “Now, you fit the description, but these two–”

Somewhere behind the man, you hear Pantalone’s voice. “Fyodor, what’s going on? Why have you not let our guest inside?”

The man turns around to address his master. “Apologies, my lord, but there seems to be some sort of… misunderstanding?”

You hear heeled footsteps descending a flight of stares and across the floor before your host comes into view. You feel yourself salivate and swallow it down quickly. You’re so used to seeing him in mostly black clothing, so the white lace up shirt with puffy sleeves immediately catches your eye. It’s tucked into a pair of black corset pants, which you make a point to not look at either. His hair is not tied back, and the chain on his glasses seems different. Though he still has his rings, he’s not wearing his gloves. Even in more “casual” attire, the Regrator is the pinnacle of wealth and beauty.

This very beautiful man tilts his head at the sight of your parents, namely your father. “What are you doing here?”

“You… You invited us to tea,” your father says.

“No I didn’t.”

Your father is quiet, and you turn yourself to see the confusion on his face. “You sent an invitation, i-it had our address on it.”

“Yes, and I believe I put your son’s name on it, did I not?” Pantalone asks. When you turn back around to him, you find he’s looking right at you.

“You did, b-but I presumed you… you forgot to mention us, or maybe the invitations for my wife and I got lost in the–”

Pantalone lifts his hand, silencing your father. “If that were the case, I would have either addressed it to your family as a whole on the envelope, or I would have mentioned it in the invitation itself. Likewise, I did not send this through the post office, I had one of my staff deliver it personally.”

“But, b-but I’m your business partner!”

Pantalone turns to you. “Did you invite them with you?”

You stumble on your words, feeling too humiliated to answer honestly. What’s worse, saying yes, or saying no, but your parents wouldn’t let you leave unless they came along like they were chaperoning a child’s first field trip or playdate? You manage a shake of your head, and fortunately Pantalone seems to understand your plight after having many interactions with your family.

He sighs, and steps aside. “You’ve already made the trip, and the weather is taking a turn for the worst,” he relents, “you may come in.”

Your father pushes past and marvels at the interior of Pantalone’s estate. Your mother gives you an assuring pat on your shoulder. Pantalone whispers something to Fyodor, who nods and goes to help your parents with their coats.

The door shuts behind you, and you turn to Pantalone. You clasp your gloved hands together and lower your voice. “I am so sorry, I tried to tell them–”

“I know,” he replies in a voice as soft as yours, “perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t think I would need to be more specific in the invitation.”

With that, Pantalone stands up and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Once you’re all settled, please follow me for a short tour on the way to the tea room.” He turns to Fyodor, who is carrying your parents’ coats. “Fyodor, please be a dear and let the chefs know to prepare some extra refreshments for our unexpected company.”

Fyodor nods, and you give him your coat before he leaves. Your mother is already hovering right next to you protectively, and Pantalone gives you a subtly sympathetic smile, which your mother seemingly interprets as an underlying threat judging by the way she wraps her arm around yours. You imagine your father is rolling his eyes.

The tour is short as promised, only staying in any given room long enough for Pantalone to state what the purpose of it is. You pass through the dining room, where Pantalone points out the doors to the kitchen, before you’re in a corridor passing by a ballroom entryway. You try to have a look at the oddly macabre paintings your host has displayed on the walls, but your mother is practically dragging you along so she can get this event over with quicker. You want to ask questions about what the chandelier in the foyer is made of, but your father already asked that in his never ending ramblings of praise for Pantalone and probably isn’t going to stop so you can actually ask the man anything.

Your father finally shuts up and your mother lets your arm go when the four of you step inside the tea room. Something you notice immediately is, while there are paintings on the walls, a table in the centre of the room, and a large cabinet with various tea sets, there is actually very little decor and furniture here. You passed by some sculptures and house plants and other miscellaneous extravagant pieces on the way, but the small room is oddly empty compared to the corridor just outside.

When Pantalone takes a seat, your parents end up taking a seat on either side of him. Your father is immediately praising the barely furnished room, while your mother acts as barrier. As such, you end up seated across from him. On cue, you hear two people come in through the door behind you. You hear a soft squeaking, and a servant pushing a cart with a tea set on top of it. The porcelain teapot and cups have a vaguely floral pattern, with the handles shimmering with gold leaf. You jump when the second person, another servant, comes up beside you with a tray of food to place on the table. Your father marvels as they get to work setting the table, your mother politely thanks the staff, and you just sit still as your cup of tea is poured.

“This is quite lovely, Pantalone,” your father says for the millionth time, “really, I expect nothing less from you!”

Pantalone gives your father a smile, a polite gesture that does not reach his eyes. “I’m flattered.” When he looks your way, his smile seems fonder. “How about you? You seem to have something on your mind.”

“Oh! Um…” You lean back and glance around the room once more. “I was just… curious about your decor.”

Pantalone tilts his head curiously. “Oh? And what would you like to know?”

You hesitate to answer out of fear you would offend the man.

“Well? Out with it,” your father remarks.

“This room is a little bit… um…”

“Bare?” Pantalone finishes. “Yes, I had some of the furniture moved around in preparation for your arrival.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eye condition,” he answers, “you said you used to trip on furniture because you didn’t see it, correct? I figured with a room this size, it would be safer to move some of the decor out of the room while you were visiting.”

“Oh, that’s… actually rather sweet,” you say, “b-but unnecessary. I’m not as clumsy as I used to be.”

“Ah, yes, my suit can attest to that fact.”

You chuckle.

Your father chimes in. “Yes, it’s better we avoid any more expensive accidents.”

Pantalone hums. “While I would rather avoid paying for a replacement or repair job, I was more focused on ensuring your son’s safety. I would hate for my guest to get hurt at an event I invited him to.”

You pick up on his passive aggressive comment, and your father does not. That, or he’s elected to ignore it. “Ah, that too,” your father says. He gestures to your mother. “I would have never heard the end of it if that were the case!”

Your father was expecting someone to laugh. He is ignored by Pantalone and gets glared at by your mother. You just grab a couple pastries, honestly wishing you had just turned down the invite altogether.

Your father clears his throat. “So, about that thing I-I had proposed a few weeks ago–”

“How is the book deal?” Pantalone asks you.

“O-Oh,” you stammer, not expecting him to bring up your book, “well, I’ve decided to go for it, and I’ve written back saying I would like to move forward with the deal. Now I’m just waiting for them to get back to me.”

Pantalone smiles and nods. “That’s lovely to hear.”

Your mother looks at you, confused. “What is he talking about?”

Fuck. You swallow, and nervously, sheepishly smile. “Right, um… I was, ah, saving this for when the deal was finalized, but my book might be getting published now.”

“By who?”

“... The Yae Publishing House.”

Your mother’s squeal could shatter porcelain. “The Yae Publishing House?! Sweetheart, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

You awkwardly laugh, avoiding Pantalone’s knowing gaze. “They’re just s-such a big deal, you know? I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew for certain they were going t-to publish the book.”

“Still, you could have at least told me you sent your book to them! Oh, goodness, I’m getting all worked up now. My sweetheart, being published by the Guuji Yae…”

Pantalone chuckles. “Yes, quite exciting. It warms my heart to see hard work being recognized.”

“I’m very excited,” your mother says, “he hasn’t told me what his new book is about, he keeps telling me to wait until it gets published. I was worried I’d never get to read it when your first deal was cancelled!”

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “This one’s kind of, well, different from my usual writing. I wasn’t sure how people would react to it.”

“Your stories are lovely, sweetie,” your mother insists, “you should never worry about what your mother thinks because I will always support you.”

You hear your father lean over in his chair towards Pantalone, and in a room of four people, his whisper is very audible. “He was worried he would have to get a real job, haha.”

“Which would be difficult given my disability,” you add, “seeing as most jobs require you to have awareness of your surroundings, and my eyesight is only going to continue degrading.”

Your father glares, and clears his throat. “... It was a joke.”

“And it wasn’t very original.”

“You’re also one to talk, considering our little deal,” Pantalone remarks. Your mother looks at your father for an explanation, to which he just sips his tea, embarrassed.

The rest of the afternoon isn’t less awkward. The momentary embarrassment does not stop your father from badgering Pantalone with questions about what he’s been doing the past two weeks (settling some financial matters in Liyue), and praising him for the pastries he’s provided. Pantalone answers out of politeness, but his responses grow shorter and shorter every time your father opens his mouth. Your mother just silently eats, disinterested in conversing with the Regrator. You try to engage in conversation with Pantalone, but despite glares from everyone at the table, your father continues to interrupt you or answer questions Pantalone could not have more clearly directed towards you. You also just keep your answers short, not wanting to divulge too much about your book or true thoughts in front of your parents.

Your father pops the last cream puff in his mouth. He’s already eaten most of them. There is no more tea, bringing the meeting to a close.

Pantalone claps his hands together. “Well, this has been a meeting!”

“We appreciate the invitation, Lord Pantalone,” your father says.

“What invitation?” Pantalone asks. “Remember? You two never received an invite.”

“... Right.”

Pantalone leans forward, propping his head up in his hands. He’s looking right at you, and he smiles so sweetly. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly overstay our welcome.”

Pantalone nods, acknowledging your father. He then looks back at you. “So? Would you care to stay?”

“We just said no,” your mother says.

“That’s fine, you two are free to leave. I’m talking to your son.”

Your mother and father lock eyes, before your father turns back to Pantalone. “Wait, why are you asking him if he wants to stay, but not us?”

Pantalone sighs, and grins at your father. “Well, I think I’ve played host to you two long enough, so I’ll tell you honestly.” At that, Pantalone drops his smile. The atmosphere immediately grows tense as he speaks, his voice cold. “I invited your son to my home because I wanted to discuss his upcoming book over tea. I did not invite you over to discuss work matters on my day off. Now, I would like to have the discussion I cleared my schedule for, and I would like to do it with the guest I actually invited.”

Your father balks, while you feel your jaw drop to the table and your eyes go as wide as saucers. You slowly turn towards your mother, and she is immediately seething. She stands up, her chair scraping on the floor. Pantalone smiles at you once more.

“So will you be staying for dinner? I have many questions about your writing process.”

“I–”

“Absolutely not,” your mother snaps. She grabs your arm hard and attempts to pull you up to your feet. Your father is torn between being shocked over being called out for his behaviour, humiliated for being scolded like a child, and incensed that your invitation did not extend towards him. Your mother tugs your arm again, and you stand up so you can better shake her off your arm.

“We’re leaving,” your father says. “Come along, you two.”

You brush some crumbs off your lap and sit back down.

Your father shakes your shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re leaving.”

“Have fun,” you reply dryly, “I’ll be home late.”

Pantalone absolutely beams. “Oh, wonderful!”

You flinch at your mother’s shrill voice. “No, you’re not! I am not leaving you with this disrespectful–”

“Violka, he has made up his mind,” your father growls. You feel him glaring daggers into the back of your head, and do not move. You hear your mother start to protest, but then the door shuts behind you.

Pantalone lifts a small plate up off the table. On it is the final little piece of cherry bublanina. He offers it to you with a sly smirk, like forbidden fruit.

With this in mind, you take it.

#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #blind reader #my fic #falling head over heels

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nanivinsmoke · 1 year ago

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Personal Trainer

Zoro x Fem!Reader

we all wanna get fucked by this man.

summary ~ when the sexiest man in the gym gets tired of y/n’s mouth, he decides to give her a punishment

warning ~ anal sex, rough sex, public sex, shower sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, teasing and degradation.

one minute she was doing some squats, the next minute she was taking back shots in the shower. it happened so fast, yet she had been wanting this for sometime.

the green haired male was her personal trainer. he was with her every time she came to the gym. y/n had asked him to train her when she watched him lift a 250 barbell with ease, he was the only person in the gym who could do that. his body was something she aspired to have, he was muscled and toned in the right places. he was perfect, his body and his face was sculpted by a god.

however, the first time she met him and they interacted, she thought he was an asshole. they would bicker which would gain the attention of other people working out, but that only increased the sexual tension between them. she soon began to notice it too. she would catch herself staring, staring as his chest rising and falling whenever he flexed his muscles or the beads of sweat that trickled down his tan skin. it had made her all hot and bothered, just looking at him.

but, she wasn’t the only one noticing things. he noticed how plump her ass was in her gym shorts. the way her ass cheeks would swallow up the sheer fabric was enough to get a rise out of him. he would also pick fight with her just to see her get mad, she was sexier when she was mad at him. that’s how all this started today, he had picked another fight and he was tired of her mouth.

“dumbass! that’s not how you use the stair climber!” y/n yelled at the idiotic green haired man, as he did jumping jacks on the stair climber, tugging at his tank top to get him off of the equipment.

“do you have to whine everytime you talk? no wonder you’re in this gym and still don’t have a boyfriend” his teasing words stung, which made her pause and turn to him. “the fuck did you just say to me? asshole!” she bickered back, attempting to get in his face but he was taller than she was, which made it hard for her.

“you bitch more than me, maybe you are one?” now her words stung like hell to him and his face dropped. she immediately took notice to his change in body language and tried to apologize, but he wasn’t trying to hear it. “wait—ahh!—put me down!” he quickly picked her up and slung her body over one shoulder, like she was a ragdoll. as she squirmed in his grasp, he sent a harsh smack to her ass, making her yelp and the fat jiggle.

when they made it into the locker and shower room, zoro placed her down and ordered her to strip. she loved the way he was demanding her, she was more turned on than usual, maybe she should do this more often. y/n gladly did as she was told, but made sure she kept a scowl on her face. she was ready to take her punishment, she had been waiting for this very moment. she unclasped her sports bra, her breast resting while her nipples stood at attention. the sight alone made his dick jump slightly, her body was beautiful.

when she finally dropped her pants and panties, he made her turn around and turned on the hot water, the steam enveloping them both. she turned to him and bit her lip slightly, “i like it rough,” a smirk appeared on his face and he quickly pulled her into a kiss, his tongue easily dominating hers. she was beyond soaked by now, her clit throbbing with each swipe of his tongue. she was growing impatient, lifting up her leg and grabbing his hand so he could feel her wetness. the slick moisture that coated his thick finger tips nearly made him go insane. he had never felt a woman that was this wet before.

his finger pumped in and out of her, spreading her open with each pump. the more he explored her wet cunt, the more she cried out in pleasure. she could feel herself cumming and he did too, so before she could even enjoy her climax, he pulled his fingers out and pulled away from her soft lips. he sucked the fluids from his fingers before ordering her once again to turn around, facing the wall.

“please. just let me cum~” she breathed out, upset at her rejected climax. zoro said nothing as he viewed her plump backside, the roundness of her ass caused him to quickly tease his tip at both of her entrances; which made her tense up each time he went near her asshole. “don’t worry, that’s gonna get fucked too—shit~” he pushed into her pussy, loving the warmth and wetness they came with it, stretching her completely.

he had filled her up with ease, his thickness caused her to have a mini orgasm. wanting to experience a bigger one, she threw her ass back against him, catching him a bit off guard before he met her each time with a thrust. zoro’s thick hands gripped her hips, deepening his stroke. y/n took it like a big girl, the slight pain being overpowered by pleasure was enough to make her cum again. “you cumming around my dick? who said you can do that, bitch~” his degrading words only made her pleasure increase, she didn’t care if the whole gym heard her either.

he pulled out of her cunt and prodded at her ass hole, causing her to tense up once more. he chuckled and used his spit as lubricant, which was enough for him to get through. this was a different feeling to her, painful but a different type of pleasure as well. she didn’t move from her spot, finding comfort from the shower’s steaming waters, before she felt him move. he moved slowly, not wanting to fuck her how she should be fucked just yet. the more he moved, the more she craved his dick.

“this tight ass~” he hissed from the tightness of her ass hole, loving how her anal walls felt around his cock. “more. fuck me harder,” she begged, beginning to move her ass against his pelvis. the green haired male smirked, his strokes becoming faster and deeper; earning cries of pleasure from the slut in front of him.

her ass clapped against him as she began to pound her ass hole, which echoed throughout the bathroom. “fuck—gonna cum in this tight fuckin hole~” she nodded frantically, feeling herself come undone as well. while his pace sped up, his thick load spurted into her ass, granting her the best orgasm of her life. she never thought she could cum from her ass, but she did and it was like heaven.

when he pulled out, she could feel his kids drip out of her, which slowly began to wash away due to the running shower.

“you’re just wasting it— I think you want some more”

#one piece #one piece zoro #zoro one shot #ronoroa zoro #fanon zoro #zoro x reader #zoro smut #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro smut #zoro roronoa x y/n #zoro x you #one piece smut #dick you down december

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ethicaltreatmentofcowplants · 2 months ago

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Introducing... Barbara Heimer

for consideration at @simsinfinitylt Austin's Bachelor Challenge

NAME: Barbara "Barbie" Heimer (she/her) AGE: Young Adult (24) LIFE STATE: Human ORIENTATION: Bisexual. EA has a way of resetting my sims to its defaults, so she should have both men and women as sexual and romantic options, no preferences. HOME WORLD: Del Sol Valley TRAITS: Cheerful, Genius, Kleptomaniac, Nosy, Good Manners, Compassionate, Headstrong, High Self Esteem, Shameless, Dauntless - plus a few others from the satisfaction points redemption store. ASPIRATION: Chief of Mischief CAREER: Officially, nepo baby and party girl. Unofficially, hacker extraordinaire.

Yes, that's me! No, the one on the left. I mean, they're both catches for some slightly older people (and unlike my parents, their faces still actually move), but I'm the one applying.

All of this is off the record, right, from one Watcher to another? (And if it isn't, weeeell, it's amazing how the Sims 4 and the spaghetti coding that comes with it can shred your system...)

Well, my mother's some big shot casting director, and my father is a businessman who made his money through means that aren't illegal strictly speaking, but will not exactly earn him the Simitarian of the Year award. Why are there so many industries where it's good to be bad? Ugh.

But anyway, i'M n0t liKe OthEr NePo BAbIEs. Barbies? Sorry, I just had to. I may keep up the sunny party girl exterior, and sure, I genuinely enjoy that life. Once the sun goes down, however (or as the sun rises with my hours, more accurately?), as well as one of Del Sol Valley's most wanted bachelorettes, I'm most wanted... as a hacker! And likely by law enforcement too, which just shows that they're not on the side of the little people, as I use my powers for good!

Sure, I don't come cheap but I work fast. And I will pick up work pro bono, so to speak, if something really sketchy is going on. That sizeable donation Victor Feng is making to No Sim Left Behind? Moi, all moi. And he can't cancel it now because it would be too bad for his PR. So sad.

And this right here is my bestie, Kayla Flemming. She didn't like me at first (I can be too much for some people, even though I am "just right") but I helped her out by scrubbing some unfortunate photos out of existence (and bankrupting the creep responsible) so now I have the best personal trainer in the business!

"RUN BARBIE, RUN - DO YOU THINK THE COPS WILL GIVE YOU A BREATHER?!?" "Yeah maybe that doesn't come under my rights, no..."

(Kayla Flemming, redefining Tough Love 50 burpees at a time...)

And that's it from me! I may be a little mischievous and sometimes take a joke too far, but I enjoy people and I'm nice. Just maybe make sure I have my macchiato before approaching me in the morning (Marcus Flex is my favourite barista!)

WATCHER NOTES

Outfit pics below! You don't have to include the second everyday one (the Moonlight Chic jacket and shorts) - I just wanted to have an even three in each row or it would have driven me crazy 😊 And yeah, the Haley from Stardew Valley references are deliberate.

cc: sunglasses, hairs, genetics (including non default eyes), makeup, earrings (everyday + formal), bracelet and beret. i couldn't find the city living beret anywhere in my cas so if you'd rather, sub barbie's out for that one

Oh and since halfway through I realised that she needed a darker shade of eyes so they wouldn't be overwhelmed by her hair (if I don't use that shade of blonde for Barbie, then when will I 😅), I've included an unedited close up of her in cas.

Let me know if you want her and I'll DM you a simsfileshare zip!

#my sims #my sims in other saves #barbara heimer

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jesncin · 1 month ago

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Far be it from me to come into someone else's house and object to the décor, but I wanted to voice my thoughts about this and you're the only people I know who might want to listen.

I have mixed feelings regarding Absolute Martian Manhunter.

You may recall I expressed hope that the Absolute approach would veer towards some combination of genres Weird and Noir, because that's where I feel J'onn's strengths reside more so than the standard Cape fare.

And well, Camp and Rodriguez certainly have delivered something that is both Weird and Noir (albeit perhaps more Neo-Noir, with its 70s trappings, than authentic 30s Noir. I digress). Yet it feels somewhat strange that when presented with a very bracing, idiosyncratic example of the comic book form, something SO unlike any current Cape comic, one of my instincts is to say "No, not like THAT!". I'm having trouble pinning down precisely where these feelings are coming from.

The mission statement of the Absolute line led me to believe that it was aspiring for something beyond the straightforward approach of an Elseworld. DC trumpeted that it was about stripping characters back to the very CORE of what made them resonant and enduring; scrutinising, if not outright vivisecting them, and directing them towards questions about the injustices of our world. And hey, there are Elseworld tales that have become some of my favourite superhero stories, but I thought this was supposed to have more bite than that.

Credit where it's due, the appointed writers appear adamant about putting their best foot forward. Each member of the Absolute Trinity has had their respective creative teams look back and consider significant parts of their publication histories, revising and incorporating them into this streamlined whole that aligns with the mission statement. Everything is tighter, leaner, and more focused; paying suitable acknowledgement to what's been incorporated and shedding the baggage like an old skin.

So when it comes time for Martian Manhunter's turn to be zapped with the Absolute beam...? He gets nothing. Because there is not one jot of reverence for J'onn's publication history. Nobody gives a shit about revisiting any of it because it's not seen to be worth the effort to comb through the muck for any gold. (Or maybe I should say comb through the seawater for any gold? You get my point)

And y'know who could blame them? Even if you have affection for the earlier Detective Comics material, that's still followed by a lengthy stagnation and highlights such as the tedium of the Idol-Head of Diabolu, the transparent repurposing of the character into super-spy Marco Xavier, or the highly dubious introduction of "Mars II" that saw him disappear for over a decade. J'onn J'onzz has starred in a lot of second-rate doggerel.

Just like Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.

That's where the disconnect comes from, I think. I was wanting the AMM creative team to step up and scrutinise Martian Manhunter through that same lens, distilling him into a character portrait that was tighter, leaner, and more focused rather than just cluttered, overlapping retcons. Perhaps something that could suitably remedy the mechanical problems that have hindered the character for DECADES. But instead they surprised me with something so creative, so radically different, that it's entirely divorced from anything prior.

They chose to solve the Gordian Knot by chopping it in half and I can't help but feel a little bit cheated.

I wouldn't accuse the creative team of doing so out of laziness or spite - Camp CHOSE to write for Martian Manhunter specifically - but it indicates a marked lack of interest in confronting these cumulative writing problems or consolidating J'onn's meandering publication history. By bisecting the character into FBI agent John Jones and The Martian it sort of feels like they've thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

Perhaps this approach wouldn't sting so much if we were afforded more Martian Manhunter Elseworlds than we are presently (read: something besides his role in 2004's New Frontier) but this is the most high-profile book the character has had in...I'm not even sure how long and it doesn't feel like it's actually ABOUT HIM. Absolute Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman are still examinations of their mainstream counterparts, even though they're technically different characters. J’onn not being afforded that same treatment feels in many ways like a tacit admission of his lower standing, which is especially galling when the particular injustice he's primed to address involves intersectional issues. He's perhaps more equipped to do so than any other DC superhero.

And just to clarify: I've been incredibly impressed with Absolute Martian Manhunter's first issue. I don't want to be accused of throwing THIS baby out with the bathwater (just because it isn't what I'd hoped for based on the precedent of the other Absolute books) since it really has got my attention. It's just the sort of creative approach you desperately want to see thrive amidst the stifling pits of the Big Two and I'm pleased that the book has not only avoided falling through the cracks, but even been bolstered by lots of positive word of mouth! I'm honestly keen to see how they develop their central premise. Camp has pitched AMM as "[tackling] the big human questions through a small, personal lens", so presumably that means the book has every intention of widening the scope of its initial musings ("Why do people do things?") into a full-blown examination of the human condition in contrast to an alien intelligence. Whilst I wouldn't turn my nose up at simply being served more wonderfully striking artwork and psychedelic visuals, I do hope it's all actually in service of something at the end of the day.

The book's first issue reportedly had 120,000 pre-orders. Those numbers are simply insane for a Martian Manhunter solo series, even one riding the publicity high of the Absolute line. Deniz Camp has just announced that, due to the overwhelming positive response and sales, DC has doubled the length of AMM from a 6-issue mini to a 12-issue maxi. Which means this iteration of the Martian Manhunter is likely going to have an impact on J'onn J'onzz in the long run...if that makes sense.

So is Absolute Martian Manhunter "Weird"? Yes. It is "Noir"? Yes. Will I read the entire thing? Most likely yes. Is it bracing, creative, and inventive? Yes, yes, YES. But is it necessarily what I was hoping for...?

Like I said. Mixed feelings.

asdfas love how this is a safe space for Martian rants (I'm all for it haha)

I have similar mixed feelings. I mean I'm a lot more unimpressed with Absolute Martian Manhunter than most people, but I recognize that the first issue is good quality. As in the art is arting and the story is storying. It's well written (tho I still think it drags on). I just strongly disagree with the direction, and I recognize a lot of it is just "what I identify with J'onn is different than how writers on DC identify with J'onn." and they'll just never be as radical as I want as a company.

To me, Absolute Martian Manhunter is a very accessible take for fans unfamiliar with J'onn's lore- which is basically most DC fans. The thing that sucks about AMM is that it feels like it's,,, punishing me for being a Martian fan lol. Like if you told a Superman fan that Abso Supes is going to be "Superman but if there was no Krypton, Kal is a specter, no Daily Planet, and Kryptonians are a concept not an alien thing" then I think most fans would be insulted. "What's the point then? Is that even Kal at that point?" well. That's what J'onn is getting. No recurring Martian cast system, just toss it all away. It's not like people will be mad, J'onn barely has fans as is.

And it's that foundational issue like you said. Bats, Supes, Wondie, heck even Flash and GL all have way more solid foundations and worlds to remix compared to the crumbling pieces of Martian lore that J'onn has. I think it's odd then, that even with all of Orlando and Rossmo's MM 2019's flaws- it felt like a better love letter to Martian fans. Orlando tried making J'onn stand on his own outside of being a League member, fleshed out his cast system- including giving K'hym and M'yri'ah long overdue characterization outside of being victims. His John Jones humansona finally gets to be Black in a prominent solo title. Recognizing J'onn's history and how it's evolved. Imperfect, but certainly a sincere attempt at fixing J'onn.

And yes, I agree Camp chose Martian Manhunter and is doing what he thinks is best. I'm just disappointed that it was "toss it all away and engage with only the loosest premise possible" instead of confronting J'onn's rocky publication history. It doesn't take a solid writer to fix J'onn. It takes a visionary to make sense of something so broken. And I just don't think Camp is doing that. I don't think anyone currently in DC can.

Kind of my general issue with the Absolute Line. All are attempting to "go back to the character's core" and apparently to DC creatives, that's a mostly white lineup of heroes with weirdly more emphasized ties to the government/secret agents than usual. It's a "punk" line- but not too punk because disabilities get cured, Krypton isn't an indigenous utopia, and a character like J'onn who has been progressively written to be more intersectional is now back to square one. So many of these characters would even be stronger as POC (Bats especially) but well. We're not getting that. That's not his "core"- can't have this character be about something.

J'onn never had a solid core other than "grieving over Mars". But if you paid attention to how he's evolved, his character has the opportunity to talk about things no other superhero could cover like he does. Alien body snatchers coming from xenophobic fear of immigrants and how that's evolved into him identifying with the marginalized. The unresolved ableism present in his origin stories. The flawed discussion of racism that comes with modern Martian Manhunter stories. The assimilation and respectability that comes with being a marginalized person in the police force. The growing queer allegory with "wanting to be seen" and how J'onn gains better understanding of himself through empathy -rather than appropriation- of others. To the AMM crew, none of these make compelling options for what J'onn's core is. His historic core is "telepathic being takes over a guy's mind and body". We get the aesthetic vibes of a trippy noir, but none of the history other Abso titles pride themselves in. It's hollow.

At some point after sinking in my feelings for AMM, I kind of just asked myself "should I quit reading cape comics? I don't seem to enjoy anything modern cape comics have to offer anymore." I've become that fan. Maybe it's the triple disappointment of MAWS (and Absolute Superman tbh), Dead In America, and now Absolute Martian Manhunter attacking my trifecta of DC fixations. Modern things everyone else enjoys and I dislike or worse: am lukewarm about. Makes fandom especially isolating lately. There's new stuff that concerns my interests, but it's like being thirsty and surrounded by salt water.

#askjesncin #jesncin dc meta #long martian manhunter ramble but yknow me i can't resist #egg on my face for expecting a company as is to tell stories i would find interesting haha. but well. that's what fandom is for #everyone else can enjoy white john jones- i'll just be here doing my own thing.

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