#luckily it's easy to turn off but like 😭 leave me alone

[vulpixelates]

😭😩 i am so sick of ai this and ai that. pls. let me live. i don't need an in-browser ai prompt thing to open up a separate chatgpt window where i need an account to translate something or whatever. HELP.

[chiffaust]

Can I request a Valkyrie x reader(not separate) who is a sensitive person and cries a lot. Thank you!!

— 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 valkyrie

— SYPNOSIS you just wanted to help Shu, but you accidentally made a mistake.

CONTENT fluff, comfort, sensitive reader, GN!reader, can be read romantically or platonically (i hope).

( n ) — note this was disastrous to make since i dont really read that much valkyrie stories so sorry if thegre too ooc!! IM ALSO SORRY ANONNIE THIS IS PROBABLY NOT WHAT YOU WANTED😭

"Dear me, you sure are easy to fluster..." Shu would say, sighing at the sight of you crying at the mere accident. It was an avoidable accident, yet he wasn't shocked that it happened.

You who were so eager on wanting to help him create an outfit. You who didn't listen to his instructions at all and snipped right through it and messed it up altogether.

"S-Shu I did it again..." Your voice was nothing but a husk of whisper as you rest your head on the table dreadfully.

"Hmph, I told you to listen to me, now look where your stubbornness has gotten you. Luckily, it was already a mess to begin with, and—hey, are you seriously crying...?!" He cut himself off to ask you one simple question.

He shouldn't be surprised at this point with how many times you'd cry whenever you make the slightest mistake in your work. He does know how it feels like to not achieve the perfection you want, but your reaction is... Kind of extreme, he supposes?

And you'd also cry over the simplest things too; small, unfortunate events. Like this time you sulked over Shu forgetting to buy you a small keychain souvenir you wanted. He in fact has bought you lots of things from France far more valuable than a simple keychain.

And to think that he's treating you as nice as he could too. He wishes Kagehira was here right now, he's better at comforting others than he is. Speaking of Kagehira, where exactly is he?

Now he has to stress over two people at once...

He hesitated slightly to comfort you, he didn't know what to say or what to do in order to comfort those who are distressed such as yourself. He truly does wishes that Kagehira is here at the moment...

At that very moment, he heard the doorknob being twisted, and soon chimed in a familiar voice—Kagehira!

"Oshi-san~ 'm back! 'N' you won't believe what happened—nngah, why's producer cryin'?!" His cheery tune soon turned into a concerned one once he saw you there, crying with fabrics and sewing tools everywhere on the table.

"Nngah, oshi-san, don't tell me ya bullied them t' the point where they started cryin'!" Mika burst out, suddenly assumed for the worst.

Considering that he's Shu Itsuki and you're crying while being in a room with him in a setting like this all alone, it's only an understatement to assume that.

"Non! Don't be stupid, Kagehira! I didn't say anything nor have I done anything wrong! In fact, it was their fault that my costume's state was worsened." Those words rolled down his tongue before he could realize what he'd just said.

"I know that I'm stupid and worthless and I can't do anything right, but you could've at least sugarcoated it a little..." You muttered all under one breath, a melancholic aura surrounding you as your tears rolls down your face once again.

"No, I—"

"Oshi-san, I'll take care of 'em from 'ere." Mika said, patting Shu's shoulder with a smile on his face. Mika sat down next to you and pats your head.

"There, there. It'll be alright. Just 'cuz ya made one mistake, that doesn't mean we'll leave and abandon ya fer it."

"I know, but I just feel terrible for messing it up... Although Shu said it was a mess to begin with, I thought it was beautiful. I just wanted to help him and I messed it up..."

"I mess up a lot of times too, 'n' Oshi-san still hasn't left me!" Mika said happily. "Yer our producer, y'know? We only had gotten this far all thanks fer yer help! Ya made mistakes along the way—no, we made mistakes along the way, but we're still okay together, aren't we?"

You sniffled, looking up at him with glistering eyes that had stopped crying. Your gaze soon falls over to Shu who did nothing. He was merely there, watching from afar with a monotone expression.

You swear he was smiling slightly, but it was probably just your mind playing tricks with you or something...

You look back to Mika who was smiling gently at you.

"I... Suppose you're right." You muttered.

"Right? 'N' remember that we love ya, producer♪ take it easy on yerself too." He said, soon hugging you.

"Oshi-san, c'mon! Join into the hug too!"

"H-huh?! Non, no way! Why on earth would I hug you two and—"

Before he could continue with his protest, you tugged the hem of his sleeve before pulling him into the group hug.

"You can't run." You said, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling yourself closer to him, purring like a cat as you lean onto him.

Mika soon joins in, laughing happily.

Shu wasn't enjoying it in the slightest, but he soon went quiet for a short pause of a period before a smile formed over his frown and joined in the laughter too. Although it's more of a giggle than anything, it's still cute. 

You smiled, looking at these guys with adoration in your eyes.

Oh, how you wish this moment wouldn't end.

[aschlindartroom]

Mr. Hightower and Mr. Schmidt, sirs, please answer the following ones: 3, 6, 7, 16, 17, 18, 21, 22, 24 ;) (someday I'll stop at one questions, I swear, homies! <3 For the OC interviews btw)

@tryingtimi...

THIS IS SO LATE AND GOT SO LONG OMG.

Enjoy under the cut. My booiis. 😭

The CEO office of Schmidt & Foster is a massive circular room. The walls on either side of the large double doors are intricately painted-- a panorama of color depicting myths and stories from cultures long-dead. At the far end of the office, Martin Hightower and Eckehart Schmidt stand beside a wall of impossibly large windows, their silhouettes overlooking the sprawl of Midtown.

The high ceilings and sparse furnishings make the sounds of your entrance impossible to ignore, and the two men turn to look at you. Mr. Schmidt is a tall, imposing presence-- broad-shouldered and frowning. Even from across the room, you can see that he's put off by your presence, which you expected at least. Your colleagues warned you: Schmidt is a private man despite his position, who only does media appearances at the behest of his ADC Liaison. Liaison Hightower, at least, is a friendly face. His smile does not reach his eyes, but is accommodating. Luckily, all three of you know that this is a puff-piece-- a quick and easy profile.

Hightower invites you to sit on the plush sofa on the right side of the office, and motions to Eckehart to join you. The seats are arranged in a rectangle, two sofas facing one another and two chairs that bracket them. Eckehart takes a seat in one of the chairs. He does not make eye contact with you and taps his fingers on the chair's arm, impatient.

When Hightower returns, he has a coffee for himself and for you-- a high-priced luxury in New London. He rests a glass of water beside Eckehart a shoots him a smile. Eckehart looks like he'd rather be facing a pack of wolves. Martin takes a seat on the couch across from you.

"Shall we begin?" he asks.

What is your favorite childhood memory?

Martin Hightower sits back on the couch and crosses his legs, the picture of professionalism. "Growing up in Cobalt City hardly afforded many easy childhood experiences. To be honest, I'm not sure I have a "favorite" memory." He pauses to consider. "I suppose, the memories I cherish the most are ones of my mother." Eckehart looks up from the thread he's picking at, apparently interested. "When she was lucid, she was exceptionally kind and optimistic. The world could do with a few more people like her, I think."

Martin looks to Eckehart expectantly, almost playfully. Eckehart sighs and looks out the window. He picks at a loose thread on the chair, rubbing it between his fingers.

"I was pretty upset," Eckehart says finally. "Probably a nightmare. Can't remember how old. One of the household staff snuck an approximation of ice cream into the estate for me. They knew they'd get in trouble if they were caught, but they did it anyway. Being from privilege, I'd had ice cream once before, but..." He looks at you in the eye, the first time that afternoon. "Food tastes different when it's shared. It didn't feel like something I deserved." He smiles-- a self-deprecating thing-- and huffs a laugh. "It was so good that I cried."

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do?

"Leaving Lower London was probably the best thing that could have happened for me, but it didn't feel that way at the time," Martin replies. "For all its dangers, Cobalt City felt like home, and Midtown felt like some strange other world. I was forced to leave a lot of things I'd come to love behind."

Eckehart carefully considers his answer. "Making the choice to fill the post my father vacated when he died... that felt shameful for complicated reasons, even if there was purpose behind it. It was a daunting, weighty decision, and everything in me was screaming, 'walk away,' that it wasn't my problem, that I wasn't made to lead." He looks back out the window. "Never been good at letting well enough alone, but I don't regret it. I think we've done some good work."

Who do you look up to?

"I tend to admire those who possess the qualities I lack," Martin says. He smiles and looks askance at Eckehart, amused at some private joke. "He would hate if I referred to him by name, but his idealism is both frustrating and inspiring. I'd like to have his conviction, I think."

Eckehart grimaces, although it's clearly half-hearted. He turns toward the window and tries to hide his reddening cheeks. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. "He's an absolute twat," he says, "but he's... collected. I can be a bit of a loose cannon, I suppose, especially when I'm-- well, when I'm passionate about something." He closes his eyes, leaning his cheek against his fist. "Being near him reminds me to slow down, be more thoughtful." He looks pointedly at Martin. "He's still a twat though."

Describe your perfect day.

"It sounds so mundane," Martin says. "I'd wake up early to watch the sunrise. I would go out to breakfast, somewhere with a view-- good people, good music, that sort of thing. I would spend the afternoon with someone I care for and who cares for me, doing whatever made us both feel alive. A day of new and surprising experiences."

Eckehart crosses his arms and thinks. "I'd sleep in. Make myself a late breakfast. If this was a perfect day, I'd be in a good mood right away, and no one would know who the hell I was, so I'd contact a friend and invite them to the District 5 market to explore. I'd speak plainly to people, the way I could before I took this post at Schmidt & Foster. I'd end the day with good liquor, listening to pre-war jazz albums..." He sighs. "It'd require an act of God, but it sounds nice."

What makes you laugh?

Martin hums thoughtfully, touching his thumb to his chin. "I'm afraid that most humor passes over my head, I'm afraid. My palette in that area is limited."

Eckehart sits back huffs. "Don't let him fool you," he says. "Hightower is the sort of man who enjoys watching nice things get dirty. If a woman in her wedding dress were to fall in the mud, he'd be tickled. The nicer the dress, the better."

Martin smiles and sips his coffee. "Perhaps," he replies. "Although, it might be more accurate to say that I'm amused by the bucking of needless niceties and decorum. Social convention is highly overrated." He shoots Eckehart a teasing look. "I'll admit, it is very fun to watch Mr. Schmidt at Schmidt & Foster's annual soirees. False politeness runs rampant at that sort of affair, and Mr. Schmidt has a unique, 'cutting' sort of wit that offends certain sensibilities."

Eckehart raises his eyebrows at that. He looks between you--the interviewer-- and Martin. For a second he looks concerned, like Martin's just been caught with his hand in some cookie jar. The concern fades and he eyes Martin knowingly.

"I've never catered well to passive aggression," he says, thoughtful.

"No, you haven't." Martin is smiling.

Eckehart rests his chin on his fist and blinks at him. "I can't remember the last time I laughed," he says. "Can you?"

"Two weeks ago I told you were in a foul mood and I told you to go fuck yourself," Martin replied. "That got you going."

Eckehart sputters slightly, again looking between you and Martin. "You make me sound crass," he says, sitting back. "Refined Liaison Hightower, cursing. I suppose it caught me off guard."

"I suppose it did," Martin teases.

What’s the best way to cheer you up?

Eckehart grins. "This one's easy," he says. "Buy Hightower a ludicrously expensive cup of coffee and then argue with him until you're blue in the face. He loves that."

Martin smiles, but doesn't disagree.

"Me, I'll admit that I don't 'cheer up' easily," Eckehart continues. "I think letting me alone to work out my frustration is the best solution." He looks to Martin for confirmation.

Martin is still smiling. "I pass," he says.

Eckehart raises an eyebrow. "You pass? What do you mean you pass?"

"What's that old saying?" Martins says thoughtfully. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

Describe your ideal partner.

Martin closes his eyes and shrugs, as though to say, 'What can you do?' "Someone cute?" he replies. "That probably sounds so shallow. It is, I suppose. Other than that? Any partner of mine would need to be my equal-- a person who isn't afraid to challenge me. Someone earnest."

Martin looks to Eckehart, awaiting his answer. Eckehart crosses his arms over his chest and crosses his legs. "I don't think about it," he says finally. "I don't know... Someone dependable? Intelligent? Someone who doesn't suck up to me. I hate that."

What’s the easiest way to flirt with you?

Martin looks a bit wistful. "I do love to banter," he says. "If I find a person attractive and they verbally spar with me... well, I'm hooked. I'm not above gifts either." He smiles. "I'm a simple man."

Martin looks to Eckehart expectantly. Eckehart blushes. "No one in their right mind would flirt with me, so I'd hardly know." He looks away. "Be kind. Anticipate my needs. Get to know me... I'm not a hard man to sort out."

What would you consider your main love language?

Martin responds quickly. "Quality time, if my previous answer is any indication. Though 'gifts' is a very close second."

Eckehart shrugs. "I don't really think we can limit ourselves to one. Humans are complicated. If had to choose... I'd choose quality time too, I suppose. Acts of service as a close second."

Eckehart looks at you, trying his best to look put-out. "Are we done or what?"