#so i decided to work on this older design of mine

[hallowshumour]

BEAST OF THE BAY 🧿🌊🩸⚓️

[kingdom-of-peace]

Spotlight. | N.R

Older!News Anchor!Natasha x Younger!Female!Professor Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, one of the most recognized faces in television, finds herself under unexpected scrutiny when a young academic’s lecture on media ethics gains traction online — setting the stage for an unlikely rivalry that blurs the line between enemies and something else entirely.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (natasha late 30s, reader 27ish), language, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sex, Me not being familiar with the inner workings of network television.

Word Count: 5.6k+

A/N: Hey everyone! Long-time reader, first-time poster here. So I guess you could see this as a little thank-you for getting me through some tough times with your amazing stories. This chapter is a bit of a practice run - if you guys like it, I’ll probably be continuing this as a mini-series. The idea has been lingering in my mind for a while. FYI English isn’t my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes!

The clock ticked toward the seven-hour mark, numbers climbing up steadily as the seconds bled into each other. The studio hummed, a cacophony of voices layered on top of one another. Producers, directors, and assistants hustling between monitors, whispering instructions and updating cues. But through it all, Natasha Romanoff the pride of the network moved like a conductor of chaos. Every step, measured. Every glance, deliberate.

She made her way to the sleek glass desk, the papers for her notes already laid out in perfect alignment— black letters against white background. The desk, like everything else around her, was immaculate, designed to make the person behind it the centre of attention. As she sat, Betty, a new member of the makeup crew, approached with a kit. The girl was eager, almost too eager, hands slightly shaking as she opened her compact mirror. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she reached for the earpiece.

“Don’t put too much highlighter on my face,” Natasha said, her voice clipped, without a hint of softness. “Last week, your colleague made me look like a disco ball.” Betty froze eyes wide. Natasha could feel her anxiety before the words even left her mouth. “I-I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. I’ll try my best...”. “Don’t try your best. Do as I say,” Natasha interjected sharply, her tone biting. “Y-Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” Betty stammered. “two minutes,” someone called out from the back of the studio.

As Betty moved to step back, she quickly wished Natasha good luck. Natasha didn’t respond, merely rolling her eyes before glancing toward the producers’ booth. She could already feel the inevitable irritation building. The earpiece clicked into place, and the familiar voice of Maria Hill, her producer, filled her ear. “Finally decided to grace us with your attention, huh?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked upward to the glass wall behind which the production room was located, her lips curling into a smirk. “Maybe you shouldn’t let Sharon take a holiday whenever she wants. I know you two had a thing back at university, but those doe-eyed makeup artists turn my pretty face into a caricature. Sharon is the only one, who knows what to do with a pretty face like mine.”

Maria’s laugh crackled through the earpiece, dry and sharp." They don’t stay doe-eyed for long. Give it two weeks, and Betty will be completely head over heels in love with you, especially once you start showing off your... bedroom charm." Natasha’s smirk only deepened. “What can I say? I know what a woman wants.”

“You mean intentionally creating potential workplace conflicts the moment they realize their feelings are not reciprocated. You know Agatha from HR told me, your file is by far the heaviest on her desk.” Maria replied with a slight edge to her voice. Natasha knew Maria was not a big fan of her sexual escapades at the network but once in a while the stress of the job caught up even to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but Maria’s voice came through again, cutting the conversation short: “All channels open. 15 seconds.” Signalling that the conversation was over and no longer private. Time to focus.

The tension in Natasha’s body shifted. Taking a moment to collect herself, every inch of her posture shifting from sharp banter to the cool, controlled persona she had perfected over the years. The camera would be on her in seconds, and there was no room for anything other than perfection. Repositioning herself in her chair—back straight, shoulders squared, the very picture of professionalism. As the last few seconds ticked away, Natasha’s eyes snapped to the teleprompter, locking into the script. It was all business now. Her world contracted into that single, glowing line of text. Her fingers twitched slightly, but otherwise, she remained still.

“We are live in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1,” Maria counted down, the words cutting through her thoughts.

The red recording light snapped on, and everything else—the noise, the chatter, the chaos—ceased to exist. The iconic newsroom music blaring through the speakers. The sound that had become synonymous with what Natasha had achieved. A few quiet clicks echoed in the room as cameras shifted into position. Natasha didn’t blink. Her face settled into its trademark calm, eyes piercing the lens like twin weapons. Showtime.

“Good evening. I’m Natasha Romanoff, and this is The Hour.”

Her voice, cool and steady, carried the weight of authority. As the camera zoomed in, her gaze never wavered, her presence filling every corner of the screen. “Tonight: disinformation, climate crisis, and the story the numbers won’t tell you.”

The graphics behind her came alive in choreographed rhythm—images of protests, wildfires and talking points sliced into headlines. She didn’t look at them. She didn’t need to.

The redhead had already memorized the arc of the story: crisis, confusion, control. Natasha told it backwards, starting from what the public feared and unravelling the mess with her usual signature—calm, vaguely unforgiving clarity. In her earpiece, someone was murmuring time cues. She ignored them. She always did.

“In five minutes, you’ll hear from a senior intelligence analyst. But first—what we aren’t talking about.” That was the trick. Tell them what they didn’t know they wanted to hear. Make it feel like truth. Deliver it with a stillness so complete, it silenced doubt before it could form.

----

The lights above Natasha dimmed for a second—an automatic adjustment to keep the focus on her. From the control room, Maria watched her like a hawk, fingers dancing over her tablet, the constant pulse of the broadcast in her veins.

"She’s on fire tonight," Maria murmured to Pepper the network president’s personal assistant, standing beside her, flipping through notes. Pepper didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. Natasha always delivered, always commanded the room. “She always is.” Pepper’s voice was dry, but there was a touch of admiration beneath it. She could feel the heat even through the glass. She paused, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly. “How much do you bet that his career is over after the interview?”

Maria shrugged, her sharp eyes never leaving Natasha, who was now in the midst of her segment. The current topic a prominent politician—someone who had recently come under fire for money fraudulence now being interviewed by her.

“Senator Rumlow, you’ve been under fire recently for a report that surfaced showing you used large portions of your campaign donations for luxury vacations. These funds, which were meant to support your ‘community welfare initiatives,’ were instead spent on lavish trips to the French Riviera and resorts in the Maldives. How do you justify that?”

The senator’s mouth twitched. A quick glance to the side, a nervous swipe of his hand across his brow. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Miss Romanoff, I... there’s been a misunderstanding. These funds were used to secure partnerships and build networks with international leaders. I was meeting with potential investors who could bring millions in funding to my community.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. Her eyes locked on his, a calculated silence hanging between them.

“So,” she leaned forward, voice cutting through the air like a blade, “you used funds intended to alleviate poverty and support struggling families for personal vacations to network? A trip to the Maldives to discuss ‘potential investors’—is that the kind of network we’re talking about?”

The senator's face flushed, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words.  Natasha’s expression never shifted, while the senator on the other end of the interview appeared slightly uncomfortable. She leaned in just enough to suggest she was giving him a chance to speak, but also to control the pace of the conversation. He was about to make a mistake. Maria could feel it back in the production room.

"Yeah, she’s definitely on fire tonight." Maria allowed herself a slight smile, eyes sharp. “The way she’s making him squirm, you’d think they were old enemies.”

Pepper glanced over at the monitor. Natasha was listening intently, her gaze never leaving the senator, dissecting every word he said, her expression calculated but not unkind. She didn’t need to look at the teleprompter anymore. This was where Natasha was dangerous—the moment she stopped relying on the script and instead started using her own control over the conversation.

“I never—look, these trips were necessary for the larger cause. My team and I were—”

“Your team?” Natasha interrupted, her tone cold, unforgiving. She didn’t give him a second to recover. “You’re telling me that your ‘team’ thought it was acceptable to spend taxpayer and donor money on personal luxuries under the guise of ‘building international relationships’? And those relationships just happened to involve resorts, yachts, and five-star hotels?”

The senator’s face tightened, but Natasha’s sharp, relentless gaze showed no mercy. Her posture was perfect, the epitome of control—one hand lightly resting on the table, the other folded under her chin as she leaned forward, waiting for him to crack.

“Senator,” Natasha continued, her voice low but cutting, “you’ve used the public’s trust to fund personal indulgences. You’ve done nothing to benefit the very communities that donated their hard-earned money in good faith. You’ve used their trust as a shield for your personal gain.”

The senator shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but the sweat on his brow was the only sign that he was losing his composure.

“I... I apologize for the perception this has created, but I am still working tirelessly for the people. I don’t expect you to understand the pressure we face in this position.”

Natasha’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that signalled the end of a conversation, not the beginning.

“Understand? You’ve already made it clear, Senator. You’ve made your priorities clear. You’ve misused the public’s trust, and no amount of ‘apology’ will make up for that.” She paused, her gaze narrowing. “You’ll have a lot to explain in front of those who donated their last dollars to your supposed cause. I don’t think a few ‘networking’ excuses will make that any easier.”

The camera panned out slightly, framing the senator on the screen, defeated, under the weight of her words. Natasha sat back in her chair, her expression coldly satisfied, but there was no triumph in her gaze. Just the quiet assurance that she had exposed the truth—and in this game, truth was always her weapon.

Maria looked at Pepper. “This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow morning.” Pepper, watching the screen, nodded but said nothing. She had worked with Natasha long enough to know the pattern. She didn’t miss a single beat, didn’t flinch even when the questions cut close to the bone. She was ruthless—but always just controlled enough to keep the narrative hers.

Maria continued, her tone dropping a bit, a hint of something else in her voice. “Have you seen the video of this upcoming professor from Shield University? What do you think?”. Pepper’s fingers hovered above her phone, pausing as she considered the question. “She’s definitely been keeping an eye on Natasha,” Maria added with a knowing smile. “It’s only a matter of time before Natasha finds out—and it’s probably not going to be pretty. For that woman, or for us... I’m not sure.”

Pepper finally smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, well, she’s got competition now. She doesn’t seem like the type to just back down. Maria nodded. “Let’s just hope Natasha doesn't end up too intrigued. If she starts getting personal, that’s when it gets... interesting.”

---

Natasha’s expression remained unchanged as she moved on with the interview. The camera panning back to her, flawlessly.

“Thank you for your time, Senator Rumlow,” she said, her voice a calm cadence that barely masked the satisfaction of knowing she’d just made the politician’s situation far worse. Every channel and newspaper would be jumping on this story tomorrow, no doubt splashing it across their front pages.

“Also thank you to our generous audience tonight. It’s always a pleasure to bring you the news about what’s happening in the world. And remember, stay informed, stay sharp, and never let anyone sell you a story that's less than the truth.” she said, a hint of finality in her tone. “Now, I’ll pass it over to Steve Rogers, our weather anchor, who has a much sunnier forecast for you.”

The camera switched to Steve, who was already grinning behind him a large screen displaying shifting regions and temperatures. “That’s right, Natasha. The last few days of sunshine are upon us before we officially roll into the fall season. So, grab your families, go outside and enjoy...”

As soon as the words left Steve’s mouth, Natasha pulled her earpiece out, the familiar click of the disconnect echoing in her ears. The moment she was clear from the screen, she shifted in her seat, the professional mask slipping away, just slightly—only enough for her to exhale, her expression finally softening, if only for a moment. She rose in a single, smooth motion. The producers didn’t approach immediately; they never did unless they had to.

As Natasha turned to leave the desk, a younger intern stepped forward, tablet in hand, speaking quickly, his words tumbling over each other.

“Sorry, Ms. Romanoff, I—I just wanted to say you were amazing up there.” Peter, who had joined the team last year to gain experience after his graduation, was still a bit green, though for some reason, Tony Stark—who owned the network—had taken a particular liking to him. Which is why his golden retriever-like personality felt like a constant presence she couldn’t escape.

Natasha didn’t break stride, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. A few crew members glanced at each other, nervous, hoping Peter wouldn’t get an earful for approaching her without a significant reason. But to their surprise, Natasha offered him a brief, unexpected smile. “Thanks,” she said, her voice calm and unbothered. "Keep up the good work." Though she’d never say it out loud, she’d grown surprisingly fond of him and the unshakable optimism he brought with him. Maybe it was because he reminded her of a time when life had been simpler, before everything became high stakes and expectations or perhaps it was the adrenaline rush from having just put the senator in his place.

With that, she made her way down the hallway toward her dressing room, the echo of her heels fading with each step, leaving Peter standing frozen in place—blinking, stunned. The Natasha Romanoffhad smiled at him. A real, genuine smile. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Then, unable to contain himself, he did a quiet fist pump and half-skipped down the corridor, suddenly determined to be the best intern the station had ever seen.

-----

When Natasha stepped into her dressing room, Betty and Pepper were already there. Pepper, as always, was glued to her phone, typing away with that near-obsessive focus Natasha had come to expect from her. She often wondered if Pepper had put her phone down for more than five minutes in the last few years. Meanwhile, Betty was busy clearing the table, preparing to remove Natasha’s makeup.

“You did a good job out there,” Pepper said, glancing up from her phone just long enough to catch Natasha’s eye before diving back into the glowing screen. “Thanks,” Natasha replied, settling into the makeup chair. “I mean, it’s hardly difficult when the senator does most of the work embarrassing himself.”

Natasha smirked, enjoying the victory of another successful segment. Betty began to work on removing the makeup, her hands steady despite the usual hustle of the room. “Still, it takes talent to make people like him squirm like you did,” Pepper remarked, her eyes still glued to the phone.

“I don’t know if it’s talent or just good instincts,” Natasha replied with another sly grin. “Either way, I’m hoping he’s out of office by the end of the week.”. “Well, Maria bet he won’t last past tomorrow night, thanks to what you pulled off,” Pepper said, her tone light but amused. And just as if on cue, Maria walked in, her presence immediately filling the room. “Great show as always, Natasha,” she said, striding over to the couch and sitting down behind Natasha.

Natasha met her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. “I couldn’t do it without my tirelessly working producer.”. “Damn right you couldn’t,” Maria replied, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she picked up a magazine from the table and started flipping through it. The conversation flowed easily between the three, mostly floating around ideas about upcoming segments and possible interviewees, with Betty shyly asking Natasha to tilt her head for better access occasionally as she worked. About half an hour later, Betty finished packing up her things and, with a quick “Good bye,” exited the room, clearly relieved to have survived in the lion’s den.

“I swear, they’re more scared of you than Tony,” Pepper observed, watching Betty leave with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not my problem if they’re that easy to intimidate,” Natasha replied coolly, giving a slight shrug. “Debatable,” Maria countered, her voice teasing. “You could at least go a little easier on them.” Natasha smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”.

There was a brief pause as Natasha rummaged through her bag, searching for her phone. When she looked up, she caught the silent exchange between Maria and Pepper through the mirror, their eyes communicating something Natasha couldn’t quite place. Turning in her chair, she raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”. Maria and Pepper exchanged one last glance, and Natasha’s patience wore thin. “You’re not going to keep it from me, are you?” she asked, her voice a low murmur. Her eyes didn’t waver from the two women, the challenge clear in her tone. She had worked with them for years and even shared pieces of her college days with them, so she knew, whatever they were about to reveal, she probably wasn’t going to like it.

Reluctantly, Maria handed Natasha the tablet, the screen already pulled up to a paused video. Natasha’s gaze immediately fell on the title: The Sociopolitical Influence of Media in Modern Society. She glanced up at Maria, eyebrow raised. “A lecture? You really think this is important?”. Pepper, not meeting Natasha’s eyes, sighed. “It’s... well, it includes you. Specifically.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly. “About me?” she repeated, voice hardening. “What are you talking about?”. Maria took a breath before responding, her voice cautious. “It’s a lecture. From a professor at Shield university. She’s young, so she wasn’t around when we were there. But she... uses you as an example in her talk.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed, the weight of the words sinking in. “She what?”. Pepper winced. “She talks about how news anchors—people with a platform like yours, aren’t just reporting the news but shaping it. And, uh... she singles you out by name.”. “Great,” Natasha said, her voice sharp. “What exactly does she say about me?”. Reluctantly, Maria tapped the screen and started the video. The camera panned to you, standing at a podium, adjusting your notes before speaking directly to the audience in the lecture hall.

“The media’s role isn’t just to inform—it constructs reality,”you began, your voice clear and confident. “Take someone like Natasha Romanoff, a news anchor with the most-watched primetime segment in the country. She doesn’t just present the facts—she defines how those facts are received. With a single word, a glance, a choice of guest or segment, she can shift the public narrative for millions.” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she listened, her fingers curling around the armrest of her chair. She’d always known she had influence but hearing it described this way, hearing herself used as an example of media manipulation, made her blood boil.

“Figures like Romanoff,” you continued, “can shape heroes or villains with a single broadcast. Their influence is vast and rarely questioned. The issue isn’t just about power, but about how and whether it’s wielded responsibly.” Natasha set the tablet down with a sharp click, her expression hardening. “So, I’m the villain in her story?”. Maria nodded slightly. “It’s more complex than that. You’re the example she’s using to critique a larger issue.”. “She might as well have painted a target on my back,” Natasha muttered, her tone thick with frustration. Pepper shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not personal, Natasha. But the way she frames it… it feels personal.”

“I don’t manipulate people,” Natasha snapped, her posture rigid. “I don’t twist the truth. I present it—clean, honest, verified. Just because I know how to deliver it doesn’t mean I’m playing puppet master.” She turned toward Maria, frustration boiling over. “Is this seriously the kind of crap I have to put up with now? Academics critiquing my work from their ivory towers?”. Maria raised her hands, trying to calm the storm. “It’s not about you. She’s critiquing the media as a whole. But yeah… you’re the example that serves her point.”

Natasha paced the room, her steps rapid and sharp. Why her? Why not the other anchors who sensationalized or fabricated? Sure, she was the highest-rated, most successful. She’d climbed the ranks quickly, but she never used her position to control the narrative, did she? She prided herself on her professionalism. She worked hard to ensure her biases didn’t creep into her delivery. She turned back to Maria and Pepper, eyes flashing with frustration. “It’s just a professor talking. The students in her class, maybe a few online nerds, will care for a few days, but that’s it.”. Maria and Pepper exchanged another glance. Maria spoke first, her tone firm. “It’s already spreading, Natasha.”. Pepper nodded, setting her phone down. “The video’s gaining traction—blogs, social media, even some paywalled articles. Small waves now, but they’re starting to grow.”

Natasha froze, her gaze shifting between Maria and Pepper. “Viral? It’s just a lecture. Seriously?”. “Not anymore,” Maria said, her arms crossed, her stance serious. “This thing spreads fast. And with the narrative it’s building, it’s only going to pick up steam. And don’t forget people are already out there who’ve held a grudge against you for years because of your success, your gender, your sexuality.”

Pepper leaned forward, her voice quiet but urgent. “You need to prepare. If this keeps going, it’s not just a lecture, it’s a movement. And once the perception shifts, you can’t ignore it.” Natasha’s gaze shifted back to the screen, her arms folding across her chest. The weight of what they were saying hit her. She’d worked hard for her credibility, for the trust of her audience. But if this narrative took root… it could undo everything. It wasn’t just about your opinion anymore, it could become public discourse, with herself at the heart of it.

“I don’t “control” the narrative,” she said firmly, almost like a mantra. “I report it.” Maria’s gaze softened, but she didn’t back down. “We know that. But the issue is how people perceive it. And right now, this perception is being built, whether it’s fair or not.”. Pepper showed her phone to Natasha, scrolling through the notifications. “See this? It’s trending right now. People are questioning your integrity, your influence. It’s not just going away.” Natasha stared at the screen, her heart sinking as the headlines flashed before her eyes of future articles that would cast her as the embodiment of everything wrong with the media landscape. 

“So, what should I do?” she asked, her voice quieter now. Maria leaned forward slightly, offering a calm but firm suggestion. “We stay low for now. The wider public hasn’t really caught on yet. You’ve built your career on credibility—don’t let this shake that. But if this picks up more steam…”

“We’ll be ready.” Pepper added, her voice calm but determined. Natasha exhaled, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I don’t want to give this more attention than it deserves. But if she continues to use my name, in her little act it won’t be pretty.” Pepper opened her mouth to protest, but Natasha cut her off. “No. She should know better. Publicly crucifying someone without context? That’s wrong, and she should know that.”

The room fell silent. Natasha stared at the tablet screen, your words echoing in her head, even as she wrestled with the weight of her own thoughts. Maria and Pepper exchanged one last look, both knowing Natasha well enough to understand she would not let go of the topic easily. If there was one thing Natasha excelled at, it was holding onto grudges. She grabbed her bag, offering both women a curt “good night” before making her way out of the room. As she stepped into the cool night air, a black SUV already waiting, ready to take her back to her apartment.

---

After a silent car ride, with a brooding Natasha sitting in the back seat, her gaze fixed out the window, too consumed by what had been said to engage. The driver, initially trying to make polite conversation, quickly fell silent after receiving a few clipped, one-word replies, enough to register that her mood was not to be tested. When they finally reached her apartment building, he offered a quiet nod as she stepped out.

She had moved into the place after the second year of her show’s success, when for the first time, she no longer had to think twice about money. The apartment was more than a living space; it was a quiet reminder of everything she had built, and everything she had once thought would bring her peace.

When Natasha finally stepped into her loft apartment, the door clicked shut behind her with a familiar, hollow finality. The view that greeted her was one she never quite grew tired of—floor-to-ceiling windows framing the river and the city skyline, skyscrapers lit like circuit boards against the night. Somewhere in that sprawl was the studio she had just walked out of, its glass tower faintly visible in the distance.

Before she could set down her keys, a soft, expectant meow echoed through the entrance hall. Liho, her long-time feline companion, padded gracefully into view and rubbed himself against her calves, tail high with dignified affection. “Hey, soldier,” Natasha murmured, crouching to run her fingers through his fur. His purr vibrated warmly beneath her hand.

She hadn’t planned to keep him. Years ago, when she was still a glorified intern running coffee for people whose names she barely remembered, she’d found him one night half-frozen in a cardboard box outside the train station near her old apartment—or rather, a shoebox-sized room. A vet diagnosed hypothermia, said he’d recover with proper care, and gently implied there was nowhere else for the tiny creature to go. Natasha, who had never seen herself as someone who owned a pet—who barely trusted herself to care for plants—had taken him home, wrapped in a soft blanket. Told herself she’d find him a nice family.

She never did. He’d stayed. Through the grind, the promotions, the late nights, and the loneliness. Liho remained the one quiet, dependable thing in her life. She named him after a figure from old Russian folklore—Likho, the spirit of misfortune and chaos. A creature you were warned not to name or challenge, but whose presence was sometimes inescapable. It was meant as a joke at first—dark humor, a habit she never quite grew out of. But over time, the name stuck and softened. Likho became Liho—less an omen and more a constant.

After giving him a generous serving of premium cat food, she microwaved some frozen supermarket pasta-dish and poured herself a glass of red wine. Dinner was quiet, save for the low hum of the television. A dusty old Western was playing, something about cowboys and crooked sheriffs. Natasha wasn’t really watching. She sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, Liho curled beside her like a sentient heating pad.

Her thoughts kept drifting. Back to the studio. Back to the lecture Maria had shown her.

Back to you.

She hadn’t said it out loud, but the words had stung more than she expected. The calm measured critique of how anchors like her “curated truth,” how polished delivery could sometimes mask institutional bias. The examples had been academic, but Natasha had felt it—she had been the example.

And yet… you were compelling. Articulate. Passionate in a way that wasn’t performative. You didn’t grandstand; you just believed in what you were saying.

She pushed the thoughts aside, finished her meal, rinsed her wine glass, and went through the motions of her nightly routine. Brushed teeth. Washed off the last traces of studio makeup Betty hadn’t already removed. Changed into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized Shield University shirt she’d never admit was from Bucky her old dorm roommate. Then, finally, she slipped into bed, Liho jumping up to settle at her feet.

It should have ended there. Lights off. Day over.

But Natasha lay there in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the echo of your lecture still playing in her mind. She sighed, reaching for her phone on the nightstand, and opened the video again—not to rewatch it this time, but to scroll through the comments. Most were thoughtful. A few were aggressively supportive of her, others staunchly in your corner. Some were messy and contrarian for the sake of it.

Still, the consensus was unsettling: people were listening to you. Her curiosity piqued, she tapped your name into the search bar. Dozens of results popped up.

“Youngest Professor at SHIELD University Breaks Down Media Ethics in Viral Lecture.”

“SHIELD University Appoints Rising Academic to Faculty—Is the Professor the Future of Public Communication?”

“Bridging Theory and Practice: How the Professor Makes Media Research Accessible.”

She clicked on your university profile. A picture of you smiling at the camera greeted her. Natasha couldn’t deny you were attractive, it was a shame you seemed to despise everything she embodied. Below the picture was a brief introductory text.

We are proud to introduce Professor Y/N, who began their academic career here at SHIELD University. After completing their master’s abroad, they returned to complete their PhD and were recently appointed as the youngest faculty member in our Department of Media and Communication. Their research focuses on media literacy, narrative framing, and the role of journalism in democratic decline.

Natasha scrolled further.

Recent Publications:

• “The Myth of Neutrality: Power and Performance in Anchor-Centric News”

• “Narrative Fracture: The Battle for Public Trust in Digital Broadcasting”

• “Face of the News: Gender, Perception, and Charisma in Prime-Time Journalism”

Beneath that your contact email and Office hours.

Natasha sat back against the pillows, resting her phone on the nightstand, the soft glow of the screen now gone. It appeared that very little private information was available about you online to the public. She stared at the ceiling, the weight of your words from the lecture still lingering in her mind.

"Why the hell am I even looking at that?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head slightly as if to dismiss the whole thing. Liho, curled up at the foot of the bed, paused mid-purr, his amber eyes narrowing as he stared at Natasha. His ears twitched, confused by her sudden outburst, but he didn’t move. Natasha let out a frustrated sigh, rolling onto her side, her fingers lightly brushing her hair away from her face. "This is ridiculous," she murmured, though the words felt hollow even to her. “She’s nothing more than an overachiever, leveraging recognizable names to draw attention to her small research hobby.’’ Liho blinked, then slowly stretched before curling up into a ball again, letting out a soft, contented sigh as he drifted off to sleep beside her, unimpressed with Natasha’s mood swing.

She didn’t like being called out. Didn’t appreciate being used as a case study for all that was wrong with modern journalism. It shouldn’t have gotten under her skin the way it did. And yet…

It wasn’t just criticism. It was smart. It was sharp.

That’s what bothered Natasha. She turned onto her side, her alarm clock faintly glowing in the dark room. She told herself she didn’t care. That it was just another critic, jealous of Natashas success. Just another overconfident academic with a limited view of how things worked in the real world. She had seen it time and again—people criticizing her without reason, trying to dismantle everything she had built from the ground up. You don’t even know me, she thought bitterly. To you, she was manufactured. Superficial. A product, not a person. Power-hungry. Egocentric. It didn’t matter how many stories she had broken, how many sleepless nights she’d spent carving out her place in a world that never welcomed her. You had already made up your mind and in the media world, that was dangerous. A single narrative, repeated with enough conviction, could become truth. The public loved a fall from grace. To you, she was nothing more than a symbol. But to protect herself, Natasha clung to the thought that you were just another fleeting presence in the endless crowd of critics—one more voice hoping to see her fall. No one had ever succeeded in pushing Natasha out and you wouldn’t be the first. But as sleep tugged at her, slow and unrelenting after an eventful workday, the cadence of your voice still echoed in her subconsciousness. And despite herself, she was already wondering what you’d say next.

-

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-

A/N: Thanks for reading!

[freedomfireflies]

Off the Shelf*

Summary: The second part to 404*

The one where you hate working with Harry and can’t ever seem to agree.

Except on one thing.

Word Count: 3.9k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“And what seems to be the problem?”

Instantly, you and Harry are at each other's throats.

“I told him two fucking times to check his email for confirmation—”

“She wouldn’t shut up about the goddamn code—”

“—like that’s somehow my fault when he’s never on time—”

“—already in the middle of fucking rewriting the last sequence—”

“—which is ridiculous because I already told him—”

“—can’t do fucking anything when she’s yapping in my ear all goddamn day—”

“Okay, okay, all right,” Mr. Prescott sighs, raising his palms in surrender. “Let’s just take a breath—”

“She’s fucking up our project,” Harry interjects before leaning back. “Sir.”

Mr. Prescott rests his arms on his desk and glances between you. “From what I remember, the two of you agreed to work on finalizing the AI program. Comb through the bugs and whatnot.”

“Yeah, well, that was before he decided it was a waste of his time,” you retort, ignoring Harry’s obvious glare.

“That’s not what I said,” he huffs. “I said that we need to be working on expanding the GUI—”

“Except that wasn’t a part of our job, so—”

“Oh, and what? I can’t try to make the program better?”

“Maybe if you knew how—”

“I got hired for the same fucking job you did—”

“A job you don’t even want to do—”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do it—”

“Oh, bite me, Harold—”

“All right, all right,” Mr. Prescott interjects, running a hand down his cheek. “Listen, the two of you are more than qualified for the position and perfectly capable of executing the sequence you were designing. I understand it can be hard to collaborate, but this is what you agreed on—”

“I don’t mind collaborating as long as he does what I need him to do,” you correct while Harry scoffs and uses his knuckle to shove his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “He just doesn’t like to listen.”

“If what you were saying was worth listening to, maybe I would,” he agrees. “But until then, I’d like to handle my shit and you can handle yours.”

Stuck without much dispute, you bring your attention back to Mr. Prescott, eager for his response. 

The poor, older gentleman crosses his arms and studies you both, seemingly unconvinced but perhaps too exhausted to fight it. “That’s fine by me. As long as you’re reporting your progress to your supervisors – and to each other – I don’t see why you can’t work on different aspects of the sequence.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhale, glancing toward your partner who’s already turning around on his heel. “Uh, we really appreciate it. And we won’t cause any more trouble. We swear.”

“She swears,” Harry calls, already halfway out the door. “I don’t swear anything.”

Biting back a snort, you scurry after him and toss Mr. Prescott one final, “Thank you again!” before the door falls shut.

Harry is rounding the corner when you finally catch up, hands shoved into his dark jean pockets, and shoulders slightly tense. It’s not unusual, you suppose. He’s always tense. Muscles rigid beneath his clothing. Lip perpetually stuck between his teeth as he gnaws on the pink fibers until they tear and bleed. And glasses that are always about halfway down his nose from the bouncing of his knee.

He’s striding through the lab like he’s got somewhere important to be, and it drives you fucking mad because he’s technically done for the day. The only thing the two of you have left is a staff meeting with your supervisor before everybody is allowed to head home, and that shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.

But you don’t like when he walks like that. You aren’t sure why, but it’s always irritated you. Like he thinks he’s so goddamn special – so important. Like his presence is so valuable. And even worse, he’s always walking away from you. Like your presence isn’t.

However, instead of going straight to his desk – his favorite hiding spot – he rounds another corner and disappears into the next hall.

You pause, unsure whether or not to follow. He had to have known you were right behind him, so is he leading you somewhere? Or is he simply trying to escape you?

Either option seems likely.

Curiosity outweighs logic, and you continue after him until you manage to find where he’s disappeared to.

He’s hiding in the shadows of the abandoned walkway, lurking near a door you don’t recognize, his eyes now on you.

You skid to a stop, confused and a little cautious of the smirk on his face. “Uh…what? What are you…the hell are you doing?”

“You are so fucking annoying, you know that?” he scoffs, nodding his chin at you. “‘Oh, Mr. Prescott, Harry’s being mean to me. Oh, Mr. Prescott, Harry won’t do what I want.’”

Your eyes narrow at the falsetto tone of voice used to mock you. “Fuck you, I’m just trying to get our shit done and over with so we can move on—”

“Clearly,” he hums, but it’s riddled with sarcasm. “No, yeah. You wasting time going through the same data I’ve already been through is a great use of our time—”

“I’m going through it because I’m trying to make it better—”

“I made it. It was already better—”

“God, you are so fucking dumb—”

“Yeah, and you’re a cunt,” he retorts before he’s reaching for the door and swinging it open. “Get in.”

A bit stunned by the sudden and strange command, you blink. “...what?”

“I said, get. In. What, are you deaf and stupid?”

“Harry, it’s the middle of the goddamn day—”

“Get in the fucking closet, Tinkerbell, before I come over there and make you.”

Your eyes roll but you aren’t about to pretend you aren’t intrigued. Despite your revulsion for him, he seems to be in possession of the cheat code to your sex drive. All it takes is a look or a suggestive comment (or a rather rude demand for you to get inside a tiny storage closet) for you to fall victim to his intentions.

And it’s been that way since you met him. 

Which only makes it that much more infuriating.

You obey – with a pointed scowl – striding past him and into the small space as he follows suit and pulls the door shut.

A light flickers on overhead, allowing you to see Harry’s amused expression as you huff, “Now what—”

He kisses you. Instantly and without a single moment of pause. His palms quickly press to the wall beside your head, caging you between his arms as he takes your tongue between his lip and sucks. 

His glasses are cold against your face. You remember how they used to scratch you when the two of you first started this little arrangement but they don’t as much anymore. You think he might have changed the frames for this very reason, but you aren’t sure.

After all, that would be nice, and Harry isn’t nice.

“Harry—” you pant during a quick gasp for air. “We don’t have time—”

“I’m making time,” he counters, pressing his hips into yours while his mouth moves to your neck.

You want to snort your exasperation, but you’re too far lost in the feel of his body. “I thought you had shit to handle.”

“I do,” he replies smoothly, his hand now curving around your cunt until he can squeeze it tight in his grasp. “This is me handling my shit.”

His touch is unforgiving but incredibly welcome, and you whine softly before quickly reaching for his hair. “I thought I was annoying.”

“You are,” he says, sucking bruises into the space below your ear. “But there’s something about the way you stomp your little foot and tell on me that gets me all hot and bothered.”

You yank on his curls until he hisses, although he’s still much too smug. “So this has nothing to do with the girl who dropped by earlier? Or the fact that you apparently couldn’t finish?”

His eyebrow raises but he’s biting back a smile. “What girl?”

“Ha. Very funny. Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna try to be cute?”

“Why can’t I do both?” he retorts, grinning wildly before pressing his lips to yours once more. 

It feels familiar, this routine. This dance you’ve so quickly memorized, and it becomes increasingly easier to play along as you scratch your nails against his scalp and tug on the loop of his pants.

His hand slips into your jeans, the tips of his rough fingers smoothing down the front of your panties. A teasing touch, and you jolt in his hold before grabbing onto him harder.

“Harry,” you sigh, lashes fluttering as your head falls back into the wall behind you. “God, just…hurry. Please—”

“No.” It’s an easy response. Cruel, almost. But he’s focused on you. On your body and the way it responds to him. “I’m working right now, Tink. Leave me to it.”

He crouches down, pulling on the fabric around your legs until it pools near your ankles. He seems tantalized by the way your pussy sits so close to his face. The way it looks behind the pale blue cotton with the tiny bow. 

He surges forward and presses his mouth to you. Lapping at the material until there’s a rather obvious wet patch – either from you or him, you can’t really be sure – while making your eyes roll back.

“Shit,” you whimper, once again grabbing onto his curls for stability. “God, Harry…we don’t have time for this.”

He smirks against your cunt before dragging his tongue over your covered clit. “D’ya want me to stop?”

Your lips form around the word, “Yes,” but what comes out is a very strained and breathless, “No. Please, no.”

He grins, large palms kneading on the flesh of your thighs to keep them spread before he lands a firm smack to your leg. “Good girl.”

His technique is sinful. Ruthless yet mesmeric, and you look at him with a kind of wonder you can’t explain.

Harry isn’t anything like what you expected. He’s incredibly smart and focused. He cares about his work to a point of obsession. He’s a perfectionist, through and through. He’s diligent and has a great attention for detail.

And yet this man has the most insatiable appetite for sex. 

His list of kinks is a mile long. He’s out almost every night at bars, at clubs, at parties. He likes degradation, he likes pain, he likes bondage. He likes to bend you over your desk and spank you until your skin is raw and red. He likes to yank on your hair and drag his teeth down your throat. He likes to go deep – likes to go hard and slow. 

You aren’t sure why you assumed he’d be docile and a bit vanilla in bed. Perhaps it was the glasses or the way he always corrected your grammar. Which you know wasn’t exactly a fair assumption, but you didn’t have much else to go on.

Well…until the first time.

“You’re holding your breath,” he murmurs from beneath you, forcing your attention back. “Stop doing that.”

Sucking in a quiet inhale, you oblige. “Sorry.”

You have a rather dangerous habit of taking in large gasps for air when he’s eating you out or making you feel good and then forgetting to release them. Which is all fun and games until you begin to feel a bit lightheaded and nearly pass out. In fact, one time you almost did, and it had scared Harry so bad, he refused to touch you for about a week.

Glancing up to make sure you’ve obeyed, he nods once. “Attagirl.”

Your cheeks warm slightly at the praise – another nasty habit you wish you could break – before he’s diving back in.

Despite the way the seconds are ticking by on your watch, Harry continues to revel in the taste of you, even through your panties. He hums until your legs shake, head bobbing to accompany his mouthing at your pussy.

He enjoys eating you, even like this. He always has and you can’t say you quite understand it. Perhaps it’s the power it gives him. The way you whine and whimper. The way you grab at him and give him everything you have to offer. The way you fucking hate him…yet you still let him in.

“Harry, please,” you nearly groan, tugging on him again. “If you’re gonna fuck me, then fuck me already. We don’t have time.”

He makes a tsking sort of noise before nudging his tongue against the front of your underwear. “God, you’re no fucking fun, you know that? And to think I was actually gonna take my time with you.”

Your expression is playfully unamused, but you can’t deny you’re somewhat curious.

He lands another spank to your leg and stands back up. “But that’s not what you want, huh? You just want me to be quick. Want me to fill you up and send you on your way. Don’t want me to play with you.”

You watch as he flicks his belt open and steps closer to you, a rather salacious look in his eye.

“And wouldn’t that be a shame?” he whispers, long fingers sweeping up the inside of your thigh. “For you to go into that meeting with my cum dripping down your leg? When you can’t do anything about it?”

You feel your breath catch, throat going dry at the way he drags the tip of his nose along your jaw. You want to resist him – you should resist him. And yet… 

“Maybe it would be,” you reply coyly. “If you could get it up.”

To accompany your taunt, you reach down and press your palm to his cock, smirking when he sucks in a sharp hiss through gritted teeth.

“Seems you’ve gone soft on me,” you murmur, squeezing once more for good measure before releasing him. “That’s the real shame.”

The hand beside your head smacks against the wall. “S’cute, Tink. Real fucking cute—”

“Is it because of her?” you ask, straightening up until you can ghost your lips along his. Close, but not close enough. “Could she not take your tiny, little dick down her throat?”

You notice the way he swallows. The way the muscles in his arm flex beside you. The way his lashes flutter angrily from behind his glasses.

“Or could you not get yourself off?” You reach for him again. He's already beginning to harden from your touch – your voice – and despite yourself, your ego swells. “Was it when you were fucking your fist in your car this morning? Were you thinking about her? Is that why you couldn’t get hard?”

Something finally snaps, and instantly, you feel his fingers slipping around your throat. Just hard enough to make you grin. “What if I was thinking about you?”

“Mm. I don’t think so. Said it yourself. If you’re thinking about me…you’re always hard.”

He’s amused by this, squeezing your neck before surging forward to kiss you again. “Naughty little Tinkerbell.”

You smile.

With this, he spins you around and tosses you toward the empty and somewhat dusty bookcase in the corner of the closet. His touch is firm and unrelenting. Perhaps even a little cruel. The way he tugs on your hips as though to punish you. The way he shoves you until you’re bent over the shelf, allowing him access to your body like it’s his right.

And you don’t mind. This is the kind of dominance you’ve come to expect from the quiet yet horny man you work with.

Your underwear is yanked to the ground, the sound of a ripping stitch echoing throughout the small space. You frown but you don’t comment.

His palm smooths along your pussy, cupping it somewhat gently before his thumb flicks across your clit. He just wants to see you jump. Make you whine and push back into his touch. 

You hear him chuckle. “Easy, princess. Gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I’m ready, just go,” you huff, staring down at the dust beneath you. 

His finger slides inside your cunt, feeling you out for only a moment before retreating. “I don’t know. Seem a little tense.”

“If I’m with you, I’m tense,” you retort, making him smile. “Go already.”

“Now, now,” he warns, slipping in a second finger. “You wouldn’t rush Picasso, would you?”

You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry—”

“What?” He’s enjoying himself. “I’m the painter, and you are my art.”

“No, you’re fucking irritating, that’s what you are.”

“Oh, come on, I thought girls liked sappy analogies like that.”

“No, they like to get fucked. So, hurry up already.”

He lands another smack to your ass before dipping down to whisper, “As you wish.”

You hear the sound of him pulling himself out before you feel the tip of his cock dragging through your arousal. Collecting every drop while slowly pushing in.

He’s right, you are tense. And the stretch that accompanies his large size is enough to make you wince, yet…you love it.

Despite the slight pain, it feels good. Full in every sense of the word, and you focus on the deep breaths you’re taking as your nails begin to curl into the shelf. 

Through clenched teeth, Harry calls, “You okay, Tink?”

“Mhm,” you hum, lashes fluttering shut. “This is easy. In fact, you could go faster, actually.”

He exhales a strained laugh, readjusting his hands on your hips. “Funny.”

“Yeah, I’m hysterical.”

He pushes in a bit further but still slow. He knows your body well enough to know what it can handle. And he understands his size is a touch above average. 

Although he never lets you forget it.

“Being so brave,” he coos with a playful air of condescension. “My brave girl, yeah? Taking it like a champ.”

“Bite me, Styles.”

“Yeah? Just tell me where.”

You get ready to respond, but your remark is ripped from your throat when he suddenly drives in to the hilt. Ripping off the band aid and giving you exactly three seconds to adjust before he begins to fuck you.

The push and pull is everything. The pace, the anger, the pain. His hand is against your scalp, keeping you bent and pliable to his intentions. He’s grunting softly, slowing down just to speed back up. He listens to the noises you make, the way you clench around him. And he uses that to decide what he does next.

Your heart is hammering in your chest and your stomach is doing cartwheels. It’s as though this is the first rush of relief you’ve felt in weeks. Your hands can’t do it. Your vibrator can’t do it. Not even the guy you met at the bar could do it. 

Nobody can do it like he can.

And you fucking hate it.

He lets go of your hair to reach around and slip his hand up your shirt. Finding your tit and giving it a nice squeeze before slapping his palm along the tender flesh. “Oh, you like that, princess, don’t you?”

You nod faintly, whimpering from the subtle sting, silently requesting he do it again. 

So, he does. “S’cute how much you love when I hurt you. Makes me think you might even like me.”

You manage to scoff between unhinged whines. “Shut up, Harry.”

“What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” he continues. “You like me more than you think you do. That’s why you always do what I ask. Like a good girl.”

You sneak a glimpse over your shoulder, studying the crooked angle of his glasses, and the slight smirk on his face. 

He’s cute, you think. He’s always been kind of cute, but he’s especially cute when he’s ripping you apart from the inside out.

He meets your eye and travels his fingers down to your clit. “Need more, don’t you?”

But you don’t just need more. You need everything. 

He pinches you tight and readjusts his stance to make sure he’s fucking into you at just the right speed. Just the right place to make your back arch and your toes curl. 

“Gonna have to cum for me,” he grits, the graveled request woven between your anxious moans. “You wanted quick, so be fucking quick.”

You nod your agreement, the pleasure at the base of your spine building until it becomes your singular focus. 

You hadn’t realized you were this worked up. Hadn’t anticipated being so close to release after such a short amount of time but maybe Harry was right about something else. Maybe fighting with him is your aphrodisiac.

The first few sparks explode behind your eyelids, taunting you with more as he begins to groan softly from behind you. 

“Fucking shit—” His hips are slapping into your ass, the sound of your arousal being fucked into you by his cock like music to your ears. “There you go, princess. Just like that – keep squeezing me. Yeah…fuck.”

He’s close and you clench around him to get him closer, needing to feel him fill you more than you need air in your lungs. 

When he does, it tips the rest of the dominos. One after the other until everything is falling apart. The warmth of his cum inside of you, the pulsing of his cock in your pussy, the scattering of pleasure between your thighs.

And he sounds so beautiful. Rough and exceedingly desperate. The most perfect, delicious sound and it makes your stomach flip in the most excruciating way. You could listen to him for hours. Could get off to his voice alone, the way he grunts and moans for you. The way he says your name through a heated curse and spanks his hand along your ass.

“S’fucking good, Tink,” he exhales, tightening his hold on your waist to keep you upright and steady. “Milk me, baby, come on. Fucking take it.”

You can feel him dripping down your legs. Can feel the heat and the soreness already settling but you thrive off it. Indulge in the way he takes care of you for a moment more before finally pulling out and turning you around.

He checks your face for signs of distress. Brows furrowed and expression scrutinous from behind his glasses. You can tell he’s got another sarcastic comment locked and loaded but before he can fire it, you reach up, and slip the frames from his nose.

Then, you kiss him. Hard and with fervor. It’s oddly passionate – perhaps filled with the lingering frustration from your previous altercation. But you don’t mind. It feels like him.

After a minute or two, you pop off his tongue, return his glasses to nose, and shove him back. “And now we’re gonna be late.”

He smiles to himself, stepping closer once more to run his thumb just beneath your eye. Collecting what you assume are dried tears and runny mascara. “Oops.”

However, before you can pull your jeans back on, Harry is crouching down and grabbing onto the material for you.

He pulls your panties up and secures them around your hips, ignoring the sticky cum beginning to seep out of your pussy. 

Confused, your eyes narrow. “Har—"

“I told you,” he says calmly while zipping your jeans. “You’re gonna go into that meeting with me inside you.”

You feel your heart skip.

“But maybe if you’re good,” he whispers before looking up with a devious wink, “…I’ll do something about it.”

Next Part:

~ SnakeBite*

Previous Part:

~ 404*

~ Full 404 Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics

[arrimorr]

meet the publicist! she’s one of oxygen’s followers, and was created as a jab at the mine (thought the king of the road doesn’t like that she’s made out of materials form what he considers his domain). she acts similarly to the mine’s pr agents, though she’s not that good at her job. i imagine she probably scares off most of those who wander into the forest, it doesn’t help that she’s a little shy, so she’ll often just stand at a distance before attempting to approach, which most find quite unnerving.

i also drew her with diffraction and the third one whose name i don’t know. (decided to make their suit the acorn, it replaces the club in german playing card decks)

here’s the whole batch so far! updated some of the older ones a little bit as well

THE JOY I FELT WHEN READING THAT THIS, TOO, IS A GIRL. Doodled her for you 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️

ANYWAY THIS IS SUCH A COOL DESIGN, IM FOAMING AT MY MOUTH. Save me plant based creatures save me. I like this so much, she really does resemble the Mine a lot, her being a tree is an especially nice detail, because the Mine's followers are usually the most "grown through" of all. AND OHHHHH the Oxygen managing to push on the buttons of both the Mine and the King with this one, what with her using King's recourses to create her. Im honestly amazed by the amouth of thought you put into this. I like this design so so much. I wonder how her name came to be....

AND THANK YOU FOR DRAWING THE FAN CHARS OF MY FRIENDS AS WELL, I ran kicking and screaming with these pictures to them first thing in the morning. You have such an insanely charming pixel art, both of them turned out so well, I'm- 😭😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU THANK YOU I'm still amazed and shocked by the amount of work that you did oh my god

[crepesuzette2023]

That Klaus Voormann Interview where he says he might have been a better bass player for the Beatles than Paul

I got curious about this after reading this post about Klaus and Paul by @thewalrusespublicist. I saw that there was some interest in the interview in the comments, but that people hadn't been able to find it.

Original article (German) here (Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2010)

Quick & dirty translation into English by: moi

• Humor translates poorly, especially without audio. I tried my best, but can’t guarantee I captured the tone perfectly.

• Apologies for the n-slur in the quote from Klaus’s grandmother. I left it in because it illustrates Klaus’s background and the spirit of the times.

• Speaking of: context is important, so I decided to translate the whole thing.

• Klaus is 5 years older than Paul — I must have known this, but didn’t realize how it must have impacted their relationship in Hamburg before now.

• I wasn’t able to find other English translations, which is why I did this one, but if you know of any, or have done one: let me know and I will add a link. And sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone’s work.

------

Klaus Voormann: I should explain something right away: I have a real problem with dyslexia.

SZaW: Reading the menu?

Voormann: I have to read it out loud. I have to hear it to understand it. If I say "Knoblauchspeck mit Hausbrot" out loud, it’s there right away, and I won’t forget it.

SZaW: Is it an artists’ affliction?

Voormann: I don’t know. But it caused many hang-ups and problems I’m still carrying around with me.

SZaW: Were the 1950’s that bad?

Voormann: It was bad for me in the sense that none of my teachers realized I was dyslexic. The teacher said, “read from the book,” and I wanted to disappear from the earth. Chemistry didn’t interest me, historical dates didn’t mean anything to me, but the teachers wanted to beat it into you.

SZaW: But then you quit school to go to Hamburg, where, in the autumn of 1960, you discovered an obscure band from Liverpool called “The Beatles.” You can’t have been twenty yet [he was 22], I believe George Harrison was only 17. Stupid question: What were they like?

Voormann: Loud. I heard this noise from a basement at the Reeperbahn, and followed it. It grabbed me right away, because this was music I could hear and see right there in Hamburg: not a disc, no radio, but real people playing! I was amazed by the momentum they unleashed with only three instruments.  

SZaW: And you just went to them?

Voormann: During the break, I went to them and introduced myself. They looked incredibly strange: Studded jackets, hair in a DA, the boots [with the fur, just kidding]. Back then, I worked as a graphic designer for Hörzu und Kristall, but I wanted to design record sleeves. John Lennon pointed me to Stuart Sutcliffe and said, “talk to him, he’s our artist.”

SZaW: You wouldn’t expect studded jacket music to appeal to a coddled boy from the Berlin upper class.

Voormann: According to my mother, it was boogie-woogie, “negro music,” from the jungle. But to me, the Beatles were a revelation, as if I’d suddenly learned to roller skate or race on a motorbike. Up to that point, there’s been jazz on the one side, classical music on the other. Suddenly, something fresh entered the scene. You could tell they didn’t speak for the elite, but for the simple people: the toilet cleaner getting off in the back [???], the pimp who thinks it’s hot, or a famous photographer who’s obsessed with it.

SZaW: Your family back home must have been pleased. Rumor has it your grandfather owned a whole district back in Berlin.  

Voormann: My grandfather basically owned all of Heiligensee. He had shares in oil companies and South African diamond mines. Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him. He died before the inflation of 1923.

SZaW: Lucky for him.

Voormann: That depends.

SZaW: So, all that money became worthless inflation-billions?

Voormann: As children, we were playing roulette with the bills.

SZaW: A pastime fitting your class.

Voormann: My grandmother used to go to Monte Carlo to gamble.

SZaW: With real money?

Voormann: Back then it was real. I would have loved to know my grandfather; he was a great guy. There are stories about him throwing gold coins in the air because he enjoyed the girls screaming and jumping, trying to catch them. He liked to go out, and he had other women. When he came home, he brought back a silver plate of oysters for my grandmother, his “little dove.” My grandmother got angry and kicked the plate out of his hand, and he said, “my little dove, I didn’t know oysters could fly.” Then they made up.

SZaW: It must have been a better world. Obviously, you diligently followed your piano lessons as a child.

Voormann: I played Chopin, performed in concerts, and I might have become a good pianist. But at the time, it felt too risky. My parents didn’t want it, and ultimately, I didn’t, either. And so, it was decided I should become a graphics designer.  

SZaW: Coming from this world, entering the sweaty cellars of Hamburg must have felt like a descent into hell.

Voormann: Of course. It wasn't a protest, per se, but I went away, went to art school in Hamburg, and broke free from my family bonds. This music thing wouldn’t leave me alone, this love came from the gut. The Beatles added the heart.

SZaW: The Hamburg Beatles were a five-piece band, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe and the drummer, Pete Best. Times must have been rough. Albert Goldmann writes in his biography that John killed a sailor on the Reeperbahn. And Stu Sutcliffe’s sister keeps saying Lennon killed her brother.

Voormann: Of course there were fights where Stuart got beaten up, not by John, but by blokes whose girlfriends liked Stuart.

SZaW: And Lennon was supposed to be a closet case, who had an affair with Stuart . . .

Voormann: Complete nonsense. The two of them knew each other since they went to school together in Liverpool, after all. I liked Stuart, too, and we, as guys, would hug each other from time to time. He was a charismatic artist, that was all. In my whole life, I never met anyone who saw and perceived as much as this little boy—no matter if it was a bird or the sound of a train.

SZaW: And why was this good-looking boy so ashamed on stage he stood with his back to the audience?

Voormann: He wasn’t ashamed of his looks; he was ashamed he didn’t know what he was doing on guitar. Not that rock’n’roll has a lot to do with actual music. "Tutti Frutti," for instance, has three repeating chords, and all the bass needs to play is the root note. Great musicianship isn’t part of it. For Stuart, it was difficult, because not only was he not a musician, he didn’t want to be one. Still, his love of rock’n’roll was enormous, and his charisma was on par with Elvis Presley. [KLAUS!!!!]

SZaW: Stuart was posing, whereas George Harrison practiced until his fingers bled.

Voormann: George had a very ambitious way to make licks his own. He couldn’t improvise chords on the spot like Eric Clapton; he had to craft them and put them together. If anyone fit the type of lead guitarist, it was Paul McCartney.

SZaW: Before he became the bassist, Paul played second guitar back in Hamburg.

Voormann: Most of the time. Later, in the "Top Ten" or in the "Star Club,” he also played the piano, simple stuff.

SZaW: Because rock'n'roll isn’t real music.

Voormann: Well, it isn’t.

SZaW: And yet, you wanted to play rock’n’roll at all costs?

Voormann: At some point, I bought Stuart Sutcliffe’s bass for 200 DM, because he wanted to paint. Later, I actually turned out to be a good bass player.

SZaW: because you spent a lot of time watching from the audience?

Voormann: I had the tools from my classical training, but I had no idea how to play on a stage. I played the songs I heard on the Reeperbahn at home, by myself.  

SZaW: Stu Sutcliffe couldn’t, and didn’t want to play. Did you want to take his place?

Voormann: Maybe. During their final show together, I went to John and said, “Well, John, would it be possible for me to play bass?” And he said, “Sorry, Klaus, Paul already bought a bass. He’s going to be our new bassist.”

SZaW: Close, but no cigar.

Voormann: Hm.

SZaW: You came close, but when world fame started, you weren’t on board. Is that a good way of putting it?

Voormann: Hm, yes it is.

SZaW: Do you regret it?

Voormann: It would be interesting to know what would have happened. They wouldn’t have been with four, but with five. Would it have worked? Would I have fit in? The Stones were a five-piece.  

SZaW: A six-piece, originally. They fired piano player Ian Stewart, because he wasn’t pretty enough.

Voormann: They certainly couldn't have accused me of that.

SZaW: Ex-Beatle Pete Best sometimes goes on revival tours, and still feels cheated.

Voormann: And if he lives to be a hundred years old: Pete Best is not a good drummer. He simply didn’t have the charisma for a band this powerful. Maybe I lacked that charisma, too, but it was Ringo who got things swinging.

SZaW: Like Pete Best, you narrowly missed your chance.

Voormann: If you look at the musical roots of the Beatles, I would have fit better, in some ways, than Paul.

SZaW: Ja?

Voormann: Many people will take this the wrong way if I'm saying it here, but I approach bass playing completely differently. I would have stood for something primitive, earthy. If I’d been in the band, I would have used my influence to push for more rhythm and blues.

SZaW: For the Hamburg cellar dwellers.

Voormann: I know that John could have been closer to these roots, that later came through in a few numbers. But from the moment they became Lennon-McCartney, that disappeared completely—"Please Please Me", "She Loves You", "Help" and everything. They took off towards a completely new style of music, and I probably would have been an obstacle.

SZaW: Unlike Paul McCartney, who seduces the camera with his puppy eyes in Let It Be.

Voormann: The charlatan.

SZaW: But important, because of the girls.

Voormann: Without Paul, Beatlemania wouldn’t have happened. Paul is an entertainer; he can handle an audience. Different from John, who wasn’t a front man.

SZaW: He could be very forward on the Hamburg stage, when he greeted the audience with "Sieg Heil!"

Voormann: He was joking.

SZaW: Nazi jokes.

Voormann: All of that was unprofessional stuff. Professionalism came from Paul.

SZaW: Is it true John and Paul brought the mop top haircut back from Paris?

Voormann: They were there, but still: Stuart had the hairstyle first.

SZaW: Who cut his hair?

Voormann: Astrid Kirchherr. But I don’t want to revisit that story, it’s so embarrassing.

SZaW: Why not? Hamburg’s only contribution to the world’s cultural heritage.

Voormann: I was the first to have his hair cut in this style by Astrid, and then the others wanted it, too.

SZaW: Where is Stu Sutcliffe’s bass guitar now?

Voormann: I needed money at some point, and had it auctioned off at Sotheby’s for thirty- or forty-thousand Mark. Stu’s sister bitched and complained, theft, etc., and that’s why I only got a couple of thousand Mark. I wish I could undo the sale. I would like to have the bass.

[baby-tini]

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR OPEN REQUESTS FOR SO LONG...so, here's mine: How would you view parenting Mikey in each timeline? I don't know, how many children he would like, how he would behave in certain situations... I DON'T KNOW IF YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I MEAN... in doubt remember to rest, drink and eat💗

Don't worry, I understand what you mean and thank you so much, I'll take my breaks, drink water and eat, promise~

Toman\OG Timeline- He'd want 3 kids, two girls and a boy. The first being his daughter, then his son and lastly, another daughter, 8, 5 and 2. He'd be a very good father, he'd be very attentive towards them, while he would be pretty busy with... work, but he'd still help his children with whatever they need. Because of his job, he would move you and the kids around a lot, too keep you all safe. His kids wouldn't- more like can't go to normal school, so he hires the best teachers money can buy, after, ya know, threatening them into silence. He has a beautiful house on the hills, private, secluded and very, very guarded. He has a whole playground built in the backyard and an in-ground pool, you and his kids are always being watched over and his guards\henchman are told too protect you and his kids with their lives. He decides too marry you after your son is born and he's a really amazing father and husband.

Manila- 2 kids, both girls. The first daughter being 4 and the second being 8 months. The first daughter, in all honestly, was an accidental pregnancy, he didn't have any intention of getting you pregnant, but... it happened. He wasn't upset, quite happy actually, but he was a little distant for a while. He is such a girl dad, he takes amazing care of his two girls and of course, you. Now, I do picture you all living in the Philippines, in a comfy apartment, both of the girls sharing a room. As he sleep in a separate room with you, he does get a bit paranoid and will frequently check in on his kids, sometimes spending the whole night in there until you urge him too come to bed, with the promise that they're gonna be okay. He always keeps his gun on him, because not only does he have you, he also has two small children that he has too protect, you are all his lifeline. The most important people to him now.

Kanto- 1 kid, a 2 year old boy. He loves his son to death, while he is quite a strict father, he's also quite the softie, in private, of course. His kid is spoiled rotten, anything he wants, he gets. I picture his son too be a little explorer and it always worries Mikey, because he's afraid he'll get hurt or lost, so now, there are eyes on his son 24/7, with constant reports back to him. Mikey, when his son gets older, will teach him martial arts and teach him everything he, Mikey, knows. He got his son a little motorbike, made for small children, so that he could ride alongside his son, teaching him how too do tricks on the bike. He'll let his son sit on his lap as he carries on his gang meetings, not even batting an eye as his son starts too climb on things- or sometimes even people. He always- or atleast most of the time, has his son with him, he's either got him on his lap, holding his hand or his son is somewhere very close by.

Bonten- 2 kids, a boy and a girl. They're twins, both 5 years old. He's more of a... unbothered father, his kids could be running rampant and he could not careless, who's gonna check his kids? That's right, no one. Out of all the Mikeys, Bonten!Mikeys kids are the safest, Bonten basically runs the country. Even if they didn't, Mikeys executives guard and escort his children everywhere they go. Mikey isn't too keen on Sanzu being around them, but he's aware of Sanzus un-dying loyalty to not only Mikey himself, but to you as well. So, that also extends to your kids as well. These kids the richest kids in the world, Mikey has them dressed in all sorts of designer with expensive shoes, Mikey doesn't really care if his kids mess up the clothes, he'll just buy them new ones. Bonten!Mikeys kids also can't go to normal school so they're also given a private education.

Street Racer- 4 kids, three boys and a girl, just like him and his siblings. The boys being the oldest, 10, 8 and 7 with his daughter being 5. He wanted too have a lot of kids, Racer!Mikey wants a big family and he thinks it's so sweet that the boys are older so that they can protect their sister. All of them have a regular education, and they can be in any sport or extra-curiculars that they want. He has a big house, his kids all having their own rooms and things. This version of Mikey is the best father out of all his counterparts. He's a passive father, letting his kids do as they please, not too extreames, but he uses the excuses that kids will be kids. So you'll have too be the "bad guy" in most situations. He also teaches all of his kids martial arts and how too ride motorcycles if they're interested, teaching them everything they want too know, even letting them chill out at Draken and Inuis bike shop, learning how too fix bikes and changer tires. I'm letting you know that you now have too make 5x the dorayaki you originally would, so, good luck with that.

[asherashedwings]

PICOS SCHOOL DESIGN DUMP

Pico

So, I decided that my previous designs for a lot of these characters are going to be more-so their designs during the events of the Pico’s School games. So when they were kids. Like, some will be a bit different, but for the most part, that’s how it is. So then these new designs are them as adults.

When trying to figure out Pico’s design, I didn’t know how I wanted his outfit in this new design to differ from his previous. Cuz like, that’s already the perfect Pico fit. But then I realized “omg, it’d be so much funnier if I DIDN’T change it.” Cuz he is definitely the type of mf to be wearing the same clothes he’s had since middle school.

Like, Cass or Nin come back for a rematch, and they both look super different, and then they look at Pico and he looks NO DIFFERENT than last time they saw him.

Darnell

I immediately broke my rule with the previous designs with Darnell, cuz I just really liked the previous design’s outfit and was like “eh, imma use that for his adult design, and just change the kid design.”

I imagine he got that varsity jacket like, custom made, and it was like super fuckin expensive. But like, when he got it, he decided “wait, I don’t want the sleeves” and just ripped them off 💀

Can’t have long sleeves when you’re always working with fire ig.

Nene

I think Nene is the one I’ve drawn in alt. outfits the most. What can I say, I just really like drawing her and messing around with her clothes. So I had a lot of previous pieces of mine I could look back on for reference.

The main change that isn’t outfit related is her hair. I just decided to dick around and see what looked good, and landed on that. I think it looks pretty good, idk.

Also, gave her a WWJD bracelet cuz sometimes I forget she’s Christian and I thought it was funny.

Reminded me of this one stupid idea I had, featuring my very headcanoned version of the G-Squad:

Like, the G-Squad are doing their whole cult thing, worshipping the Peniliens, when the Pico trio burst in, and Nene says something like “THERE IS ONLY ONE LORD AND SAVIOR, AND HIS NAME IS JESUS CHRIST.”

And then they kick their asses, idk.

Also, here, them as kids. Pico just got spikier as he got older

Okay, time for some antags 💥💥💥

Cassandra

She was actually the first redesign I made in this batch.

Main change: Beard. I just sorta wanted to make the Penilien duo more androgynous. I imagine that they don’t really care about transitioning that much, since they don’t have the same gender roles and stereotypes as humans. Just “I’m [insert gender here], that’s it.” Also, I just think Cass slayed with a beard.

I also wanted to incorporate shapes from their alien forms more into their human disguises. So I gave Cass these big sleeve things to sorta emulate the big bulky arms she has in her true form.

One of her pincers is also chipped. This comes from the fact that in Pico’s School, one of her horn-hair things is shorter than the other, and I wanted to find a way to incorporate that.

Damien

I don’t think there’s much to say here that I have already said while talking about Cassandra.

I imagine Damien does less to hide his alien features, since he has a huge superiority complex and thinks Peniliens are superior anyways, so like, why hide his true colors? Why hide what makes him greater than everyone around him?

So yeah, that’s why he keeps his tail out.

Nin

YIPPEE, HEAVYILY HEADCANONED CHARACTER TIME‼️‼️

So Nin differs with the whole “previous design is them as a kid” thing, cuz he doesn’t really age past his age in Pico’s School. Cuz bro dies.

(Also, quick HC timeline: Pico 1 and “Pico 2” (the conflict with the robo-kids) both take place in middle school, while what I call “Pico 3” (the conflict with the G-Squad) happens in high school. So that’s why Nin appears less child-like; he’s a high schooler)

So like, I hc that when Pico killed Nin, Nin pulled some necromancy bullshit and revived HIMSELF. Cuz idk, that feels like some bullshit Pico’s School would pull.

So now he’s undead. His hair also sorta resembles horns cuz it’s sorta to symbolize his devotion to the Peniliens. If y’all are interested in hearing all the HCs I have for the G-Squad (or just PS in general), I might share more at a later date.

That’s all for now tho.

Bonus:

My color palettes for these fuckers. They’re all named after the MSI songs I associate with each of them. I do not support MSI, I just really like the music and it reminds me of Pico’s School for some reason, so I always listen to a lot of it whenever I get sucked back into this fandom

[maleyanderecafe]

The Yandere CEO (Visual Novel)

Created by: Phantom Tea

Genre: Romance

This game is pretty short and stops really fast, but older yanderes are always rare in these cases so I might as well write about it just in case. I do think that they could have maybe put in a bit more characterization for him, but for a short game, it's good as it is.

The story starts out with the MC working at a new job in the office and they're a bit scared given that his reputation is of a ruthless CEO. However, when the CEO, William, comes up to greet them, he reveals that he's very friendly. As the story goes on, the MC finds that William is constantly watching them too much, smiling too much and being way too attentive. One day he brings you to his office and talks about the plans for the marketing campaign. Although the MC wants to focus more on the work at hand, William insists that the best is to keep the MC by his side- to work together and to be together forever. He then tells the MC that he won't give them up for anyone else and that the two will be together forever.

Submitting to him will make him happy, confirming that there is no way for you to escape before he locks the office door. He decides to protect them forever and from everyone else. The MC is trapped inside of William's office indefinitely as he showers the MC with gifts and attention.

Trying to escape will have William slam them to the ground, and he chokes them until they pass out. Upon waking up, the MC finds themselves in the hospital, and it seems that William has escaped and disappeared. Despite this the MC still feels paranoid knowing that he's watching them and waiting to come back.

Trying to talk to him will simply lead him to denying their words, repeating his obsessions to them, seemingly trapping them in a more doll house like state.

So like I said, it's a very short game. It's kind of unfortunate we don't really get to know that much about William because he has a pretty nice design that's simple but knows where to draw the right people. The story itself is very point to point, getting to the gist very easily. The MC joins a company, is immediately chosen by William to be the lover (though whether or not this is the first time he's seen the MC has yet to be determined). Personally I think everything runs way too quickly for William to grow obsessed and the fact that he repeats a lot of lines that yanderes typically do (possessive likes like "You're mine and I won't let you leave") in succession is kind of, well, strange. But again, I don't think I can really complain that much. The fact that William was somehow able to lock the MC in his office for months without anyone noticing is WILD though- does nobody come to talk to him in his office because he's the CEO? Does the janitor not find the MC? It's not really a huge deal but I did think it was kind of funny.

Anyways, very short game, but the artstyle is nice. I don't know if there's too much to say about it at the moment, but I do hope that the creator will be able to make more yandere games, either about William or about another yandere character.

[thunderousjustice]

Abgerny character design in my AU, Vocals category [Final]

Extra

Alright, after a long hiatus, I finally drew the last section that everyone has been waiting for, "Vocals"! This is the last part where I reveal the designs of all the Abgerny characters in my AU. After that, I started writing their bios in my AU through Vurr's perspective, describing how she feels about each of them and her experiences spending time with them directly. (In my AU, Vurr has interacted with all the Abgerny characters, resulting in the VR world, all of them have clothes because it reflects Vurr's memories directly.)

As you can see, most of the Vocals have a tan skin tone, which is noticeably different from the other characters who have light skin. The reason? I just wanted to change it because too many Abgerny characters I designed have light skin and I'm tired of seeing that skin tone. Also, tan skin isn't bad for Juan and Benson, and Bearrito and Juana actually fit them well in my opinion since that skin tone is quite common among Hispanic and Latino people. (If you don't like it, that's up to you because I will never change their skin color in my AU anyway lol.)

Why are there two Juans? And who is the one named "Juana"? For those who follow my work on Reddit and Twitter, you probably already know the reason why I draw two Juans in my AU. But for those who don't know, let me explain briefly. (For those who already know and are too lazy to read it again, you can scroll down to read the topic about the origin of the scientific name and classification for Rainbow Flower in my AU.)

The reason I draw two Juans is simple: "I thought Juan was a "guy" because of her masculine name and appearance. And I created this AU long before the latest Abgerny update that confirmed Juan was a "girl" in Horror Mode. Also, I used he/him pronouns for Juan throughout the story and portrayed Juan as a "man" for over 10 chapters with no hint of being a "girl" whatsoever. So it's hard to go back and fix it. To cut the problem in my style, I decided to add "Juana" which represents Juan's canon gender but as Juan's older twin sister instead so that some of you guys won't feel uncomfortable too much from seeing Juan being portrayed as a man instead of a woman in my AU." (Juana is Juan's female counterpart in Spanish.)

So if you're talking about Juan in my AU, you have to specify which Juan it is because if you only specify "Juan", I'll only think of my male version of Juan. If you want a female or canon Juan, you have to specify like "Juana" or "Juan (canon)" because I like it that way. (I know this may sound annoying to some because Juan's canon gender is "female" and not male, but this is my AU and the story and character designs are my own creation (I'm not claiming that these Abgerny characters are mine, I'm just trying to say that the design in my AU are "mine" tho). If you don't like these little rules that I created in my AU, that's fine because I'm not forcing you to like them. Just respect my decision and rules, and don't harassed me for some stupid reason like this.)

Okay, the next question is where the scientific name of Rainbow Flower comes from. Let me explain it thoroughly.

Scientific Name for Rainbow Flower "Florigenius chromatica".

Breakdown of the name:

"Florigenius" → A fusion of Flora (Latin for flower) and Ingenius (Latin for intelligent/genius), representing its sentience.

"Chromatica" → Derived from Chroma (Greek for color), emphasizing its rainbow-colored petals and abilities.

So, "Florigenius chromatica" means "Brilliant, Colorful Flower".

More information about its classification.

Kingdom: Plantae (Plants – because it's still fundamentally a flowering plant)

Phylum: Angiospermae (Flowering plants – since it has petals and reproductive structures)

Class: Eudicots (Most flowering plants with broad leaves, like sunflowers and roses)

Order: Asterales (Includes daisies, sunflowers, and other composite flowers—Rainbow Flower has a similar petal structure)

Family: Florigeniaceae (A new, fictional plant family for genetically modified, sentient flora.)

Genus: Florigenius (Combining “Flora” and “Genius” to represent intelligence and plant traits.)

Species: Florigenius chromatica (Meaning "brilliant, colorful flower")

Trivia:

Kingdom, Phylum, Class, and Order follow real plant taxonomy.

Family "Florigeniaceae" is fictional, representing artificial or engineered plants.

Genus "Florigenius" separates it from normal flowers due to its sentience.

Species "chromatica" highlights its rainbow-colored petals and abilities.

This is the part that took me the most time while drawing Vocals, because I was researching botany and connecting scientific facts to each other until my brain was about to explode. And most importantly, it wasn't that important to the story but I still took it too seriously. I think I'll become a botanist by now, damn it. I'm going crazy with my life. (╥﹏╥)

Okay, enough of the science headaches, let's get to the questions about Benson and Bearrito.

You're probably wondering why Bearrito is so... umm, radical in my AU? The answer is that I changed Bearrito's personality a little bit, in that Bearrito is a little bit psychotic and has a "twisted sense of humor". So even though Bearrito is a good joker, there are times when his jokes are so twisted that it makes many people feel uncomfortable when listening to them. Most of them are violent towards the offenders (because he also has a twisted sense of justice). For example, he would say that peeling off the skin of a drug dealer and sticking it on the wall in the prison to surprise the drug dealer would be very "funny" because they would exclaim the forbidden words in fear and it would offend the prisoners of that nationality and get beaten up.

In addition, Bearrito was born from Benson's defense mechanism that Benson experienced when he was a child (Dissociative identity disorder (DID) go brrr-). So Bearrito would be like Benson's guardian who always tried to make Benson happy with his jokes and protected him from danger, even though his protection went too far and made Benson feel very uncomfortable, especially when he used Benson's own body to commit cruel acts while Benson could only watch from the inside of his mind. (But they are still close, just Benson strongly distrust Bearrito when Bearrito offers to "help" him on something because Bearrito always causes trouble whenever Bearrito takes over Benson's body.)

And lastly, about William

Why is William's name called "W.I.L.L.I.A.M."? Well, that's just an abbreviation for William AI in my AU (he's an AI in my AU, and he also have true form too. But I won't revealed his design as that was the most important part in the story). As for William AI's full name? That's a secret and I won't give you any hints lol. Guess for yourself (which I doubt you'll get right because it's a long and hard name to guess). Who's sitting in the chair in front of William? That's William's creator, that's all you need to know for now, I won't tell you their name lol

But for those who are interested in seeing William's full body on screen... see below.

(Based on reindeer that change their fur color to white during the winter.)

I know some people will wonder why William's design in VR world in my AU is different from William's design in VR worlds that are more commonly seen in Abgerny fandom like this.

First of all, this design is "not the canon design of William in VR mode". Anyone who played the original Abgerny will know that this design does not appear in the game at all, only the Wendigo version of William appears. So, William's VR design can be any design you want him to be, and I prefer something I design myself. Feel free to use William's VR design in my AU for other entertainment purposes, just make sure to give me credit as the creator of his design.

Okay, that's all for today. See you guys later in the bio of Abgerny's character for my AU!

[savemeafruitjuice]

Wanted to make a Captain Underpants fic... Super self-indulgent but this idea was a daydream of mine a couple months ago and I think it's cute. This is set pre-season 2 finale, hope you enjoy! 😁👍

Also if someone is apart of the cu fandom and wants me to tag them when I make tickle content like this, just tell me! (Also I would love to interact in general, as long as you're sfw and not a creep ofc)

Speaking of which, tags for moots!: @sunsetsandsunshine (especially you 🥰🥰), @hypermoonlover, @rice-cake-teen10

Lee: Melvin

Ler: Melvinborg

TW!: Light angst!

Word count: 2,143 (literally my longest fic yet omg?!?!)

THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SEASON 1, AND LITERALLY ALL OF SEASON 2 BTW!!

BY THE WAY- THIS IS NOT A SHIP, OR IN ANY WAY ANYTHING LESS THAN PLATONIC!!

-----

"No, no. I've already tried submitting that."

Melvinborg sighed, tossing his blueprint to the side for the umpteenth time. He continued racking his brain for some of his more impressive inventions. "What about the Pump-it-Upinator...?"

You see, for the past hour, Melvin and his future self had been discussing possible ways to help the former get accepted into his dream school.

Despite the obvious intellectual qualifications the ginger-haired boy had, Eliteanati Academy just didn't seem to grasp his true potential as a student.

At least, that's the only thing he could think of that was keeping him from his dream.

One of the ways they decided would help boost his reputation with the school was to present some of the inventions he had made in order to impress the staff. Although Melvin had already tried using the majority of his creations when applying, the two were beginning to get desperate. Plus, there were bound to be a couple that he had overlooked, right?

The pre-teen shook his head. "It was destroyed, remember? And even if I were to rebuild it, I'm not so sure that I want to risk another.. Flabulous incident."

Melvinborg bit back a chuckle. In retrospect, that entire situation had been pretty funny. For a machine with such potential, the disaster could have gone a lot worse than a teacher getting a huge butt.

"Oh, I bet the Time Toad 2000 would get me enrolled in an instant!" The boy rummaged through the stack of papers on the desk before finding one with a detailed drawing of the design, along with notes about how the time-travelling invention worked.

As soon as the stationary found its way into the younger's hand, it was promptly snatched up from the elder. "Nope, terrible idea."

"lt could totally work!" Melvin rolled his eyes, attempting to reach for his paper.

"Wouldn't."

"Uhm, would!"

The cyborg scooted back in his chair, forcing his younger self to lean awkwardly from his spot on the office desk to grasp at the blueprint. Beyond annoyed, he swatted at Melvin's hands as they got just a little too close to their desired prize. "I'm from the future, you unlit candle. And that means-

The older man scoffed as he was swatted right back. In a moment of petty ignorance, he scooted his chair back abruptly, fighting off the child who was now clumsily toppling into his lap.

"I know better than you do."

"That's a terrible explanation. Why don't you at least try and think of a good reason as to why I'm wrong?"

"I don't need one. It's obvious that using the Time Toad is a bad idea!"

Their swatting turned to pushing, and Melvinborg grunted as an arm was pressed into his face. Melvin was attempting to climb over him now, showing absolutely no remorse as he smushed his palm into the taller's face.

"Teaming up with you in the first place was a bad idea! You just want to do things your own waaHAHAY!-"

"..."

The both of them froze. Melvin's eyes shot down to the hand that had grasped at his side, then back to the surprised face of his future self.

You could practically see the gears turning in the cyborg's head, as he finally realized why the uncanny noise had left the other's mouth. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Melvin quickly snatched his paper back, jumped from the chair, and made a break for the door.

Melvinborg looked stunned for a brief moment, before getting to his feet and following suit.

"Get over here!"

"Never!"

The shorter grabbed for the door handle, squeaking as arms wrapped around his torso at the same moment that he made contact. He thrashed, desperately holding onto the door with all his might, but it did little to prevent the stronger man from yanking him up into the air.

"Let me go!" Melvin squirmed desperately in his grip, clutching the paper in his hand tightly, and held it as far from himself as possible. There was no way that his future self would be jeopardizing his future because of this dumb argument.

Melvinborg just rolled his eyes. "Then you give me the paper." His fingers dug slightly into his side, a smug grin growing on his face as his younger self yelped, clearly fighting back a smile.

"There's.. Thehere's no reason toho! Ahack- stop ihihit!" He squeaked as his sides were suddenly pinched, strained giggles forcing their way past his defenses.

The young scientist kicked, trying in vain to free himself from his future-self's arms, but it was hopeless. He shoved frantically at the cyborg, but his jelly-like limbs only succeeded in flailing tactlessly about.

"There's no reason to?" Melvinborg asked with feign interest, readjusting his hold on the child so that he could support his weight with one arm, the other reaching around the squirming mess to poke under his arm. "You wouldn't say this is reason enough to give me what you stole?"

A squeaky shriek pierced the office as Melvin's squirming increased ten-fold. He desperately fended off the digits that were attacking his armpit, simultaneously fighting the urge to clamp his arm down. Bringing the blueprint any closer to his body would result in it being snatched away, and every stubborn bone in his body was screaming at him to just hold. onto. that. paper.

After a few more pokes, Melvinborg understood that he needed to up his game. He huffed, digging into the younger's armpit with intent this time, completely set on getting the ginger to yield.

"StahAHAP! Stop ihit, I SWEHEHEAR! SNRK-"

In spite of the infuriatingly ticklish sensations shooting through his torso, Melvin kept his arm up. He threw his legs around once more, successfully landing a few smacks to the monster that had him in its clutches.

"You know what I want!" the robot snapped, "But since you're so insistent on making this difficult.."

Melvin squeaked as he was suddenly lowered to the ground, wrestling with the hands that were once again attempting to reach for him. He however quickly deciding on just hugging the sheet to himself in an attempt to keep it out of the other's possession. It may have been a less than ideal position to put himself into- but at that point Melvin figured that anything was better than throwing in the towel now.

"Ugh, just let go already!"

"Ihi- I refuse! It's my creation!"

As was expected, Borg tried to pry the boy's arms away, only succeeding in getting a couple frantic kicks to his arms in the process.

"Your logic doesn't make any sense! It's my invention too, you misaligned tire."

He shot a glare at his past-self when a particularly hard kick forced him to pull away. The preteen only gave him an indignant "humph" in response, forcing his tickle-induced smile away to really sell his attitude.

The elder rolled his eyes, sitting back on his legs. His patience was wearing thin, and he wondered internally if he'd always been as stubborn as this.

Who was he kidding.. if anything, he's even moreso now.

His eyes drifted to the legs that had gone back to kicking at him. They were admittedly weak blows for someone of his age, but persistent ones nonetheless.

"That is it. I didn't want to have to do this," Melvinborg caught one of the limbs right before it collided with his arm. "But I think it will help in convincing your underdeveloped mind to see this my way."

"WAIT! Noho, no! Don't you even dare!" Melvin positively shrieked, because he knew what was coming next.

As of late, the student had discovered- via two unbearably annoying friends (cough George and Harold cough cough..)- that his entire lower half was very ticklish. Espeeecially his knees.

How would the two know this, you may ask?

Well, it turns out that refusing to help one of the simple-twins with.. an admittedly tough math problem in their homework is not the way to inspire self-sufficiency in their minds. What it did inspire, however, was a certain child with a t-shirt and a bad haircut to try and get his attention again by spreading his fingers over one of his knees.

When that earned a jolt that shook his entire desk from Melvin, he and George decided to repeat the motion over and over and over again until he finally agreed to help them. By the end of it, the bespectacled preteen had lost the energy to fight, slumped out of his chair and out of breath.

Which is exactly why he's so anxious now. Borg was most certainly aware of this weakness- probably moreso than he was if he was being realistic; and very likely was planning on leveraging himself on that to get Melvin to give in.

What he was most worried about was that he knew it would work. And his future self knew he knew.

In short- he was screwed.

"Normally, I wouldn't. But as of now you're risking a time paradox that I don't have the exuberance for, the body for, nor the time for.." Melvinborg's free hand came up, and the younger tugged desperately at his entrapped limb. "So I'm willing to do what it takes to prevent that from happening."

Down on the floor, Melvin took to slapping profusely at his attacker's hands, eyes scrunched with giddy panic at the threat of being tickled again.

"Plehease! Juhust let me up!"

The half-robot held his hand out to give Melvin one last chance at escape. "Are you gonna give it to me?"

There was a hesitation, then paper was clutched tighter to the boy's chest; and so, Borg's hand returned to its place at his knee and squeezed.

"AH! Haah- SNRK! NOHOHO!" he screamed, head thrown back in hysterics. "IHI NEEHEHED- SNRK! IHIHIHIT!"

"No, you really don't."

Melvin's laughter jumped in pitch as a little more pressure was added to the tickling, surrendering internally as he tossed an arm over his eyes. Unable to withstand any more torment, he blindly chucked the accursed map towards the cyborg, ripping his limb out of the robotic grasp as soon as the grip was lessened.

The boy sucked in a huge breath, feet scrambling to scoot him further away as his other arm came up to shield his eyes.

After a few moments had passed; and Melvinborg still hadn't said anything, Melvin peeked through his arms, only to burst into giggles all over again at the incredulous look he was being given.

The man crossed his arms slowly, eyes wide as he collected himself enough to speak.

"..Why on Earth would you choose to throw it at me?"

Melvin brought his arms back down, propping himself into a sitting position with a smile. "Duhunno." he shrugged, watching as the other grabbed the blueprint from the floor and reached to set it back in its rightful spot on the desk.

"Hey," Melvin looked up to meet the eyes of the other. "I'm still going to get you into Eliteanati. You're aware of that, right?"

The younger's eyes shot down, residual smile fading away as he remembered what they were arguing about in the first place. "..I know you're trying."

The cyborg's face fell a little. "No- No, not just trying. You're going to get into that school, and you won't waste your years struggling for something that you just are not going to reach." He sat back down across from his younger self, speaking deliberately, as if he could force his words into fruition if he just.. tried hard enough. "I don't want to watch you end up like me."

For once, Melvin felt like he couldn't formulate the right words. The real weight of what he was saying sunk in. He conceived the fact that this version of himself had just.. given up on whatever timeline he had existed in, just to give his nine-year old self an opportunity to do what he couldn't.

"Uhm.." he started, fixing his glasses before starting to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. "For the record, I don't think you turned out to be the worst person in the world. You're working really hard to help me, and- I don't know.. it's just a pretty cool thing to do. I mean, you became the principal of the school in barely a week's time."

Borg laughed quietly. "Yeah, but that wasn't very difficult- Krupp is an idiot."

Melvin shook his head with a smile. "I guess. But still, I mean it about what you've done for me. I think there are worse fates for my life than getting rejected again."

The young ginger caught a shift in the other's gaze, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone; replaced with a look of newfound determination.

"..Don't worry. I'll get you into that school."

----

[forevergoldgame]

3 DAYS! GETTING CLOSER!

A lot of the portraits changed between the demo and first actual release. Part of it is Dan becoming more confident drawing these characters (after drawing them all 1000 times), but we did do a lot of design tweaking. We thought we'd talk a bit about our character design tweaks and process!

Quincy has not changed much in terms of core design. The biggest change he's had since my first iterative scribbles is the addition of his hat. However, I have long struggled to capture his proportions. He is meant to look solid, but my draftsmanship has had some catching up to do. I'm still learning, in fact! I will say his newer portraits are much more in line with the blocky fullness I intended. -Dan

D'Angelo wasn't a character I initially intended to revamp much for the full release. It was design change by a thousand cuts when I decided to redo his portraits just to bring the art quality up to snuff. First - I took issue with the incredibly inaccurate button-down he was wearing. (We're not being so strict about clothing style timelines or even limitations of reality, but this one just bothered me so much.) Then, I thought, I might as well make his overcoat a little fancier.

Finally, his head seemed somehow under-dressed by the end of that. He could use some more rakish qualities, I thought, and tried throwing some jheri curl/Prince-esque hair at his head. I wasn't so sure about it at first, but upon showing it to L.S. and a few friends, IT WAS A RESOUNDING HIT. Now it's hard to imagine him without his luscious curls. -Dan

Lucas's hair is now black with silver tips, rather than completely silver with red tips. While this invalidates that old comic, I think his design just reads better at a glance if his hair isn't in competition with his already lighter skin/fur. His purely silver hair was also decided at a time when we toyed with allowing more anime-esque hair colors in the setting. Out of all the characters, Lucas looks most like he just set foot out of an old-school JRPG, and while that's mostly fine, I still want him to look grounded enough in the setting and like he's actually related to his brother.

(Also, the pedant in me just couldn't believe he is maintaining perfectly dyed-to-the-root locs while he spends most this story traveling. Or that he dyed his eyebrows. There's just no way.) -Dan

Vicky both is and isn't much of a change. Sure, the portraits look quite different, but I didn't so much change her design as much as I approached drawing some of her individual features. And that, in turn, changed how Dan interpreted my sketches in her style.

See, Vicky is actually based on an older character of mine that I wrote years and years ago. And so, when I dusted her off to reuse her in Forever Gold, I just kind of belted out some concept art that was very close to how I drew her back then and handed that to Dan without much iteration. Then, once she was there standing beside the rest of the cast, I realized... eh, I'd probably choose to emphasize different aspects of her design were I to take another crack at it. So when Dan presented the opportunity to me, I went for it.

With her design refresh, I drew inspiration from female leads in 80s action movies. Unlike a movie star, however, she's meant to sort of straddle the line between handsome and a little off-putting, hence her large teeth and prominent gums. I wanted to evoke the feeling of a woman who would get told she "would be so pretty" if she changed 8 things and stopped working out and then does not do those 8 things and instead gets an extra 10 reps in at the gym, just for the haters.

(Her snout design pretty much stayed the same though because it was already right where it needed to be.) -LS

--

Hope that was a fun bit of insight for ya'll! Thanks for sticking with us through all this. See you in a couple days!

-Dan and LS

[thebroccolination]

Years ago, one of my favorite Japanese idols appeared on a variety show segment in which he made fun of women in an all-female gym. At one point, he looked at a bodybuilder across the room and joked, “Is it okay for me to say this? Is that even a woman?”

The male crew laughed, and he grinned.

I’d been his fan for years. Since university, in fact. We’re the same age. He writes, I write. I thought he was beautiful and funny, and even though I didn’t share his particular insecurities or social awkwardness, I found those parts of him endearing. Those were the flaws that proved to me that I was seeing him as a whole human, not a polished industry product.

I had thought, “I know who he is,” and yet, I didn’t.

Since he was in a company for all-male idol groups, I’d rarely seen him in contexts that involved women. Hearing him casually mock women who were exercising in a gym designed to be safe from men’s judgment and then seeing him eagerly look for approval from the men behind the camera put an irreparable crack in the veneer.

If I’d been younger when this segment aired, I would have taken it more to heart. He’d been my very public favorite in fandom, and everyone knew me as his fan. It would have felt like a personal attack for people to see that segment and turn to stare at me like I were his accomplice. I probably would’ve felt pressured to defend him, but I’ll never know if I would have.

The segment aired when I was older and much less involved in online fandom spaces. I didn’t identify myself as His Fan so much as “a fan who likes him.” I didn’t write fic for the group anymore, and I lived in Japan where my main community had become in-person friend groups. So when this segment aired, I decided to stop following him.

Everyone has their thresholds, and in this case, mine was that single display of casual misogyny. It wasn’t Big News. Definitely not an uppercase “s” Scandal for him, or even a lowercase one, and I doubt many people even remember it happened. A few days after it aired, people stopped talking about it. The general consensus seemed to be, “He shouldn’t have said that, but it wasn’t that bad, and he could have said or done much worse.”

And sure, he could have. But I’d expected better from someone who had based so much of his public persona on his intelligence and love of books. I knew he was smart enough to know what he was doing, and his need for male approval at the expense of women kicked the pedestal out from under him for me. It might have only been One Thing, but it felt like more iceberg than isolated incident.

Everything I had loved about him was still there. He was still funny and beautiful and smart and clever, and I didn’t flip a switch into hating him overnight or even now, but I knew I couldn’t see him the way I used to. Everyone has their thresholds, and he had crossed one of mine.

Not long after this, a friend’s favorite idol was embroiled in a scandal, and she couldn’t come to grips with it. At one point, she asked me, “What would you do if it were your favorite?”

I said, “I’d stop supporting them. Because if someone I admire did something like that, they wouldn’t be admirable to me anymore. The person I was following didn’t exist. I just didn’t know it yet.”

I see the argument that we shouldn’t put people on a pedestal, and I semi-agree with the concept. But it’s not that I think we shouldn’t glorify people because all people are flawed; I think we should admire people as long as we feel they deserve to be admired. Those pedestals should be temporary and specific.

Because some people are extraordinary. Extraordinarily kind, beautiful, talented, gentle, loving, ambitious, hard-working, friendly, magnetic, clever, funny, etc. Some pedestals are earned for one thing, and they can be canceled out by another. Or maybe that extraordinary thing they were admired for lessened over time—or it turned out to be an illusion all along.

No one should be so utterly enshrined by admiration that their flaws, warning signs, and poor behavior are automatically dismissed or forgiven or explained away. Pedestals should be merit-based and up for regular renewal.

Some celebrities and people of note have pedestals in my mind’s gallery. The majority of them are admirable to me because of their kindness. And I know that because I put them up there, I’m also the one who can take the pedestals away. I don’t live in fear of any celebrity disappointing me, because I already know it’s possible for each and every one of them. As much as I may appreciate their music, their acting, their speeches, their gestures, their humor, I know there’s a very solid chance that they may say or do something that crosses one of my lines. If they do, I’ll just do the same thing I did with an idol I used to love a long time ago: quietly withdraw my support.

I think one of the greatest mistakes a person can make with parasocial relationships is underestimating how much power you yourself can have in the dynamic. Who or what you love is only part of you if you choose to incorporate it into your self-identity. Otherwise, they’re just someone or something you love. Your values and ethics are more intrinsically who you are because you made them.

Through your life experiences, your disagreements with adults as you grow up and shape your worldview, your conflicts with systemic oppression, finding your place in the status quo, and deciding how (or if) you include community in your life—those are the deepest tenets of who you are.

I don’t think parasocial relationships are intrinsically bad—as long as you can walk away.

[jealousmartini]

I've got a headache, an I've got college tomorrow

Don't know if I should shift to my mha college reality or my mha uni reality where I live in a shared apartment with bakugo, uraraka and deku. I just know i want to go home. [Both realities are modern non quirk aus btw]

In these realities, I'm not Marcelynn Banks. infact she's just a popular OC of mine almost everyone on planet Earth knows I made for the franchise.

I, am simply Lucía R. Martinez. My dream ideal self. (i like to call myself Lucia laCruz because my mum's surname is cuntier), better known as my internet persona, "Kischa la Keisha" the popular YouTube indie animator, Illustrator, music producer, singer and song writer who dabbles in commentary, full animation projects and memes, video essays (i love a good video essay) and vlogging. The themes of the essays are usually a mix of popular discussions that are trending and unique topics i felt like rambling about on my kitchen floor, which can vary from family friendly to themes so dark it needs content warnings. I basically post whatever I want. And I like to incorporate things I learned while in college into my videos whenever i can, making them unique and well made or whatever just to show off. But sometimes they can be fucking messy.

In both realities, I am studying for 3 years in total. The first year I study english literature and filmography/cinematography. And in the remaining 2 years, I am an animations and games design student studying concept and character designing, 2D and 3D animation. I also scripted in my same exact classmates and teachers I have in this reality in my mha realities because I genuinely love them so much.

If I shift to my college au, I'll be ending the third year just like I am finishing college here, planning on moving into a place while in Japan with the help of my older sister. Because my mha college au is just a version of my better cr where the mha characters exist. If I shift to my uni au, I'll be starting my second year.

Fuckk I can't make my mind up. I'm getting college depression and a big ass headache just thinking about going back in tomorrow in this reality, and really, I just crave having an uneventful weekend in one of my mha realities. Where I sit on the cushiony chair of Uraraka's room, it's like 4pm, we've already decided on 2 pizzas for dinner and a cookie pie w/ ice cream for dessert, we AREN'T sharing with the guys, fuck we havent even told them yet. And im catching up on my research and annotation for the 3rd project of my animation and games course, sketchpad with rough notes scribbled in on hand with a bunch of snacks at my side and my pet cat in my lap, while Ochako does her own work opposite me practically drowing in plushies and blankets and our playlist we made together is playing in the background.

Ughhhhhhh I can feel my headache melting away a the though but I miss my wives so bad get me outtt

[kate-inthedarkness]

How would you feel about doing a part two for your Rob oneshot "Champagne and white roses" where they actually get married in a very small but intimate setting.

It would be so cute!! Love your work xxx

Hopefully this is a good add on and you love it as much as I do, lovely!!

You can read “Champagne & White Roses” here if you want to read that first before this one xxx

When You know, You Know - Robert Keating

Summary: Months after you and Rob talk about the thought of getting married, you guys finally tie the knot.

Warnings: None!!

A/N: Sorry if this isn’t overly realistic. I tried my best but I know nothing about civil ceremonies 😭❤️

The morning began softly—just like he promised he would.

Dublin hummed faintly outside the window of your childhood bedroom, where sunlight sneaks in through the gauzy curtains and spills across the floor.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, still in your dressing gown, holding a mug of tea that your mother made, whispering, “You’ll feel better with something warm in your hands.” She’s bustling gently around the room, not fussing too much, just anchoring you.

After your cousins wedding when you and Rob had the whole marriage and wedding conversation, neither of you wanted a big wedding. No long aisle, no huge orchestra, no stretch limo with ribbons.

You and Rob decided this would be simple—a civil service at City Hall, just close family, followed by a large enough celebration in the Shelbourne Hotel with just family and friends. Invitations not being extended.

There’s a knock—light and polite. When you say, “Come in,” it’s Robert’s mother. She’s holding a little white box in her hands.

“Hiya, sweetheart. I thought maybe you’d like to wear this,” she says, her voice lilting with emotion. “It was mine. From when me and Robert’s dad got married.”

Inside the box: a silver hair comb, delicate and old, its little pearls slightly dulled by time. It’s perfect. You smile, and for a moment, you think she might cry—but she just squeezes your hand, presses a kiss to your head, and helps tuck it into your hair.

Your dress was a soft, vintage white—more cream than ivory—with a lived-in beauty that whispered of decades past. You saw it a vintage wedding dress shop in Los Angels. All designer brands and stunning, but this dress stood out to you the minute your eyes landed on it.

It was the perfect mixture of vintage while staying modern. Beautiful lace and the bodice was tight, showing off your curves, featuring a subtle V-neck edged in scalloped lace, with tiny covered buttons trailing down the back like a row of pearls.

But your favourite part was the pair of Christian Louboutin heels that looked like ballerina pumps. Gifted from Elijah and Grace for the big day.

Once you were ready, the vintage car arrived to City Hall, the journey quiet and warm, your dad’s hand on your shoulder, your mam telling the driver to take Nassau Street because “the trees are nicer there.” Rob is already inside when you arrive, standing in a soft black suit—no tie, just his usual easy confidence. He turns the second the door opens, eyes catching yours like a reflex.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just smiles, eyes glistening.

The old Georgian room is filled with soft natural light pouring through tall windows. The echo of footsteps is muffled by the thick stone walls and historic grandeur. Just under the ornate ceiling, two rows of chairs are filled with a small group—your parents, younger and older sister on one side, Robert’s parents and two younger brothers on the other.

There’s a quiet buzz of soft and loving smiles, teary eyes, and the occasional deep breath.

A registrar stands between you and Rob, holding a slim booklet, ready to lead the final moments.

The room quiets.

“When you’re ready, you may share your vows.” He announced kindly, a soft smile on his face.

Rob shifts slightly, eyes fixed on yours. His hands tremble just a bit as he reaches into his jacket and unfolds a note. But when he starts speaking, his voice is steady, low and warm.

“I tried writing this ten different ways, but it always came back to this—I feel like I’ve known you forever, and somehow not long enough. You’ve seen me at my worst and still stood beside me, which is terrifying and beautiful all at once,”

Your breath caught in your throat, emotional crawling its way up.

“You’ve taught me how to show up, really show up. Not just in a room, but in the moment. I promise to choose you every single day, even when we’re tired or weird or frustrated—or if I’m away and you’re back home yelling at the kettle. You’re home to me. That’s what I’m trying to say. And I promise to keep coming home.”

He looks up from the note, a single tear falling and eyes shining, and takes your hand in his, taking a steady breath.

Now, it’s your turn.

You squeeze his hand tightly. There’s a lump in your throat, but your voice finds its rhythm.

“I didn’t expect you. And I definitely didn’t expect the way you slowly moved into every part of my life like you’d always been there. You’ve seen every sharp edge of me, and you’ve never once turned away. I love your mind, your music, the way you get shy when you’re proud of something. I’ve loved all of those things and more since we were 18.”

You take a pause, pinching your eyes shut to stop a sob from escaping, but you continue.

“I promise to laugh with you when things are good, and stand with you when they’re not. I promise to never let the quiet between us go cold. I promise I will love you—with patience, with honesty, and with all the small, ordinary choices that build a life.”

A small silence hangs. The kind that’s full of breath and heartbeats.

“Alright, let’s speed this up. I want to be married now.” Rob jokingly rushed, making everyone laugh.

As soon at the registrar announced you two as husband and wife, Robert grinned widely, almost laughing through tears. He cups your face, gently, and kisses you—sweet and real. A few sniffles echo from the seats behind. Someone claps, probably your dad, and then everyone follows.

You both turned, hand in hand, to face your families. Married.

After, as the photographer snaps a few candid shots outside under the stone arches, Rob slips his fingers into yours and leans in.

“I’d marry you in a fucking chipper if it meant standing next to you like this,” he murmurs.

And you believe him.

Because there’s nothing small about a love that lets you feel this whole.

————————————

The ballroom at the Shelbourne is bathed in soft gold light, the chandeliers gleaming like they’ve been waiting for your wedding day all their lives.

Tables are draped in white linen, flickering with candlelight, and laughter swirls through the room like music. It’s louder than earlier, but better. The air carries perfume, champagne, and the scent of slow-burning roses.

You’d worried it would feel too grand, too detached from the softness of the morning. But it doesn’t. It feels like the celebration you both deserve—like the joy that builds after a quiet “I do.”

Rob hasn’t left your side all night. His arm finds your waist as naturally as his smile finds your lips, grounding you in the chaos of clinking glasses and tipsy aunts.

The lads are at the corner table, near the two of you, drinks in hand, suits slightly askew. Josh has already lost his suit jacket and tie, Ryan’s telling a story way too loudly, and Eli—calm, steady Eli—is swaying with Grace on the edge of the dance floor.

Rob watches them for a second, then tugs you toward the floor himself.

“Come on,” he says, “married people are required by law to have a first dance.”

The song is old—Otis Redding, maybe—and the way he pulls you in feels even older, like muscle memory from another life. You press your forehead to his jaw, and his hands slide around your lower back.

“You happy?” He murmurs, low enough that no one else can hear.

“I’ve never been this content or happy in my life. I’m complete,” you whisper.

And for a while, the world fades away into music and soft fabric and the way his fingers trace lazy circles into your spine.

————————————

It’s past 4 a.m. when the night thins out. The younger cousins are asleep on velvet couches, shoes off and cheeks pink. Someone is still singing at the piano bar downstairs (poor guy). Josh went up to his hotel room totally pissed long ago, the sesh he started at 1pm catching up to him. Eli and Grace disappeared somewhere you don’t want to know anything about, and Ryan was too busy chatting up your cousin Evie.

But finally, you and Rob managed to slip away, hand in hand, up the elevator and through the quiet halls toward the suite.

Inside, it’s all hushed decadence—dim lighting, high ceilings, a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket untouched on the table. The ice in the bucket now very much melted.

Robert’s jacket lands on the back of a chair. Your heels fall out of your hands and beside the bed. For a few seconds, you just stare at each other, full of alcohol, food, and full disbelief.

“We’re actually married,” you say, voice husky from the night you’ve had.

He smiles, stepping close, hands gentle as they find your waist. “You say that like I’ve just pulled off some elaborate con.”

“You did. You married wayyy up.”

He laughs against your neck. “Yeah. I really fucking did. No coming back from this.”

The kiss that’s follows is slower than you expected, but deeper—like he’s trying to memorise this version of you. The one in a beautiful white dress, a little undone, flushed with love and celebration. And you’re entirely his, and he can’t seem to wrap his head around that, even after 7 years together.

And when he leans you gently back on the bed, you go willingly—not into something rushed, but into the kind of closeness that feels like a promise. Soft laughter between kisses. Fingers lacing. The press of foreheads and whispered I love yous in the space between moans and breaths.

The night closes not with not only internal fireworks, but also with quiet devotion—the kind you build a life on.

[fatoomie2801]

REIVUN DEBUT I GUESS???

HOW I HAVEN'T DRAWN HIM UNTIL NOW IS BEYOND ME ANYWAYS HERE HE IS

youngest otori sibling and the one with the most tragic story actually

he needs to meet todoroki and zuko asap so they can be left side burn bros

anyways i forget haru is an oc of mine cause i only ever talk about kiara but with art fight coming up and me suddenly deciding to participate i realised i gotta include him too so i did a rough sketch of him

i actually did not fully design him until this point all i knew is that i wanted his hair to cover the burnt half of his face and it needed to be short but long enough to be in a ponytail for that golden clasp their mother gives them

except he never actually gets it from her because she passed when he was 2 so he doesn't get the same experience his older siblings do :(

he's a character that debuts in fury and is working for pluto and rago because rago's his dad meaning he's also tsubasa and kiara's dad but that's a whole other thing that i could get into if y'all are interested

i'll defo be tweaking around with it but i just wanted to share it because i hate that i'm only just now drawing him i love him so much ><

i was debating whether or not i wanted to give him a mask and i think i do want him wearing a full mask but for this rough sketch thing i wanted to style his hair and draw some features so i gave him half the mask

very similar to jack's one in metal masters just plain black to go with the whole raven vibe he's supposed to have cause he has a corvus bey (the raven)

[okkefac]

Going into my pjsk fankids

Oh wow I got the one like! Using this as an excuse to blab about the fankids I've made for these blorbos. Umm I get super nervous sharing stuff like this, so if anyone sees this please be kind lol.

Pairings are really basic: shizuairi, emunene, minoharu, anhane, ruikasa In this kinda imaginary mind palace of mine there is also akitoya, mizuena and kanamafu - but none of them have kids. I'm going back and forth on if I imagine akitoya having kids, but I don't really see the niigo girls doing so - I see them more as fun aunt types.

As for leo/need, I hate to admit but I'm not a polyneed shipper no matter how much I want to be (I don't mind it as a ship, I'm just not passionate about it like I am the others here). I see ichika and shiho as aroace so I have them in a qpp, but I see hona and saki as allo. So we have some kids for honami and saki, but no set partner - feel free to HC as you see fit for the kids' other parent, I didn't design with anyone specific in mind.

Okay going in sort of age order by sibling set. Not all of them have super specific personalities yet, so some of the characters will be more vaguely detailed than others.

Honami - Rion, Isane and Yuuto

Rion and Isane are twins, with Yuuto being three years their junior. Rion and Isane are quite close, with Yuuto feeling a bit left behind due to feeling like the odd one out. As expected of Honami's kids, all three of them are fairly polite and kind - although Yuuto is more extroverted and likely to get up to mild mischief at school. Isane's grades are very high, so she decides to go to Miya girls, leaving Rion behind, to both of their frustration. II haven't thought about much detail on these kids individually yet, but I find their dynamic fascinating.

Saki - Atsuha

Fun fact: Atsuha was the first character whose concept I came up with. The first grandchild of the Tenmas - Atsuha definitely grew up very (lovingly) spoiled. She spends as much time as possible hanging around leo/need rehearsals, excitedly listening to her mom play the keyboard. Atsuha can play herself, but she's not super passionate about it - she actually gets very into design and construction and eventually becomes an architect. Has weekly visits with her uncles and cousins.

Saki wanted Atsuha to have a sibling, but things didn't work out that way, but Atsuha doesn't mind as she's so surrounded by love everywhere she goes - especially close with her cousins and honami's kids. She's a year younger than her, but sticks to Isane like glue at Miya girls when she joins.

Yes, that middle kanji is from Tsukasa's name. Yes, Tsukasa ugly cried to the point where he nearly passed out once he found out.

Emu/Nene - Raga, Earu

Raga and Earu have a two year age gap - Raga is a kind of typical mature older brother. Kind of takes after Nene a bit, but is much more academics focused. Earu is a loud performer - not wanting to go into theatre but wants to become a travelling clown. Both are avid gamers, but specialising in different areas.

Earu is born male but is nonbinary - if the spoke English they'd use he/they pronouns but definitely don't mind masculine titles (e.g they're happy to be called Raga's brother). Kind of describes themself as "not quite a boy but definitely not a girl". At some point they talk to Mizuki about things, and about how it's different and similar to Mizuki's situation. As you can see the have the girl's bow on - but they're wearing pants, they like to wear very androgynous clothing, but sometimes go a bit more masc or fem.

It's sort of presumed that Earu would take over phoenix wonderland due to being obsessed with theatre and performing from a young age, whereas Raga showed little interest. Although it later comes out that Raga was actually really looking forward to running things, and is just a bit more awkward at communicating his love of PXL - and it turns out Earu doesn't really want to be tied down and wants to travel the world, so it works for both of them that Raga becomes the one to take over eventually.

Shizuku/Airi - Nozori, Miyuna

Okay they're both a bit stupid, but I mean that with love. They had to be nerfed a bit. They go to Kamikou because they have to.

Both very conventionally attractive, they're only a year apart in age and are very close to each other - as well as to Nonno. Miyuna is somewhat overprotective, seeing her mother and brother both fall for things due to their general gullibility. Like Airi, Miyuna would definitely get into scrapes to protect her loved ones as a kid. Unlike Airi, Miyuna continues this to this day.

Nozori gets dragged into random situations on a fairly regular basis - usually by Yuuto who he is very ...very close with. He's actually quite into tech, being heavily encouraged by Airi so that they wouldn't end up like Shizuku.

Both siblings are often involved in very traditional Japanese ceremonies. Neither of them care much for the limelight, but both do love music.

Haruka/Minori - Nonno

Minori and Haruka's daughter - she's a year younger than Miyuna. Very close to the Shizuairi kids, she follows Miyuna to Kamikou even though she goes to Miya middle school. Definitely autistic (from Haruka). Nonno is fairly quiet and studious, used to her mothers having a lot of attention around the place. She lacks confidence to an extent, and tends to rely on clinging to other people. Nonno is a more recent addition to my mind palace, so I don't have loads on her yet.

An/Kohane - Nagisa

Wow I wonder who named this kid.

An and Kohane's son. As expected he's raised in vivid street like An was, and similarly was showered with love from a very young age. Not wanting to repeat the sourer aspects of her own childhood, whenever An and anyone else Nagisa was close to had to cancel on watching him practice, they instead invited him to join along for whatever errand they had to go do. This gave Nagisa a lot of knowledge of the inside workings of performing from a young age, and let him avoid some of the hangups An had.

As he got older, eventually Nagisa stopped tagging along to all of the errands, choosing to practice alone of his own volition. He's very confident, but not in a bad way - for example, where Kohane chose to wear contacts to look cooler, Nagisa instead decided "Well, I'm just going to make glasses cool" and stuck with them. He has quite the baby face, so makes up for it with a lot of piercings and trying to sound tougher than he is. The red streak in his hair is dyed, and he often swaps out the colour whenever he feels like it.

Fun fact: I didn't draw it, but his tongue is pierced too. Is it irresponsible for a teenager to have a tongue piercing? Maybe. He probably went and did it on his own, to be honest.

Rui/Tsukasa - Hikaru, Kazaki

Okay, Hikaru was one of the first characters I made, but Kazaki has only existed in my mind palace for about 12 hours, a very last minute decision to add. I was going back and forth on whether to give Hikaru a sibling, but decided Tsukasa should get revenge for using his kanji in Atsuha's name - and so Kazaki was born (Rui did choose her name though, just under Tsukasa's request to use one of Saki's name kanji).

They both got the Kamishiro autism, with Hikaru generally effected quite similarly to Rui (she struggles with textures, and socialising without bothering other people), and Kazaki effected to a lesser extent in different ways - Kazaki is very bothered by change and often stims with various trinkets of Rui's lying around the place.

Hikaru also got Rui's "genius" although unlike Rui she is much more aware and likely to bring it up - she sometimes gets frustrated when people can't understand things the way she does, although she doesn't mean it in a negative way - she is still just a teenager when she's like this. I'm not sure yet what Hikaru's passions are, but they probably lie outside of theatre. Kind of thinking rocks, rocks are cool. Tsukasa teaches her piano, but Hikaru struggles with fine dexterity and doesn't pick up on it - she eventually quits, where Tsukasa is fully supportive of course (he's seen what happened to Toya). Fun fact: Hikaru can do really good impressions.

Kazaki is into music and theatre, although mostly music. She's not a genius like Hikaru, but she picks up on musical things very quickly. She learns the piano with vigour, and starts composing her own songs from a very young age. Much more extroverted, Kazaki makes friends easily. She's not really odd like her parents, but unlike Hikaru she will play along with Rui and Tsukasa's weirdness for the bit. She does put on plays with her parents, although more as a hobby. Way later in life, she composes music for plays that Tsukasa writes and Rui directs.

They're not super close as siblings, fighting occasionally, but they do get along - much to Tsukasa's confusion ("Saki why aren't they like us?" "Oniichan I already told you, you go way above and beyond as a big brother." "No I don't!!"). Both girls kind of feel inferior to each other, with Kazaki feeling upset that she didn't get the genius gene like Hikaru, and Hikaru upset that Kazaki's interests align much more with their parents' than hers. Of course, to Rui and Tsukasa both girls are perfect. Eventually they get over this, but it takes some time. As adults the girls are probably super close.

In conclusion

I am so sorry why did I write so much. If anyone reads this i love you. If anyone cares I might make a name/pronoun chart because I find that stuff fascinating. ok bye.