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roanofarcc · 6 months ago

Text

THE OLD FASHIONED WAY

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x alive!reader

summary. You had always regarded your ability to see ghosts as odd, until you met Sam and her eclectic group of ghosts.

warnings. kind of/kind of not happy ending, ig? sad trevor :( angsty and a little flirty. reader gets stood up.

word count. 3.8K || masterlist

a/n. alive!reader HURTS but in the best way

trevor tag list. @marcos-scorpion , @youngdumbamericanteen

“I have one last, fun, interview question,” Sam said and you inwardly cringed. You had sat through so many job interviews that you knew a ‘fun’ question was normally anything but. Nevertheless, you smiled politely and nodded at her to continue asking. “What are your thoughts on ghosts?”

You laughed, against your will. It was a reflexive response that you immediately regretted. “Sorry!” you rushed out.

She didn’t seem put off by your laughing. “I know, it’s a ridiculous question. But the last guy that worked here…uh, this place may, potentially, be haunted. Not that I know, but there’s speculation. I just want to know how you feel about ghosts. Do you believe in them? Do you think it's all a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?” That was probably one of the oddest interview questions you’d ever been asked, but it was better than explaining how your weaknesses were really strengths. It also felt pointed.

You didn’t know Sam and she didn’t know you, but the question made it sound like she knew your weird talent. And for some reason, you didn’t feel the embarrassment you normally did when someone brought up the concept of ghosts. There was something about Sam that compelled you to tell the truth, even against your better judgment.

“Actually, that’s kind of a funny story-” you started, but were cut off.

“Samatha, when you are done, your assistance is needed in the television room. Someone believes it is his turn to watch another horrible film of space nonsense, but I distinctly recall it being my turn to watch those horrible women pick out whorish dresses for their weddings.” A woman appeared at the threshold of the entryway and the living room, dressed in a gown not from that century with her red locks pinned up in a curious updo. You were taken back, confused when your eyes fell on the man that stood beside her, dressed formally on top but lacking anything but socks and shoes on his bottom half.

“First of all, Star Wars is not ‘space nonsense’ it's one of the biggest movies, like, ever,” the man started. “And second of all, you just got to watch your pick two days ago.”

Sam cleared her throat, ignoring the two with a tight-lipped smile. You looked between the two, which seemed to confuse them. “I’m so sorry, will you excuse me for one second? I’ve got to take care of something really fast.”

“Yeah, of course. Take your time. I don’t mess around when it comes to Star Wars either,” you said.

The two people overlapped in with a ‘what?’ and an ‘excuse me?’ Sam stared at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape as she looked between the two figures behind her and you. “Hold on, can you see them?”

It took a moment for you to understand why that was odd, which was too long if you were being honest. Obviously, no one was walking around in a gown like that or pantsless for no reason. You weren’t looking at cooky guests, but rather ghosts. Did nowhere not have any spirits lingering? It seemed like every job you worked or applied to had ghosts haunting the building. Though, you supposed out of all of the places, it did make the most sense for the old mansion to be haunted.

But Sam wasn’t a ghost, but she seemed to be able to at least hear the ones in the threshold. “Can you see them?” you asked.

“Y-Yeah. I can.”

“Me too.” You have been able to see ghosts since you were little. As a child, most of your friends were the collection of ghosts that inhabited your childhood home. You thought you’d eventually outgrown it, but you never did. Now, nearly everywhere you ventured, you encountered dead people. It was interesting, a little obnoxious at times, and often made you feel like a freak of nature. But the woman in front of you could see them too; that was a first.

Sam sat speechless for a moment before she said, “You’re hired.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, working in the haunted mansion. In your lifetime, you’d encountered just about every kind of ghost, so you prepared yourself for anything when Sam introduced you. The Woodstone ghosts were an eclectic bunch, comprised of ghosts spanning nearly every decade. They were interesting, to say the least. But even if they had ended up being terrible, you were just happy to be around someone who shared your ability to see them.

Sam and Jay had set you up at the front desk, putting you in charge of checking in guests. And when it was slow, the Woodstone ghosts often found their way to you if Sam was busy.

One ghost in particular liked to hang around you, Trevor. He was the definition of an overgrown frat brother, with a lazy smirk and incessant flirtatious attitude. Every time he sauntered up to the front desk, calling your name, you made a habit of rolling your eyes.

“Good morning,” you greeted, tone flat as you clicked away on the computer.

Trevor leaned against the desk, his gaze burning into the side of your face. “How you doin’?” he said, and you sighed.

“Watching Friends again, I see?”

He blew air from his cheeks, deflating just slightly. “I’m a little rusty, okay?”

“Rusty? At what?”

“This,” he pointed between you and him. “Flirting.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Is that what’s happening?”

“Well, yeah. My flirting with Sam is useless because she and Jay are annoyingly sweet together. But you…” Trevor trailed on, a smirk on his lips and a certain cocky attitude wrapped up in his voice.

“I hate to burst your bubble, no-pants, but we’re not exactly… compatible.”

He raised his brows. “Because I’m dead?” You winced slightly. You didn’t want to be the one to say it; some ghosts were really sensitive to that, but Trevor didn’t seem too bothered. He shrugged like he saw it as no big deal. “I see that as a minor roadblock.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes once more and shut him down, you were impressed at his relentlessness.

You thought after a couple of weeks of working at Woodstone, Trevor’s ploy to win you over would fade alongside his attention. But he started to hang around you even more than when you first started, and you two had created a weird but kind of nice rapport of his continued flirting, peppered with more authentic conversations sprinkled in. He told you stories of his college days and the assholes he befriended before they ended up killing him in that every house. You told him about your own school days and how you were currently floating through the motions of young adulthood, trying to figure things out.

“Scoring a job here was nice,” you said, comfortably resting your elbows on the front desk as Trevor stood across from you, listening intently.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam and Jay are pretty cool.” He paused, toying with the end of his tie. “So, you think you’ll stick around?”

A small smile fell across your lips. “I think so. Things are pretty interesting around here.”

“Well, if you ever want them to be more interesting, let me know.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked, raising your brows.

“Oh yeah. I could rile up the basement ghosts, convince Thor minivans are enemy warships, you name it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are something else.”

“Careful,” he teased. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was supposed to,” you replied, not missing a beat.

Trevor’s eyes widened just slightly, the smirk wiped right off his face and was replaced by something that resembled confusion with a slight fluster. Clearing his throat, he managed to say, “Oh.” You didn’t know ghosts could blush until that moment, even with their lack of blood, because Trevor’s cheeks tinted a light shade of pink as he made up some excuse to leave, mumbling something about helping Sass before he hurried away.

You chuckled, resuming your work as another guest popped in.

To say your dating life was pathetic would be a polite understatement. It was almost nonexistent, which is why when an attractive-looking person popped up on the dating app you forced yourself to get, you got your hopes up a little too high. Sam had encouraged you to go out on a date with them, excitingly helping you get ready and everything.

You had been excited, believing it was a fresh start for you. First a new job and then a new romantic interest. Unfortunately, after waiting at the restaurant, alone, for a solid hour, you realized your dating life had quickly circled back around to being pathetic. Embarrassment didn’t quite cover how you felt as you left the restaurant and headed back home to wallow.

The following day at work, the second you stepped inside the mansion, Sam was there with an excited energy, ready to hear all about your date. She grabbed your hand and dragged you into the kitchen before you could protest. She had made tea and had left off sweets Jay had made for the guests yesterday. The other ghosts lounged around the kitchen too, and you felt even more embarrassed to talk about your total bust of a date around all of them.

But you slouched down in the one empty seat and let Sam push a mug of tea in front of you.

“Tell me everything!” she insisted.

You smiled politely but it didn’t stay on your face long before it morphed into a frown. “There’s not much to tell,” you sighed. “They stood me up.”

“Wait, seriously?” Trevor said, seated beside you, brows furrowed.

“No call, no apology, nothing. I sat there for an hour, like an idiot.” You rubbed your forehead, a scratchy feeling in your throat. There was no way you were going to cry in front of your boss and the ghosts. You tried to swallow down your emotions as you stared at the steam curling up from your tea.

Sam’s frown deepened. “I’m so sorry.”

“That is why you should meet suitors the old-fashioned way; not on the web,” Hetty said.

“People meet online all of the time,” Sam said. “Bad dates happen, but you’ll find someone.”

“At this rate, I’ll die alone,” you muttered before realizing your audience. “Sorry.”

“Dying alone not so bad,” Thor said, in his own odd way to cheer you up. “Die here!”

“Thor,” Sam sighed but you laughed lightly. “I’d prefer no one else to die in the house.”

The Viking shrugged. “Just suggestion.”

You picked at your fingernails, the same pit that’s been in your stomach since your ruined dinner last night turned.

Someone called from the entryway, the newest guest at the mansion. You moved to stand, but Sam waved you off. “I got it. You stay here, finish your tea.” You started to object, but she left before you could. With a huff, you sank back down in the chair.

“You’re young, you got plenty of time. If I learned anything from being alive, dating in your twenties is usually a, what’s that phrase Jay uses?”

Flower piped up, “A shit-show!”

Alberta nodded. “Yeah, a shit-show. Brush it off and get back out there, while you’re still young and hot.”

You smiled. “I’ll try. But you might be right, Hetty.” Maybe dating apps weren’t the way you were going to find someone. Old-fashioned dating sounded a little bit like a nightmare, but you figured it’d pay off more than mindless swiping through apps until another asshole stands you up.

“I normally am,” Hetty said.

The ghosts dispersed, going about their day-to-day while you lingered in the kitchen. Trevor stayed with you, quietly drumming his fingers against his bare knees. “At least you didn’t get catfished by a dead dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did that once,” he said. “Catfished Jay’s sister, actually. I didn’t know she was Jay’s sister at first, obviously. But, uh, yeah. It was a whole mess. I tried to possess her friend’s body, but he ended up almost dying, so it was a total bust. Then Sam started putting the iPad in the drawer.”

You laughed, that pit in your stomach easing just a little. “That’s insane,” you said. “A ghost on a dating app. For all know that’s why my date stood me up.” That sounded a little better than them just not being interested in meeting up with you in person. “But I doubt it.”

Trevor shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“I think it might just be me. I’ve never been great at the whole ‘dating’ thing.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Trevor said. “Looking like that, I’m surprised you don’t have every weekend booked.”

You shook your head, a little flattered and a little exasperated. “Definitely not. But by the sounds of it, you did.”

He smirked, throwing his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. “I got around, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It was odd, being around ghosts. To you, it never felt super different than hanging around livings. Besides the ability to touch them, the ghosts were every bit as real as Sam and Jay. You had started to forget that the Woodstone ghosts were just that, until they did something that knocked you back to reality. Trevor, being the most recent death, made it even harder to tell the difference. You could almost convince yourself he was living.

“Did you ever have a serious relationship before you died?” you asked, curious.

Trevor thought for a moment before he shook his head. “Nah. I was having too much fun being a bachelor and screwing around with my buddies to care about anything serious.” He paused, his smug attitude slipping away a little. “I didn’t know I was gonna end up dying before I could, though. I guess I would have liked to.”

“You guess?”

He looked a little zoned out, staring at something across the kitchen with his brows slightly knitted together. “I don’t know, I didn’t think much about it until I died.”

Sympathy fell hard against your shoulders, and you itched to reach out to Trevor and offer some kind of comfort but you couldn’t. Instead, you said, “I’m sorry.”

He tried to brush it off, regaining his normal composure but it didn’t shine in his eyes like it usually did. “It’s whatever. I don’t ever have to worry about going on a first date again, which is nice; those were always awful. And getting your heart broken probably sucks, so at least I’ll miss out on that.”

“You never had your heart broken?” you asked, impressed. Even though you’ve never had a super-serious relationship, you had a tendency to fall for your crushes hard, which usually resulted in a broken heart.

“Nope.”

“That’s pretty lucky,” you said. If you could go the rest of your life without a broken heart, you thought that’d be nice.

“It’s an interesting choice for a bachelor party, don’t you think?” Alberta said, but you had to ignore her because of the group of men you were checking in. You did agree though. The B&B was perfect for weddings and romantic weekend getaways. It was the kind of place you brought a family or your parents, not a bachelor party. But the men didn’t look like the kind to get too rowdy. The groom, in your small talk, had said they were just looking for a quiet weekend to unwind before the wedding chaos. They wanted to play video games and board games, drink whiskey, and catch whatever game was on TV. It was rather sweet, you thought.

“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The groom said no before thanking you and leading his small group of friends up the stairs. They weren’t up there for long though. After they carried in their bags and settled in, the group was back in the entryway, waiting for a car to take them into town, where they planned to bar-hop for the evening.

One of the groomsmen found himself at the front counter, handsome and smiley as he met your gaze.

“Do you have any bar recommendations? So far, our ‘bar-crawl’ only consists of two bars,” the groomsman asked.

You hummed in thought before replying, “The Black Dog is nice. It’s right on Main Street, if you’re heading downtown.”

“Do you hang out there often?”

“Sometimes.”

“So it has pretty company then, huh?” Your eyes widened and a flustered laugh fell from your lips.

From a couple of feet away, some of the ghosts had gathered to observe the new guests. A loud scoff sounded from Trevor before he said, “Seriously?”

You ignored him in favor of not looking crazy in front of the guests. “Oh, uh, no-”

“Oh, come on,” the groomsman said. “I’d say you’re pretty, really pretty, actually.”

Your face felt hot, and you tried to focus on the man in front of you, but the ghosts refused to stop talking.

“Get a load of this guy,” Trevor huffed.

“He’s got game, I’ll give him that,” Alberta said, to which Trevor scoffed once more. “What? Look at him.”

“Thank you,” you said.

The groomsman tilted his head to the side, pausing for a beat before he said, “Would it be too much to ask when you get off work?”

“A little.”

He held his hands up and chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“This can’t seriously be working on you?” Trevor said. “Look at this guy! He’s got khakis and a polo on!”

“At least he is wearing pants,” said Hetty.

“Unbelievable.” Trevor got closer to the counter, much to your disdain. It was hard enough trying to look sane in front of the guests when the ghosts were talking to each other, let alone you. “You’re clearly out of his league-”

“Enough!” you said, raising your voice regrettably so.

The groomsman looked at you oddly. “Whoa, sorry I-”

“No!” you quickly cut him off. “Not you! I was, um, I-”

“Dude, let’s go! The car’s here!” the groom shouted from the front door, beckoning the groomsman over.

He shot you one last smile, dipping his head in goodbye as he followed his friends out of the mansion. The door closed loudly behind them before the house was drenched in cold silence. The ghosts all stood quietly as you glared. “How many times have you asked you guys not to talk to me when I’m helping guests?”

“I don’t know if that counted as helping-” Sass started but shut his mouth when you shifted your glare onto him.

You mumbled under your breath before you left the front counter and bee-lined for the kitchen. Sam and Jay were out for the evening, leaving the mansion in your hands.

You only got a singular second to yourself before Trevor appeared in the room with you. Rubbing your fingers against your forehead, you asked him. “What was that?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before he shrugged and said, “He was flirting with you, clearly, and was out of your league like I said.”

You stared at him, the way he fiddled with his tie and avoided your eyes. Then it hit you. “Are you jealous?”

He blinked. “W-What? No…” By the way, his voice trailed off, you felt a terrible knot tangle in your stomach.

“Trevor…”

“Don’t,” he quickly said, shaking his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t…I don’t need that,” he gestured to the very clear glaze of pity in your eyes, but you couldn’t help it. You felt bad, really, terribly bad.

A heavy breath slipped from your lips as you walked toward him, placing yourself right in front of him. His lips tugged downward in a still sadness that made your heart ache. “I’m really sorry.”

Trevor sighed, “Don’t be. It’s…ugh.” He pressed his hands against his eyes, laughing bitterly at himself. “I’m dead,” he said. “You’re not.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, unsure of what else to say. Maybe if you had met him in a different life, one where you both were either alive or dead, you’d take his flirting more to heart. But that wasn’t your current situation. You existed in different realms, untouchable but on each other’s paths. You’d never described your ability as cruel until that moment.

“And I’m an idiot,” he added.

“No, you’re not. If things were different…” Even saying the words aloud, they felt bitter on your tongue, doing more harm than good. You could tell by the wince that twitched in Trevor’s face.

He smiled sadly, recovering from just the implication of your unfinished sentence. “But they’re not.” He let out a breathy sigh before he nodded his head toward the kitchen door. “I’m gonna go,” he said, slipping away before you could say anything else.

The next couple of days passed uncomfortably inside the mansion. Trevor barely showed his face, and you felt worse and worse by the hour. Hetty and Issac kept you company at the front desk, making light conversation between their reassurance that Trevor would be okay. But your guilt weighed on you. You didn’t know how to make it better; you feared you wouldn’t be able to.

But things came to a turn on the last day the bachelor party was there. The handsome groomsman had left his number on a slip of paper that you crumbled and shoved in your pocket, heavy on your side. You watched as they pulled out of the driveway and when you were alone, you unrolled the paper with his number, staring at it so intently you missed a presence appear beside you.

“You should call him.” Trevor’s voice started you. You yelped and clutched your heart, which brought a small smile to his lips.

“What?”

He sighed, shifting in his shoes and looking a little unsure of himself. “That’s his number, right?” You nodded. “You should call him.”

“Oh, no-”

Trevor cut you off. “Why not?” Because you felt bad, but you didn’t need to say that for Trevor to understand. “Don’t not call him because of me. Seriously, I…I lied when I said I’ve never had my heart broken.”

You peered at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because it sounded a little pathetic to say I crush hard. I liked my recess teacher so much that I cried like a baby when I had to move to fourth grade. In high school, my girlfriend of two weeks broke up with me because she was moving schools and I faked sick for three days because I was so, embarrassingly heartbroken. It’s just how I am,” he admitted, much to your surprise. “But I’ll get over it. It’s like not it would have worked out with me being dead and all. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said. “And you’re not pathetic. It’s sweet, actually. Really sweet.”

Trevor shrugged. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” He pointed a finger at the paper in your hands. “Call him, okay? You deserve a good date, the old-fashioned way.”

And so you did, the old-fashioned way.

#trevor lefkowitz #trevor lefkowitz x reader #trevor lefkowitz x you #cbs ghosts #cbs ghosts fanfiction #sam arondekar #jay arondekar #hetty woodstone #sasappis #issac higgintoot #thorfinn

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neysaadept · 2 months ago

Note

heyyyy,

I LOVE your Emily fics and only just saw you’re taking requests!! Congrats on the followers.💗 I was wondering if you could do an Emily/Reader fic maybe with the prompts “they didn’t deserve you” and “why are you doing this”, (early days in the relationship) where it’s Christmas time and Emily mentions in passing how she always spends Christmas alone cause it’s too much to go to her parents and reader decides to surprise her by making dinner and bringing it to her on Christmas Day! Emily is confused because she’s never had this kind of care or treatment and reader says she deserves it ( maybe first time saying ily?)

anyways just an idea and NO pressure if it’s stupid lmao! Ily

thanks

Please let me know what you think of this. It got really carried away and I really hope you liked what I did with this. *hides*

Take a Chance

Emily Prentiss x Female Nurse!Reader

Tags - No use of Y/N, swearing, angst, fluff, meet cute, first Christmas. Minors DNI

Summary - Please refer to the ask for summary!

AO3

Word Count: 4.4k

As a nurse, you had few rules for who were out of bounds in dating. Doctors are a big hell no. Yes, it seems romantic and dreamy to fall for some sexy, brilliant, doctor but there is too much overlapping and fucked up hours to connect that things can fizzle out so quickly once you realize there is no compatibility. And god forbid you end up having to work with one another? So, so awkward after a breakup.

And yes, you’ve been there and done that. Never, ever, again. You moved out of ICU to have less contact with the intensivist, Dr. Vanessa Hyland, and the ER has been headhunting you for a while now. You took the opportunity and ran. It is a change of pace, but it had the same adrenaline vice that you crave working and triaging the unknown that walk through MedStar Washington Memorial that was close to the VA*.

Your exclusion list also includes paramedics, firefighters, police officers, and anyone in your department. You didn’t want someone that had similar bizarre hours as you and that you might end up seeing at work if shit hit the fan. Healthcare was a small world, and you didn’t need your exes in your immediate orbit. You had enough drama at work and for the last year, the ER has become your work home and it has pushed you to pursue your license as a nurse practitioner. You had one year to go and were currently a resident.

You are career focused, intelligent and driven which currently made dating a low priority for you. Since the fling with Dr. Hyland fell through, you focus on yourself and enjoy being single since no one of genuine interest caught your fancy. And you stopped looking.

You didn’t realize your world was about to flip upside down when you knock on the window to Bay 3 in the ER and a deep voice said to come in.

That definitely didn’t sound like an Emily Prentiss to you. That must’ve been her partner speaking per the report given to you that he came along for the ambulance ride.

“Morgan, I can speak for myself …” came the snippy reply confirming your suspicions.

You pull the curtain back and take in the two feds in the room. The tall, dark, and muscular handsome fellow was hunched over the side rail before he saw you. “Hey, Doc. Mind telling princess here that she needs to behave?”

Your eyes dart to the woman on the cart who was squinting her best death glare at him. “I am behaving. I came here, didn’t I?”

With the concussion the female fed has, the bright lights of the room weren’t helping which made her glare pathetically cute. You turn the lights down, which the staff should have done in the first place.

“Better?” you say with an understanding smile.

She nods thankfully.

“Also, not a doctor. NP in training.” You walk in and introduce yourself. “So, shall I call you Emily or Agent Prentiss?”

She looks at you funny.

“Some feds have a stick up their ass about titles.”

“I definitely do not have a stick up my ass. Unless you count him?” She points a thumb at Morgan in all seriousness.

His face falls playfully with feign hurt, clutching at his chest. “Ouch, girl.”

“Hm,” you look thoughtfully between them and could feel the deeply rooted respect and love for these two partners. You decide to play along and return your attention to Emily. “Well, I’m sorry to say we don’t have a surgical consultant that specializes in that.” Then you wink. “I can always call security and throw him out if ya like.”

“Hey! Wait a second.” He lowers his hand accusingly. “You’re all not playing nice now.”

Emily chuckles. “I guess he can stay. He’s kinda my ride anyway.”

“Duly noted. Now, to business. May I?” You gesture to Emily’s head as you put on gloves. She nods and you start examining her scalp by gently running your fingers along her hair to smooth back to getting a better look. “The officer that was driving with you is doing OK. Same issue with head trauma after the T-bone. Do you remember hitting your head on anything before the airbags deployed?”

“Well, I was driving. Then we got the call on our suspect. Then we … we got the call on our suspect …” she shakes her head, wincing, trying to recall the memory before impact.

“Hey, if you don’t remember, it’s fine. I’m sure you know that. Doubt this is your first concussion?” You stop for a moment to make eye contact with Emily who rolls her eyes in affirmation. “Alright, well… you do have the start of a nice bruise here.”

You gently brush over the injury mid-scalp about halfway up from her left ear. “How’s the headache?”

“Pounding”, as she winces from your touch.

“Any nausea or vomiting?”

“No.”

“Dizziness or lightheadedness?”

“Nope.”

“Double or blurry vision?”

“A little. Tho it’s an improvement for Morgan’s looks.”

He whistles, shaking his head. “I’m letting that one slide since you’re suffering.”

You chuckle. “Alright, let me take a quick look at the rest of you. Anything else hurting that isn’t Morgan’s heart?”

That made her laugh as you pull the stethoscope over your head. “No. Nothing else hurts.

“Ladies, I’m starting to take offense now.” But he was all smiles.

You knew she suffered minor injuries from the ambulance report – contusions and small lacerations from shattered glass that didn’t require stitching. The officer on the passenger seat got cut worse being on the side of impact. You then listen to her heart, lungs and abdomen and palpate her stomach after making sure nothing was tender. Then did the same with her limbs testing neurological strength and any sore spots that may have been missed.

“Okay, Emily. Let’s get that CT done of your head.” You put the stethoscope back around your neck before placing your hands in your lab coat pockets. “If that comes back clean, I’ll release you home …” You see she’s about to ask a question you’re already anticipating. “… and no work until you’re medically cleared.”

She pouts rather prettily. You wish you didn’t notice. “And that also means no pretending to be cleared and going to work either.”

Morgan shakes his head and half smiles down at his partner. “Busted.”

“Had a feeling.” Morgan smirks between the two of you. “I’ll get those orders in.” You check your watch. “Should be done within the hour and we’ll go from there. If you need me, just call.”

Morgan steps around the bed to shake your hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And you turn to look at Emily with a firm tone and playful eyes. “You behave.”

She huffs and settles back against the pillow, but Emily was fighting with a smile. To you it appears she was grumbling under her breath which was oh so common with law officials. When you leave the room, Morgan looks at Prentiss with a knowing look. In her state, she was genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re making heart eyes with the nurse.”

“What? I … wasn’t. No way I was doing … whatever that thing you said I’m doing. It didn’t happen,” she says with a scowl.

“Heart eyes,” he reminds her.

“Whatever,” she snips. “Has to be the head injury.”

“Uh huh.” He looks back at the curtains then at his partner. “She’s your type too …”

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” she says, stopping Morgan from talking further about the nurse that was definitely her physical type. Plus, you were clearly smart and had a fun side at the bedside that made her smile.

Morgan smirks, seeing the dopey look. He knows she’s thinking about you. “When you’re better, then.”

“I’ll probably won’t remember this stupid conversation then either.” She ends the topic by crossing her arms and looking away from Derek. A perfect model of a petulant Prentiss.

Emily does hates that he was right. The question that remains is if she was going to do anything about it after Morgan’s teasing that would inevitably come at a later date.

Two weeks went by since you discharged Agent Emily Prentiss and life went on. You were working a double today in the ER.

“Let’s get a bag of O neg going on Bay 2 and prep endo for a scope.” You put the orders in and use the inter-hospital chat through the EMR* with Dr. Aorsen who is the GI specialist on call. Poor patient had a bleeding ulcer.

One of the techs calls your name and you answer without looking up, continuing to type up the H&P* on the patient so there will be no delays in the procedure. You answer with a pen dangling between your teeth. “Yeah?”

“An Agent Prentiss is here to see you.”

The pen drops from your lips as you swivel your chair around to look at the disheveled tech in surprise. “Uh, what?”

You couldn’t have heard that right.

He throws a thumb over his shoulder and nods in confirmation. “Fed named Prentiss is here to see you.”

Your eyes dart around the room trying to figure out why she is here and come up empty. “Is she here by herself?”

“Yep.”

“O … kay. Yeah. I’ll see what she needs. Tell her I need ten minutes to finish something before I can see her. Thanks, Marc.”

“Kay.” He wanders off and you finish your necessary charting. You weren’t going to drop everything to speak with her just yet when a patient needs your attention. Though your mind couldn’t grasp why she was here. You sent over the medical report on Agent Prentiss to the FBI the same week you discharged her. Nothing was out of the ordinary in your report. She suffered a typical concussion and filled out all the workers’ compensation documentation for the feds. It was way worse than filling out the damn metro police claims, and it took over an hour to finish.

Once you have all the necessary orders and documentation for your patient to go to endo, you meander through the nurses’ station and down the hall to where Emily is waiting. She currently has her hands behind her back which shows off the gun holstered to her hip. The white button down was under a black blazer that made her professionally beautiful and it was nice to see her be more casual from the waist down with jeans and black work boots.

And then there you are in your navy-blue scrubs, lab coat, hair up in a messy bun, and a stethoscope hanging around your neck. She definitely looks put together and was easy on your tired eyes.

Emily is distracting herself as she waits for you by taking in all the scenery around her from laundry bins to rolling medical equipment. But when she sees you, she visibly perks up and shifts on her feet.

You wonder if Emily is nervous but that is ridiculous. You push that thought out of your mind as you smile to greet her. “This is a surprise, Agent Prentiss.”

“Ah, Emily’s just fine. This isn’t anything official.” She says it a bit too quickly that makes your brows raise up in question.

“Well, that’s good. I was wondering.” You look her up and down and see that’s she’s recovered nicely, even if she isn’t relaxed speaking with you. Her hands are still behind her back. “You look well.”

“So, do you,” she says a bit too quickly when your eyes narrow in thought to her response. “I mean … for working long hours are the ER. It’s not easy.”

Your head moves to the left in curiosity as to where this was going. “Definitely not, but I love it. Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Though …” you bring your arm up and slowly gesture towards back down the hall “ … I’m sorry to be abrupt but with patients waiting … can you let me know how I can help you, Emily?”

You see her look mortified at keeping you waiting and that is when her arms swing around to her front, one crossing her abdomen. She was definitely nervous, but it is unclear why.

“Yes, I did want to thank you and see …” She nervously licks her lower lip, and your eyes are inevitably drawn to the motion.

You were hanging on her next words. The moment between you is filled with the sounds of electronic beeps, a patient moaning in confusion, and then the old Batman TV show theme goes off alerting your hospital that an ambulance was calling in a patient on the emergency line affectionately dubbed ‘The Bat Phone’ by the hospital. That seemingly jolts her back from looking at anything but you.

“ … well, see … you,” she says bashfully.

Your eyes widen. “See me?” You sound as confused as you appear.

“Yes,” Emily confirms with a hesitant nod.

Your eyes dart upwards in continued bewilderment before settling on her hopeful-looking brown orbs. “Look, I’m a complete idiot right now. Why did you need to see me?” You smile brightly with encouragement.

That seemingly provides the necessary motivation to be direct. “Yes. Socially. As in … dinner …?” Though Emily did end the last part awkwardly and began to flick at her thumbnail that was lying against her thigh.

Now with Emily’s intentions clear, you take a step back in wonder. “You’re asking me … out?”

Seeing that you took a step back makes Emily frown, thinking you weren’t interested. “Well, I was …”

“And you came here. To ask me out.” Your continuation of confusion is making her slowly back up towards the exit.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I …” she loosens the hold she has on her stomach and gracelessly swings her arms as she is about to turn, and hits the linen cart, causing a pile of towels and washcloths to tumble onto the floor. “Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

She crouches down to pick them up as you do the same but sliding to your knees. This wasn’t your first laundry pile up in the ER. “Hey, it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not.” Emily’s pale face was flushing prettily, and it makes you smile. “I made a mess.”

“Sweetie, this isn’t even close to a mess in my ER. Ever drop a commode?” That makes her laugh and diffuses the tension between you a little, but she was avoiding eye contact with you.

You both work at cleaning up when the two of you end up grabbing a towel at the same time. There was a quick game of tug of war and that finally brought her eyes up to see you. She was nervous and expectant, ready to run off in a heartbeat.

You give her your answer. “Yes.”

Her head leans in with disbelief. “Yes … what?” She asks hesitantly, needing confirmation.

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.” And just like that, you broke your rule about dating officers. There was something enigmatically irresistible about her and Emily mustered the courage to come down to your place of work to ask you out. How sweet is that?

Emily is too fucking adorable as her face works through the shock of what you said. “Oh … kay.” She nods. “Good. I mean …” She grins wide and bright. “Great.”

You both remain on the floor for a couple of beats before you lower your head, eyes studying Emily with a coy look. “Does this mean I can have the towel back?”

She busts out laughing and finally lets go.

That was a little over a month ago and you found out on your first date that it was her partner, Morgan, that helped talk Emily through her concerns. She explained how he was not just a good friend but was also like a brother to her. You were happy that Emily took this chance, and it was the happiest time of your life. You never thought that you’d find a partner that was able to understand the demands of your job and education by someone not in healthcare. Emily’s job is mentally, physically and emotionally draining like yours and despite the differences in careers, you understand the depts of humanity. Emily saw the worst of it and tried to bring the criminals to justice or at least provide closure for the victims and families. You do the same in your own way trying to save as many lives as you can as well as being the one to break bad news to people who loved your patients fiercely. You also saw the worst in a different way – shootings, stabbings, rapes, protests gone ugly. You and DC metro had a lot to talk about a lot of time. But the times you make a child smile when feeling terrible, or provide information that eases the mind of a patient that was so scared of why they were sick, or even the simple bedside talk to show you were a human being that truly cared, it was worth all the shit you dealt with.

But in between the long hours and when Emily was out of town, you make time for one another. Simple dinners, going out to the movies, long walks discussing nothing and everything, but the best was when Emily took you to the Smithsonian to see the staff carefully place a Santa hat on the life size brontosaurus display since Christmas was just around the corner. You didn’t even know they did that, and Emily was so pleased with herself at seeing your face light up in wonder. You of course took a selfie together after it was placed, but it ended up being at an awkward angle where you both were laughing as you were pointing to the dinosaur.

When you weren’t together, you had long talks over the phone and constant texts when Emily was on a case to make sure she was doing alright, which she did for you too! You both cared about your workaholic selves and kept reminding each other to take a break, eat and drink more than just beer when off the clock. Emily was able to keep work at work when in the moment with you but you could hear the weight of Emily’s job straining her voice. A hint of raw insight to her true feelings. You never push. Your relationship was still new, and you both were still learning one another.

When Christmas came, you were coming off a sixteen-hour shift that started right before 7am Christmas Eve. You were exhausted, the status quo for any resident, but you were also determined. This was your first Christmas with Emily, and you wanted to make it special. She admitted that the relationship she has with her mother is complicated and didn’t need, nor want, to show her face at one of her mother’s extravagant Christmas parties. Emily would just be shown off for propriety’s sake. It was easier being home alone with leftovers that Rossi made on Christmas Eve of pasta, seafood, and amazing Italian beef and sausages right after midnight. Between that, the homemade cookies gifted to her by Garcia, and a six pack of Stella bottled beer, Emily settled in for the day watching Die Hard because it is, and always we be, a Christmas movie. If you wanted to disagree with her, Emily was ready to fight.

By mid-afternoon, John McClane is crawling through the air vents and iconically complaining about ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ line when there’s a knock at Emily’s door. This confuses her because she wasn’t expecting anyone and you were at the hospital working. You told her that this morning over the phone during a break that, unsurprisingly, the hospital was short staffed, and they needed you. She put down Garcia’s festively colored frosted chocolate cookies and went to see who it was.

Which is why when she looks out through the peephole of the door, she gasps and quickly starts unlocking the door. She holds out her arms in surprise at the sight of you and speaks an octave higher in greeting. “What are you doing here?! You said you had to work tonight!”

She was all smiles seeing you … and you weren’t wearing your work clothes. You have on jeans, an ugly Christmas sweater that said ‘Fabulously Grinchy’ and arms full of bags. Emily was distinctively not festive on purpose with grey shorts and a baggy Yale sweatshirt. Even the black slippers were humdrum. It empowers you to see this and that you made the right decision to surprise her this way.

“Well, I lied,” you explain as she takes some of the bags from you. “Surprise!”

She steps aside to let you in and smells the familiar scents of pasta, sauce and bread. “What did you do?” she asks cautiously.

“I made Christmas dinner for us.” You beam, spinning around carefully in the living room with your arms out to display the bags. “Just need to warm it all up.

As you really did have to work long hours at the hospital, you enjoyed Skyping with your parents who lived of town while making homemade manicotti. It was your tradition to cook together, and it was nice to do it together this way. Thankfully you still had some frozen homemade pasta sauce that you could use and not be considered a heathen to your family because no daughter of theirs was going to serve their girlfriend pasta sauce from a jar.

“Oh my god,” she says your name and follows you quickly into the kitchen, trying to catch up. “You … you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. And, really, why are you doing this? You’ve gotta be so tired after working a long shift. You should be relaxing.” Emily knew you did work today since she heard the intercom and all the various beeps, whirls and whistles of a hospital.

You left the bags on the island counter and start fiddling with the oven controls. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” You smirk over your shoulder. “So have you. Therefore, we deserve a nice Christmas not alone. Now. … ” you start looking for oven mitts and utensils by pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. You’ve been here once before and don’t have the lay of the land yet where Emily keeps everything.

What you didn’t know is that Emily is standing by the island counter with a firm grip on the edge because she is feeling a powerful rush of affection for you and a profound sense of guilt. She swallows hard and almost jerks with her movements in trying to find words to address you.

“Hey, Emily? Where’s the spatula? I don’t need to whisk anything, and you got like, three of them here.” With no answer, you turn around with the whisks in hand and a goofy smile which soon falls into a look of concern. Emily was staring at you with watery eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, quickly setting aside the whisks that roll around the counter. One drops and bounces off the floor, but you don’t care. You place your hands around Emily’s shoulders and rub soothing circles. “Talk to me, please.”

Her face scrunches to the side, still struggling with guilt. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re tired. You should be sleeping. Or resting. Or just –“

You cut her off by gently cupping her face. Your thumbs continue their gentle stroking along Emily’s cheeks. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” You smile with sincerity. “Only place I wanna be.”

“Fucking sap,” she says, curling her hands around your forearms. You both naturally bring your foreheads together in that moment and feel Emily’s shaky inhalation of breath. “I don’t deserve this.” She feels the need to clarify. “You.”

You close your eyes and ask nonjudgmentally. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna mess it up. I always find a way to do it. Even if it’s not exactly me.” She sighs. “Like work, or my mother…”

“Hey, don’t do that.” You bring your hands down while lifting your head to gaze into Emily’s eyes. “Anticipating. We just gotta take it day by day and right now, I feel, that this is a good one.”

“Yeah?” she says quietly, licking her dry lips.

“Yeah,” you confirm, bringing one of her hands up to gently kiss. What you’re about to say you feel in your heart and it has been growing for the last week. Perhaps it was too soon to say it, but Emily deserves to know how you feel and that despite this being new, this was a relationship you were determined to see where it takes the both of you. “Maybe if I give you one of your presents, it’ll help you feel better?”

Her eyes look along the ceiling while she chucks. “Maybe.”

You lean forward and cup her cheek, gently caressing it until you lock eyes. “I love you, Emily Prentiss.”

Her audible gasp at the admission is swallowed by your lips gently kissing hers. The kiss was soft, a silent signature of proof to the words already spoken. It is affirmation that you want to be here with Emily, and you feel her free hand slide around your waist as she steps closer. The press of her body forces a sigh from your lips which makes Emily smile against yours.

“I love you, too.” She confesses quietly, pulling your joined hands against her chest. “And it scares me.”

“Well, here’s the good news.” Emily pulls back to look at you, brown eyes equally fearful and exhilarated, as she waits for what you must share. Your smile helps to ground her. “We get to be scared together.”

She laughs as a couple of tears fall free and you reach up to wipe them away. As she leans into your touch, Emily asks you a question since she has doubts about this gift of yours, no matter how much she treasures it. “Was that really one of my gifts?”

“No,” you admit and kiss her forehead. “But it’s all true. Consider it a bonus.”

Emily looks up to you with a smile that lights up the entire room. “Mm, I do like the sound of that,” she says before capturing your lips once again.

*Vetarans Affairs

*EMR - Electronic Medical Record

*H&P - History and Physical

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily x reader #emily x you #fic request #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 8 months ago

Note

If you were to write Lila would you keep her being a con artist criminal with multiple identities but hinted at/revealed it earlier than S5 or would you cut that part down of her character entirely ?

It would really depend on how much space I had to fill. Gabriel is not the kind of villain that you can draw out forever. His story needs to have a clearly planned ending right from the start. In fact, I think they drew him out at least a season too long. So, if I also had to fill eight seasons, I could see myself going the Lila route. I'd just make a few changes. Off the top off my head, here's how I'd handle serious villain Lila as opposed to what canon wrote, which is petty school bully Lila who is entirely unbelievable as a serious villain.

First of all, Lila wouldn't be introduced at the end of season one. While her and Gabriel probably need to have some overlap, that's way too soon. In my version, she shows up at the start of season four and she'd be heavily toned down. We'd know that something was off about her, we may even keep the liar thing, but it would be a lot more subtle. Lies like, "Ladybug rescued me" and "I got to go backstage at a Jagged Stone concert" instead of "Ladybug is my bff" and "Jagged Stone wrote a song about me." Her goal would no longer be gaining peons, but instead gaining true close friends who like and trust her. The reason for this is that Lila is replacing Optigami as Mayura's last sentimonster.

See, season three ended with all those identity reveals and most of the revealed identities are in the same class. That's curious, so it makes perfect sense for Nathalie and Gabriel to want someone undercover in Adrien's class, but they can't do it. So Nathalie makes a sentikid of her own, gives her the power of manipulation, and sends her off to try to find Ladybug and/or Chat Noir by whatever means necessary.

This would give a clear reason for Gabriel to trust Lila, a clear reason for Lila to know all about the miraculous, and a clear reason for Lila to hate Ladybug. In this version, I wouldn't do Nathalie's lackluster redemption. Instead, Nathalie stays bad right up to her death. Perhaps her last act is getting the butterfly to her daughter and ordering her to get revenge on Ladybug and Chat Noir should Gabriel fail. After all, Gabriel can't wield more than six miraculous at once, so it makes sense for him to send Nathalie off with at least one of them while he enacts his master plan just in case it fails.

That's just one potential path to take. I also like the idea of having Lila be someone who came to Paris in order to find the miraculous, but who has no ties to the Agrestes. That would require some pretty big changes to her character, though, as I can't see that type of character caring about things like dating Adrien or being a model or all the other crap that has nothing to do with gaining a miraculous and everything to do with popularity and social clout. Lila canonically doesn't know that Gabriel even has a miraculous until the final of season four, so she basically just lucked into finding one instead of doing anything logical to find it because this show has no clue how to actually write smart, clever characters.

In summary, I'm totally fine with complex, master-manipulator Lila, it's just hard to figure out the best way to make her work when we don't know anything about her backstory or motivation. The version proposed above is just the best I can do to fit her into the role canon placed her in. A role I could easily see later seasons flat out ignoring.

#ml writing critical #ml writing salt #lila deserves better #With how many lies the heroes have to tell for safety reasons it's actually a decent idea to have an evil liar #Someone to give a clear contrast between good and bad lies #Plus liars are fun! I want Lila to be someone I love to hate.

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rex-rambles · 16 days ago

Text

➤ COPYCAT (SMAU + FIC)

pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader

summary: Lando tries to get your attention the only way he knows how: by copying your Instagram.

wc: 5k

warnings: none :) photos from pinterest

➤ MASTERLIST

Liked by lando, yourbestfriend and others

yourusername Ever considered going and touching some grass?

↳ yourbestfriend when I told you you could borrow my sandals I didn't think you'd CLIMB A TREE IN THEM

↳yourusername 😘😘😘

↳ y/nfan23 bringing a whole new meaning to tree hugger

↳ 4_the_win Lando Norris we see you lurking

Liked by oscarpiastri, quadrant, and others

lando was told to go touch grass

↳ quadrant could've tagged us??

↳ lando @/quadrant

↳ mclar_win the little car 🥺 i can't

↳ ln444 father nature

↳ brocedes 👀

Was Lando being a little on the nose? Maybe.

But he had a hypothesis, and despite the fact he hadn't been in a science class in years, he wanted to test it. You were some travel influencer, your feed filled with the kind of content that made it seem effortless, from the smiles to the outfits to your friends. It was the kind of care free that Lando couldn't help but fall for, but there was no way he would message you.

What would he say? That he thought you were pretty? That he thought you were interesting? That he was an F1 driver and obviously should get the girl in the end? There was nothing he could think to say to get this to work, so rather than approaching you, he was going to get you to approach him.

Flawless plan, obviously, and the first step was to follow you, and then make a post with similar interests. Your latest post was out in the wild with pottery to match, so Lando found some photos from the latest Quadrant shoot out in nature, and then, because he needed it to be authentic, he dragged his friends out to some play-with-clay place and made his own little clay car, like a normal, sane man.

"Can you not think so loud?" Oscar asks up at him from his position on the floor at the airport. "It's making my brain hurt."

"Do you think I'd do pottery?" Oscar blinks up at him, though Lando ignores him to refresh his likes and comments, thinking maybe, that first lure would work.

"Do I think you'd do pottery?" Oscar repeats in disbelief. "Like, as a hobby?"

"Is it believable?" The only thing, however, is he needed no one else to notice he was posting strangely. Everything had to seem like a regular, Lando Norris post to not raise suspicion. He doubted your audiences overlapped, but one could never be sure.

Oscar groans, tossing a balled-up receipt at him. "Is that about your Instagram post?" He says and Lando flips him off. Oscar returns the gesture. "I mean, sure, it's believable. People will believe anything these days."

"But am I pottery guy?"

"I've had enough of this." With that, Oscar rises and says something about finding a snack, and Lando watches him go in disbelief.

"Oscar? Am I a pottery guy?" The Australian doesn't turn around, and Lando doesn't care about causing a scene. "Oscar!"

Liked by lando, yourbestfriend, and others

yourusername out of the woods and into the mountains 😌 ↕️

↳ yourbestfriend quit being cute and come keep me warm

↳ y/nfan23 me too??

↳ user510 the prettiest!! now go get real winter boots

Liked by maxfewtrell, 4_the_win, and others

lando 🏔 🏔 🏔

↳ ln444 didn't you already post this trip??

↳ maxfewtrell ❄️ 🎯

↳ 4_the_win @/yourusername you've got a copycat

↳ user510 literally their last two posts match

You used emojis. It was a stupid detail to focus on, but Lando could totally use emojis and make it seem normal. He'd used emojis before. And, it wasn't really creepy, because you had posted a ski trip: you already actually had that in common. Wasn't anything Lando needed to fake, just posting more of his last trip, but then he had spotted the emoji, and rather than stewing over the caption, he'd posted some of a mountain.

And then that first comment rolled in. Sure, he was a copycat, but how could anyone notice that after two posts? Fans were fantastic and terrifying at the same time, somehow knowing all his personal information far before he was comfortable with it being out there. But, hopefully, you'd feel the same. Two similar posts are just a coincidence, really. He might be a copycat, but nothing out of the blue.

Then, terrifyingly, you follow him back, and Lando's heart stops.

So. You weren't exactly well-versed in the world of motorsports, so a Formula One driver following you had taken you by surprise. Plenty of famous people followed you, much to your confusion, but this just added to it. Lando was some big racer, his photos and content (not that you had found his Youtube channel and watched the last ten videos to catch yourself up with whatever it is he did) were so relaxed and yet hyper, luxuries mixed into everyday living. You had little in common, even as you scroll through all his photos. His latest is of some ski trip, similar to your own, even if you were terrible at skiing. With his athleticism, he probably fared much better than you did.

His next is some merch shoot, intermixed with a little clay car, and you can't help but smile at it, having made enough of your own little clay creations over the years to appreciate the attention to detail, right down to the little driver's helmet.

So you followed back, even if there was nothing you had in common, really. He was a new kind of adventure, and if something came of it, great, and if you just remained on the sidelines of each other's accounts, then so be it.

Liked by lando, ln444, and others

yourusername finally got some photos developed

↳ yourbestfriend those photos are so old???

↳ yourusername so are my texts you haven't answered??

↳ ln444 if Lando posts film pics...

↳ 4_the_win 👀 👀 👀

Liked by yourusername, yourbestfriend, and others

lando finally got some photos developed

↳ danielricciardo if the whole racing thing doesn't work out, want to be my photographer?

↳ 4_the_win THE FILM PHOTOS!!

↳ user510 @/yourusername

↳ ln444 they're lurking too!

↳ y/nfan23 not everything is connected 🙄

↳ ln444 the captions are the exact same

He liked taking photos! So what if they were film? So what if you had just posted film photos? So what if he used the same caption? So what if you liked the post and made Lando stare at his phone for about an hour, willing you to message him? That was normal behaviour. He was just a photographer, really, with a massive crush on someone who did not know he existed and probably thinks he's creepy for posting all the same photos as them. He needed to get a grip, but he didn't really have time for that.

Actually, he had all the time in the world right now, but he wanted to pretend that he didn't. To film an advertisement for them, Hilton was giving him and his friends a free week in Bora Bora, which so far had been an incredibly serene experience, giving him ample time to stew over whether or not he was wasting his time, whether he should just ask you out, or whether he was being crazy.

Currently, he leans on the balcony, taking in the soft waves below him, wondering if meditating on them would take away the chaos in his brain. He was so lucky to have experiences like this, to have the job that he did, but he was only human. He could only avoid his thoughts for so long, be grateful for so much. He wanted to enjoy all that he was given, but he was finding it hard when his phone was burning a hole into his pocket.

It buzzes, and he wrenches his phone out to stare at a text from Max.

Max 🎮 🤢

get outside, now

ur going to regret it if u don't

With a sigh, Lando makes his way through their shared villa, over the clothes tossed across their little lounge floor, and he steps out onto the walkway that connects all the villas over the water, and he almost walks directly into you, and in the seconds it takes to understand that you are stood in front of him, and not hidden behind a phone secret, he thinks he might shit himself.

"This is Lando Norris!" The Hilton representative explains from your side, and the smile you send his way does something strange to his stomach. "He's also here to film an advertisement."

"You're here to film?" The words leave Lando's mouth before he can even introduce himself, and you offer a surprised look.

"Just some content, nothing major." Then, making his heart flutter more than he thought it could, "We follow each other on Instagram, right? You're a driver."

"Yeah!" He responds enthusiastically, before thinking it might seem weird. "You post travel stuff, right?" You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. He should probably not be distracting you, considering you just got in, and are probably jet lagged or tired or your bag is heavy, but his brain can't quite figure out how to make you interested in him while also letting you go. "Makes sense for you to work with Hilton."

Makes sense for you to work with Hilton? He could hit himself in the face with a brick, he really could. "A free place to stay never hurts! Plus they've got some great locations." You say with a laugh, and it sounds so rich in person, rather than through his phone's speakers.

"They've got a ski resort, in the States." You like skiing. He likes skiing. He's not a copycat. "It's next on my list to stay at."

"Oh yeah, I saw you went skiing. Where were you?" Oh god no.

You saw his post. That's exactly what he wanted to happen. But that also means you might've seen the comments about him copying you, and you might be bringing it up to show that you know. Or, you're just being nice and making conversation, or you're actually interested in him, and despite being fast on the track, Lando can't quite handle the speed at which his brain is working. "The, uh, Swiss Alps. Fantastic time. You...also ski."

"I do," You answer somewhat awkwardly. Of course you ski! "Not always the best at it, but I try."

"I'm not either, but I'm be more than happy to lend you some tips if you ever need." That's more charismatic, he thinks as he flashes a smile. He's salvaging what he can in a very short amount of time.

"I might take you up on that." You begin to walk away before turning back and rendering his heart still. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, I'll see you."

Lando Norris being on your first big sponsored trip was not exactly the outcome you had expected, but you weren't complaining. You may or may not had try to find him every where you went, enjoying the view of him suntanning with friends, the way his curls ran wild with both the water and humidity.

Maybe you were forming a crush on a man who you only really knew over Instagram, but none of your friends were here to judge you for it, so you allowed it. "You here with anyone?" One of Lando's friends ask, leaning beside you at the bar of the little restaurant on the resort. Lando either wasn't interested or was too awkward or shy to approach, choosing rather to bury his face in his hands. It wasn't the kind of question you wanted to answer a random man, and luckily, he seems to pick up on it. "Let me rephrase that. If you're not here with anyone, and are interested in the company, you're more than welcome to join us for dinner."

"That would be..." Lovely, really, but it seems weird to accept a stranger's invitation out of the blue, but maybe this was Lando's way of getting you to come over, and maybe this was your way of stepping out of your comfort zone. "Great, thanks."

Lando's friend leads you over to their table, where everyone shifts seats to leave the only open spot in the booth beside Lando, who even in the dimly lit restaurant light, you can tell is blushing profusely. "I'm sorry about him," He whispers as you sit. "Did he do anything?"

"Just invited me to join you for dinner, which is too kind of you. I typically solo travel, so it can get a bit lonely." All eyes at the table land on you, taking in the words you had really meant for just Lando to hear.

"You've been meaning to do some solo travelling, haven't you Lando?" His friend beside him says, playfully jabbing him in the side. Lando shoves him back with an infectious smile, and you try to ignore the implications of such a comment.

You were just some random person he followed. Wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They were just making conversation, being nice, but you can't help but dig deeper. "Oh?"

"I'd just love to travel anywhere," Lando fills in, his blush now spread to the tips of his ears. "But I'd prefer it with company."

"I get that. Friends make things better, to an extent." He shifts next to you, shoulder grazing yours, and you try not to immediately offer him company whenever he's travelling next. You were the one out of your depths here, so you focus on a fun anecdote rather than offering your time up to him. "Some trips end with us wanting to kill each other."

"I know the feeling!" Lando's friend offers over the table with a shit-eating grin. "The amount of random shit this guy pulls us along to? What was it last time, pottery?"

Pottery? Lando pulls a face and you remember the little clay car, and you slowly begin to pick up on whatever strange atmosphere his friends have created. Travel, pottery, your interests. Not his. "You do pottery?"

"I wanted to try, yeah. Made a little car." Then, he awkwardly fiddles with a fork, before asking, "Do you...do pottery?"

It's a bit too on the nose. You've showed off your pottery enough on your account that it'd be obvious, unless he wasn't interested, which was certainly an option. The other was that he didn't want you to know that he knew you liked pottery, which was a strange little mindfuck that didn't quite make sense. "I love it, it's just a great artistic outlet, though it's messy and expensive." You say slowly, taking in everyone's ravenous gazes. "I have a friend with a studio that I go visit."

"I've only ever done the cheap places." Lando says, eyes glued to the fork in hand.

"You should go visit their studio, Lando!" Another of his friends says, and Lando's head shoots up to offer an expression you don't catch. You are most certainly caught in the middle of something, and you're not sure if you like being stuck by Lando's side yet. "Make your own trophy."

"I bet you have plenty of trophies already." You interject with, and Lando turns to look at you with a raised brow. "Don't you?"

There's a pause as a waiter arrives with menus, and without much thought, Lando hands you one without any prices listed on it, before he continues. "Yeah, a good couple. I don't like to brag." It's a humble thing for a famous person to admit, though you know his social media presence says otherwise.

"Tell that to the photos you post." You say as you peer over at his menu to try and take in the prices. You were working on a travelling budget, as while the hotel might've been free, the food most certainly isn't.

"Hey!" Lando almost shouts as he smacks his menu over yours, offering a soft scowl as his friends laugh around him. You try to check one of the prices for the drinks, fingers grazing over his paper, and he folds it away. "Don't worry about paying," He says quietly, needing to lean in to be heard. "It'll make up for whatever these idiots say-"

"Lando's a good photographer, even does film and shit." The words cut through Lando's sentence, but it doesn't stop you from being one to blush now. He was paying for your dinner, which you suppose is a nice enough gesture from a millionaire. Well, you think he must be a millionaire, at least, considering the expensive clothes and the cars.

"You also use film, right?" Lando asks, still not quite authentic in his tone. It's like the whole conversation had been rehearsed, and your brain trips over the thought that Lando is trying to find things in common with you, especially considering his last posts.

"Yeah." You answer, somewhat awkwardly. "It's also expensive, but I like having tangible photos to remember trips by. Digital is great, it's my whole career, but it doesn't beat the real thing."

Lando smiles, nodding along as you talk, and you try to ignore the faces of everyone else around you as he continues. "I feel the same way." He says, fairly earnestly in answer as he drums his fingers against the wood. "Do you have a film preference?"

"Do you know the Olympus cameras? Like Olympus OM-4?"

"Uh, yeah. Totally." An obvious lie, now. You'd wish he'd say something real about himself, rather than just forcing everything on you. It was nice to be cared about, to be thought about, but at this rate? You were the star of a show you hadn't signed up for.

"Well, I just got one, and it's been great for travel, it's nice and light, but has its downsides. What do you use?" You've caught him in his lie there, and he blinks at you for a moment before realizing he can't make his way out of that one.

You watch him deflate before you, and you wonder if he puts this kind of stance on for everyone. Surely, you weren't special, you try to reason. He obviously would try to seem as interesting to as many people as possible. "Anything I can find," He states, a new, lower tone to his voice. "Lots of little disposable cameras."

"I bet that's probably easiest with all the travelling and racing. What's that like? Being an F1 driver?" You finally let him take over the conversation, and rather than becoming lively or confident again, he shrugs.

"Nothing interesting, really." You offer him an unimpressed look, and he can't help but laugh. "Fine, it's fantastic, but I don't just want to brag about myself all night. I've just been doing racing so long I'd rather talk about other things."

"How long?" You say, prying for more, and Lando's head tilts in confusion, like he couldn't understand why you'd want to know more. "How long have you been racing?"

"Well, since I was a kid." He launches into some story about his childhood racing days, and something smooths out between the two of you. It's not longer chunky or strange, like forcing puzzle pieces where they don't belong. The table seems to relax, too, attention shifting from you to watching him ramble about go-karts and competitions. It's the real Lando, you think as you watch him ball up a napkin and throw it at the guy across from him, not whatever strange being he turns into when he tries to talk to you.

You get lost in his words for awhile. You could sit here, like this, forever, just listening to him speak, and he seems to get lost in the conversation too, before catching you staring at him. He pauses, then, letting the table roar on with some old story that you don't get, and he smiles, something kind and soft and bright that makes you blush the moment you witness it. "I'm glad you joined us," He says quietly, ducking down to whisper in your ear. His face is tucked close to your neck to do so, like he was always meant to be this close to you. "And I apologize again for anything these idiots say."

"Well, thank you for having me." You whisper back, letting your head shift closer to his to say so. "I hope you know I'm going to use these stories as blackmail."

"Oh yeah?" He teases in response, letting his arms stretch above his head. Then, he lets one arm drop to rest on the booth above you, and you let yourself lean closer to his side, the move instinctual.

"For whenever I need a ride." His arm is warm pressed against your shoulders, and you remind yourself that you'd just met. You both might be interested in each other, considering the look he's giving you, but one dinner won't change anything.

"You don't need blackmail for that." He answers. "Just say the word and I'll be there."

The night passes in a blur like that, tucked close and just barely touching each other, enough distance that either of you could justify it was the drinks, or the cramped booth, nothing more. Still, it's nice to be by his side, and strangely, to not be the centre of attention. Though, every time you try to look at Lando, you find him looking at you.

On his final night there, Lando can't sleep. He's not sure if it's a mix of dread having to leave tomorrow, or the espresso martini he had that he didn't realize contained actual caffeine. Either way, it was about six in the morning, and he was wired.

Careful not to wake those in the villa around him, he slipped onto the balcony as he rubbed at his face, trying to come to his senses. It had been a fantastic trip! He had seen you around a few times, talked a few times, but nothing like dinner, where you had looked like an angel sat next to him, radiating warmth as you listened to his stories and ignored his awkward start to rather embrace his slightly alcohol-fueled ranting.

You were just a stranger. You were just someone he could totally go up to and ask out, but you were this untouchable thing in his mind. He had spent so long copying you, he was struggling to think of other ways to approach you than to match what you did, which was so far kindness at a distance.

Lando leaned against the balcony, taking in the barely rising sun on the horizon. It would be a beautiful sunrise, and as he turns to take in the rest of the villas, he finds you in the exact same position, staring out at the rising sun and wrapped in an oversized hoodie. He tries not to picture you in his merch, wrapped in the same orange of the sunrise, but it's hard not to. You'd look great in anything, he thinks, but you'd look better in his clothes.

You turn and catch his stare, offering a smile despite the distance between you. Before he can stop himself, he gestures back toward the villa, hoping you understand the gesture of meeting on the boardwalk outside. You nod eagerly and disappear back into your villa, and Lando rushes back through his, slipping on someone's sandals before leaving. It's then, stepping out onto the wooden boardwalk and watching you walk towards him that he realizes he's still in the same clothes he tried to sleep in, which is just his swim shorts, and despite the fact you'd seen each other in bathing suits the entire week, he feels strangely exposed to the world.

"Couldn't sleep?" You ask softly, and Lando nods with a yawn.

"Got to be up early to fly out anyway." He swears your expression sours, maybe because you also are up early to catch a flight, but maybe, just maybe, because you don't want him to go. He should really stop these delusions, should've stopped trying to copy you, but he can't help it. "Want to make the most of one last morning?"

"What do you have in mind?" You ask, and Lando has a good couple, but the one that would probably be the most appropriate would be to whisk you away to watch the sunrise and impress you with his boat, and the photos you could take of it. That, and he'd get some alone time, and his money worth out of the boat.

He is well aware, however, that inviting a stranger, alone, out on a boat, isn't exactly at the top of everyone's list of things to do at 6 am. "We rented a boat for the week. Sunrise probably looks better out in the water than here, yeah?"

"Yeah." He has to do a double take at your almost instant agreement, but then again, you were always up for an adventure. Plus, maybe he needs to give himself more credit as he leads you toward the dock: maybe he seems entirely trustworthy after only a few interactions. "You know how to drive this thing, right?"

Well, so much for trustworthy. "I am a professional Formula One driver, I can drive a boat." He defends as he jogs up to give himself some more momentum before jumping aboard, more of a showcase of his athletic abilities than his need to mind the minuscule gap between the boat and the dock, and you laugh up at him as he extends a hand. Yours is soft in his, and he lets it linger for just a moment too long as you examine the boat. He'd lost his mind officially, he thinks as he forces space between you to unwrap the rope tethering the boat to the dock. He takes a bit too long to do it, staring back you, draped in the orange light of the sunrise. He might not have a boat in Monaco, but considering this view?

He might just get a yacht because of you. So, yeah. Officially lost his mind. "When we crash and sink, I'm blaming you."

"When? If we crash and sink. If." He finally gets the tether untied and settles himself behind the steering wheel, starting up the engine. It's different than a car, obviously, but that doesn't stop him from playing it up, using the palm of his hand to wind the steering wheel and navigate out, not too far from the coast. You scoff softly, jostling his shoulder as you move past to lean against the railing of the ship, and Lando doesn't waste much time driving before he cuts the engine.

In the silence of the morning and the rising sun, he can't help but wonder if you can hear his heart pounding from here as he tries to think of something to say, something to do. If he was free too, he'd sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around you, hold you close, but that's a bit too delusional and his brain a bit too sleep-deprived to really think about it, so he decides instead to sit at your feet. "See? I'm perfectly capable."

"I'd need to see your actual driving skills to believe that." Without much thought, he leans back to look up at you and his head knocks against your thigh, and your hand comes to play with his hair, and he thinks he might die, here and now. It's a view, he thinks, he'd be more than happy to die seeing.

"You should come to a race." He breaths out, almost desperate, trying to ignore the warmth of your thigh against his cheek. "There's plenty of fun travel destinations."

"I'd have to find something red, then." It goes over his head for a moment as he blinks up at you, and with a sigh, you step away, leaving Lando desperate to trail after you. Instead, however, you sit down cross-legged next to him, and before he can think to do anything, you rest your head on his shoulder with a yawn. If he thought his head on you was incredible, this? This is a fantasy that forces Lando to consider if this is all a dream. "You know, for Ferrari."

"Ferrari!" He gasps as he looks down at you, and you offer a shit-eating grin up at him. "I will toss you out of this boat. We wear Papaya, and papaya only."

"Papaya!" You echo incredulously with a laugh. "That's what you call yourself?"

"That's what we call the colour. Not orange, papaya." You'd look good in any colour, Lando fathoms, but papaya? He'd pay good money to have you in his colour and with his number, and considering how to remain on his shoulder, he might not even have to pay for it.

"Okay, papaya." You tease before slipping out your phone, pushing back to get a picture of the sunrise, and then you turn the camera toward him. Without much thought, he stares out into the water in the hopes of you getting a more candid shot, and he's not sure what he'll do if he ends up on your Instagram. Probably rub it in everyone's faces, actually. "If I say something," You begin gently, and Lando turns to look back at you. "Will you promise not to get offended?"

Not the kind of conversation he was anticipating, but he tries to play it off. "Not more than I already am. Ferrari, as if."

"I like you more when you're not trying to be someone else."

His brain short-circuits at the sentence, the words clunky in his mind as they register. You like him, first of all, but you like him more...when he's not trying to be someone else? "What?"

"I see the posts, and the comments. You don't have to try and be like me to get me to like you." Well, shit.

He tries to come up with some excuse, with some explanation, but all he can do is stare at you in the morning sun and think about how hard he'd tried to copy you, to do everything right, to get you here, and how miserably it's gone. You didn't interact with his posts, despite the fact you'd seen them. Dinner had been nothing if not fatal before you'd let him rant about racing, and now, he's out on a boat, and all this time, he didn't need any of it for you to like him.

"I wasn't..." He rubs a hand over his face before pushing back to sit next to you. "Listen, I just...you're cool."

"You're cool too." Well, yeah, but his brain didn't always let him believe that. Confidence should come easy to a man in his position, but it doesn't always. The races, the fans, the eyes, it all bottles up in a way that Lando was petrified to message you, lest his mess up, lest you post it somewhere, lest it doesn't work out.

He'd rather watch from afar and regret it than have to exist in a world where he fumbled, and everyone else saw. "But you're like, the unattainable kind of cool, so I thought if I should we had similar interests, made my posts like yours, then maybe you'd message me."

"Wait, really?" There's a small, infectious smile curling on your lips, and Lando tries to hide his own as he looks at you.

"Tell me, honestly, if I had messaged you first, would it have worked?" You don't immediately answer, offering a little shrug, and he reaches over to pull your hood up and over your eyes. You swat away his hands as you pull the hood back, but it doesn't distract from the fact that it wouldn't have worked. The only way Lando was able to be sat here beside you was, of all reasons, Hilton's sponsorship. "Exactly."

"It's sweet, in a weird way." You try and soothe, hand gently resting on his knee and offering a squeeze. "But I like you like this more."

Flushing, he knows, from ear to ear, he slips his hand into yours and lets it rest in his lap. Finally, when he can't seem to handle the intimacy, he finds a joke to crack. "What, shirtless on a boat in Bora Bora?"

"Yourself, you idiot." Your head leans back against his shoulder, talking in the sunrise, but Lando can't bring himself to look out at the view, not when the only thing worth watching is right beside him. "Don't let that go to your head."

"I won't, promise." A soft silence settles between the two of you, and Lando knows he doesn't have a lot of time. Someone is going to wake up and realize he and the boat are gone, or someone's going to be missing their sandals, or something will go wrong with the flight, but he can't really bring himself to think of anything besides seeing you again. "So, about coming to a race? Wearing papaya, specifically?"

"Fine, but only if I get a paddock pass."

"Paddock-" Lando's quick to straighten up as he turns to look at you. You weren't one for Formula One, you didn't know any of that before you'd met. Unless, of course, he wasn't the only one snooping around on Instagram. "How do you know what a paddock pass is?"

You shrug, offering a grin that Lando would have no problem kissing away, if it weren't for the fact that you'd just met. "Well, I needed to know some things about my copycat."

"Oh, shut up!" He's never going to live that down. His friends already mocked him mercilessly for it, but now you too? "Our next race is Belgium. I'll get the paddock pass and Hilton can put you up." Then, because he can't help himself, "Of course, if you come to dinner with me to celebrate."

"Confident, are we?" You shoot back, and Lando mimics your shrug from earlier.

"Well, even if I lose, I've still got dinner with you, so I'd consider that a win." You groan, smacking your forehead into his shoulder, and Lando toussles your hair. "Well?"

"Sounds like a deal."

Liked by yourusername, yourbestfriend, and others

lando Bora Bora with the boys, thanks to @/hilton

↳ yourusername no photo credit?

↳ lando take a couple more with me and maybe

↳ 4_the_win WHAT

↳ ln444 😳 😳 😳

Liked by lando, oscarpiastri, and others

yourusername Thank you @/hilton for checking off my bucket list trip!!

↳ hilton come back anytime!

↳ lando who's the copycat now?

↳ yourusername still you

↳ oscarpiastri still you

↳ lando :(

↳ mclar_win the last slide being Lando!!!

↳ user510 we called this

Liked by lando, yourbestfriend, and others

yourusername swipe to see my copycat in the act

↳ landonorris this is slander

↳ yourusername slander is when something is a lie, lan

↳ ln444 !!!

↳ 4_the_win you're welcome for setting you up

↳ user510 do we get paddock passes for it??

↳ yourbestfriend already being left out of the photo dump

↳ yourusername you know you're my number one

↳ landonorris hey!

↳ yourusername you're obviously my number four

a/n: my first f1 fic/smau!! let me know your thoughts :)

#➤ rex works #➤ ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris smau #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagines #reader insert #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fluff #formula one fluff

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ramshacklefey · 11 months ago

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Something I've been trying to articulate to myself for a while here, but I wish there were more discussion about the particular experiences of trans men who are attracted to men. Especially the way that it relates to our experiences before coming out and during transition.

A lot of the conversations I see online and in academia focus on the experiences and overlap between trans men and butch lesbians, which is just not a narrative that resonates with me. There has been no point in my life at which I identified as a lesbian, or even as particularly attracted to women in general (something something sexuality is complicated). And it is only recently that I've really been able to let myself jive with being a butch man.

So, what did that experience look like for me?

It looked like trying desperately to perform the right kind of femininity so that straight guys would be attracted to me. Admittedly, it was a "not like other girls" sort of femininity, but I suspect a lot of trans guys and straight women will understand me when I say that this particular kind of femininity is still... very constricting. You gotta be "tough" of course, and have the right sorts of interests, and not care too much about your looks, but at the end of the day still be pretty, not too loud, and pretty willing to give ground for straight men to feel cool. You absolutely cannot be butch, because butch is for lesbians, and you want to be attractive to men.

And then I came out, and now I was a man, so I was free of all of that, right? Right?

Well, turns out there's a whole lot to unpack and unlearn there, and doing that takes a long time. For the first several years of my transition, I was still stuck in this mindset of needing to adhere to all the same constraints I had been under before. The guy I was dating at the time didn't help with this, and I almost said that's another story, but it isn't. The fact that I was willing to keep dating a guy who wanted me to stay pretty and feminine, who told me that body hair was gross, and who in a thousand other little ways made it very clear that I would only stay lovable if I stayed feminine... the fact that I was ok with that, it says a lot about where my mind was at.

I'm sure that a lot of lesbians can relate to some of this, and yet. Becoming who I am, genuinely relaxing into myself and unfolding in the way that I needed to, that process was undeniably and indelibly marked by my experiences as someone who has always been attracted to and wanted to attract men.

#trans men

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cripplecharacters · 10 months ago

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The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media

[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]

If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?

Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.

Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:

If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.

The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.

The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.

Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.

With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.

Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...

Why It Sucks

[large text: Why It Sucks]

It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it.

Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.

Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?

Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest: this hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.

Perpetuating disfiguremisia.

"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk

[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]

It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.

Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred.

Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.

It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.

*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.

When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.

Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic. It doesn't have to be.

Questions to Ask Yourself

[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]

Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.

Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us. You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.

The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.

Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?

I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.

Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?

Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?

Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?

Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?

And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?

Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?

If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up, because it's always the same shit.

Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?

Why not “normal”?

Question four: why did you make the character the way they are?

Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.

Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?

Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?

Question six: why is your character wearing a mask?

Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?

For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.

How do you feel?

F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]

[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]

As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns.

“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.

“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear. Also, despite what you clearly think, unless your setting has like twelve people total, there will be multiple people with facial differences in it.

“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.

“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.

"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.

“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it.

"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.

“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of these cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.

"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.

Closing Remarks

[large text: Closing Remarks]

I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop for your whump whatever to play around with. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.

With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad.

Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.

And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.

I hope this helps,

Mod Sasza

#mod sasza #disfiguremisia #face difference #mask trope #writing trope #writing resource #writing reference #writing resources #writing advice #writeblr #writing tips #long post #burn survivor representation

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malereadermaniac · 11 months ago

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Serial Cheater ~ Mako x Male Reader

This takes place somewhere along season 2 - Mako having just broken up with Korra and chatting to Asami again You are a core member of team Avatar! word count: 750 - Short fic! Sorry lol m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Even though Mako is the kind of guy fan girls swoon over, most people would say that he's pretty down to earth

Your friends wouldn't describe Mako as flirty or as a serial romantic

But for the entire time you've known the muscular fire bender, some things have stuck out to you - most notably that he is, in fact, a flirt and a serial cheater (on accident)

Mako never actually means any harm to the girls he dates, but you have noticed a trend in his dating patterns of dating drop-dead gorgeous girls with a little overlap between them

It may just be the law of attraction - maybe Mako is just a magnet to romance and he can't help it

But it's most definitely a fact that if an opportunity is presented to the police officer, he takes it

And that is exactly what got the both of you into this situation

Mako and you were hanging out, Korra away somewhere on avatar business and everyone else at their respective jobs

The two of you were just chilling in Mako's apartment, having ordered take-out and drinking some new companies mass-produced rice-wine

As conversations drifted from one to the other, Mako started to vent about his highly active love-life

Being a good friend, you listened to the tall police officer - nodding along to assure him that you're listening to his ramble about his feelings for Korra and also for Asami

You of course throw in a joking comment or two at Mako's adulterous nature, but all in all you listen to his problems and offer your comfort

And your comforting and caring nature, mixed with the alcohol in Mako's system, was what resulted in your current situation

That being you on Mako's lap, making out with you handsome friend

Yes, you broke the kiss initially

Yes, you said you two shouldn't do this because of your close friendship with both of Mako's love interests

Yes, Mako begged for your warm, soft lips and for your comfort

And yes, you gave in...

Even though Mako was just yapping on about kissing Asami less than 24 hours ago, his chiseled face and warm brown eyes drew you in like an inescapable black hole

As the two of you made out, clothing started to make its way off of your body - the air in Mako's apartment becoming hotter and stuffier

But as your nude chest rubbed against the handsome man's pecs, a knock of the door forced you two apart

"Mako? Hey I wanna... talk about earlier!" you could hear your dear friend's voice shout

Asami was behind that door, and you most certainly didn't want her to walk in and see you and her not-so-boyfriend-boyfriend getting it on

You and Mako struggle to get off of one another and desperately reach for your clothes to cover up

You head to the bathroom to hide and dress back up as Mako let's Asami in to talk

You over-hear the two as you wait in your friends' tiny bathroom

Their conversation had ups and downs, but it definitely ended in an up

You peaked out of the crack between the door frame and the door, watching as Asami and Mako kissed goodbye

As the front door shut, you open the bathroom door and lean on the frame

"Sooo... looks like you really just can't help yourself" you say with a smirk to Mako

The tall man chuckles as he walks over to you

"Heh... yeah, I guess so"

"I don't think you deny being a playboy much longer, haha..." you joke

Mako holds you head up with his soft hand to make you look him in the eye - Mako's height being emphasised

"Shut up... and what if I am?" Mako half-lids his eyes as he focuses on your features

And while you know that it's a dick move on your part, breaking Asami's and even Korra's trust, you couldn't help but push your lips against Mako's

Your hands rest on Mako's strong chest, his tongue slipping past your lips as his masculine hands slip onto your waist

"That's what I'd do if your were... Hmhm~" you laugh after breaking from Mako's warm lips

The two of you laugh as the strong man picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck

As Mako makes his way to his bed, all thoughts of guilt float out and away from your brain

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caelivir · 11 months ago

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red lips, dying for a kiss | rayne ames

— synopsis. in which rayne discovers that red lip combos are his weakness.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. university au, friends-ish to lovers, rayne has a little bit of a crush

— word count. 2.3k

— warnings. very brief violence mention in the beginning, alcohol consumption (rayne and reader are 21 in this), making out (i tried to keep it brief), ooc rayne but he’s kinda drunk so

— notes. breaking theme for this one but it’s okay. i wanted to drop this on valentine’s day… clearly that didn’t work out. also as i go to post this hidden lights reached 1k notes which is absolutely insane to think of. thank you for giving it so much love. anyway, happy 100 followers! thanks for sticking with me. enjoy!

dedicated to all the rayne girlies. i pray we find (or already have) a man like him. ♡

ryoh’s parties are always a bad idea. rayne can’t count the number of times something has gone wrong. cops show up. someone locks every single bathroom from the inside. a dumbass jumps off the roof and into the pool. any incident you could think of has probably happened. the last one rayne went to nearly got him screwed over when he fought against a guy picking on his brother, and it was not pretty (for the other guy) to say the least.

from that moment on, rayne had made the decision to never attend another one of ryoh’s parties. it doesn’t matter who begged him or what the circumstances were. no one was going to change his mind on that.

unfortunately, ryoh grantz would not have that. it took three days and a two hundred dollar bribe to convince rayne to go because who would he be if not taking advantage of the rich.

so that’s where he finds himself now, standing in a circle with his friends as music blasts in ryoh’s mansion. they talk about who knows what as rayne wishes he could go home. he has to see it out though because this would be the easiest two hundred dollars he would ever make.

his second red solo cup of the night is filled with some unknown (but surprisingly delicious) concoction that sits untouched. he swirls the cup around in his hand, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.

rayne chugs his entire drink down, setting the empty cup on the first surface he finds before mumbling an excuse of having to use the bathroom, not caring whether his friends heard it or not. he stops by the kitchen to rummage through a cooler, skin freezing as he digs through the ice. he finds two cans of a beer brand that he likes.

he weaves through the crowd in the living room, trying his best to not bump into anyone or spill any drinks because the last thing he needs is another altercation.

unfortunately for him, life always has a curveball in store for him.

“hey, look! (y/n)’s here!” someone had yelled, causing people to push closer towards the front door. the flow carries him closer despite his protests.

the half blonde finds you easily. it’s hard to miss your bright smile, even in a room surrounded by dozens. a crowd surrounds you and your group of friends. they greet you with hellos, offer drinks, and fight for your attention. you try your best to address everyone as you and your friends inch closer to the dance floor.

rayne knows you. your friend groups overlap often so he was bound to meet you at one point. you're popular around campus, known for your friendly nature, kind acts, and most of all, you're known for your beauty. he hears about a new attempt to gain your affection almost weekly. you never seem to accept them for some odd reason. it doesn't matter who it is. the d1 basketball prodigy? the rich girl in your philosophy class? they'd be rejected all the same. your lack of care for relationships has sparked up rumors, but even those never seem to faze you.

as for his opinion on you, rayne acutally likes you, which is a rare feat considering that the half-blonde cannot stand the presence of most people. but in this case, he likes you. he has the smallest of crushes that he wouldn't dare to admit to anyone except his brother, maybe.

in the times your paths had crossed, you had been an easy person to be around, never doing anything to irritate him and always trying to include him in every conversation and activity. it makes him feel all warm inside. the thought of it brings the ghost of a smile onto his face.

he also can't deny that you are indeed one of the most beautiful people that he's ever come across. you would have to be a fool to try and deny that. it's a little shallow on his part to like you partly for your looks, but he can't help it when your smile has the power to blind angels.

"rayne?" your head tilts, surprise written all over your face. he locates two shots in your hands. "woah, i'm surprised you're here! people said you wouldn't come to these anymore!"

rayne is barely to pick up the sound of your voice over all the music. "got paid to be here." he speaks loudly, avoiding yelling as much as he can.

"well, that's one way to get someone to come to a party." you giggle.

it's at this point where rayne closely inspects your face. his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips, colored in a combination of reds. he's never seen it on you before, and paired with the rest of the makeup on your face, it stands out, commands attention.

and it looks… really fucking good. rayne takes the sight of you in fully. yeah, you look really fucking good tonight. the half-blonde gulps, forcing his eyes back up to your face.

"take this with me!" you urge rayne, holding out a plastic shot glass to him.

unwilling to bring himself to say no to you, rayne sighs, accepting it. the two of you raise your glasses up in a silent toast before pressing the plastic to his lips, tilting his head back, and letting the alcohol slide down his throat. it burns. it tastes horrid on his tastebuds. the half-blonde scrunches his nose in disgust, and you take the empty glass from him, how you went unbothered by such a disgusting beverage is beyond him.

as much as rayne wishes he could be with you, he desperately longs to find someplace quiet. the bass of the music pounds against his head. "i'll see you around, (y/n). have fun tonight. be safe." rayne says.

"oh okay. see you rayne." you frown, but maybe that's just the lighting messing with him. he swears there's disappointment laced in your voice, but that could also just be the alcohol playing games with him.

rayne makes his way upstairs. he prays that he won't barge into people having sex. luckily for him, it's still early, and the room that he chooses, the one at the very end of the hall, is empty. he relaxes the moment he locks the door as if a weight was being lifted off him.

the half-blonde sets his unopened beers onto the nightstand and lies on the made bed. he stares at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, contemplating his life choices. his thoughts drift to you and your gorgeous lips, but he’s quick to dismiss them. when he’s finished with that, he cracks open his first beer, leaving a ring of condensation on the nightstand, and opens up his phone.

the next hour or so is spent watching compilations of bunnies and sipping on his beers. it’s perfectly fine like this. save for the bass of the music bouncing against the walls, it’s peaceful. he feels the effects of the alcohol he drank humming in his veins. it puts him into a lighter mood. however, that peace is disturbed when there’s a loud pounding on the door.

“what the hell?” rayne mumbles under his breath. did someone confuse this room for the bathroom? the half-blonde pulls himself out of bed, unlocks the door, and cracks it open just a little bit to see who it is.

“rayne, is that you? oh my god, please let me in.” you beg, clasping your hands together in prayer.

confused, but without any complaint, he allows you into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

you practically collapse on the edge of the bed, and rayne can sense that something is amiss.

“are you alright?” he asks cautiously, standing a foot away from you.

“do you ever just get sick of people?” you ponder suddenly, shooting to sit straight up.

“sure.” rayne shrugs, still unmoving from his spot.

“you can’t tell anyone i told you this,” you point at him with narrowed eyes, voice slurred. “swear you won’t.”

“i won’t.”

“good.” you nod. “as i was saying, i get so sick of people sometimes. being popular is fucking exhausting. i don’t know how much longer i can keep up with this. i swear i can’t enjoy things on my own time without people barging in or commenting on it.

“i can’t sit on a couch to catch my breath without people wanting to talk to me. not that that’s bad of course, i love talking to people, but christ, just back up a bit. like can’t they just take a hint and realize that i don’t want to talk? do you get that?”

rayne nods. “must be rough.”

“it is,” you groan and then sigh, standing up to dust off your clothes. you stumble from dizziness after having gotten up too fast. however, you shake the feeling out. “sorry, i shouldn’t have dumped all of that on you. that was a stupid thing to complain about.”

“no, it wasn’t.” rayne argues. “people who are always in your space are fucking annoying. i would know so there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.” at this point, he could tell the alcohol is doing its number on him, making him more vocal and bold.

“do i annoy you, rayne?” you ask, eyelashes batting at him, this innocent worry behind your eyes. it drives him mad.

“no.” he says sternly, inching closer, his gaze falling to your crimson lips. that damn red lipstick. he wonders what would happen if he were to mess it up. what would happen if he were to ruin that precise lining of color? what you let him cross that line? in his tipsy state of mind, he wants to find out.

“are you sure? because i know whenever we see each other i kinda cling to you, but if that bothers you, just let me know. really it’s no-” you ramble before rayne cuts you off.

“i want to kiss you.” the half-blonde mutters. his eyes stare deep into your own. your eyebrows raise in shock.

"huh?"

"i want" rayne's hand flexes at his side as he exhales, resisting the urge to touch you. "to kiss you."

"why?" you whisper so quietly that he almost didn't hear you.

maybe this is a reckless decision. maybe he shouldn't be risking a friendship with a drunken mind, but honestly in the moment, he really couldn't care less. he can regret it in the morning if things fell apart.

"i like you." rayne admits.

a moment of silence falls onto the room. you stare and stare, sinking your eyes deep into rayne’s as his confession weighs further down onto you.

“oh thank god.” you exhale, pulling rayne in by his shirt.

rayne practically melts into the feeling of your lips, soft against his own. he can taste faint traces of alcohol on you. he places his hands on your hips to press your bodies together. his palms explore your figure, circling around your lower back, trailing upwards to your ribs and back down to your waist. your hands entangle themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan out of him.

kissing you is a feeling like no other. it’s straight euphoria, maybe even something greater than that. the butterflies flap violently on his stomach. fireworks ignite his blood. being with you is like soaring across the sky.

you deepen the kiss, exploring each other with such desperation that it makes you dizzy. his tongue moves against yours in perfect sync, as if it were a choreographed dance. by the time you pull away to catch air, you and rayne are breathless, huffing as the half-blonde rests his forehead against yours.

you beautiful red lipstick is now smeared across your mouth, staining at the corners and below the chin. rayne pulls his head back. his fingers graze over your lips, admiring the mess. he’s sure it transferred onto him as well.

“you got something right there.” you joke, pointing at him.

“shut up.” he whispers. however, a smile breaks out onto his face, betraying his words.

“so,” you say, snaking your arms around the half-blonde’s waist. “the rayne ames has a crush on me? i never thought i’d see the day.”

he hums as confirmation. “would i be wrong to guess that you like me too?”

“no.” you grin. “in fact, you’d be one hundred percent right.”

“wonderful.” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss. you turn your head, having him miss your mouth entirely.

“i’m starting to believe you only like me so you could have a make out partner.” you tease, causing the half-blonde to sigh at your antics.

“i like you because you’re kind.”

he pecks one cheek.

“because you’re fun.”

he pecks the other.

“because you’re intelligent.”

he presses his stained lips to your forehead.

“because you’re so beautiful.”

rayne kisses the tip of your nose.

“my beautiful, (y/n).” he mumbles with a barely noticeable slur, cupping your face.

“you should drink more often. i like this side of you.” you comment, looking up at him with a gaze that drives him crazy.

“please just let me kiss you again.” rayne quietly begs, his mouth centimeters from yours.

“kiss me whenever you want.” you whisper before colliding with him once more.

in the morning, ryoh has to pick the lock to get into the guest bedroom. he stumbles in pissed off and ready to blow up on the person who dared to put him through such a hassle.

however, the sight he walks into flips his mood instantly. ryoh finds you and rayne tangled in each other’s arms completely knocked out. upon closer inspection, he notes the matching lipstick stains on both of your mouths, and a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

the blonde man pulls out his phone, snapping pictures in different angles to solidify this moment in history.

“he better thank me for this.” ryoh says to himself before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

#anime #manga #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x reader #rayne ames #rayne x reader #rayne ames x reader #⭑ — fics ⭑.ᐟ♡#♡ — mashle #♡ — rayne

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neversetyoufree · 8 months ago

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The way Noé Archiviste is written is so good. I'm so obsessed with him.

He's such a protagonist—endlessly hopeful against adversity and filled with kindness and attempted understanding toward everyone he meets. He's a good person! He wants to save everyone! He is genuinely and utterly without any sort of cruelty or unfair bias.

Yet, the more the series goes on, the more he's written as a very obvious parallel to our antagonists.

The most blatant example of this is the Ruthven parallel. Ruthven once happily said that he liked vampires, and in the same way, he liked humans. Noé repeats this exact same line when he has tea with Ruthven.

This parallel doesn't reflect too poorly on Noé, since it's pretty clear that something Happened to Ruthven to change him between his speaking that line and him becoming our antagonist, but it is an interesting way to tie the two of them together. It raises certain questions in readers' minds. In what other ways are Noé and Ruthven still similar, and how might Noé change to become more like him?

Then there's Noé's toxic optimism. The "you should be a little bothered, actually" aspect of him. Noé is the mirror to Vanitas's toxic pessimism. He latches onto the good in the world to a fault, and in this way he detaches from reality and endures an endless series of abuses to his person without even understanding they're abuses.

That is also one of the defining traits of Mikhail. Misha is unsettling in part because he is completely detached from any understanding of severity. Misha happily recounts being abused and watching his mother die not because he's cruel or hateful, but because he doesn't understand what's happened to him or why those things are bad. Misha wants to bring Luna back to life because he's in denial of the reality of their death. He believes he can just resurrect them and everything will be fine, and he'll get to play happy family again.

If Noé went just a little bit more extreme with the over-optimism, he could disconnect from reality just as badly as Misha has.

Finally there's my favorite parallel—the tie between Noé and his Teacher. Noé Archiviste has a tendency to watch others in fascination, trying to figure them out from the sidelines while he fails to understand his own impact on them, and he absolutely loves the Blue Moon. He thinks the Blue Moon is beautiful. Teacher spends his time collecting interestingly damaged children in putting them in awful situations, apparently just for the fun of watching what they'll do next, and he calls The Vampire of the Blue Moon "the most beautiful creature in the world."

Noé's curiosity-driven fascination with Vanitas's trauma and his love of the blue moon—neither of these are necessarily a problem on their own, but when written in direct parallel with The Count of Saint Germain, they become somewhat alarming.

In the same way that Misha is "worse" than Noé because his obliviousness to his trauma leads him to harm others, Noé's teacher is surely a worse person than him because he lets himself harm others in pursuit of his interests. Noé doesn't do that. But what would it take for that to change? He's pushed boundaries before. He learned to hurt Astolfo and Misha in the name of protecting those he cares about. What other strange places could his headstrong nature lead?

What might Noé do when his fascination and his obliviousness intersect? When the parts of him that are Teacher and the parts of him that are Misha overlap? What would he do to see Vanitas again? What might he do without letting himself realize how terrible it was?

Noé is a good person. He's one of the best people. But in his attentiveness and his optimism and his love, there's the seeds of something that could lead him down a very dark road. Each of the above antagonists is a little bit a part of who he is.

Misha wants to bring Luna back to life. Ruthven is working toward some mysterious aim with the dead or dying Faustina. And given how he talks in mémoire 55, I wouldn't be surprised if Teacher also had an interest in bringing back The Vampire of the Blue moon in one form or another.

In all his fascination and love and hope, would/will Noé be able to let Vanitas die when death is preferable to the alternative? This is a story about the inevitability of death, and the denial of that inevitability creates nothing but horror and perversion. Noé is growing and learning to understand both Vanitas and the moral complexities of the world, and we can only hope that he learns enough. We can see through his many reflections in other characters what he might become if he can't accept painful reality.

#vnc #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #noé archiviste #noé archiviste my beloved #english major hours #I've been sitting on these thoughts for a while #be free.

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beaulesbian · 7 months ago

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I've been thinking about the Whiskey Peak Luffy vs Zoro fight and how nothing is truly finished or contained within just one arc in One Piece - where the themes and character development always overlap and span over many later arcs as well.

It's an interesting scene, and I feel it's almost impossible to dissect that fight just within that arc alone - like it wasn't meant to be taken seriously by itself at that time, but later with more context of what's to come after that.

A short version: It's a great set up of how the trust between Luffy and Zoro would develop after this fight.

Specifically, how it gets to this in Skypiea:

And a longer version under the read more:

To start at the beginning again - Luffy knew about Zoro's reputation by the time he reached Shells Town and heard about him as Demon Pirate Hunter of the East Blue, and decided to see if he's a good guy to have on his crew.

Once Luffy freed Zoro and they took down Morgan together, they could see how the other was similary strong, as well as they were able to fight in sync and well together, but maybe they still didn't understand how much they could depend on each other.

With Luffy, anyone who offers him food becomes something like his hero. If they offer him hospitality, he would protect them with his life.

With Zoro, he's always looking out for the danger, used to travel alone (or with just Johnny and Yosaku), he does what's needed, and usually without telling the others.

And this is, I think, that crucial moment when they realize this about each other -

Luffy wakes up and sees the people who helped him lying on the ground, and telling him that Zoro was the one who did that. Luffy goes berserk without needing to hear why, because there shouldn't be a reason why. Whatever Zoro tells him must be a lie, right? He must have gone mad.

Maybe if Zoro didn't fight back, Luffy would see something was wrong, but Zoro isn't one to back down from a fight, especially when being falsely accused, and if he saw that Luffy was fighting him for real, he in turn would give him the same courtesy. They're both very stubborn in the same way.

The misunderstanding trope can be a bit annoying, but I think it's all just to see them actually fight together on equal footing. It was one of the first examples of what they can do together.

After this fight, where they defeat the two Baroque Works agents together, and after everything is explained, Luffy understands, in his own way.

When rereading this part of "I thought you got mad (...)", I had a feeling that Luffy might have even think Zoro could become a danger to others and was ready to just.. contain him. He heard about him as a demon pirate hunter - of course, those where a lot of talking from the Marine's side of the story perpetuating the myth of him, Zoro never called himself that and Luffy knows it, but part of me thinks maybe Luffy wouldn't care about that - he just wanted Zoro on his crew no matter what, and would deal with the consequences after that. Like in Whiskey Peak.

But what's even more interesting is, since this fight, they began to understand how they work separately.

I kind of like that they don't come back or talk more about this fight, because once it's done, they're past that. But both take it as a learning experience, Luffy still has a long journey to go as a captain, and I feel with knowing what Zoro does without saying, Luffy began finding the footing as captain with putting this specific trust in Zoro - learning he can fully depend on him to protect their crew when something would be amiss, when some danger would be nearby.

And that despite the sudden fight, the bad communication and the immediate resolve, Zoro sees another most important part of Luffy's character - how far he would go to help someone who offered him food or helped Luffy and his crew. And this knowledge has helped Zoro many times since this arc, in situation where the rest of the crew might not understand Luffy's thinking, Zoro's usually the first one who does understand.

On Jaya, that trust takes the main role when Luffy orders Zoro not to fight Bellamy's crew:

Later on Skypiea Luffy says it out loud how much he trusts Zoro to protect the rest of the crew:

It goes on each arc more and more, subtle but with that trust between them deepening.

With Zoro letting Luffy know being their captain is hard but he cannot falter,

in Post Enies Lobby it's Zoro telling him what rules need to be followed, otherwise the crew would fall apart,

It feels since that Whiskey Peak fight, Zoro really took it onto himself to protect the crew without having to say so, and Luffy understood that's what he does. It's Zoro's instinct to do that - Skypiea protecting Robin and Chopper, Thriller Bark - protecting Brook, saving Sanji and of course Luffy from Kuma. On Punk Hazard, while Luffy is against Ceasar, Zoro fights Monet so Nami and Robin could get away. On Dressrosa his final fight against Pica is to protect Usopp and Kinemon.

I also like this bit on Zou, where Zoro doesn't enjoy the Minks' attention on him, and Luffy reprimands him that it's rude to talk back to someone who's hosting a feast for them. Again, kind of a callback to Whiskey Peak, ch. 807

And then there's whole Wano, with Zoro protecting Tama, Otoko and Yasuie, Hiyori, and it gets very personal when they're hurt.

During Onigashima Raid he keeps reminding Luffy that he would go with him up to the rooftop to fight Kaido, because this time the enemies are too dangerous and he needs to protect Luffy as well. And they both protect each other there:

Conclusion: I love the Whiskey Peak fight now, because it brings up many small details that are so important over the span of many arcs later, slowly showing just how different these two are built and how much trust they learnt to put in the other.

bonus:

On their way to Enies Lobby on the train, this scene looks very similar to their Whiskey Peak fight, except this time they're intentionally using their strengths together against the Aqua Laguna.

Whiskey peak, ch. 112

Water Seven, ch. 367

#idk if this is coherent. i just had too much whiskey peak thoughts so i put them all down together #zolu #luzo #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece #one piece meta #mine #gif:zolu #gif:op manga #gif:op meta #long post #whiskey peak #whisky peak #one piece manga

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ollycohens · 7 months ago

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oh no you guys. i’m going to spew things i’ve realized while rewatching umbrella academy. I’m realizing were all being too sucked into fanon things after being stuck without canon content for so long. We have convinced ourselves Five acts like a mean mean dude to everyone but rewatching, i’ve realized he’s only stressed and is saying things out of panicked anger, especially in s1 with the apocalypse dooming over them. he acts soft to his siblings multiple times, he’s really not as mean as we write him in fanfiction. he is a little crap though, that’s for sure, and i love him for that <3

also realizing that the siblings don’t hate five. they just literally don’t know him at all. he came back a completely different person after 17 years for the siblings, they don’t know five, he’s a stranger so of course they’re gonna be cold to him. it’s like, “i don’t know you well, but you’re always going to be my brother in the end”.

ALSO. for those who ship some of the siblings, uhm… i’ve seen a lot of you guys try to prove that they don’t see eachother as siblings and more like academy students, but they very much say in just about every episode that they see eachother as siblings. they don’t actually SAY that word by word but they say things like “she’s our sister”, or “our dad”. if they say OUR dad… bro. i’m not even going to continue, you can put it together yourself. But, i do realize why people ship the siblings. I am not defending incest shippers but with umbrella academy i can see why people have resorted to it. only 3 of the characters in the main sibling cast has romantic partners. people like shipping people, people love writing romantic relationships, but with only diego/lila, dave/klaus, and sissy/viktor, (i’m not going to count five/dolores for now) people are desperate with the need to ship the rest of the siblings with someone, and since there are only a few actual canon characters in the show that interact with our main 7, people start shipping them together… yikes. anywho, that’s all for that peice. i blame the show writers as well for shipping luther/allison, they did not have to do that, but i’m hoping it was only to convey the severity of what childhood trauma does to people.

ALSO THIS HERE SHOOK ME. I actually think Reginald cares for the siblings. i hate to say it, but it’s true. caring for them does not mean being good, though. he was a horrible father, and person, but he genuinely did care for the siblings, in a like, “being the best is the best thing for you, i will make you better, for your sake, even if you don’t know it now, you will see that i am right” kind of way.

also why has NOBODY MENTIONED THIS. in season 2 when diego first reunites with five in the asylum, while he’s walking into the visitors room, he’s staring at five with this heartfelt, soft look, and then says “five…” in the most soft spoken voice ever 😭 your honor i love them

ALSO UGHHH THIS. IM GOING TO FREAK OUT ABOUT CAMERAWORK AND METAPHORS HERE SO BARE WITH ME. we as a fandom complain about the lack of flashbacks five has due to his ptsd. we’ve seen his first flashback since getting back to his family in s1 during the van scene when he gets triggered by those kids playing and starts thinking about his own childhood, i’m guessing. i ate that scene up, and was sad to see that be one of the only deeply vulnerable scenes he has in the season, and during my first watch i thought they’d never bring it back up. but they do!! i may be stupid for not realizing but whatever. in season 2, when five is trying to explain at elliot’s with all his siblings around that another apocalypse is coming, everyone starts talking about each other. as someone who studies film and camerawork, i love this scene. we see the camera focus on five as it slowly zooms in. it doesn’t switch scenes at all as the siblings voices overlap and echo over eachother. this whole scene conveys him getting overwhelmed and he starts to zone out, starting to think of the nuclear war he saw his siblings in. the scenes of the war start quickly switching through, showing many different scenes of it before it switches back to five, who says “guys, you all die. i want to forget it but i can’t” which just UGH its so well done there. if you think about it, he was starting to slip into another flashback. he was triggered by talking about their deaths in the war but was handling it well until the siblings started fighting, where we see the overlapping voices happen. it portrays him losing control and being unable to pull it back together with too much going on for him to focus on grounding himself. we DO however, see that five was able to pull himself out before he fell too deep into the flashback. i love how they show this through them still having the scene showing the war, but then fives voice starts talking over the scene which is still focusing on the war as if he was pushing it back and forcing himself to come back to the present.

thank you for reading if you’ve made it this far, i will continue to freak out another time <3

#umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #tua #theumbrellaacademy #umbrella_academy #FREAAAKING OUT #five hargreeves #number five #reginald hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #lila pitts #camera work #film #nerding out

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becausegraf · 7 months ago

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So... Gulool Ja Ja and his troubled eldest

Some musings on why the Dawnservant, social skills-powerhouse, observant and transparent and trustworthy and capable and responsible Gulool Ja Ja

seems to have massively dropped the ball when it came to, you know...

preventing his own only biological child from turning towards murderous self-destructive supervillainy.

Gulool Ja Ja's biggest, most tragic failure in my understanding is that when it comes to Zoraal Ja specifically, he has a blind spot, and I think he knows it but he can't fix it.

I mean, what do you think is the ONE area that, unfortunately, he truly has nobody, not a single person in Eorzea, he can seek experienced, trustworthy counsel on?

It's being born a Blessed Sibling, living as a Blessed Sibling, Ruling as a Blessed Sibling, and raising a Son Of A Blessed Sibling who doesn't have two heads and will grow up facing extremely vicious treatment by some people as a consequence.

Zoraal Ja is unique, and the complications that come with being what he is in this cultural context are SMACK in the hazard zone of Gulool Ja Ja's own vulnerabilities and struggles.

Gulool Ja Ja's flying blind on this one, and his son's temperament is precisely the sort that his usual tools aren't a good fit for.

Papa's style is to give his children space, let them make their own decisions, to invite them to seek help and give them everything they could ask for in their environment to support them when he cannot.

Zoraal Ja's issue is one that would have required Gulool Ja Ja to be much more confident in his capacity as his parent than he seems to have been. He needed to see clearly that his son was struggling and that under his circumstances, he couldn't just ask for help, and ACT ON THAT OBSERVATION. Asking for support is not something that comes naturally to Zoraal Ja, and I can see a dozen reasons why he would actively avoid it, too.

'Kiddo, something's bothering you and for your own good, we need to talk or have you open up to someone else before this causes you great harm, and I will be accountable for this happening whether you're happy to cooperate or determined to run away from it. We're gonna figure this out, okay?'

That's the initiative it would have taken, at a much, much earlier point in time, for Zoraal Ja to have gotten the support he needed. He needed his parent to see the danger and protect him from it.

Gulool Ja Ja, through no ill intent or inate fault of his own, simply failed in that.

He doubtlessly has his own hangups, painful topics, things that drive even him to look away and lie to himself. Even if he had the amazing instinct of compensating for a shitton of his own flaws and limitations by cooperating with others that had what he lacked, again, in this one regard

literally nobody in existence

would have any sort of experience with this particular complexity, let alone the keen eye to identify Gulool Ja Ja's massive blind spot AND take the initiative to reach out to him and offer aid.

He and Zoraal ja both are masters at hiding their pain (these chicken dudes are a lot like cats, apparently), and both have pretty compelling reasons to do so. There aren't many people that would

a) care about them personally enough to even decide something needs fixing

b) have the emotional insight to detect what's going on and empathize with the exact problem

c) be the kind of person who could think of a suitable way to help without making a mess

d) have the guts to prod at their personal life without being asked to do so, and avoid getting shown the door immediately

In a sense, Gulool Ja Ja's unique circumstances, the rare thing that DISconnects him from others with no overlap with others anywhere, is his Achilles heel, his one fatal weakness in a person otherwise dipped in invulnerability.

And Zoraal Ja is the arrow that came for it, and it makes my heart break for the both of them.

(This gets a little personal for me, too, in the sense of 'my parents are so capable and smart and empathetic, they're so admirable and competent with everything and everyone EXCEPT WITH ME, for SOME reason, what the FUCK is wrong with me'. Nothing, my issues were just too much like their own issues, which isn't my fault and not theirs either.

Tell ya what, it's really weirdly painful to be in such a position as a kid, caught between love and admiration on one hand, and burning frustration and resentment and shitty self-esteem on the other.)

#Dawntrail spoilers #FFXIV #Zoraal Ja #Gulool Ja Ja #your honor I love them so much ugh

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hannahbarberra162 · 2 months ago

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I was wondering if you could do an SFW Alpha!Marco x Omega!Reader ABO Drabble? I don’t know if you would do a soft power dynamic between the two, where Reader is under Marcos Division. They have a big fat crush on them but low-key refuse to acknowledge it until they’re stranded on an island together. Reader goes into heat and usually they would just power through it in their own or ask Tate for suppressants. However no one is available and Marcos the only one around that catches it before Reader gets hunkered down. He goes into Mother Hen mode cause, Y’know he’s their division commander and wants to make sure they’re okay, however reader gets flustered and it’s just angtsy sweetness

Soda licious, Nonnie. I absolutely love this idea….. I think I kept the gist of what you were looking for. Hope there’s enough angst for you <3

I’ve been thinking about a night nurse reader for a long time but didn’t know where to put her - I was originally going to pair her with Haruta… BUT

Imagine you’re an Omega in the First Division...

And I wrote a second half :)

~~~

“Tate, I don’t think I can stay on the ship anymore,” you lamented to your friend, tossing back another shot. It was Girl’s Night on the Moby, meaning you had a rare opportunity to spend some quality time with Tate. All the nurses were hanging out in the galley, which was closed off to the men of the crew. You enjoyed the monthly girls nights for the atmosphere and time spent with your friends and coworkers, especially your old friend Tate. As the night nurse, you didn’t see her much except for an hour a day when your shifts overlapped in the morning and evenings. Tate had hired you to run the infirmary at night so everyone else would feel secure enough to get a good night’s sleep.

You’d met Tate long ago, the two of you bonding in nursing school over a shared interest in helping those less fortunate. You’d become study buddies and had been friends ever since. Over the years as your lives had taken different turns you’d kept in touch, keeping each other up to date on the adventures you’d taken.

Not that you had been helping the unfortunate, it turns out you needed to take a regular job to earn a living. Before working for Whitebeard, you had been the ship nurse for Doflamingo. The gig had been alright but really boring as Doflamingo didn’t sail very often. Save for the few times a year he left for Warlord meetings, you spent most of your time on the ship doing nothing and waiting around. You didn’t renew your contract with the Warlord and were taking short term jobs at different hospitals when you’d gotten a letter from Tate inviting you to be the night nurse for the Whitebeard Pirates.

After interviewing with Tate and Marco, you accepted the unconventional job and you’d been with them ever since. It was interesting, fun, and there was always something going on with 1,000 wild pirates on board. In terms of clinical care, you enjoyed your work and found tending to the Emperor’s crew to be rewarding in its own way. You enjoyed interacting with Whitebeard, the old man reminding you of your own grandfather who you missed dearly. No, the problem wasn’t with the job or the crew, you thought to yourself.

“Why do you wanna leave me? I thought you liked it here,” Tate whined, grimacing as the bite from the vodka hit her throat. Tate wasn’t using a chaser, the two of you already a few drinks into the night. Not that it was a problem, you’d both given your livers quite the workout during nursing school.

“I do like it here, it’s a great job but -” you started, trying to break the news gently.

“It’s Marco, isn’t it? I knew it, I knew you liked him. You’ve got good taste, he’s a catch. You don't need to leave because of some crush," Tate said with a smirk, making you choke on the beer you were drinking between shots. The Commander in charge of the First Division was...something else. He was smart, kind, charming, and an incredible doctor. His handsome smile disarmed you daily as you passed off the patient reports to him at shift change. He treated you like an equal, not like a lowly Beta nurse as you’d come to expect from Alpha doctors. His scent was amazing, better than anyone you’d ever been around before. And yes, you could admit to yourself that he was stunningly handsome. You weren’t sure what lucky star he’d been born under to make him such a perfect person.

“No, it’s not that. I don't have a crush on him, I just don’t know if I can keep this up,” you said, motioning to your whole body. Marco was one thing, but you’d worked with intelligent and sweet doctors before. No, the bigger issue was that you were an Omega. It was well known on the seas that Whitebeard didn’t allow Omegas onto his crew, not even among the nurses. He said that they caused nothing but trouble as their scents and heats would throw the crew into chaos. And so it had been…until you’d come around. Tate begged you, literally on her knees, to join the crew. She said there wasn’t anyone else she trusted to take care of the crew at night, that she couldn’t sleep at night over worry for the patients, that you were the only person who could fill the job. She said she’d keep suppressants secretly stocked on the ship and that no one would ever know. You thought it was a bad idea to disobey an Emperor’s command but the offer of working with Tate on the ship was too alluring to turn down.

Month over month you took the suppressants to dull your heat down to an unpleasant sensation similar to period cramps. It messed with your head sometimes but overall the medications were working. None of the many Alphas on board smelled your heats or tried to scent you and they treated you like any other Beta. It was kind of freeing in a way, not to be taken less seriously because of your designation. Omegas were thought to be flighty, vapid, and childish, even if it wasn’t true. You were finally getting a taste of what it would have been like to be born as something other than Omega and you'd been enjoying it.

The suppressants worked but the stress you felt every month was overwhelming. You didn’t want to have to answer to Marco in case they ever failed. You started having stress dreams about going into heat and someone finding out, the Captain making you walk the plank to your demise because you were an Omega. Knowing Whitebeard's personality you didn’t think it would happen but ultimately he was a powerful pirate who answered to no one. So even though you enjoyed the work, you didn’t think you’d renew your contract with Tate. You just couldn't take the stress of hiding your dynamic from Marco anymore.

“Oh, come on. No one knows and no one will ever know. The meds work just fine and besides I don’t think anyone would care at this point. You’ve saved me n’ Marco so much anxiety by being here that Whitebeard would make an exception for you,” Tate explained, already eyeing the bottle of vodka for another shot.

“I don’t know, I think it also does something to me. Y’know, avoiding…that for so long,” you said quietly, indicating your heat. Suppressants weren’t meant to be taken long term and you’d already been on them for six months, you needed to take a break or they’d stop working. You’d have to pay the piper and suffer through another heat. You didn’t know where you’d do it - you’d have to find some island far away from anyone on the ship that might know you.

“Just do it on the next set of islands - there’s a huge city filled with all kinds of people on the main one but you can rent private cabins on the smaller surrounding islands. If you’re missing from the crew no one will notice with so many people and smells around. Rent a cabin room and find some rando to help you. I’ll cover for you, say you need a break from the crew if anyone asks,” Tate argued, filling your shot glasses again. You hummed, mulling over the idea in your head. It wasn’t a bad plan and you hadn’t had a break from work in months.

“Alright, that might work. Let’s think through the details tomorrow - after these SHOTS!” you finished with a whoop, causing the other nurses to woo their enthusiastic reply. You’d deal with all your Omega problems in the morning, it was time to have fun with your friends.

A few days later you came around to Tate’s idea. The Moby docked at a densely populated island known for its nightlife and partying. Surrounding the main island were quieter islands known for their tranquility and privacy. No one was likely to find you during your leave, you’d booked a solo cabin on a small island. You were spending a ton of money on the cabin and you didn’t think the other crew would bother spending their hard earned wages on something that they couldn’t drink.

You were preparing to leave the ship, making sure your notes and reports were all finished when you felt someone looking over your shoulder. Glancing up, you saw the beautiful blue eyes of the First Division Commander and became flustered.

“Oh, h-hi. I’m just wrapping up, I have um - well, you know, you approved it -”

“Shore leave,” Marco finished your sentence with a lazy smile. He glanced down over your notes from his high vantage point and leaned over your shoulder. Your face burned with a flush as he took the pen from your hand and crossed out a word in your report and rewrote it from behind.

“You accidentally wrote carotid with two ‘r’s. I’m a stickler for spelling,” Marco said, putting the pen back in your hand. You hadn’t moved an inch, the heat and proximity of his body throwing your senses into overdrive. If Marco stayed for a moment longer you were going to combust from all the blood rushing to your face.

“Whatever perfume you’re wearing for your trip is becoming yoi,” Marco said with a tilt of his head and a smile, straightening up and walking away. You felt sweat dripping down your back from sudden stress- you weren’t wearing any perfume. You��d stopped your suppressants that day in anticipation of going into heat for the next few days but you hadn’t expected your scent to begin to come on so strongly so quickly.

“Uh, t-thank you Mar- Commander. Commander Marco,” you stammered, trying to end the conversation so you could get away from the ship full of Alphas.

“Just Marco is fine. I’ll be on shore leave too, maybe we can meet up for a drink?” His tone was calm but his eyes held a fire in them that you couldn’t identify.

“Ah, oh. Um, I’m gonna be busy, I have to - um…I’m busy,” you trailed off, not wanting to tell him the reason you’d declined. If he asked you a second time you felt like you’d fold immediately, telling him anything he could ever want to know about you.

“Of course, maybe another time then yoi,” he said easily, unwinding his stethoscope from around his neck to continue working.

“Y-yeah, another time,” you said, still blushing.

You practically threw your notes at Tate to get away from Marco as you left the infirmary that morning. Any other time you might have considered his offer to get a drink but today was not happening. You were already tired from working the night before and you still had a ways to go before you could rest. The urge to nest was building in you, you could hardly stand being on the dinghy to the island with the Alphas and Betas on the crew. It felt like it took an eternity to get from the ship to the little island with the cabin you’d rented. You were bursting with the need to arrange the clothes you’d brought with you as you disembarked on the tiny island. You were walking on the path to your cabin when a familiar bird landed on the dock of the island and transformed. You felt the blood drain out of your face as you ducked and tried to hide behind a tree from your Commander. It didn’t work as Marco spotted you right away and waved. Cursing in your head you couldn't think of a way to get rid of him without at least speaking to your boss.

He began walking over to you with a smile but it faltered into something more serious as he sniffed the air. Tilting his face and looking about, he quickly located what he was looking for - you. He walked briskly over to you in long strides, his brow furrowed as he continued to take deep breaths through his nose.

“Come along,” Marco said calmly like he was talking to an errant child, taking your forearm in his large hand. You bristled at the contact, hoping he was just smelling your stronger scent like in the morning, not reacting to you going into heat. Maybe he was just upset that you’d turned him down for a drink saying you were busy and found out you were alone on a vacation island instead. There was no way he should know you were going into heat this early, the suppressants should hold you over for a few hours until you had time to make your nest.

“W-wait, I need to get to my cabin, I rented -” you tried to object weakly.

“No, you’ll stay in mine, I rented the only other cabin on the island. It’s bigger and has better accommodations. I need a break from my siblings every now and again yoi. I didn’t expect you to be here - and going into heat,” Marco said with a pointed look as he pulled you towards the larger cabin. Your hopes were dashed along with your future - you hung your head as you continued to trail behind your Commander, tears falling unbidden down your cheeks. Finally reaching the little house, Marco opened the door and pushed you gently inside. When the door shut, your fingers itched to begin making your nest in the bedroom, wherever it was.

Marco was right, his cabin was way better than the one you had rented. It had two bedrooms, a full kitchen and a huge claw footed bathtub. You hadn’t had a bath since you’d joined the Whitebeard Pirates and the thought of soaking in hot water was enough to make you swoon. But you had to deal with Marco first, your Commander looking at you sternly as you set your bag on the floor.

“How long do you have until your heat comes on?” Marco asked with concern. He was standing in front of you as you studied the floor at his feet. You couldn’t make eye contact with him right now, it was too overwhelming. He was your boss, your Commander, and the only Alpha in the room and you didn’t want to make things worse.

“It’s supposed to come in about two to three hours,” you whispered. Marco tutted at you, wiping your tears off your cheek with his thumb.

“And what was your goal yoi? To have it here, alone on the island? What if another Alpha smelled your scent and tried to get to you? What if the pain became too unbearable and you suffered? Not a very good plan.” he said, chastising you gently while cupping your cheek. The heat building in you had you wanting to nuzzle into his hand but you were able to stop yourself - for now. You took a deep breath and held it to calm yourself down.

“I didn’t - wasn’t - I’ve been on suppressants,” you stated plainly, glad to be done lying to Marco.

“I figured that out yoi. I won’t help you through it if you don’t want me to. But I’d like you to stay here where I can keep you safe. I would feel…neglectful if you were hurt during an unattended heat,” he said, stroking his fingers along your cheek.

“Because you’re my Commander?” you asked in a whisper.

“Something like that. Go on now, make your nest,” Marco replied, picking up your bag and handing it to you. You grabbed it with both arms, clutching it to your chest. What you really wanted was the shirt he was wearing and his sash - you needed it for your nest. Maybe you’d ask later but for now you were already ashamed enough at being caught lying to the Emperor and being caught going into heat by your boss. You didn't know what the punishment was going to be but your mind was already clouding with the heat. Scurrying along, you quickly found the bedroom and threw your clothes on the bed. You didn’t have much time before you were hit by the pain of heat onset, you had to hurry.

You felt Marco watching you from the door frame as you stripped the bed of its blankets and pillows to move them around. Sniffing through the room, you tossed out the rank decorative pillows into the hallway.

“Do you need anything else? Any more linens?” Marco asked, still watching you.

“Ah, no. I think I brought enough,” you said, staring at his sash. Following your gaze, he removed his sash wordlessly and handed it to you with a soft smile. You flushed furiously but took the garment, barely able to stop yourself from putting it over your face to bask in the scent.

“And did you bring ibuprofen for when the pain starts?” Marco asked as you worked his sash into your half built nest.

“It doesn’t help much,” you said while arranging the sheets into a new formation. Marco hummed and continued to watch you. Having him observe your process was even more nerve wracking than it usually was to go into heat. Part of you wanted to tell him to leave but another part was preening for the Alpha in the room. Pushing off the wall, Marco walked towards you slowly. You watched him warily, putting down the shirt in your hands.

“What?” you asked suspiciously as he approached you.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to yell at you. I’m disappointed you hid the truth from me but now’s not the time for that discussion. We can talk it all through later. Tell me what you need, little Omega.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the handsome doctor. He was watching you with concern, like you were something precious about to shatter. No one had helped you in so long, you'd been taking care of yourself for years. Maybe just this once you could depend on someone else, on someone you knew you could trust.

“I need you, Marco.”

#marco the phoenix #Alpha Marco #omega reader #omegaverse #SFW who is she #never heard of her #I did it though #do you want part 2?#I could do it if you want #abo Marco #ask away!#so many delicious ideas #so little time

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