#this started out because i wanted to practice charles' body type and then i figured id just. ref sheet vjaelkjvae

[xxplastic-cubexx]

charlies turn for the reference sheet beam

[monzabee]

pon de replay - cl16 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader 

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!! 

Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.

So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.

It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.

“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.

“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.

“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”

If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”

Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.

He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”

That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.

“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.

Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.

“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.

So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”

His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”

If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.

And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”

This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”

“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.

And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”

Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”

“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”

“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”

And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.

So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”

You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.

“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.

He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”

“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”

“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.

Or so you’ve thought.

Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”

“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”

You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.”

That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.

“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.   

“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.

“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.

So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”

“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”

“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”

“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”

“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.

That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”

“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”

And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.

[hb-writes]

Gestures of Fairness

Summary: Set in 1927 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. Thomas Shelby isn’t ticklish, at least that’s what a few decades of Clara’s intel says. Charles and Clara test the theory of his god-like ability to remain stoic in the face of writhing fingers. 

Inspired by this request: I am not sure if you would write this but I thought of something pretty adorable. Clara finding Tommy’s ticklish spot. Ugh. I can just imagine how adorable 🤣🤣🤣

Featuring: Tommy, Charles, and Clara (Shelby sister)

Charles’s breath tickled Clara’s ear and neck, his small hands clasped around her neck as he told her his secrets, warm puffs of air accompanying his confiding words. Their ragged breathing, interspersed with bouts of snickering, had filled the walls of Tommy’s office for only a few minutes, Charlie having chased his aunt there before they both tumbled to the carpets, immersed in a tickling struggle so immersive not even Tommy’s more irritable of glances or throat clearing could bring a stop to it. 

 “But daddy’s not ticklish, Charlie,” Clara offered, her voice a bit hushed though not quite a whisper as she looked into her nephew's mischievous eyes. 

She rested her head back into the carpet, tilting her head to see her brother as her nephew rolled away from where he had landed half on top of her, reclining beside her on his back. 

Tommy glanced their way for only a moment now, acknowledging their presence but offering nothing more now that they'd settled. He was in the middle of something, always was, and despite his throat clearing and glaring, Tommy hadn’t sent them out, so Clara stayed there with her nephew, the two of them lounging on the carpet. 

“Every single person in this family is ticklish,” she continued, reaching under Charles’s chin as he giggled, quickly catching her hand and pushing her away. “But not your dad, as if he’s a god or something, safe from the disparaging attacks that bring mere mortals like you and me to our knees.”

Charles tilted his head back as Clara had done, looking at his father upside down from the carpet.

Charles turned back to his aunt and whispered the words, “But he’s not a god.” 

Clara snorted and observed her brother again, certain Tommy heard them though he no longer seemed to be paying their conversation any mind. 

The boy was right. Thomas Shelby, despite all the pretenses, despite the power and the glares and the titles, was not a god. But, mythical deity or not, Tommy was seemingly impervious to tickles and had not a single weak spot, a feat of seemingly divine providence considering how the rest of them fared in the same situation, and his unaffected guise certainly wasn’t from a lack of a search on the part of the other parties involved. 

Though for many years it was only Finn and Clara receiving tickles, the twins began reciprocating the attack quite early on, their pudgy toddler hands squirming in the same spots the other Shelbys used on them, in the crook of the neck and under the chin, at the sides of the torso, and deep in the underarms or across a sock-clad foot whenever they could gain access to it.

John was the first one Finn and Clara had any genuine luck with, the spot under his chin so sensitive that even their imprecise attacks brought on a bout of genuine laughter, the man entirely compelled to it while the others were simply amused by the babies and their often inexact attempts. 

Then came Ada’s demise, the twins pouncing on her together one morning while she enjoyed a late lie-in. They’d found Ada’s most ticklish spots without delay, just behind her knees, and for a long time, it took a true partnership between Finn and Clara in order to make it happen, both bodies needed to hold Ada’s thrashing body down well enough. 

It was the soles of Arthur’s feet that were his downfall, as well as the very reason why he almost never slipped his shoes off when he was at the family home on Watery Lane, but Clara had caught him twice since he moved out to the country, his sock-clad feet propped on an ottoman as he napped in a chair, starting a ruckus that had everyone but Linda in a fit of giggles, though she’d at least smiled at them, pulling Billy up and out of harm’s way, the harm being the two siblings tousling on the floor as Arthur sought out retribution for his sister's childlike crimes. 

They got Polly once, Finn’s hands grazing at the back of the woman's neck, but she’d threatened the two of them so severely and with such striking detail of what would be coming their way at a second attempt that they never even considered trying it again. 

Even Michael was ticklish, in the very same spot as his mother, actually, and before he was gone to America, Clara never tired of passing a set of cold fingers along the back of her cousin’s neck while she walked behind his desk or when he was focused on a bit of paperwork they were going through together. There was something so delightful about the shriek that came through his lips, well worth the smack that usually accompanied it, a reflexive movement of Michael’s that usually left her hand stinging well beyond the humor of the moment subsided.

Tommy’s weak spot was an enigma though because for several years he had been quite adamant that he wasn’t ticklish at all and quite adept at hiding any sort of response if he was lying. It always had been that way for as long as Clara could remember, even before the war, Tommy being passive and stoic in the face of tickles. Even Polly and Charlie and Arthur couldn’t recall if there was ever a spot where they’d even once been able to get a giggle or the hint of a smile out of him when he was small. 

Clara turned over to her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows, watching her nephew as he crossed the room and climbed into his father’s lap, separating Tommy from his papers. 

“Auntie Clara says you’re not ticklish.” 

Tommy smirked, eyebrows raised as he met his sister’s eye from across the room. 

For two children who screamed and thrashed about when they were tickled, it baffled Tommy how often they engaged in the practice amongst themselves or broached the topic with people who could easily have them writhing on the floor within seconds. He supposed Clara and Charles didn’t hate it as much as they sometimes put on, even enjoying it up until a certain point so long as it stopped when requested.

“Your aunt would be correct," Tommy answered, settling back in the chair.

“But everyone’s ticklish, Dad.”

Charles had never met a person who didn’t share the affliction, though his exposure was limited to that of his family and the staff of Arrow House, but Clara hadn’t met a person with immunity to such a thing in her life either, so the sentiment held as far as she was concerned. 

“Not me,” Tommy answered. “Your aunt and uncle have tried unsuccessfully for almost two decades.”

“Can I try?” 

Clara pushed herself off the floor at Tommy’s nod, a bit impressed with the allowance. She’d figured over the years that Charles had a higher probability of getting a yes out of her brother, and she’d used that to her advantage the same way her siblings had once used her, sending Charles off to garner Tommy's permission for something whenever he was sullen rather than asking after things herself, almost certain the boy could get a yes when she’d get a no. 

“Three attempts, my boy, and then you can take your aunt out and keep her out of trouble for me until dinner, eh?” 

Clara rolled her eyes, leaning against the side of Tommy’s desk, just a pace or so away from them. “Why only allow him three if you’re not ticklish?” 

“Because I have business,” Tommy answered, nodding towards the papers scattered across his desk.

“Always with the business," Clara mused. "Always frowning at your paperwork all Sunday afternoon.” 

“That’s why we need to find where he’s ticklish, so he can laugh.” 

Clara snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrow raising just a bit. “Well said, Charlie.” 

Tommy looked about to say something but Charles jabbed his hand into the space beneath Tommy’s chin, the spot most obvious to the boy since it had always worked for him and his Aunt Clara and Uncle John, but Tommy barely responded to the intrusion, his body almost entirely still as Charles continued his assault, the boy’s hand finally dropping with a huff after a second endeavor in the same spot.

Charles then poked his fingers into Tommy’s stomach, another unsuccessful experimentation, a bewildered hum coming from Charles’s lips before the boy reached out again, this time his fingers barely grazing the side of his father’s ribs before Tommy trapped the small hand in his. 

“You’ve already had three.”

Clara narrowed her eyes, stepping closer to them. “You’re cheating, Tommy.” 

“How am I cheating?”

“Because he—”

“I only had two tries!” Charles shouted before Clara could get the words out herself.

“You went twice under the chin and once in the stomach,” Tommy answered in an even tone. "One and two is three."

“That’s not fair!” Charles pouted.

“Life often isn’t. Best to learn that now,” Tommy said as he slid Charles from his lap to the floor. “A good lesson to you both.” 

Clara knew well enough the world wasn’t fair, knew well enough that her brother wasn’t often very fair either, but her young nephew had no need of coming to expect that type of unfairness in life, and certainly not at such a young age. 

“Maybe the world isn’t always fair, but family should be,” Clara said. “You’re cheating your own son, Thomas.”

Clara saw it, she knew she did, a small tremble in Tommy’s cheek when Charles’s fingers grazed his ribs. The rest of him had stayed still, immersed in perfunctory indifference to his son’s pursuit, but Clara saw the twitch. Without the distance, without her being a casual observer, she never would have noticed such a small movement, the well-disciplined facade of her brother almost concealing it.

Tommy wasn't sure which part of her sentence he wanted to go for first. The accusation or the 'Thomas,' but in his deliberation, Clara filled the silence herself.

“And me,” she offered. “You’re ticklish. I saw.” 

Clara stepped in front of her nephew. “He touched you right—”

Tommy grasped her outstretched hand. “Enough.”

Clara pouted as she pulled her hand back. “You’re no fun.”

“I have calls to—”

The twitch was more pronounced when Clara dug her fingers into his side, the hint of a smile there on Tommy’s face as he jolted, some small noise merging a laugh and a throat clearing coming from his lips. But the moment was gone almost as quickly as it had come on because Tommy caught her, his hand firm around her wrist.

Clara recognized the message. To anyone else, it might have read as an adult telling a child they had reached their limit and were edging towards trouble, or as a gangster threatening a subordinate to fall back in line, but grasping the wrist was precisely the same gesture of fairness Clara and Charles adopted between the two of them, an irrefutable request to stop, a removal of consent for a game no longer being enjoyed, and Clara understood that her long-pretending brother was indeed ticklish, but unlike her and Charles and the others, not even a small part of him enjoyed it. 

Clara smiled at her brother though his hand still held her wrist, the tightness of his grasp uncomfortable enough she wasn't eager for it to continue for long. Though a part of Clara was giddy at finally solving over a decade's long riddle and more than a bit entranced by the idea of an encore, she’d not discredit the nearly sacrosanct vow indicated by the gesture she and Charles had developed, and she would not reinforce for the boy that he should expect the world and his family to be cruel and dishonorable at every turn. 

“Alright, Tommy. Peace, then,” Clara offered.

“But—” 

Clara glanced down at her protesting nephew, nodding towards the wrist the boy's father was still holding, Tommy's fingers slipping off Clara's wrist only as she turned to Charles and continued speaking.

“Your dad’s asked us to stop, Charlie boy. He’s got calls to do before he joins us for dinner, eh Tommy?” 

Charles moved around Clara and leaned into Tommy's knee, distracted from his aunt's lesson by the notion of his father joining them for dinner. “Are you joining us, Dad?” 

It seemed fair by Clara’s standards, that her brother should grant them that small concession since he was prematurely stopping their fun, and Tommy stared at his sister for only a short moment before nodding at the boy. “You best go on and let Frances know to set an extra place.” 

Charles sprinted off to find the woman, leaving Clara and Tommy smiling in his wake. 

“Clara, it’d be best for you to—”

“Forget I’ve finally found where you’re ticklish?” she asked, smirking as she stepped back from him. “Of course. Can’t have word getting out Thomas Shelby, OBE is a mere human like the rest of us.”

“I mean it, Clara.” 

Clara rolled her eyes. “I know, Tommy. I’ll keep it to myself.” 

Tommy took a breath, nodding once before he looked back to the papers on his desk. 

“Right, so you’re back to paperwork and calls and frowning, then?” Clara asked.

“If you and my boy are demanding my presence at dinner, then, yes.” 

Clara smiled. She’d leave him to it, and she’d not tell anyone her brother was ticklish, not even Finn as tempting as that was, but she’d not forget. She’d store the information away, kept safe until needed, until Tommy needed a subtle gesture to remind him of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of family not being fair.

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

🏷:

@beautycinders​ @buckybluebarnes (can’t tag) @cecii22me​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @marquelapage​ @midnight-dreams-23​ @mo-onstarrs​ @ohhersheybars​ @pollyrepents​ @unicorndetective22 (can’t tag)

[butmakeitgayblog]

Demon!AU Snippet

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After much deliberation and help from my merry band of short bottoms, here's the decidedly most PG rated snippet I could find, enjoy? Hopefully?

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"Oop, hot delivery girl, incoming," Raven whispered, a devious smile stretching over her face. 

"Wha-"

Clarke jumped slightly at the quiet thud beside her, eyes swinging around to take in the brilliant pink box now sitting squarely in the middle of her desk. Before she could react, a grey skirt covered hip slid just over the edge of her desk, nudging aside her nameplate and outgoing stack of mail to create an impromptu seat. 

"Morning, gorgeous."

She barely bit back a groan at the voice. 

Raven grinned, leaning forward on her elbows and looking up at the woman now perched on Clarke's desk. "Well, good morning to you too, Lexa."

Perfect. 

Clarke tried her hardest to stay focused on her annoyance at Lexa having such a brazen disregard for things such as personal spaces and belongings and the entirety of office etiquette, pushing down the thoughts of how well that satin burgundy shirt hugged every last one of her curves.

Cheeks pinking in failure, she compromised and settled on averting her eyes to the safety of her computer. 

"Oh, morning. Did you do something with your hair, Reyes?" Lexa questioned, reaching out right across Clarke's screen to gently tug on one of Raven's flowing locks. "Sexy. Looks good."

Sighing in resignation at the obviousness of Lexa's antics, Clarke stopped typing and flopped back silently in her chair, feeling that typical flare of anger. Because who did that? Who does this? Who just sits themselves down on top of a veritable stranger's desk and starts flirting with their coworker? Who practically shoves their ass in someone's face just to sweet talk and charm someone who is distinctly not the work area's owner?

"I did," Raven said, breaking through her silent tirade with pleased smile tinting her features. "Got it trimmed over the weekend and got an oil treatment. Thank you for noticing."

Feeling a pinch to her arm Clarke grunted a soft, "Ow," sucking in a breath as she rubbed the injured area and glared at her friend. "I'm sorry, okay? I told you I had a rough morning."

"Oh, no. What happened? Bad dreams?" Lexa frowned, tucking a wisp of blonde behind Clarke's ear before pulling back. "Or good dreams? 

Blue eyes flew up to the face obviously fighting a smile, an unreadable glint coloring the hooded gaze looking back.

Sucking in a breath at the insanely inappropriateness of that, at feeling somehow Lexa was currently seeing every flash of their torrid dreamtime coupling that was currently flying through her mind at that very moment. Clarke coughed out a quiet choking sound before clearing her throat with a shake of her head. "No," she stated, adjusting in her chair at the tick of a brunette brow and adding firmly, "and no... I'm fine."

Turning back to see her coworker smirking and glancing between them, Clarke narrowed her eyes and pointedly continued. "And I would've noticed eventually, Raven. It's been like five minutes since you sat down."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lexa noticed at least," Raven flicked her wrist in dismal. "Who needs you?"

"Rave-"

"Ignore her, Clarke," she heard as slim fingers slowly turned her head forward and up, finding a heated grin zeroed in on her. "I need you."

The altogether too intimate touch and tone was gone before she could even begin to process it as Lexa casually moved to open the box beside her, flipping the top and continuing as though nothing had happened. 

"Anyway, I had a craving this morning and couldn't stop myself, but I definitely went a little overboard. Figured I'd share." 

Breathable oxygen still very much an issue after the gentle handling and warm words, Clarke dazedly looked down to see a small array of sweets. 

"Oh my God," Raven moaned, pitching forward over the span of their desks to look through the variety of cupcakes with eagle-eyed precision. "Have I ever mentioned I love you, Lexa?"

"Buttercream can have that effect on people," Lexa hummed, leaning a palm down to support her weight as she practically lazed back across Clarke's desk. "Help yourself. Just leave the-"

"I know, I know," Raven rolled her eyes, fingers already lifting a chocolate and caramel monstrosity out of the box and bringing it to her mouth. 

Snapping out of her reverie, Clarke drew in a quick breath and tsked at her deskmate as she sat back down. "It's like eight in the morning, Raven."

"So?" she muffled through a face full of cupcake.

"Technically, it's 8… 22," Lexa unhelpfully supplied, checking and then double checking the gleaming white gold watch sat neatly on her wrist. Clarke watched a slim finger drag through the chocolate of one of the cupcakes in a slow swoop. "Everyone knows you're allowed to sin after 8am."

"That makes no sense whatsoever," Clarke frowned, her focus now centered entirely on the woman draped over her work area. 

"Trust me, Clarke," Lexa assured in a whisper while bringing the frosting covered fingertip to her mouth. Full red lips wrapped around the sugary digit before sliding it back out clean. "I'm an expert."

With that Lexa hopped up, legs swinging out in a graceful swoop as she lifted herself back onto the ground and hands slid over her chest in a show of straightening out the delicate fabrics of her clothes. Clarke valiantly tried not to watch how the slick material bunched and tugged in all the right places, a small inner voice chastising herself when the only coherent thoughts were of the fit and cut of her outfit. 

It was annoying how everything seemed to fit like it was made for no other body than Lexa's own.  

"Raven, I have a meeting at 11 that I need you to push back to 3," Lexa said as she finished her preening and collected her confectionery haul. "Charles wants to go over the contracts for a new client so I'll probably be busy dealing with kissing his ass until lunch." 

"You got it, boss lady," Raven nodded, immediately turning to her computer at the instruction. "Not that I believe for a second you kiss anyone's ass around here."

"Oh, there's one or two," Lexa hummed, actually having the nerve to openly let her eyes trail over to Clarke for a moment, throwing in a final wink before sauntering away and leaving Clarke to her ruddy cheeked stupor. 

Traitorously her eyes followed after, watching the hitch and sway of rounded hips and long legs as they glided through the office in high, pristine heels. Strong yet slim shoulders flexed with the confident swing of toned arms as she walked like she owned everyone within sight. The dip of her back looked so good wrapped in the smooth material of her blouse, its color and texture seeming almost liquid in the sunlight that slanted through the tall office windows; its smooth deep color spilling over the curve of her firm, full, squeezable looking-

"You need some alone time with that view?"

"What?" Clarke startled, head snapping back around to see her wickedly grinning friend as she carelessly took another bite of her treat.

"You looked like you were trying to get her pregnant with that stare."

"That-... No. Shut up. I wasn't even-... Shut up."

"Articulate. But what I don't understand is why you act like such an angry virgin every time she's around," Raven said, thoroughly ignoring the horrified look that stretched over Clarke's face. "I mean the girl comes up with the dumbest excuses to come talk to you, and you barely ever say two words. At least none that aren't hostile."

"She doesn't though," Clarke argued despite Raven's dubious look. "She came here to flirt with you. 'Ooo Raven, your hair's so sexy'," she mimicked in a nasally voice, dodging the free hand slapping her away as she moved to caress Raven's admittedly beautiful black tendrils. "Besides her being an HR ticking time bomb with how obvious she is, you're married for God's sake."

"You're so dumb. She didn't come here to flirt with me, dude. She came to give you that," Raven laughed and shook her head, reaching over to tap a finger on Clarke's desk.

Clarke followed her line of sight, face scrunching up in surprised confusion at noticing the perfectly placed red and white cupcake sitting on the front edge of her desk. 

"Haven't you ever noticed whenever she 'accidentally' gets too many cupcakes, miraculously and mysteriously there's one red velvet in there? And it always miraculously and mysteriously ends up in your very own little combative ass hands?" Raven asked, rolling her eyes at Clarke's disgruntled look of dawning realization. "Homegirl sure as hell doesn't know my favorite flavor, I take what I can get."

"... I guarantee you, it's a coincidence," Clarke said immediately busied herself with fixing the arrangement of her work belongings. "Lexa's… I don't even know what. But thoughtful or kind or whatever the hell everyone here seems to think, isn't one of them."

"What has she ever done to you? Why do you dislike her so much?" Raven asked. 

"How do you not? She's so… I mean how does no one else see it? She's insanely unprofessional, and says just the, ugh. The things that come out of her mouth. She flirts with everything in a skirt and bosses people around who've been here for years. Besides, haven't you noticed all the weird stuff that's happened?"

"Clarke, we're a startup marketing firm that caters to millennials. Of course there's weird shit going on around here. It's a circus filled with idiots."

"No," Clarke said firmly. "You don't get it, you weren't here before she got here. Things were quiet and fine at the old building and now everything's crazy. Contracts always going missing, John literally just disappeared one day-"

"You realize he probably just quit."

"The whole office has this weird vibe now," she continued on a roll. "I have never seen so many mess ups and freak accidents in an office building of all places before in my life. And she's always just… there."

Raven just stared at her with a blank look of boredom, slowly chewing a bite of her cupcake before swallowing and shaking her head. "Again. You realize everything you described sounds normal for a company who's recently expanded, right? Personnel turnover, paperwork mistakes, general growing pains as they adjust? And you're blaming her for that? When she's literally been nothing but nice to both of us?"

"She just… rubs me the wrong way."

"I think your issue is wanting her to rub you the right way."

Clarke scoffed in an overwhelming show of disgust, ignoring the swoop of her stomach to needlessly re-straighten the pile papers in her hands before carelessly tossing them aside. "You've lost your mind if you think I could even think about her like that. I've seen the way she looks at other people around here, believe me, she's not all sunshine and cupcakes. There's something up with her... Besides, she's annoying. And cocky. You guys treat her like she's God's gift but in reality she's just another asshat lawyer who thinks she's the master of the universe… And she's not even that pretty."

Clarke hadn't meant to go on such a vitriolic vomit of words but it was hard sometimes having to listen to the endless poetic waxing of the woman's praises. It just never stopped, and Clarke genuinely couldn't understand how not one single other person seemed to be able to see through Lexa's bullshit. Her pompousness and irritatingly smooth talking at every interaction. Like somehow her taking the time to figure out Clarke's favorite cupcake and going to the trouble of buying it for her… and hand delivering it to her desk… could or should somehow make up for the salaciousness of her smirk.

"Hey, Clarke?" she heard beside her after a moment.

"What?" she breathed, trying not to let her frazzled nerves get the best of her as she faced Raven with expectant annoyance. 

"Can you turn this way?... Now do this," Raven asked, tilting her own head this way and that as her eyes roved over Clarke's face from different angles.

"Why?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm just thinking about what contouring would work best with your clown makeup, you gigantic fucking liar." 

She easily ducked the halfheartedly slap Clarke aimed at her shoulder before carelessly tossing her empty wrapper in the bin between them and swiveling to resume tapping at her keyboard. 

"I'm just saying," Raven continued, "you're fooling no one with that act. You'd have to be blind not to see how attractive that woman is. I'm happily married and even I don't exactly mind watching her shake her ass past your desk fifty-some-odd times a day. She's a hottie with a body, Clarke. Everyone, including you, can see that."

"You're as bad as she is. And I'm telling your wife you said that."

"Bold of you to assume I haven't said it to her myself... Granted, it was in the context of me wanting you two to just knock boots already, but she's aware I work with eye candy and she doesn't care. My lady knows I'm faithful, I can eye-fuck whoever I want."

"You and Anya defy all sense of reasonable relationship standards."

"That was part of the deal," Raven hummed, clearly becoming more distracted as she leaned closer to her screen and focusing on her work. 

Sighing deeply at the apparent dismissal, Clarke resigned herself to the day as she clicked back into the long list of emails waiting for her… and begrudgingly took a bite of her cupcake.

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More soon 😈

[anika-ann]

If You Stumble... - Pt.2

Step Two

Type: Three-shot, part of a soulmate AU series  (part 1 here)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 3830

Summary: If you stumble…make it part of the dance.

Date à la Steve, aka charming bastard, completely off charts. Featuring dancing, stumbling, tons of fluff and some sexual tension if you squint.

Warnings: swearing, fluff

Part 1

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You had enough time to process what you had seen in the video, pulling yourself together, getting excited about your special date again. Agent Morales was a good driver, his skills allowing you to relax in your seat, a smile finding its way to your lips.

By the time he pulled over, you couldn’t get out of the car fast enough – yet, someone beat you to opening the door, a hand being offered to assist you when stepping out.

One brief glance at the gentleman and you were smiling even wider, accepting his hand.

“Madam,” Steve greeted you softly as you climbed out of the car.

He looked amazing. You had seen him in a suit before, but this one was… different somehow. It might have only been due to the decorative handkerchief in his front pocket and the wider tie with a knot you weren’t seeing too often these days. Steve had his hair combed to side, old-fashion hair style, but it seemed as a bit of a clumsy job. While his appearance wasn’t exactly the same you were used to, the warm twinkle in his eyes remained.

“Captain Rogers,” slipped through your lips as you heard it too many times from your driver, making your soulmate blink in surprise, his shoulders tensing.

He gulped, his gaze shifting to the man who got out of the car.

“Captain Rogers,” he echoed.

“Thank you, Agent Morales. I realize this is way below your pay grade.”

The dark-haired man grinned. “Believe me, Captain, I had much worse assignments. Definitely with less pleasant company too. Enjoy your evening. Madam,” he nodded in goodbye and you reciprocated the gesture, doors shutting.

You were left alone with your companion, face to face with the most handsome man you had ever met.

“What is the plan for tonight, Captain Rogers?”

Steve licked his lips, apparently catching your amusement when you saw him squirm a little under the title. This was the second time you called him his rank since you met – and both were today within this minute.

He composed himself fast enough though. “Madam. Seeing as we’re about to spent an evening together, I believe you can drop the formalities.”

Using his opportunity as he still held your hand, he kissed its back, his gaze never leaving your face. For some reason, you found it as adorable as… sexy. There, you said it. The way he looked, the demeanour… it made things to your core.  Gentleman Steve was your new kink, though that could as well be because of Steve himself and your pilling sexual frustration with this man. And the fact you had fooled around a bit before and you knew the gentleman could vanish with a little effort, nearly tipping over the borders of politeness even.

“Mr. Rogers it is, then?”

“If you wish so,” he smirked and followed by offering you his elbow to lead you inside…whatever this was. He addressed you with Miss and your last name then and you bit your lip at the shiver it sent down your body.

Why was it affecting you this much tonight? You had been playful like this before.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?”

“You wouldn’t know how to dance foxtrot, would you?” he asked nonchalantly, a spine-melting smile spreading on his lips when he saw the answer written all over your face, excitement lighting up your expression. Guess he couldn’t see the twist of your stomach, the little insecurity, reminding you that you weren’t the best dancer in the first place, taking too long to learn the simplest steps. You shook your head. “Swell. We’ll learn together then.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The dancehall Steve led you in was… stunning. Not vast, which suited the fact there were only five other pairs in the room, one of them clearly being professionals judging by their choice of clothes; your lecturers.

The parquet floor appeared to be polished just minutes ago, nearly reflecting the lights. The interior was subtly decorated, stripe of weak light bulbs, the old-looking ones that you only knew from pictures, always lining out the title of movies outside of cinema. Several Chinese lanterns were hanging from the ceiling, drowning the room in moody crimson. You half-expected a band dressed in white tuxedos standing along the wall, but there was only table with a gramophone; the room was too small for anything else, you assumed. It still stole breath from your lungs as you casted a glance at Steve, absolutely astonished.

What… how… how?

He leaned to your ear and for a second you thought he was about to break character and explain. He did only one of those things.

“You’d be surprised at what people enjoy these days, miss. Little trips to the past every now and then…” he hummed indefinitely and you just shook your head, unable to respond.

Guess he wasn’t wrong. It still astounded you; how had he found the place? And how had he managed to accomplish the lack of staring from the other attendants?

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, in Charles’ dance hall. Tonight, we’re starting with foxtrot,” the man you had previously identified – correctly – greeted you. “As I see several new faces here, I’d like to remind you what is the most important part of making the dance resemble a dance. Your stance. The way you hold yourself.”

Well. Now you knew why you never had been good at dancing.

He demonstrated the starting position with the woman in lovely flowing silver dress. You gulped and tried to imitate her.

Yours and Steve’s feet lined up, your bodies below your waists rather close. His wide palm sat between your shoulder blades, perhaps an inch lower. Swallowing your panic when meeting his reassuring smile, you reluctantly leaned back into his touch.

“The key of course, is also partnership. Ladies, I need you to trust your partner and lean some of your weight onto his hand. He won’t drop you. Lean backwards a bit, tilt your head back slightly and turn your head an inch to your left. You’ll be watching your left upper corner, just in case you’d like to escape there.”

You chuckled at the silly little joke, the tension falling from your shoulders. You knew Steve wouldn’t drop you; but there was a difference between leaning onto his body as he held you and practically turning aside from him.

“I wouldn’t drop you, miss. I promise,” he mouthed and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

Well. You didn’t really have a choice, did you?

With a deep exhale, you followed the lecturers’ example. Steve seemed perfectly content, not even a trace of strain on his face as he supported your weight.

Of course, you dummy, he can probably lift a car or something. One-handedly.

“Eyes to your left, lady in blue.”

You bit your lip when you were called out, but obeyed. It was dizzying, but you could tell it was mostly because of the foreign and very ridiculous fear of letting Steve take control.

“Perfect. Now, let’s move to the actual steps…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The actual steps weren’t that hard; at least the basic ones. Yet, you and Steve both listened and watched intently, trying to absorb all the new info.

Steve’s fingers wandered from time to time though. He would toy with the hem of your dress, or gingerly brushed his fingertips along the ends of your hair. They were the most decent touches, absolutely innocent, but they were driving you crazy, incredibly distracting. It wasn’t an unpleasant distraction, it was the sweetest torture, making your insides deliciously warm, but god, you knew you would become mad with want before the night was over.

You had no freaking idea what was wrong with you tonight.

But Steve looking good enough to eat? Not helping.

The good-mood lightning? Not exactly helping either.

Steve’s touches? Not helping at all.

The indulgent smile on his face and the yet indefinable spark in his eyes resembling mischief? Really fucking not helping.

There was a break for ten minutes, to help you catch your breath, but Steve’s presence made it difficult. He bought you a soda, handing it to you with a polite smile, quickly retreating when his fingers brushed yours. As if it was inappropriate or something.

“Thank you, Mr.Rogers.”

“My pleasure, miss,” he murmured and you wondered if he was aware of what he was doing to you.

The more he avoided touches to act like a gentleman, the more you craved them. You were probably pathetic, but your body didn’t seem to care. You held your own – you reserved your touches as well. It was a bit maddening that he didn’t seem bothered by it as much as you were.

The real test of your skills came when figures were added to dancing. You felt like you nearly mastered the basic steps, which of course, led to learning more difficult combinations. Natural Turn was alright, just like the Reversed one. Hell, you managed even the Feather Finish or whatever the name was. Then came Waves, which was… okay.

Except it was followed by all of those things combined together in certain order. You felt like your brain hemispheres were on fire.

It was inevitable, really.

You mixed up the steps, feet tangling together – you were pretty sure you tripped over Steve’s too, because his feet naturally continued their right path – and you were falling, closing your eyes in anticipation of the impact.

Except you barely swayed.

Steve’s hand simply brought you closer, pushing you to his body so you stood upright again, stopping his movements just to hold you. With that, his face got really close all of sudden, his breath tickling your mouth, his warmth and cologne enwrapping you.

You slowly blinked your eyes open, meeting his bright eyes with only a shadow of concern. Christ, he was so handsome. You could feel his muscles this up close and you wanted to run your hands over them, to see what it would do to the good-natured blue and green of his irises, to feel his breathing pick up if you used your mouth to explore them.

“You alright… miss?”

You breathed in shakily, your lips parting. Your whole body buzzed, the almost-fall forgotten at instant, replaced by unbearable urge to steal a kiss. A very, very long kiss with tongue and wandering hands. You swore your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“Y-yes,” you stammered, licking your lips. Steve’s eyes flickered to follow the movement with his gaze, but swiftly snapped back to yours, a faint smile spreading on his face as he eased his hold.

Really? Really?!

“Told you I wouldn’t let you fall. Let’s join them at some familiar figure, shall we?”

Your brain was a scrambled mess, heat pooled in your belly, but you nodded, forcing your mind to get straight.

Dancing now. Foxtrot. Horizontal tango might come later. Ugh…

To your surprise, you actually managed to dive back in, the catchy tunes entering your body and leading you through. You practiced the combinations some more, your feet finally getting the message, growing familiar with how one step followed another, turn after turn, figure after figure.

You weren’t warned that it was the last song of the evening until it ended, your dance finished without a single fault, resulting in delighted grin on your face. Finally allowed, your gaze left the left upper corner and shifted to Steve as you straightened.

You were taken aback when he didn’t quite mirror your expression. His eyes were on you, yes, bright and full of wonder, but only subtlest smile on his full lips.

“What is it?” you whispered, partly because you were worried people might hear, partly because the atmosphere didn’t feel like it should be disturbed by loud voices. Peripherally, you noticed the couples were wrapped each in their own bubble as well. Good.

Steve lowered your joined hands to your side and then let go, his fingertips running up your arm, shoulder and neck, ending with his thumb tenderly brushing your cheek.

You were embarrassed at what the innocent touch did to you, but that was of no importance. Steve’s gaze was growing serious, yet remaining soft, just like his voice.  

“I… I thought I’d fit in here better than into today’s world,” he spoke lowly, his smile widening a fraction, a tiniest shake of his head following as if in disbelief. “But it turns out I just fit with you.”

Snap. Shot right through your heart, knocking air from your lungs. Your lips parted in silent shock, your bones melting as you understood why he was looking at you like that.

Oh, oh, heavens.

“Steve…” you whispered, touched by the sweetest words, the genuine and endless affection in his expression. He didn’t seem to mind the slip of his first name. This was beyond some little game. This was so, so much more true.

“I love you. I know it might be too soon to say that and you don’t have to say anything in return. I just think you deserve to know how special you are to me,“ he continued softly and your whole world begun floating.

He loves me.

A tide wave of delight washed over you, the blue and green of his irises drowning you. He loved you. This incredible wonderful human being loved you.

Yeah, you should have probably figured that out by now. You saw the video, little voice in your head supplied and you had to admit it wasn’t wrong.

‘This holds the greatest importance!’

‘With due all respect, Senator Brendon, so does she.’

The familiar pressure of unshed tears assaulted your eyes, your whole being, your very soul moved beyond words.

“Oh Steve, I love you too.”

The whole room seemed to light up and disappear; Steve’s smile turned blinding, his thumb grazing your lips. Oh, how you wanted to kiss him, to feel he loved you as he claimed.

Someone cleared their throat rather loudly and your private bubble burst with a deafening pop. Your head snapped their direction, only to see the dance teacher with the corners of his lips twitching.

“Madam, sir, I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave. We’ll be shutting lights for the day.”

You blinked in confusion, looking around; everyone had left already. You were the only pair remaining.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured, releasing you so you could gather your stuff, the little purse and thin sweater, only to throw both over your shoulders hastily.

His previous words still echoed in your ears like the most beautiful song ever, your heart happily singing along. He loved you.

“No harm done. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” the man wished you with a nod and Steve offered you an elbow on your way out. You accepted it, wishing to melt into him completely instead.

Only then you noticed it; was that a leather jacket on his arm? You frowned, but kept your mouth shut until you exited the building.

Steve beat you to speaking. “I hope you aren’t too tired, miss. We have one more destination.”

Your head snapped to him, caught off guard. Would he ever run out of surprises tonight? They had been all very pleasant, some more than others (he loved to too!), but you would be perfectly fine just going home for the night. And preferably take him with you to cuddle him to sleep. Or something else; not that he would be up for that, clearly, with his whole ‘miss’ thing and everything.

“We do?” you asked, curious smile on your lips.

“Yes. Don’t worry, though, it’s not far. Wouldn’t want you to walk for long in those shoes.”

God bless him.

Truth to his words, after less than five minutes you found yourself entering a cosy diner, slightly cheesy blue and pink interior with matching seats. The place was half-empty – or half-full, hard to tell – despite the late hour, a woman behind the counter instantly spotting you and following you with her gaze as Steve led you to a boot.

“After you,” he beckoned to the seats, gentleman all the way.

“Thank you, Mr.Rogers.”

He smirked at that, apparently content you had slid right back to your act. On the inside, you couldn’t decide whether you should keep trying so hard or simply let it go and show him that you wanted his old self back; the Steve Rogers you had met was charming enough, even though you couldn’t deny the appeal in meeting this one.

Given the fact it was after eleven, your usual bedtime nearing, you weren’t really hungry. While Steve ordered a burger, you only went for a milkshake. Even on the first glance, you could tell it was one of the quality milkshakes, a recipe from the times when people didn’t count every single calorie.

“Oh, oh wow,” you muttered when that thing landed in front of you along with polite ‘enjoy’.

“They’re good,” Steve assured you with a grin, waiting for you to eat – well, drink – first. “Trust me. I made my research before taking a swell dame like you here.”

You bit your lip at his words, touched and amused at the same time.

“Did you, Mr. Rogers? Do you realize that drinking this should be a crime? Especially at this hour? It’s a sugar bomb.” His face fell despite your playful tone and you decided not to torture him – not in a way that would make him feel miserable anyway. “And I’m gonna enjoy every single drop of that.”

You took the straw between your lips, giving an experimental suck, meeting his gaze that seemed to be locked on you.

Heaven exploded in your mouth. Yeah, screw this, you deserved some sugar after all the heavy work you had done on the dance floor. You might have moaned a little at the sweet taste, because Steve’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting to lick his lips. You fought a smirk, confident you had a pretty good idea of what crossed his mind when seeing you like this.

If he could torture you with his gentleman act, you could draw your own weapons. You fingers went to adjust the straw delicately, your eyelids fluttering close. Hearing the little choked noise he had released was about as delicious as the milkshake.

“You were right. It’s pretty good,” you exclaimed. Steve’s wide pupils hypnotized you and you grinned, nudging him with your foot lightly under the table. “You should start eating, Mr.Rogers.”

“Right. Right. Glad you like the... the milkshake.”

“Oh, I do. I really, really do.”

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Of course, Steve Rogers was a freaking bastard and he always had an ace in his sleeve, even when it came to causing cardiac arrests to his soulmate.

He paid for your food and drinks, because of course he did, but that wasn’t it. Nope. You left the diner shortly before midnight, that damn leather jacket of which you still had no clue what was for on his arm. It didn’t make sense; you would expect him to offer it to you, but you thought the actual chivalry was in offering a dame something he actually wore at the moment, showing her that her comfort was more important than his.

And then you saw the motorbike he had led you too and literally everything clicked into place. Including the dark nylons; he wanted at least something to cover you when you straddled the bike, sitting behind him.

Oh. Oh shit. This was going to be the death of you. You were suddenly very grateful for the choice you had made with your dress. Despite knowing what a ride like this would do to you and your filthy brain, you wouldn’t miss it for a world.

“May I give you a ride home, miss?” he asked with a grin, eyes sparkling happily when he saw your jaw fell.

“Yes!” you blurted out before your brain even processed what he was asking.

He held out the jacket for you to slip in, the warm material immediately enwrapping you. It smelled like leather and Steve and you inhaled more deeply, letting the sensation overwhelm you. Your imagination not so helpfully supplied you with Steve wearing the leader jacket, cocky smirk on his face and jerking his head, inviting you to sit behind him on the motorcycle.

Yes, you were definitely about to die and you weren’t thinking road accident.

“I have no helmet for you, but you have my word – I’d never let anything happen to you,” he declared as he stood at your back, his lips nearly brushing your earlobe, voice an octave lower than before and heavy with a promise.

You were dead. Murdered on spot. With unfairly wet underwear on top of that. God help me.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered with barely audible hesitance.

You gave a firm nod, snapping from your haze.

“Good. Come on.”

He straddled the bike – oh, how your mind hadn’t done him justice, the reality was much more destructive to both your heart and underwear, and he wasn’t even wearing the leather jacket –, beckoning for you to join him. You reluctantly did so, your thighs linked with his as each side. Your heart was beating its way out of your chest, hammering rapidly, and you were sure he would be able to feel that if you wrapped your arms around him – which was pretty much a necessity.

He glanced at your over his shoulder, a smile that was simultaneously sweet and wicked at the same time on his lips. Smug bastard, reading you like a book. What had you done to anyone, ending up with soulmate like that?

“I’m gonna need you to hold onto me,” he informed you gently and you took a deep breath, leaning onto his back.

God, he was warm. And muscular. So very muscular, which was no news, but God. You bit the inside of your cheek when you imagined just how perfect sensation you were about to have under your palms. Steve’s hands took your wrists with care, placing them on his middle, letting you feel his perfect front.

“Hold onto me tight. Can’t have you falling off, doll,” he whispered, the pet name rolling of his tongue with indulgence and you couldn’t tell whether it was on purpose. But it only fuelled your illusion of him being the bad boy of ol’ Brooklyn, sending a shudder through your body. You obeyed and placed your cheek against his back on top of that. It drew a satisfied hum from him, one you could feel in your bones as it vibrated though his chest. “That’s better. Can you keep it like this?”

You gulped. “Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

But I can’t promise I’ll ever let go.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 3 (final)

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Tags: @cxptain​​​ @mermaidxatxheart​​ @smilexcaptainx​​ , @murdermornings​​​@irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall​​​ @eliza5616​​​ @rayofdawnworld @victor-criss-bish​​​ @skychild29​​​  @elysianecho​​​ @simmisblog​​​ @scentedsongrebel​​​ @orions-nebula​​​, @sergeantrosabellaswan​​​ @songofcosplay​​​, @ilovesupersoldiers​​​ @wxstedhexrt​​ @silver-winter-wolf​​ @nova3312​​​  @guardian-tn @janieavalos​​​, @vxidnik​

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My Brain: Alright. We’ll summarize a nice date (because Steve’s sweet like that) in about two paragraphs and-- okay, fine, who are we kidding, it will probably take like 1k words, but that’s okay, we can work with that…. and then there will be their first time, the main focus of this fic.

-7k words later, have not even started with the funny business yet-

Word Counter: You were saying?

My Brain: …it’s all foreplay, can’t you see…?

Aaaanyway, thank you for reading!

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Perfect

Charles Xavier x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Imagine: You, the reader, has just been dumped and you think everything would be better if you were skinnier so you stop eating to try to lose weight. Charles confronts you, simultaneously telling you how he feels. 

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: mention of eating disorders.

Masterlist

Pathetic. That’s what you thought of yourself at the moment. You’d been hiding in your room for the past five days, crying and feeling sorry for yourself. Your now ex boyfriend had dumped you because you weren’t making an effort to lose weight. You and Jason had been dating for just over eight months and while you knew he wasn't exactly prince charming, you had loved him. You'd come home the night he dumped you and headed straight to your room in Charles’ house. You’d locked the door and curled up on your bed, hiding under the covers even though you knew nobody could see you. 

Every room had an en suite so you hadn't left your room for the whole three days you were hidden in there. You were more than hungry and your stomach was starting to hurt from how much it was rumbling, but you didn't want to eat. Every time you thought about eating, Jason’s words replayed in your head and you felt so angry with yourself for even thinking about eating anything until you were skinnier. You couldn't cry anymore, you weren't sure that you had any more tears left in your body to cry. 

Your phone pinged every so often, text messages from the team coming through asking if you were okay, if you needed anything or if you were coming downstairs. They didn’t sound too worried but you supposed that Charles had informed them that you were in the house. What he didn't tell them was that he was very aware you haven’t been eating or drinking anything for a few days. Deciding enough was enough, Charles headed up to your room and used his powers to unlock your bedroom door. 

He still knocked before he entered the room though, not wanting to scare you or enter your room if you were indecent. “Go away, I want to be alone.” You weren’t sure if it was Charles or Raven outside your door, you knew it could be either of them but you were secretly hoping it was Raven. You didn’t want Charles to see you like this, you knew he would be more than disappointed. Charles sighed and you groaned when you heard your door creak open, “Love, you can't just hide away from everyone. We want to help you.” 

You rolled over to face Charles, who was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want any help?” Charles was starting to get frustrated with you but he knew that you were hurting so he was a little more patient with you. He closed the door behind him and walked over to your bed, sitting on the edge and looked down at you. 

You, Charles and Raven had been together for the past three years or so, they’d found you when you came to one of Charles’ lectures about mutations. During the end of the talk, you came up to him to ask a question when he used his gift to see your mutation. You had the ability of transfiguration, altering the form and appearance of objects. You weren’t strong enough to extend your power to alter the appearance of people or animals yet but Charles was certain that you could do it with more training. 

Raven was excited to have someone other than Charles around and you were more than happy to take her offer to move in with them. Raven became your best friend and sister figure but Charles had always meant more to you. You’d forced yourself to get over him though, knowing you were not the type of woman that he was interested in. You’d met Jason last year when Raven took you out for the night. He was the first man other than Charles to tell you that he thought you were beautiful and you believed him. 

The two of you had been friends for a couple months before Raven encouraged you to make a move on Jason, knowing you liked him. The two of you got together and you were happy for the first couple of months but then Jason started to get really possessive and hated it whenever you mentioned other guys, especially Charles. He’d make little comments about you losing weight or buying you clothes that he knew where too small to try to get you to want to work out to fit in them. Once he knew that you weren’t trying to lose weight, he had enough and told you that he didn’t want to be embarrassed to be in public by being seen with you. 

Looking at Charles now, you wondered why’d you ever thought you could get over him. He’d proved himself to be your literal perfect match many times but you were always too insecure to shoot your shot. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence before Charles moved to kick his shoes off and lie down next to you. “I’m telling you this because I love you; you stink, love.” You scoffed but smiled to yourself and Charles smiled at you as well. 

You moved closer to Charles to rest your head on his shoulder and sighed, “Do you think I need to lose weight?” Immediately, Charles’ head turned to look at you, “Why would you think that, love?” You looked down and kept quiet, not wanting to say it out loud. You didn't need to though, Charles was more than smart enough to put the pieces together. He let out a heavy sigh, trying to contain his anger at what Jason had done to you. 

Charles sat up and held your face in his hands, looking you deep in the eyes before he spoke, “(Y/N), you are perfect and your weight has nothing to do with that. Whether you lose weight, gain weight or stay the same size you are now, you will always be perfect because you have the one of the kindest souls that I have had the pleasure of meeting. It tears me apart to know how low you think of yourself because I love you.”

Tears were freely falling down your face, moved by Charles’ confession. You sniffed, “Do you really mean that?” Instead of giving you a verbal answer, he leaned down and kissed you, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. It took a moment for your brain to register what was happening but when you did, you were more than eager to kiss him back, your hands coming up to lightly grip his sweater. 

You pulled back for air and the two of you were both panting softly, looking into each other’s eyes. Looking down, you cleared your throat, “I love you too. I have for a while now.” Charles smiled wide, “I know love, I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you out when you met that bastard. It looks like it all worked out in the end though.” You felt like a giddy schoolgirl when he leaned down to kiss you for the second time and you could practically feel the love coming from him. 

Things were finally going as they should be and everything was perfect, you thought. Charles grinned, “Well as soon as you have that shower and let me join you, it will be perfect, love.” You blushed and reached up to grab a pillow to hit Charles with. He laughed as you chased him out of the room but promised to meet him downstairs so he could get you something to eat. You shook your head as you shut the door behind him but leaned against it, smiling. You were finally truly happy. 

[sixx02]

Fear

Ren was terrified, this was possibly the second most frightening thing that he’d ever been through.  The only other thing he could remember was the day that he lost his birth parents.  He did his best to still his body as he watched in fear, his semblance in full blast.  His mind even while doing it’s best to still itself, couldn’t help but rush through worst case scenarios, the worst thing?  He could only watch as Nora spasmed on the ground before him.

The day had been going so well, the weather was great, and there hadn’t been any indication that a thunderstorm would hit.  But, that was just his luck he supposed, well his and Nora’s...  They’d finally been allowed to use real weapons, or at least simplistic metal weapons.  Though he used a bow and a dagger, so he had the last change in his repertoire, curved dull studded arrows and a simplistic dull metal dagger were what he was all he had been allowed to use for now.

Nora had been the most excited, she’d been given a metal headed hammer, which had been crafted for her small frame.  Everything had been going on like normal, they’d trained till their aura’s had been in the red like usual, and were preparing to concentrate on mental training when the weather took a sudden turn for the worst.  For the few months that he’d known Nora, she’d been the type to love storms, it always made her more excited.  Which had been saying something because of how already excitable she was.

This time however, things went bad, really bad.  The storm had been on them before they knew it, and before they could pack up, a bolt of lightning from the heavens had hit Nora.  Normally she’d been hurt, but still fine due to her aura, but because they hadn’t been able to practice aura regeneration today they’d all still been low.  And that, that had been enough to put her on the ground. Her body, though unconscious was anything but still.  She convulsed at random intervals, her fingers would twitch, her frame would shiver, and her head would bounce periodically.  It seems that the strike had been enough to put her down.

Verde had been the first to try to get to her, but she had been stopped by Saphron.  “Stop!  Don’t touch her!”  Verde’s body had stilled at the words, fear taking her over, tears began to form.  Indy, Goa and Violette however began to cry almost instantly.  With out thinking Ren had reached to his little sisters, pulling them into a tight hug much like they had once done to him.  He needed to be strong, he couldn’t use his semblance much longer, and he definitely couldn’t risk passing out here, no he had to be strong for his family.

Charles and Jeanne, Papa and Mama Arc, they were doing their best to keep everyone calm, while Rouge had already dialed what he assumed to be an ambulance.  Though Ren feared they wouldn’t make it in time, he did his best, he really did but he couldn’t help it.  Tears started to form, he wanted to be a good older brother, but how was he supposed to be when he was losing another family member?  Still he tried, he tried his damndest to hold on, for the little ones at least.

Though, he noticed that everyone had stopped talking, instead only sobs could be heard.  Specifically sobs coming from Nora’s location, it was Jaune.  Though, it wasn’t Jaune himself that Ren noticed, no it was the fact that he was glowing, his eyes shut as he reached out for Nora but still didn’t touch her.  Soon the silence permeated to even the tears, and the sound of the storm above drowned out as almost everything stilled.  

Jaune’s white aura began to change, the color soon tinted yellow, no it was gold, gold like the Arches which formed the Arc’s family symbol.  What however really caught everyones attention was the fact that his aura was seeping into Nora.  No one was sure what was happening, not till Nora’s body stilled.  This had the initial effect of frightening everyone, though as everyone stilled their breathing they noticed Nora’s picked up.  Soon her eyes began to flutter open.

“What... what happened?”  She was still dazed, this much was obvious.  The first to respond to her sudden awakening?  It was the boy next to her.

“You’re okay!”  Jaune’s voice was the trigger everyone needed to come out of their stupor.  Ren slowly let go of his sisters as he stared and started to walk towards Nora and Jaune.  Though before anyone could get closer a yelp of pain and surprised fluttered about.

Jaune, in his excitement had attempted to hug Nora, only for him to suddenly be shocked and thrown back.  Thankfully, unlike Nora prior his aura took majority of the blow and he could only blink in stunned silence.  It was then that all eyes fell on Nora, her body was coursing with a blue hued static.  Her eyes sparked to life, as the soft turquoise flashed an electric blue.  Down her body, what appeared to be marks, veins which spread from her neck down beneath her clothes and out to the tips of her fingers through her arms began to spark.  Electricity seemed to be literally coursing through her veins, or at the very least through the lightning burns which had formed since she had been struck.

“Whoa!  Whats... what’s going on?!”  She asked, half in fear and half in excitement.

It was Papa Arc that spoke first, “Well I’ll be... I think my heart may stop but damned if I won’t accept it.  Seems like you and Jaune both unlocked your semblances.”

Both children blinked and stared at him, “SEMBLANCES?!”  Both of them echoed as they stared at themselves.  Jaune’s body still glowing brightly, unsure of how to turn it off, while Nora’s coursed with the power of lightning.  

“Okay... okay but uh how do we turn it off?”  Jaune’s timid voice asked, panic clear in his rushed tone.  

It was surprisingly Ren that answered, “Breathe... both of you stay calm and think of nothing...”  He had been playing with his semblance for a while, and he remembered what happened when he had first unlocked it helping Nora.  

As the siblings looked at him, they both nodded, they trusted Ren.  Their breathing slowed and soon the glowing stopped.  Nora’s was the first to calm down, the static began to recede allowing a clear view of the new veiny burns which spread through out her body.  It was interesting, the way that they stretched and spread, one could think they were ugly, but on Nora?  Ren couldn’t help but think that it accentuated her usual charm.

Charm?  Where did that come from?  Shaking his head he watched as she stared blankly at her arms.  No one knew how she’d act, but in Nora’s typical fashion she quickly jumped up and threw her arms into the sky.  “THIS IS AWESOME!”

She smiled brightly, beaming in great joy.  “These look so cool!  And I didn’t even have to get a tattoo!”  Then, she did something unexpected, she walked towards a tree, drew her arm back and then punched it.  This caused everyone to look in shock, last they remembered she had nearly no aura and the lightning should have taken it out.  What happened next should have been a scream of pain, instead her fist crashed into the tree, slamming into it and driving a whole all the way through.  Next, a flash of sparks splintered from her fist and carved their way into the tree, almost lightning it in flames, almost.  

“THAT IS AWESOME!  I FEEL LIKE I COULD WRESTLE An URSA!”  

“Please don’t!”  Came Saphron’s worried voice as she ran up to Nora, pausing ever so slightly before touching her to make sure it was safe.  Once she wasn’t blown away, she proceeded to wrap Nora into a tight hug.  “We don’t need another near death scare just yet.”  

She was soon joined by the younger girls all who ran up to and proceeded to pin Nora to the ground in a pile of hugs.  Ren himself, though, decided to walk to Jaune.  

“How are you feeling?”  

Jaune’s eyes darted from the pile to Ren, he was clearly in shock, everything was happening rather fast and he wasn’t sure if he could handle it.  “I... I don’t know honestly.  I FEEL, great... but I don’t feel good... that doesn’t make sense.”  He shook his head as he stared down, his hands flashing one more time.

Ren simply nodded, “No... NO I understand.”  Soon Ren found his arms around Jaune, holding him tightly, tears began to flow freely.  “I know I don’t need to... but thank you.”  

Jaune simply responded by hugging Ren, soon Rouge and their parents began to hug them.  

“Well... this has been an exciting day... we’ll, we’ll have to figure out what your semblances are later, for now let’s rest.”  Jeanne, Mama Arc, stated as she let go of her children.  

Ren followed her gaze and noticed that the rain had gone.

___________________________________________________

So for those of you curious, Nora’s semblance is slightly altered due to being unlocked via Jaune’s semblance.  Her body will generate electricity, making her a stun gun, while being able to absorb additional electricity to make it stronger as well as amp her own strengths.  Jaune’s will largely stay the same, but he’ll definitely have more control over it, he’s going to have fun combinations with Ren and Nora in the future for different things mind you.  

Fun fact Nora now has lightning burns, they’re cool looking, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to get some yourself...

[georgiahorton98]

Monday 4th January

Today I will starting my next project on the theme of war. I will be doing my research on 3 different artists that have covered the same topic in a range of ways and styles, from modern to classical painters. 

Francisco de Goya

Francisco Goya was a Spanish painter and printmaker. He was born into a lower-class family in 1746 in Fuendetodos, Aragon. He studied art from the age of 14 under baroque painter José Luzán y Martinez and then later moved to Madrid to paint under neoclassical artist Anton Raphael Mengs, this would shape the next part of his life greatly, becoming a court painter for the royal Spanish Crown in 1786. 

Charles IV of Spain and His Family (1800–01)

In 1793, through texts and letters, it was found that Goya suffered from a unknown medical illness which eventually left him deaf. After this point in his life, his works became more dark and negative. 

In 1807, Napoleon ordered the French army into Spain known as the peninsular war, with Madrid being where Goya lived at the time. While not spoken outright in text, through his series of paintings and etchings it can be implied that Goya was against the war that took place, showing the brutal happenings and practices of the French army. 

The Third of May 1808 (1814)

Y no hay remedio (And it cannot be helped) (1818-1824)

The last period of his life, where his famous series the Black Paintings (1819-1823) were produced, show the accumulation of all the darkness within Goya’s life. Alienated by the war in Spain, Goya isolated himself. Later, he would move to Bordeaux in France where he completely the last of his etchings La Tauromaquia.  After a stroke that left him paralyzed, Goya died 16th April 1828 at the age of 82. 

I really love the figure work of Goya, he is one of my favourite artists. Inspired by his work, I would love to use the etchings he did as an inspiration. His pieces were not based of what he has seen but what he had heard, this is something I could take into account when doing my piece. The way he incorporated body language more than anything is my favourite and tells more than the expressions on faces. I could emulate his style by either doing a lino print or and plastic plate etching. 

Henry Moore

Henry Moore was a British abstract-sculpture artist. He also produced many drawings among other graphic works. 

He was born in Yorkshire, England in the year of 1898. Born into a poor family of 8 children, his father was determined not to let Moore become a miner like him and encouraged him to pursue education. After being accepted into a grammar school, his headmaster had payed attention to the passion and talent Moore had for medieval-sculpture. Set on making art his career, Moore attempted to get a scholarship despite the disagreement of his family, who did not want him to become a sculptor. 

In 1916, on Moore’s 18th birthday he volunteered for Army Service during the First World War. He was the youngest of the regiment and was injured later in 1917 during a gas attack during the Battle of Cambrai. After recovering from the attack, he spent the rest of the war as a physical trainer, romanticising the war at this point in his life. He later went on to change his thoughts on this, seeing war as “anti-life”. 

Reclining Woman (1930)

After the war and over the next few decades, Moore would dedicate his life to developing his style and teaching sculpting. 

When WW2 started, the school Moore was teaching at in London was evacuated. During The Blitz, Moore did intense graphite artwork of people in the London Underground subway while sheltering. Later, these arts were bought and used as war pieces, making Moore a wartime artist. 

Moore’s home was hit by shrapnel in 1940, prompting him to move out of London and into Hertfordshire, where Moore would live and work for the rest of his life, creating sculptures and art works. Moore died in 1986 in his home. 

Woman Seated in the Underground (1941)

Tube Shelter Perspective (1941)

I like Moore’s sketchy work. It seems scary to me in a way that strikes me as morbid and dark, with the figures having no faces or emotions but still able to communicate sadness and darkness. I would like to try incorporating Moore’s charcoal-y type of artworks into my own for the project, however I am not a fan of the statues. 

Paul Nash

Nash was a surrealist painter and war artist. Born in London 1889, Nash's original passion was in landscape painting because he was bad at figure drawing. He was inspired by landscapes with ancient history, such as rubble forts and castles. 

At the start of world war 1, Nash applied to become a private, training as a guard of the Tower of London, because of this Nash still had time to paint and draw. After being married, in 1917 he then began training as an office, acquiring the position of second lieutenant at Ypres Salient, a relatively calm place that wasn’t majorly attacked during WW1. Later in the year, Nash fell into a trench and broke a rib and was brought back into London. A few days later, a majority of his squad were killed in an assault. Nash considered himself lucky to have injured himself before this incident. While healing in London, Nash took the time to sketch and paint, working from sketches he had done while on the front line. Nash was commissioned to become a war artist just shortly after. 

Spring in the Trenches, 1917 (1918)

In 1917, Nash returned to Ypres Salient as an official war artist during the Third Battle of Ypres. In this time, a tonal change in his work would come, becoming disillusioned by war with the bomb-stricken landscapes. This anger at the destruction of war on the landscape became a creative drive for Nash, creating dozens of pieces of art and even risking his life by trying to get as close to the front lines as possible. 

Returning to England, in 1918 Nash spent 6 weeks on the western front creating what he called the “fifty drawings of muddy places”. When he returned to the safety of mainland England, he developed these pieces. While in Belgium he only worked in pen and inks, but while in England he learnt to produce lithographs, further developing his style of work. He also began working in oils.

Sunrise, Inverness Copse (1917)

The Ypres Salient at Night (1918)

In 1918 Nash was commissioned by the British War Memorials Committee to paint a piece for the Hall of Remembrance project. He chose Ypres Sailent as his main subject. When the war ended in 1920 Nash continued to work as an artist, but slightly struggled with money and work. 

Through the 1930′s Nash did a range of works, including that for galleries, books, illustration and theatre work. 

During World War 2, Nash was appointed to the War Artist’s Advisory Committee as a full time war artist paid for his work. Nash’s work was unpopular for his focus on landscapes rather than figures and brutal war. Nash produced a series of watercolour pieces while working as a war artist during this time. 

The Messerschmidt in Windsor Great Park (1940)

After completing these pieces Nash found himself sick with asthma. He had difficulty painting during this time and decided to do collages instead. Between bouts of illness, he would attempt to paint and create work. Nash died in his sleep of heart failure in 1946. 

I like Nash’s focus on landscapes, I find it very endearing. I’m not a big fan of the style of his paintings a feel a little too bland to me, however I find the watercolours striking, and something I may consider doing as a test to my pieces.

[lyricfulloflight]

Rumour Has It: Part 2

A modern Cherik AU, powered, university setting.

If you haven’t read part one, here is a link:

https://lyricfulloflight.tumblr.com/post/188224206227/rumour-has-it

Tagging @gold-from-straw because she kindly asked to be tagged if I kept going.  If anyone else wants to be tagged for future additions, let me know!

I will be focusing on my long WIP for the next little bit, so I don’t expect to update this ficlet series for at least a week - fair warning.

Rumour Has It - Part 2

Erik sat in his seat and groaned.  He could not believe that Professor Garcia was going torture them this way.  Group work.  How could he do this?  Erik had actually been enjoying this class until two minutes ago.  Professor Garcia wasn’t a mutant, but he was married to one and had a mutant child, so he was very much aware of the struggles of mutants in society and was relatively sensitive in how he approached the topics covered in class.  He also openly encouraged debate, which made class lively and far more interesting than it would have been in a traditional lecture format.  But this, this was cruel.

“I am assigning everyone a random partner.  And yes, before you all jump down my throat, the selections were totally random, I used a computer program.  Your pairings are final.  You will not change partners, I don’t care how much to plead with me about it.  You will work on this assignment – together – for the rest of the year.  It accounts for thirty percent of your grade, so this is not to be taken lightly.  The list of pairings is right here -” Professor Garcia held up one sheet of paper, “and I will post it up front at the end of this class. Now, let’s talk about the Identification Act of 1985...”

Erik spent the rest of the class half listening to the professor and half absorbed in glancing around to look at all his classmates to try and figure out who would be the worst person to be paired up with. There were half a dozen humans in the class who had apparently signed up just to give speeches about how dangerous mutants were and how identification and separation was “essential for national security”.  Erik wasn’t sure he could work on an assignment with one of them without it leading to him punching one of them in their smug human face. Otherwise, Erik figured one classmate was pretty much the same as any other. Regardless of who he was paired with, Erik refused to let this stupid group project bring down his grade point average.

The class ended with a rush of students clamoring to the front of the class to get a look at the list of student pairings.  Erik sat at his spot and slowly loaded his notes into his backpack.  There wasn’t any reason to rush – the list would still be there in five minutes when the crowd cleared, or his partner would find him before he even had to get up and look.

With his head bent over zipping up his bag, the first thing Erik heard was someone clearing their throat.

“Hello.  I believe we’re partners.” Said a crisp British voice.

Erik leaned back slowly, something like dread curling in his stomach.  He looked up at the man in front of him and found himself looking into the impossibly blue eyes of one Charles Xavier.

“You are Erik Lehnsherr, yes?”

“Yeah.”  Erik spoke, determined to react normally – surely it couldn’t that bad to have been paired up with the most promiscuous man on campus. “That’s me.”

“I’m Charles, Charles Xavier.”

Charles held out his hand and Erik found himself reaching out, and having his hand grasped in a surprisingly firm grip.

“I think it best if we meet to talk about the assignment as soon as possible.” Charles continued. “I have to admit my schedule is quite full and it may be difficult for me to arrange time to meet with you if we don’t plan ahead.”

Erik bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making some sort of snarky comment about Charles ‘schedule’, which the majority of the university seemed to think involved enough sex for about three healthy young men, and instead nodded in agreement.

“I don’t have class until later this afternoon.  We could go to the library now and sort something out, maybe pick our first topic from the list Garcia gave out?” Erik suggested.

“Excellent.  I have about an hour before my next commitment.”

Erik found himself walking about a step behind Charles as they exited the classroom. Xavier was a startling fast walker and even though Erik had a good five inches on him at least, he found he had to consciously keep himself from falling behind the shorter man.

He was so focused on lengthening his stride to keep up with Charles, he almost ran right into him when the other man stopped abruptly only a few meters outside the humanities building.

“Found a new fuck, have we Charlie?” Sebastian Shaw’s voice dripped with contempt.

“If you’ll excuse us Sebastian, we were headed to the library.”  Charles said blandly, head held high.

“You know he’ll have sex with anything that breathes, right Lehnsherr? If you want to join his pussy footed little Mutant Human Alliance, you don’t have to sleep with him, even though everyone knows he’s slept with the entire group.”

Erik glared at Sebastian but said nothing – there was nothing to say to his baseless accusations.

“Fine.” Sebastian shrugged. “Just wrap it up – who’s know what diseases Charlie has by now.”

Sebastian cackled as he walked away, waving his fingers in a jaunty fashion as if he was saying goodbye to a couple friends, not two people he’d just insulted.

Charles didn’t spare a second to look back at Sebastian, he simply soldiered on and Erik followed him in silence until they found an empty study room at the library.

“Does he do that a lot?”  Erik asked.

“Hmm, what?” Charles frowned, apparently confused by Erik’s question.

“Shaw – does he go around saying shit about you all the time?”

“Oh, that.” Charles waved a hand dismissively. “Sebastian doesn’t like the fact that I run a Mutant Human Alliance – it clashes far too much with his ‘Brotherhood’ and their belief in mutant superiority. He likes to try to get back at me with petty insults.”

“He’s an asshole.” Erik grumbled. “And his ‘Brotherhood’ is practically a terrorist organization – their blog has a list of all the human politicians they’d like to ‘eliminate’.”

“I’m aware.” Charles sighed. “I feel the less attention I give Sebastian and his efforts, the better. Now, the assignment – was there a particular piece of legislation you wanted to look into first?”

Erik let his desire to dig into Sebastian’s insults about Charles’ sex life drop.  It wasn’t really any of his business.

Working with Charles was nothing like Erik had thought it might be.  Charles did not flirt – he didn’t so much as bat his eyelashes.  He was completely professional and focused the entire hour they’d spent in the library.  

It only took about five minutes for it to become clear that Charles was incredibly intelligent and well versed in mutant legislation.  He also wasn’t afraid to voice his opinions, or disagree with Erik.  They both agreed they wanted to pick the broad topic of ‘Mutant Identification and Suppression in the Education System’, but spent a good fifteen minutes arguing over which specific piece of legislation to analyze first.

Erik was impressed.  A lot of people, well most people actually, backed down in the face of Erik’s tirades, but not Charles.  In fact, he hadn’t missed a beat – he was ready with a calm rebuttal to every argument Erik offered. Erik finally, after much back and forth with Charles, compromised by agreeing to start with Charles’ top choice (the Dangerous Mutant Identification Act of 1999), but only after Charles explicitly agreed to end with Erik’s top choice (the Mutant Segregation Bill of 1961).

The meeting ended with a quick check of their schedules and a plan to meet every Tuesday for a brief face to face chat after class and to have a longer collaborative work session every Saturday morning.

Erik walked home feeling unexpectedly happy about the whole thing.  It seemed that working with Charles was going to be fine, even if he was nothing at all like Erik had expected.

One might think a man described as the biggest slut on campus would look a certain way. Sean had asked if Xavier was pretty and… he was so much more than that, and yet also, strangely less.  Today, he’d been wearing an oversized knit sweater, the type you might see a fisherman wear to keep out the cold, paired with rather ill-fitting corduroy pants. The entire ensemble did absolutely nothing to highlight Charles’ body; clearly he had a body somewhere under all that fabric, but Erik couldn’t have told you if he was thin, muscular, pudgy, or somewhere in between.  Despite his complete lack of fashion sense, Xavier’s face more than made up for his clothing choices.  His face… his face was achingly handsome.  It wasn’t quite pretty, not with its slightly too large nose and the freckles, but it was somehow better because of its flaws.

No, Charles Xavier wasn’t pretty.  But damn if Erik was going to tell Sean that Charles’ eyes practically glowed when he was talking about something that got him excited, or that his lips looked just as impossibly red up close as they did from across the room, or that he cheeks flushed an enchanting shade of pink when Erik had teased him about how many books he’d had stuff in his book bag.  Erik wasn’t going to share any of that with Sean.  Sean’s head would probably explode from excitement from the knowledge that Erik had been within five feet of the infamous Charles Xavier.

No, Erik thought, he’d just keep his newfound knowledge of Charles to himself. No need to add fuel to the already raging inferno that was the Charles Xavier rumour mill.  How difficult could it possibly be to keep one little secret from his freshmen roommate?

[staliasjeronica]

Jeronica Headcanon’s Part 2

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other?

- Surprisingly, Jughead. He loves to find small items that would look great on Veronica and make it their thing, their item as a couple. Veronica spends money on Jughead by buying food and new clothes when his get messy from Serpent business. Still, Jughead spends most of his money on Veronica because that’s just how much he loves her.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

- Veronica loves to fall asleep in Jughead’s lap, resting her head on his thighs as she splays herself across the couch. Or, she’ll curl up on top of him and nestle her ear up against his chest so she can feel him breathing along with her, and hear his heartbeat. However, sometimes when Jughead has a bad day, he likes to stretch himself over the couch and lay his head against her lap so she can play with his hair. 

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

- Jughead walks around half-naked because society allows him to, and Veronica always tells him to put clothes on when they have people over. That does not mean Veronica doesn’t try to tease him by doing the same thing and parading around in her underwear while Jughead is trying to work.

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

- When Jughead isn’t out all night for Serpent business, he always tells Veronica to come to bed, and not to stay up. But she used to be a party animal, she was used to staying up all night and waking up early in the morning to make herself look as beautiful as she always did with ease. It was almost in her blood, in a way. So, of course he’d wake up groggily and she’ll be up and making breakfast or scrolling through her phone while sipping tea and he’ll wonder how the hell she can do it without twenty naps throughout the day.

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

- Despite Jughead’s affinity for food, that doesn’t mean he necessarily knows how to cook. He can make the simple, cheap foods like macaroni and cheese with hot dogs or ramen, but when it came to meals he needed… a little help. He wanted to get better, but that wouldn’t change just because he wanted it to. So, when he ended up burning the food, Veronica would help him clean out the burnt smell, tell him it was okay and that he can try again some other time, and then bakes cookies for them to eat while watching a movie.  

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”?

-  Veronica reads the prompts, Jughead doesn’t agree because he believes they’re all substantial to the relationship and not every one could possibly be them (but for the most part, it COULD be them if they wanted to)

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes?

- Veronica. She LOVES wearing Jughead’s clothes, especially after sex because she looks absolutely stunning in his dark “S” shirt that was his favorite.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?”

- Jughead goes out a lot because he has to check in with the Serpents, so he will multi-task and get groceries and such at the same time. Ever since Jughead forgot to bring home the single thing he went out to get, Veronica constantly asks him if he remembered to get everything on the list.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

- Jughead drives because it gives him a piece of mind, and Veronica gives him directions.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws?

- Veronica poses, while Jughead draws. Playfully, she loves to say “draw me like one of your French girls” and they both just laugh. Sometimes, though, when Veronica wants to spice things up a bit she’ll switch her role and try to draw Jughead. Whether that be clothed or not, he appreciates her unique eye on his appearance (even if she’s not fantastic at drawing, it’s the thought that counts)

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips?

- Jughead twists and turns his body in an attempt to not be caught by the lasers, and Veronica, knowing that this isn’t a movie and that it wouldn’t be that insane follows behind slowly while chewing on whatever snack she brought with her in the van.

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking?

- Because of his father’s affinity for alcohol as he grew up, Jughead isn’t too fond of alcohol. He’ll still drink it for celebrations and certain occasions and whatnot, but usually he is always the designated driver. He has to tell the beautiful party girl to slow down, because he doesn’t want her to do something stupid that she’ll regret. She gets wild, and into the old mindset she wants to forget, so if angering her by taking away her alcohol is what he has to do, he will.

13: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

- They both do. It’s a tradition for them: every month on a date decided the month before, they surprise each other with multiple, small gifts. Although, Jughead tends to buy more than Veronica.

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

- Since Veronica has liked her last name considering it was tied to her father,  she desperately wanted to distance herself from it so sometimes she would be trying out her name with Jughead’s last name and when introducing herself to new people she accidentally tells them she’s Veronica Jones instead of Veronica Lodge because she’s said it so many times that it’s almost true. Even if they aren’t married (yet).

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside?

- Veronica screams about the spider, and Jughead helps it outside. Jughead, growing up in a trailer, was used to spiders and mice and such making their way into the trailer so unlike the pampered princess who very rarely saw any kind of scary creature, he didn’t mind.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket?

- Jughead loves to give Veronica his jacket. Mostly because when she returns them (even though he says she doesn’t have to) it smells like her.

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling?

- Charles actually likes Veronica (and Betty isn’t older than Jughead) and Veronica’s sister is working with her father, so they don’t really have anyone to be the overprotective older sibling, but if this was an alternate universe I figure Hermosa would be incredibly protective over the younger sister she knew she had but hadn’t really met until. recently.

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

- Jughead was the first one to admit that he had feelings for Veronica. He fought with himself for weeks on end, trying to pretend he didn’t but eventually he couldn’t do it anymore and he just flat out told her. She was surprised, and he actually thought that she didn’t like him back because she avoided him the next day, but the day after she came back and apologized, saying she had to wrap her mind around the fact that he actually liked her, despite their rocky start. And she kissed him when he began to nervously ramble off about how he was shocked that a girl like her would actually be interested in a guy like him, and they went on a date and they began dating.

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting?

- Taking all the lessons she learned about her father, Veronica vowed to never become like him so she was strict yet understanding, and Jughead was more lenient, however together they were a perfect molding of a safe, loving, caring, respectful parenting duo who’s kids would know that they had rules, but if they simply asked nicely and cooperated, they were essentially able to do whatever they wanted.

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters?

- Both like to type with perfect grammar because they are lovers of literature and writing, but sometimes when Veronica is annoyed with Jughead she will text him using numbers and emoji’s and stuff like that because he’ll practically do anything to get her to stop.

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

- They both are bullied for different reasons, and they protect each other. When the football jocks mess with Jughead for being a shy loner, Veronica with nothing but her sharp words will bring their resolve to the ground. And when people hound after Veronica for what her dad has done, Jughead is the first to tell them to shut up because she’s not her father, she’s better than he could even dream of and if they have a problem, take it up with him.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

- Both like to make bad puns, but Jughead does it more because it makes up a lot of his humor.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy?

- Veronica comes back to see Jughead holding a dirty puppy, pleading smile on his face as he explains he felt bad that the puppy’s mother died. So they take it in and it becomes another addition to the South Side Serpent’s dogs.

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

- When Veronica’s feet hurt from her high heels, she hops onto Jughead’s back and he’s completely fine with it because then he can toss her onto the bed and make her laugh.

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering?

- Both are very competitive, so when it’s not (surprisingly) against each other, they are each other’s hype man and cheer their significant other on.

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

- Jughead knows Veronica hates it when he takes pictures of her without her knowing (especially if she thinks she looks ugly), so whenever she falls asleep on his shoulder he takes a picture of her to show her how cute she is later, even if she doesn’t think she looks cute.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked?

- Jughead. He knows Veronica has incredible taste with everybody she meets, it’s her talent and so when he wants to dress up and look good for whatever reason, he asks for her help. Sometimes, he likes to imagine he never had the shitty childhood and grew up rich when she places him in a suit and combs over his hair.

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?

- Jughead, because he’s a Serpent, rescues this baby snake that Veronica is horrified of. She told him that if it ever got out of it’s enclosure and it got stepped on, it would not be her fault.

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

- Jughead. Veronica’s tiny “rich person” umbrella does jack shit for rain or even sunshine so Jughead has to buy the big, bulky, usually “ugly” umbrella so neither of them end up soaked.

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

- They would probably travel around the United States (for Jughead), and for Veronica, they’d travel to France because it’s the city of love  ❤️ 

I didn’t want to write so I decided to find more headcanons. I looked up “OTP questions and found this post so yeah! If you want me to take this down, just ask!

[wongiemei]

iKON Relationship with New Girl Member

Jinhwan:

Basically, her dad

Takes care of her the most dealing with her problems

He’s the oldest and he is used to dealing with the boys’ shit so he can handle hers too

But sometimes, it can be overwhelming

The girl member would listen to him like he would for her

Whenever she gets in trouble, he would always defend her (which annoys Bin a lot)

When she’s in that *cough* time *cough*, she would be the most comfortable with him

Jinhwan wouldn’t hesitate but go to the store 2 streets down and buy her chocolate, medicine, heating packs, chips, and tampons/pads

out of all the boys, she would trust him the most

if she needs something, she would go to him first

jinhwan loves to brag about that to the boys

he also loves the fact that someone is finally shorter than him

the boys still call him short but the girl defends him saying he’s taller than her

if anything, they should call her short

the first time it happened, jinhwan almost cried bc finally someone stood up for him

whenever he’s upset or hurt by what the others said, he hides it but she can usually tell 

the only one he speaks his problems to

she experiments with makeup on him since he’s the only one who lets her

ngl, she’s actually pretty good

‘i didn’t spend 2 all-nighters watching jeffree star and james charles for nothing’

but as long as he sees that bright smile, he’s happy

i think he would be the im-never-letting-you-go type with her because he sees her as the girl he saw for the very first time

shy and innocent

and he will be damned if someone corrupts her

Yunhyeong:

if Jinhwan is her dad, he’s her mom

makes sure she does laundry, gets up early, goes to bed on time, showers before the boys

will feed and cook for the girl even when he’s tired

thinks shes the cutest little thing

but he knows that if he finds chanwoo and her are talking amongst themselves, shes gone

gets pranked on the most

the boys would use the girl to take advantage of his kindness to her for a prank

then the girl would be guilty later on and secretly tell song what theyre planning

believe it or not, yunghyeong is pretty scary when he’s mad

so she rats the others out bc she knows he wont punish her and she could watch the boys suffer

its like killing 2 birds with one stone

but really, she appreciates him

without him, she would be stuck eating delivery and ramen every night

since she rooms with him, chanwoo, and hanbin, hes always cooking something

ikonics see her a lot in his vlives and YT channel

when he went to the jungle, she was very worried

‘hyung, you’re going to get sick there! who’s going to feed me when you’re gone? you know Bin can’t cook for shit!’

‘yah! do you only see me as your chef?!’

‘what do you mean i can’t cook?!’

he looks out for her a lot

during ikontv, she was the only one excited for the mungap trip

out of all the boys, she appreciates him the most

okay, maybe she appreciates him and jinhwan the most

but, he was the one who made her feel welcome and tried the most to help her fit in and make sure she was comfortable

will never forget when he left her a tray of food at her door when she refused to leave her new room

there was a post-it note with encouraging words and she still has it to this day

just a wholesome mother-daughter relationship that will never be broken

Bobby:

oh, my baby

as i mentioned in the earlier post, he wasn’t very upset but he wasnt happy

but he wasnt upset enough to make her feel uncomfortable

bc jiwon is such a baby and so nice that he subtly helps her

over time, they build a cute relationship where he is like her older brother

steals her food all the time

‘no! song-hyung cooked that for me! Only for me!’

‘yah! it’s rude not to share with your elders!’

‘*mumbling* wdym elder. you’re practically a 5 year old’

jiwon has no mean bone in his body and you were practically an angel to him

well, when you’re not fooling around or goofing off

although he thought you wouldnt survive in iKON, he tries to help you as much as he can

even though bin is literally a big butt and gives you a hard time, jiwon helps you

like the time bin screamed at you because you couldnt get the dance right and you, being a strong woman who wouldnt let people push you around, screamed at him too

it resulted to you having a screaming match and the elders having to push you back because you were so close to punching him in the face and the youngers holding bin because he wouldnt hesitate to come at you

more on that in a sec

but you slammed the practice room shut and walked to the river to cool down

granted you were new to korea and didnt really know where you were going, you went to the place the guys took you to

bobby found you crying there and hes a very awkward little bean so it was hard for him to comfort you

since youre a girl and all

but you wrapped your arms around him and cried to his chest *cue confused and frozen bobby*

jiwon slowly wrapped his arms around you and whispered sweet nothings into your ear

since then, hes vowed to protect you bc youre basically the little sister hes wanted

B.I:

okay, lets get this bread

as i said in the beginning, he didnt like you

aT aLL

he wanted to give you a hard time bc he wanted to see how long you would last

these boys have been with him since their survival days and suddenly this girl comes in? no thanks bitch

but i think bin is just really frustrated bc he couldnt figure you out

the others, he knows like the back of his hands

but you? he doesnt know shit about you

*cue his bratty self*

we all know bin is actually a soft little puppy who needs to be protected by iKONICS and will sacrifice himself for his boys

and dont worry, he will soon come to love you too

when you locked yourself up in your room, jinhwan grabbed his ear and pulled him outside to scold him

but it resulted to bin and jinhwan arguing

‘if you dont get your shit together, we’re going to have some problems. you’re the leader arent you? then act like it’

every day you try to be nice to him but he just shrugs and sometimes even outright ignore you

but as time goes on, hanbin slowly figures you out

youre still scared of him and thinks hes a douche but you can see hes trying

he really is trying

he picks up your weird habits like unintentionally pout when you dont understand something or the tip of your nose sweating when youre nervous

before, he used to not ask for your input in any tracks but it has come to the point he would knock at your door in the ungodly time of 2 in the morning, asking if the draft is good

love scenario was your guys’ combined efforts

there will be an imagine with that^

since you came in bling bling era, he didnt really give you a lot of lines because he couldnt figure out your voice and your strengths

but now, he knows you very well too

‘yah, be careful. dont be eating a lot of that ice cream. you shouldnt even have any in the first place. youre lactose intolerant, remember?’

‘yes, bin. i think id remember if there was something wrong with me.’

there are petty little fights between you guys that used to be mean and hurtful but are now playful and downright cute

but that dreaded day of your biggest fight yet

in love scenario during bobby’s rap, there’s that fast move that even the others struggled in

but hanbin already got it nailed down bc hes a GOD

but you were struggling the most and hanbin tried to be patient and help you

it was just hard for you and you couldnt get it right

by the 100th time of him repeating it over and over again, he exploded

‘yah! how are you a dancer when you couldnt even get this right!’

you looked down ashamed while mumbling ‘sorry’

he yells again and you mess up 

AGAIN

he throws his hat down and gets up towards you

‘if you cant do it correctly, why bother with it? go home. you’re done’

jinhwan nervously puts a hand on his shoulder and goes in between them to try and difuse the situation

‘hanbin-ah. we’re having a hard time too. its not just her. the dance is just hard.’

‘i dont get we’ve done WAY harder choreo than this’

‘well, hanbin, remember. she wasnt here for that.’

‘maybe it was a mistake to put her here then. she isnt ready.’

you look up at him with flaring eyes

‘listen, you dont know anything that ive been through to get to where i am today so dont even say im not ready. YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!’

everyone stayed silent, even the maknaes bc theyve never seen her lash out like that

hanbin scoffed.

‘maybe if you actually opened up yourself to us and not hide in your damn room all day’

she stomped to him and pushed him

‘no MAYBE if you pulled your head out of your ass and take the time to get to know me then maybe you would! but NO! you decide to be a little bitch and throw tantrums just bc a girl joined your group. was your ego hurt that yg sent a girl to you? that you would need someone to make sure that this group doesnt crumble to the ground? bc with the way youre acting, the guys arent here just because youre a good leader. YOURE A TYRANT! THATS ALL YOU WOULD EVER BE!’

shit

Hanbin was FURIOUS

he pushed her back and the guys held on to them

you pushed them away and sent one last hateful glare before you made your way to the door

‘but dont worry, kim hanbin. because ill send my resignation letter to yang in the morning. im not putting up with your shit any longer’

there will be a whole ass imagine about that so it will contain when yall make up

but after that, yall are so cool

his sister loves you and he might start having a ‘thing’ 

more on that in a sec

Donghyuck:

oof my baby sunshine

previously stated, he was the only one excited for your arrival

so obvs, yall are very tight

you, bob, and dong do vlives together a lot and ikonics look forward to it all the time

always cheers you up

remember that prank for ikon tv where dong literally started comforting the girl?

well, he does that to you

he knows when you start to get upset and he rubs your back

sometimes, just a hug from him makes it all better

did i mention that he gives out the warmest hugs?

ace dancers

both of you love to do covers as bonding time

whenever you can’t sleep, you just go to the other dorm and go under the covers while he sings to you

he sees you as his little sister and reminds him of his own little sister back home

btw, he loves to give you gifts

but so do you

when yall were filming ikon tv, he always picked up something that reminded him of you

like when he went shopping with bobby for their studio, he got you a little cute figurine that you still have to this day

or when you went to lotte mall for your day off and bought him a little necklace

fans get excited bc they always see matching yall have

the two of you wear the most fan gifts

like when someone gave hanbin a shirt, you snatch it and wear it

like how dong takes bobby’s clothing

yall are so cute together and fans wish they had a brother or a sister like yall

Junhoe:

this hoe

jk, but he really looks hot in this one

yes, he hated you in the beginning but once he found out similarities between you, he started tolerating you

also to him, i think he oesnt like the fact that him and the others worked so hard to get where they are and he doesnt really know what you went through to get there

junhoe has the personality that may seem very cold at first but he easily opens up to others and that causes them to open up to him

he knows the struggles you went through to be in ikon

you’re older than him by a few months and you treat him like your child

‘junhoe-ah! dont forget to take your makeup off!’

‘yah! clean your room! its like a pigsty!’

he gets annoyed with it but he knows you just look out for him

he calls you ‘noona’ with that cute ass smile if he wants something

how can you say no to that

yalls laughs are so loud and yall are just loud in general

one time, yall had a competition on who could sing louder and the guys almost banned you from the apartment complex

the neighbors weren’t happy

he always asks you for fashion advice even though you don’t have a good fashion taste

you have the habit of spoiling him of clothes and shoes

‘noona, you don’t need to do this. take them back’

‘wtf they’re from busan. i’m not about to take a train ride there to return those. keep them.’

his mom absolutely adores you

always tells you to look after him and junhoe blushing like a maniac

‘mom, i’m bigger than her. i think she’d need more protecting than me’

he turns red whenever you pinch his cheeks together 

ngl, he had a crush on you but it faded away when he saw another member having a crush on you too

hes scared of him so hed rather back off

but you love him a lot and comfort him bc hes a little baby that really needs to be looked after

Chanwoo:

fuck, so cute

at first, chanwoo ignored you and made sure you were uncomfortable

even going as far as to disrespecting you

like being rude and being un-chanwoo

lets just say yunhyeong beat it out of him

as the youngest member, you baby him the most

‘oh, my little baby!’

initially, he was uncomfortable with it 

but now, he lives for it

pouts when you give another member too much attention

teases you about your short height all the time

helps you grocery shop mainly for him to carry the bags

‘dont worry, noona. im strong’

you find out that chanwoo actually joined the group last and had a hard time fitting in

you used this to your advantage to get closer to him with your similar situations

‘you know, being in an unfamiliar environment is hard. but having someone who understands your feelings makes it easier’

and he just looks up to you with those big brown eyes and you just melt

gamer buddies

love to go to pc cafes even though yall have your own respective computers at home

only goes for the food

always calls him when you’re stuck in one level

*cute Hanbin’s voice*

‘CHANWOO-YAH!!!! JUNG CHANWOO!!!’

even though he might act like a bitch sometimes, hes actually so soft and cute

hes your little baby and will always be your little baby even though yall are like 80

[floral-on-main]

I Would Dye For You

Summary: Lydia needs to re-dye her hair. She gets some help from the resident Ghost with the Most. It goes surprisingly well, all things considered. A sequel to Back To My Roots (No ship!)

Also on ao3. Words: 2279

Getting the hair dye was easy enough. No petty theft or step-mother begging needed. All it took was to ask her dad to pick it up on a grocery run. Then 3 to 5 business days later, Lydia had her box of black dye in hand. She couldn't help but think back to Beej's off hand comment about dyeing his own hair. She had no idea why a demon with color changing hair would want to dye it, but it couldn't hurt to indulge him.

Yes it could. Lydia knew it could, but this seemed relatively harmless.

So on her next mother-daughter bonding activity with Delia the two went to the mall. Of course Delia had to check out the recently opened shop of Spiritual Wellness. And of course Lydia had to go into the store that was blaring metal music and lined with walls with even more metal. She passed by another row of piercings before coming across a lone stand of hair products.

On the shelf was brushes shaped like skulls, neon colored hair clips, animal eared headbands, and a sizable selection of hair dyes. The majority were various shades of black, but a couple stood out with obnoxious packaging and color. Green, red, blue, purple, all colors she had already seen on BJ. She doubt there would be much of an impact if his hair  didn't look any different. It was then she noticed a single box of pink dye stowed in the back behind the red.

Before she could second guess her actions, she purchased the bubblegum pink dye. Delia was near the entrance of the store perusing the crystal jewelry on display. From the look on her face, it seemed she didn't appreciate how almost none of the jewelry had actual stones and was just colored plastic. For once Lydia had to agree with her.

The ride home was quiet, almost pleasant. Lydia and Delia still didn't agree on most subjects, but they were growing closer. A family disaster would do that to people. Lydia now near that Delia wasn't naive or air-headed, just sickeningly optimistic.

As she raced inside Delia wished her the best of luck. It seemed Delia always had to get the last word in when parting. Lydia threw the door open to her room to find it thankfully empty. She knew Beetlejuice would show up eventually, but she didn't want his help right now. She placed the box of pink dye on her bed before grabbing the black dye from her wardrobe. Before leaving, she made sure to leave a note besides the dye that read 'For you. DO NOT EAT'.

Gloves on and brush in hand, Lydia was ready to rid herself of her loathsome roots. The only thing stopping her was the sound of moping on the other side of the bathroom door. Looks like Beej found her note. She took a deep, calming breath before kicking open the door. The sound of a surprised yelp soothed something primal inside her. Serves him right.

Lydia and Beej glared at each other in various states of ridiculousness. One knocked on his ass in a grungy suit, the other in a black stained floral robe and cheap plastic gloves.

“Give me ten minutes and then I'll do yours.”

Beej gave her a thumbs up. With that, she shut the door and made quick work of covering her roots. Beetlejuice leaned against the wall beside the door. He knew he was being a nuisance and he reveled in it. But he honestly did want her to finish up so he could get his hair done. God-slash-Satan, he really hoped the dye stuck in his hair. His suit could stain and he didn't want to look like he took a dip in Pepto Bismol. Never again.

The door opened just a sliver. Lydia's eye could be seen from the crack. Beej gave her big ol' puppy dog eyes, complete with dog tags and being housebroken. “Come in. Keep still or I <i> will</i> tell Delia that you're the reason her crystals have been going missing recently.”

“I told you that in confidence! But I understand where you're coming from.” With a snap of his fingers Beetlejuice was hogtied on the floor.

“Why are you like this?” She rolled her eyes while placing the box's contents on the counter. She donned the crappy gloves and mixed the dye with practiced skill. Beej hovered over her shoulder to see what she was doing, now free of his conjured bonds.

“Sit down, BJ. This is gonna take a while.” With a theatrical groan Beetlejuice sat on the edge of the bathtub.

Despite his normal jittery behavior, Beej managed to stay relatively skill as Lydia brushed in the heavily pigmented color. He even stayed quiet until Lydia was done. “Now we just have to wait,” she checked the box, “thirty minutes”.

That broke the flood gates and the two fell into their usual conversation topics. The main highlight being the chaos in the Deetz-Maitland household.

“I don't see why Chuck got so bent outta shape about Ginger visiting. Her dancing could use some work, but as far as spiders go, she's harmless.”

All Lydia could do was nod in agreement.

“She has nothing on that giant motherfucker Donna found in the closet.”

“Weren't you the one that put it in there?”

“Yeah, but that isn't the point, Lyds.”

Lydia washed her hair in the sink while continuing their conversation. “Bertha got braces recently.”

“What did she break? I didn't take her as the cool type.”

“Braces on her teeth, asshole. Also, breaking bones isn't cool. It's painful.”

“I've broken tons of bones in the name of a good time. You breathers got plenty of bones, doesn't matter if you break a couple.”

“Just because bones heal and carpets can be replaced doesn't mean we should go crazy stupid.” A brief moment passed. “We need to wait until we're alone, at least.”

The timer on Lydia's phone went off. She grabbed the shower head and brandished it it like a knife. “Now lean back so I can wash that excess out of your hair.”

His eyes narrowed. “Over my undead body.”

Just as he made a move to get up, his face was doused in lukewarm water. In that instant Beetlejuice resigned himself to, he shuddered, getting clean. Or his hair getting clean at least. Only two people could get him to willingly bathe and they were both dead.

After seven minutes, Beej was released to shake out his hair. Lydia was honestly surprised that no one came up to check on the sound of a cat being drowned. Looks like everyone had gotten somewhat desensitized to their shenanigans.

The time on her phone said dinner would be ready soon. Might as well head down now and get the questions out of the way. She met Beej at the end of the hall. How the fuck did he manage to get his hair dry already? Whatever, it's probably demon magic.

The dye seemed to be holding in pretty well. There wasn't a single splotch of pink on his hands or his suit. Could all dead people dye their hair? Was a demon thing, a demon that was alive for thirty seconds thing, or just a Beetlejuice thing?

The two descended the stairs in silence, after a quick shove match.

Delia was the first to notice the pair. She set the salad bowl alongside the plate of what looked like green spaghetti. She quickly took a seat with the rest of the adults, mentally preparing herself for whatever would come next. At the same time, Lydia and Beetlejuice prepared themselves for what the family had to say.

The most surprised actually seemed to be Delia. If she thought Lydia was going to use pink dye on herself Delia was delusional. Charles did a double take, but aside from that he didn't act out of the ordinary. It seemed he had already gotten used to the unusual happenings of his family. Lydia and Beetlejuice would have to set something on fire next week to keep him on his toes.

The Maitlands had absolutely no reaction. No gasps of surprise. No lecture about dyeing a violent demon's hair. Not even words of enthusiastic encouragement. The two ghosts just sat at the table and made polite conversation.

Beetlejuice took his now customary seat across from the Maitlands. The three dead members acted just like they normally did. That was somehow the most strange and abnormal thing Lydia had witnessed all day.

The food was tasty, even the pesto pasta. Of course Beej made a comment about its resemblance to moldy worms. Dinner as usual.

The semi-awkward, semi-peaceful silence was surprisingly broken by Charles. “Your hair looks exceptionally vibrant tonight, Mr. Juice.”

For some reason, Adam and Barbra broke into a fit of poorly concealed giggles. Lydia shot a confused look at Beej. He shrugged, but clearly knew something.

She pushed the salad around her plate, acting as nonchalant as possible. “I helped him dye it earlier.”

That got a reaction out of the Maitlands. They both looked confused and then looked at Beetlejuice. Hopefully their couple's telepathy wasn't rubbing off on him. It was weird enough how they always seemed to know what the other was thinking.

“I figured Beej wouldn't want a color he couldn't replicate naturally, so I picked up some bubblegum pink. It was obnoxious enough to fit his personality.” While everyone looked at Lydia, Beetlejuice stuck his tongue out at her.

The Maitlands got a twinkle in their eyes. Now a more common sight since Beetlejuice started hanging around. Adam said, “Pink is a good color on you, cuddlebug.” After that, Barbra either winked or had a muscle spasm in her eye.

For awhile she had figured her ghost-parents had a thing for Beej (she knew he certainly had a thing for them), but this was the final nail in the coffin. She wanted to gag. It felt wrong, but also right, which made it feel even more wrong.

Lydia was pulled from her thoughts by Barbra making a comment. “So it was just dye. And here we thought you were just happy to see us.”

It was with dawning horror that Lydia realized the Maitlands saw a different side of Beetlejuice than anyone else in the family. A more romantic and caring side. The comical sight of the nastiest dead guy she knew with pink hair wasn't worth it anymore. She would never get back her childhood innocence.

After that dinner passed in a blurry haze. Before she knew it, Lydia was back in her room actually looking forward to doing homework. It was mind numbing work, but it was the perfect thing to take her mind off the romantic relationships of her family members.

Things were changing. Like the rug had been pulled out from under her. What if Beetlejuice wouldn't want to hang out with her anymore? What if the Maitlands stopped helping her with homework? Lydia knew it was irrational. Her family loved her and always would. But deep down a dark feeling grew somewhere behind her diaphragm. It was a sick feeling. One that told her she would be unneeded, unwanted. That her family would move on and forget about her.

As if on cue Beetlejuice appeared in her room, hair still as pink as when she first dyed it. He was smiling an impossibly wide toothy smile. Something was behind his back.

“Ta Da!” He held out a box wrapped in pinstriped paper. A slime green bow completed the look. “Happy six month friend anniversary!”

Lydia took the small box from his open hands. A whole different type of tears threatened to spill. She hastily ripped off the paper and ribbon to reveal a matte black box underneath. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she removed the lid.

Inside, nestled among red satin, was a switchblade. She picked it up. The engraving on the handle's side immediately caught her attention. In curvy sliver writing it said, 'BFFFFs Forever'. She felt something warm bloom in her chest. Time to deflect with sarcasm. “ You do know you just gave me an implement to stab you with, dumbass.”

“Well, I was hoping you would stab other people. Y'know, for when I can't be there to protect you, ya little gremlin.” He reached out to ruffle her hair, a nasty habit picked up from Adam, but she managed to quickly move away.

With a pout Beetlejuice pulled his hand back. “Glad you liked the gift, scarecrow.” He tugged at his collar as if to stall for time. “And thanks for dyeing my hair. It really means a lot to me.” After that almost heartfelt confession he switched gears to cover up his vulnerability.

He patted down the lapels of his suit, slicked back his pink hair, and placed a hand over where his heart would be. “Now if you excuse me, A-Dog and B-Town wanted to speak to me about something. If you hear groaning and chains rattling just ignore it.” And with the toss of a smoke bomb, Beetlejuice was gone.

If Beej mentioned anything about his sex life she was definitely going to make use of that switchblade. Good thing his brain to mouth filter recently got an upgrade called Maitlands 2.0.

It seemed like some things never changed. Damn being alive was hard, but it didn't seem like being dead would be that different. Lydia just had to stick around and see.

[alarawriting]

Inktober #2: Mindless

The patient was sitting on the table, dressed in a hospital gown, looking deeply irritated. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I wanted to go to Five Guys,” he said. “Why didn’t you take me to Five Guys?”

The woman with him – close to the same age, late 20’s or early 30’s – sighed. She sounded exasperated. “Greg, we have talked about this. You’re here because—”

“You know, there’s a great sale on fishing gear at Walmart. I could be at Walmart right now buying fishing gear.”

“You don’t even fish!”

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Dr. Park. What brings you here today?”

“Nothing!” Greg Landers, my patient, said. He was a white guy with brown hair and stubble on his face, medium build, and looked overall reasonably healthy. “I’m fine! I just want to go to Five Guys. Or you know, Charles Schwab is a great place to open up your 401K. They’ve got a satisfaction guarantee. You won’t see that at every investment firm!”

“He’s been like this for days,” the woman with him said. “He won’t go to work, he won’t do chores around the house… he eats, but he spends the whole time complaining that it’s not some restaurant he wants to go to. Mostly Five Guys. Greg doesn’t even like burgers that much.”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced, Ms.--?”

“Oh, I’m Nicole Landers. I’m Greg’s wife.” I’d figured it was something like that.

“So tell me about Greg’s online activities. Do you know what he’s been doing lately?”

“Playing Hell War!” Greg said eagerly. “It doesn’t cost any money to play! I want to know if I have what it takes to beat the Lords of Hell!”

Nicole sighed again. “Two weeks ago you were telling me that Hell War was a cheap cash grab and that it’s impossible to win without spending your entire paycheck on in-app purchases. Also you’ve never liked mobile games.”

“Has he played any VR games recently?”

“Are we done here? I am really jonesing for some Five Guys. And then we can go over to Walmart!”

“Oh, yeah,” Nicole said. “We both play Fimbulwinter – that’s a survival game about a post-apocalyptic world plunged into eternal winter – and La Vie en Verte, that’s virtual gardening. He also plays Beyond the Blue Event Horizon, that’s a space game, but I’m not into that so much.”

Time to be politic. “Do you think he might ever have played a… well, a porn sim? Or been on a site for pirating games?”

“You know, I think I want my next car to be a Hyundai Annunciator. Those cars are slick. And they handle like anything, even in bad weather! And the mileage before recharge, wow. Amazing batteries on those guys!”

To my surprise, Nicole laughed. “Oh, yeah, Greg does porn sims. He’s bi and genderfluid, so he likes to go online in a female avatar and have sex with dudes. Not really my thing, but he lets me watch if I want.” My shock must have shown on my face. “What? It’s the 21st century, you think I’m one of those women who clutches pearls and has the vapors if my husband plays porn games? I can’t be a man for him and I’m too straight to want him when he’s wearing femmy clothes, but the porn sim can give him those things without him exposing himself to diseases or other risks by going with real people.”

While Nicole was explaining this, Greg told us what upcoming movies he thought were going to be “really awesome”, repeated his request for Five Guys, tried to explain the plot of Hell War in five-word sentences that were plainly marketing material, and talked about the lawnmower he wanted. Nicole rolled her eyes as he finished. “Greg, we live in an apartment. We don’t even have a lawn!”

“We could go to Century 21 and shop for a house! I know their agents will put us first.”

“And why would we want to do that?”

“So we can have a lawn! The Home Depot sells the best grass seed—”

He went on like this, but I stopped listening. “I don’t need to check anything else, Nicole. I’m sorry. Your husband’s become a zombie.”

“A what?” Nicole looked horrified. Belatedly I realized that just because she played VR games and was open-minded about her husband’s porn habit didn’t mean she was IT-savvy enough to know what I was talking about.

“Sorry, that’s not the medical term for them. He’s still alive, and physically he’s fine. But mentally, his consciousness isn’t operating his body. His brain’s been hijacked by an information virus.”

“An information virus? And what’s that got to do with zombies?”

“An information virus is like a computer virus for people. And we call people infected with this type ‘zombies’ because they’re not actually conscious.”

Nicole looked at Greg, who was animatedly explaining why TGIFriday was the best sit-down restaurant, ever, but Five Guys was in a league of its own. “He looks pretty conscious to me.”

“Ask yourself, Nicole, when Greg is normally conscious, does he spend his entire time sounding like a series of poorly mastered YouTube commercials?”

“No, that’s why I brought him here!”

“Right. The human brain can do an amazing lot of stuff without being conscious of it. You ever set out to drive a certain way, but part of it goes the way you usually do to a different destination, and you find that without paying attention you’ve somehow managed to drive halfway to the place you usually go rather than the place you’re trying to get to?”

“I hardly ever drive. We have self-driving cars.”

I controlled the impulse to sigh. That one was the best explanation. “Ok, well, if you think about how you type on a keyboard – when you start, you’re awkward and you’re hunting and pecking. But it gets to the level of muscle memory and you can just do it, without having to consciously think about it. Or mastering the controls for a new game.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“I wanna go home and watch CSI: Racial Justice Unit! That is the best show on television today. You know it won an Emmy last year, right?”

“Greg’s brain has been hijacked by an information virus that compels him to advertise for maybe up to 40 different brands that he’s aware of. He probably caught the virus on a porn site; that or an illegal pirated game site, those are usually the biggest vectors. Some of those brands might be aware that the advertisers they’re working with are engaged in really shady practices like this, but most think they’re paying for ‘brand ambassadors’ who’ve voluntarily chosen to talk up the brand to their family and friends. The virus lets him do anything you can do without being conscious, and it turns out, that’s a lot more than people think it is. But right now he has no sense of rational judgement, his normal levels of compassion and empathy are almost entirely turned off, and he has no awareness that everything he says is an advertisement.”

“So – what can we do? Is it curable? Is he suffering? Oh, God, is he trapped inside his own mind while his body is running around spouting ads?”

“No. The real Greg, his actual consciousness, isn’t awake – that’s kind of what happens when people aren’t conscious. And yes, it’s very curable. I’m going to have him sit in this booth with a VR headset on and watch a detoxification protocol, and that should do the trick.”

“It won’t hurt him, will it?”

“No, not at all. It just nullifies the virus and wakes him up.”

“Ok. Let’s do that then.”

“Mr. Landers!” I interrupted his monologue about the Hyundai Annunciator. “Can you sit in this chair and put on this headset, please?”

“But I’m really hungry. I want Five Guys.”

“I think Nicole would be happy to take you to Five Guys after you watch this short VRdeo. Isn’t that right, Nicole?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” From her expression I could tell she would rather swallow a live earthworm, but anything to get him to sit down and watch.

“Well, okay. Long as I can have Five Guys after.” Greg sat down in the chair, I put the headset on him, and for ten minutes, that was that. I talked to Nicole about the importance of strong antivirals on the VR headset, not just relying on your network firewall, and maybe running a quick one-minute detox scan after ending a game.

The timer beeped, and I removed Greg’s headset. “How do you feel, Greg?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess, but I still want to go get Five Guys. Hey, Nickie, you promised, can we leave now?”

My eyebrows went up. “That’s… unusual.”

“It didn’t work?” Nicole was clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

“It didn’t, but calm down. This just means I have to go to the next level and do a manual treatment. That’s going to take a while, but I’m really curious as to how this particular bug survived the detox, so I tell you what; if you can wait, I have, I think, three more patients on the schedule for today, and then we can do Greg’s treatment.” Normally I’d ask them to make a second appointment for a thing like this, but my detox VRdeo was brand new, just updated yesterday. I wanted to see what kind of bug could get through a brand new scan, and I didn’t want to wait until next week or whenever my calendar was clear enough for a half hour session.

“I… guess we can wait…”

“Well, if we’re not doing anything, then how about we go to Five Guys?”

“Just take him,” I said. “It might shut him up for a little while, and it’s not likely to do him any harm.”

“But Greg doesn’t even like burgers.”

“Greg Landers the human man with a unique intelligence and personality doesn’t like burgers. Greg the Zombie, the cookie-cutter advertising goon, does. Unless he’s got allergies or sensitivities and can’t eat burgers—”

“No, he just doesn’t like them.” Nicole looked at her feet. “I… guess I could take him. When do we have to be back?”

I gave her my best estimate of how long it was going to take to get through the last three patients, and then as I walked them to the door I let the receptionist know to expect them back.

***

Once they were back, I sat Greg down with an interactive VRdeo that I’d be running with him, and then sat down and put on my own headset.

The information viruses work by directly injecting “code” from the brain’s “operating system” through either the optic or auditory channels, or both, but you don’t perceive them as code. You perceive them as something else. I don’t know what Greg saw – for everyone it’s different – but for me, it was very brief flashes of something I could barely see, something dark and full of wrongness, accompanied by a very brief flash of panic and horror. My brain knows when something’s trying to invade it from the outside. But my headset had the newest antivirals on it and the best, most sophisticated dedicated firewall, so for me the code injection attempts were just that, attempts.

The VRdeo that was running was highly interactive, keyed to produce full sensorium response – a perfect breeding ground for a zombie virus. Greg’s viruses couldn’t resist the opportunity to replicate and invade someone else. But that was not happening today. As the viruses struck out at me, my security grappled with them, analyzed them, and fed me images that in turn I could feed back to Greg that would neutralize that particular virus.

When we were finished, I once again asked him, “How do you feel, Greg?”

He was looking around in bewilderment. “This… is a doctor’s office? How the hell did I even get here? Did I pass out or something, Nickie?”

“Oh, thank God!” Nicole said.

“Looks like that did the trick,” I said. “Make sure you run antivirals, like I said. Good ones, don’t skimp on the cost. If you’ve got the money to game, you’ve got the money to protect yourself while gaming.”

“Thank you, Doctor, you’re a wonder—”

“What the hell is going on? What was wrong with me?”

I let Nicole explain to her husband as they walked out the door, and I locked up for the night. It’d been a long day, and I was hungry. I could really go for some Five Guys.

[momentofmemory]

it’s almost the end of october, which means one of the greatest, most terrifying exploits known to writers is upon us: NaNoWriMo.

there are plenty of super good survival posts out there, but as this’ll be my seventh time participating (six wins, hoping for a seventh), i thought i’d drop my own set of tips into the mix. i’m going to focus mostly on the practical details of how to write; if you want tips on the writing itself either search the writing/reference tags or pester me to do another one later :P with that said, ~on with the post~

Step One: Figure Out Your Goal

i know, i know, obviously it’s to write 50k, but what does that mean to you? are you expecting

polished prose, ready to send off to a publisher?

being able to write every day? 

just throwing up a bunch of ideas?

a mix of everything?

all of these are valid, but they’re going to require different approaches. if you want jaw-dropping writing, you’re going to need in the ballpark of five or more hours each day, if not more. if you want consistency, you’ll want to look at your normal schedule and set up a couple times you know you can write at. if just you want words, pretty much all you need to make sure is that you squeeze writing time in whenever.

your goal will probably change as the month progresses, and that’s totally fine. just check in every so often to remember a)what you’re working for and b)if it’s actually plausible. speaking of...

Step Two: Realize Your Limitations

1. Typing.

imma get super practical here: your typing speed dictates how fast you can get done. if you write 40wpm (the average), you cannot write the full 1667 in a half hour any more than you can run a mile in under three minutes. it’s honestly not a bad idea to check out your own speed, if only to help you understand yourself better. in my experience, actual writing then works like this (using my max speed, 89, as an example):

Absolute Max: 89 wpm (baseline)

Warring: 70 (75% of baseline)

In the zone: 45 (50% of baseline)

Taking my time, concentrated: 22 (25% of baseline)

anything lower than your max/4 probably means you’re spending a lot of time either researching or staring at the page, so just be aware of that.

2. Time & Focus

this kinda goes without saying, but best case scenario this is at least 1-2 hours of your life a day, or dedicating full Saturday/Sundays if you’re a weekend warrior kind of person. it’s so, so worth it if you can make time for it, but also don’t feel bad if you can’t! doing a half nano (25k) or whatever you want is also a fully acceptable plan.

that said, if you do have time, figure out your focus too. if you’ve never been the kind of person that can type for six hours straight, you will probably not magically become this person when it hits Nov. 1 (though with practice, you might be by Nov. 30). i like trying to write at least 300 before work and another 300 during lunch. that way there’s only 1k left for the evening, and having words on the page just makes me feel better. experiment with different ways of blocking out your time in the first few days and see what works best for you.

3. Don’t Forget You Live in a Body

writing is hard work, you will need to eat brain food! hunching over wrecks your back, stand up and stretch every so often! you will hate existing if you forgo sleep for days! and for the love of charles dickens, patron saint of getting paid by the word, take care of your mother-effing wrists!!

seriously on that last one. i’ve ignored it in the past and thoroughly screwed up my wrists one year; don’t be me. keep in them in a neutral position, do regular stretches, and if you need to, get wrist wraps (i recommend these).

Step Three: Actually Doing the Thing

the previous steps have had pretty broad advice, but now it’s time to get down to the nitty-gritty. these are mostly things i know work for me, and therefore may not for you—adjust to your own needs!

1. Write for 15 Minutes Every Day, Non-Negotiable.

i don’t even mean this is a “write 15 min and then your brain will be tricked into writing more” kinda way, but like, literally. you’re probably not going to be able to do 1667 every day—sometimes you’ll be tired and just won’t have the time. you’re very likely, however, to have 15 minutes, and you’ll want to use them. Doesn’t matter if you write 50 words or 500 in that time, at least you’ll have done something, and that’s usually enough to keep you from feeling like just giving up the next day.

2. You Might Need Physical Spaces

i’m a pretty sensory person when it comes to writing, and having a dedicated writing space is so helpful for me. going back to the idea of being an embodied person, it’s a lot easier to get your brain into a writing mode if your body’s already there. some good options include:

coffee shops (cozy! food!)

a specific room in your home (easily accessed! do what you want!)

libraries (free! quiet!)

a friend’s house (writing buddy! easy access to sounding board!)

all of these places usually have access to wifi, which is a positive.

3. You Definitely Need Digital Spaces

i pretty much always write in the same processor, once again because it helps set the mood. the main options include:

google drive (solid choice, cloud backup, mobile accessible)

dabble writer (cloud backup, links to nano, dark mode, chapter options)

write or die (only for actual writing—a scary but effective motivator; save elsewhere)

word/pages/etc. (ready to go on your computer, formatting options)

scrivener (great plotting tools, detailed interface)

i use dabble writer myself (they’re a nano sponsor, so you can get it free for this month, and as a double bonus you get it half off for the rest of the year if you win). and no, i’m not getting paid to wax poetic about them, but honestly i’ve used it to win the past two years and i adore it. 

anyway my biggest tip here is that i SUPER SUPER DON’T RECOMMEND NON-CLOUD OPTIONS. it’s very risky, but if you must, do a proper back up at least once a week. that shiz is not worth it.

4. The Timer is Your New Best Friend

because i’ve heard this argument before: no, it’s not a crutch, and no, it’s not cheating. it’s literally best practices. i’m personally a big fan of this online timer, and i let it run for 15 min every time i write. after each session i check how many words i wrote, then after maybe a quick 1-2 min break, start over.

you can totally set the timer for longer or shorter periods, depending on what works for you. i’m a fan of the 15 min sessions bc it’s just long enough to get a bit of flow going, and just short enough that i can convince my spacy brain that we can get through it without wandering. it’s also a fantastic length for warring, if you’re down for that.

5. Write That Idea Down for Lewis’s Sake

the original idea for the chronicles of narnia came to c.s. lewis when he was at a restaurant, and thank the lord, he wrote it down on a napkin. he wouldn’t write it until some time later, but if he hadn’t written it down, he might’ve forgotten it. why is this important, you ask?

BC YOU WILL FORGET THINGS.

if you have an idea, write it down in your phone or your notebook or the waterproof paper in your shower, because i don’t care how sure you are that you’ll remember it, you super won’t. i’ve forgotten many solutions to plot holes in my time and i still hold vigils over their graves. don’t be me. write it down.

Step Four: Managing that Inner Critic of Yours

all right, pay attention. i’m not going to tell you not to edit, because i would be a massive hypocrite if i did. i totally edit during nano. the important part is letting your editor help you win, not hurt you. and that means gaming your critic’s system.

1. Have a Dedicated Deletion Section

many people hear “don’t delete anything” and baulk, because for some of us it’s distracting and we want to rewrite that section until it matches our vision. so, i’m here to tell you: delete it!! rewrite entire chapters!! just save the original content as part of your word count. this is another reason i love dabble, bc at the start of nano i just make a separate part of the book, label it “delete”, and any time i’m writing and dislike a sentence/paragraph i just dump it into that folder and move on. this way you still get to keep the numbers (and why shouldn’t you? you wrote them!) while also writing words you actually like. plus, sometimes that line you deleted in ch. 1 winds up being supremely pertinent in ch.15, and now you can just copy/paste it instead of having to try to remember what exactly you’d said.

2. Acknowledge Ranting as a Time Honoured Tradition

think there’s no precedent for that 2K diatribe you wrote on the london underground? well fear not, because you can’t possibly do worse than hugo’s entire chapters worth of content on the french sewer system! or melville’s frankly terrifying obsession with the finer features of whale biology!

like, yeah, maybe you’ll decide later you don’t need it, but for now, embrace that soap box. dead white guys have been doing it for centuries and still get places in college syllabi. the least you can do is give it a place in your word count.

Step Five: Have Fun!

i know, i know, it’s cliche, but seriously. if this isn’t fun, or at least rewarding, why are you doing it anyway? so enjoy it! send passages you’re proud of to your friends! daydream about it in the car on the way to work/school! cry over a notebook about the twist you just came up with! nano’s a time of fun and exploration, and you shouldn’t miss out on it because you’re thinking too much.

also, this might be counter productive to put at the end of an essay on nano, but don’t obsess over reading essays on nano :P there comes a time when one must simply do, and nano is pretty much the definition of that.

[carnalsociety-rpg]

HEY UPPER EAST SIDER, WELCOME TO CARNAL SOCIETY

Charles, you’ve been accepted as Eric van der Woodsen with Hunter Parrish as your faceclaim. Congrats! Please read through our checklist and turn in your account within 24 hours.

                    THIS I KNOW, THE BEST IS YET TO COME.

- - - WHO AM I - - - OOC Information.

Name/Alias: Charles Preferred pronouns: she/her Age: 25 Timezone: CET Triggers: /

- - - THAT’S ONE SECRET I’LL NEVER TELL - - - IC Information.

Name: Eric van der Woodsen Age: 29 Gender: Male Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: Gay Faceclaim: Hunter Parrish Occupation:  Socialite / Patron of the Lincoln Center

Headcanons:

* (tw: suicide, drugs) Eric’s first struggle with addiction started at the tender age of fifteen, triggered by a newspaper picture of his father with his new wife and her child. A child he hadn’t abandoned. It was tough, and he reached a low just after his seventeenth birthday when he slit his wrists because the world was just too much. Luckily, it was also a turning point, and right now the different sobriety chips displayed in the living room are the most prominent reminder (and warning) of that dark time.

* He is determined to live a different life than that of the ‘adults’ he grew up with, always stressed and always working and never taking time to stop and just be, which is a revelation he has been living for the past five years. As such,next to the unavoidable “acte de présence’s” that are required of him because he’s a van der Woodsen, Eric spends his time attending ballets and operas at the Lincoln center, as well as occasionally helping his mother out when she calls and says she needs him. He knows that he doesn’t want to be unemployed for his entire life, but since there’s no financial pressure, he’s taking things one day at a time and taking all the time he needs to figure out just what exactly he wants to do.

* Even though Eric came out as gay a few years ago, he still hasn’t actually had a boyfriend. In fact, it seems that the ease with which he could charm girls turned into a clunky awkwardness when it comes to guys, to the point where he eventually kind of gave up, hoping that this carelessness would ease his nerves a little bit. He’s had some ‘one night kisses’, as he refers to them, but that’s about where it ends.

* Eric spent three years in Hawaii following his time in college, engulfing himself in the local culture and working odd jobs at the beach whenever he felt like it. While still living what the general public would consider to be a lavish lifestyle, it was simple and sober for Eric, who had never before lived with less than two maids. An elegant two-bedroom bungalow overlooking the ocean offered all that he needed and more, but for the first time he truly felt like he was living alone, without any interference from his mother (or even his sister), and it was that knowledge that made him feel like he was on his own for the first time, getting by because of no one else but himself (and a cleaning lady who visited once a week. He was finding himself, but he still had standards). He looks back to that time happily, and would move there in a heartbeat if it didn’t mean leaving his friends and family behind (especially his sister).

* (tw: suicide, scars) Eric barely ever wears short-sleeved shirts. It’s not so much that he’s ashamed of his past, of what he went through, but it’s not exactly a ‘just met’ conversation topic, and he also doesn’t want to be reminded of it all the time, nor does he want the people he loves to be reminded of it either. It can get quite ridiculous in the New York summer heat, but when people comment on it he can usually sway the conversation with a smile and some type of white lie.

* During his time in Hawaii, Eric fell in love with yoga and surfing, which help ease his mind and body in times of stress. Surfing in New York isn’t easy, but he practices yoga regularly and escapes to the Hamptons whenever the weather allows to ‘catch some waves’.  He hasn’t found a studio that he likes enough to really stick to it, instead mostly opting to practice at home, but he does feel that it has had a positive effect on his nerves, his mindfulness, and his overall ability to remain calm in stressful situations (which he tries to avoid at all costs anyway).

Associations:

a contagious smile, complicated family relationships masked by a wall of happy-looking pictures, crispy-clean white ironed shirts, a fridge stockful of colorful fruit juices, dark nights brightened by Christmas rom coms and hot chocolate year round, fidgeting with sobriety chips at dinner galas, long hikes into beautiful woods and deep breaths in the middle of wide open fields, an old and faded macrame bracelet reminiscent of a vacation long past.

Secret:

[REDACTED]

- - - YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME - - -

I made a Pinterest board, but it’s really early stages so please don’t judge too much by that! You can find it here.

I also made a timeline of his life, which you can find here (make sure you zoom in).

[leggigoesabroad]

we’re only here on borrowed time

Sitting on a lovely, smooth, high-speed train from Nuremberg, Germany to Paris.  Yesterday was a day from hell which I'll lightly get into but not dwell on, but for now, I'm so happy.  I'd be remiss to not mention why!!  Part of the reason I decided to book the train instead of flying from Prague to Paris was for many uninterrupted hours to listen to this new book my doctor recommended for me, called "Stress Less, Accomplish More" but Emily Fletcher.  It obviously sounds like a typical self-help book, but I have a crush on my doctor and she really sold it for me.  (BTW she's no older than like, 32, is married with two kids, super pretty, and totally gets me.  She's very female-centric and one time said 'I'll never let you leave here without a prescription for more birth control, we will never let the system be the reason you're struggling with something' after asking if I had enough for the foreseeable future.  Joke's on her, I'm single AF, but it really spoke to me.)  She said it's a book about meditation and although I've tried meditating before, I am a little bit of a natural skeptic as to allllllllll of its listed benefits.  She said this super simple technique helps you sleep better, greatly reduces anxiety/depression, get sick less often, be more effective at work, eliminate jet lag, on and on.  She said she honestly can't say enough about it and it completely changed her life.  I took this as a way to be more like her and immediately bought it.  Also because I wanted her to like me.  Incidentally, she texted me a few days ago inviting me to a new women's group she's developing for people in my demographic who are going through the same things.  Because like of COURSE she did!! She also tells me to call her Casey instead of by "Doctor" and man I should stop now this is getting weird.

Anyway, this book is by an ex-Broadway performer who noticed she was going grey at age 28 (cough cough I am too) and was sick of all the medications she used to treat these symptoms and wanted to get more at the root.  She talks about how simple this meditation method is - 15 minutes twice a day - and how it is literally the best thing she's ever done for herself in her life.  After her course, she asks people how much money it would take to stop meditating.  They all say something between "500 million dollars" and "no amount of money in the world, because what would be the point without everything else meditation gives me?"  I booked the train so I could set aside several hours to listen to the book, especially on this trip, because we all know from the Thailand blog era that being far away in new countries is often what helps me make decisions in life and really self-reflect.  Yes, I hear how extra that sounds, but I'm fine with it.  I'm only on Chapter 5 and I keep intermittently crying!!  We haven't even gotten to the part where she tells me HOW to meditate!  Just her background on why it works and the entire theory behind it.  The author talks about one case in which a guy with advanced Parkinson's started her sessions and after literally the first one, his tremors disappeared during the entire 15 minutes and for 5 minutes after.  She said when they both opened their eyes he asked if she had noticed, and she said she did, and started crying because it was arguably the most profound moment of her career.  I'm crying typing this.  Ugh.  She doesn't claim that meditation will cure chronic illnesses of course, but rather that it's the best thing one can possibly do to supplement medical instruction and for some ailments, it can indeed end up replacing them.  She said after she started the practice, she didn't get sick again (cold, flu, anything) for EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS!!  Because when the body can use sleep at night to fully rest and not just as a band-aid for stress relief, your immune system can work at its intended level and not allow any of these small things to come into play.  You'd think I'd be getting paid for this post, but alas, I'm only 5 chapters in and get ready for me to be even more insufferable than usual when I get home.

Onward.  Last I left off I was in a cafe with Lizzy in Prague.  We stayed for a few hours and actually got a lot of work done!  Turns out my freelance deadlines don't disappear when I go to Europe, hmm.  We then walked to an area called Petrin, which from afar just looks like a tree-covered hill.  It's actually an uphill path in an expansive park that ultimately overlooks the entire city of Prague.  The more we went up, I kept thinking "we must be at the top by now" and then new buildings and castles and paths and orchards would appear.  It felt like a hidden fairyland with twists and turns and new beautiful sights along the way.  I posted a pic on the gram, but at one point we came to a clearing and there was a picture-perfect snapshot of the entire city through the trees.  With the red roofs and striking architecture I again almost felt like crying.  Also saw a bunch of couples making out in the orchards with no shame all, so that was something.  Good on 'em, ay.  We stopped for a glass of wine at the top (duh) and ended up chatting about work/management styles/feelings about jobs/etc.  Something great about Lizzy is that it turns out for everything I'm interested in, she's in grad school for.  I felt like she was the manifestation of all things fascinating to me.  Kinda like when you meet someone really smart who is able to vocalize all the things you feel about things, but better.  Like Hilary, but not my sister.  Like Jay Wong, but not my boss!  We talked about Kitty and her job search and then got into the concept of finding a job by figuring out what you love and what comes naturally to you, and then seeing how you can get paid for it.  She loved hearing about Kitty and SpotX and the proposal she had to do about team-building and customer engagement, and we chatted all about different marketable skills.  I remember crying to Hil many years ago (Hil if you read this, do you remember??) about how I *thought* I was smart but I hated studying/learning/school and my grades reflected that, and how I've squandered all my potential, I'm actually really dumb, etc.  BTW in retrospect I now see a lot of that as my undiagnosed ADHD and I wish I had understood it earlier to get ahead of it, but it's okay.  Hil at the time told me that she may have great grades and a good job, etc., but that she can't walk into a room and command attention or just become friends with everyone, and that skills come in all shapes and sizes and one isn't better than another.  I'M GETTING EMOTIONAL AGAIN.  Remember when my blogs used to be carefree and funny?  Me either.

After that, Lizzy and I walked all through the grounds of the Prague Castle and wound our way down the hill to the Charles Bridge, and stopped for another drink.  Then we got into a whole discussion about relationships and sexuality.  Later, when we were hanging out with her husband, Rob, I found myself saying over and over: "It's like what Lizzy and I were talking about earlier..." and he was like "how did you guys somehow talk about EVERYTHING today?!"  Females, man.  Eventually she went back to her place to shower and I checked into my Airbnb across the street.  Got SO EXHAUSTED and almost fell dead asleep while waiting for her before dinner, but rallied, and so glad I did.  We took the tram up the hill to a nice restaurant for dinner, then went to an Irish pub to watch the Liverpool/Barcelona game.  No one there remembered the epic call from 2010 World Cup that Ned and I quote all the time, but hey, we do and that's what counts. ("AND YOU COULD NOT WRITE... A STORY LIKE THIS.")  We got there at halftime and were ordering drinks at the bar when a guy sitting at the bar was a real dick and says to me and Lizzy, "just so you know, when the game's on again, you've gotta move.  I sat here on purpose for a good view, so make sure you move." Then turned to his partner and we could clearly hear him saying things like, "Fuckin' ridiculous they're standing right there during the game... I'm not going to let that happen... no fuckin' way" Um, a) it's half time. b) it's a bar and we're at the bar ordering drinks. c) WE KNOW. d) fuck off.  He kept talking about us after we moved and she and I briefly thought about starting shit but you know, foreign country and all that.  Luckily he was cheering for Liverpool and they got stomped in the second half to lose the game and we rejoiced. :)

Went to a weird, dark "Books" bar after that and we were almost the only people there.  There were condoms in the bathroom and I took one as a joke to show Rob and Lizzy, but now it's still in my bag and freaks me out every time I reach for my Chapstick.  We went back to their house afterwards and I kid you not, just watched Harry Styles videos.  Turns out they both love him, especially Rob, which is so rich to me.  He was like "this guy is just like coolness personified and he's so talented and he's weirdly attractive in kind of a feminine way but also masculine and he has such a nice voice and swagger...." you'd think I planted Rob to say this to me, but no.  We watched the entirety of his Carpool Karaoke as I told them all of my favorite parts ("I was back middle." "Why am I always Julia Roberts??" "I cry in like, a cool way.")  It's like when someone says to me, "you know, I'd love to know more about the meanings behind Taylor Swift's songs but I never learned, what are all of the albums about?" And I look around expecting that I'm being Punk'd.  Parted ways with them and thanked them for everything and told them I was very grateful for our summer camp relationship.  You know, the kind that is intensely strong, and very brief.  I may never see them again and yet we spent 15 hours straight together on Wednesday and I had one of the best days ever.  See you in another life, brotha.

A series of hiccups led to a very stressful morning on Thursday that I won't fully get into because my poor family already lived through it with me via WhatsApp... but it started with extreme random nausea, (the kind you have a serious internal talk with yourself about: "no.  you are okay.  take deep, slow breaths.  do not throw up here.  you are completely fine, this will pass.  breathe.  you're not sick.  this is just random.  you cannot throw up here.") and then I got on what was supposed to be a train from Prague to Nuremberg with a stop in Schwandorf, but there was a service interruption on the first leg and everyone knew but me.  Probably because everyone speaks Czech and I, ya know, do not.  BTW so far Czech is the least intuitive language I've ever come across.  I could read an entire book in it and wouldn't be able to give you even the slightest context, like you can with French/Spanish/German.  I know, romance languages and all that, but man I really underestimated how important it is to know some of the language when you're traveling through remote towns.  I notice everyone in Plzen has gotten off the train and I think "well that's weird, but maybe they're all local commuters."  A lady comes by and yells at me to get off, I say, "English?" She says, "NO.  Bus." and shoos me off.  In the panic I forget my suitcase from where I stored it - thank the heavens above, it was still there when I realized 15 minutes later and fought my way back on a closed train.  I have such PTSD today and can't fathom what would have happened if the train had left.  Imagine my suitcase just taking off on a train to the Czech countryside by itself.  Zero percent chance I get that back.  Work computer, my treasured leather jacket from Kathy that I swear I'd save in a fire, all of my toiletries and pills and prescriptions...ugh I can't even think about it.

No one spoke English except for a kind man at the info desk who spoke very little, and gave me directions ("directions" is a loose term here, I did a lot of critical thinking and problem solving to vaguely understand what I was supposed to be doing next) to take a bus in an hour that would take me to Stod, where I could then catch my train to Schwandorf and hopefully ultimately Nuremberg.  After a series of mishaps and incredible uncertainty, eventually all of that happened.  I walked into the hotel in Nuremberg and almost kissed the floor.  I had big plans to wake up early and explore, but alas, I'm embarrassed to admit that all I did in Nuremberg was buy some wine/chocolate/gummy bears and stay in all night and sleep late this morning.  Bodies need rest, y'all.  My audiobook author would tell me that my body is in recovery mode after releasing an unnatural amount of adrenaline and cortisol.  NEVERTHELESS SHE PERSISTED!

I'll be staying with rig friend Angie and her family in Paris, and seeing rig Aaron there too.  He messaged me yesterday and said, "so do you want to see museums and such? Or I can show you my favorite brasseries?" I said, "I've been to Paris, I'd just like to day drink honestly."  Luckily he is on board, shawoooooooo.  Oddly there's no WiFi on this train like they said there would be, but it's not that bad because it's so smooth and comfortable and I still have my audiobook.  Will post this blog sometime later when the WiFi shows up.  Cross your fingers that I get the romantic countryside train ride I pined for.  And happy weekend!!!