#Most of these pages are like six months old I'm so sorry

[agent-8449]

I : Sweetbrier

First || Next

Happy first year anniversary to the comic Voice of Reason!

#my comics #voice of reason #my art #cccc #Most of these pages are like six months old I'm so sorry #my god. The eighth page isn't done but I am TRYING #I wanted them all done before I started posting but it just wasn't feasible #chonny jash #golden delicious

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

Okay. Let's talk, QSMPblr, because I want to talk.

The Brazilian side of this fandom is actually insane. If nobody else has said it yet (which I highly doubt, but I'll put it out there anyway), then I will.

You guys are some of the smartest, most die-hard, committed fans I've met. And you're insanely positive, which might seem like a weird thing to say, but I feel like I've seen it anyway. On that note.

I've talked about this fanfiction in the past, so if you saw that post, you'll know what I'm getting into here. But I want to delve into this a bit more.

'The Reason' by Nan_Yelo is the most kudosed work of fanfiction in Brazilian Portuguese, period. It is in a fandom that has only existed since March of 2023, up against the translated version of the most kudosed fanfiction on AO3 (All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 translated into All the Young Dudes by wolfuckingstar) and multiple other fandoms and fanfictions that have existed far, far longer. Every time I find the fanfic again, I am continuously flabbergasted that it got to where it was.

However, its placement in kudos is not its only astonishing accomplishment. I've talked about it's kudos. I've lamented and waxed poetry about its kudos until the night turned to day and I reached my mental QSMP limit (which is astonishingly high, might I say). But the kudos are not the only place where 'The Reason' has done astonishingly well.

Clocking in 88,844 words, 128 comments (including one of my own, awkwardly gushing about the fanfiction in English because my Portuguese can let me say the word 'cheese' and 'I don't speak Portuguese, sorry'), 143 bookmarks, 35,035 hits, and probably most notably, 1,628 kudos, 'The Reason' is honestly a record-breaking fanfiction in more ways than one.

It is about a fandom that has only existed since March of 2023, and about a duo that really only came around in April of that same year.

It is the tenth most kudosed fanfiction under the QSMP tag, which I think is actually insane. Officially, the QSMP has thirty-four streamers displayed on its members page, plus Quackity's Spanish channel and the straight up QSMP streaming account. Of this five are Brazilian. Slightly more than 1/7th of the total streamers. One former member was also Brazilian, so adding them into the mix would bump that number up to 6/35, or a bit more than 17%. Not half, not a quarter, not even a fifth of the total number of streamers.

And despite this fact, in spite of this fact, fanfiction about the Brazilian members of the QSMP has been some of the most popular in the fandom.

That out of the way, not only is 'The Reason' the most kudosed Brazilian Portuguese fanfiction, it is also the most kudosed Portuguese fanfiction period.

Compare it to the most kudosed European Portuguese fanfiction available to a user logged in on AO3, 'E Depois do Adeus (And After Goodbye)' by Palacios_Modernos.

244 kudos, and the most kudosed European Portuguese fanfiction. Then look at 'The Reason'. 1,628, meaning that 'The Reason' is the singular most kudosed fanfiction in any type of Portuguese published on AO3. (I have checked Uncategorized Constructed Languages and the other language tabs for any other registered types of Portuguese, and none exist, meaning that European Portuguese and Brazilian Portuguese are the only two out there to look at).

It is the second most bookmarked fanfiction in Brazilian Portuguese, at 143 bookmarks, which is only 15 below the most bookmarked fanfiction in Brazilian Portuguese (Rainha de Sothoryos by MarVermelho), which has has less than half the kudos and 10,000 less hits.

Comparing these two fanfictions to the most bookmarked fanfiction in European Portuguese, which clocks in at 33, this can also claim its title as the second most bookmarked fanfiction in Portuguese period.

And when it comes to hits, 'The Reason' clocks in at fourth out of all Portuguese fanfiction available to a user signed into AO3.

This fanfiction is six months old, part of a fandom that has been around since March of 2023, up against three fanfictions from Harry Potter, a franchise that has been around for decades (yeah, I'm going there, I'll make everyone feel old if I feel like it). And it is genuinely record breaking in every definition of the word.

Is this post long as fuck? Yes. Is it entirely deserved? Absolutely.

Go read it, because 'The Reason' is actually insane. It has been fully translated into English and partially translated into Spanish as of February 19th, 2023, and it's honestly beautiful.

#ao3 #guapoduo #qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp brasil #qsmp positivity #ig #y'all are insane #and I love you for it but holy FUCK this fic is mindboggling #you guys can double check if you don't believe me #search > works #select the language as Português brasileiro #and sort by 'kudos' and 'descending' #long post #archive of our own #fanfiction #analysis #qsmp analysis #sort of

[pleasuretrade]

hi here's the very rough(!) first chapter of a fic that i'm not done with.

if anyone wants to beta or just offer feedback i would be grateful :') but i'm writing this very slowly and don't plan on seeing it done for at least a few more months

March x Healy

Summary: 1980. March and Healy take your classic "reunite me with my estranged adult child" case and may or may not wind up getting involved with a cult, irritating 80's toys, shady business, gardening, and drugs. Oh, and they're pretending to be boyfriends because that's totally a perfect cover??

Rating: 18+ for the eventual porn

Length: I'm gonna guess 30k? I'm at 15k rn and we're maybe halfway through. frankly i got no idea

Tags that aren't exhaustive and mostly aren't applicable to this first chapter, but just a sneak peek: pretending to be boyfriends and there's only one fucking bed anyway bitch, March wearing jeans

 The thing about kitsch dolls was that they were supposed to be cute. In abundance they became disturbing. An uncanny noise of soft pastel abstraction, dotted with innumerable eyes, staring at you from living room walls and display cabinets. It didn’t help that almost all of them were religious; angels with halos, praying children, robed biblical figures. March felt like he might combust if he made direct eye contact with the teeming mass of holy ceramic.

“March, did you write that down?”

 Holland whipped his head toward Healy, and then at their client, and then at his open, empty notepad. See, you shouldn’t have that many dolls in one room, it’s distracting. It’s weird. “Sorry, ma’am, could you repeat that?”

“Benjamin Larry Hooper. We called him Benny.”

“Bejamin….L… Hooper… Benny.” March mumbled, pen dashing across the page with a show of gumption.

 Mrs. Hooper nodded at him, all patterned dress and curled hair, hands placed politely on top of their respective thighs. “He was fifteen when he left, he’ll be twenty-six now. Tall for his age, I’m sure he’s giant by now.”

 Holland wrote in big block letters: DOB 1953 TALL

“This is my most recent picture of him, just a few months before he left.” Mrs. Hooper, Francis, reached across her doilied coffee table to hand Healy a framed photograph. It was obviously some kind of family reunion, the photo lined with folks like a tin of sardines. “That’s Benny.” she said, tapping a young man sitting cross legged in the very front row.

 Benny Hooper looked like any other fifteen year old at a family reunion, irritated or bored or both. He had a great mop of hair, a downright halo of pitch black curls reaching every direction. The slacks and short sleeved button-down were probably not his normal choice of attire, so that wouldn’t be helpful even if the kid had disappeared less than a decade ago. The shot was too wide to memorize the details of someone’s face on top of being old. The Benny in the photo hadn’t even finished puberty yet. Overall, the photo wasn’t great.

“Very helpful, thank you. We could use any other photographs you have, too.” Healy smiled pleasantly the way he did. It was freakish, the way the guy could go from deadpan bruiser to soft-eyed teddybear in an instant.

 Holland smiled along, ignoring the everpresent eyes of Mrs. Hooper's kitsch, even though he knew that there was no chance in hell they were finding Benny Hooper.

-

 “There’s no chance in hell, man.” March lit his cigarette in the passenger seat and donned his sunglasses.

 Healy tapped his fingers where he rested his arm in the open window. “We have a lead.”

“If you wanna call maybe seeing a glimpse of someone you haven’t seen in eleven years driving a truck a couple of times a lead, sure, we have a great lead. Can we stop at Hammy’s? Told Holly I’d bring home dinner.”

“Y’know, I bet I could count on two hands the number of times you’ve gone proper grocery shopping since I’ve known you.”

“That’s not true, you went grocery shopping with us like two weeks ago.”

“And you bought eggs, bread, a gallon of neon colored juice, a gallon of whiskey, and five frozen pizzas.”

“Are those not groceries? Is that not sustenance?” March waved his cigarette for emphasis.

“Anyway,” Healy redirected, taking the turn toward Hammy’s, “all we have to do is stake out the spot she saw the truck, right?”

“If everything worked out just that easy we’d be out of a job, Jack.” March took a drag from his cigarette, thanking the stars that loaded, aging ladies were willing to shill out for the most unfeasible asks imaginable time and time again. Healy let it sit because he knew it was true by now, well over two years down the line as a PI.

“Why do you think the kid really left?” Healy asked after a while, expertly flat when Holland had figured out eons ago that the guy really was invested in each case, even the small ones.

“I don’t know, too many doilies? An aversion to puce colored carpet? I wouldn’t stay long either.”

 Healy ignored him. “I find it hard to believe he just up and left for no reason.”

“Maybe Mrs. Hooper’s chicken is dry.” Healy purposefully hit the curb pulling into Hammy’s, jostling March’s cigarette nearly out of his hand. “I mean, it’s not like it matters. Even if we find the kid, he’s not comin’ back. Ten fuckin’ years. Remember that girl, Arrow or Rainbow or whatever she named herself?”

 Healy grunted in reluctant remembrance. They’d found her after a long, boring two months and by the end of it all she’d had to say was ‘thanks for letting me know my family's looking for me, you can go now.’ Not that it mattered much to Holland. They made out with enough money to take a couple of weeks off so they could take Holly to Catalina Island. She got food poisoning on the first day but still claims it was the best trip they’d been on in years (which wasn’t very meaningful considering they’d gone on maybe three of them since she was little).

“Guess you’re right.” Healy parked the car in the crowded parking lot. The line at Hammy’s was always so damn long. “Not getting paid to psychoanalyze the guy.” He sounded reluctant. Any time Healy couldn’t slip in one more act of Good it made him feel like a failure. It was something March secretly admired, however harebrained it was. He glanced a punch off Healy’s shoulder before getting out of the car. “That’s the spirit.”

-

“So why do you think he really left?” Holly asked through a mouthful of burger.

“Jesus, you two should become shrinks.” March grumbled.

 Healy sat comfortably sunken into the couch, a March sitting cross legged on the floor on either side of him. “It might be useful to know.” he added.

“Right. Like maybe you’ll be able to narrow down what kinds of places he’d go if you knew.” Holly agreed.

“Our only lead is a truck. Anyone can drive a truck. I don’t care why he’s driving it. All we have to do is follow.”

“So you admit, it’s a lead.” Healy pointed at him with a french fry.

“It’s a crumb of a lead. It’s the suggestion of a lead. It’s a lingering scent of maybe a lead.”

“Says the guy with no sense of smell.” Healy winked at Holly, who bit her lip to stop her smile from blooming. “A lead’s a lead.”

“Did you notice anything about Mrs. Hooper’s house? Like, anything that might make someone want to run away?” Holly was fifteen and already putting in more work than March.

“Yeah, puce carpet.”

 Healy nudged March with a socked foot. “She seemed nice. Boring, maybe. Said her husband died a few years ago and her other kid’s off at college somewhere, so the house was pretty quiet.”

“Boredom could drive someone away.” Holly said thoughtfully.

“And if it did that still gives us absolutely nothing to go on. Some kids just hate their parents, alright? Guy probably just hitchhiked to New York or something.” March said.

“Sounds nice.” Holly murmured under her breath. Healy nudged her with his other foot.

 March, begrudgingly, loved the gentle way Healy mediated. Fatherhood was something Holland hadn’t really been prepared for, much less being the single dad of a teenager. It didn’t help that he was a big time fuckup or that Holly was too smart for her own good. Having another person in their lives— having Healy in their lives— was a saving grace.

 Recently, Holly had started dating her first boyfriend. Or at least the first that she’d admitted to when she’d lost all plausible deniability after that time they’d picked her up from school and seen her drop some young punk’s hand like a hot iron. It was a point of contention now, between Holly and Holland. Boys were pigs, and Holland would know, he used to be one. It was one of the endless number of things Healy had become referee over, but also something Holly had adopted a near constant attitude because of.

“So when are you starting the stakeout?” Holly asked, fiddling with the cracked straw of her milkshake. March looked at Healy for an answer. He was always better at managing their schedule. Unlike March, he usually remembered what day of the week it was. Healy looked back at him and shrugged. Wasn't like they had another case on, much to the dismay of their wallets. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

 Holly got that look on her face. “Can I come?” Tomorrow was a Saturday.

 March shook his head. “Don’t you have normal teenage things to do? Shouldn’t you be like sneaking vodka out of someone’s mom’s cabinet on a Saturday?”

 Healy chimed in before she could argue. “It’s gonna be boring anyway, Holl. You’ll be sitting in the backseat twiddling your thumbs all day.” She knew that. She’d been on stakeouts with them before. But Healy’s say was more valuable to her than her dad’s, apparently, so she dropped it.

 It was late when Healy headed home, agreeing on the asscrack of dawn to reconvene and start their stakeout.

“Why doesn’t he just live here? You guys spend every day together anyway.”

 March wandered into the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of rye. Their (second) rental, real house unbuilt as ever, was always so still when Healy left. Another item on the laundry list of things March tried not to think about. “Because he’s a grown man, Holly, with his own house.”

“I wouldn’t call that dump a house, and anyway it’s an apartment. He should be sleeping here and not in an attic with a laughtrack that plays until two in the morning.”

“Well then you can invite him to stay for a sleepover next time. You guys can paint nails and read magazines.” Holland wasn’t stupid. He knew that wasn’t really what girls’ sleepovers were like. One time he’d walked in on Holly and her friend eating donuts and saying such depraved things about Joe Strummer that he’d vowed to not open the door without knocking ever again. He never looked at that Clash poster on her wall the same way.

 Holly scoffed in time with the ice tinkling into Holland’s tumbler.

-

 The sun shone way too brightly for Holland. When he’d woken up he’d still been a little drunk, but now out of the house and into Healy’s car a hangover had eagerly seeped in. They’d agreed to start the stakeout before the sun came up, but March had skillfully convinced Healy to take him through a drive-thru breakfast and they were running late. He now nursed a coffee as the sun rose into the perfectly wrong spot in the sky. They watched cars zip lazily by from the corner of a parking lot.

“I just think it would be good to have a dog around.” They’d had this discussion every other day for a month now. March wanted a dog in the house for the very logical reason of alerting them to intruders, Healy nay-sayed because he was a killjoy with no imagination.

“I’m telling you, March, putting in a doggy door just isn’t gonna be enough for a German Shepherd. And we all know you’re not gonna walk it.”

“Why do you even care so much, man? It would be my dog.” And more importantly, why did Healy even have a say in whether or not they got a dog?

“I care because I’d somehow get stuck taking it out half the time. And your sorry ass wouldn’t train it. We’d have an untrained, overpriced menace tearing around the house.” The house. Not Holland and Holly’s house, but The House.

“Well, whatever, even if that was true it’d make a good guard dog, right? No one’s getting past a pent up, feral German Shepherd. Might shit on the carpet but it’ll take a guy’s dick off. Balls too.”

“You should really consider a shrink. I think you’ve lost your damn mind.” Healy shook his head, but Holland caught his smile.

“You taking new patients, doc? I’ve been told by my teenager that I’m a headcase.”

“I could make some room in my busy schedule. Gonna cost you about the same as a purebred German Shepherd, though.”

 March smiled and leaned back into his seat. Absolutely nothing of interest was happening outside at all, which was just fine now but give March three or so more hours and he’d start going stir crazy and the headache wasn't helping.

 Mrs. Hooper had seen the truck twice, once in the morning and once in the early evening, which gave them an unfortunately broad window of time. She’d described it as a white, short cab semitruck, maybe a GMC, with a small trailer on it, which narrowed it down almost not at all. It sounded like every third short haul semi chugging around Los Angeles, of which there were many. Very many.

 The only thing they had to go off of was that the second time around she’d seen what she thought was some kind of blocky hand-lettering on the driver’s side door, done in “nearly illegible” multicolor. When Healy had asked what she meant by “multicolor” Mrs. Hooper had only elaborated as “horribly garish.” So at least there was that.

 The odds that the guy driving the bespoke truck was this Benny person were essentially zero. That was about half their cases these days, desperate longshots funded by desperate rich people. The other half was still taking photographs of idiots who fuck with the curtains open. It was wearing a little thin. Couldn't people invent more important problems to investigate? Whatever. A job’s a job’s a job.

 The coffee in March’s cup had gone cold just in time to meet the creeping heat from outside. He downed the tepid sludge before wrenching the little metal fan out of the back seat and plugging it in. It whirred to life gracelessly.

“Hey.” Healy tapped him on the arm, which startled and excited Holland enough that he flung his empty coffee cup onto the floorboards.

“What—what, you see something?”

 A short cab semi puttered toward them from a distance, aiming for a perfectly timed red light. Healy pulled up the binoculars and squinted through them, waiting for the cab to pull into view enough to see the driver’s door. March’s breathing was shallow in anticipation.

 The truck moved, and Healy tutted, and March could see the glaringly blank door even without the binoculars. “Driver’s blonde. Ginger beard.” Healy said, still staring through the eye pieces like the truck and driver might magically change. “False alarm.”

“They’re all gonna be false alarms. This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack, only the needle was never in the haystack to begin with.”

 Finally, Healy let the binoculars fall into his lap. “I ever told you how much I love your optimism?”

#the nice guys #the nice guys fanfiction #march x healy #healy x march #nice guys #holland march #jackson healy

[degloved]

the crazy thing abt twitter n the main reason i'm three seconds from uninstalling it is the fact that apropos of fucking nothing you'll open it to a tl full of the most inane nonsensical childish petty beef spanning six callout posts and 12 A4 pages worth of discord screenshots between people you've never heard of in your life n it's always some dumb fandom bullshit heavily intertwined with personal issues n it's like. there's only so many words you can mute and accounts you can block. and even then you'll get something entirely different the second you get rid of the existing issues. how the fuck do yall live when you're constantly bombared with "umm is anyone gonna talk about [the most batshit insane take you've ever heard of in your life]" "after months of silence i'm ready to expose [a fourteen year old acting like a fourteen year old]" "moots following [allegedly problematic account] i see you ://" "so when are we gonna acknowledge that fans of [an antagonist] are deeply distributed individuals" like sorry but two scrolls in and i already want to kill myself

#n

[armitageshux]

that re: tumblr post is still pissing me off hours after I read it

"Tumblr users resisted monetization"

I'm sorry but when someone walks into my house, tells me they're going to do some "upgrades," then burns half of it down to the ground, I'm not terribly inclined to write them a fucking check

and the op of that post is very much aware of that, or they wouldn't block replies of every single person that disagrees with them

there was a couple of months there where I consistently saw users make lists upon lists of feature they were willing to pay for. mine listed thirty plus features (most of which the old xkit could achieve) and none of them were implemented

I still have the email I sent six months ago where I beg to pay for the privilege of being able to customize pages on my own blogs without having to send in a request and then wait 3-4 weeks each and every time for every single one of my side blogs. would you like to guess the answer?

how many users would have been willing to pay to keep the legacy editor? how many would have been willing to pay to keep their xkit functioning? to keep the old layout? to never have to snooze live again? to not have their fucking dash look like they just logged into twitter? to not have to block 30 pornbots every day? to have nsfw content back?

i would've given mad money just for a goddamned outbox

so fuck your "tumblr users resisted monetization" when no one asked them what they actually wanted to pay for

#text #tumblr

[hourcat]

Ahh I'm so glad you said you like prompts! Ok so my prompt is literally from your own page haha sorry. Its basically Pierre being a Ferrari WAG but like a fashion designer/idol/model WAG. Like, him turning up to races and the paddock is bigger news than anything else haha. I don't want to give you a strict structure because i want your take on it but would love to see what you come up with <3

oh anon i got such a kick out of writing this. thank you for sending!!!! i hope you enjoy!!!! <333

(word count: 2,491)

The sting of not having a seat for the 2024 season is sharp in Pierre’s chest. Not being wanted by the sport he’s spent his entire life fighting and clawing for, bleeding over, begging with, hurts more than he’d ever imagined it would.

At least, it does until the first Louis Vuitton opportunity presents itself.

Pierre’s attended Fashion Week in Paris regularly for the past few years and has met many of the bigger heads of the fashion industry, sitting thigh-to-thigh with them in front of a flashy runway. His love of clothing—actually fashionable clothing, not whatever AT had him modeling during his time there—had really only grown as the opportunity to own it started to substantiate; but getting involved with it in a hands-on way? Becoming a brand ambassador? It’s like a light has been switched on in his brain.

“They’re looking for you to be a WAG,” his agent mumbles after the latest Zoom call discussing numbers and contractual obligations. Pierre turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. “You know—a racing paddock girl type.”

Pierre blinks. “Really?” His agent just nods. The idea of returning to a sport that had just spat him out not even six months ago sits funny in his stomach. He’s bitter that nobody worked to pull him in, bitter that AlphaTauri wasted all of the effort he poured into their shitty car race after race, month after month, for years—

“Obviously you’d be with Ferrari, so you don’t have to worry about being around any of the old guard for too long.”

Oh. Right. It’s been a long few months since he’d been dropped, but in that time he’s somehow managed to separate his relationship a healthy distance from the sport it had started in. Charles has been by his side just about every moment he’s not fulfilling obligations to Ferrari, and even though everything has changed, nothing has. Mornings still feel the same when Charles rolls out of bed grumbling (Pierre just gets to linger a little longer) and the gym is still the gym (Pyry works with him even outside of the paddock, continuing to be a friend and ally that Pierre is infinitely grateful to have), and at night, he still gets to lounge on the couch with Charles in front of the TV like they always do.

Of course, it hadn’t all been roses. Charles held him the night he’d been informed he’d be left without a seat for the upcoming year, rubbed his back as he made himself sick from the weight of his sobs, soothed him in the days after. Pierre didn’t leave the house for several weeks. Break had been dark, but Charles had helped him get through it.

And here he is now, literal Louis Vuitton dangling an absurd amount of money in front of him, saying go put our products in front of a camera while you spend time with your fiancé, so maybe he’s finally gotten to the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I’ll have to talk to Charles about it,” he says after a beat. “But—I will do it if he is comfortable with having me around like that.”

Pierre’s agent smiles, nods. “You get on that, mate,” he says with a gentle slap on the shoulder. “I’m going to look more into some of these contractual details and get back to you on whether this should be a long-term partnership or something less permanent.” He shrugs at Pierre’s aghast expression. “The modeling industry is tough, Pierre. You not having a driver’s seat might be short-lived, and I don’t want to wed you to something that’s not going to be the most beneficial to you and your team.”

Fair enough. “I will keep you posted,” he says, and his agent gives him a double thumbs-up before leaving for the day. Decisions, decisions.

-

He brings it up with Charles at dinner in a roundabout way. “What would you say to me visiting you in the garage?” Pierre asks, watching Charles cautiously as he devours the spaghetti dinner they’d half-cooked, half-burned together. They’re in their late twenties and still can’t cook—Pierre has lost hope in ever truly figuring it out, but he enjoys trying nevertheless. Tonight, it doesn’t even taste bad.

Charles hums between bites. “I would say I always like having you with me, of course.” He looks up from his dish, smile curved pretty on his face. “You’ve always been busy when I’m in the garage, so it’ll be like having a piece of home with me.” He chuckles, drawing one from Pierre too.

“Charlito,” he says softly, “You know I am talking about visiting you. You know.” A pause, as he twirls spaghetti onto his fork. “As your, you know. Fiancé.”

Charles, who had been taking a sip of his water, chokes a little at the word, eyebrows shooting up his head. “You say that like it would be different than you normally visiting,” he says slowly, expression puzzled.

Pierre shrugs. “I might have something lined up with Louis Vuitton,” he says casually. Charles’ fork clatters to the table.

“And you didn’t immediately text me about it?” He leans back in his chair, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Pierrot, that’s huge. That’s literally—” and then he pauses because he realizes why Pierre had asked in the first place. “Oh, my god.”

“I wanted to see if you would be okay with me, uh, being a brand ambassador in the Ferrari garage. You know.” He shrugs again, blood pumping loudly in his ears. Dating Charles had been one thing—the other drivers were fine about it, but they’d kept it professional on the track because even if they were dating, they were competitors in the car. This…this would be entirely unprofessional. This would be Pierre walking around in LV pants and Charles’ jacket. This would be Pierre on a Monaco yacht waiting for Charles after the race instead of bumping shoulders with him during the National Anthem on the track. This would be—

“Pierre,” Charles interrupts, drawing his eyes immediately. “I’ve never had a WAG before.” His smile is big, dangerous. Pierre laughs at the way the acronym sounds off his tongue.

“You’re a fucking liar,” he giggles, and Charles rolls his eyes, waving his hand to brush aside Pierre’s statement of fact.

“Well, I’ve never—” his face twists in thought for a moment. “Would you be my HAB?”

“Oh my god.”

Charles’ laugh dies down a little. The sparkle of delight in his eyes has faded into something darker. Something that Pierre thinks he’s going to like. “I never considered getting to have you like this, you know.” He hums. “My, ah, wife and girlfriend. There for me, wearing my things, hands all over me.”

Pierre shivers at the idea that’s, likely, going to become reality. “This is about me too, you know,” he teases. But the idea of being all over Charles in the garage the way he used to see some of the other guys’ girlfriends act is…well, Pierre can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about it before. Charles tsks at him, beckoning him over to his side of the table. Pierre abandons his dinner plate easily, all but waltzing around to draw Charles into an awkward-positioned hug.

Charles hums and tugs him a little, brings him down onto his lap. “I like it, Pierre. I think you should do it.”

Fireworks burst in Pierre’s chest. “Yeah?”

Charles hums, then leans in for a kiss. Pierre gives it to him easily, prepared to all but give him a lapdance here in this dining room chair. “I do,” he confirms. Then chuckles. “Look at that. Guess I’m starting a little early, huh?” Pierre just laughs, utterly delighted, against his mouth.

-

Hard Rock Stadium isn’t exactly a glamorous venue—not compared to the actual storied tracks that have decorated Formula One’s history—but there’s plenty of sun and even more cameras lining the paddock entry, which Pierre probably should have expected, considering this is the United States.

The outfit is pretty simple, although he’d requested it like that so his first non-racer outing isn’t a total nightmare; he’s wearing Ferrari-red pants that end just above the ankle and a mostly-open white button-down shirt, a black 16 embroidered elegantly on the breast pocket of it. Sunglasses, of course, and a Ferrari hat he’d stolen from Charles’ wardrobe earlier in the day that he’d insisted on keeping for luck, darling, which really had only made him laugh. He’s confident that this is a regular blend of normal fashion and “I Am Getting Married To A Formula One Driver, Bitch” that will satisfy LV’s goal of getting him photographed.

The good news: it does. Pierre gets to the outskirts of the media scrum and immediately gets a face full of lenses pointed in his direction. He’s had the media’s attention before, a hundred times over, but this feels—new. He feels like he’s walking a runway as he makes his way past the team garages, except he gets to smile and wave at people he recognizes—Netflix cameramen, some of his old teammates, a handful of fans that have somehow found their way in.

The bad news: with cameras come questions. Ever since the Red Bull experiment, he’s always been a little wary of people behind cameras inquiring after him. It had gotten better, of course, with AlphaTauri and the team they’d given him to handle the more aggressive reporting, but the sense of dread had remained, lingering at the corners of Pierre’s heart. What if they start asking me about it again? A question that could be asked about anything. Pierre’s not a particularly anxious person these days, but this is the one thing that might be able to pull him back.

The questions have been mostly harmless, so far: What have you been doing since you were last here and Is this your first race as a fan and Who designed your outfit, all questions he thinks he can handle. Next race, he’s bringing a team to keep him away from this. He walks and talks casually, about his break (“It was very nice, I got to catch up on sleep”) and his excitement to watch a race (“It’s so much different already without a strict routine”) and the clothes he’s wearing (“Louis Vuitton designed most of these pieces for me” with a teasing twirl), and it’s easy. It’s surprisingly easy. The Ferrari garage is right in front of him, red and practically vibrating from all of the work going on inside. There’s a reporting in the throng that looks like he’s about to ask something that’ll create a headline, so Pierre lifts a hand and apologizes and takes a sharp turn towards the Ferrari garage’s back entrance, where Charles had said to meet him.

Pierre rounds the corner and is almost starstruck when he sees his soon-to-be-husband standing there, race suit half unzipped, sweat on his brow. He’s always been handsome, as long as Pierre has known him, but suddenly without his own fireproofs and helmet to restrain him, he finds that this view of Charles is doing something for him that he can’t quite control.

From the look of it, Charles is just as stunned to see him. “Pierre,” he says warmly, opening his arms for Pierre to all but crash into. He burrows into Charles’ sweaty embrace immediately, only squeaking a noise of complaint when Charles wipes his sweaty face on the crisp fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t even mean it—he’ll wear all of Charles today, even if part of that is the sweat spilling off him.

“Hi,” Pierre murmurs, pressing a subtle kiss to the crook of his neck. Charles hums pleasurably at the feeling. “This is new, huh.”

Charles nods and laughs. “I don’t know if I should’ve agreed to this,” he teases, extracting himself from Pierre to give him a thorough onceover. “They have me all done up for the race but all I want to do is dress you down.” He licks his lips. Pierre can only watch his tongue, suddenly hoarse. “You look so good in red, Pierrot.”

“Do I?” Oh, there’s his voice. He sways close again, hooking an arm around Charles’ waist. “Oh, would you look at that, I think we match.” Rest of the world forgotten, he presses an open-mouthed kiss to Charles’ sweaty cheek, nuzzling at the spot when he peels back. “I think it’s my color.”

“I think you’re right,” Charles says. His voice has gone gravelly, which sends a shiver up Pierre’s spine. The power dynamic feels like it’s shifted now that Charles is the only one suited up—Pierre has the swagger but Charles has the track on his side. It’s sexy. It’s unbearably sexy.

“How much time do you have,” Pierre mumbles, pressing another kiss to Charles’ face. Charles turns to catch him in it. When he pulls back, his eyes are entirely dark with lust. “I could suck you off in your room before you have to go through the usual pre-race activities.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. He lifts a hand to Pierre’s cheek and strokes his beard. “Pierrot, you can’t just say that—”

“I’m new to this, leave me alone,” he interrupts teasingly, then steals a half-kiss from Charles’ bottom lip. The driver groans, ducking forward so their foreheads bump. “I want to, Charles, I want to—”

“We don’t have the time,” he says with a shake of his head. “Fuck, Pierre, you really—you look so fucking good, I don’t—” he cuts himself off, a deep inhale making his chest rise and then fall. “After the race.” Charles’ gloved hands have made their way to his waist, under his almost entirely unbuttoned shirt. The scrape of the thick fabric against his skin sends a shiver up his spine.

“After the race?” Pierre whispers, pressing closer. He’s a little dizzy with how aroused he is. How do the girls do it every other weekend—be this close to the men they’re with and not rip the fireproofs right off them? Pierre would be able to do it so quickly, he knows the ins and outs of the suits—

“After the race,” Charles continues, hands running up and down Pierre’s sides slowly. “I will find you on one of the fake yachts. And you won’t be wearing any of this.” He’s in the zone for the race that’s about to kick off and all of that focus is honed-in on Pierre right now. He could cum on the spot from it.

“I can do that,” he whispers. Charles nods, grinning like a devil. “Do me a favor, Charlito?”

His fiancé nods. “Anything,” he murmurs.

“Win today so I can brag to the other girls.”

Charles laughs, loud and bright and in his face. Pierre grins teasingly. “I’ll see what I can do, darling.”

#piarles #pierrecharles #10 x 16 #fic #prompt #me: posts two mini fics in a day because i am SO normal about these two its BELIEVABLE #anyway i did have a fun time even tho im SURE the vibes r off on this one but WAG pierre might be something i indulge in again hee hee #ask reply #Anonymous #wag!pierre

[thiscrimsonsoul]

damn, sorry about what happened :( at times it feels like the universe is against you, yeah, ik how you feel. or... you start recovering from a traumatic event and then start getting inconveniences everywhere. sucks! but i don't think you've lost your headcanons, aren't they posted on your blogs with the tag '#headcanons'? same with the icons you already posted on some threads, and i thought you could add a gif to a post simply by adding a pre-existing gif. (i don't rp so it might be different.)

{out of paprikash} Under the cut in case people don't want to read my rants, haha.

I have some of my headcanons linked in my directory on my blog, yeah, but I didn't even necessarily mean for Wanda. Like, for one of my other muses, I was in the process of writing out a very long (15 pages and counting in Word) AU for him, and me and a friend had discussed a lot of headcanons in DMs, since we came up with the AU jointly. I had gone back through our conversations and saved a lot of those headcanons just in a Word file so I would remember them to put them into the AU I was writing, and now that file has been lost. So I know that there were things I wanted to add to, change, update, etc. in that AU file, but now I don't remember what they were. I'd either have to go through six months of messages to find all those headcanons again, or just try to remember what they were, and my memory is not great due to meds. I also have a lot of headcanons written down in files that don't necessarily get posted on this site, like things I discuss with friends who aren't on this site or little oneshots I write to explore a character's feelings on a certain subject, and things like that. I store all that in files so I can refer to it later, and anything I did in the last six months was lost. I could use the headcanons tag and sit down one night and go through stuff, but that's a daunting task to do since i have a lot of blogs, heh. With work as it is right now, I don't have the time to devote to doing that.

As far as icons, yeah I guess I can go through all my blogs, back through six months of stuff, and save all the icons that I made myself in that time, but honestly... call me lazy or busy or whatever, but I just don't have the time to do that for like ten blogs. And recently I made like 50 icons for one of my characters but I think I've only used maybe 5 of them so far in threads, so all the others were lost. And my backup computer can't even run the graphic editing program that I used to make them, so... re-making them is going to be difficult at the moment.

And with gifs, there are some that I had recently saved, specifically looking for ones that their creators were okay with people using, making sure I don't steal anybody's stuff, for several of my muses. It took a while, hours, visiting various sites and searching for specific moments that I really wanted, and so they aren't always gifs that I can get through the gif function in posts on this site (which honestly really sucks and half the time it's so glitchy I can't even get it to work). Most often when I search for a gif on site, I get nothing I'm looking for, heh.

For all my muses, I make a folder, icons, info files, and I save things like the avatars, the backgrounds, and other things I used for their blog. I don't use themes, but everything you'd need for a blog theme I save in there, heh. I create it piecemeal myself, it's easier. Some of my newer muses lost a lot of that startup structure because six months ago I had just started setting them up. One of my muses I wasn't writing six months ago, so her entire folder got lost. Anything that wasn't posted on my blogs that I was storing offline was lost.

It's also just disorienting for me. I archive and organize everything, because otherwise I get overwhelmed with stuff. Having everything neatly organized and updated regularly keeps me sane. And now I'm dealing with a six-months-old version of everything, I'm reaching for files that aren't there, wanting to play songs that are no longer downloaded, looking for pictures that don't exist anymore, trying to figure out what did I lose and what didn't I lose... It's just very disorienting to my mental headspace. My perfectionist and micromanaging self is very irritated with the fact that I had everything all neat and updated and now everything is suspect, questionable quality, incomplete, unfinished, missing things, or gone entirely. So yes, there are some things that I can get back, but even having to go back and suss out what I need and where I can get it back from is incredibly draining and frustrating. I'm not a person who organizes well unless there's a solid system, heh, and when the system gets disrupted, it's like "404: brain cannot be found," haha.

But yeah, you're right, I can get back SOME things. But those pictures of my pets and family? Nope. Some songs I had downloaded that I don't quite remember the artist or title for so I can't look them up again? Likely to be forgotten. And all the writing and editing I did for books and fanfics I was working on? That's lost too, and I don't post that anywhere, it's only on my computer, so there isn't a place I can go to recover that.

It is what it is, I have to just move on from here. I'm just going to be a little bit mentally out of sorts for a while until I can redo or do without what was lost. The bigger problem right now is buying and setting up a new computer, because that is a lot of time and money I just don't have right now, but I don't have a choice at this point. My job depends on me having a reliable computer, so yeah.

Thank you for the message, though. I'll be okay, I'm just in shock right now heh. My entire storage on my computer is just... gone. For a writer as prolific with making files as I am, it's very jarring. I'm like a fish out of water without all my shit, haha, but I'll be okay.

#{ out of paprikash } ᵒᵒᶜ

[witch-hazels-musings]

hazel!!!! <3 Before anything I want to say that your writing never fails to give me butterflies in my stomach. I don't really write stories because I always have this itchy feeling when I try to read what I wrote it somehow sounds bland to me so I rewrite. The first time I started writing was around 9 or 10 and I kept ripping the pages out of frustration. Then around 12 when I tried publishing online, a friend of mine (but we were fighting at this time) posted something about my writing being so bad that I shouldn't publish my book and go do some grammar and spelling first. I was super sensitive at that time, so I deleted the book and stopped writing out of inferiority and insecurity. Then I found out about using metaphors and flowery words will help but when I do start writing...I just don't know how? Like is that normal? Am I just confused or scatterbrained that I go empty when I pick up to write an idea? There are others who found my writing nice because of how I pour out my ideas and some who said they can feel my emotions just by reading my message. I've always thought that I'm bland and super messy writer, either I'm showing too much action or I'm telling too much. And what I'm most worried of is my lack of knowledge of human beings fr. I have to search of how this and that works, body language, physical appearance, clothing and whatnot and I feel like I don't have the talent to write ;-; I'm really sorry for yapping too much. I'm just lost.

morning! I’ve been thinking about the best way to answer this and I think the right thing for me to say is: 

write! 

no one starts great, not a single person is born with perfect skills - no matter what we have to practice to get better. I started writing when I was 9-10 too! I sat at my parents terrible computer and wrote anything and everything I could (mostly fanfiction of course lol) but I wrote and wrote and wrote. I stopped writing at some point in my life even though i loved it -- 

then one day I posted a story I thought wouldn’t make it past a few views. it grew, I was motivated, I practiced and practiced - every day I wrote for six months straight and you know what, I got better! 

everything you are doing is right on target! understanding people and their desires helps build better characters, helps you grasp why people do what they do - but it isn’t the only thing about writing. You don’t have to write like anyone else, if you’ve found your style you should run with it! and every time you go back to re-read your old works you’ll adapt it to your current style 

researching things is part of creating stories, looking up answers means you’re focusing on the quality and accuracy of your works - you aren’t lost :) you’re doing exactly what you need to 

so, again, my one advice to you is : write : because that’s all that’s going make the words you write as powerful as the story in your brain <3 

#hazelmail #hazelswritingtips #hazel support #writing tips #keep going #keep writing #don't quit #you're on the right path!!

[scentedsoulducknerd-blog]

Twins

Harper was furious. How dare they hurt his sister? She did nothing to them.

This is an AU of Player's kids in the future.

All characters belong to the creator of Carmen Sandiego except for the twins and their mother. I don't own any of them.

Harper was furious. How dare they hurt his sister? She did nothing to them.

They were evil. Tiny demons, if you will. Although, not as evil as some of the people their aunt Carmen had to deal with.

Harper sat at his desk, looking at the red colouring pencil in his hand. When was the last time they saw her? It must have been at least a good few months.

He tapped his pencil against the desk, shaking with rage. The page in front of him empty, a blank space, mocking him.

They had been given an assignment, to draw someone that inspires them. The only problem was, he had a few people that inspired him and he couldn't choose which one of them he should do. His father, his mother, his sister or, his aunt Carmen. They all inspired him, so who to choose?

He didn't know what his father did exactly, nor did he his aunt, but all he knew was that his dad was amazing with technology and that he helped his aunt to change the world. One step at a time.

His mother was a writer, an author, and she created amazing stories for children and adults alike. All it took was a spark of imagination and the story flowed out like a dam breaking.

His sister, his dear sister, who had been put through hell and back because some arrogant people can't accept change. She meant the world to him, and he'd go to the ends of the Earth to protect her from any evil that came their way.

The teacher walked around the room, inspecting every child's drawing, as if he was expecting some Picasso level painting, because each time he laid eyes on one of the children's drawings, his eyebrows fell down into a crease, scowling at the child's drawing, almost disappointedly.

The teacher wasn't really a work of art himself however, and neither were any of his many 'paintings' that were hung up on the walls, each in a wooden frame.

The man had gelled black hair, although it looked more like he'd been whacked across the head by an octopus, with the amount of gel that was in his hair. He had dark blue eyes, that look more grey than blue at most times, and big, dumbo like ears. His face was covered in wrinkles, a sign that the man was indeed old. What was he now? Late fifties? Maybe sixties? Possibly seventies? And yet, here he was, still teaching a bunch of six year olds basic maths and showing them how to draw what most of them already can, stick figures. Honestly what was he expecting from them when he asked them to draw someone who inspires them? Hyper detailed realistically accurate  coloured version of the person? Come on.

He wore a two piece suit, both pieces black, and brown, freshly polished dress shoes. He also had a black handle bar moustache. He looked like he had been plucked out of one of those old films he had seen his parents watching, from the nineteen-thirties perhaps. Seriously, this was a school, not some grand ball thrown by the Queen of England, or another important figure of society. There really was no need to be dressed so formally.

Harper made eye contact with his sister and she smiled and waved at him. He grinned. It was nice to see her so happy. Suddenly, he heard someone clearing their throat, and he froze. Rosy's eyes widened as well, and she mouthed an apology at the fact that she had distracted him.

"Mr Bouchard, care to explain to me as to why, we are half way through our lesson, and yet your paper is still blank?" He heard the voice behind him ask. He winced, he really couldn't have drawn a line or something to make it seem like he'd done some work?

"I'm sorry Mr Williams but I've got lots of people that inspire me and I can't pick one." He replied, turning to face his teacher, eyes darting around the classroom, looking for a way to escape the patronising gaze of the man before him.

"If I do not see anything on this page," he pushed his finger down onto the page, crinkling it slightly. Even the way he talks is posh, "by the end of this lesson, then I will have to call your parents in. This is the fourth time you have not done work because you 'could not decide on someone'. It is really getting old and I am getting tired of your excuses Mr Bouchard."

Harper's eyes widened. They couldn't call his parents! They were already busy enough, and troubling them and causing them more problems over something as stupid as not doing a drawing was ridiculous.

"I'll have something down by the end of the lesson Mr Williams." He said, finally making eye contact.

"You better had. You do not want me to call your parents in because of something this simple, do you?"

Harper shook his head.

"No Mr Williams"

"Good. Get to it then."

He didn't have anything down. So, here he was sitting in the headmasters office, waiting for his parent to arrive.

Mr Williams was stood next to the headmasters desk, arms crossed. He didn't look very happy. Sat next to him was the headmaster. Harper was looking down, embarrassed, hoping this will be over soon.

"Mr Bouchard, I thought you had said you would have something down by the end of the lesson." Mr Williams remarked.

Harper looked up.

"I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't-"

"Decide on who to draw. You keep saying that, and look where it has gotten you."

"Now now, he feels bad as it is Mr Williams, you don't need to make him feel worse." The headmaster told him.

"I was gonna say I couldn't think of where to start." Harper mumbled.

"What was that young man?"

"Nothing sir."

The headmaster was a chubby man about the age of 40, and yet he was growing grey hair on the sides of his head and balding on top. The man wore a pink striped shirt, with blue suspenders over the top. Harper couldn't see the bottom half because of the oak desk between them. 

Bookshelves scattered the walls on either side of him, most mainly empty, with a few bits and bobs here and there, and some filled with books.

There was a knock on the door, snapping Harper out of his train of thought.

"Come in" the headmaster shouted.

The door opened. There were his parents. He made eye contact with his father and looked away immediately, ashamed.

"We came as soon as we could. What's going on?" He heard his mother ask.

"Mr and Mrs Bouchard, please, take a seat." The headmaster asked, or demanded.

His parents both looked at each other worriedly, and then proceeded to sit in the other two chairs there.

"What's all of this about?" His father questioned.

"Nothing too big, so there's no need to worry, Mr Bouchard. It's just about Harpers schoolwork." He reassured his parents.

"What about it?" His mother chimed in.

"It has recently come to my attention by Mr Williams here," the man in question raised his hand, "that Harper has not been doing his schoolwork and has been making stupid excuses as to why." The headmaster remarked.

"Is this true Harper?" His mother asked.

"Only my art work, mum. I do everything else! Plus, it's only happened four times, like, once a month or something like that!" Harper replied.

"Wait wait wait," his father waved his hands up and down, "you mean to tell us that you called us," he moved his hands to refer to himself and his wife, "to the school just because our son hasn't done what, four pieces of work? There gotta be a lot of other kids that don't do it either. I mean, they're six for crying out loud!"

"Parker." His mother warned, her voice low. She put her hand on her husbands shoulder gently and smiled at him lovingly, in order to calm him down, so there isn't a scene caused. 

The man's eyes widened. She never called him by his real name. It was always by his code name, Player. She really didn't want to make a scene.

"Yes. Other kids haven't done work as well and we'll be calling there parents in as well but Harper resists against his teacher so we've had to call you in first." the bald man told them.

"This is ridiculous" Player mumbled. His wife elbowed him, and gave him a glare. He rolled his eyes.

"How does he resist?" The woman asked.

"Uhh Mr Williams? How does Harper resist exactly?" The headmaster looked to the man.

"Umm... well... he gives me a lot of lip and doesn't participate in physical activities when I tell him to." Came his reply.

"There's a perfectly good explanation for that Mr Williams" the dark haired female said.

"And what is that explanation, Mrs Bouchard?" He said, looking down his nose at her. Judging by the stories he'd overheard from the twins on the playground, they were both reckless, adventurous and clever people. It was obvious that he didn't particularly like Harper, and because the two young adults in front of him were his parents, he didn't particularly like them either. They raised their child wrong. They should raise them to treat their seniors and their superiors with the respect they deserve. Harper and Rosy had none for him.

"Harper has been advised by his doctor to take it easy if he's hurting" the woman crossed her arms.

"If he's hurting? That's got to be the stupidest reason for a kid taking a break or not participating in activities. What is he? An old man like me? Because if I'm not allowed to get out of doing it with the students, neither should he." The man laughed and wiped a tear that came to his eye.

"Mr Williams! The doctor informed me of this and I have told you this as well. It seems you've forgotten though." The headmaster scolded.

"Forgotten what? That he" the man pointed at Harper. He looked down embarrassed. "shouldn't be doing Physical Education because he's 'hurting'?"

"No I informed you on why his legs hurt."

"And why is that?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Because he's an amputee." Player said to him. "He wears prosthetics. He's been to school with crutches before and a wheelchair. The reason he was told not to all the time is because he experiences phantom pain. Is that all you need us for, to mock our son for his disability and waste mine and my wife's time?"

"Even so, he still gives me lip when I tell him to stop making symbols with his hands to Rosy." Mr Williams was flustered at getting called out. Oh how he hated this family. He just wanted one reason to get one of the children in trouble.

"You mean when he's signing what you're saying so she can understand?" The woman asked.

"Signed? As in sign language?"

"Yes. Rosy's deaf and although she has hearing aids, she still needs a little help to understand because they don't magically make her able to hear." Player glared at the man. "Is that all?" He looked back to the headmaster.

"Is that all Mr Williams?" The older man asked.

"Yes" He grumbled.

"You may all leave now. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I thought we had a different issue at hand." He told the family.

"Thank you" both of the parents said. They rose from the seats, and Harper followed and left the office.

"Unbelievable" Player mumbled, shaking his head.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harper asked, looking up at his father.

"No Harper you did nothing wrong. Your teacher just forgot about you and your sisters disabilities, that's all." He patted his son on his brown hair. Harper grinned at him and he smiled back.

They walked to the inside entrance of the school where Rosy was sitting on one of the blue chairs, swinging her legs. When she noticed the door open she looked up and smiled.

"Is everything ok? Did Harper get in trouble?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

"No sweetie, he didn't." Her mother replied.

"Are we going home now?"

"Yes we are."

She walked to the door and opened it, signalling for them to go before her.

As the twins were walking in front of them and talking amongst themselves happily, Player decided to make conversation with his wife beside him, who was holding his hand.

"It's a good thing Red didn't want to do a caper today huh?" He laughed. She smiled.

"Yeah, lucky us. Otherwise I'd be stuck dealing with that man on my own." She chuckled.

"I would've come as fast as I could if I had to help Red, but I'm assuming you already knew that, didn't you Iris?"

"Yep. You'd do anything for the twins." He glared at her.

"And you."

"Oh you can spare some love for me now too?" She put her hand on her chest. "I'm honoured." She teased.

"No I don't think I will anymore, you've taken it for granted too many times." He looked away, feigning offence. When he looked at Iris however, he couldn't keep it up and they both burst into laughter.

The twins looked behind them to see their parents giggling to themselves.

"What are they laughing at?" Rosy asked, turning to her brother.

"I have no idea. It could be anything really." He said.

"Yeah you're right."

The next day at school when Harper walked into the classroom he made immediate eye contact with Mr Williams. Harper looked away awkwardly, cheeks red and biting the inside of his cheek. He sat down in his seat and got out his blue pencil.

"You got taken to the headmaster's office yesterday, didn't you?" The girl next to him asked.

She had long curly black hair that had been tied into pigtails with red bobbles. She had a blue and black striped shirt, and black leggings.

Harper raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?" He asked.

"Yesterday. Mr Williams told you that you needed something on your paper or he was gonna get your parents. You didn't have anything by the end of the lesson." She told him.

"You were looking at my work?"

Her eyes widened and she turned red.

"Yes. I was." She muttered.

"Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I was gonna ask you about who you drew but then, y'know, you didn't draw anyone."

"Why did you want to ask me about it?"

"You ask lots of questions. I've been wanting to be your friend for awhile but I didn't know how to talk to you."

"Oh." He stuck his hand out in front of her awkwardly. "I'm Harper."

The girl just sat there looking at his hand.

"You're supposed to shake my hand hand and tell me your name after." He told her.

"O-oh. Sorry." She laughed awkwardly. She grabbed his hand and shook it. "I'm Frankie."

They both smiled at each other.

Mr Williams cleared his throat and began the lesson, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the Harper as he began to sign to Rosy.

"What are you doing?" Frankie whispered, after noticing Harper signing.

"Rosy's deaf so in lessons I sign what the teachers saying so she can understand." He whispered back.

"That's sweet of you. But wouldn't it of been easier if you were sat next to each other?"

"It would be, but Mr Williams sat us in these seats and when I tried to tell him he dismissed it."

"Oh"

They both went back to listening to the teacher again.

At break time, the students all filed onto the yard, going to their friend groups. Harper walked towards Rosy.

"Harper wait up!" He heard someone say. He turned to find Frankie running towards him.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Playing with my friend. Where are we going?" She said, like it was the most the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm trying to find Rosy."

"She's your sister, right?"

"Yeah, she's my older twin sister."

"Older? It seems like you're the oldest. You're always worrying about her and trying to help her."

"We take care of each other." He smiled gently.

"Take care of each other? How does she help you?"

"When it comes to my disability." He raised his trousers leg up and she gasped as she saw the prosthetic leg.

"Wow. I had no idea." She looked back up to him.

"That's kinda the point." He laughed.

They turned the corner to find Rosy sitting on the floor, with her head down. She was sobbing quietly, holding her ears. Harper and Frankie's eyes widened.

"What happened?!" He shouted.

She didn't respond. Harper crouched down and gripped her hands. She gasped and tried to escape until she looked up and saw it was her brother.

'What happened?' He signed.

"They ripped my hearing aids out." She whimpered.

"WHAT?!" He yelled.

Frankie put her hand on Harper's shoulder and gave him a sad smile. He pulled her hands from her ears, with much resistance from Rosy. Finally, he managed to keep her hands down and gasped. Her ears were bleeding. Frankie bent down to look and gasped as well. Harper's hand clenched and his knuckles turned white. They did this.

#carmen #sandiego #carmen sandeigo netflix #carmen sandeigo 2019 #carmen sandiego player #player #Carmen sandiego fanfic #fanfic #story #writer #player carmen sandiego #twins

[osakunt]

Hello! I'm so excited when i see that ur request are open! So lately i've been reading lots of atsumu angst with no comfort where most of them are when he left the reader and now i kinda need some sad atsumu (or revenge HAHA). So may i request where atsumu left the reader for someone else and even marry them but after 2-3 years their marriage is falling apart, then when he still feel stressed he found some old memory with the reader (photo or something) and it makes him cry because he realize how bad he had hurts the reader also that no one understand him like the reader did and leaving the reader is his biggest mistake ever, but it was too late because the reader is already moved on now and happy with someone else.

I'm sorry if it is too detail tho and it's okay if don't want to take this! Thankyou so much! Have a nice day!

[TIMESKIP]

He found them in a box he held dear to him. The pictures said it all. The memories that are clipped along with the pictures made the tears slowly make their way out of his eyes.

His marriage had become shit in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t understand how one day she could be happy then the next she’d be on his throat about the littlest thing.

This wasn’t what he had imagined when he chose her over you. He thought he’d love it there - the life he imagined. Two years in and things were crumbling like an old building.

Each memory of you with him flashed through his eyes like a montage. The tears stream down his face and onto the scattered pictures as he slowly comes to realize that the smile you had in the pictures was stained with sadness when he broke it off with you.

The hurt he is feeling now was probably the same hurt you felt when he walked out on you for someone he thought he was going to be happier with.

Oh how wrong he was. As soon as he got married things took a turn that he didn’t expect at all. He tried explaining to her his point of view - she never did understand his side and always stuck to her point of view of things. No matter what it was, she didn’t really bother trying to understand him the same way you did.

He stuck around thinking that things would get better. Six months after his two year anniversary, he’s looking at these pictures after a long stressing day - A day full of arguments with the now Mrs.Miya.

Crying at how wrong he did you. The guilt and shitty feeling weighing him down as things come to settle on him.

He now knew that leaving you wasn’t the best decision he made. Not the best but the worst one he’s ever made.

The thought of wanting to know how you are now - came to him. He was in luck when he found your Instagram. Still the same username - one that he remembers you picking out just to be funny yet it grew to stay.

Maybe you were still single - or so he hoped you were. Scrolling through your page he sees pictures of only you. Getting a little more curious he taps the little circle of a highlight.

His hopes of you being single are then shattered at that moment. The highlights were just quick clips of either a photo with music or a video of a hobby you did.

The one that broke all his hopes down was one of a person. You were sharing lunch at a picnic table with someone who had a chain with your name as it’s pendent. You pointed the camera to the food then the person that now had your heart.

A small boomerang was what ripped Atsumu’s heart out. He had no say because he was the first to rip yours out.

Ofc imma take this up 😡 it’s soo good. I’m convinced that you, yourself could write this up better than I can. Enjoy, babyyyyyyy ♡︎

#haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #inarizaki x reader #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu x y/n #atsumu x y/n

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗶𝘅 𝘁𝗶𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗸 𝗵𝗰𝘀

Headcanons for the Arcana main six, inspired by interactions with @emerald-apprentice and the other anons <3

Warnings: swearing, very slightly implied nsfw

✨𝗔𝘀𝗿𝗮 𝗔𝗹𝗻𝗮𝘇𝗮𝗿

>He started an account for the shop, which evolved to a personal account, which evolved to a Faust content account, and after some time he's just "Faust's human, that is fine af"

>Monarch of the transitions, like, how??

>Does all the couple's trends he can with you (if you're comfortable ofc)

>Lucio's number one hater, it's amazing how creative he can get with the roasting.

>Absolutely does those "Pov you come out to your favourite pibling", videos he's so touched when queer babies say they feel safe with him. :((

>This tease will flirt in the comments just to see you assert dominance

✨ 𝗡𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗮 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗮𝘃𝗮

>Royalcore, elegant stuff

>Duets Lucio once in a while just to see him lose his temper in the next videos

>I don't think she lipsyncs but she likes looking at the camera, wink, and smile with classical music as sound.

>She's the official camerawoman for the m6's shenanigans.

>Her comment section is fulled with the "sorry, mommy? sorry, mommy? sorry, mommy? sorry, mommy?", "If you want a dog i can bark" type of stuff.

>Does hot royalcore besties shit with Asra.

✨ 𝗝𝘂𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗗𝗲𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗸

>He's so cursed.

>Begs to everyone to keep his phone away from him while he's drunk. No one does.

>The audios he makes being wasted af become trending in queer mentally ill tiktok

>One of the most popular are: "being single means i'm stuck with the hottest person i know, myself but it also means i got stuck with this depressed whore." "So i was thinking i must be a superhuman, MC just railed the shit outta me and all i ate today was a gatorade, oreos, and two cheetos i found under my bed." J: You can't send me to jail just for being this hot. P: Julian, you just tried to rob a Seven eleven.

>Half of his videos are thirst traps the other half are the most cursed weird shit you have ever seen.

>He lipsyncs musical theather songs, i don't make the rules.

-Knows how to do the little lad dance.

✨ 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗮 𝗗𝗲𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗸

>Cottagecore wlw queen

>Has so many videos of you on her account. And it's not even aesthetic stuff, some of them are just MC looks so adorable while they talk to Pepi"

>Shares recipes of flower tea <3

>Only likes Julian showing up in her account if it's to make fun of him

>Her account it's so pretty and organized, but you can find her being chaotic in Asra's, and Julian's account

>Duets homophobes to make fun of them

✨ 𝗠𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗞𝗼𝗸𝗵𝘂𝗿𝗶

>Made an account just to watch, not to post

>If he ever posts something, it's not his face or body, just his hands. He posts about the cute things he founds on the forest

>Appeared on Asra's account once and all the thirsting got him flustered for a month

>You'll have to use all your persuading skills of you want him to appear on your account

>Doesn't like the pranks that involve you ignoring him, well, he doesn't like pranks at all, but he hates those ones strongly

>Blocked Lucio but he gets banned so often it's impossible to keep him out of his fy page

✨ 𝗟𝘂𝗰𝗶𝗼 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗻

>Bitch.

>Posts storytimes of stuff that never happened, and gets angry when the m6 duet him to call him out

>Tries to argue with Asra, he loses

> He's good at lipsync tho

>Got stuck on straight tiktok and no one helps him to get out :(

>Bullies 12 year olds

#julian devorak #julian x mc #the arcana #the arcana x mc #the arcana main 6 #asra alzanar #asra the magician #asra the arcana #asra x reader #countess nadia #nadia satrivana #nadia the arcana #the arcana nadia #the arcana lucio #lucio morgasson

[cocochannel00]

The Azoff Family: A Case Study on one of the Music Industry’s Most Connected Families

(ft. a breakdown of the Grammy voting process and problems)

This is very long so I will try and split it up into categories for everyone (sorry I got carried away- I spent like 2 hours writing this) but enjoy!

*Disclaimer: I want to preface while the majority of this is based in research, some parts may be speculation. I don’t know the family personally so I can’t tell you what goes on behind closed doors but I can tell you how parts of the entertainment/music industry work. I’ve had 5 internships in the industry (one in marketing at one of the big record labels) and the rest of my work is publicity (what I enjoy) and events and a former advisor used to run in the same circles as Irving Azoff (and he spilled some tea last year) I’m not out here to diminish the hard work of any artists or their teams, I’m simply here to showcase parts of the industry that aren’t always shown.*

Please also see: Story Time: How Fan Pages Directly Impact Columbia Records Decisions and Harry Styles Image

IRVING AZOFF: NEVER STOP THE GRIND

Let’s begin with the great business man himself Mr. Irving Azoff Irving Azoff is the literal posture child for connections and power in the music industry (he was also inducted into the 2020 rock and roll hall of fame class which is like a huge fucking deal for a manager to be inducted so you know he's the real deal)

In conclusion, I love Irving Azoff and his drive.

Irving Azoff: Early Years Run Down:

He came up middle class (dad was a pharmacist, mom a bookkeeper) in Danville, Illinois

He dropped out of college to run a small Midwestern concert-booking empire and managed local acts in the era

Opportunity came knocking and he got the chance to manage the Eagles and the rest is history

He's one of the best negotiators and has negotiated business on behalf of stars like Stevie Nicks, the Eagles, and Jimmy Buffet

Azoff has been an incredible manager and his drive to always advocate for his clients while basically not giving two sh*ts about what people think of him has gotten him the incredible reputation he has today.

All of Irving Azoff’s Major Job Positions:

Former President MCA (major label)

Former CEO of Ticketmaster and executive chairman of Live Nation Entertainment, the behemoth formed from Ticketmaster’s merger with Live Nation.

In 2013 he and Cablevision Systems Corp. CEO and New York Knicks owner James Dolan formed a partnership, Azoff MSG Entertainment (Currently still CEO)

----> Azoff also ran the Forum in Inglewood under Azoff MSG Entertainment after MSG purchased it in 2012 (it was sold in 2020 to the owner of the Clippers) — why do you think Harry played the forum for the Fine Line show? Azoff connection

Azoff MSG Entertainment encompasses all of the other companies including Full Stop Management, Global Music Rights (performance-rights org), and the Oak View Group (arena developing company)

He also is the co-founder and manager of the lobbying group Music Artists Coalition, a group that helps lobby for artists-rights issues such as royalty rates, copyright issue and healthcare insurance (see he's not all bad)

Essentially what I'm getting at is this man knows anybody who's anybody. He's the man you want on your team to help promote your music, plan your tour, and get you on that Grammy nom list.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

JEFFREY AZOFF: THE CHILD OF NEPOTISM

So for those of you that don't know, Jeffery Azoff is Harry's current manager and the son of Irving Azoff (the third of four kids). He's currently a partner at Full Stop Management, the company owned by Irving and the one artists such as Harry, Haim, the Eagles, Kings of Leon, and Meghan Trainer are signed to.

Jeffrey graduated from the University of Colorado's Leeds School of Business and started working fresh out of college at his father's old Management company (Frontline Management) working under Maroon 5's manager Jordan Feldstein (the only way you get that kind of internship/job as a 21 year old fresh out of college is if your family or family friends gives it to you). He worked here for 5 years.

Direct Quote from Irving Azoff to Jeffrey (really tells you a lot): "Listen carefully, because I’m going to say this one time. You have a phone and you have my last name. If you can’t figure it out, you’re not my son."

After working for his father, Jeffrey moved on to the talent agency CAA (Creative Artist Agency) where he worked for roughly 3 and half years before joining his dad in forming Full Stop Management in 2016.

While he was at CAA, Irving moved over clients like Christina Aguilera and the Eagles to the talent agency to help with tour booking instead of doing it internally through LiveNation (he was CEO).

Even though I'm sure Jeff has had to work somewhat hard to get to where he is (or at least to mess up his dad's work as he doesn't seem like the type to take laziness well), the door into the industry and every job was basically handed to him on a silver platter.

Not to mention if you watch episodes of keeping up with the  kardashians (like myself) you can actually see Jeff hanging out with kendall and the rest of the fam at their Palm Springs house (you know you're a nepotism kid if you have an in with the Kardashian crew). Invite me next time Jeffrey!!!

Think of the Azoff's as the mafia family of the music industry, you don't mess with the mafia

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE GRAMMY AWARDS: STUDENT COUNCIL ELECTIONS ON STEROIDS

Ok so here's where we’re going to get into a bit more of the speculation/grey area. I don't need to tell you that award shows are corrupt (See the Golden Globes Emily in Paris scandal) and the Grammys are not an exception. Think of the Grammys as one big student council/government elections where despite the fact the teachers tell you six times to vote for the best candidate, you're still going to vote for your friends even if they aren't the best.

A simplified break-down of Grammy voting:

1) Recording Academy voting members (artists, producers, musicians- anyone involved first hand with the creation of music; All voting members must have been producers, performers or engineers on six or more tracks of a commercially released album (or 12 or more digital tracks) and record labels will submit nominations in various categories to the grammys (songs need to be released commercially between October 1 of the previous year and September 30th of this year). You can also become a voting member by either winning a grammy or being endorsed by a current voting member (hint hint)

2) Once received, the recording academy with have the academy of trustees and its reviewers organize them and approve any changes to the 30 categories/fields (aka they can add new categories or remove old ones; so no best ukulele album of the year -- this is where things get funky)

There's speculation that during this stage when these special groups of 8-10 people are organizing genres, there's an "unwritten rule" that you need to be careful what album you green light (especially for famous artists) if you don't want them to win) (Rob Kenner said this- he used to be on one of these committees). Famous people tend to get more votes from clueless or lay Academy members that don't know the specialized categories or don't care enough to listen to songs that aren't radio trending.

3) After the nominations occur, Voting members begin their first voting. Members can vote for the four general categories of record of the year, album of the year, song of the year and best new artist and a maximum of 15 categories, all within their areas of expertise. Now the interesting thing is that while these are the guidelines there is literally nothing stopping them from voting in whatever categories they want (i.g. a rapper voting in the opera category despite not listening to opera). Theses ballots are all tallied and the top 20 entries are determined in each category (funky moment #2)

In 12 of the 84 categories those top 20 go to the ballot and it's done; for the rest it’s not like that. 59 categories including the big four go to a "nomination review committees" (identities are protected so they can't get lobbied... sure) who take a look at the top 20 and narrow it down to 7 or 8. (these are the special committees the Weekend talked about when he was snubbed). They're supposed to choose the nominees "based solely on the artistic and technical merits of the eligible recordings" which lets be real if that was the case Watermelon Sugar (along with most of the others in the category) I don't think would have been nomimated as they are very generic pop (none of them are special... sorry to the WM lovers out there).

This committee is basically held to THE HONOR CODE SYSTEM... I mean tell me when the last time the honor code system worked in literally any scenario (literally wtf). Don't take my word for it though the former CEO of the Academy Deborah Dugan (a queen) filed a complaint against the Recording Academy basically claiming that the nomination review process was rigged (she was fired after 5 months on the job).

Quote from Deborah Dugan "Members of the board [of trustees] and the secret committees chose artists with whom they have personal or business relationships... It is not unusual for artists who have relationships with Board members and who ranked at the bottom of the initial 20-artist list to end up receiving nominations."

These review committees can also exploit there power by adding up to two nominees that don't appear on the top 20 list to the final voting ballot (except in the 4 big categories - which watermelon sugar that one wasn't nominated for)

They also have craft committees for like non performance stuff (like album notes, engineering and arranging) that don't even get voted on by the academy voting members

4) After all of that fucked up mess, the grammy's decided is ok, the ballots go back to the voting members for the final vote. Deloitte (an accounting firm) then counts all of them, seals them in envelopes, and delivers them to the Grammy award show.

** The Grammy's just announced this year they're removing the "secret committees" so let's see how things shift in the next couple of years**

So obviously I'm not saying this to discredit Harry's nomination or his win as Fine Line was in the US top 20 albums for the majority of 2020, however, we must acknowledge privilege. Harry has a big name to him and a huge following, and while all of that shouldn't be taken into account, it does. He also has the Azoffs, a very well connected family with friends in lots of places that would be able to put in a good word here and there to get support behind Harry. Harry won best pop solo performance for Watermelon Sugar in a category with Doja Cat, Justin Bieber, Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift, and Dua Lipa. Look at the names there, the songs (ya'll can try and remember them cause I'm too lazy to write it out) and tell me that those top names with all of the music produced didn't get there through some connections.

Do with all this information what you will and if you are interested in learning more about the entertainment industry on your own Endeavor (owners of WME, a big talent agency like CAA) is hosting a free online program called the Excellence Program to help guide the future generation of industry executives. The program is a-synchronous and starts on July 12th. Highly recommend giving it a go if you're interested!!!

Alright ya'll that's it. Feel free to message me with your thoughts!

Extra Sources if you'd like to read:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/pkdndn/how-grammys-voting-actually-works-and-where-the-alleged-corruption-lies

https://www.grammy.com/grammys/awards/voting-process

https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/music/story/2020-11-05/irving-azoff-eagles-manager

https://celebrityaccess.com/caarchive/jeffrey-azoff-exits-caa-to-launch-new-management-company/

https://www.rollingstone.com/pro/features/grammy-awards-secret-committees-945532/

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/grammy-awards-eliminate-secret-committees-voting-changes-1163887/

#harry styles #irving azoff #jeffrey azoff #Grammys #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurb #music industry #endeavor #wme #WME entertainment #Azoff #Harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles masterlist #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst

[beelzegrub]

can I request what would happen if we summon them while we're on human realm bc we missed them so much but lose so much blood in the process I don't really know I'm a sucker for these kind of things. thank youu!!

EDIT FROM FUTURE OP: This ask has been sitting in my drafts for months half finished and I finally found the motivation to finish. Anon, I’m so sorry for the wait. You’re a sweetheart ❤️ I was only able to do the three eldest though and I’m so sorry!!

Um hello??? I love this so much thank you!!! I thought it was kind of silly to go through all of that at the end of season 2 to just.... not use it so I’m excited about this!!!! (Sorry if this is too angsty my brain got super pumped about this and took off.

PS the request said “we” so I used a reader insert type of style. Hope that’s what you were looking for :)

MC Summons Their Demon, but at What cost?

Trigger warning!!!! Self harm/blood

How long had it been since you’d seen the him? Weeks? Months? Who knows. They all blended together after while. All you knew is that it had been too long. Why was this all so tedious? Solomon had promised to teach you the summoning ritual as soon as you could handle it. Why hadn’t he done so? Did he not trust you? Was he purposely keeping you away from the them? Surely you were strong enough at this point. Enough with the waiting. You wouldn’t sit around and any longer! You needed to see them. You needed to see him.

You flipped messily through book after book. Solomon had given you many to study for your apprenticeship. There had to be something about summoning in one of these!

“Hmm..”

You carefully read through the worn pages of one of the larger and dustier tomes. Something about this one called to you. You zoned out as you took in the information on the pages, following context clues until you found what you were looking for. The images drawn on the page seemed foreign and surprised you. A summoning circle? You had expected as much, but the repeated mentions of ‘sacrifice’ and ‘blood oath’ seemed ancient and outdated. You couldn’t help but notice there was no mention of sentimental possessions of the demon you were trying to summon as well. You were sure none of the brothers would suggest a summoning if it were dangerous though...

Out of options and out of patience, you gathered your courage and set up the ritual to the best of your ability. Things seemed to match the books instructions, at least. All that was left was the blood. You stepped into the middle of the circle and closed brought a sewing needle to the top of your finger. The book hadn’t specified the amount of blood needed, but it was better to start small, you reasoned. You closed your eyes and pricked it, quickly squeezing a single drop of blood into the center of the circle, and said the name of the person you had been desperate to see.

Lucifer

The day of the summoning, Lucifer had felt this nagging sense of danger from the moment he opened his eyes. He was so sure it was one of his brothers about to cause trouble for him once again.

Lucifer spent the day preparing for the worst. Had Mammon stolen something of vast importance? Did Levi buy another piece of cursed media? Surely Beel hadn’t eaten a poisonous dish??

That evening, tired from being on edge all day, he had retired to his study, hoping some music would help calm his nerves. He settled into his chair and closed his eyes.

Then came the pull.

It had been ages since he had felt a sensation like this. When was the last time someone had tried to summon him? Hundreds of years ago, it had to be. And it never felt as strong as this force pulling him now.

There had once been a cult of devil worshipers who sacrificed many of their members for a chance to pull him to the human world, quite surprised to find out their sacrifices had been in vain, considering Lucifer wasn’t interested in a bunch of worthless humans. But even then the tug hadn’t been this strong. Sure, he could still resist it, but the strength of it still left him awestruck. Who had the power to call to him like this?

“Lucifer!”

His blood ran cold. Immediately, he stopped resisting the call and gave in, allowing the summoning to take place.

You had done it. Lucifer was here! The strongest and most fearsome of the seven, and you had Summoned him to you. Your heart swelled when you though of how impressed he’d be when he found out you had done it all on your own. Would he praise you? Would he tease you? Would he tilt his head and smirk, then ask you if you had really missed him that much?

You smiled softly, looking up at him. The look on his face wasn’t one of pride. His eyebrows had furrowed and a frown creased deep into his face. Was he angry at you? No... you had seen his anger many times. This wasn’t it.

“MC....what have you done?”

He cradled you softly in his arms. Wait. When had he picked you up? You looked at your surroundings, the fear in the pit of your stomach ever growing. Where had all this blood come from? You had only pricked your finger! Lucifer’s hand touched your cheek, pulling your face back to him.

“Don’t look.”

You had no choice but to obey. You simply didn’t have the strength to move anymore.

“I’ve called for help, it’ll be just a moment, MC. Just keep your eyes on me.”

Lucifer’s voice was soft and soothing, and you felt your tired body relax into his hold.

“I did it... I brought you here... I did it...” you closed your eyes, a smile on your lips.

“MC, keep your eyes open. Look at me. MC! MC!”

Mammon

That day had started out much the same as always. Mammon, still sore from last nights punishment, groaned as he slumped into his desk at RAD. He rested his head in his arms against the desk, and glanced at the seat that used to belong to you. Obviously, you weren’t there, but it didn’t hurt to check....

“MC is still in the human world, Mammon.” 

Mammon jumped and sat up straight in his seat, his cheeks red from being caught.

“I know that Belphie! I was just-just uh zonin’ out! MC’s old seat just happened to be in the same direction!” He stuttered out an excuse. 

“Just call them, Mammon. I’m sure MC would be happy to hear your voice.”  Oh great, now Beel’s getting involved too. He knew his brothers meant no harm, but all this talk about MC was getting him riled up!

“Fine! I will! I’ll call MC tonight! and you two AREN’T invited!” Mammon laid his head down once again, this time hiding his face, not wanting his blush to show a second time. Tonight he’d finally hear MC’s voice again. And he could blame Beel and Belphie for the call!

 Come dinner time, Mammon had just about run out of patience. His head kept telling him to wait just a bit longer, but something in his heart was yelling for him to quit dragging his feet. 

“I’m going to my room and NOBODY better interrupt me, ya hear?!” Mammon stumbled to his feet and started marching to his room, six pairs of eyes staring at him questioningly. He only made it a few steps when he felt it. A tug. He closed his eyes and swayed on his feet, dizzy from the force of it. This was a summoning, wasn’t it? He had felt it plenty of times from those damn witches, but something about this was different. He turned around to look his brothers again, a look of confusion on his face.

“I...think I’m bein’ summoned.”

Levi snorted and crossed his arms. “I’m sure you’re guilty of something. Better just get it over with.”

The rest of the brothers mumbled in agreement.

Except Lucifer.

Lucifer quickly pushed out his chair and hurried to Mammon. Something was wrong. A simple summoning wouldn’t have this effect on a demon of Mammon’s stature. 

The pull came once again, stronger this time. Mammon winced and held his hand to his aching head. Lucifer’s hand came down to rest on his shoulder

 “I don’t know how long I can resist this. Somethin’ isn’t right. Lucifer, what’s happening to me?” He looked to his brother for help, and found the rest of them had gathered around as well, a look of concern on all of their faces. 

“Someone call for Diavolo and Barbatos. Mammon, hold on just a few more moments.” Lucifer commanded. 

Mammon would have agreed, if not for the voice that rang out clearly in his head, calling his name. 

“Mammon!”

Mammon’s eyes snapped open and stopped resisting the pull, hearing the shouts from his brothers disappear as he followed the call.

“Mammon! Mammon! Mammon Mammon Mammon! Please!” You couldn’t keep this up for much longer, you knew it. You had fallen to your knees moments after the initial call. You could feel every drop of blood flowing out of the pin prick on your finger, but you didn’t dare give up. You had come this far, and you wouldn’t give up now. Not until you had to.

But you didn’t have to. A flash of light blinded you momentarily, and when you could see again, there he was. Standing there was the Mammon. Relief flushed through your entire body, and you stopped pouring your magic into the spell. Utterly exhausted, your body came crashing forward, landing in front of his feet.

Mammon quickly slid to his knees on the ground, picking you up off the floor and resting your head in his lap.

“You....Are you okay, MC?” Mammon tried to keep his voice even and steady, not wanting to scare you, but his hands that held too tightly and his body that quivered gave him away. 

“I am now.” You answered quietly, unsure if it was true. At least Mammon was here and holding you in his arms. Things would be okay as long as he was with you. 

“You...You idiot! Stupid! What the heck were ya thinkin’!? Can’t you see how much blood you’ve lost? This isn’t how you’re supposed to be summoning us! I’m gonna kill that damn sorcerer!” Mammon felt his blood boil with each second that passed. How Could Solomon have allowed this?

You softly squeezed his hand, not having the energy to yell for his attention. Immediately, he stopped, looking at you questioningly. 

“Solomon didn’t teach me this. He wouldn’t. But.... I just couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to see you.” You answered.

He frowned deeply, more troubled with this answer. You had done all this just to see him? He felt a lump in his throat form. “I would have come to you. You didn’t have to do this.” He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes to stop any tears from escaping. 

You cupped his cheek, returning the affection he so rarely showed. “S’okay. All that matters is you’re here now. I just...need....to rest....a little...” Your eyes fluttered closed, feeling at peace and calm in your love’s arms. 

Panic. Once again, Mammon’s eyes snapped open. He placed his hand over yours, trying to gently coax you into opening your eyes once more. 

“Not yet, you can’t yet, MC. We have to wait for help to come. Come on, wake up.” He knew his brothers would come. Someone would come. They wouldn’t let this happen to you. He wouldn’t let this happen to you. “MC!” When gentle touches didn’t work, he got rougher, shaking you and yelling, desperate to see your eyes open.

“Enough playin’ around MC! Wake up! WAKE UP, DAMMIT! Wake... Wake up...You have to..... Wake up....”

Leviathan

To say that Levi was missing his MC was like saying humans like air. Is it true? Yeah, but kind of an understatement. Humans needed air to live and breathe, and in his eyes, you were air. It’s no secret that Levi wasn’t exactly popular. One might even say it was well known that he was a dorky loner demon, if they were feeling particularly sassy. Being a loner has it’s advantages, like having more time for gaming and anime binging, but it sure is, well, a lonely once you’ve had someone to share your passions with. And once that someone is gone, their absence weighs heavy.

So yes, Levi was missing MC. So what? Everyone was missing MC. Why wouldn’t they? His MC was a ray of sunshine in a world of darkness. Ugh. That line sounder way cooler when the hero in his latest otome had said it. Of course his thoughts couldn’t sound that cool. But that’s not the point! Levi figured he had no right to complain about MC being gone, because he was just a gross, annoying, worthless otaku. He didn’t deserve to miss them. He was lucky he got to spend as much time with them as he did, really. 

But nobody could blame him for thinking these thoughts, right? Thinking about how much he missed the way MC would cram themselves as close to him as possible to get a look at whatever mobile game he was playing was harmless. So was remembering all the nights they’d spent binging anime and then realizing the sun was up, smiling sheepishly at each other and promising not to stay up so late next time, even though they always did. Okay, so maybe  thinking about the way they looked when they were fresh out of his shower, smelling of his soap and shampoo was less than innocent, but what was he supposed to do!? Leaning your damp head on his shoulder and curling up close to him like that! Doing things like that is bad for an otaku’s heart! You might give them hope or something...

Enough was enough! He didn’t have time to be obsessing over how much he missed MC. It was taking time away from his one and only true love. “Ruri-Chan, you’d never abandon me right? No, I know you wouldn’t. You’re not like that.” Levi began speaking to his latest figure. “Not to say MC IS like that! No, of course their not! They didn’t have a choice!” He stuttered out a quick fix to his hurtful words. He was glad they weren’t around to hear, but it still felt wrong to say. He was quiet for a minute, staring at his floor in shame. Slowly, he lifted his eyes back to the figure. “Do you think they miss me like I miss them?”

And then he felt it. It had been so long, but he knew this feeling.This was a summoning, wasn’t it?! Based on the intense tug he felt, it had to be a super powerful sorcerer or maybe a group of basic magic users? Honestly, he was flattered. Someone wanted to summon HIM? No, They must have made a mistake. Surely this summon was meant for one of his brothers.

Leviathan was so lost in his own self pity he missed the first two calls of his name. The third one, sounding so desperate and pleading, snapped him out of his funk in an instant. He knew that voice. Without hesitation he let the summon take him, and there he was. He was finally reunited with MC.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. When he finally saw them again, he was supposed to feel elated and whole again, not like a piece of his heart was ripped right out of his chest. But when he locked eyes with them, surrounded by blood and their eyes looking glassy, that’s exactly what he felt.

“MC! Oh no. Oh no.”

Levi. He was here. He had to be. You heard his voice and felt his presence, felt his arms circle around you and cradle you tightly against his chest. But why couldn’t you see him? And why did you feel so… empty?

“Levi? That’s you isn’t it? Why is it so dark?” Had the candles all gone out? No, even before you lit them, you remember it hadn’t been this dark. Something was wrong.

Levi inhaled shakily, holding back the sobs he desperately wanted to release. “MC, what are you talking about? I’m right here! Can’t you see me?”

Like a bolt of lighting, the realization hit you. It wasn’t dark. The candles hadn’t gone out. It was your eyes.

“No, Levi. I can’t. I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.” You shakily reach your hand up, frantically feeling around for your love’s face. Leviathan’s usual timid nature word have normally had him reeling away, but in this moment, he had no reservations as he helped guide your hand to his cheek. His lips trembled as he fought the urge to scream.

“MC…. Why would you do this? You’ve lost so much blood… and.. and your sight? I’m not worth this. I’m just a useless otaku! It isn’t fair!” His tears began to flow, the guilt of it all was ripping him apart.

You closed your eyes and smiled as you remembered the many faces of this man you had called to you. “It was worth it. I did it because I love you, Levi. I need you. After all, what good is a Henry without his lord?”

#obey me #shall we date? obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #reader insert #tw self harm #tw sewing needle prick #tw blood #this was way to long winded I overdid it

[cherry-gemz]

Open Book: Part I

Summary: As the Assistant Librarian for a small town in Florida, you find yourself intrigued with an extraordinary little girl and her charming uncle. As each day goes by, you teach the girl about adventure and mystery with your love of books. Little do you know what's in store for you next.

Pairings: Y/N and Frank Adler

Rating: PG, all fluff

Word count: IDK, failed at the assignment 2k+ lol. So I split the fic.

Challenge Prompt: Write a story about someone trying to find the perfect birthday gift.

A/N: Happiest of birthdays dear @a-little-counter-esperanto. You are the bees knees and really a true gem! I'm so happy we've become friends - we have so many things in common it's cray. I'm wishing you all the love and happiness, sunshine! May you continue to have a fantastic birthday sleepover and enjoy being loved by all! Hope you enjoy the fic xx - Cherry

"Did you get the flowers?" Mary asked as she sat on the couch flipping through the tv.

Frank patted his chest and then his jeans in search of his keys.

"What?"

Mary kept changing the channels without a beat,"Frank. You're supposed to buy a girl flowers on the date."

Frank furrowed his brow, "Uh...no. Have you seen my keys? Really?"

Mary rolled her eyes, "She's not gonna kiss you goodnight."

He searched on the kitchen table and rummaged through old mail when a knock at the door interrupted his concentration. As he bee-lined to the door, Mary turned off the tv and hopped off the couch to grab her latest book she'd chiseled her way through for the week.

Frank swung the door open abruptly and started you as you stood at their doorstep.

"Hey! You made it, great!" Frank exclaimed. "Sorry, my head's a mess."

Mary now situated herself at the kitchen table and shouted over her shoulder, "It's because he hasn't been on a real date in over six months."

Frank turned red," What? No...I mean yes, but jeez, Mary. Remember we talked about how to read a room?"

He turned back to you, "Come in, come in. I'm just trying to find my keys."

You chuckled and nodded to the doorknob which held his set of keys and he smacked his forehead.

As you walked into the house, you noticed little knickknacks here and there on shelves. And books. Mountains of books everywhere. Piling on top of each other.

"Hi Mary," you smiled as she kept her back to you, nose deep in her book.

"Mary…" Frank scolded as he put his hands on his hips.

"Hi, Ms. Y/N."

You smiled as you approached her, "May I sit?"

She nodded in agreement and you pulled out a chair.

"I brought you something…" you say as you rummage through your canvas bag for your book on crabs. "Well, actually I was hoping you could help me...see…"

Frank smiled as he saw the two of you bonding. He caught himself admiring you more than he'd like to admit as he needed to head off to his date soon. He appreciated your assistance with babysitting Mary as the two of you first met at the local library. His date, Justine, was a waitress at the bar he would visit from time to time. While there was a chemistry between them, it was really just through vanity. With you, he had come to know you at a deeper level: the way you’d squint or furrow your brow when reviewing your clipboard. Or how adorable you’d look chewing on the cap of your pen when trying to finalize an email at your desk. He saw that you loved the color yellow, considering how many skirts and cardigans you’d paired together. And that you were a romantic at heart - the classics were your fave to read and how’d you get lost in historical facts when he had first asked you what your hobbies were. Seeing how a beautiful person you were, inside and out, he now regretted asking Justine out with you on his mind.

Mary's eyes scanned the books of quantum physics and mathematics. At first you thought perhaps she had another book instead, but as you watched her day in and day out, you were astounded at the tiny prodigy and her ability to ascertain such knowledge at her age. You'd correct the cataloging errors for the day and find her reading for enjoyment it seemed.

Then one day Frank arrived. Mary had always left on her own, but as if it were any old regular day, the handsome uncle came to retrieve his stellar niece. He had a warmness to him. His dark brown hair and beard complemented his face, one that was obvious in an overall attractiveness. And he was kind, he showed that by adopting his niece after her mother had passed away and truly nurturing her gifted talent. You learned he fixed boats for a living and lived not too far from the library. You smiled at the odd pair together, they somehow seemed to work however.

As you checked their books out, Mary tiptoed over the large walnut desk and glanced at you.

"You're pretty," she stated.

"Mary. What did we say?" Frank tsked, embarrassed, but didn't disagree with her observation.

"What? Frank, you told me that I need to state facts, rather than assumptions. And I am stating a fact that Ms. Y/LN is pretty. Do you think she's pretty, Frank?"

Frank coughed into his fist and blushed, you smirked, half wanting to know his answer, half laughing inside of how Mary was so blunt.

"Yes, Ms. Y/LN is very pretty," he replied and gazed at your eyes. He licked his lips and you had to turn away feeling flushed. You closed the last book and placed it in Mary's backpack.

"All set," you replied. "These are due on the 23rd."

Frank zipped up the backpack and slung it over his broad shoulder. "Thanks, we'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh?" You replied as Mary looked at you both attempting to assess the flirtation occuring before her eyes.

"Well, yeah, she loves it here, I mean. And we have a few other books to return."

"Yes, we'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Mary."

"Bye," Mary replied and skipped off.

Frank showed up every day after that. You found it endearing, but not wanting to read into something that wasn't there, you focused your attention on Mary. That only seemed to peak his interest further. While he had a knack for attracting women, his heart was never in it for the long haul since the minute they found out about Mary, they'd either run away from the possible responsibility, or Mary would run them off herself. But with you it was different. You were genuine and kind to Mary. Knowing quite well of her mathematical abilities, you would challenge her in other areas: art, zoology, history. You found that while she could read more college level books than any person you met in the small town, she still was a child wanting to learn about all other aspects of life. You'd sit together at a table: you, reviewing inventory spreadsheets for the latest book fair and her, immersed in some book that would put you to sleep at night.

"Frank, you should ask Ms. Y/LN out," Mary stated one day as the three of you sat at a table together. Frank practically choked and you shook your head, secretly wanting to say yes.

"Aw, Mary. Well, I bet Ms. Y/LN has guys lined up at her door every night."

"No, she doesn't," Mary replied as she turned a page of her book. Frank laughed and placed his hand on Mary's shoulder, pretending to shake her.

"Well, actually Ms. Y/LN…" he said as your heart skipped a beat.

"Y/N," you interrupted. "You can call me Y/N. I feel we're on a first name basis now considering you're here everyday."

“Y/N,” he smiled. His hair was more combed today. You had noticed that he seemed to be disheveled when you first met him, however either Mary’s tactics were rubbing off on him, or it was your pure imagination.

“Yes?” you piped. You haven't been regularly dating lately. There just weren’t many prospects these days. Not ones that could keep up with conversation, let alone intellect. So instead, you found yourself immersed with your favorite fictional characters in the sea of books you’d grown to know and love.

His brow furrowed, he seemed nervous and he picked at the edge of a book as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Mary interrupted as Frank turned to her, but seemingly glad she saved him from embarrassment.

“Do I have a favorite book? Hmmm...” you thought and a childish smile appeared on your face. “I have many favorite books, Mary...The Velveteen Rabbit, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe…”

“Yeah, but what’s like your most favorite book?”

You extended your hand out to her and she willingly accepted. Frank perked up his interest as he watched the two of you scamper off into the fiction area. Curious, he stood up and decided to follow. The two of you giggled quietly as you made your way around the columns, your free hand lightly ghosting over the spines of the books. The subtle scent of paper and dust permeated Frank’s sense of smell. He was more of an outdoorsy person nowadays as he had left behind his scholarly days teaching in Boston. It’s where Mary learned most from, his appetite to keep learning, vernacular, and wit . You slowed down and perused a row until you found your favorite book.

“Aha!” you exclaim and hid the book behind your back as Mary jumped up and down with excitement. “Now, I’m not sure if this is something you’d be interested in, it’s more for ten year olds in my opinion. However, I know you’re a very mature young lady and I find that you’d quite enjoy the story if you give it a chance.”

Frank smiled, perplexed as to what book could possibly be your favorite. You pulled the book from behind and showed Mary.

“Little Women,” she stated. “By Louisa May Alcott.”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful story, really. About sisters and the trials they endure during the American Civil War. There’s friendship, love, and growth.”

Mary bunched her nose, you could tell she was on the fence about whether she’d enjoy a story about fictional sisters and yucky love stuff. You started to pull it away, however she grabbed it from your hands. You laughed and looked at Frank who leaned onto the columns and folded his arms.

“Seems someone is wanting to expand their horizons,” he chuckled.

“So it seems,” you smiled back as Mary skipped off to return to the table leaving the two of you behind.

“I’m more of a Lord of the Rings man myself.”

“Really?” you responded playfully. “The Hobbit included, right?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “I think I actually just read that one to be honest, I just wanted to impress you. I spent my time reading Calvin and Hobbes more, probably how Mary learned my sarcasm.”

You laugh and touch his forearm as a reflex, but quickly realize and pull away. The spark that you felt when you connected was undeniable. You felt butterflies with him standing next to you and you hoped he hadn’t noticed your inability to remain calm.

“Y/N…” he started to say nervously. “Would it be alright if I called ya? Maybe we can get together sometime?”

“Oh, umm,” you replied, caught off guard. While you definitely had caught feelings for the handsome man, you never would have thought it’d be reciprocated. You stuttered, trying to gather your response.

Your hesitation threw him off, and he quickly replied, “I mean...like to sit for Mary or whatever. She really likes you.”

“Of course...yes,” you reply defeated in hopes that he would have asked you out. Instead of asking why he didn’t, you started to walk back to Mary. Frank scrunched his face in frustration in knowing he missed his shot with you and blurted out the most platonic question instead. He realized as well and quickly shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and followed your lead.

Frank watched as you comfortably plopped yourself next to Mary on the couch, dreading that he had to meet up with Justine. He’d much rather relax on the couch with you and the rugrat, enjoying some silly kids movie together.

You peered over the couch, “Is it okay if she has popcorn?”

“What? Yes,” Mary said flatly and jumped off the couch to the kitchen.

“Okay, miss. But not too much sugar. Bedtime is still at 9,” Frank replied as you shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s the weekend, Frank,” Mary called out from the kitchen.

“Yes, but-“

“Will you be late?” you asked.

He looked at you in surprise, “Um, no. Probably before ten?”

“Okay, have fun.”

“It’s Y/N’s birthday,” Mary replied, carrying two coke bottles and a bag of jelly beans.

You shook your head in regret of ever telling the child when your birthday was. She was so inquisitive that day, asking about all your favorites: food, animals, books, and now birthday.

“It’s your birthday?!” Frank asked.

“Yeah, no big deal.”

“How old are you?” Mary asked as she set the drinks on the coffee table and then remembered how Frank would scold her about leaving water rings. She grabbed the coasters and placed them under the bottles.

“Mary!” Frank detested and placed his hands on his hips.

“How old do you think I am?” You tease, waving off to Frank that it was okay.

“Older than Justine, that’s for sure. She said she was 24, but looks 34. But she acts like she's 12. She hasn't even read anything on quantum physics, she thought wave mechanics was something Frank was working on with a boat,” she said coolly and popped a few jelly beans into her mouth. She nestled herself back into the couch cushions and wiggled her feet.

“Mary Elizabeth!” Frank’s voice boomed as he entered the living room.

Mary leaned over to whisper to you, “Frank says I'm not supposed to correct older people. Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

“And a busy body,” he huffed.

You nodded and laughed quietly, entertained at his expense.

“Well I am 32,” you smiled and looked at your watch, “As of one hour ago as a matter of fact.”

“That’s good. You’re much more mature than Justine and a better fit for him. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Mary…that’s it. You’re on your last warning,” Frank bellowed. “Don’t make me let Y/N go home and then you’re stuck with me tonight.”

“What? No! Okay. I’m sorry,” she lamented and folded her arms.

Frank’s demeanor changed as he turned to you, “I hadn’t known it was your birthday. Don’t feel pressured to sit for her tonight if you have other plans.” Secretly he wanted to cancel on Justine and spend the night celebrating you instead.

“Oh it’s okay! It kind of appeared out of nowhere. I usually go back home and celebrate with friends and family, but my schedule didn’t permit it this year. Next year, perhaps.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” Mary asked as she chewed on another handful of jelly beans.

“Red velvet cheesecake,” you smiled. “I have a sweet tooth.”

Frank couldn’t concentrate on his date with Justine. His mind was elsewhere. On you. Justine grazed her hand as they sat next to each other at the bar. He seemed unfazed by her gesture and looked at his watch, 9:14pm. Would it be too obvious if he cut the date short that he was into you? He coughed and took a swig of his beer.

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” She cooed and bit her lip in anticipation.

“What? Oh actually I was gonna head out. The sitter needed me home by 9:30,” he lied.

“Oh, sitter?”

“Yeah, Mary. Remember? My niece?”

“That’s right. How old is she again?”

“Seven,” He said, annoyed. He recalled they had met once before. The bartender approached them and handed Frank the receipt.

“Hey, do you have any desserts on the menu?”

Justine’s ears perked in curiosity of where he was going with asking about dessert.

The bartender grunted slightly and threw a mangled tri-fold menu and Frank grabbed it quickly.

“Buddy, ring me up for the red velvet cupcake.”

#Laurens birthday challenge #Lauren's birthday sleepover #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you #frank adler #gifted #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fluff #♡ frank adler ♡ #open book

[ijswezel]

     all right, i finally shotgunned over 900 saved draft posts in like just a few days this week so that should give you plenty of stuff to keep you occupied on the long drive home. big sorry to the six of you i routinely reblog stuff from for the dire notification spam though lol

     with that done, it’s time for a break. i am trying very hard to be the best person i can be every day and sure i’ve grown a lot in a lot of ways, but i realise i still have a whole bunch of toxic traits that affect other people that i need to sort out. either i unknowingly drive people away, alienate them when they’re trying to love me or i just generally fuck stuff up somehow, or people just find me very easy to put down and be done with. i am bipolar, and am often Too Much in one or an assortment of ways, too intense or too this or that or the other. sometimes it is really difficult because it makes me feel unworthy of any friends but if i keep telling myself that then i’m giving myself no room to change. i lost a lot of people very close and dear to me over the last couple of years, people i love and people i’ve known for years and ultimately i’m the reason why. it makes me as sad as fuck because life is lonely these days and while nobody ever communicates what i did wrong before leaving, it all keeps leading back to the same place and i’m determined to fix it. i don’t want to be a negative influence on other peoples’ lives and i need to reflect on what i need to do to become a better person to people to stop this happening

     it’s one of those things where yeah, i deserve people in my life who are understanding and compassionate and want to know me for me even through the rough bits and the obsessions and the mood swings and the hard bits and the lows as well as when i'm doing well. and yeah, the weight of maintaining friendships and relationships isn’t entirely on me alone. that’s just not fair. but more often than not, the problem is me and i keep affecting others around me in harmful ways. i apologise whenever i can but there’s a point where apologies very quickly become meaningless if It Keeps Happening Regardless

     why the break? well i actually dislike social media in general with the burning intensity of a thousand desert suns, that’s why i only have this blog, and a personal private instagram that often goes months between posts, and even they are sometimes too much. but as cursed as this website is, i hate tumblr the least as a format. it reminds me of the wild west of the old myspace days. i digress, however; this is just something i need to do away from social media in general because social media is absolutely not helping any. i was gonna delete this blog outright at first but it seems a bit of a waste to shitcan it after 11 years (not all on this blog but an accumulated total) so i’m just going to leave it dormant for a while instead and return at a later date

     so if you stumble across this page in the mean time, please enjoy your stay, have a rifle around. ask a question, leave a message, submit a song, submit a thought, maybe. for those that come here for music, my #music tag is in spotify playlist form in my sidebar for easier shuffling (for some reason clicking it from posts throws up errors but the same link from the sidebar works fine). maybe when i’m back i might finally revamp my theme, who knows

     but most importantly, be good to yourself

     i love you. namaste

#me

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

orange and gold

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

Set a few months after Master of the Mountain, but before Seabound or The Island.

Also yeah, I couldn't think of a better title, sue me- I just know that they wear one of the colours at some point, so... 🤦‍♀️😂

Trigger warnings: none I think? Huh-

Also, bingo!! I really need to learn better time management, dear freaking gosh- I hope I'm not too late though? I know it's like half a day late, eek- and I was supposed to post this earlier, but I ended up literally falling asleep while writing it😂

Thank you so much Fabro, for hosting such a cool event!:D Your comments on my fics literally never fail to make my day<3. And I'm so glad that I met so many awesome, really skilled people through this event too - it's been a lot of fun working alongside y'all:D, I wish I'd had more time to interact instead of posting stuff and vanishing lol, but exams be like:////

Prompt: cooking (does baking count as cooking? I realized too late lol-) from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Word Count: 2497

---

Trying to escape from killer dire-bats hadn't been on Cole's to do list today - although the mountains were kind of beautiful.

It was a bit difficult to see them while he was being dragged to his death, but hey, didn't Jay always tell them to be more positive?

That was, until he made the mistake of looking down.

Miles of snowcapped mountains touched the pastel blue sky, but he was more focused on exactly how high he was from the ground.

Great.

Trying to swing back onto the Bounty, he didn't notice a golden-winged blur shoot past the bat, almost dropping their spear in haste.

"Let my friend go, or I'll-"

"Vania?"

She throws the spear at the bird, successfully knocking one of its wings.

Huh. She must've been practicing - throwing with accuracy while flying seemed kinda difficult.

"I'm so sorry!" she replies, grabbing his arm before he fell down too. She winces at the strain on her wings, almost dropping him onto the deck. "I was supposed to come earlier, but there was an issue with one of the mines, and it took forever to-"

"There ain't anything in this world that's managed to kill me yet," he replies jokingly, checking that the autopilot hadn't been damaged. "I doubt an angry bird is going to be the first."

"Didn't you mention that you became a ghost once? Pretty sure that means you were dead-"

"Shh, that's not an important detail," he jokes.

"If you say so," she replies with a grin. "Did I mention that Chompy's been tearing down the palace flower arrangements again?"

"Send my regards to the gardener-"

"Did you just make a pun?"

"Remind me why I decided to visit you again?"

"Because you love me?" she asks stepping onto the ground as the Bounty landed gently.

"I hereby crown you as my platonic soulmate," Cole deadpans, taking her hand. "Vania and Cole-"

"Destined to annoy each other for eternity," she giggles, swinging their hands up and down. "But seriously - thanks. I don't think I realized how much work being a queen was."

"What's it like?"

"I mean - I'm glad that people trust me, and they come to me if they have a problem, but the paperwork is a nightmare. I never get to go outside anymore, I swear."

"Paperwork? Also, you just invited me here for a week. I don't wanna disturb you?"

"Nah, I cleared my schedule, don't worry. And trust me, you don't want to know. Everything requires some sort of official written thing, and it's so boring-"

"Official? But you're the queen?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't really want to change something unless it benefits the people. Not after..."

Her smile dims, eyes straying to the palace walls.

Oh- oh.

"You're nothing like him," Cole says firmly, squeezing her hand. "I mean, if you need to take a break, or you can make your job a bit easier by cutting out something unnecessary, that's just gonna help you become a better queen. You've definitely got the interests of your people at heart, and that's the most important thing, you know? And well, uh, everything seems to be going great so far - you don't have to beat yourself up over someone else's mistakes."

"Thanks," she replies softly, her smile slowly returning. "Speaking of breaks, what do you think we should do this time?"

"You could show me around the city again?"

"You've already seen everything cool," Vania giggles, skipping ahead of him. "We don't renovate much - unlike you guys-"

"Hey, it's not our fault that our city gets destroyed every few months-"

"More like every few days," she teases, tying back her golden hair. "How about we find some dragons to adopt?"

"Tempting, but where would you keep them?"

"They could sleep in my room-"

She breaks off when she notices him laughing. "What?"

"N- nothing," Cole replies, in between laughs. "Jay and I just made a bet."

"On what?"

"How many dragons you've adopted. I bet at least six, he bet fifteen."

"Well, jokes on both of you - I'm pretty sure my advisor's going to throw a fit if I show up with another one," she starts, giggling. "We've got twenty living in the palace right now."

"Twenty dragons?"

"They're so cute! You just look into their adorable little eyes," Vania pauses for breath, continuing her animated gesturing, "and you can't help but wanna hug them!"

"Oh, Jay's going to be so mad."

"Aww, I'm sorry guys. They're just too adorable!"

"...Wanna hear a funny story?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"I actually used to be terrified of dragons-"

"No way!" Vania exclaims. "Y'all have been on a lot of adventures though, so-"

"Nah, we used to have our own dragons at first. They were pretty cool! I just- I'm a simple guy! Huge animals with wings are scary up close when you're barely a teenager."

"Or when you're really short-"

"We're the same height!" Cole exclaims, facepalming in a bit of a fondly exasperated way.

"I'm two years younger than you-"

---

"Ugh, whose idea was this?"

"Yours," Vania grins, sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"You were supposed to help me, not leave me high and dry!" Cole accuses jokingly, staring at all the appliances they'd found in the cupboards.

"'One must always be prepared for new adventures,'" she quotes seamlessly, waving one of- what was his name again? Mulch something? Oh! Clutch! Some explorer he was, leaving them to die in the pyramid - Clutch Powers' books in the air.

"Fine," he sighs, staring at the old recipe book she'd found in one of their back cupboards. "But you've gotta help me? I almost burned down-" "Woah, what? If you finish that sentence with 'kitchen'-" "In my defense, Kai was playing a prank on me-" "In my defense, I wouldn't like to explain how the queen of Shintaro burnt down the palace by teaching one of her friends to cook," she grins, flipping through the pages. "What do you wanna start with?" "Something simple?" "Have you ever tried baking bread before? It's a lot of fun!" "I haven't really had the time, but that sounds kinda interesting."

He skims the recipe, raising his eyebrows. "Wait, why does this take hours? I thought you said it was simple?"

"Trust me, it is," she laughs, adding, "besides, I still wanna hear about all your adventures!" "Uh... okay," Cole replies hesitantly, "but if this fails, I'm so sorry." "Give yourself some credit, you guys literally saved the world! Multiple times!" "Bold of y'all to assume we know how we did it," he laughs, only half-kidding. "Besides. I botched soup once."

"I've botched toast," she mock-sighs, smiling. "Pretty sure that makes us even."

"Lemme get this straight. You've messed up toasting bread, but you can bake it from scratch?"

"Trust me, I don't know either," she giggles, trying to open a brightly coloured packet of... something? Did flour come in packets that small?

"Uh, why are you opening something called 'feast'?" he asks, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Feast," she echoes, trying to stifle her laughter. "Off to a... rocky start, aren't we?"

It took him a second.

"I already regret this," he jokes, facepalming. "But I'd say that your puns are, uh, gold."

"I've un- unleashed-" breaking off, she half-falls off the counter, laughing so hard her face starts to go red, "a monster."

---

"Uh, is it supposed to look like that?" Cole asks, frowning.

The mixture looked less like the dough he'd been expecting - more like one of Jay's inventions gone wrong.

Badly wrong, he thought, eyes widening at the goopy mess of foam that threatened to spill over the jug.

"The yeast?" Vania echoes, poking her head out of one of the cupboards. "Yeah, all good! It always looks a little gross, and you're gonna doubt ever eating bread again, but at least it doesn't taste like it's fermented-"

"It's what?"

"Yeah," she grimaces, exaggerating her disgust a bit. "If aliens ever fell from the sky, they'd think we were crazy for eating bread-"

"Aliens? I think we're a bit crazy!" Cole exclaims, trying not to laugh.

Vania smiles, then sighs, lugging a huge bag of flour onto the counter. "I can never open these bags properly," she starts, eyeing the the bag a bit warily, "and it always makes such a huge mess all over the kitchen. You'd think they'd make it easier for people to use, right? I swear-"

He jokingly puts his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you!" "But you know that I've sworn off swearing-" she replies, breaking off with a laugh. "Pun not intended - that actually made sense in my head. I swear!"

"No," Cole interjects with a grin, shaking his head. "You don't, remember?"

"See, this is why we're friends-"

"Friends? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, be quiet," she shoots back, exaggeratedly dragging a hand down her face. "I mean, sure, just because everyone thinks that we're dating doesn't mean that we-"

Wait. What?

"People think that we're dating?" he asks, clamping a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to muffle his laughter. "I- I- really?"

"I know, right?"

"Even my friends thought so at first," he confesses, dragging a hand down his face. "I mean, as much as I love you-"

"I love you too," Vania replies, completely seriously. "Even if you'll always be more like an annoying-"

"Hey-"

"Sibling to me than anything else," she finishes, grabbing a pair of scissors. Cole watches, a little alarmed, as she stabs them into the flour bag over and over.

"Is it... supposed to be this difficult to just open the bag? Seems kinda stupid-"

"Well, er, they have this piece of paper with glue that you're supposed to pull away from the rest of the bag, but it never works properly and I-"

"Well, we could always make our own flour," Cole interjects, laughing. "I mean, I've got a scythe? Let's go!"

"Uh, but we don't have wheat growing here. I don't think it'd suit the climate very well?"

"Wheat a shame," Cole sighs jokingly, measuring out the flour (which had, finally, escaped the bag).

"Oh my gosh," Vania deadpans, "you did not just-"

"Yep, I did."

"You're horrible," she giggles, "then again, I was the one who started this whole debacle, so I think we'll share the blame."

"Debacle? Where'd you pick that one up from? Sounds kinda cool-"

"Oh, it's from a book someone wrote about you guys," Vania says casually, pouring a cup of water into the bowl.

"Hey, uh-" Cole starts hesitantly, twisting his fingers back and forth, then breaks off. "Why'd you read all that stuff about us, anyways? Adventure books don't really seem like something you read a lot, since we have similar favorite books. I mean..."

"Well, um..." Vania trails off, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh- I guess, well, it sounds kinda stupid, but I'd never really met anyone my age who wasn't a royal or something. I... er, I didn't want to be left out, you know?"

Cole thinks back to a scroll; a quest, a sacrifice. One that his friends never seemed to really notice, unless it was with horror or flinches. Not that he blamed them, but - joking about how he was much more useful to the team when he was freaking dead than he was before he'd stumbled and fell in the temple?

That had been a bit far, even for his best friend. Locks could always be picked or something, he didn't need to be a ghost to provide some sort of value-

Well, that's not completely true, is it? a small voice questions, and he can't keep his hands from shaking a little.

"Jay here thinks you're the least valuable ninja."

Not enough to be a performer. Now, not good enough to even be a ninja, apparently.

Well, he reminds himself firmly, you don't have to be the best - just stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.

Nothing but a scar that glowed warm orange occasionally left of the whole Cursed Realm ordeal, sometimes it was all too easy to forget - or pretend - that it had never even happened in the first place.

Other times, like when he'd dropped a glass of water on the floor and his hands hadn't stopped shaking for hours, or when he woke up screaming, expecting to fall through his bed again, it still felt like he was trapped as a ghost. Literally - and maybe a little figuratively as well.

Yeah. Yeah, I know.

"Thanks for trusting me with that," he replies softly. "And I'm sorry. That sounds... horrible, but, honestly, you're a pretty cool person, and I ain't just saying that because we're friends. People can be awful, and they can- they can leave, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not for people to accept you. I kinda know what it's like, and it's... just, uh, not great."

"No, thank you," Vania says, rubbing her eyes. "You're pretty cool, too. And I'm glad that we become friends, even if wasn't in the- the, er, greatest circumstances."

"Right back at ya. The fall was pretty terrifying, though," Cole says casually, as if memories of that nightmarish plunge into the depths of earth don't still send shivers down his spine.

"No, definitely! I was so sure we were gonna splat onto the ground or something, thank gosh we didn't."

"Yeah..." Cole trails off, reading the recipe they'd been following. "Oh- do we just leave the bowl somewhere for a few hours now?"

"Oh, yeah," Vania answers. "Other than clean up the kitchen, what else do you wanna do?"

"That's kind of you, but, ah, I don't mind. You can choose something."

"I don't mind either," she replies, covering the bowl with a dishcloth. "Seriously, I don't."

"Same here though."

"Really, I don't mind-" Vania breaks off with a laugh, adding, "Well, actually, there is something."

She doesn't elaborate, thoughtfully gazing out the window.

"Well, what is it? Don't keep me in the dark."

"Ugh, it's kinda stupid-"

"I'm sure that it's not- well, unless you want to try to jump off a flying ship with a homemade parachute to prove a bet to someone-"

"Do I even wanna know?"

"...uh, probably not. We're way too crazy sometimes, our Master has a hard time keeping us in check. Your thing, though?"

"Can I give you a hug?"

Cole blinks for a second, expecting some sort of punchline.

"That's your thing?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, I said it was kinda stupid-"

"No no, that's not what I meant. You're so sweet - that's all."

"Well, not more than you-"

"Nah, you're sweeter-"

"Let's just call it a tie," Vania says with a smile, reaching over to give her friend a hug. "Thank you so much, I swear- well, no, I don't, but you know, anyways-"

"Yeah," Cole replies, laughing softly. "I know."