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grace--le--domas · 3 months

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PJO- Some Show Recommendations for the showrunners if s2 is greenlit

Season 1 was kinda...boring? Honestly, that is the last thing I expected a PJO adaptation to be. The books aren't perfect, but they are fun! There is friendship, adventure, humour, all while still the characters grapple with some pretty serious stuff. The show (except for the first two episodes and the finale) feels stiff.

Show is too exposition-y, the pacing is off and it of course breaks the cardinal rule of show- don't -tell.

Thankfully, the concerns are easily remedied. Coming of age stories are a dime and dozen, and I think that the showrunners could actually learn from the TV shows and movies of past. So, I compiled some recommendations for them :) Read on if extensive analysis is your thing :)

Buffy The Vampire Slayer- Honestly, this is theee coming of age story. It follows Buffy (the chosen one), as she navigates high school, college and eventually adulthood, along with slaying vampires. And instead of a sullen main character, we as an audience are treated to a sassy, take-no-prisoners variant of the chosen one trope. There are so many similarities between Percy and Buffy- both are loyal to a fault, sarcastic and stubborn. They understand that they cannot escape their respective destinies, but they'll be damned if they don't see things through their own way. Both are brave to a fault, and adore their found families. The writers could take some inspiration from BTVS and Buffy's character arc (to an extent). Bonus- BTVS has great examples of melding humour in serious situations.

2. Mission Impossible Series- This one might be a bit controversial, but hear me out. I know most people consider the MI films popcorn flicks-and they are- but most the movies in the series are paced excellently. There is a sense of urgency in MI films- which was severely lacking in the PJO show. Have a deadline, let me feel anxious for these kids.

MI also has some excellent action scenes. And before you say, well PJO is not an action series, I would like to say that I agree- but the beauty of adaptating something is that you get to change things. Well paced action sequences, even if they are about a minute or so, are necessary break up the exposition dumps. It breaks the monotony. It makes you feel afraid for these kids, who are running from one dangerous situation/monster to another.

3. Dune (2023)- Thematically, Dune is vastly different from PJO. I am including it in this list for several reasons- editing, cinematography world building and sound editing.

To put it bluntly, I don't feel connected to the world of the PJO series at all- which is a shame because it is an incredible world! Greek mythological creatures co-existing with the modern world! Modern myths! Greek gods!. But it is all introduced in the most boring, exposition-y way possible.

The cinematography doesn't shine until the last episode. I want interesting shots, fluid camera movements- just anything that breaks the monotony of scenes. For example- I loved Poseidon's introduction, why wasn't this type of cinematography present in the rest of the series. Shoot the gods differently, make use of different camera compositions. Experiment a little for god's sake.

Coming to sound, yeah this one was the most disappointing of all. There are no memorable sound motifs, which is a shame because sound can convey so much more than words in certain scenes. I say Harry Potter music and you instantly think about the charcteristic symphony. This is missing sorely in the tv show.

Sidenote- I would have chosen Nathan Barr as the music composer (missed opportunity Disney). Look up his work, and you'll understand why I said this.

Coming to editing, yeah the editing is clunky at best. That is all I have to say about that for the moment.

Let me know if anyone wants a part 2 :)

#percy series #percy jackson tv show #percy jackson and the olympians #PJO #PJO tv series #pjo spoilers #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #disney #percy and annabeth #pjo #disney plus

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sesmantelar · 1 month

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today has been miles better than the last time I was here. I feel way more on top of things, and able to keep track of what is going on. it just sucks that I have such a long drive home after this. and so many errands to run. I am super super super hungry and will hit my 20 hours mark around the time I get home today. I doubt I will skate (I have a feeling since it's a family day, ice skating might be seen as the perfect day out and I want no parts in wasting my money or precious hours away from my dollhouse. I found so many more trauma shadow work prompts (much deeper stuff) so I prepped my diary during this shift to have a plethora of options in the next few weeks. an idea I currently have is started to go out once a week on a solo date - to cafe, rooftop, lounge, bar, restaurant etc (it will likely not start with restaurants due to my current weightless and omad situation). while there, no headphones, just facing the outside world and my only shield is my diary. working on shadow work prompts while out in public handles a few problems all at once. I also would like to start getting regular manipedis again. I know I was trying to accept but I am just way more comfortable when I don't have to worry about how unkempt my hands and feet look. things I want to accomplish today - 20 minutes pilates or 20 minutes barre pilates workout and stretch and roll, actually take a long walk in the sun OR DO ONE OF THE ICE CLASSES IN EMAIL, drink enough water, get a nice long nap before work, 2 shadow work prompts, read a chapter of each of my books (outofshapeworthlessloser, daughters of war and knife edge), watch sex and the city, work on my artwork and post, practice my harp music once through, and if I feel up to it, writing and turning in the paper before midnight. but we will see because I am over school right now. I started a new art collection, and I want to be more creative in filming my creative process. however, my face and body aren't where they need to be for that kind of content yet. I will get there. but I also need a new phone, recording equipment, a new mindset and time. April is for weightloss, fitness, multiple ice tests, finishing two books, creating new art pieces, getting my med business up and running and my travel agent stuff. and of course savings up, mainly for nose job.

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fahrni · 3 months

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Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

Last week was cold, this week has been like a perfect spring. We had plenty of sunshine with highs approaching 70. Of course next week we drop back into the 40’s. It is winter after all. 😃

Juli Clover • MacRumors

Apple’s EU Core Technology Fee Could Bankrupt Freemium App Developers

This is going to take some time to fully understand. Apparently one of the rules requires app makers to pay Apple the equivalent of $0.54 per app installation over one million. Now, if you’re selling a product for some hunk of change or have recurring revenue you’ll probably be fine if you manage to have one million plus installations. Heck, I’d love to have to think about this problem. 🤣

Having other stores to distribute your apps through also sounds interesting but you need to verify you have access to $1,000,000 dollars to handle support issues and keep the store running smoothly.

I’m curious to see what Epic and Spotify do.

As for me, I’ll stick with the good old 15-30% cut and hope someday I have to pay Apple 30% of my sales. Why? Because it would mean I’m making really good money.

M.G. Siegler • Spyglass

I’m honestly not sure I can recall a press release dripping with such disdain. Apple may even have a point in many of the points above, but the framing of it would just seem to ensure that Apple is going to continue to be at war with the EU over all of this and now undoubtedly more.

His analysis of Apple’s press release is a laugh. Apple is definitely trying to scare the crap out of folks. 🤣

Red Sweater

Black Ink for iOS (iPhone, iPad, and if all goes according to plan, visionOS), is now available on the App Store.

Congratulations, Daniel! Here’s hoping it’s a great launch and becomes a hit with the puzzle solving crowd. ❤️

Adam Reiss • NBC News

Former President Donald Trump must pay writer E. Jean Carroll over $83 million in damages for repeatedly defaming her, a jury found Friday.

The petulant baby man is finally starting to get some comeuppance.

He’s such a loser he stormed out of the courtroom.

Way to show what a leader you are. Things get tough and he walks away. A perfect quality for a President, right? Wrong.

Donnie boy, your weakness and low energy is on full display. Nice job. 🍊

Kyle Barr • Gizmodo

One place where Netflix won’t be is Apple’s upcoming Vision Pro VR headset. Why isn’t Netflix planning an app for what is Apple’s big $3,500 gamble on the future of augmented reality? According to co-CEO Greg Peters, it’s because the company doesn’t know if anybody’s actually going to use it.

I can’t say that I blame Netflix for their stance. Vision Pro is a brand new, extremely expensive, piece of technology. It may be cool and all but will enough folks buy into it to justify putting a lot of resources into it?

This doesn’t mean Vision Pro will be a failure. Remember, the iPhone didn’t exactly shoot out of the gate like a rocket. It took a couple iterations for it to finally gain mainstream traction. Heck, iPhone 1 didn’t even have an App Store, it only had “the sweet solution.” 🥽

Eric Berger • Ars Technica

Something has gone wrong with NASA’s Ingenuity helicopter on the surface of Mars. Although the US space agency has not made any public announcements yet, a source told Ars that the plucky flying vehicle had an accident on its last flight and broke one of its blades. It will not fly anymore.

Poor little copter lost a blade.

Let’s raise our glasses to the little copter who could! 🍻

Gary Leff • viewfromthewing.com

Boeing Whistleblower: Production Line Has “Enormous Volume Of Defects” Bolts On MAX 9 Weren’t Installed

Go read the comments from the Boeing employee. They’re terrifying. I have a fear of heights and flying. This news doesn’t help. 😳

Lois Beckett • The Guardian

LA Times fires 115 journalists in ‘HR zoom webinar’ following union protests

Here we go again. More firings. The hollowing out of news rooms continues.

We need the news and hard hitting articles to keep our government in check. It’s part of what makes America, America. 🗞️

Brian Linder • pennlive.com

Super Bowl announcement has some in MAGA crowd outraged. Here’s why

Please, allow me to fix that headline.

“Racists don’t want black singer to perform at the Super Bowl.”

These people are pathetic.😡

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thepinkwriterr · 2 years

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Capricorn Season Chapter Three

This is a quick little treat. We’re still with Jimmy, continuing with the last chapter. Enjoy and comment to be added to my taglist!

Word count: 1k

Table of Contents

Robert's laughter filled Jimmy's ears as he woke up. He turned to his right to see that he was laughing at Bonzo. He had fallen asleep and was now drooling on himself. This brought a smile to Jimmy's face. "You excited to be home?" Jonesy asked. Jimmy turned his head again, looking at the bassist. "Certainly," He groaned, "I can't wait to sleep in my own bed." Jonesy laughed, nodding in agreeance. He could just feel the soft sheets and the warm blankets now.

Of course their grind wasn't over yet. They had a few photoshoots back home. They wouldn't be for a couple weeks though.

As the plane got closer and closer to the landing strip, Jimmy could feel his nerves growing. The breakneck schedule was a lot for him, but it kept him busy. When it got quiet was the problem. Back home, it was safe, it was familiar. But it was so quiet. There was no work, nothing to distract him. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into a depression without a tour to occupy him. The seclusion wasn't the issue. He loved to be alone. Craved it, even. The dichotomy between being on and off stage was hard for him to handle. He went from being worshiped like a god and feeling on top of the world to being quiet and alone.

He looked at his bandmates as the plane touched the ground. They were all wore the same tired yet accomplished look. The four of them just embarked on the best tour any of them had been on. Jimmy, being the oldest and most experienced, had never felt better. He had other tours to compare to. At least he hadn't fallen ill this time. He recalled the deathly feeling of glandular fever.

A smile graced his face when he looked at them. He felt such a deep connection to them. A synergy he hadn't felt with anyone before. This was his element. These were his people. Robert was like the sun to him. He could pick him up on his worst day. Maybe this was his Leo nature. Jonesy was a constant. They were both Capricorns, and they could relate on needing routine and consistency. Bonzo was always a good time. He felt great when he played off him. They understood each other in a unique way.

A hollow feeling blew through Jimmy's chest as they walked down the plane aisle. He had hoped he would hear from the guys while they were on a break. He grabbed his luggage and loaded it into the car. He sat in the passenger seat, greeting his mother. The other guys were going home with their wives and children. Jimmy, while being the oldest of them, was still a bachelor. Sure, he had girlfriends in the past. But ultimately they were upset by his lack of commitment to them. He was always chasing something.

He finally felt like he got close to catching it this time. It was on stage that he could feel what he'd been looking for. The feeling of playing their songs was addicting. Nerves churned in his gut before every show. Right at the climax when he walked onto stage, his blood was pumping quickly. His body was running on all cylinders. He could feel the floorboards pounding. He could hear the crowd's excitement. And when he picked up his guitar, he could feel lightening in his fingertips. This was the high. This was the feeling he had been chasing since the first time he picked up a guitar. It just felt so right. The ability to touch people with his music was the most important thing in his life. He knew from the first moment he played with the guys, this was going to be his life. He decided then and there to put everything into Zeppelin. That meant playing until his fingers were numb or not his family or partner for days on end. Sometimes it meant not eating or sleeping until he had the song down perfect. For better or worse, he was happier than he had ever been.

His mother stayed for a little while. They chatted about his tour and shared some tea. His home was barren, with little food in the cupboards. This was on account of being gone for the better half of a year. She asked him if he met any girls, and he said no. She was always asking him when he was going to settle down. She was very supportive of his aspirations, but still expected him to have a family. It's what he wanted too, just right now. "I'm in no rush. I'm only 25. When I find the right person, it'll happen." He said. "I know. I just-I worry about you up here by yourself. I want you to find a girl to make you happy and takes care of you. You are thinking about women, right?" She looked nervous. "Yes, Mum. I'm thinking about women," He fought back a laugh, "I can also take care of myself. I know how to cook and clean. I don't need a woman to take care of me." His words didn't shake the look off her face. She was unsure, still filled with worry about his wellbeing.

After she left, Jimmy unpacked his luggage. While his laundry was going, he went out to do some grocery shopping. He thought it would be nice to make himself a meal tonight. When he returned home, he put all of his things away and finished his laundry. After these tasks were done, he sat at his kitchen table. He looked down at his hands. He saw the callouses that had formed on his fingertips. He felt a sudden urge to write. He could hear the melody in his head. He quickly stood from the table and made his way to the music room. He picked up the guitar and began banging away at the strings.

He had never written a better piece. It was perfect. It was a mix of blues and modern rock. When it was over, he sat and wrote down the lines. He didn't want to forget it. He practically skipped down the hall into the kitchen. He sat at the white table with an inextinguishable grin. This is the magic he couldn't deny. Writing a good song was a feeling like no other. He could rival god in that moment.

He heard a rumbling from his stomach.

I haven't eaten in hours. I should make dinner.

After his meal was finished and his dishes were washed, he finally retired to bed. Day one of being home was finished. As he closed his eyes, he could hear the familiar call from Gwen. A broad smile painted his face. Her sweet song was playing in his head. It was as if he was already dreaming. He didn't even need to be asleep to receive her bliss.

Sun shone through the large window next to his bed, retrieving him from his sleep. He wiped dried drool from his face and sat up. He blinked sleep from his eyes, looking around his room. He didn't know what he was going to do that day. Hopefully inspiration would strike.

It had been midday and Jimmy still hadn't done anything. He had been laying around the house, trying desperately to put his attention on something. It just wasn't working. When he finally sulked to the music room, he sat in the middle of the room. He sighed heavily, not feeling anything. He picked up the guitar, strumming a little.

He played the opening chords to a song he and Jonesy played sometimes. When this didn't fill him with the same spark it usually did, he became frustrated. He groaned and threw the guitar onto the couch. He slumped down next to it and closed his eyes. Maybe Gwen would give him something to do. Maybe she would inspire him.

Taglist:

@jonesyjonesyjonesy , @anothercanyonlady , @jimmys-zeppelin , @paginate54

#jimmy page #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #Jimmy Page smut #jimmy page imagine #jimmy page x reader #led zeppelin #robert plant #classic rock #classic rock fanfiction #classic rock fandom #classic rock imagines #classic rock x reader

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thatfanficstuff · 3 years

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Her Three Kings - Chapter Seven

A Volturi Kings x ofc fic

warnings: nope

A/N: not much to say for this one. Enjoy!

20 years old – Forks, Washington

The Cullens had returned to their residence in Forks, Washington after many years. It was a beautiful home tucked into a vibrant green forest. The weather was usually rainy, or at the very least, cloudy. Sunny days were few and far between. And the variety of animals that lived in the forests around them made it perfect.

Even Lily thought so and she wasn’t a vampire. But she did love the rain. And she loved to explore the forests around the house. They’d moved mid-summer, but it was now fall and time for the first day of school. Lily was thoroughly entertained as she watched her siblings prepare. She’d continued taking online courses and already had one degree in linguistics and was working on another in art history.

“We need to go,” Alice announced. “We’re going to be late.”

Lily followed them to the door, waving as they walked away to get in their cars. “Have fun in high school. Choose hugs, not drugs. Pay attention in class. Make good choices. Bye, I love you.” She continued until they were at the end of the drive, knowing they could still hear her.

She chuckled as she shut the door. Turning, she found Esme watching her with crossed arms and an arched brow. “Did you have fun?”

Lily laughed and gestured to the door with her thumb. “Oh, yeah. That was hilarious.”

Esme smiled and shook her head. “Get some work done. They finished the studio last night, by the way.”

That had her bouncing on her feet in excitement. Most of her exercise came from training or running with her siblings, but she had discovered a love for dance when she and John lived in San Francisco. She’d maintained it after moving in with the Cullens. Upon their relocation to Forks, Carlisle and Esme made the decision to build her a small studio outside of the house. That way she could practice to her heart’s content and her music wouldn’t bother their vampy hearing. She couldn’t wait to see it now that it was finished.

“Not so fast,” Esme said, stopping her as she turned to open the front door. “School first.”

Lily’s shoulders slumped as she shut the door. “Fine,” she grumbled and trudged up the stairs. Esme laughed, rubbing a hand over her back as she passed. At least she was only taking two classes at the moment.

She finished her work just before lunchtime and tapped her foot against the floor while she ate. Her gaze darted up to find Esme watching her with an amused expression. “I feel like I should wait for everyone to get home. I mean, they all worked on it.”

“That’s up to you, sweetie. Though they did say there was no need to wait on them. They know you’re excited.”

She’d barely finished speaking before Lily was on her feet. “Thanks, mom,” she practically squealed as she wrapped the other woman in a hug and kissed her cheek.

Esme laughed. “I’ll take care of your plate. Go on.”

Lily changed her clothes before grabbing her mp3 player and heading outside to the studio. She hadn’t seen it since early in its construction as everyone had wanted the final product to be a surprise. It was only a short walk to the small building and Lily gasped as it came into sight. It was all stone, gleaming wood, and glass. She let herself in with the key Esme had given her. One long wall was nothing but windows looking over the forest while the wall opposite was mirrored down the entire length, a barre running in front.

The vaulted ceiling showed exposed beams. In one corner was a relaxation area with beanbags, a chair and lots of brilliant fabrics. There was even a small fridge with a pitcher of water inside, glasses stacked on top. They’d thought of everything. Best of all was when she plugged her player into the provided dock and pulled up her dancing playlist and the sound flooded from every corner of the studio. It was perfect.

And then she danced. For the entire afternoon, she’d dance then take a break before dancing some more. She only realized how long it had been when she finished a dance and heard applause. She turned in surprise to find her entire family standing inside the entrance watching her. She hurried over and stopped the music so she could talk to them.

“I guess you like it, huh?” Carlisle asked.

“It is absolutely perfect,” Lily said. “Thank you all so much. I’d hug you, but I’m kind of sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Alice exclaimed before bouncing over and giving her a hug. The others soon joined in a group hug. Group hugs were the best.

Lily opened her eyes and saw Emmett hovering by the door, arms crossed over his chest. Extricating herself from the others, she headed toward him with her arms open. “Give me a hug, Emmy.”

He wrinkled his nose. “No. You’re sweaty. You said so yourself.”

“But Emmy.” She pouted and he shook his head before taking off out the door. She followed after him, catching up as he stuck to human speed, and jumping on his back. “Emmy!”

He carried her back to the house as the others followed behind laughing. Once they got back, she hopped off and Rose handed her the mp3 player and her keys. “We locked up for you.”

“Thank you,” Lily said as she headed up the stairs. “I’m going to take a shower and sleep for a bit.”

Liliana had the worst sleep habits. Living with vampires that never slept would do that to you. She slept when she got tired whether that was ten in the morning or ten at night. Another advantage of online classes was that she could do the work whenever. So, she took a shower and crawled into bed at four in the afternoon.

It only took minutes for her to fall into a deep sleep and begin to dream. She was walking through a beautiful garden filled with all kinds of flowers. The sun warmed her skin as she trailed her fingers across the tops of the blossoms. A light breeze blew surrounding her with the scents of a hundred different flowers. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back to enjoy the sunshine.

Liliana.

The whisper caught her attention and her eyes snapped open. The world around her began to blur, go fuzzy. Panic chased away happiness as she looked around trying to figure out what was going on.

Liliana.

She spun on her heel, her eyes falling on three blurry figures in the distance. She squinted her eyes trying to get a better view but she could see discern nothing about them save the three pairs of glowing red eyes staring back at her.

Lily woke with a start. A glance at the clock showed she’d surprisingly been asleep for hours. She laid back down and studied the ceiling above her as she wondered where the dream had come from. It left her feeling odd. Peaceful and happy but also anxious, worried. She didn’t even know where to begin with that particular mix of emotions. And frankly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to examine it too closely. It was a pleasant change. Usually when she dreamed of red eyes it ended with someone screaming.

Two months. Every time she slept Lily dreamed about those red eyes for the past two months. The surroundings were always different but the eyes remained. And try as she might, she hadn’t been able to see any more detail in the three figures. The dreams shouldn’t be a problem. They were much preferred to the ones she used to have after all, but she always woke following one. The longest stretch of sleep she’d had in the last two months was four hours. She was tired.

There was something else to these dreams, she just knew it. They were trying to tell her something. And there was only one person she knew that could help her figure it out. It was time for her siblings to be home and Lily was waiting for them by the stairs. She started bouncing a bit as she heard their chatter and she greeted them as they came into the room. As soon as Alice appeared, Lily grabbed her hand and dragged her back toward the door. “We’ll be back,” she announced.

“You drive,” Lily declared as she stopped by Alice’s car. “I’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Alice said, sounding a little worried. This wasn’t usual behavior for Lily at all. “Are we going somewhere particular?”

Lily shook her head as she got into the car and put on her seatbelt. “Nope. Just drive.”

“Got it,” the pixie said with a smile as she pulled out onto the road. When she’d been driving for a bit and Lily was still silent, she spoke up again. “What’s going on, Lils?”

So, Lily started to talk. About the dreams and the red eyes that brought comfort instead of fear. About her worries and her hopes and how she just really wanted to get a full night’s sleep. “It’s not a memory, Alice. It’s something else.”

“How often are you having these dreams, Lily?”

“Every time I sleep. And other than the location, they don’t change much.”

“Well, sister, I know you well enough that you chose me to tell this to for a reason. So, what is it?” Alice smiled at the other girl as she drifted around a corner. The others’ driving didn’t even faze Lily anymore. Though she would always be astounded that they didn’t have a million speeding tickets.

“I want your permission to take down the block and see if my decision to do that leads you to get any visions.” Lily twisted her hands together in her lap. She felt guilty to be asking.

Alice didn’t say anything as she pulled into a parking lot at an empty playground. She parked the car then turned slightly in her seat to look at her favorite human. “You don’t have to ask, Lily. Ever.”

Lily smiled and took one of Alice’s hands in her own. “Yes, I do. You guys never say it, but I know you appreciate having someone in your life that doesn’t affect you. You, Edward and Jasper. I’m a safe place, a break. Besides, I would never leave you to suddenly start having visions of me without warning you.”

“Well then I appreciate the warning and you have my permission, though I’m not certain the decision to let me see will be enough.” She squeezed Lily’s hand.

The young woman grinned. “Oh, I’m making lots of other decisions. I’m just not sharing them. Are you ready?” Lily asked when she realized Alice was staring at her expectantly.

Alice nodded quickly with a big smile.

Lily dropped the block that kept her choices from being seen. Almost immediately, Alice froze as a vision flooded her brain. As soon as she snapped out of it, Alice turned and put the car in gear to pull out of the parking lot.

The hope Lily had been feeling was replaced with fear as the pixie didn’t say a word. “Alice?”

“Call Carlisle. Tell him to get home immediately and to get everyone else out of the house.”

Lily didn’t think she’d ever heard Alice so tense. She called Carlisle and gave him Alice’s instructions. When she finished, she gripped the phone in her lap. “You’re scaring me, Alice.”

“Me, too,” the blonde said. “Do me a favor and put that block back up for now.”

#volturi kings fanfiction #volturi kings x ofc #aro volturi fanfiction #caius volturi fanfiction #marcus volturi fanfiction #aro volturi x ofc #caius volturi x ofc #marcus volturi x ofc #twilight fanfiction #series #her three kings

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gremlinp0lice · 4 years

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Night Lovin’ Thing

Prompt: Draco reacting to finding the reader dancing to muggle music. Specifically Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson. Specifically this choreography. https://youtu.be/JavMJziiLjE

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Word Count: 3253

Rating: Explicit

CW: Smut, language, voyeurism

Draco Malfoy was an enigma. Spoiled, rich, handsome, rude, and smart as a whip—he could even give Granger a run for her money if he applied himself. All that put into one young man (plus a little ‘bad-boy’ reputation) should make him the fantasy of any teenage witch or wizard, and you were no exception. But you knew better than to chase after him because that’s all it was—a fantasy, a crush, a fixation. With half of the castle out to get him, and the rest out to snog him, there was no way you ever stood a fighting chance. You knew that, and you had made your peace with that. You were much more realistic.

Which made it all the more painful that you found yourself lost in a daydream while staring at the back of his head in Potions class.

“Eyes to yourself,” your desk mate (and roommate), Pansy bloody Parkinson, swats at your arm and gives you a nasty look, “or they might just fall out of your head.”

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your notes, muttering, “I don’t even know what you see in him, Pans, he’s actually a bit of a prat.” Your words seem to light a fire in her, and her eyes burn with rage for a fleeting moment, and she opens her mouth as if to bite back before closing it just as quickly.

You smirk to yourself; Pansy was all talk after all, but she could still be bloody scary when the mood suited her (and it usually did).

You steal another look at Draco, a fleeting glance, really, and see his eyes looking back. He looks almost wounded, as if he had heard what you had said. You turn away, baffled. It must have been a trick of the light, or the fumes from your cauldron—Draco Malfoy would barely give you the time of day, much less be upset over something that you had said.

The lesson, blessedly, concludes soon after, and you practically skip out of the classroom and head for the dormitories, hoping to get there before Pansy does. All the while, all you can think about is the look on his face.

You have about twelve seconds alone in your room before Pansy bursts in, wand drawn. You know she won’t use it (probably), but you pull your own wand close to you just in case.

“That was extremely rude, you know. He heard you. Didn’t your filthy muggle father teach you any manners?” She’s been angry with you before, but never so mad that she has attacked your family. After all, both Tracey and Millicent were half-bloods as well, and she should know better than to bring blood status into whatever squabble you were having.

“First of all, do not speak about my family like that if you value yours, Parkinson,” you snap, drawing yourself to your full heigh (which wasn’t very tall, but you worked with what you had) “and second, I don’t care. Did I upset your boyfriend? What a pity. What are you going to do about it?”

“You don’t even know him, so piss off, and besides,” her wand drops to her side and she wilts, “We’re not together. Neither of us want to be tied down at the moment. It’s called being mature, have you heard of it?”

Clearly, Pansy had not. You also suspect that their arrangement was less than mutual, but you knew how badly Pansy pined over the boy, so you pulled back. You knew how to pick your battles.

“Listen, I may have been out of line in class, and if I see him later, I will apologize, alright?” you offer, and she sniffs, but nods in approval, “But if you ever speak about my father like that again, it’s you who I will have to apologize to, and believe me I will make it count.”

A look of fear passes across Pansy’s face, but she keeps a stiff upper lip, glowering at you. Whatever, you didn’t need this. It was a nice afternoon, and a Friday to boot, and the castle would soon be empty.

Taking a deep breath, you collect your thoughts, ignoring Pansy as she leaves the room in a huff. You change into something more comfortable, something with more movement, and pack your bag with the essentials; the old radio that your mother had charmed for you years ago, and a pair of sturdy, strappy black heels… ready for some release.

Dropping your bag gently on the floor of the dusty room, you take a moment to examine the room. It was a tiny old Muggle Studies classroom, more of a large closet really, on the third floor that you had convinced Professor McGonagall to let you use as a dance space in your fourth year. As long as no one needed the room, you didn’t make too much noise, and you kept it clean, you could do whatever you wanted in here. You had put a lot of work into it, managing to craft a barre (with the help of Professor Sprout) and you even got ahold of some old, floor-length mirrors left behind by Lockhart. With plenty of natural light streaming in from the windows, it made for a pretty good studio. It wasn’t much, but it served its purpose well.

You plop gracelessly to the floor and begin to stretch, feeling that pleasant burning sensation in your hamstring when you lean down so far that your nose touches your knee. As the feeling fades, you feel the stress of your day go along with it; as your body loosens up, so does your mind, until there’s only one thought still stuck in your mind. You roll your shoulders and stand; he’ll go away soon enough when you start to actually move.

With a wave of your wand, the radio crackles to life, it’s not terribly loud, but it suits your needs. It was tuned in to a muggle station playing Michael Jackson’s greatest hits— perfect. You listened to the King of Pop with your father often enough when you were home, laughing whenever he would try to moonwalk across the kitchen floor. There was something about the singer, though, something in his voice that moved you to move as well, something that made you feel powerful, strong, even a bit seductive (not that you would admit that thought to anyone). This was the perfect thing to get you out of your head and into your body.

With another wave of your wand, the door slams shut, and it’s just you and the music, and that’s just the way you like it.

She says that’s okay, hey baby do what you want... I’ll be your night-lovin’ thing, I’ll be the freak you can taunt…

You had found your inspiration, a beat that moved you deeper than any magic spell could and had begun refining the movements that your body had come up with. With a wave of your wand, the song starts over and you return to your first position, you just had to get this right. Not that you would ever show anyone this dance, it wasn’t for anyone else to see.

This was for you.

Though, you couldn’t deny the raw and enticing confidence that this dance was instilling within you, and that maybe, one day, you would dance like this for someone…

With a flip of your hair and a shrug of your shoulder, you were completely focused.

She likes the boys in the band, she knows when they come to town…

Sometimes it made you nervous, the way you could channel the lyrics, written about people you were nothing like, and turn them into a dance that was, inexplicably, them.

This one was all about the legs—kicking, bending over, dropping to the ground in a deep split that made you feel so alluring that when you got to your feet you almost expected to be followed by a herd of salivating admirers. You would look over your shoulder, give them a smirk and a wave before moving on… This isn’t about them anyway.

It wasn’t about him anyway.

You still couldn’t get him out of your head. When you dropped to the floor, you imagined him landing on top of you. When you ran your hands down your chest in time with the rhythm, you imagined they were his hands, pulling you close. And that scared you.

And I don’t care what you say, I want to go too far, I’ll be your everything…

You had never felt like this about him before, never thought about him like this- so obsessively.

Just keep dancing… Out of your head and into your body… You would forget if you just kept moving…

Blimey, it’s so hot in here you can barely breath.

She looked me deep in the eyes, she's touchin' me so to start… She says there's no turnin' back, she trapped me in her heart…

Raising one arm above your head, you pull your loose tank top off with a flourish as you strike a pose. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you look… good. The black bralette you’re wearing (the one with the lace, not the flower print) accentuates your modest curves nicely, and you feel good, sexy almost. How could you not, with the music playing like that, and those lyrics—this is not a song you ever listened to with your father.

Forgoing the choreography that you had been practicing, you decide to let yourself feel the music again, finding a new rhythm for your new confidence.

You had never danced like this before, caressing your body like this, moving your hips like that, shaking your hair out so wildly, so unabashed.

And it felt good.

Until the song ends.

Until you hear heavy breathing from the door.

Bollocks.

You whip around, crossing your arms over your chest, to catch a glimpse of your voyeur, frozen in the corridor. Of course.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway; eyes wide, breathless. He’s not moving, he’s not speaking, he doesn’t even have that silly little smirk that seemed to be permanently stuck on his face, he’s just… watching you. Somehow that was worse.

“Malfoy,” you say quietly, voice scantly above a whisper, “what are you doing here?”

Your voice seems to jolt him out of whatever trance he’s in, and he steps forward into the room, which you realize now is extremely small, and closes the door behind him. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest.

“I- I, uh, I just came to talk to you, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he stumbles over his words, eyes bouncing all around the room before landing back on you, “but I’m glad that I did.” His composure returned, he steps forward, eyes dark, one eyebrow cocked and…

There’s that bloody smirk.

“How did you even know where to find me?” you ask, shivering under his gaze, contemplating whether to hear him out or throw him out.

“I hear that you can be found here most afternoons,” he says, chuckling softly, running one long finger along the barre.

“Yes well, you’ve found me,” you start, but you’re not quite sure how to stop. This exact scenario had played out in your head countless times, and you had to take a deep breath to recenter yourself, and not let your imagination run away with you.

“I have, haven’t I?” he looks down at your shoes, dragging his eyes back up your body. Merlin, was he just going to stand here toying with you or do something? “You know, it’s funny. I seem to have completely forgotten what I was going to say. The way you move is a bit hypnotic, I think.”

He’s so close to you, Merlin he’s close. You had never realized how much bigger he was than you—taller, broader, he could throw you over his shoulder as if you weighed no more than a bowtruckle if he wanted to.

This is your chance, you realize. You can apologize to him for what you said in class, just like you told Pansy you would do.

Or you could…

“Did you like what you saw?” you ask, voice low, almost husky. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye yet, you just can’t.

Draco is quiet for what feels like an eternity, the only sound the crackling or the radio and your breathing.

“Yeah, I really, really did.”

Merlin’s beard, this boy was going to kill you.

“Would you like me to show you some of my moves?” You can hardly believe the words are coming out of your mouth—this is insane, you feel insane! It’s taking everything in you to keep your composure, and you allow yourself to glance up at him.

His grey eyes are dark, cloudy, a few strands of that platinum blond hair falling in his face, and you barely recognize him.

“Actually,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “I was hoping I could show you some of mine.”

That’s all it took for you to take him in your arms and kiss him, which was just as well because he was kissing you back. With both hands tangling in his hair, his loop around your waist and pull you even closer. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is intoxicating, and you have to pull away for a moment to breathe.

“You have no idea,” he mutters between fervent nips at your ear and neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You let your head fall back as he lavished you with his lips and tongue, world spinning, as he begins to guide you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of a desk pushed up against the wall.

Shaking fingers working the buttons of his shirt, you do your best to return his kisses, though it’s hard to maneuver, let along think, when his mouth is doing such beautiful things to your skin.

You can’t explain the magnetism between you two, it’s almost frightening, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It was as if you had known he was watching, as if your dancing was foreplay for whatever was unfolding between you now. You weren’t scared at the thought of him watching you, you liked it, and that scared you more. Or maybe it just turned you on.

“Fuck!” you keened as he sucked hard at your neck, his hands and mouth roaming all over your body, grabbing onto any piece of flesh that they could.

His fingers tease at your nipples through the lace of your bralette, which was so thin and flimsy you may as well not have been wearing anything. You arch into him at the contact, eyes wide as you realize that his other hand is travelling further down your body.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers in your ear, rubbing you through your athletic shorts.

Is this what you wanted, to be fucked by Draco Malfoy in an empty classroom? You never did this sort of thing, not this quickly at least, but there was something about him, about what you felt. Maybe it was the dancing, the music that made you feel like this, maybe it was the fact that he was watching you, or maybe you just really needed a good shag. Whatever the reason, you knew your answer.

“Yes Draco, please,” you choke out, helping him to take off your tiny shorts. You reach down to unlace the heels your wearing, but he grasps your wrist and pulls it away.

“Those stay on,” he says, well, commands, and fuck if you couldn’t come from just his voice alone. You nod and loop your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to be picked up and placed on the desk behind you.

Draco wastes no time, reaching between your legs and thumbing at your clit in a way that makes you quiver beneath him. You breathe hard against his neck as he works two fingers into your cunt, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin there while wrapping your legs around his waist. Merlin did his fingers feel like heaven, drawing in and out of you, curling against your walls so that your vision went fuzzy. If his fingers felt this good, you mused, his cock has to be divine.

On the cusp of orgasm, you bat his hands away, reaching for the button of his pants. As much as you wanted to come, you wanted it to be on his cock.

Pushing his slacks and underwear down to his knees, his length bobs free, red and glistening under your touch.

“Ready?” he pumps his cock once, twice, pressing in close to you. Your head is swimming and you can hardly string together a coherent thought, but you are certain of one thing.

“Fuck me.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, his inside you. You yelp—his cock is much bigger than his fingers, but nothing that you can’t handle. You feel full, grinding your hips against his to get more of that delicious friction.

He mutters a curse under his breath, “You,” he breathes, “are so bloody gorgeous,” he maintains a steady rhythm that is starting to drive you a bit mad, adding to the heat building deep within you, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, and to see you like this now,” he pants, “about to come on my cock… it’s fucking breathtaking.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you, until you’ve wrapped yourself around him, moaning in his ear, and coming, hard. He holds you close, crushing your body into his, fucking you through the aftershocks as you finally come down.

But then something’s not right.

The door opens and you both freeze, panting.

“Sorry for interrupting your ‘you-time,’ but I wanted to say—”

Pansy. Bloody. Parkinson.

You shut your eyes tight as you see the look of complete rage you see spreading across your face, and Draco cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of her.

And he starts thrusting into you again.

“We’re a bit busy,” he says breathlessly, hips still rocking against you, “would you mind shutting the door?”

You hear Pansy sputtering for a moment, before the slam of the door, and you open your eyes.

Draco is gazing intently at you, and bears down harder than before, making your heart race yet again.

You come again, just before he does, his hips stuttering to a halt as you hold each other, pressed together so tightly you wonder if you will ever separate.

You do, of course, but not without some effort. In a breathless heap, the two of you slide to the floor, where you find your wand and cast a cleansing charm. Draco has his back against the desk, and you lean against his chest, trying to catch your breath.

It was nice, holding each other like this. He ran his hands up and down your arms, a soothing motion that tempted you to fall asleep right then and there, but there was much to discuss before that.

“Did… did that—”

“Yeah.”

“Merlin’s saggy left—”

“I know.”

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter for a brief moment, cruelly reveling in Pansy’s subsequent misery.

“Bloody hell,” you groan, an unfortunate realization striking you, “I have to share a room with her.”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp ff #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #michael jackson #dirty diana #cw: smut #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy tiktok #pansy parkinson #gremlinpolice #cw: voyeurism

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sophiainspace · 3 years

Note

☾ coldwestallen

☾ - sleep headcanon

The Bed

“See? It’s the perfect solution.” Len waves his hand in a little flourish at the enormous bed, which he has just... acquired.

The three of them are standing in a line at the foot of said enormous bed, staring at it.

“I guess it is,” Iris says, and sighs.

Just as Len is about to ask Iris if she could sound any more tragic about being gifted the largest bed in the furniture store, Barry says, “Yeah, it kind of is,” in a voice that would not sound out of place if his family pet had just died. (Len should check on McSnurtle in a minute.)

Trust these two to turn down the biggest bed Len has ever seen, and its wonderful potential for space for them all. Len raises his hands. “What?”

Iris nods slowly at the bed. “It’s just so big.”

“It is,” Barry agrees. “Won’t we get... lonely?”

It seems Len still has some persuading to do. He jumps onto the end of the bed, swinging his legs against the frame (which is hiding enough storage for all kinds of things. Like a third person’s belongings, for instance). “Sweethearts. Paramours. Lightning bolt of my life and brightest star in my sky. We did agree we all needed more space at night, correct?”

“Yes,” the two of them chorus sadly.

“Remember why?”

Barry seems to have temporarily forgotten that he is a brave bold superhero, and has slipped his hand into Iris’s. “Because I’m clingy,” he replies in a pitiful voice.

Len takes a calming breath. “Never said you were clingy. I said you were—”

“Like a limpet.”

Len can no longer stand Barry’s sad face. “Okay, I might have said that, in my sleepy, overheated delirium... Scarlet, I love having you cling to me.” He waits for Barry’s little smile to peek out before adding, “But there’s no denying you have the body heat of a large toaster. If the toaster could move at several times the speed of sound.”

Barry sighs. “And you like to be cold when you sleep.”

Len inclines his head. He will not be broken down by pouting. He earned this bed.

(So what if he earned it by getting Mick Rory to set a small, easily-controlled fiery distraction at one end of a furniture store - after hours, when only security were there - while the Rogues absconded out the other door with the bed? Still counts.)

Iris raises a hand. Her snarky smile warns of an impending smug moment. Only fair - it’s her turn. “How many toasters move at the speed of sound?”

“I said if. It’s a hypothetical toaster.”

“The toaster is hypothetical,” she reassures Barry, patting his shoulder. She has a protective arm wrapped around his waist now - must have been the clingy comment.

Len raises an eyebrow at her. “And your contribution to the sleeping predicament?”

Iris wrinkles her nose. “You claim I steal the blankets.”

“You do,” Len and Barry say in perfect, unrehearsed unison.

Iris pokes Len. (He resists the urge to ow.) “You’re the one who likes being cold when he sleeps,” she mutters.

Len shrugs. “Not as cold as your freezing feet.”

“I do not have cold feet!” She turns to Barry, eyes wide. “Babe, tell him I don’t!”

Appropriately, Barry freezes. “Uh...”

“Like ice blocks,” Len agrees. Iris’s wide-eyed look of utter betrayal is cute. Len’s not going to tell her so.

She thumbs behind her. “You wanna end up on the couch, Leonard? I bet sleeping with your cold gun would be a whole lot chillier than my feet.”

Okay, snark is one thing, but she doesn’t get a turn with the puns. “Funny,” Len drawls.

“Guys!” Barry raises his hands in surrender. “Do we really need to fight about this? I’m sure we can come to a solution everyone’s happy with.”

But Iris’s eyes have narrowed at the bed - and then at Len. The last time he saw a look that dangerous from her, she was interviewing him as a source. “Leonard, how much did the bed cost?”

This, Len planned for. “$3489 without the mattress, but I got a great deal on that with the bed frame. Talked the sales guy down from $989 - got it at cost for $784. Gave him some schtick about any sale being worth significantly more to him than no sale at all.” The key to lying well is all in the details. Len stretches triumphantly.

Barry sighs in just that way. “You stole it.”

Iris raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “He stole it.”

Len is faced with two matching do-gooder hero poses. His brain scrambles to find the hole in his plan. “In my defence,” he starts, “you’re usually fine with it—”

“We said as long as we don’t find out, Len.” Barry shakes his head. Len can just feel his disappointment. It’s pretty much the worst.

“And you just got rumbled.” Of course Iris is backing him up. Len barely resists rolling his eyes.

“I assumed the ‘no stolen goods in the house’ rule was implied,” Barry adds.

The plan is now a runaway train with Len in the driver’s seat pulling uselessly at faulty brakes. “Again, in my defence, you could have made that expli—”

“Don’t.” Barry throws up a hand as he walks away. “Babe, how about we sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Great idea,” says Iris. “We can pull out the hideabed.” Her unimpressed look intensifies as soon as Barry isn’t there to temper her. Unlike her husband, Iris is always more upset by lies than stealing. And Len thought he couldn’t feel any worse. Without another word, Iris follows Barry out.

“That’s fine,” Len calls after them, like he’s convincing anyone. “All the more enormous bed for me.”

Twenty minutes later, he climbs in. It’s exactly as comfortable as he expected, and... empty.

Len hunkers down in the middle of the huge pile of pillows, ignoring the vast space on either side of him, and why is he trying not to feel bad about the stealing and the lying?

As he finally drifts off, he wonders when these two irritating do-gooders started having this effect on him.

—

He’s sure Barry will be the first to cave. Len expects him to appear around midnight, craving his cuddles, wrapping himself around Len like a conveniently-shaped hot water bottle. But 1 AM comes and goes, and Len stays cold. Who knew he could miss his furnace of a speedster?

His eyes open again a couple of hours later. Iris always comes for her own cuddles around 3 AM, pretending to be reluctant about it. Len always plays her game, muttering about being woken up - as he snuggles up to her and cools off his speedster-overheated toes on her blocks of ice. But tonight, his feet stay stubbornly room temperature.

At 4 AM, half-emerging from a very weird dream in which he is directing Barry and Iris in carrying an enormous bed out of the Speed Force, Len throws out an arm for...

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Snart,” he mutters - and gets up. Time to stop being an asshole. For one night, at least.

Len knows his way to the pull-out couch in the dark. Barry rolls over just in time for Len to climb into a sliver of space. He lies tight on his side on the edge of the thin mattress, trying not to breathe in case he slides off.

“You’re an asshole,” says Barry’s sleepy voice, in exactly the tone he uses to tell Len he loves him. He reaches out a hand for Len.

Len wraps himself around his human radiator - like a limpet. “Thought you were asleep,” he whispers.

“I am.” Barry makes the most adorable happy noise Len has ever heard. “Mmm. I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Len cuddles him tighter, trying to ignore the spring poking into his back. “This the worst mattress I’ve ever had the misfortune of lying on, and I’ve slept in a cell in Iron Heights.”

“Are you stealing all the cuddles, Barr?” comes Iris’s voice from out of the dark.

A flicker of lightning - and Barry is behind him, shoving Len towards Iris, and big-spooning him like the cuddly romantic he is. “You’re hotter than the surface of the sun,” Len complains.

“Thanks. I work out,” Barry murmurs. “Mostly running.”

Len chuckles quietly. He turns his head to kiss Barry’s shoulder, letting his lips linger against his warm speedster a moment longer than necessary. “Sleep well, Scarlet,” he whispers, though he’s pretty sure Barry has already drifted off.

As Len reaches out to pull Iris towards him, she tuts. “Are you still complaining about the heat, Leonard?” She shoves her feet against his. “Maybe these’ll help.”

He makes a show of shivering— “Worse than the cold gun core” —and kisses her neck. He hides a secret smile against her. “Good night, Iris.”

She makes a contented sound that warms his heart, even if his feet are about to form icicles. “Night, hon,” she whispers back.

With all his temperature needs taken care of, Len closes his eyes.

A full seven minutes later, he says, “I’ll take the bed back.”

“And?” Barry asks.

Len would roll his eyes, if anyone could see it in the dark. “And I’ll pay for the fire damage to the store.”

“And?” Iris murmurs.

Len never knew true patience until he met the West-Allens. “And make a sizeable donation on top for any inconvenience— Look, do you want me to give them the entire price of the bed and be done with it?”

“That sounds fair,” Barry sleepy-murmurs. Only the Flash could sound that smug while he’s asleep.

Iris giggles and cuddles up a little closer to Len. “Apology accepted. We love you too.”

“Love you, Lenny,” comes Barry’s happy echo.

“Might as well keep the bed, if I’m paying for it. Or were we just planning to carry on sleeping here?” They’re asleep, but he takes their silence as agreement anyway. “Good. The bed stays.” He curls himself tighter around Iris, pulls Barry’s arm closer around him, allows himself one contented sigh, and closes his eyes again.

He has to open them again a minute later to grab a handful of blanket before the entire thing wanders off to the other end of the bed. “Iris, you thief!”

“Shh,” she murmurs. “The blanket is hypothetical.”

“Well, it sure moves faster than a toaster!”

One last flash of lightning lights up the darkness, and the blanket is thrown back over Len. “Go to sleep, you goobers,” Barry hisses.

Cramped and achy and cuddled up between his people, Len drifts off.

Tomorrow he’ll tell them why he brought a bed big enough for three into an apartment where only two people currently live.

For now, he sleeps like he’s home.

#ficlet #coldwestallen #not a one of these three can communicate effectively #that’s it that’s the ship #barry allen #leonard snart #iris west allen #still cranking the crangst #my fic #the flash ficlet #none of us can queue this alone

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

En Pointe

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 24 Prompt - Stitches

No matter how much she hates the Red Room, ballet is still Natasha’s go to stress relief. Peter is just curious and eager to learn.

Words: 2311, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark

TW: Broken Bones, Blood

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“You do ballet?” Peter asks curiously as he watches Natasha tear the shank out of her new pointe shoes. Her old pair is still in pretty decent shape since she only dances on occasion now but its always been relaxing to sew and break in a new pair and it never hurts to have a few back ups.

“Sometimes,” she answers cryptically as she steps on the toe box with her bare heel to flatten it out, Peter watches her fascinated, venturing further into the room and sitting cross-legged a few feet from her. He’s careful not to touch any of her old shoes or the ribbons and other tools and materials spread out in a semi-circle around where she’s sitting. “Why?”

Peter’s fingers are twitching where he has them pressed into his thigh like he’s holding back from touching. “I did ballet as a kid. Just a few months of classes before my parents died and I was terrible but it was fun.”

Natasha hums as she reinforces the toe of the shoe with glue and fans it a little to dry it out. “You probably wouldn’t be so terrible now,” she tells him as she bends one shoe and then the other, enjoying the cracking noise they make as she works them in. She looks over to Peter to consider him for a moment. “Want to try?”

“With you?” He squeaks and its kinda adorable how nervous he is. Nat suppresses a smirk as she puts on her toe spacers and worn out toe pads – the lambs wool she modified these with is absolutely perfect and she won’t even consider using another pair until these designate around her feet.

“Of course,” she answers, standing up and bending first one shoe and then the other before going up en pointe and squatting to work in both shoes. She’ll need to dance on them for a few hours before they start feeling really good but they aren’t too bad right now. Sometimes new shoes just aren’t right no matter how well she prepares them but she has a good feeling about this pair. “You seem mostly coordinated as Spider-Man at least, I think you can handle a few basic positions.”

“Uh yeah,” Peter says, jumping to his feet like an over eager puppy and making Natasha smile a bit. “Yeah that sounds great!” She can almost see his tail wag.

She gestures to the barre running the length of the studio Tony had put in the compound just for her and has them face each other, correcting Peter’s posture as she goes. His sneakers are ratty and falling apart and she wrinkles her nose at them. She taps them with the hard side of the box of her shoe. “Lose those. I don’t have a pair of men’s shoes lying around so you can just go barefoot for now.” Peter hastens to do as she steps into some resin, crunching the small rocks into powder and rubbing it into the sole, box and sides of her shoes. By the time she’s done, Peter has positioned himself back at the barre, barefoot and with the hems of his pants cuffed up to mid calf.

He looks a little nervous and intimidated so Natasha give him a little smile as she hands the barre with her left hand and adjusts herself into first position as Peter stares intently. “We’re going to do some plié to start I’ll show you the positions; this is first.” Peter’s more graceful than she expected, his legs easily falling into place without shaking or him losing his balance like most new students was. She’s almost impressed.

Peter’s a surprisingly quiet student – she’s seen him in the lab with Tony and in the field where the kid is definitely what she would describe as a chatterbox. He asks a few questions here or there but, for the most part, he just observes and follows her lead. He picks up the positions quickly and Natasha puts on some music and instructs him through her usual warm up. By the end he’s sweating a little but he looks relaxed and a little pleased with herself.

“Can you teach me to spin?” He asks her a little shyly but with an undercurrent of excitement, shifting his weight from foot to foot like an overeager puppy and Nat gives him a soft smile.

“Sure,” she says, ditching her point shoes and slipping into some flats. “So you want to start off…”

He falls over the first few times but he nails a sloppy spin the fourth time. He stumbles a little once he stops, arms akimbo and legs spread for balance with a surprised look on his face. He looks at her for a second with a clear expression of ‘did I just do that?’ before letting out an excited laugh and fist pumping. “Holy shit!” He says under his breath and Natasha laughs with him – his good humor infectious. “That was so fun!”

“Try it again,” she says. “And this time keep your arms tucked in tighter and you head fixed on a point. Like this,” she demonstrates again, focusing on a dent in the wall to keep her head from spinning with her body and to keep her from getting dizzy. Peter tries again and cleans up his form a little.

“I think I’ve got it,” he says after another few turns and then he starts again, spinning once, twice, three times and, on the fourth rotation she sees his ankle twist as if in slow motion. Peter lets out a grunt as he loses his balance and, instead of falling, tries to stick to the floor with his abilities. His momentum continues to pull him though and she hears his leg crack in a sound that echos through the studio over the soft music and makes her hair stands on end.

“Fuck!” Peter exclaims and he drops, hitting the smooth wood floor hard and immediately dropping onto his back, face ghostly. His tibia has broken cleanly in two near his ankle and twisted to break through the skin in a grotesque fashion, leaking blood onto the previously pristine floors. Natasha immediately falls back into her extensive first aid training and drops to the floor next to Peter, tying one of her leftover ribbons around his upper calf in a crude tourniquet.

“Let’s get medical down here FRIDAY,” her voice is calm even though her heart rate is elevated. Peter looks about two seconds from passing out but pushes himself up with prodigious effort only to turn green when he sees his leg, turning away from her abruptly to gag and retch. “Get it all out,” she tells him, rubbing a hand across his clammy back.

“It’s…” Peter gags again. “The bone… I…”

“Don’t look at it,” Natasha says firmly, pushing him back to the floor. “Tony told me you were accident prone but I didn’t know you were this bad,” she tells him with humor, pulling off the shrug she had put over her leotard and leggings and mashing it firmly into the wound, making Peter moan and turn white.

“It’s Parker Luck,” he tells her, sounding out of it. He looks like he may pass out and that just won’t do – she needs to keep him awake.

“What’s that?” She asks, brushing the hair off his forehead in a tender gesture and massaging his scalp a little.

“Just my specific brand of bad luck,” Peter says a little sardonically, his voice wavering from the pain. She wants to ask more but the door at the opposite end of the studio flies open hard enough to hit the wall and bounce back as Tony – helicopter mentor extraordinaire – skids into the room and literally trips over his own feet to get to Peter’s side. Natasha would roll her eyes if she wasn’t so concerned herself.

“What happened?” Tony asks her, tone accusatory and Natasha gives him a sharp look.

“We were doing ballet and he spun just a little too hard,” Peter groans from the floor, this time from embarrassment and covers his face with his hands muttering ‘just let me die’ under his breath. Tony flicks him on the forehead.

“Don’t be a dramatic little shit,” he chastises, still looking more worried than anything. “Only you would manage to give yourself a compound fracture learning ballet of all things.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Peter whines. “I’m injured!”

Natasha can’t hold back her snort at this, the situation would probably be a lot less humorous if she didn’t know Peter would likely be completely back to normal in a couple weeks or less with his healing factor. The kid was like rubber.

“What did you do this time?” Bruce calls from the doorway, pulling a gurney and followed by a small gaggle of nurses. Natasha steps back and away as one of them takes over putting pressure on the still bleeding puncture and pulls Tony with her. She knows that if he had his druthers he would glue himself to Peter’s side and aggravate Bruce and the other medical professionals to death.

The team is quick and efficient in stabilizing Peter’s leg with a temporary splint and loading him on the stretcher, bustling out of her studio with Tony following just as quickly as they came in. Nat isn’t a big fan of crowds so she stays behind, cleaning the tacky blood off the floor before it dries and sets. As it is, the fine grains of the wood are tainted and she knows she has no chance of cleaning all of it out and resigns herself to dealing with flaking blood on the toes of her pointe shoes for the foreseeable future.

Satisfied with her clean up job, she slinks back to her room and showers, washing the remnants of Peter’s blood off her hands and forearms and the sweat out of her hair. She changes into some loungewear and dries her hair and, figuring she’s probably stalled long enough, grabs a book at random from her bookshelf and makes her way to the medical floor.

The halls are silently when she arrives thankfully and the waiting room is empty bar Tony. He’s seated in one corner facing the hall that leads to the operating and recovery rooms and tapping something into his StarkPad, reading glasses perched onto the tip of his nose and in danger of slipping off the end. He looks relaxed which she takes to mean the Peter will be just fine – not that she expected any different.

Tony jumps when she settles into the chair next to him, glasses falling to the floor and nearly fumbling his tablet. He sends her a glare without heat – he’s always complaining about her sneaking up on him but its not her fault he isn’t observant – and sets the tablet aside.

“Well?” She asks, quirking one eyebrow in expectation.

“He’ll be fine,” Tony tells her, relief clear in his voice. “They’d normally have to put in a pin or two but, with his healing, they just want to flush it out really well to prevent infection and then reduce the fracture and throw in some stitches and a brace. He’ll be on bed rest and crutches for the next week or so until the stitches can come out and he can transfer to a boot but he’ll be back up in no time.”

Natasha nods, she expected all of this really and pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged in the small chair. She didn’t do a cool down after her work-out and she can already feel all of her ligaments tightening up – her hips and knees crack as she adjusts and make Tony wrinkle his nose in obvious disgust. “He was doing pretty good for a while,” she says breezily. Kid’s got natural talent.”

“He can’t walk across a flat surface without tripping,” Tony tells her. “Don’t let all of his Spider-Man acrobatics fool you – Peter’s as clumsy as they come. His aunt should have wrapped him and put him in a bubble years ago.”

She laughs, elbowing Tony in the side and dodging his returning nudge. “He’s good for you,” she tells him honestly and Peter really is. She’s known Tony for a long time, considers him one of her closest friends barring Clint and this is the happiest and most settled she’s ever seen him. It makes her happy.

Tony blushes and clears his throat, trying to hide it but she can see the satisfied little smile on his face. He can’t deny his happiness. “Anyway,” he tries, changing the subject swiftly – she lets him. “You’ll have to help keep him entertained since part of this was your fault after all.”

“Not my problem the kid’s an accident waiting to happen,” she says with no heat. She already plans to hang around during Peter’s recovery. She can teach him more about ballet if he wants, he could shape up to be a pretty decent partner with some practice and she thinks it might help him a little with his balance and enhancements. Control of your body is important for both after all.

Later when Bruce leads them to Peter’s recovery room he gives her a knowing look that she ignores in favor of perching on the edge of the bed and teasing Peter about his poor technique. He’s high as a kite from the enhanced pain meds and cackles at her good natured jokes. Tony threatens to put him in a cushioned room for the rest of his life and Peter rolls his eyes like this is all par for the course.

He falls asleep again pretty quickly, drooling onto the pillow and twitching a little as he dreams and Natasha feels her chest feel with warmth.

Yes, she thinks Peter will make an excellent student.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump24 #Prompt: Stitches #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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imaginejamesandsirius · 3 years

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would you consider writing a fic where they meet as dancers? or like, gymnasts or something :)

It's not that Sirius hated other people, because he didn't. He got annoyed, sometimes, but he didn't hate people the way his parents seemed to. It was more like he was easily annoyed when people said stupid things to him. And they always did, when they learned that he was a professional ballerino.

"Wow, I didn't even know that was a thing."

"Ballerinas, yes, but I didn't know men did that."

"Do you do it to get girls?" some people asked, and it wasn't any better than the other question of the same colour. "Oh so you're bent, then?"

"I thought you just worked out a lot."

"Is that why your hair is so long?"

"Huh. I never would've guessed since you look so masculine." Sirius had replied to that one by saying that they'd clearly never met any professional ballet dancer.

So yes, Sirius was annoyed very often. He didn't bother to tell prospective dates what he did for a living until they were a month or so in. If they made it a month in, which was uncommon. Sirius had a face to draw them in, and a personality to drive them away. Regulus thought it was hilarious, but he was less amused when it happened to him. Andi, of course, was the voice of reason in it all, pointing out that statistically, the majority of a person's relationships had to fail since most people ended up settling with a single person in their lifetime. On the very outside, someone would have four successful relationships, but that was if someone died prematurely or they were polyamorous-- conversations with Andi were either queer history lessons or strangely gruesome to go along with the funeral house she ran. Honestly, it was like living in a bloody storybook, talking about his life and family history.

Sirius and the rest of the main cast in the company came in to start stretching as the class before them finished. Latin ballroom dance, from the sound of their music, but he wasn't paying very much attention.

"How's Regulus?" Lily asked as she put one leg up on the barre and leaned over it.

Sirius did the same, facing her so that their toes were almost touching. They'd done this enough times that they knew how far apart they needed to be. He said "Ugh," in response to her question.

"That good?" she said, amused.

"He's happy, and I'm happy for him, but for fuck's sake, I wish he would be less of a prick about it," Sirius groused.

"He's just following his big brother's lead."

"I hate you. I'm requesting a new partner immediately," Sirius said, a threat he said at least once a week and never in earnest.

"I'm terrified," Lily said flatly.

They both switched legs. "How're things on the romantic partner front for you?"

"Bleh. You?"

"Bleh," he said, and they both laughed. "We should decide to fall in love. It would be a lot easier."

"Assuming we could stand each other, which is a big assumption," Lily said.

"Mm, better not risk it then," he said.

She straightened, looking over at the class as they started packing up their things. "Oi! James, come here!"

"You know people in ballroom dance?" Sirius asked, pulling his toe back towards him to stretch his calf and holding it.

"Just the one. James, this is Sirius, my ballet partner. Sirius, this is my mate from Oxford, James."

"Right, you did tell me about him," Sirius said, straightening. "Hello."

James gave him a smile and a friendly nod. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Finally," Sirius repeated, looking over at Lily and raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you tell people about me?"

"I tell everyone about you, and half of them think I'm lying." Lily glanced at James and pointed to Sirius. "All the stories are true, by the way."

"So you did release a flock of chickens in your dormitory at prep school?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sirius said, then paused for dramatic effect. "I released them in the Headmaster's office."

James laughed. "That's a good one. Did they make you collect them all?"

"I was not stupid enough to get caught," Sirius said. "Besides, the groundskeeper was more than happy to have more to add to his collection."

"So you bought all of them?"

"What else would I have done?"

"I feel like stealing them might've been easier," James said. "Not that I don't applaud your decision to buy them."

"He has a dozen more stories you're interested in, and no time to share them at the moment," Lily said. "Perhaps we could all get coffee later?"

"Sure," James said, and Sirius shrugged in agreement.

"What're you so busy with, anyways?" Sirius asked.

James drained the rest of his cup. "Preparing for a competition. Marlene is convinced that if we can't perform the dance perfectly in our sleep, it means we will fail miserably."

"I don't pretend to know anything about ballroom, but doesn't she have a point? Lily and I do the same thing before a first performance."

Normally after announcing that he had to leave, James jetted away as quickly as possible, but at that, he hesitated. "I think the politics of ballroom are different than ballet. If you stumble in your first performance, what happens?"

Sirius considered that. "Drilling the section until it is perfect, I suppose."

"And that's it?"

He nodded. "Why?"

"If we bugger up too badly in a competition, we could lose our contract. Sometimes you're banned from competitions for the following two years."

"God," Sirius muttered, eyes going wide. "Okay then. Have fun at practice, try not to make your feet bleed."

"Please tell me that's not something you do," James said.

"Not... often," Sirius hedged. His body was shaped for ballet now, not at all like when he'd been a teenager, just starting out. Besides, it wasn't exactly bleeding, even when he did hurt himself. More like bruises and feeling like his feet were going to break in half. "Good luck."

"Thanks, mate," he said with a grin, then left.

Sirius needed to calm his heart. James grinned, and it's like his heart decided to free itself from the confines of his ribcage. James didn't mean anything by it, and Sirius knew that.

This is you, James texted him, along with a picture that was standing with only one front leg and one back leg on the ground.

Cute and dextrous?

Cute and stupidly balanced, was his response, followed by a heart emoji. A red one.

Sirius tried not to read too much into it. He didn't bother to reply, since James knew he was busy in the States with their upcoming expo.

"Finally home!" Sirius declared, dropping his bag and holding his arms out to the side.

James grinned, running over to him.

Sirius expected a hug. What he got instead was a kiss.

James froze after two seconds, and, blushing furiously, stammered out an apology. "Sorry, it's just one of those things where you think about doing something so often that you completely miss the part where you shouldn't do it."

"James," Sirius interrupted with a laugh. "It's fine."

He swallowed and nodded. "Right, yeah. Yeah, it's fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to make things weird."

"You didn't make anything weird," Sirius said, giving him the hug that he'd been expecting from the start. "I'm really tired-- like, so sodding tired I'm not convinced I won't pass out on you right here-- but we're going to figure out the details later, alright?"

"Details for what?" James asked, blinking at him in innocent confusion.

"Us? I assume that's what the kiss was about."

"It was. Is. Will be? Sorry, the time after a competition is really hectic. I'm not sure my brain is working the way it's supposed to."

Sirius chuckled, kissing his cheek. "You and me both, mate. I'm going to go home and sleep for sixteen hours, and maybe we can get dinner or summat afterwards?"

"Sounds good." He gave him another hug. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," he said, smiling.

#prongsfoot #marauders #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #fanfic #filled #no magic au #getting together #post hogwarts #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

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vividly-creative · 3 years

Text

My favorite apps / What’s on my phone

Mental Health

Inner Hour

Prioritize your mental health for just 5 minutes a day! This is great if you don't know where to start with mental health.

Being healthy takes a lot of effort and it can be overwhelming to hear all the things you have to do to take care of yourself. Setting aside 5 minutes to learn how you can be healthy today, adds up quickly if your consistent with it.

Features: Meditations, Mental Health, Articles, Mood tracker.

Lumonsity Mind

This App teached me how to meditate without feeling frustrated!

The bad news, it's not free, but their introductory course, which teach you various ways you can meditate, it's free and it helped me to get started.

I recommend just taking that course, even if you can't afford to continue with them after you finish it. There's no trial needed to take it.

Also you can meditate for 2 minutes! This was amazing for me, because I thought I needed at least 10 minutes to receive the benefits of it! But starting small and being consistent with it is better in the long run.

Down Dog

This is the only app that got me out of my bed and try new things!

It is not a free app, unfortunately, but I think it's worth every penny. Plus they always have 33% discount if you buy from their website instead of their apps.

What makes this app different is that it eliminates the endless scrolling when looking for a work out.

You choose the time you want to work out, you choose what you want to focus in and the app automatically makes up a new work out for you. Every single time.

It involves 0 thinking on you part and it reduces the chance of getting overwhelmed by how much options you have and not doing anything at the end. (This is what I used to do.)

Also, beginner workouts on YouTube are NOT beginner friendly, in my opinion.

Every time I did a beginner workout and couldn't finish it, I felt worst and decided that I rather not do anything at all.

Down Dog has Beginner, beginner 2, intermediate, intermediate 2 and advance workouts and I can tell you with certainty, they're well categorized.

I also use Barre and the Medition from them as well, since when you pay for down dog you have access to all their apps. So there's variety with them, not only yoga.

Flip

Flip is a timer for concentration, it is meant for students but I use it for my daily habits: reading, writing, journaling, yoga and meditation.

This app changed completely my perspective on productivity. I used to make impossible to complete to do lists. For example: If I had to clean and I did, but it took me all day and I was too tired to do anything else, I got angry with myself and felt lazy.

When I started timing the hours I was being productive, without taking a break, I understood why I was feeling tired. Sometimes you just loose track of time and it's important to understand that some chores take longer than others and some are even an entire day thing and that's okay.

It helped me understand that if I'm doing something, I'm being productive, regardless if I finish it that day or not.

In the free version, which I still use, it only let you put 5 objectives / goals. But you can change it any time or use the timer alone, without a making a particular goal.

You can also track your progress in other ways. For example: If you want to write 300 words a day, you can specify it. Perfect for writers.

Clue Period tracker

No explanation needed. This is the best period tracker app I have use and it has a great interface.

Finance / saving

Free Stuff Times

This app is like a endless blog post of all the free stuff that you can get right now. It updates daily.

I mostly use it for their list of currently Free e books available on kindle! They post an updated list every 3 days or so.

Zogo

Get paid for learning how to manage your finances like an adult! This is the duolingo of finances but you also earn points for gift cards.

I'm not going to lie, it takes a long time to earn enough points to get gift cards. I get one once a year, but the content is great and I don't feel overwhelmed when reading about finances in the app.

It helped me a lot when I was starting to try to make sense of money and I didn't even knew where to start.

Get a 5$ gift card of your choice when you make an account using my code!

Fetch Rewards

Earn points by uploading your receipts! Again, it takes a lot of time to redeem for gift cards, but what do you have to lose? Also it's better than just throwing away your receipts.

Use my code to earn 2,000 points when you scan your first receipt!

Surveys on the go

I'll be honest, I never qualify for paid surveys but this one gives you 10 cents for participation, even if you don't qualify!

I love this app because it goes straight to the money, no points involved.

You can redeem and Amazon or Visa Gift card or you can transfer to your Pay Pal account when you get to 10$.

I redeem a gift card every 6 months.

Rakuten

Get cash back for shopping!

Use my code to earn $25 cash back on your first purchase over 25$

Acorns

Invest without having to think about it. Automate weekly investments and invest your spare change every time you use a link card.

Use my code to get $5 into your investing portfolio!

Here's the review I watched before I decided to use it! I also recommend following him, he posts great finance advice and is a small creator! Humphrey Yang

Fun!

Pokemon GO

Webtoons

Tapas

Wattpad

1SE

Record 1 second of you day and the app atomically makes your year into a movie!

Favorite Online Thrift Shop: Thred Up

Use my coupon code to get 10$ off your first purchase!

#recs #apps #on my phone #mental health #finnance #fun #learning #tools #blog post

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peglarpapers · 4 years

Text

Sarah Steel, harried and distracted and dragging both her feet and her children, drops Benzaiten Steel at his first dance lesson when he is three and a half years old and forgets to pick him up for two hours afterwards. Juno is there too, of course, but since he bruises his knee partway through and spends most of his time sitting against the wall sniffling Ben counts the dance lesson only as his. He furrows his brow and copies the teacher’s moves as well as his little limbs can and, for once, doesn’t fidget or yell or get into any mischief at all. He’s just as well-behaved when the worried receptionist tasked with minding the twins when their mother doesn’t arrive at the end of the forty-minute lesson sits them both down, wedged in the corner of the mirrored walls of the ballet studio, as she makes call after unanswered call to Sarah Steel’s comms. When Juno tries, time and again, to get up and explore the old studio building to hunt for ghosts or check for secret passages, Ben tugs him back down by his right hand with a breathless ‘watch, Juno’.

Because the dancers in front of him are magic.

They must be, Benzaiten reasons, because even though they’re much more grown-up then he and Juno are he’s never seen any adults do things like this before. There is a boy who jumps so high that Ben has to crane his neck to watch from where he sits cross-legged, and a girl who swings another dancer over her head like he weighs nothing. Another girl throws her leg out and spins so many times that even Ben, who can count to fifteen which is five higher than Juno can, makes himself dizzy trying to count. When Sarah Steel arrives, heels clicking angrily on the polished hardwood floors of the foyer, yelling at the receptionist to fucking call her next time, she was working, how was she supposed to know the lesson was so fucking short, Ben lingers in the doorway to the ballet studio even as Juno throws his arm around their mother’s legs and squeezes tight, watching the magicians dance.

Sarah was entirely ready to badmouth the Halcyon Ballet Academy for the rest of her life and spend a few more creds on her rotating cast of babysitters, but after a stream of excited babbling from Ben and pestering from Juno after Ben promises to give him sole custody of the next toy their mother brings home, she keeps up paying for lessons, and is usually only late by twenty minutes or so remembering to collect them. Benzaiten cherishes those once-a-week lessons, and while Juno steals snacks out of the other kids’ bags and on one memorable occasion floods the bathrooms after trying to see how hard he can kick the water cooler, Ben mouths the names of the moves the instructor shows them and tries to copy the twirls and tiptoes of the older students without falling over too many times. The nice receptionist learns to tell the twins apart almost every time and calls him ‘Benten’ affectionately when she ruffles his hair.

When Ben runs out of Sarah Steel’s office and to the safest place he can think of, it is the nice receptionist who finds him crying on the doorstep of the studio and brings him home, hand in hand.

They move to Oldtown a few weeks later, and he never sees her, or Halcyon Dance Studio, again.

~~~

After Sarah gets… bad, the Steel twins very quickly realise that if they want things other than bare essentials (and sometimes those, too, depending on the month) they’re going to have to get them themselves. For Juno, this means shoplifting Andromeda dolls from Oldtown’s one tiny, well-defended toy store (he gives Ben a Draco figurine for their eighth birthday, with the roaring voice box removed so it wouldn’t bother Sarah) and getting paid pocket change after starting a lunchtime fight club with Mick Mercury. For Benzaiten, it means developing the galaxy’s best smile, and it is while flashing this charming, lopsided grin to a very nice elderly couple as he slips his hand into their pockets methodically in search of interesting things to pilfer that he hears the music.

Benten hasn’t heard music like this in a long time- the only songs he knows by heart are the ones he hears in commercials running on their fuzzy monitor at home- and it surprises him enough that he jerks abruptly away from the old man bending down to pinch his cheek, the creds clutched in his fist spilling out of his fingers and clattering loudly on the slick street. Before the very nice elderly couple can realise that the earnest little boy asking if they’d seen his mother was robbing them blind, Ben is running in the direction of the music.

He’s not in Oldtown anymore- he’d snuck on a bus this morning and gone a district over to Stitch, slightly less decrepit and with slightly more to steal. The downside to his master plan to collect all the riches Hyperion City had to offer was that he didn’t actually know where he was going. This fact hit him three unfamiliar blocks away from the scene of his near-perfect crime, and dissolved instantly the second he saw the dancers.

Benzaiten remembered vaguely that his long-ago dance lessons had been in ballet- some kind of old-Earth style, graceful and smooth and set to strange, ancient music. Whatever these dancers are doing, it’s not that- there’s an old comms hooked up to a speaker on the sidewalk blasting a neopop song so loudly Ben can feel it pounding in the tips of his fingers, and somebody’s battered cap lying haphazardly in front of it with a small pool of creds inside. It’s a far cry from bright lights and waxed floors, but he’s no less entranced by the six- no, seven- teenagers who slide and spin and one of them bends all the way backwards and flips back up again he thought they could only do that in movies- and suddenly, as usual when anything fun starts happening, the cops arrive.

Out of habit borne of bearing witness to many a fight (especially those started by his twin) Benten slips into the closest nook he can find- a narrow, sticky alleyway, which exist everywhere in Hyperion City no matter how nice the district is- and peeks out silently as a gangly HCPD officer waves a blaster after the laughing group of dancers, who have packed up and run quickly enough that this can’t be their first run-in with the cops. Ben waits, back against the damp wall, until the angry yells fade, then dashes in the direction of the faint, still-playing music.

These dancers have a studio too.

Ben almost didn’t expect it, not with how at home they all seemed to be on their stage of scuffed shoes and chewing-gum pavement. But there it is- an old warehouse, with grubby carbon-fibre walls and a section of the roof covered by cheap blue tarps. He watches as the teenagers scurry in, whooping and laughing and elbowing each other, music changed now to something quieter but no less energetic, and makes a very big decision very quickly. He memorises the street names on either side of the corner the studio is on, takes a deep breath, and turns to find the closest bus station.

Three weeks later, Benzaiten Steel stands at the open door of Stitch Dance Studios with resolve burning in his small face and weight bulging in his small pockets. When he marches inside, his footsteps echo with a vigour that can only be conjured by a very determined nine-year-old with a very big dream. He scans the room for an appropriate judge to whom he can plead his case, and finds one in the single biggest person he had ever seen sitting at a table, staring straight at him. Ben reaches into his pockets, and the resulting clatter of cash against the plastic of the desk is almost deafening- all four hundred and nineteen creds that Ben and Juno were able to scrounge from odd jobs and odd thefts and one nerve-wracking heist of Sarah Steel’s wallet after payday.

Benzaiten flashes the person at the desk the galaxy’s best smile, and asks for however many lessons four hundred and nineteen creds will buy him.

~~~

There is a run-down building in the heart of Oldtown.

Actually, there are many, many run-down buildings in the centre, middle and outskirts of Oldtown, but none of those buildings matter to Benten because none of those buildings are going to be the Steel School of Dance like this one is.

He has a vision. He’s going to buy the place off the city, renovate it within an inch of its life, hang all the awards its students are going to win along the wall of the lobby right next to the enormous trophy cases they’re going to need, stud the walls of every studio with speakers blasting every kind of music you can think of, hang polished mirrors from floor to ceiling and install barres made from real Earth wood. Then after he’s made a fortune and revolutionised the Solar system’s conceptions of what it means to be a dancer, he’s going to buy Mom a house and a therapist back in Halcyon Park and Juno a commissioner’s position in the HCPD and nobody will never have to deal with any bullshit ever again.

Benten knows all of this for sure, because he’s already halfway there. He’s close to what he needs for a lease on the place, and if he cuts back on groceries just a little more he should be able to start cleaning it up properly in a year or two. Staying with Mom had not been… fantastic, but it had kept him from paying exorbitant rent and, more importantly, kept him close to Stitch and to teaching to pay off his own classes. Teaching, working, odd jobs, the occasional minor felony… they added up. He was tired, but they were adding up.

God, he was tired.

As soon as he found the energy to stand up, to climb down from the roof of the dilapidated building that would become the Steel School of Dance, to go home and try not to snap at Sarah for one more night, he would get back to work. But right now? Benzaiten Steel watches the reddish Martian sunset, dimmed behind the pearlescent sheen of the dome that protects Hyperion City, and allows himself to dream for a little longer.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #juno steel #benzaiten steel #alex's fics #listen i love benten with every fibre of my being and i wanted to try to do him justice #this fic has absolutely not done that but hey it's made me happy

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dameintoyland · 3 years

Text

Dance for Your Life

AO3: Dance for Your Life

Plot: Barry has to prove he has the dance skills to keep the girl, and maybe save his life. Set between episode 3x3 and 3x4. Pure fluff and humor.

Rating: T/PG-13

Warnings: None that I can think of...maybe some really mild suggestive language and a brief mention of alcohol

“One...two...three!”

The voices of the group quieted as heads tipped back and the golden liquid held in the small glasses disappeared behind lips.

“Ahhh,” Iris sighed loudly as she slammed her shot glass back onto the round table she surrounded along with her friends and family.

The last time they’d gone out like this had been at least two timelines ago. Before Barry had changed the past, under the influence of understandable grief, and then tried to reset his mistake. While he had mostly succeeded, the team was still freshly mending from unanticipated fractures. When Cisco had suggested the night out, they had all jumped at the chance to let loose and hang out as Team Flash again.

Barry caught Iris’ eyes from across the table and flashed her a toothy grin. The one she sometimes liked to imagine that he reserved just for her. Iris returned her own smile.

Barry’s eyes darted quickly to the left and then back to Iris. She looked over her left shoulder to follow Barry’s cue and saw Cisco who had been by her side only a moment ago out on the dance floor doing an odd jerky movement that looked like he was giving the empty space in front of him the heimlich.

Iris turned back to Barry with wide eyes. They stared at each other with identical looks of amusement mixed with dread until something broke and Iris couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up. Barry responded with his own laugh. After a moment, Iris could see Barry’s lips moving but could barely hear him above the sound of the music. As clubs go, this one wasn’t the loudest, but it still made communication across a table difficult. Iris shook her head and gestured at her ears. Barry seemed to take it as an invitation and walked around the table to her side in the spot previously vacated by Cisco.

He slipped an arm around her waist and leaned down to say something at the same time that Iris turned to face him.

“I said—” he started, his warm breath falling on her face. It smelled minty and she really wanted to lean in to kiss him, Cisco’s dancing a long forgotten memory. It wouldn’t be strange for her to kiss him now that they were dating, but they were also out with her dad and Wally and that was killing some of the mood. Or more appropriately, Barry’s awkwardness around them was killing it.

Barry must have had a similar thought because she tracked the movement of his eyes down to her lips and back up. She could hear him clear his throat just before speaking again, “I said we really have to talk to Cisco about those dance moves.”

“I don’t know. I think the moves work for him.” Barry eyed her skeptically, but Iris pointed to the girl dancing near Cisco watching their friend intently and nodding along to his moves.

“Just to be sure we’re still on the same page, I’m still not allowed to do that at our hypothetical wedding, right?” Barry asked. He raised his brows at her and did a very slow and exaggerated roll of his shoulders and arms.

“Is that the cabbage patch?”

“You know it.”

Iris snorted. “Nice, but to answer your question, not unless you want to be a dead man on our wedding day.” The two of them laughed and Iris leaned back against Barry as they continued to watch their friends. Aside from Cisco flailing on the dance floor; Caitlin was at the bar talking very animatedly to her dad and Harry, the latter throwing menacing glances every few seconds at Wally and Jessie, who were dancing quite closely. Iris suspected there was something between the two of them, but it still seemed pretty tentative.

Barry was swaying them gently as they watched the crowd. Iris bit her lip, wishing that it were her and Barry on the dance floor right now.

“Now that I think about it, we’ve never really danced together.” Barry’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“What?” Iris responded a little incredulously. “Of course, we have!” But she chuckled nervously at the end, doubting her own words the moment they left her lips.

Iris shook her head trying to remember. “We’ve known each other for how many years? I mean, what about prom?”

“Our dates wouldn’t allow it, remember?” Barry replied and Iris quickly recalled the disappointment she’d felt at not getting to dance with her best friend that night. That had always kept it from being the perfect night for her.

“You’re right, but we’ve definitely danced together at a party before.” Iris turned her head and looked up at Barry.

He studied her with a thoughtful gaze for a moment. “Depends on what you count as dancing together. We’ve always been in a group, so never just the two of us. And definitely not that closely.”

Iris frowned and stood up a little straighter. “And we haven’t even danced on a date yet.”

“Nope,” Barry added, shaking his head but otherwise unconcerned.

“We have to remedy this.” Iris stepped away from Barry’s grasp and turned around to face him. She grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the dance floor.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to see your moves Mr. Allen.”

“You’ve seen some,” Barry closed the distance between them and said into her ear.

“Not those moves.” She slapped his arm lightly and dragged him in between Cisco and Wally and Jessie.

Barry stood watching her with an appreciative grin as she moved herself around him to the music. He moved his shoulders somewhat stiffly to the music, but didn’t put in any additional effort. Iris was a little surprised, because she had expected a little better from him. She came close to him and wrapped her arms up around his neck, drawing him into her space and causing him to move with her although he was still tense.

“Come on, Barr,” Iris said over the music. “This is your chance to impress me. Our future, maybe, wedding depends on what you show me right now.”

Iris knew she was breaking rules by talking about a wedding so early in a relationship, but honestly after knowing about the future Iris West Allen and the existence of a happily married Barry and Iris on another Earth, she figured this was one bridge that they had already crossed and could never go back on. She’d known there was no going back the moment she’d told Barry he had someone to come back to when he went to Earth 2—hell, she knew the moment he confessed his feelings to her and she couldn’t stop thinking about him even when she was with someone else. Probably the result of a culmination of all those years of knowing deep down that she’d felt something more for her best friend than just friendship.

They were at the beginning of their relationship but she knew that she was his, he was hers.

Barry swallowed thickly, and looked up quickly before looking back down at Iris. “It’s a little crowded here, don’t you think?”

Iris frowned. They were on the edge of the dance floor with plenty of space between them and the next person, maybe with the exception of their friends. Cisco was still gyrating wildly behind them, occasionally throwing Barry a thumbs up. Though now he was joined by Caitlin who was doing her best to keep up. Wally and Jessie were still stuck in their own world, although dancing a little further apart. Iris realized it was probably the presence of both Harry and her dad near the edge of the dance floor that threw cold water on the young lovebirds’ private dance party.

Then it dawned on Iris, that maybe Barry felt awkward dancing with her in front of everyone...and by everyone she knew it was her father. She really needed to talk to Barry about it, especially since he was staying at her dad’s house. Iris glanced over at her dad and he seemed more amused at the scene than judgemental, but Iris was not going to let Barry’s misplaced chivalry get in the way of her fun. She had a question that needed answering and as an investigative journalist it was her duty to pursue all sources. So Iris dropped her hands to Barry’s and pulled him further into the crowd.

Iris found an open spot in the middle of the dance floor, tucked away from the eyes of their family and friends. Coloured lights flashed around them, lighting their skin. The privacy seemed to be working, because Barry had come out of his shell. He spun Iris to face away from him and circled his arms around her. Barry swayed her gently to the beat, leading her through the deep bass and intense melody of the song. Their bodies pressed together so that Iris could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

Iris lost herself to the music and the feeling of being surrounded by Barry. Her question of his dance skills long since answered. She wondered why exactly they had never danced together like this before.

They continued to dance in their own little bubble for several more songs, still hidden in the crowd. Iris turned around in Barry’s arms and smiled up at him, she stood up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding your dancing skills from me this entire time.”

“To be fair, I don’t think I’ve ever danced like this with anyone else in my life,” he responded.

“Really, what changed?” Iris asked, running a hand across the back of his neck.

Barry gave her a roguish grin and spun her wide, before pulling her back and dipping her low. He pulled her back in and bent down to speak into her ear. “Well, I can’t be a dead man at my own wedding, can I?”

#westallenalphabet #westallen #d #is for dancing #barry allen x iris west

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cherrybloomn · 4 years

Text

Delicate - Chapter 4

Alright guys, so here it comes. I am not really sure if anyone is reading this story, but for me it’s a great joy of writing it. I’m not much of a writer, but it’s a nice thing to give it a go. If there is anyone that would like to be tagged, let me know and I will. As for now there’s no tag list as I’m not really sure anyone reads this, lol

Once again, HUGE thank you for my most wonderful beta and supporters @musings-sans-muse and @shellbilee <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Warnings: strong language, (it’s a slow burn so.. no more warnings as for now), a bit of a breakdown.

Music inspiration: ( as I really love to discover all the music inspirations here on Tumblr, I’ve decided to put all the songs/music that have inspired me to write) -

1) Jacob Banks & Louis the Child - Diddy Bop -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxcsoynCkPk

2) Olafur Arnolds - Poland - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIq55s61KAE

3) Ruelle, Fleurie - Carry you - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i39fan8ow-o

Storyline: Naomi Poesy is a TV host of the show about acting and contemporary cinema. She is living life to the fullest, but for some reason she promised herself, she will never do any relationships. Much to her surprise she befriends one of her guests. Will she keep her promise?

30th of July, 2020

Naomi was driving her car home from her pure barre classes, when her phone rang. She quickly switched the Bluetooth on and pressed the dial button.

“Hello, boy. How are you doing? It’s your last Friday of freedom! Are you still in London or have you already got to the countryside?”

Henry chuckled. “Thank you I’m actually doing very fine. I can’t wait to get back to work. Finally. I’m in the countryside already. I’m throwing a small party tonight. Just closest friends. Shisha included. Hope you’re on board. Colin said he could pick you up.”

It took Naomi a minute to answer that question, as she was distracted by other drivers’ weird actions on the road.

“What the fuck is he doing!” She looked to her right and gave the driver sitting in the other car the scary look. “Oh, sorry. The party. Yes. Well, no. I’m sorry, I can’t make it. I’d love to though, really. I know we won’t be able to meet for a couple of weeks now, but BBN has a new CEO. Tonight there’s this introductory dinner. I have to be there. To be honest I don’t really know how I feel about it. This guy is so… disturbing. He visited us two days ago and said that he would announce who is going to end their journey with BBN, and I quote,“Some of you have nothing to add to the company”.

“Naomi, come on! You don’t really think you are one of these people! You are nominated to the TV Rising Star Award! Come on! But when itcomes to your presence at the party, well, I won’t deny I’m a little bit disappointed. I hoped we’d see each other tonight. But I do understand of course. Please let me know tomorrow how the dinner went. Oh, and I am keeping my fingers crossed on Monday. I sincerely think you do deserve to win the award.”

“Thanks. Alright, so, have a great time in the evening and don’t get stoned!”

“Thanks…” There was a short silence between them, Naomi felt like he wanted to add something more, but he didn’t, so she finally broke the silence:

“Ok. Oh, and Hen… I will sincerely miss you. I know how tight your schedule is” she stopped for a brief moment to rethink if she should ask for that, but decided to do so, and continued with soft voice “but just call me from time to time.”

“If I didn’t know you, I would have thought you fell in love with me, or something.” He joked.

Naomi smiled “Hm. I’m just curious. What makes you feel like you know me?” She asked playfully and grinned like a Cheshire cat at her question.

“Should I read between lines??” Naomi could only imagine him raising his eyebrow with the cheeky smile on his face.

“I don’t know. It’s you who said you knew me.” She giggled. “Ok, that’s enough. I’m almost at home, so I need to end this wonderful conversation. Keep in touch.”

“Absolutely. Now that you’ve admitted to falling for me, touching is inevitable.”

Naomi rolled her eyes and exclaimed quickly “Oh dear god, you did not just say that!” And also added with laughter: “Bye!”. She ended the conversation.

To fall in love with. Whatever being in love means. Naomi thought about it for a while. She didn’t really remember what that meant, how it felt. Was she in love with anyone right now? She knew she wasn’t in love with her fuck friend – James. Henry – on the other hand – was important to her. She thought about him every evening beforeshe went to sleep, she thought about him every morning. His messages made her smile, and the thought of their meeting made her feel warm inside. She knew that with every meeting, she wanted more – longer conversations, just one more movie to watch, another joke to share, another (un)accidental touch. She shivered at each thought of his touch. It has always been so casual and innocent, yet so powerful and soothing. Oh, fuck. Enough of this. He’s so not my type. Her own thoughts terrified her, so she tried to push them away.

***

The evening came very fast. Enveloped in a black, knee-length, silky dress by Dior and Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel, Naomi found herself in a cab on the way to the dinner. Her hair was styled in soft waves and her lips painted red. She was very stressed about losing her job, but tried to do as much as possible to make herself presentable and appealing. What a pathetic circus– she thought.

Just before leaving the cab Naomi fixed her makeup. She entered the Ritz, and quickly headed to the hostess, who waited to lead the guests to the tables. The young girl welcomed her with a glass of champagne, which Naomi politely accepted. She took a small sip. Let the shit show begin. Both women headed to the small room just behind the main chamber of the restaurant. Much to Naomi’s surprise the CEO was already sitting at the small table prepared for two. His posture was relaxed, his jacket hung over the backrest of the chair. He must have been waiting here for some time. He was a handsome man in his fifties, but his mischievous smirk was very disturbing. He didn’t bother to stand up to welcome Naomi.

“There you are! Our shining little star. Our nominee. Come closer, darling. Let me finally take a proper look at you.” He beckoned her. Naomi approached him and extended her hand for a professional handshake.

“Mr McKenzie, very nice to meet you.” She faked her sweetest smile and looked around. “Where’s everybody? I was sure I'd heard it was a meeting with all of the presenters.”

“Surprise, surprise!” He exclaimed and took a sip of his whiskey. “Darling I want to talk with you and only you. YOU are our future. I want to transfer you to the news section and make you the main news presenter. Excited?” He looked her up and down. “Turn around”.

“Excuse me..?” She looked at him with her eyes wide open. That request caught her off guard. She quickly looked around. All of the tables were occupied, and Naomi felt like everyone’s eyes were settled on them.

“Darling I said just turn around for me. I want to see you.”

The shit-show indeed. Naomi slowly sat down in front of her boss, never ceasing to look him in the eyes. “No, Mr McKenzie. I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She gave him a sly smile.

“Disobedient. I don’t like disobedience.” He slowly poured whiskey to the empty glass standing on Naomi’s side, and after filling it with the liquid he handed it to her. “Here’s to our new news star.” He took his glass of whiskey and clicked her glass. With his other hand he grabbed her chin and turned her head to her right side and then back to the centre, forcing her to look at him. “You’re so perfect. I will make a star of you. Just be good and obedient.” He let go of her chin and sat comfortably in his chair.

Naomi, usually so outspoken and forward, didn’t know what to say. At the very moment she felt exposed. Vulnerable. Fragile. Lonely.

“Mr McKenzie, I’m sorry but I don’t really see our cooperation like this. I am very grateful for the given opportunity, but I really love my show, and I have put so much effort to make it work. People like it, the guests like it. It’s not just another talk show, it touches important issues in theatre and film industry, it gives information about acting methods. I think it’s very refreshing and I have only got positive feedback from our viewers. We also have the social media account and the show has the biggest number of active followers. People like it and they associate the show with me. I wouldn’t like to give it to anyone else. I feel like it’s my child.”

“Naomi. I don’t really give a fuck about the number of viewers or comments made by spoiled, cocaine addict celebrities. This show is running to its end and you either become the face of the evening news on my terms, or you can consider yourself jobless.”

“Well, if so… I guess you will have the one and only chance to look at my ass, just as you wanted to. I’m sorry, but I can’t take this offer.” She half whispered all these words. She worked very hard on her composure, but inside she felt like bursting out. She quickly stood up, held her bag and left the restaurant. Just when she caught the taxi and sat inside, the tears started running down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she was deprived of her beloved child, just because someone decided to destroy it.

She gave the taxi driver her home address but after just a minute she changed her destination. Henry.

An hour later, she was standing at the door of Henry’s rented countryside house. She could hear laughter and screams from the inside. She slowly wiped her tears away, trying not to destroy the remains of her makeup. It must have been destroyed, as she felt her cheeks burning from crying. She took a deep sigh and knocked a couple of times. After what it felt like eternity, Henry opened the door.

“Naomi! You made it!” He looked her up and down “You look absolutely amazing! What a sexy dress. It’s more of a sweatpants party, but no worries. You will fit just perfectly.” Henry was in a very good mood, which made her smile a little. When he asked her in, he noticed her puffy eyes. Suddenly he got all serious and frowned at her. “Hey, come here.” He wrapped his big arms around her. He started to gently stroke her back with his left hand, and with the right one, he moved her hair to the side and placed the palm of his hand on the nape of her neck, pushing her even closer towards himself. When he felt that she started sobbing into his chest, he rested his chin on her head. “Do you want to talk?’ He asked gently.

“Not now.” was all she was able to say.

“Henners it’s your turn! What the fuck are you doing with the pizza deliv…” One of Henry’s friends ran into the hall, to check what was going on. “Ouch.. it doesn’t look like pizza delivery.. Sorry, sorry. Take your time guys. I’ve seen nothing.” He quickly got back to the living room. “Hey guys it’s not pizza delivery, it’s a lady!”

The comment kind of lifted Naomi’s spirit. She cry-laughed, and stepped backwards, breaking the embrace. “I’m sorry. Thank you.” She extended her hand and touched his arm. “Thank you. I feel much better now. We’ll talk later, ok? I need to relax. And I should change. I feel so overdressed.”

“Of course. I have my ex’s leggings and t- shirts here, if you want you can wear them. How about me preparing a good drink for you and you in the meantime taking a hot shower and changing?”

“Sounds perfect.” She said with a weak voice and gave him a faint smile. She looked defeated. She felt defeated. After a minute Henry brought her a pair of leggings and white tank top. Naomi took her time in the shower, she then fixed her makeup, dressed up and headed to the living room.

“Hello everyone. To those of you I don’t know yet, I’m Naomi” She smiled and waved her hand. She knew some of Henry’s friends, as they have all met a couple of times at the parties.

When the time passed, this small gathering made Naomi feel much better. Some got burnt down with shisha and weed. One of Henry’s mates was taking the piss at Henry being referred to as “daddy” on the Internet. Another one of his friends, excited with this news, went on the literotica website, picked up some spicy story and both guys started to read it aloud pretending it was about Henry. Naomi found it extremally stupid, but couldn’t stop laughing. Henry was just rolling his eyes and smiling, he was obviously embarrassed.

“Alright, enough!” He shouted after a minute and everyone got silent.

“Oh my god, Henry. That was so dominant” Naomi purred in a seductive voice and everyone started to laugh dramatically. Naomi just couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, oh god. This is too good.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry…but I have just found out about that kink I had no idea about!”

At around 2 am, when everyone left, Naomi sat with Henry in the kitchen. She told him about her evening. He didn’t talk much, but was very supportive. He was listening to her carefully. He furrowed his brows and grabbed her hand. “I’m really sorry.” He whispered. They talked about it for another hour, and Naomi finally said: “Alright. I’ve got to go. Not that I need to prepare to work or anything, but still.” She laughed bitterly. In the meantime she ordered the Uber.

“You can stay, you know that.” He was still holding her hand gently brushing the inside of her palm with his thumb. Once she realized that, Naomi quickly withdrew her hand and stood up.

“No, you need to get rest before the big day.” Naomi grabbed her dress and high heels and headed to the main hall. Henry followed her.

Once Naomi went out, Henry stopped her by holding her wrist and said “Girl, don’t worry. You are strong. You’ll survive”. He kissed her on the cheek. “Let me know when you arrive home.”

These two sentences crushed Naomi’s heart. She’s heard it before and she’d never forget it. You are strong. You will survive.

As a child, Naomi’s biggest dream was to become the Principal of the Royal Ballet. At the age of three, she started her first ballet classes. She was a natural, and not long after she was accepted to the national ballet school. She was very talented. This is why she started to work in the Royal Opera House at the age of 12.

One summer Naomi had an accident. She fell down from a tree and crushed her ribs and knee. She also suffered a spinal injury. She had to have an operation. She had to spend two months in the hospital.

In the last week of Naomi’s hospital stay, her beloved teacher – Mrs Selena Kurylenko visited her. When Naomi’s mentor entered the room, she quickly exclaimed: “I just cannot wait to get back to school and on stage!”.

Selena Kurylenko sat on the small chair next to the bed. “Naomi. What are you talking about, my silly girl? You are not going back to school, child. After this accident, you will never dance again as a ballet dancer. I only came to bring your stuff and say goodbye.” She said with her thick, Russian accent. Mrs Kurylenko put a small bag on the counter next to the bed. “Your pointe shoes. Keep it as a souvenir.”

Even as a grownup Naomi still perfectly remembered the chills running down her spine on that very moment. The chills that felt like needles. She still remembered Mrs Kurylenko’s last words: “It’s a shame your mother didn’t tell you that you won’t go back to school. She is a weak woman. Unlike you, Naomi. You are strong. You always have been, and you always will be. You will survive”.

You will survive. Naomi just nodded, said goodbye to Henry and quickly sat inside the car, which had arrived. The driver asked for the place of destination, but she did not hear him. She hid her face in her palms, and couldn’t help crying. She was so fed up with everyone expecting her to be the strong one.

Suddenly she heard someone knocking on the window, which was followed by opening the car door. She quickly wiped her tears and looked at Henry leaning his shoulder on the opened door.

“I’m sorry, I just needed a moment for myself.” She said to both Henry and the driver.

“Naomi, get your ass out of the car.” Henry turned to the driver “I am very sorry for that situation. Here’s for the drive.” He gave the driver some money. “My friend is a little burned down and it’s better she stayed here. Thank you very much for your service.” Henry extended his hand to help Naomi out of the car. “Come on, get out.”

Reluctantly she went out of the car. The driver was a bit puzzled, but quickly disappeared, probably thinking that the party must have been pretty rough.

Henry raised his eyebrow at her and wrapped his arm around her “Come”.

“Noo.. I’m going home.” Naomi said with a small smile and tried to get out of his embrace. It was more of a tease than a real need to break the embrace of course.

He didn’t let her go and tightened his embrace. He also leaned forward and whispered into her hair: “Don’t push your limit baby girl, daddy will be pissed.” He gave her the strict gaze, but after a split second both of them burst out with laughter.

“This is sooo wrong Henry! So wrong!” She said, shaking her head. She finally got out of his embrace and went inside the house.

They’d been watching the most ridiculous horror movie, and at some point Naomi dozed off on the armchair she was sitting at. She woke up at around 4 am, and with sleepy eyes she looked at Henry, who was lying on his side on the sofa. He must have fallen asleep too. She slowly and silently knelt on the floor in front him and studied his face for a moment. He wasn’t her type, but sure thing he was an extremely attractive man. Naomi smiled at the sight of his curls getting into his eyes. She gently moved a strand of his hair to the side. “Are you sleeping..?” She half whispered. He didn’t react. “Hm.. maybe that’s true what you’ve said in the morning. Maybe I am falling for you after all. Too bad it would never work out though.” She stood up, and covered him with the blanket hanging on the sideboard of the sofa. Afterwards, she called the Uber, and once it arrived, she went home.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #slow burn #henry cavill x other female character

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softest-cinnamon-roll · 4 years

Note

Did Eddie kill his mum!? If he did, good for him. Also I need a part 2 to the snow prompt I beg of u 🥺

you asked and I delivered. This is part two to this, and set from Eddie’s point of view.

trigger warning: mentions of conversion therapy

* * * * *

Eddie was quiet on the ride to the station, his eyes glancing out the window at the houses and trees covered in snow. Tears built up in his eyes, but he refused to break down, there was no way he was breaking down in front of the officers. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was a repeat of the events that had taken place that night, all leading up to the look of horror on Richie’s face as he was dragged away.

He wondered how long he’d get in prison for what happened. Ten years? Twenty? LIfe? His mother was dead now, all because of him, all because he couldn’t do as he was told. Eddie’s eyes moved from the window to his arms, which were slowly beginning to bruise, the scratches turning a harsh red colour.

The car suddenly came to a stop, and the officers stepped out, opening the door to pull Eddie out by his cuffed hands. They lead him into the station and through a set of double doors into a pale grey room with a single table and two chairs. It didn’t take a genius to know that this was an interrogation room, and that he was about to be questioned on what happened in the house, less than an hour ago.

“Take a seat, Mr Kasbrak. Someone will be with you shortly.” One of the officers stated as he sat Eddie down in the chair, like he wasn’t capable of doing it himself. Maybe he wasn’t. A thousand thoughts were swirling around in his head, and before the officer could leave the room, Eddie turned around to catch his attention.

“L-Lawyer…” Eddie croaked out, his eyes widening at the sound of his own voice. It hadn’t sounded like that earlier when he had spoken to Richie, but then again the adrenaline was starting to wear off and the pain was beginning to settle in. Carefully, Eddie lifted his hand to his throat, tears springing into his eyes at the pain. “I- I want a- a lawyer.”

The officer just nodded, leaving the room and slamming the door closed. The ringing echoed in Eddie’s ears and he moved his hands from his throat to cover them up, resting his head on the table in front of him. As he closed his eyes, he let his mind take him back to the beginning of the night, to before everything fell to shit.

“Oh come on Eds, are you sure you don’t want to come to the arcade with Bill and me? It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you win a few games.” Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie practically begged him down the line to hang out with them. Of course, Eddie wouldn’t usually pass up on a chance to get out of the house and spend time with his boyfriend, but his mother had been…acting stranger that day and he didn’t think sneaking out of his window would work that night.

“I can’t,” Eddie sighed eventually. “I have…stuff I need to do.” The lie was pathetic, and Eddie knew Richie would know he was making excuses, he just hoped for once that Richie would let it go. He’d see him the next day anyway, as they had all planned to hang out at the clubhouse. “I’ll see you tomorrow though. I promise.”

He could hear the hesitation in Richie’s sigh, but he eventually caved and they said their goodbyes. A few moments later, his mother called him from downstairs. The tone of her voice was harsh, and Eddie felt a sick feeling rise in his stomach, yet he followed her orders and went down the stairs.

The rest of the evening passed by tensely, with Eddie sitting on the couch and his mother sitting on her armchair, staring aimlessly at the screen. Once her show was done, she flicked off the TV and turned so she was facing Eddie, only making his anxiety grow. “Eddie-bear. When were you going to tell me about you and that dirty boy? When were you going to confess that you are defying god and doing ungodly things with that boy?”

Eddie froze up and he looked at his mother with a shocked expression. There was no way she could have known, he was being so careful! Even after she had installed the camera in the hallway, which Eddie knew was to make sure he wasn’t sneaking out at night, he was still careful. “Ma-”

“You are not to see him again, and first thing tomorrow I am taking you to a confessional and we’re going to get you cured.” His mother spoke with no emotion in her voice and Eddie’s heart dropped, tears springing into his eyes. “Don’t start crying, Edward. You did this to yourself.” Within a few seconds, his mother was off the chair and looming over him, wrapping her chubby hand around his wrist, squeezing tight. “No son of mine is going to be the local faggot.”

“Ma- ma you’re hurting me,” Eddie whimpered, tugging his hand to try and get out of her grip, but it only tightened, nails digging into his skin. “Ma, let me go!”

She stared down at him, nothing but hatred in her eyes and for the first time in years, Eddie felt genuine fear around her. ”You are a dirty boy Eddie, and you need to be punished. You need to see that it’s wrong.” She hissed, moving her other hand to attempt to restrain Eddie further. Before she could, Eddie jerked his hand away, removing her grip and he scrambled over the sofa and up the stairs,

He could hear his mother screaming, her feet thundering on the floorboards as she followed him and then banging on his door once he’d slammed and locked it. His heart was racing, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked down at his arm, scratched and bleeding. Fuck, his mother had gone insane and he needed to get out of there before she did something terrible.

Quickly, Eddie shoved as many necessary items into an overnight bag and pulled it over his shoulder. He’d go to Richie’s, he was always welcome there, and now that he was eighteen his mother couldn’t say it was kidnapping as he made his own choice. He pulled up his window and was just about to jump when the door opened and a hand was digging into his scalp, pulling him back from the window and towards the door.

“You really do not want to know what I’m capable of Edward,” his mother hissed as she dragged him from his room into the hallway and onto his feet. “Why did you have to go and be such a bad boy? Why couldn’t you have stayed as my precious Eddie-Bear and married a church girl just like I wanted? Why did you have to be dirty Eddie?”

Eddie shook his head, trying to get out of her grip, but she was strong in her anger. “I-I’m not your little boy anymore! I haven’t been for a while! I’m in love with Richie and there is nothing you can do to stop that! No conversion therapy is going to change the fact that I’m gay and you need to accept it!”

At his words, her eyes darkened just a little and Eddie thought that he had finally gotten through to her, that she would finally just accept it and let him go. What he didn’t expect was for her to move her hands to his throat and start to squeeze. “I didn’t want to have to do this Eddie. You were my little boy and I loved you, but I can’t have a fag for a son, I can’t have a dirty, sick boy living under my roof. I am sorry, but this is for your own good, this will cleanse your soul and maybe you’ll be allowed to enter heaven or you will go to hell and repent for your sins.”

It all happened so fast, Eddie’s vision was blacking out the harder that his mother squeezed at his throat, and he knew if he didn’t act then he would be dead in seconds. Hoping to distract her long enough just so he could escape and run for help, Eddie raised his leg and slammed his foot down on his mother’s. She gasped in pain, removing her hands from his throat and backing up towards the stairs. Their eyes met for a moment, a long halted moment before she lost her balance at the top of the staircase, body tumbling backwards as Eddie tried to lunge forward and catch her.

He was too late, her fingers skimming past his own as she fell down, body thumping against the steps and even cracking a few before her head slammed against the large pillar at the bottom of the stairs with a hard, resounding crack. Silence filled the room, barr Eddie’s intense breathing as he stared down at his motionless mother on the floor of their entrance hall. From where he was standing, he could see the blood pouring onto the laminate floor from her head.

Slowly, Eddie moved his trembling body backwards until it hit the wall, allowing the tears of horror to flow.

What the hell had he done?

* * * * *

@3tothe1 @anellope @annxmatron @appojoos @are-you-reddie-for-it @beepbeeprichiellc @bi-bi-richie @billdenbrough @bitchbrak @callmechee @dadbodrichie @derrylosers @disneyfan567 @eds-trashmouth @eduardoandale @feldmancorey @girasol-eddie @gloire-celeste @halfway-happy353 @hawkinsbabe @inthebreadbinwrites @itfandomprompts @its-stranger-than-you-think @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @kat-ships-everything @lifesucksheres20bucks @loserslibrary @losers-gotta-stick-together @madidraw @mars-14 @marsisaplanetyall @moonlightrichie @nancynwheeler @no-she-wasnt-reddie @oldguybones @photoboothreddie @pink-psychic @purplepoisonedgem @queen-sock @ransonelovebot @rebecca-the-queen @reddie-for-anything @reddie-to-cryy @reddieforlove @reddiesetandgo @richietoaster @roobarrtrashmouth @rreddies @s-onora @s-s-georgie @sashadrowned @sedanleystanley @sloppybitchreddie @sparklingrainbowdragon @spirited-marvel @stebbins @stellarbisexual @studpuffin @takeourpure @that-weird-girls-blog @thegoshdiddlydangdoor @thejadeazalea @thorn-harvester-ven @tinyarmedtrex @tozier-boy @tozierking @toziesque @trashmouthtozierr @twoidiotsinl0ve @violetreddie @virgo-luthie @wilding-throught-thehallways @xandertheundead

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #snow part 2 #tw death #tw sonia kasprak #tw homophobic slurs #writing tag

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madamspeaker · 4 years

Text

It’s not a “gate” - The hair/salon thing

I’ve addressed the salon thing in a couple of asks, but I wanted to take a moment to just go through the whole thing separate of those because what this saga has highlighted is a complete failure of journalists to do their work, and the undercurrent of misogyny that perpetuates both journalistic discourse, and how women must present themselves, especially if a public figure.

(This is long, so to spare your dashboards it’s under a cut)

Let’s start with the facts. Nancy’s usual stylist wasn’t available for Monday, so she/he recommended someone else. Nancy’s office contacted him last weekend (Nancy only returned to SF some time on Friday), and asked if it was possible to do her hair. The thing to note at this moment is that the rules governing salons in California started to change from last Friday. The governor had announced limited indoor openings, but to confuse matters some localities were still imposing tighter restrictions. Nancy’s office checked with the stylist, who told them that the rules permitted one person in at a time. He then asked the salon owner who he rented a chair from if he could go into the premises and do the appointment on Monday. The owner agreed to his request on the Saturday. Fast forward to Monday afternoon - Nancy gets her hair done before doing a television interview on MSNBC, and then on Tuesday the owner cries “outrage!!!” to Fox News, bringing along with her a seconds long bit of footage that shows Nancy with her mask around her neck. Naturally the whole thing explodes on Twitter and then across other media (several versions of the story made the top ten shared links on Facebook).

What followed was a failure of journalism to ask follow up questions about the clearly odd parts of the salon owner’s account as relayed by Fox News (a red flag in of itself). In her interview with Fox she admitted she had known about the appointment in advance, but no one thought to ask why she let the appointment go ahead if it so offended and outraged her - she did own the place afterall, it’s not like Nancy had keys or barged in. Likewise, no one thought to ask where the rest of the salon footage was. Why only release seconds worth which rather conveniently showed Nancy with her mask down, and partially hidden under her chin? Could it be that she had worn the mask the rest of the time. No one in the media thought to ask this. It seemed fairly clear to most sensible people on Tuesday night that something with off with the salon owner’s tale of outrage, but the media pretty much took the Fox News version of events at verbatim. Only USA Today raised the points I just did, but alas, they buried them in their write up.

Wednesday saw Nancy fight back, acknowledging that she took responsibilty for trusting the salon (when perhaps she should have had someone else verify what they had been told), but ask yourselves this, would you have verified it elsewhere? She had been to this salon before with a stylist, they were local, she trusted them, and in a situation in which the law was changing, it makes perfect and reasonable sense to ask the professionals in that industry what their status is. On this point there have been plenty of indignant people and bots on Twitter up in arms that Nancy didn’t apparently know the regulations in SF, but a) she didn’t make those regulations (as some seem to think), b) she spends just as much if not more time in D.C., and c) she has about 100 other things on her plate in any given hour, that salon regulations in SF are probably somewhere near 120 on her list after deal with Covid-19, Trump, win the election, save the USPS, try to get a stimulus bill, deal with the federal budget which will need a CR to prevent a shutdown (minutes after I hit publish on this it was announced she had reached a deal with Mnuchin to avoid a shutdown), restore in-person inteligence briefings, file an appeal in the McGahn case (again), Bill sodding Barr,, Russian bounties on US soldiers and so on. She has an insanely stressful job at the moment, her staff too, and it seems more than reasonable for staff/her to ask a professional in the industry about the regulations on salons, when such regulations were pretty confusing to most people last weekend anyway. Nancy’s only apparent “crime” in this instance was to trust the word of the industry pro.

Then of course we have the “she’s not wearing a mask” portion of this debacle. Not one journalist has asked where the rest of the footage is. We see Nancy walk from the bowl to another room, wet hair, phone in hand, and the mask around her neck (slightly hidden by her chin), but we never got the footage of her walking to the bowl, or any other footage from what was definitely more than a 4 second long appointment. Could it possibly be that she had indeed been wearing a mask the rest of the time - that she wasn’t just wearing it around her neck as some sort of foulard meets choker fashion statement. People have asked, “Why did she pull it down?”, and to that I will say, probably any one of three or four reasons. She uses a clip at the back of her neck to secure her masks rather than the ear loops. Maybe it was in the way and the stylist asked her to pull it down. Maybe she had trouble breathing with her face covered and head back. Maybe she didn’t want to get it wet. The point here is that it was around her neck, suggesting that she had been compliant until that fateful video captured moment. The media again though have run with the Fox News narrative that she had no mask. For one, it’s actually visible in the footage, and two, they are blatantly disregarding what they themselves know to be true - that Nancy has been wearing a mask for the last five months. We have the footage and photographs to prove it, not to mention the press also know that she takes down her mask to talk at her pressers etc. The press are playing stupid on this point to satisfy some both sides need in an election that so far has Joe Biden with a good lead. Their wilful obtusity is purely to inject some drama into things on the Dem side for clicks because nothing at present is sticking to Biden. All this leads to me to the misogyny.

I caught part of a radio interview yesterday in which two male hosts had to have it explained to them as to why a woman in the public eye might need a hair stylist more than once a week. One of the men had been perplexed as to why if Nancy needed her hair done she hadn’t just got it taken care of in D.C. were salons are open. It never entered his brain that no amount of hair spray is going to keep a hairstyle in place for at least 3 days (when Nancy was last in D.C.), or that she might need to lie down to sleep, or that hair does actually need washed. Likewise, it never occured to either of them that Nancy turning up to an television interview with anything other than styled hair would be a news story in itself, because here’s the rub, women are damned for makeup and hairstyling and thought vain and shallow, and they’re damned if they don’t put makeup on and get their hair done, especially for television (we all remember the “omg” reactions when Hillary turned up to an event days after the election in 2016 with a bare face). The last couple of days have been full of this crap, with men (looking at you Don Lemon and the SF Chronicle editorial board) especially saying Nancy should apologise for the salon episode. Why should she? She did what any reasonable person would do and asked about the rules. Her error was to take the salon at their word, but by today’s logic the salon’s lie is Nancy’s fault. I have seen more than one man on Twitter admit the facts of the case and still say “she should take the hit”. Would they say this of a man who had been lied to, framed, and the footage sold to a hostile media company? I think not.

And then of course there is the salon owner herself. The stylist released a statement last night backing Nancy’s side of events up. He also revealed that the owner, so “outraged” by Nancy’s appointment, had in fact been opening up illegally since April, had been forgoing masks, and been forcing stylists to work. What also emerged is that the owner had let her licence lapse on the premises back in May (so Nancy had not ended her business as she claimed), and was in the middle of relocating to Fresno -- something the press have gilbly ignored as they report how she has been hounded out of town because of Nancy, and forced to move. Let me say this, not even the IRA at the peak of The Troubles could get people to move that quick, and they had guns. And then there’s the gofundme - which popped up less than 24hrs after she handed the tape to Fox. Naturally the blurb is a sorry tale of woe, of a supposedly single mother forced to move because of the evil Speaker of the House. No mention that she owns three salons, that she’d let the licence lapse on one anyway, is opening one in Fresno, loves her guns (and those ain’t cheap) and took a PPP loan of $12,000 wihilst operating illegally. By the way, at the time of writing this, the gofundme has raised over $80k for her -- which shows you how Trumpers will buy into any bullshit, and how Nancy is a fundraising powerhouse regardless of your party affliation lol.

I appreciate this has been a rather long read, and if you made it this far, thanks! Nancy didn’t do anything wrong other than take the word of a salon in good faith. Should she have known the regulations herself? Maybe, but she has the kind of crazy and stressful life most of us can’t even begin to imagine, and unlike the Presidency, the Office of Speaker doesn’t come with personal maid services thrown in, or a whole West Wing of staff. End of the day, once out of that office, Nancy has to do all that normal life stuff that the rest of us do - shop, go to the post office, buy clothes etc., and now in the Covid era get ready for tv interviews herself rather than a studio stylist do it. Her mistake was to trust someone who has it turns out saw a chance to have a moment of fame, stick one to the woman she ignorantly blamed for the lockdown, and make some money from gullible Trumpers. I don’t know how this story will play out in the coming days. Ice cream lasted a week, spurred on by the far-left and then the far-right. This may have more staying power as Trump desperately seeks some kind of mud to stick to Dems, and with nothing sticking to Biden at present, his 2016 playbook (and the even older GOP one) of blame a woman (in this case Nancy) has been deployed. The problem of course is that Trump isn’t running against Nancy -- but as the press have so depressingly showed, that fact hasn’t stopped them from elevating one trip to a salon above 180k+ dead, Melania using a prvate email server (!!!, I mean come the fuck onnnnnnn, this after 2016!!!?!?!?), or Trump telling people to committ a felony and vote twice.

#nancy pelosi #madam speaker #long reads

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