#because i had to do some tiny brain gymnastics to make it appear in my game

[justanotherignot]

Letter from Isobel (AND AYLIN!)

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #aylin x isobel #dame aylin #aylin #bg3 aylin #isobel thorm #isobel #bg3 isobel #justanotherignot #has anyone actually gotten this? #because i had to do some tiny brain gymnastics to make it appear in my game #anyway this is fucking adorable #they sound married #i love that aylin felt the need to add the postscript even if it's just to repeat what isobel already said #aylin talks in all caps and she writes in all caps #and apparently she and isobel are doing a spinoff #the moon lesbians are detectives now

[in-newjersey]

So here are my thoughts on my first time seeing a live BMC production!

Making this non-rebloggable, I am not a real theater critic and I do not want to draw any attention to this actual cast on an anonymous blog to strangers on the internet

For starters, casting!

I respect the variety going on here and the degree of diverging from famous character appearance-tropes. Tiny Latino Jeremy who's as fit as a gymnast and can (and does) do acrobatic spin kicks sometimes? Love it. Plus-size butch-esque Brooke? 10/10. Genderfuckery long-haired Michael who gesticulates with a huge fan through most conversations? Hell yeah. Pink-haired Nirvana-grunge-style trans guy Jake? Now we're talking. Christine a head taller than Jeremy? Awesome.

I will not get too into describing actual real people on here much more than that but in general it was wonderful to see a wide range of character-actor types inhabiting these roles. As someone involved in The Fandom, even though I have frequently expounded upon the mutability of character traits per the text, you do still absorb a general idea of what the characters "look" like; so it was a fun twist to have literally none of the performers fall into those tropes.

I will also say - and this is not a read - that I am no longer going to assume I'm too old to play any of these characters, because I guess that's the magic of community theater lol

On to Thoughts, which I will loosely group by characters:

Rich was fucking awesome. Like I was impressed by the singing skill across the board, but this guy fucking killed it at every turn. I looked at my friend I went with after The Squip Song and we both were like OH OK. Rich also wore mostly KISS T-shirts? Like the shitty glam rock band? But yknow, work. Excellent voice (if casting were a little more 'stereotypical,' he probably would be an excellent Michael). Emotionally, he was on the more explosive side while SQUIPped, melting toward just charmingly cute once in 'real Rich Goranski' mode.

The aforementioned Jake was an interesting take on the character. Definitely leaned more into the kind of douchey side of things, but did at least at one point seem genuinely into Christine (although the actor was very much leaning into the interpretation 'yeah he has multiple interests and he honestly likes them all in the moment but gets bored quickly, and that includes girlfriends'). Is that kind of shitty? Yes. Is that a realistic take on what a rich popular 17 year old might be like? Also yes. Nirvana-fan Jake was not a concept I thought of before but I was down for it (though I discovered later on the cast instagram page that the guy playing Jake said that his version of Jake thinks Nirvana is a clothing brand which, like, galaxy-brain take lol).

THE SQUIP!!!!! Actually cycled through Keanu Reeves costumes, which I loved. Started out in Bill & Ted, then Matrix, then POINT BREAK of all things, before landing on a pretty-impressive-for-the-budget version of the light-up circuitry priest robe thing from the Broadway style. He had the hair and beard pretty close to present-day Keanu too, which made him both line up with the resemblance and seem significantly older than the other characters; voice-wise, this guy was clearly a skilled baritone, which meant his delivery on some of the more rock-style songs was a bit unusual, but not bad. This SQUIP was suave at the right parts but did NOT shy away from being scary: the 'take me inside you' part with Brooke during Upgrade was staged very menacingly with regards to how he was physically moving around/behind Jeremy. The Play was delightfully sinister, leaning HARD into the SQUIP as literally puppeteering everyone: saying their lines and moving his hands like marionnettes throughout, keeping things very creepy and villainous.

On the topic of the play, the fight choreography kicked ass. Mr. Reyes's ALL THE WAY TO BROADWAY rant was delivered while he yanked Jeremy off the ground by his shirtfront and then threw him furiously across the stage, genuinely concerning and upsetting to watch (especially as the SQUIP was miming the same actions and lines behind him, obviously in control of Reyes's body) (I literally said 'oh fuck' out loud when it happened and got a Look from the presumably-grandma in the row ahead lol). The fight choreography during Two Player Game Reprise was also solid: the guy playing Jeremy was FIT and did a lot of impressive acrobatic kicks and such, and the person playing Michael being a lot taller and larger worked well with letting him like bounce off, lift him up for spin kicks, etc.

And in general, I respected how much this production was willing to let certain moments be dark. The Play in general was pretty horror-movie-climax; I also respected that the costuming did indeed look like so-so high school mockups of a modern zombie movie. But the whole number was eerie, SQUIPPED character movements and voices became unnervingly smooth and robotic, and positioning the SQUIP as the puppetmaster in the middle, literally moving the characters around, just sold the whole thing wonderfully. Very appropriately leaning into the horror part of horror-comedy.

Similarly, Do You Wanna Hang? was scary. AS IT SHOULD BE. My friend who came with me compared it favorably to the car scene in the movie 8th Grade, where you're just On Edge the whole time you're watching. The actress playing Chloe did a good job with it, that's an uncomfortable thing to portray but she went for it and it paid off in the moment.

Chloe and Brooke had a fun dynamic: the styles of the costuming/performers did add some interesting dimensions. Chloe was, as usual, pink and perfect and feminine, head-cheerleader vibes; Brooke was short haired and dressed a lot more masculine. Brooke had a very earnest sense of vulnerability to her, and excellent comedic timing during Do You Wanna Ride and The Smartphone Hour, as well as just the minor background-acting moments. They leaned pretty hard into the 'Chloe will take things just because Brooke wanted them, because she likes that Brooke is always a little jealous of her, and thinks that that's friendship' and, like the portrayal of Jake: is that a shitty thing to do? Yes. Is that a realistic thing teenagers might do, especially poisoned by toxic ideas about femininity and power? Also yes.

Which is a good spot to add, the ensemble was small (4) but they were serving it. The band appeared to be octogenarian church volunteers (oh, yeah, this was at a church??? Wesleyan Methodists, so the cool liberal branch of American Christianity) so I will say that with what they had, they were making it work. It would have been served well by a second keyboardist and/or guitarist to do the trumpet parts (it was drums, bass, guitar, and piano). One of the ensemble members, a tall goth-femme person with hot pink hair, played the role of the theremin by doing the melodies in remarkable and ethereal bel canto. And honestly, work.

Jenna Rolan was fun: could belt for the gods, had some pretty-intense Crazy Eyes thing going on that really sold the comedic moments and made her appropriately frightening as the Final Boss in the squipped battle at the end, styled like an early 2000s-lesbian-coded-soft-goth best friend archetype. No notes, 11/10.

The actor playing Mr. Heere/Reyes/Stockboy did a fantastic job of making those three seem separate, and as I mentioned above, really made Mr. Reyes come to life in a dynamic way. Sidenote, this production changed all references to Hobby Lobby to Michaels, which I found both funny and appropriate. Fuck Hobby Lobby, we all hate Hobby Lobby.

Back to characterizations, Christine was sweet and straightforward. Not as quirky or dynamic as Stephanie or a lot of other actresses make her, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Very gentle and smooth voice, she just really likes theater and wants someone to like the real her. They went with ballet-style choreography to introduce her during More Than Survive, which is always a wonderful touch for the way the music swells. There were points where I think a little more creative movement or a wider emotional range might have worked well, but the take on the character was consistent.

I am going to keep that positive thread through the next sections: while I might not have agreed with the interpretation through the text, I do respect going in a starkly different direction to how most productions and fans usually take such things.

I have enormous respect for the performer playing Michael for radically making it their own. The cast bios had pronouns, and Michael's performer was they/she/he, which as a fellow they/she/he who would love to play Michael someday was rad to see. They kept the CREEPS shirt and a hoodie with a lot of patches (albeit a black one with red accents), but that was about it. Michael had light-up cat ear headphones and a huge black fan which he used throughout, alternated between baggy sweatpants or just a floor-length hippy skirt, usually high-heel ankle boots, and some kind of green bathrobe thing for The Pants Song? Characterization, again, respect for making such an iconic character so heavily different. This Michael was not....very emotional. He was usually snippy and sarcastic in a very erudite and matter-of-fact way, at pretty much all points in the show. Not a lot of emotional range going on: this is a Michael who is in some combination of 'doesn't give a shit' and 'not going to let this bother me,' which came off....interesting. The chemistry this created with Jeremy was a starkly different one than we usually see. The original productions - and most since, and the majority of fandom depictions - imagines a Michael and Jeremy who, at their core, love each other a lot. However that manifests of course varies, but you Usually get the impression that (even with a little bit of codependence), these two genuinely love each other and spending time together, which makes moments in the show either heartwarming or devastating to see happen between them.

Not these versions of the characters.

Which didn't make it bad, but it did shake things up. This Michael and Jeremy didn't give deep-love-friendship so much as they gave 'we sat next to each other in 1st grade and don't have other friends. so. I guess we're best friends, huh.'

Which is an INTERESTING and somewhat bleaker, but not unrealistic, take on them. That, sadly, summarizes a lot of friendships, especially at that age and with the sort of vacuum of suburbia on your social sphere (nevermind how a lot of society discourages boys from emotional connection with their friends; if anything, the fact that this Michael was definitely queer might suggest that Jeremy even pulled back emotionally because he didn't want to seem gay or give this Michael the wrong idea). It definitely sells Jeremy feeling lonely, even with his best friend hanging around. Two-Player Game came across a LOT better than I was prepared for - I have waxed about how it's a hard number to pull off - not in spite of, but almost because of this. Like, sure, they've played through this game a million times before, they know every beat, they love it like they love each other, right? even though they seem.....kind of bored. Or at least like they're waiting for something else to happen. College? Girlfriend? Different friends? Just wait two years. Whatever.

To get critical, I will say that this dynamic did not really help Michael in the Bathroom. The fight beforehand and the song itself did.....not really lend themselves to a not-very-emotional friendship between them. The singing was perfect, so not faulting that: it's THE big song of the show, so that's a lot of pressure and the performer had a splendid voice, but the snarky-not-caring-that-much attitude didn't quite do it for me - Michael didn't seem sad or upset so much as pissed off, but still fully keeping it together (despite the lyrics saying otherwise). Tonally, the 'wish I'd offed myself instead' just sounded sarcastic ("wow, SORRY I CARED AT ALL, could've just killed myself for all you seem to care" kind of vibes) THAT SAID, it was consistent with the rest of the characterization, so I admire it as a very specific acting choice. There were also characters on stage - presumably outside the bathroom door, listening in - that turned a good portion of MITB into a comedic number; as I have said before, not my personal take on how that should go, but the audience was laughing along with it! So that's the wonderful mutability of theater.

Strangely enough, this actually made Michael and Jeremy's relationship at the end of the story work out just fine? The SQUIP experience kind of sparked a "wow we really do care about each other, huh" realization from both of them. Again, mad respect for taking such a different approach to such a well-worn character relationship.

So, overall, I am very happy I got to see this. Love to support live theater, love to be surprised by a story that I thought I knew pretty well inside and out, came away with plenty to think and talk about. If you can, go support your local community theater!

#be more chill #soliloquy #michael mell #jeremy heere #christine canigula #jake dillinger #rich goranski #chloe valentine #brooke lohst #jenna rolan #the squip

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Plus One, Ch. 2

Previously on Plus One

It oscillated every other minute between being an amazing idea, but also being the worst idea of all time, and Lexa was mostly exhausted of bouncing back and forth. It might be easier, she decided, if she just got herself on board with it being a good idea, but a deep, gnawing hole seemed to manifest itself in her gut at the very thought of seeing her ex. 

As she went through the motions of finishing the day, of doing inventory because it was Wednesday, Lexa tried not to distract herself with the thoughts of her impending trip. In just forty-eight hours, she’d be face to face with Costia, who she hadn’t seen in months, who she avoided before occasionally running awkwardly into each other at mutual friends’ events. She’d come face to face with her ex who was getting married. 

And she was going to do it with a complete stranger on her arm. 

With a heavy sigh, Lexa tossed her clipboard on her tiny desk in the storage closet and plopped down in the squeaky chair, tipping it back with a wail. Her sister was the worst. 

It was quiet in the shop, closed for just a handful of hours, Lexa always took a day to inventory and repair the damage of the week. She enjoyed the late evening work, when her workers were gone, and the shop was empty and full of dreams. No one knew how the cabinets stayed so clean, or how the scratches on table tops got sanded and fixed, or how the wobbly table by the window was miraculous cured one day, or how the ceiling fans got dusted, just that it all happened, and Lexa was off, meaning she didn’t come in until at least ten, the following morning. 

But Lexa sat in the chair and let her brain do the same mental gymnastics it always seemed to do in the new quiet she found herself craving. She opened her laptop and ignored the awaiting spreadsheet, and instead opted to look over the answer Clarke had given her to the “Know your partner” quiz Clarke googled and made them both do. A mix of basic information and Newlywed Game style innuendos, Lexa filled hers out after a bottle of wine and anxiously waited for Clarke’s. 

That was what started the daydreaming. She scrolled through Clarke’s answers and furrowed, doing her best to memorizing all that she could, as if she’d be tested on it all, as if it’d be impossible to believe she could be happy with someone like Clarke. 

And when those thoughts started to seep into her brain, Lexa leaned back again and dug the tips of her fingers into her eyes. 

In a week it’d be over. 

And with that and a deep, heavy sigh, Lexa looked at the screen again and went about learning Clarke. 

She started professionally, of course, looking at her corporate page and resume, because this was, if not anything, simply a business transaction and Lexa thought it was easier to parse a person if she didn’t actually have to fall for her. 

A graphic designer at Anya’s firm, Clarke held accolades and a long list of references. The link to her work showed a wide range of commercial campaigns and a certain amount of talent evident by her list of upcoming projects. A graduate of a small, private, liberal arts university, her academics leaned heavily scientific, which was a surprise until Lexa read some of the answers in the survey about a degree in physics given up for art. 

Lexa promised that she wouldn’t have looked at Clarke’s Instagram if Clarke hadn’t requested her first. She wasn’t someone who lurked, or at least she thought she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be someone who snuck around, digging through someone’s past, analyzing every filter and caption like a private investigator. But then Clarke appeared. 

And there were pictures of Clarke with friends getting drinks on a rooftop. And then the one with her laughing and baking. Or the Christmas party where she was on a corporate Santa’s lap, smiling so wide her eyes were shut. Despite herself Lexa found herself smiling along with the girl in the pictures. The one who went hiking with a pack of dogs, and the one who seemed to always be eating something. The one who had a lot of friends and enjoyed making them smile and laugh. The girl who posted storie about her morning run, and the girl who seemed to have a healthy work life balance. 

Lexa closed the webpages and stared at her inventory for exactly two seconds before curiosity won again and Lexa started looking at Costia’s account. There were the standard pictures of her pre-wedding planning. There was Costia working out. There was her new bride-to-be, happy and smiling at a gift for her birthday. 

And then a throwback that made Lexa’s stomach drop as she stared at a familiar image of Costia smiling in a bikini on a beach. It was from the last trip they took. Lexa was the one behind the camera. 

Three weeks after that picture was taken, Lexa walked in on Costia and a girl in the middle of the afternoon. Right in their own bed. Only to then discover it’d been going on for months. And it wasn’t the first. And then, Lexa didn’t remember much except that she moved into the apartment above her coffee shop and woke up one morning alone on sheets that weren’t familiar, in a room full of boxes. 

It seemed even more difficult to start inventory after that shot to the gut. 

But her phone went off, and Lexa leaned back in her chair after shutting the laptop again, wondering if that sinking feeling ever went away when it came to someone you love, or loved, or once loved, even for a moment. She didn’t have anything to compare it to, and she didn’t have any idea what love really was. 

It felt like a deep wound was scratched open, the scab pulled back, and a burning numbness gnawing at the bottom of her spine. It felt like it would swallow her whole, and Lexa hated, more than anything, giving anyone the power to do anything as such over her. 

Hey! Do you think this will go with your outfit?

An image came next, of Clarke in a dressing room wearing a very pretty dress, with very messy hair with her tongue sticking out. Lexa didn’t notice the gnawing feeling disappear. 

We don’t have to match completely. 

We do! Don’t you know how to date?

Not really. 

Another picture of another dress came a moment later. Clarke was pretty. She was happy and silly and kind. It felt oddly normal, for as crazy as the whole scheme actually was. 

I like that one, Lexa wrote, making sure to add a heart-eyed emoji to emphasize her point. Maybe that was flirting. Maybe she was allowed. She definitely needed more rules. 

Good, I do too. It matches your tie, you know? And these heels will still leave you a little taller than me. 

Sounds good to me!

Kind of excited. I guess I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow. 

I’ll be the one at the bar. 

I’ve heard it’s possible to find your soulmate at the airport. Something about the crossing of paths and time and space. 

If my soulmate is a bottle of wine, then I reckon I might. 

A love story for the ages. 

Lexa smiled once more at her phone before tossing it to the side and letting her head drop to the desk. With a groan she growled into her hands and broke it down. She just needed to make it seventy-two hours. That was it. She could sleep for about twenty of those. She could drink for another twenty or more, if she really tried. 

But this was it. This was the end. 

And regardless of the weight of everything else, there was something satisfying about knowing it was almost over. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The airport was absolutely teaming with bodies and people, weaving their way through the swelling crowds, loading and unloading the terminals at a constant, steady thumping rate, so regular one could set a watch to the heartbeat of the building. 

Clarke adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tapped the ticket against her thigh as she moved through the security line. The nerves were coming for some reason. That was why she was at the airport three hours before the flight. She was anxious and needed a stiff drink and a few moments to catch her breath. She needed to escape the whirlwind she’d allowed herself to create. 

Carefully, she made her way through the airport, checking the boards and finding her way to a seat in the empty waiting room. Not even an attendant waited at the kiosk. 

Once again, she let herself awkwardly scroll on her phone, learning everything she could about her future date and weekend plans. 

Lexa was nearly non-existent online. She didn’t have any pictures of herself. She rarely posted anything on her personal account, and when she did, it was just a book or a coffee or from a trip. She wasn’t one to enjoy being the center of attention, but when it came to her shop, she made sure to post almost daily, highlighting her employees and their recommendations, she made share to highlight events, she made sure to be as active as possible. 

Anya had already warned Clarke that her sister was devoted to her work. She’d poured all of her effort into being successful and part of the community, and Clarke admired it, she just wished that there was more for her to see. 

And so, once more, she flipped back to the long line of questions they’d filled out before giving up and gazing out the window at the planes coming and going. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she was doing something nice and good. It was an act of charity. It was the shake up Clarke needed and was selfishly trying to package as benevolent. 

“You beat me, and I’m usually the first one here for a flight,” Lexa observed, walking up to Clarke, stealing her from her reverie. 

“I like airports. Just waiting for true love to stroll up and introduce themselves.”

Lexa shoved her hands in her pockets, her bag balanced on her shoulder as she cautiously looked around, surveying the empty terminal slowly. Clarke watched her look around, smiled at the innocence of it. Enjoyed the way she ran her hand through her hair, mussing it up a bit and tossing it to another side. 

“No one likes airports,” Lexa shook her head before taking the seat beside her. 

“I do. They’re romantic.” 

“Romantic?” 

“You can get onto a plane, and a few hours later, you’re hundred of miles away, and it’s different weather, and it’s a different time zone. You can go to sleep in a different state. How can you not be romantic about that.”

“It’s a tin can filled with recycle air.” 

“But there are peanuts.” 

That did it. Lexa cracked a smile to herself and relaxed a little. 

“I was going to be the first one here. Surprise you with coffee, but you beat me to it.” 

“You are quite a good girlfriend. Someone clearly trained you well.” 

Lexa shook her head, somewhat bashful, somewhat reserved. There was always something right there, just below the surface, obfuscated by a kind of resolve to never give anything away, not at any price. Clarke read it between words in their texts and emails, a glaring finality in the simple pixel of a period. 

“Can I get you a coffee? Two creams, two sugar right?”

“You don’t have to--”

“It’s early and I’m trying to be charming. Allow me to somewhat repay you for this whole endeavour.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, darling.” 

With the term of endearment, Lexa nodded, grinning into her chest as she stood and made her way across the terminal in search of sustenance. Clarke watched her take out her phone, texting her sister no doubt. 

Once more, Clarke resumed the digging on her own, scrolling on her own phone at old pictures on Lexa’s profile. She was ready for fun, and she was ready to crack at that facade. 

“I don’t know if this will help,” Lexa sighed as she sat down. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” 

“Oh this won’t be good for me either,” Clarke said as she took a sip. “I’m a fairly nervous flyer.”

“And yet you let me get us both coffee.” 

“You made a good point, and I’m prepared to be paid back all weekend.” 

With another grin, Lexa leaned back, her arm going on the back of the chair that Clarke inhabited, naturally, with ease, with a level of comfort. 

“Are you ready to tell me the story?” 

“Which one is that?” Clarke turned to look at her date, returned from an absent moment. 

“How we met.” 

“How we met,” she nodded, her smile bordering on mischievous. “That’s simple. Don’t you remember? It was a very blustery Tuesday, and I was trying to escape the wind and rain. I almost tripped coming into your coffee shop, but you happened to be sweeping, and were kind enough to catch me.”

“You’re severely overestimating my reflexes.” 

“Fine. I ran you over and we both ended up on our asses in the middle of the coffee shop. Coffee everywhere.” 

“Sounds pretty likely.” 

“And I knew right there, I was hooked. Those eyes, all angry and annoyed at me for not looking where I was going, despite my persistent defense that I’d been assaulted by the weather.” 

“Why do I have to be the angry one?” 

“Wouldn’t you be though?” Clarke returned, daring her to be contradicted.

“Maybe,” Lexa agreed over the lid of her cup, fretting with it nervously. 

“So I crashed into you, and you bought be a coffee. I turned up every day after that until I finally asked you out. You took longer than I would have liked to answer me, but I accepted it anyway, and we’ve been madly in love ever since.” 

“And when was this?” 

“About eight months ago.” 

“How’s it going so far?” 

“Splendidly. I’ve already met your sister, who it happens that I work with, which is super convenient for everyone.” 

Quietly, Lexa sat there, going over the story, going over all of the past eight months of apparent bliss in her head. Clarke watched her furrow before softening, her eyes not seeing, but rather looking through the window as a plane took off and another landed. The softening of her features was soon met with a perplexion, a slight, gentle contortion of the brow and the lips, a tightening as a kind of confusion overtook the ease of the entire story. 

“Is it that easy?” Lexa asked quietly, turning her head toward her date. Clarke cocked her head, waiting for more. “Is all of it… just… a wind? Waiting for someone to just ask you out? Is it that easy? Does that happen to people?” 

“It can. How does anything happen in the world? It just… does. The universe is just a series of things happening, all of the time, right?”

“But is it that easy?”

To her credit, Clarke thought about it. She flexed her jaw and took a deep breath before slowing letting it go as she wondered if it really was. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it can be.” 

“How?”

“I guess there has to be a balance to making things happen and letting things happen.” 

“I don’t know if I’m good at either of those things,” Lexa confessed. She sat up straighter a moment later, afraid of her honesty, and surprised more by how easily it came out. 

“I think you can be.”

“That’s probably too kind.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Clarke rubbed Lexa’s shoulder, rubbed the middle of her back between her shoulder blades until she reached the collar of her shirt, where she massaged her neck. She tensed before relaxing, and Clarke didn’t stop, just rubbed there gently, slowly until she knew it was enough and she trailed her palm back toward the seat. 

It was right there, they just didn’t know it.

[penguintransporter]

Winning the Game Called Love (Hector Bellerin ) Part III

Hello, lovely people of Tumblr. This is the third part, two more to go. Despite no one really reading this, I still post it, for my sake. I still hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. If you like it, please share your thoughts or at least reblog because maybe someone else will enjoy it. I haven’t gotten a simple kudo since I started posting it. Oh well.. 

Part I 

Part II

____

Aida definitely wasn’t the shyest person out there, or the quietest – that’s for sure, but she seemed to turn into a tiniest mouse when she was in the company of someone she fancied, unless she had couple of shots of tequila, which she didn’t. Even if Héctor’s car was warm and comfortable, it still didn’t help her relax as they drove through the streets of London that seemed to be just a passing pictures of distorted lights and raindrops on the wind-shield.

She clasped her hands on her shoulder bag that rested on her lap.

“Where are we going?” she asked, shifting a little as she glanced at Héctor when they stopped at the red traffic light. She wasn’t sure she knew the area, but it certainly didn’t look as if they are going to some cafe or similar – they passed many of them on their way.

Héctor looked at her from the corner of his eye – corner of his lips lifting just for a slightest. “You don’t know it yet,” he started as he took a turn to right, and they entered a fancy residential area – houses lined up perfectly along the long lane, “but I make a killing cup of hot cocoa.”

It took her exactly thirty seconds to realise what his answer meant, and another few for Héctor to slow down in front of a house with a hidden garage driveway. Aida’s heart sped up as the doors the very same garage slowly opened and closed automatically once Héctor drove inside with ease.

I should have accepted a glass of two of that champagne that kept going around at the party.

Héctor killed off the engine – the soundless car becoming completely silent before he unbuckled his belt with ease and Aida wanted to say something; anything. She wanted to break the silence as they sat in the dark, illuminated by the tiny light above their heads.

“Is this your house?” she asked at last – her voice barely a whisper, and she groaned internally.

Of course it is his house, Aida. He didn’t bring you here to meet the Pope.

She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear – letting the silence fill the car yet again. Waiting for his answer, she decided to nervously pick on the small tear on her sheers, well aware that she could break them any second.

“Yes,” Héctor finally answered, taking a moment to look at her with an amused expression. “You seem nervous.” he stated jokingly and Aida glanced back at him – her heart making a flip inside her ribcage. Was it so obvious? Despite not saying anything back, she knew that her silence answered his question. “I won’t do you any harm, if that’s what you’re nervous about?”

“I wasn’t implying—,” Aida started off awkwardly, finally making enough courage to look at him. “I am just surprised, I was thinking, maybe Costa’s or something.”

Héctor gave her a wink, getting out of his car, letting Aida’s rambles hang in the air awkwardly. “Come on, unicorn,” he spoke, straightening his back before looking down at her with a dorky smile, “as much as I love this baby, I rather go inside.”

Unicorn.

Aida bit down at her lip, releasing herself from the seatbelt as she tried to get out of the car as quickly as possible, but while she was scrambling her way out, Héctor was already walking around and entering the house through the large doors. She hastily placed her bag over her shoulder as she straightened her dress, and with a small intake of breath, Aida followed after him.

The moment she entered the house, she stopped for a moment – confusion overcoming her nervousness. Héctor was nowhere to be seen, and the only light illuminating the entryway was coming through the glass panels of the entrance doors.

Her stomach made a gymnast-worthy flip as she looked up and saw the glimmer of light upstairs.

“Héctor?!” she called out nervously, taking a step towards the stairs, almost tripping on the slippery floor. Her voice echoed ever so slightly, appearing to be louder than it actually was.

“Upstairs!” he called out. Aida felt a shiver spread down her back as she took a nervous step towards the stairs, but quickly backed off when Héctor spoke again. “Down the hallway is the sitting room. I’ll join you in a second.”

Embarrassed at her own thoughts, Aida shook her head as she blindly made her way through the short and dark corridor before stepping inside of an open and sparsely furnished sitting room with adjacent dining area. Aida opened her mouth in surprise, scanning the room. There was a big TV mounted on the white wall, even bigger sofa facing it and a mess of cables on the floor where it was connected to the gaming console. She looked towards the dining area, recognising the designer dining table and a slim laptop resting on top of it, in front of one of the equally expensive-looking chairs.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Héctor knew just how lucky he was.

“Mi casa es tu casa,” Héctor spoke suddenly from behind her, making her jump in the place – the sound of his voice in his native Spanish sending chills down her spine. His voice sounded husky; more mature. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologised after few seconds, stepping next her, “didn’t meant to scare you.”

Aida could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and her heartbeat accelerated.

Swaying on her feet lightly, she stole a glance at Héctor. “You have a lovely house,” she complimented.

“Thanks,” he answered smoothly as if he expected her to say that. “Shame you cannot see the garden because of the dark, but it’s one of the best things about this house,” he added. Maybe one day – Aida bit back a wishful sigh as Héctor stepped away from her. “Here,” he changed the subject nonchalantly, and Aida curiously peered at his hands, noticing that he was holding out a hoodie and pair of men’s socks. She gave him a quizzical look, and he gave her a toothy smile in return. “If you want to put something warmer on. This house is usually cold for non-Spanish people. Just ask Kieran,” Héctor smiled, “poor lad puts seven layers before coming over.”

***

After Héctor’s apologetic smile and “I am so sorry, but I only have oat milk left,” Aida finally got the chance to curl her hands around the mug of steaming hot cocoa that he fixed for her. Wearing in the old Arsenal merch over her dress – hoodie that has been washed more than few times and those woolly socks, Aida watched Héctor pour warm liquid in his own mug – look of pure concentration painted on his face.

“Not a word to the manager, okay? This is not the healthiest hot cocoa out there,” he told her as he placed the pot in the sink, turning around to look at her and Aida smiled in her mug, taking a sip.

“I have no intentions on creating drama on my last few days at work, don’t worry” she responded with a grin, licking the corner of her lip to pick up any leftovers that might have stuck on it.

Héctor finally sat down with his own mug, letting the silence fall upon them, but despite of the slight awkwardness, both of them were mentally present, smiling at each other as they sat opposite sides of the kitchen island. Aida let out a small breath, watching him as he looked towards the sitting room. She enjoyed the view more than she should – probably, but she couldn’t help but appreciate him. His hair wasn’t in a perfect bun anymore, but rather messily tucked behind his ears, and the crisp white shirt that used to be neatly tucked in at the party was now falling over his trousers – edges wrinkled and sleeves rolled up, showing his tattoos.

She really, really fancied him.

“Okay,” she started, “I need to ask you something.” She placed her mug on the marble counter-top in front of her and Héctor looked at her, nodding. Aida nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly tongue-tied as she pulled on the sleeves of his hoodie. “Sorry,” she breathed out nervously, “I just don’t know how to phrase the question.”

“I didn’t think that your friendliness was sincere. That’s all,” he answered her unspoken question as he shrugged once, setting the mug in front of him.

“No?” Aida curiously looked at him – confused. He didn’t seem like he wanted to elaborate on what he just said, and Aida lifted her mug before setting it down again – curiosity filling her brain. “I am confused now,” she honestly replied, “If you thought that I was faking my friendliness the entire time, why make such an effort with hot cocoa?”

Héctor shrugged again but didn’t say anything for a while and Aida could feel the anticipation build inside of her.

“I just felt like it,” he finally answered as he leaned on his elbows, inching closer to her and Aida felt slight blush creep up on her cheeks, “and anyway, if I can recall, it was you who asked for it. I was just being nice.” Still blushing, Aida gasped jokingly, raising both of her eyebrows at him, ready to take on the banter he was starting, but he beat her to it. “You can keep it if you want?”

He was still close to her, and she knew that he could see the redness on her cheeks which made her want to look away, but a sudden burst of confidence mixed with a strange adrenaline made her stomach do a one-eighty.

“What? The mug of hot cocoa?”

Héctor rolled his eyes at her response, leaning back in his chair. “Hilarious,” he mused.

“Why, thank you?” she grinned, feeling her cheeks cooling down. “Thanks on the offer, but I don’t want your girlfriend to get mad at you. I bet she’s got an Excel sheet, keeping a tab on all of your clothes.”

Aida are you flirting? Maybe you should stop because you are not doing yourself a favour.

Héctor grinned, running his fingers along his moustache before placing both of his hands behind his head, and Aida wasn’t sure if she wanted to stare at his full lips or his physique. “You can just ask if I have a girlfriend, y’know?”

Aida almost chocked on her sip of cocoa and her heart went into an overdrive.

“Wh...what—” she stuttered, “what makes you think that I am interested in knowing that?” she corrected herself clumsily – the very same blush painting her cheeks red.

“You tell me,” Héctor winked, and Aida looked down at her cup, wanting to disappear inside of the murky beverage.

***

“So, what are your plans now?” Héctor asked as he gazed at Aida with something resembling a concern in his eyes.

Aida shrugged. “I did intern at the Royal College of Speech and Language Therapy for a bit, here in London, but I took a break from uni last year. It was disgracefully expensive,” she finished, looking down at her bare nails, “I might go back, we’ll see.”

After all the silly banter and the disastrous try at flirting from Aida’s side, their conversation steered towards more serious matters. Héctor told her about his move to the UK when he was still very young, his environmental work and she opened up about her struggles with uni and life in London, and how she was afraid to disappoint her parents who didn’t know she took a break from her education as she tried to collect money to continue it.

“Would have never guessed you are into it.” Héctor said, watching her with a keen interest as she shyly smiled. She wasn’t used on people showing actual interest in what she really wanted to do with her life. “You must know sing language then?”

Aida nodded proudly – her excitement mixing with confidence. “Of course. I can teach you some if you want?”

Héctor nodded excitedly, brushing a stray of hair that fell over his eyes back in place. Aida stopped for a second, taking a sharp intake of breath – he was ridiculously good-looking. “Can you teach me how to say, my name is Héctor—“he grinned mischievously at her, getting his face closer to her, “but you can call me papi?”

It took her few seconds to realise what he had said before she burst out laughing, shaking her head. Aida was about to tell him to sod off because his joke was stupid when his phone light up next to him with a new message and Aida couldn’t help but lock her eyes with the time on his screen – a sudden wave of panic washing over her.

“Shit, it’s already so late?!” she half-asked, half-cried out.

“You mean early?” Héctor grinned, dismissing the text with a flick of his tattooed finger.

Aida rubbed both of her hands across her face in frustration. “I need to get back to the training centre to pick up my car.” She slid off the chair as she spoke, pulling the hoodie over her head at the same time. Aida stopped when the hoodie was halfway off, looking at Héctor who was still calmly seated, watching her with his head tilted to one side. “They already locked the gates, no?”

He nodded calmly. “It’s almost three in the morning, and even if that party was a banger, which it wasn’t, it’s a charity dinner. Two thirds of the attendees are already fast asleep.”

Aida grumbled her response, folding the hoodie before placing it on the counter-top. She proceeded to take off the socks – not welcoming the cold that seeped through her barely clad feet as they touched the floor.

“I think I’ll get an Uber.”

“I could give you a lift home,” Héctor offered, watching her with an amused glint in his eyes as he slid off the chair, “but first I need to ask my girlfriend if I can do that. Excel and that shit.”

Aida wanted to roll her eyes at him, but instead she bit her smile back as she made her way through the dining area and into the sitting room where she left her bag upon arrival. It rested on the big sofa cushion, next to Héctor’s suit jacket, wallet and car keys.

As she was picking up her bag, a different kind of panic entered her body when she realised that she wasn’t sure if she had her flat keys with her. She has never been very organised person and more than often she would put her belongings in random places – change in her pocket instead of wallet, underwear in her drawers with socks and house keys on the seat of the car instead of her bag. Scrambling to open the bag, she unzipped the small pocket at the back of her bag and huffed out a sigh of relief, seeing the key resting inside.

“At least I have my fla—,” Aida started, turning around to face Héctor, but stopped quickly – thoughts and words vanishing from her brain. “Shit,” she whispered.

Héctor stood in front of her, closer then ever before.

Not counting that time when they slammed into each other in the corridor at work.

He was so close that if either one of them made a slight move forward, their bodies would be touching. She was losing her composure and in order to avoid doing something stupid, she looked down, trying to quiet her heart that was beating so loud that she could hear it in her ears.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of her looking at their shoes, she seized enough of courage to meet his eye, only to find him grinning at her as if he just proved that the earth was in fact round. Her cheeks turned a very deep red, making him smile wider, and Aida wanted to crawl under a rock and hide there for the rest of her life.

Why was he so close?

Mortified, she sucked in a deep breath as Héctor started closing in on the distance between them. Aida opened and closer her mouth, unsure what to do, but he just moved around her – brushing gently against her arm as he leaned over the sofa’s backrest.

“My car keys,” he whispered when he was close to her ear, and Aida swallowed the invisible knot in her throat.

“Car keys, yes...” she trailed off – her voice cracking slightly.

Héctor took a step back, sliding his wallet in the back pocket of his trousers, giving her an amused but pleased look.

“Let’s go, unicorn,” he said in his normal voice before turning around and making his way towards the doors. 

Part IV

#footballers #football fanfiction #footballer fanfiction #football imagine #football oneshot #soccer imagines #soccer fanfiction #hector bellerin story #hector bellerin fanfiction #hector bellerin imagine #hector bellerin fic #arsenal fc fan fiction

[thejudgingtrash]

@aph-usa-is-my-dad​ Thank you, thank you! 🙇🏽‍♀️

Alright lads, looks like it’s time for hot takes part III!

Here’s Part 1//Here‘s Part 2

Apollo won’t get Zeus position. Why is everyone wishing for that? And why should he? All of you really want to romanticize/project yourself onto him, huh?

Casual Reyna >>> praetor Reyna

Grover has the fattest ass in the Riordanverse, I don’t make the rules

People lack of basic reading skills part III

The fact that adults in New Rome let kids rule the fucking place is still mindblowing

Rick apologists are lame. People calling out shit isn’t an attack on you. Stop defending a product‘s/public figure‘s honor. Defending Rick Riordan is the equivalent of you defending the honor of a snickers bar. Dude doesn’t know you and dude doesn’t give a fuck about you. You are a walking dollar bill at best

Romans are still fucking wacky and despite Camp Jupiter being superior allegedly it’s a whole damn chaotic mess. Where are the supposed civilized Romans because I don’t see them?

Camp Half-Blood >>>> Camp Jupiter, especially when Percy trains in his summer vacations and beats praetor Jason’s goddamn ass who’s been training for 12 years

Why did Riordan even try to make Jason appear to come close to Percy’s level? The imbalance of power is so abundantly clear and makes Jason seem even smaller in that regard. Riordan is truly Percy’s biggest hater

The fact that CHB also glamorizes child soldiers in a more fun and relaxed way. Yikes

Nico is a white™ (again, he is European)

Rachel was annoying but didn’t deserve the blatant hate.

Annabeth should’ve had another possible love interest to spark some pissed Percy. Luke doesn’t count. Percy’s jealously revolves around (the possibility of) her not being around him (e.g. the hunters), not him ”losing“ her to someone else romantically speaking

Silena is the OG Aphrodite kid, fuck the rest

Amazons >> hunters by a slight margin. They’re also an awful bunch

The execution of the hunters is so bad omg, just let me revamp them, Ricardo

If a different take on a headcanon/characters really offends you/paint that much of a different picture of op, then I’m not sorry (only exception if the headcanon is based on discriminatory means. Someone saying they don’t like A and someone using slurs and being a douche are two different things)

The entire Aphrodite cabin is pan FYI

Team demigods who receive periods would probably be extra fucked when it comes to monsters and stuff. Let’s address this

Why exactly couldn’t the gods handle their own shit? Hunting monsters in your area makes sense as a demigod job. But stuff like retrieving Hermes‘ staff (especially when the dude is the speedy traveler guy) makes no goddamn sense

Let’s face it: Annabeth is the only good female character that Riordan pulled off. Also wasn’t she based off his wife? If so, that’s why.

The lack of irl examples for his POC and other women is abundantly clear as he can’t lure everyone from his environment into the stories especially because he has no irl connection to minorities. So he fabricated stuff/did his 5 mins of wiki and got it severely wrong. Clock that tea!

Camp Half-Blood t-shirts belong to the trash. Orange is Yellow‘s cousin and both are ugly to the max. Let’s just switch colors of both camps. Let the Romans deal with the hideous shit

Chiron and Paul are Riordan‘s self-inserts

Tbh giving Hazel super mist powers and tying Frank to Poseidon was stupid

Skater!Percy is pretty much canon but I just can’t envision it? The thought of it is cute and so 2000s but my brain goes fjfldlsöwlwbvd (and tbh gymnast!/dancer!/Parcours!Percy >>>>> skater!basketball!Percy)

People are forgetting that Percy is the unpopular kid both in the mortal realm and at camp and partially chose to be so? Let me remind you of the truth real quick

Beckendorf and Silena are the horny bastards of the Camp Half-Blood. Issa fact

The gods not really immortalizing Chiron and simply saying that he’ll live as long as he’s needed turned him into the cryptic fuck we all know. That’s why he barely helps out (On that note a tiny Chiron essay)

A headcanon, regardless of how popular it is, isn’t factual/reality. So fighting over different takes of the exact same issue is rather pointless but you do you. Some popular blog having an opinion with a large following doesn’t automatically negate your sentiment

Piper being ”unconventional“ as in hating make-up and being dressed up is in itself more than fine but the execution was lacking and her coming off as pretentious and annoying was the result

Piper also has no taste in men if she thinks that amnesia brick boy Grace > Percy. Just no. Lesbians claim haaa

If I see another Amandla or Zendaya or another biracial/lightskinned face claim for Hazel I will lose it

Everyone and their mother having a crush on Percy fuels them Gary Stu feelings, just saying

The fact that Riordan casually drops the abuse that Percy has suffered from like some fucking tic tacs just to never be spoken about should be a reason enough to whoop his ass

Not maturing and darkening HOO (there were good thoughts but also many whacky executions) was the biggest mistake Riordan had made. He should’ve went the Rowling route and transitioned from kids books to YA

The whole fire stick thing that Riordan ripped off from Meleager and slapped onto Frank was terribly executed

A lot of you people should open up more to jokes and not take everything all too seriously

The fact that people seriously ship/ped Reyna x Apollo is proof enough that this fandom should burn

Why do Luke discussions at this point still exist? You’re essentially glossing over the same four things

Hyping up fanfics to the max is a terrible idea. Also don’t shy away from giving writers constructive criticism

Stoner headcanons are here to stay and slay!

On one hand seeing discussions from the science side of PJO talking about the biology, physics etc. is super interesting but on the other hand getting heated over the illogical basis of ”magic“ is pretty much a waste of time

Riordan‘s world building is truly awful

Frazel is a crime against humanity

If you don’t get someone‘s post actually look op up and read the tags? No need to spam the exact question to everything

Fat Frank stays. I get it, Greek gods are hot, they are conceited and choose to fuck people that they perceive as attractive, so their offspring also has some higher levels in the beauty realm. But why not explore the opposite? Why does every character need a makeover or a blessing that gives them enhanced looks?

Clarisse‘s thigh can break ya neck

Also Riordan is Annabeth’s biggest hater. Let’s throw all of her most important possessions away to proof that the smart one can survive without any of it. Sure, but the emotional attachment to the stuff still remains especially when everyone else is walking out of Annabeth’s life

Making Leo another horny bastard was an accurate portrayal of your casual 16 year old boy. Annoying, but realistic

#hoo #pjo hot takes #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #frank zhang #piper mclean #nico di angelo #clarisse la rue #jason grace #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #charles beckendorf #silena beauregard #rick riordan #riordanverse #reyna ramirez arellano #toa

[helaintoloki]

Complicated

pairing: Dan Torrance x reader

warnings: language, some violence, slight angst, fluff towards the end // just over 1k words in length

notes: some more daughter Abra and mom reader :’) I really enjoyed using these characters in my Overlook piece so I decided to add another chapter to their story. once again, elements from both the book and the movie as well as my own imagination were used to write this

summary: a night with Crow Daddy leads to your first kill and a powerful revelation for Dan

“Dan,” you murmur, head lulling against the window and eyes refusing to open. Your brain feels like mush, your mouth feeling as if it‘s just been stuffed to the brim with cotton, and you can hardly manage to lift a single finger. Your mind is screaming for you to move, body twitching helplessly in an attempt to free itself from the sedative that tugs you down further and further into the dark. From the driver’s seat, a man chuckles.

“Dan is long gone by now,” the Crow replies easily, and it’s then that you’re able to feel the needle poking at your thigh. “Don’t mind that, it’s just a little incentive for your girl back there. Make sure she minds her P’s and Q’s.”

(Abra... Oh, god.)

“What did...” you struggle to speak, drool dribbling out the corner of your mouth, “what...”

“Easy there, mom,” he laughs airily, as if kidnapping a mother and her daughter was an ordinary every day occurrence, “she’s knocked out cold in the backseat like a good little Goldilocks. You know, that daughter of yours has caused us a lot of heartache.”

“Abra...”

“This needle here is just so she doesn’t get any bright ideas. If tries to call for help, if she tries play her little mind tricks on me, hell, if she even breathes in a way that’s suspicious I just push this little thing through your skin and you’ll fall asleep and never wake up again. So I suggest you don’t get any bright ideas either. We clear?”

“Crystal,” you slur prompting Crow Daddy to laugh.

“I like you,” he grins. “Honestly, I was a bit surprised to see you were her momma. You look a little on the young side, real pretty like and all.”

“I was young,” you confirm quietly, finally mustering up the strength and energy to peek over at the driver. Crow Daddy, that was his name wasn’t it?

“If I wasn’t already spoken for I’d just eat you up,” he grins, shooting a wink your way. “But you’ve got a man, don’t you? The guy who just killed my friends.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Love always is,” Crow Daddy sighs, and your eyes begin to flutter again. A small whimper escapes you as a result of your reluctance to fall back under, but the Crow only smiles. “That’s alright doll, you just go right on back to sleep.”

The darkness encompasses you, and you think of Dan before you fall back under.

~~~

(You have to wake up, y/n. Abra needs our help)

A bottle of coke sits resting in between your thighs as you open your eyes for the second time that night. Dizzy and drugged you scramble to pry the top off and guzzle down the fizzy beverage. The carbonation of it stings going down your throat, and because of your unsteady hands most of it dribbles out the corners of your mouth, down your chin, and past your neck into the valley of your breasts. Your shirt would later be stained and your skin would feel sticky, but it didn’t matter at the moment. The cotton was washing away and the ache in your head was beginning to dull, the needle was absent from your thigh.

“Someone’s thirsty,” Crow Daddy smiles. “You’ve both been so good for your daddy I figured I’d reward you with a little treat-“

Your body is hurled forward then harshly yanked back down by your seatbelt as the car suddenly swerves into a tree. In the rear view mirror Abra’s face is visible, eyes wide and unblinking and not her own; someone else is in control now.

(Now Mom)

Almost instinctually do you take the glass coke bottle and slam it over the Crow’s head, disorienting him further as his face rams against the steering wheel. The honk from the impact echoes deafeningly over the desolate road, the sound so loud to your sensitive ears it makes them ring. Vision blurry, you manage to spot the syringe sticking out of his jacket pocket and lunge.

“Fuckin bitch,” Crow Daddy growls, grabbing you by the hair and yanking your head back so roughly you fear it may snap. “You fucking bitch!”

Your head is slammed against the dashboard so harshly that for a single second the world is completely black, but when the light returns you spot the Glock .22 sitting by your feet. In what was only a few seconds but felt like a lifetime you snatch the weapon, knock your kidnapper across the face with the end of the gun, then fling yourself back against the car door before pulling the trigger.

He begins to cycle, but you don’t get the chance to see it as you pass out once again.

~~~

(Is your mom alright?!)

“She got hit on the head a few times pretty good, still has the drugs in her system. She’s sleeping now,” Abra explains quietly.

(I need you to wake her up and make sure she’s okay enough to drive. Get yourselves to a motel and I’ll come meet you as soon as I can)

“She’s never killed anyone before.”

(I know)

“She did it for me.”

(She loves you. Mother’s will do whatever it takes to make sure their children are safe)

“Like grandma Wendy did for you?”

(...Just like grandma Wendy)

~~~

By the time Dan arrives it’s five in the morning and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body felt violated what with the sedatives, and your mind was much too paranoid to relax enough and allow you to rest. You kept a watchful eye over Abra, gun close by just in case another member of the True Knot decided to make a surprise appearance. You hated guns and you hated violence, but motherhood had urged you to kill someone, and so you had.

Dawn’s early light casts an alluring glow on your trembling figure in the doorway as Dan approaches. Your face is drained of color and dark bruises paint the skin of your forehead and neck. The dreary bags under your eyes reveal your body’s interrupted schedule of sleep, and you look absolutely beaten down. The sight is powerful enough to tug at Dan’s heart strings and before he can even comprehend the fact that his legs are moving he begins to run towards you, only stopping once you’re enveloped in his warm embrace. And only then, wrapped up in the comfort of Dan’s arms, do you begin to vehemently sob.

“I’ve got you,” Dan whispers, lips pressed into your hair as he soothingly rubs a hand up and down your back. Your shoulders shake with each muffled cry that escapes you. You’ve spent all night trying to be strong for Abra, trying to provide solace and security, and now that she’s asleep you find your brave front crumbling apart. Now Dan is doing his best to put you back together again.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” you tearfully confess. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Danny, I killed someone!”

“I know, I know,” Dan soothes, hugging you even tighter. “You did it for Abra, you did it to protect yourselves.”

“There’s still more of them out there,” you blubber, “there’s still people out there trying to hurt our daughter.”

Dan tenses slightly then, his heart doing a full gymnastics routine in his ribcage. Up until now you’ve always referred to Abra as your daughter, still not used to the idea that the one night stand you’d had all those years ago who had suddenly reappeared and interrupted your quiet life in Frazier was her father, and now you’ve accepted him as part of your tiny little family. And the thought lights a fire deep in the pit of his belly. Family wasn’t something he’d had in a long time, stable relationships - both platonic and romantic - were not common occurrences in his life. But now he had Abra, and now he had you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone or anything hurt either of you ever again.

“I won’t let them. I promise,” Dan vows earnestly. “No one is going near you or Abra ever again. I swear on my life.”

He holds you as the sun begins to rise, tucks you back into bed as your crying begins to dwindle, cradles you in his arms so you can sleep safe and sound, and begins to plan the demise of the True Knot as you snore quietly into his chest.

Rose the Hat would be sorry she ever messed with the Torrance family, that much Dan was sure of.

*gif used above is not mine!

#dan torrance #doctor sleep #dan torrance x reader #dan torrance imagine #dan x reader #abra stone #crow daddy

[bunnielyse-blog1]

Sneak a Peek CHAPTER 5

Sneak a Peek: Sometimes you have to break the rules

*Author’s note* *Waves arms* I’m here! I’m here!

Sorry it’s been so long since I updated!  This is my longest chapter yet (just at 10 pages!) so I hope you don’t mind the wait!

I hope you enjoy!

Xoxo, Bunnie

Chapter 5

The way Adrien had been scoping his fellow classmates was almost comical.  He was sure he looked crazy and paranoid.  

That morning before classes he loitered in the locker room and carefully watched his classmates file in, meet up with their friends, and head to their respective classes. He took careful note of every girl that came in.  He watched not only his classmates, but girls from other classes and grades as well. So far he had counted nearly fifty girls that were all wearing those simple pink ballet flats by Gabriel.  

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Sure, he knew he could analyze their hairstyle, eye color, or body type, but if his own Miraculous transformation altered his appearance, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that hers would be changed in some way too.  He didn’t want to take any chances by eliminating girls he thought may not fit simply because they didn’t look the part.  Furthermore, a new beauty crazy had taken hold of Parisian teenagers, inspired by Ladybug herself.  It wasn’t unusual to find someone sporting a pigtail hairstyle or wearing red and black polka dot leggings.  Some even went so far as to wear blue contact lenses.  

Similarly, a new health craze called Miraculously Fit had swept the city, helping people to stay healthy through sports like martial arts and gymnastics. Adrien found this to be especially vexing.  Now, most teenagers would openly flaunt their “moves”, which were exact copies of moves him and Ladybug had used against villains.

Instead of finding a girl who should have stood out from everyone else, he was finding hundreds of facsimiles.

Even now, as he sat against a courtyard wall with Nino, Alya, and Marinette during their free period, he watched as a couple of younger students practiced their martial arts, all flaunting the latest in Ladybug fashion.  They were loud and distracting as they laughed and posed for selfies, mimicking his Lady.

He contemplated other methods in which to distinguish copycats from the real Ladybug. If he couldn’t rely on looks, physique, or talent then he’d have to take a deeper look into what made Ladybug, Ladybug.

She was kind, funny, quick on her feet, dedicated, fearless, unrelenting, and full of determination.  She never gave up and she always spoke her mind.  Most of all, she was forgiving.  At times, Adrien had found himself angry or disappointed in the people who had been akumatized, but not her.  She put herself on their level and comforted them when they were confused and most needed it.

She was selfless.

She was perfect.

‘Where am I going to find someone like that?’ he thought, perplexed. 

“I know!”

Adrien was shocked out of his thoughts by Alya’s loud squeal.  He looked at his friends, instinctively sculpting his mouth into a smile to try and hide that he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I cannot believe that Jagged Stone is creating his own clothing line!” Alya continued.  Her phone was in her hand and her fingers flew over the screen as she browsed through the online store, shoving her phone into Nino and Marinette’s faces whenever she found a particularly exciting item.

“Oh,” Adrien said thoughtfully. “I remember hearing about this awhile ago.  My father’s company tried to make a contract with Jagged to design the clothing, but Jagged turned him down.”

Marinette looked surprised. “Oh really?  But Gabriel Fashion is one of the biggest companies in Paris!”

Adrien shrugged and flashed a small smile. “I don’t know the details,” he said unenthusiastically. “Jagged probably didn’t want to get caught up with someone as uptight as my father.”

“I don’t blame him!” Nino said loudly, balling his hands into fists. “No offense, dude, but your dad has a huge stick up his a-”

“Anyway!” Alya interrupted.  Nino and Adrien laughed.  “Aren’t you excited, Marinette?”

“Y-yeah!” Marinette mumbled, a bit flustered. “It’s way cool, I just wish I could afford it.”

Alya lifted a hand as if to brush Marinette’s comments out of the air. “What about when you work at the bakery?”

Marinette laughed, “It’s not a big deal.  I’ll just make my own Jagged Stone clothes.  It won’t be that hard; he’s all about edginess, spikes, rips-”

Nino’s eyes widened, “Really, Marinette?  You make it sound like creating clothing from scratch is easy.”

Alya hugged her friend with pride.  “Are you kidding, Nino?  Everything Marinette wears is something she made!  Right, girl?”

Marinette giggled and rubbed her arm in embarrased pride. “Yeah, totally.  All my parent’s money goes into the bakery, so instead of buying clothes, I just make them.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows in surprise.  He knew Marinette designed fashion and had made a few pieces in the past, but he thought it was just a hobby.  He had no idea that she was an actual, experienced, seamstress.

Without warning, he realized he felt some disappointment.  He knew that his Lady had been wearing Gabriel ballet flats; the butterfly insignia had been unmistakable through the pool of whipped cream. If Marinette wore clothing only she made, then it just further proved that his initial belief that she was Ladybug was wrong.

‘I don’t get it,’ he thought.

He had never looked at Marinette in the same way he looked at Ladybug, so why did he feel disappointment course through him?  Was he disappointed that Marinette couldn’t be her?  Was it just because he had been close to finding out her identity? Was it because she had potentially been by his side all along?  

Or was it something more; was he wrong about his feelings?  In the last few weeks since he mistakenly assumed she was Ladybug, Marinette had crept into his thoughts.  Even though he had crumpled up that theory and thrown it in the proverbial trash, thoughts of his raven-haired friend ensnared his brain.  She had certainly entered his thoughts, but had she snuck into his heart?

“What about your shoes?” he asked suddenly.

Marinette’s head swiveled quickly to look at him. “W-what?” she asked timidly.

He saw his father’s logo on her shoes. “Aren’t your shoes Gabriel brand?  They have the butterfly.”

“O-oh!” Marinette said with a nervous laugh.  “Y-yeah!  I really love your dad. Father! I love your father! I mean! I love Gabriel. The brand!”

“What she means is,” Alya interrupted. “Those shoes are her pride and joy.  That’s why she wears them all the time.”

‘In other words, she didn’t make those…’

“R-right!” Marinette shouted.  She took a deep breath, as if recognizing that her voice had gone up a decibel. “I really look up to Gabriel as a fashion designer and so my parents got me these shoes for my birthday when I entered collège.”

“Y’know,” Alya said thoughtfully, looking at Marinette’s shoes.  “Yours do look different than the ones I’ve seen.  Were they special edition or something?”

Adrien followed her gaze and noticed that tiny rhinestones adorned the toe and heel of each shoe.  He squinted in thought, trying to remember if his Lady’s had the same details, but the whipped cream must have covered such delicate designs.

He realized he still had his eyes trained on her shoes and hurriedly looked up, directly into Marinette’s curious blue ones.  He was mildly embarrassed to see that she had caught him staring.

“Yeah,” he added to cover his discomfort. “I don’t recall seeing any designs with these stones.”

Marinette quickly shook her head and smiled. “No, I put these on myself!”

“Really?” Nino asked in surprise, his mouth full of cheeseburger. “All of those? That had to have taken forever!”

“No, not really!” Marinette smiled. “Even though they’re Gabriel brand, I felt like I still needed to make them my own, you know?  So my mom and I glued them on with fabric glue.”

Alya and Nino continued to eat their lunch and talk about the Jagged Stone clothing line. They each suggested that Marinette should create something for them, to which she eagerly agreed.

“Can you put some rhinestones on mine too?” Alya asked excitedly.  She was already flipping through her phone for some edgy fashion inspiration.

Adrien couldn’t help but notice how Marinette’s face lit up and felt the unmistakable tingling of his heartstrings; a sensation that he only ever felt around Ladybug.  

Maybe his feelings had begun to change.

“Sure!” she said enthusiastically. “But I’ll have to find a new type of glue to use.” She ran her fingers along the stones on her shoes. “Some of mine have fallen off, so I want to make sure yours stay on.”

Alya squealed again, hugging her friend. “Girl, I am so excited!  You’re the best!”

Adrien smiled at his friends, his eyes hovering on Marinette a little longer than usual.  Nino was a welcome distraction from his malstrom of thoughts - now even more confused than before - as they discussed Jagged Stone’s clothing and plans for the weekend.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind to Adrien, thanks to his muddled thoughts of Marinette and Ladybug. He couldn’t get his friend out of his mind.  As if a seed had been planted and was taking root, he began connecting what he knew about Marinette and what he knew about his Lady. The puzzle pieces were fitting together to form a bigger picture of who his Lady might really be and his imagination was running wild.  

He imagined himself as Chat Noir fighting alongside Ladybug.  

Then he was Chat Noir flying high across the city with Marinette in his arms.  

Him and Marinette sunbathing on a beach in the south.

Sipping coffee together.

Cuddling next to a fire.

Saving their city.

Smiling.

Laughing.

“It has to be her, Plagg.” Adrien said quietly as he watched the sun begin to set.

Plagg twitched his whiskers, “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, but smirked at his friend in semi-annoyance.  “Don’t you know how to say anything else?”

“Can’t you do anything else besides roll your eyes?” Plagg shot back with a smug flick of his tail.

Adrien grimaced inwardly when he realized he was about to roll his eyes.  “Touché.”

“Well, Lover Boy,” Plagg teased as he floated over to Adrien and leaned against the window pane.  “Do you want to go clear your mind, or what?”

“You read my mind,” he smiled. “Plagg, claws out!”

Soon they were flying through the air and Chat’s smile grew into a huge, toothy grin as the wind pleasantly whipped his hair off his forehead.

He ran across rooftops and vaulted from building to building.  He enjoyed hearing gasps from the Parisians as he passed and waved when they held up their phones for a quick picture.

The sun was nearly set as he settled onto a sloping rooftop near Marinette’s balcony.

He hadn’t planned on visiting her when he first set out, but the words, ‘What if…’ buzzed around his consciousness like an annoying fly.

What if…

He was right?

What if…

He talked to her as Chat Noir?            Would she act differently?                        Would she give herself away?

What if…

There was was an Akuma attack tonight?            He could watch her as she heard the news.                        He would see her Kwami.                                    He would see her transformation.

‘What if…’

Those thoughts were still fluttering around his subconscious as he debated whether or not to make the jump to her balcony.

His mind was made up for him, however, when he heard Alya’s familiar shrill float up from the open balcony door.  Chat vaulted onto one of the patisserie’s many chimneys - careful to land silently - so as to listen to their conversation with ease.

“Girl!” Alya gasped. “He asked you what?  How long have you even been talking to him?”

Chat’s ears perked up even further. ‘Him? Him who?’

Marinette giggled and Chat recognized that she sounded a little uncomfortable. “Since the music festival.”

There was a long whistle - ‘Probably from Alya,’ he thought - followed by a short silence.

“How’d he even get your number?” Alya asked.

“I think Juleka gave it to him.”

Silence again.

“Oh stop, Alya!” Marinette sounded annoyed, a tone Chat had rarely heard from her, except when she spoke with Chloe.

“What?” Alya asked defensively.

“I just think you’re getting a little too protective.”

“Bu-”

“I mean, thank you for caring and making sure I’m okay-”

“Girl-”

“But you don’t have to be my caretaker either.”

Marinette had said everything in a rush and let out a long sigh after she finished. Chat assumed she had been holding that in for a while.  It must have taken a lot of courage for her to say that to her friend.  He smiled slightly at the thought.

Alya sighed and Chat could imagine she was her rubbing her eyes. “Marinette, I know you don’t need me to fight your battles.  But do you even really know this guy?  I mean, he’s like what, three years older than us?  Isn’t that a little weird?”

“Two years,” Marinette corrected.

‘Two years?’ Chat thought, his jealousy growing.  That practically made this guy an adult.  What’s an adult doing chatting up a teenager?

“It’s not weird,” Marinette added. “He’s still in school.  And he’s a nice guy!  It’s not like he’s some weirdo off the street.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Alya acquiesced.  “I mean, if he’s Juleka’s brother, he can’t be that bad.”

“Thank you!” Marinette said happily.

‘Luka?’ Chat thought back to that day on Juleka’s boat and the music festival.  Since the festival, him and Luka had met up occasionally to play keyboard and guitar.  Luka was a talented musician and Adrien found that it was easy to keep up with him as they improvised songs.  

What was he doing talking to Marinette?

“Hey!” Marinette said suddenly. “I thought you were all for me chasing after Luka?”

Her friend scoffed. “I’m all for you chasing after someone else!”

Chat’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Someone else?’

Marinette’s accompanying sigh was full of frustration and unhappiness. “That’ll never happen.”

“Adrien’s blind, Marinette.”

Chat shot up at full attention.  He had to physically slap a hand to his mouth to muffle the yelp that escaped his lips.

“You’ll have to make the first move on him, girl,” she continued.

Marinette squealed in embarrassment. “I can’t!” she whined.

Alya was speaking in between her laughter, but it sounded like another language to Chat’s shocked mind.  Until Marinette began speaking again and his heart felt like it was on a rollercoaster.

“No, Alya,” she said soberly. “I can’t. I’m trying to move on.”

“I don’t believe you!” Alya said sarcastically. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been in love with that boy.”

‘In love…?’ Chat’s heart was beating out of his chest.  Marinette loves him?  Was that why she was always so ditsy and flustered around him?  It wasn’t because he was a celebrity?  It was because she had a crush on him?  

He had been wrong about her this entire time and he felt terrible.  He was so used to being gawked at and asked for autographs and selfies from equally flustered and ditsy fans, that he had immediately placed her in the “crazed fan” category.

But she had never asked for his autograph.

All of their selfies were with their friends and not for fansites.

He felt a large weight rest in his gut as the guilt settled in.  He had always put her at arm’s length all because he had jumped to conclusions and had the wrong impression of her.  He had never given her a chance to get to know her outside of class or social gatherings.  He lamented his distance from her as realization hit him that she truly cared about him as a friend.  She was always kind to him, even giving him her unique lucky bracelet.  She was always encouraging in his pursuits, like the music video.  She was funny and quick witted and he admired how often she would jump in to defend a classmate against Chloe.

He just wished she was comfortable around him, crush or no crush.  He had begun to appreciate her true personality, but was quickly disappointed when she shied away from him.

He just wanted her to treat him like she treated Alya.

To talk to him and joke with him.

In his recent memory, the only time Marinette talked to him without fumbling over her words was when he visited her as Chat Noir.  He considered for a minute that maybe he should continue to visit her in his disguise, but he quickly shook the thought out of his head.

‘No,’ he thought. ‘If I want to get the real Marinette, I need to be the real Adrien.’

Sitting on the rooftop, the warm breeze tickling the hair at the nape of his neck, Chat finally accepted his feelings for Marinette.  They didn’t measure up to his feelings toward Ladybug, but he couldn’t ignore the warm feeling in his heart either.  He didn’t necessarily reciprocate her feelings of love, but he couldn’t deny the crush he was forming for her.

A small smile began to grow on his lips as he made up his mind to get to know the real Marinette.  He was determined to make her comfortable around him, enough so that her Adrien-induced stutter would stop and they could speak freely.  He found that he wanted to know more about her.

He hadn’t noticed that the girl’s voices had faded and was jolted back to reality when he heard the bakery’s front door open and close.  He carefully crawled along the roof so he could peek down to the street below.  Alya and Marinette were standing just beyond the entrance to her home, saying their goodbyes.

“Marinette, I know Adrien’s a sensitive topic and I’m sorry I brought it up.”  Alya hugged her friend and Marinette nodded in understanding.  “I think a date with Luka sounds great.  How about we all go.  Like a double date!”

Marinette clapped her hands together and jumped a little. “That’s a great idea! Are you sure?  I mean, would Nino mind?”

Alya waved her off. “Not at all!  It’ll be fun. Granted, he’ll probably be just as confused as me that you’re getting over Adrien-”

‘Getting… over?’

“But he likes Luka, musician to musician.  So it’ll be fun!”

Marinette smiled and hugged her friend again.  “Thanks so much!  You’re the best!”

The two friends separated and Chat heard Alya call out, “Keep me posted!” before she disappeared around the corner and Marinette made her way back inside.

Chat sat in mild shock.  It seemed too ironic that the moment he realized his feelings for her, the moment he decided to gain the courage to possibly date her, she was over him and dating someone else.

First Ladybug turns him down on the roof and now Marinette decides he’s not worth chasing after.

He couldn’t win.

‘What does Luka have that I don’t have?’ he thought in frustration.  But his own argument was quickly snuffed when he remembered that he could only blame himself.  She had been smitten with him for over two years, but his disregard for her feelings had pushed her away.

Feeling dejected and full of self-loathing, along with a large dose of Luka-aimed jealousy, Chat stood to his full height and vaulted into the night and away from bakery’s aroma.

To be continued…

*Endnote*

Ah!! I hope you liked it!!!

I was going to continue this chapter, but I think it just makes more sense to continue into a new chapter.

Adrinette & MariChat was SO CLOSE!!!!!!  (I ship MariChat hard, btw) >.>

Anyway, I really mixed up my writing style in this chapter, but I hope you guys liked it. I felt like Adrien’s thoughts were so all over the place and jumping from one thing to another that I began writing his thoughts in an unstructured/structured/poetic form.  Sort of like how I think all of our thoughts are stream of consciousness; one thought comes from another thought that comes from another thought and so on.

What do you think?

Next up:

Possibly the last chapter!  Plagg continues to not-so-helpfully help Adrien find Ladybug’s true identity. Amidst the confusion of teenage love and moonlighting as one of Paris’s superheros, Adrien is brought back to reality when someone from his past resurfaces

Bunnie’s Reviewer, Follower, and Subscription Shoutouts:

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Xoxo, Bunnie

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#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #marichat #adrinette #LadyNoir #Chat Noir #miraculous ladybug fandom #fanfiction #fanart #miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupein-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Plagg #Tikki

[lalainajanes]

...I totally read your tags for bring it on and omg yaaaaassss a kc au and like I totally wish I could make actual puppy eyes at au to see if maybe possibly some day in the future this could be an actual thing??

It had been an appalingly long time since I looked through my saved prompts and I figured this one was perfect for klarolineauweek!

Like, Totally Freak Me Out

The hallsare nearly empty when Caroline walks in the front doors. A quick glance at herphone has her picking up the pace. Thank god she’d worn flats today.

Carolinewould have given just about anything to have slept in and blown off APChemistry. Her phone had kept her up all night, the cheer squad group chat anever ending fight. Old grudges were brought up (seriously old, like secondgrade playground accident old) and abundant petty digs were thrown, despite thefact that a decision had been made and the endless chat bubbles weren’t goingto change Caroline’s mind.

She’d knownthe squad her entire life. You’dthink they’d have figured out not to mess with her when she’d decided onsomething but, to be fair, none of them had been selected for their brains. Astheir newest member had pointed out yesterday, cheering wasn’t exactly taxingon the neurons.

That littleremark might have been part of the reason Caroline had made the call. RebekahMikaelson was only a sophomore but she’d stared down a table full of juniorsand seniors without a hint of nerves, her chin up and voice cool. Carolinecouldn’t help but admire the poise. And then the girl had pulled out a flawlesstumbling pass that was well beyond the gymnastics the squad’s routinesrequired. She’d been one of the better dancers when they’d split the girls upinto groups too. Her vocals were a little weak and they’d have to work onwiping the faintly embarrassed expression from her face while she performedbut, all in all, Rebekah was a better candidate than Caroline had dared hopefor considering the last minute scramble they were stuck doing all becauseSophie was a moron who’d gotten sloppy drunk and broken her ankle.

Rebekah wasin, she’d decreed, when they’d dismissed the last of the hopefuls. She’d gottensome pushback but there was no way the teeny freshman minion of Vicki Donovan’swas better. Yeah, they could toss the girl to the rafters but she had zeropersonality. Vicki was bitter about not being captain and Caroline had been trying not to rub her victory in herface. Apparently her attempts at civility had made Vicki think her opinion wasimportant.

Which suckedfor her because Caroline was 100% done being nice.

Ok fine.She usually only managed to be nice-ish (on a good day) but pushovers weren’twinners and Caroline had her eye on ending her senior year with a big freakingtrophy in her hand. Rebekah had been a little snotty but she could move. Theycould work on the rest of it.

She’dstopped responding to the chat sometime around midnight but her curiosity hadgotten the better of her over and over again. She’d silenced her phone andshoved it in the back of her nightstand but that hadn’t helped for long.Caroline had tossed and turned and done her best to resist temptation.

For aboutan hour.

Vicki hadstill been at it when she’d fished her phone out, complaining and railing abouthow Caroline had clearly lost her mind. Caroline had made careful note of whowas encouraging the raving (keep your friends close and your enemies closer andall that) and hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep.

In themorning she’d abused her snooze button, rolled out of bed at the very lastsecond. If it were any other teacher she might have taken her chances andskipped but Mrs. Herbert was exactly the sort of busy body to go out of her wayand corner Caroline’s mom at the grocery store and rat out her second day ofschool truancy. It was way too earlyin the semester for an awkward dinner of pointed perp stares and stern lecturesso Caroline had no choice but to make an appearance in class.

Carolinedarts into the room just before the bell rings, offering a saccharine smile tothe disapproving teacher. All the seats at the lab are occupied save for one inthe back corner. She usually likes to sit nearer to the front but it was herown fault for taking the extra time to curl her hair.

As shemakes her way to the back, spies the unfamiliar boy who’s going to be sharingthe table with her she mentally pats herself on the back for the effort.

He was cute.

Stefanhadn’t managed to last a whole weekend away at college without cheating on her(and thanks Valerie from summer camp for tagging the photo of them making out onFacebook so Caroline could see it). Caroline had spent a weekend cloistered inher bedroom with Bonnie and Elena and Ben and Jerry and Jose and The Captain.She’d had a good wallow, cried and raged and burned every stupid present Stefanhad ever given her (watching that snow globe melt like the cheap bit of junk itwas had been particularly satisfying).

It had beencathartic and Caroline was ready to have fun her senior year.

This guy,with his full lips and dark blue eyes (currently locked on her with a healthyhint of interest), certainly looked like fun.

Mrs.Herbert begins her lecture as Caroline settles into her seat. She flips openher notebook and jots down a few notes though it quickly becomes obvious thatshe doesn’t need to bother.

Caroline wasway ahead on her assigned reading, had wanted to get a head start because she’splanned on personally training the new cheer squad member. Mrs. Herbert’s wordswere straight from the text and her voice was a sleep inducing monotone.

Ugh, maybeshe should have slept in.

She pushesthat thought away when a small square of paper lands in her field of vision.She lifts a brow turning to look at her table mate. He’s not looking at her,focused on his own notebook though he’s drawing not taking notes.

Curious,Caroline unfolds the paper. His scrawl is neat, actually legible unlike most ofthe boys of her acquaintance.

Would you like to be lab partners?

She strivesto keep her expression neutral as she considers her response. She tilts herhead slightly to the side so she can see him in her peripheral vision, thinksshe catches a hint of a smile on his face.

Carolinehad to admit that she finds the direct approach refreshing.

Still, noneed to make it too easy.

That depends, she writes, will you torpedo my GPA? I’m banking on some kick ass scholarships toget me out of this town.

She foldsthe paper carefully and tosses it back, listens intently enough to hear thetiny scoff he emits when he reads her words. His reply comes quickly and isequally to the point.

I assure you I am quite competent.

She’s justbending to reply when she tunes back in to what Mrs. Herbert is saying. They’rebeing instructed to break off into pairs, told that the person next to themwill be their assigned lab partner. Caroline supposes she’s stuck with Cute andForward and that she doesn’t really mind.

Fingers crossedhe wasn’t an idiot.

She spinson her stool to face him. He offers her a hand, formal, and she’s a littlecharmed by the gesture (and by the hint of a dimple she spies when he offersher a real smile). “I’m Klaus. I suppose I should be thankful for your latearrival.”

Shestruggles not to react to the accent. Because sa-woon. It’s probably lucky that she’d heard a similar one justyesterday, though it’s far more appealing from his full lips. “Oh, you must berelated to Rebekah!”

He lookspuzzled for a moment and then something like dread creeps into his expression,“You’re not one of the awful cheerleaders she was nattering on about yesterday,are you?”

Carolinebristles, “I was not awful. I’llacknowledge that some of my squad was less than welcoming but they fear change.They’ll get over it.”

“No need,”Klaus says, seemingly unconcerned. “Rebekah’s come to her senses.”

Carolinedid not like the sound of that. “Whatdo you mean?”

“She’sworking on convincing our mother to drive her to Richmond twice a week so shecan train in a proper gym there. It’ll only be for a year or so until she getsher license and Bekah can usually annoy just about anyone into submission so Iimagine she won’t be needing cheerleading.”

She’s notsuper impressed with the snideness but Caroline has a more pressing concern. Ifhe was one of those ‘cheerleading isn’t a real sport’ guys she’d cure him ofthat later. The news that Rebekah was reconsidering joining her squad was notgood. Not good at all. “I need her,”Caroline blurts out. “I fought for her. I have a flyer down and she’s my bestoption for a replacement.”

“Sorry,love. She seems resolved.” Klaus shrugs, clearly not sensing her urgency. UntilCaroline snatches his pencil out of his hand when he makes to return to hissketch. Could he not sense she was in crisis?

“Listen,”Caroline says, speaking quietly but forcefully. A few people glance over butone harsh glare from her and they’re turning away.

Klaus notices,“Impressive.”

Caroline willtake that as a compliment. “I don’t know if cheerleading is a thing whereyou’re from. But here? It’s a big freaking deal. We’re the best, have been foryears. I intend to keep it that way and being the best means I need the best on my team.”

“I’m notthe person you need to convince,” Klaus points out.

“Where’sher locker?”

“Not sure.”

Carolinedraws in a calming breath. “You have a phone, don’t you? Text her and ask.”

Klausfingers drum on the tabletop as he considers her. There’s a calculating glintin his eyes and Caroline braces herself for a refusal. She wouldn’t accept, ofcourse, but she mentally lists a few angles in preparation.

If only she’dworn a sluttier top this morning.

“I’m also notsure it’s particularly brotherly of me to let you ambush my baby sister,” Klaussays.

“Oh,please, I’ve already met her, remember? A delicate flower Rebekah is not.”

Klausinclines his head. “What’s in it for me?”

“What doyou want?” Caroline asks suspiciously. “If it’s something pervy I will stab you with this pencil. Mymother, the sheriff, will totallyback me up if I tell her you were sexually harassing me.”

Klausappears mildly offended. “I was just going to ask your name. Anything else I’llearn.”

“It’sCaroline,” she tells him, only slightly grudging.

“It’slovely to meet you, Caroline,” Klaus murmurs before sneaking a glance at theteacher. “Just give me a moment.” He leans forward in his seat, fishing out hisphone and keeping it out of sight below the table as he taps out a textmessage.

She kind ofwants to toss out something snarky about his ego, his overconfidence, but sherefrains. She’s fairly certain that she’d end up a liar.

#klarolineauweek #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #Anonymous

[r95irth]

I’m cursed. I wanted to write a short drabble about Satoru’s first evening at the dorm and it ended up as a ten pages long text. Why can’t i keep things short??

Anyways, here is the text, if you want to read it. There are as many ocs as i could place in, maybe you’ll recognize one of yours? Some are not named. 

In this text you’ll also know why Mahô is probably gonna get a burnout. 

Satoru had been careful.

When he decided to go to UA, he was determined not to use his father and mother’s influence to get in. No recommendation for him. He went to both written and practical exams and by some miracles, passed. But that was not the end. He was no way near ashamed to be named Todoroki, quite the contrary, he was very proud to be the adopted son of Shouto. But he didn’t want to be recognized only as such on his first day of school. So he introduced himself as Satoru, no last name, to his new classmates. Since it was only first day, all teachers asked them to make a speech to present themselves in front of the class, he had a full day and a night at the dorm before the inevitable revelation during tomorrow call. He was planning to use the opportunity to its fullest: make a good impression so his name would not change their opinion of him. Of course, Aizawa noticed his efforts and asked to speak with him about it. He called the plan idealistic, but at least Satoru seemed to know that it was only temporary, so he let this go without breaking his cover.

-Just tell Shouto and Momo about it, so it doesn’t break their hearts when they hear about it and assume things wrong.

He promised, knowing that it was right. His parents were the best, but they had the tendency to get wrapped in their own heads and convince themselves silly things. Like Shouto and his hand-crushing-curse. Then he went back to the dorms.

Satoru had been extra careful, and so far nothing went wrong during his plan. That’s why when he found a big crowd in front of the building, it took him by surprise.

There were a lot of people; not only first years, but also second and third, if uniforms were any indication. They were chatting loudly, trying to get a sneak peak of the inside of the dorm, some even using their quirk to elevate themselves above the other and get the best point of view. Satoru gulped, and tried to see if he could recognize any of them. There were no Eri or Kouda to explain him what was going on, but he noticed Tsubaki and what must had been Max -once upon a time- in front of the main door. Unfortunately, Tsubaki noticed him too, and his expression went from desperate to hopeful in one second:

-SATORU THANKS GODS YOU’RE HERE. HELP ME!

Satoru shouldn’t be able to hear him, from this distance, and he doubted anyone but him heard that plead,  actually. That was Tsubaki’s power, mastering the sound and especially his voice. Satoru had known him for years now, and he couldn’t abandon him. The guy was shy and extremely awkward when he had to talk to more than two people at once. There were definitely more than two people at once talking to him right now. He could hear comments and remarks  from the crowd that would do nothing but throw off the interlocutors already such as “There are so few first year, what happened?” or “This promotion don’t look strong”!

I’m supposed to be a hero in training now, I have to help.

So Satoru took a deep breath, repressed the urge to lie down on the ground and play dead to go and help his friend. Tsubaki was a mess, unable to say anything but “thank you” and “sorry” at this point (and the fact he was still talking at all impressed Satoru, a few year back he would had just shut up and cried). He hugged Satoru back and then put his hoodie on his pink hair, and drew the elastic so his whole face disappeared into the hoodie. That was the sign that he was not going to say anything anymore. Max, another friend of Satoru, was already a wax puddle on the ground, so he couldn’t count on him either.

What a bunch of heroes we are, sighted Satoru as he turned to the crow and tried to give them his best smile.

-Y-Yes? What do you need?

-Is it true there’s a celebrity this year? Asked a redhaired girl, with stars in her eyes.

-Kojima, be more polite, hissed someone in the crowd with a authoritarian voice.

Satoru repressed a shiver, and looked away. Of course, the commotion had drawn every one of his classmates, even Mahô’s one, from the other building. They all stared, all ears. That couldn’t be worst.

-There is no such thing as a celebrity among us, he answered.

Because that was true; his parents were famous, but he was not. He was just some lost kid they took pity on and offered a better life. And even if he were their biological son (which he was not) his parents’ achievement were not his. He had no right to claim it. It was what he feared the most: people assuming he was extraordinary because of his name. He was already remembering Momo’s lesson about damage control when someone yelled:

-Come on, don’t hide her! We want to see the Shindo girl!

That pushed all coherent thoughts out of Satoru’s brain.

-What?

-The Shindo girl, repeated one boy. -She’s some kind of celebrity right? My sister is a fan, they say she’s going to be selected for the remake of Olympic games in two years!

Wow, way to go Satoru, at least, that should teach you some modesty, everything is not about you, he thought, almost laughing at himself. Those around didn’t care about the lesson there were giving him, nor for his relief, they still argued:

-Yeah! I googled her name on the internet, added one other boy with a blush. -She’s some kind of acrobatic diver, right? There was a lot of picture of her in swimsuit! She looked super cute.

This one needs googles asap, only concluded Satoru.

-Eh? I though she was a skater! I saw a video of a program in competition!

-She’s not acrobatic diver neither a skater moron, she’s a gymnast! That’s why they selected her even though she’s only 15, gymnasts’ peak is around that age! Yelled a girl second year.

-Guys, that’s the thing, she’s not selected for one sport, but for two! One for winter Olympic and one for normal and she’s training as a hero. That’s why they talked about her on news! She’s also the daughter of one hero, though I’ve never heard the hero’s name before…Someone knows who Omniscient was?

-Who cares as long as she still has to wear super sexy outfits!

Satoru blinked at the boy who made the comment. Honestly, if he really googled Mahô’s name, he should had seen some picture of her. He should had seen her fucking tights and abs. That was as attractive as a carnivorous flower’s scent: very deadly.

Some of his new classmates decided to help -bless them- and came closer. Ready to help. A girl -Shiori, if Satoru recalled right- Tried to put Max back into a human shape, but wax was spreading all over the floor already, melting even more.  One boy that Satoru never saw before (he was probably in class A), stood up between them and the crowd, like a shield. He was sturdy, not as tall as Max were (when he had not melted) but still a bit taller than Satoru, and way more imposing. And, he looked like a rabbit his big bunny ears were hanging down on his shoulder. But what stroke Satoru the most were his fluffy curly hair that were almost calling him to pet it.

Lucky Satoru repressed the urge back. Certainly that was not the best way to introduce himself to someone; “Sorry you looked so soft I wanted to bury my head in your black furr” Yeah. Sounded more like a bad pick up line. Not that great as a hello.

Anyways the new boy managed to talk to the crowd like a boss:

-Shindo is not here right now, like you pointed out, she has a lot on her plate, she already left to train with one teacher named Kirishima, he explained with a clear, unwavering voice.  

The crowd let out a sight of deception, and seemed to calm down for approximatively 2 seconds; Then they burst out again, yelling that they knew it, there was indeed a celebrity on school ground! Some even asked for the time Shindo would return so they could come back and ask her for an autograph. The rabbit guy apologized, and gave a word or two to those who seemed the sadder, before asking them to come back later.

He’s good at it, noticed Satoru. Well, it was difficult to be worst than Max -who melted as soon as a girl breathed in his direction- Tsubaki or him. So he told him:

-You’re great at handling people.

The bunny guy looked at him, and chuckled and that was the cutest sound ever.

-I’m from a family of twelve, believe me, this is nothing compared to get my little brothers and sisters to the bath.

Twelve?! How the heck do you survive?!

He must had been staring because a girl beside him giggled, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. Get it together Satoru, he ordered himself, you can’t loose it as soon as a cute face appear! Stay focus. But then cute-boy had to betray him in the cutes way. He hiccuped and then said aloud:

-Wait…I know your face, Shindo showed me a picture of you and her, aren’t you her best friend…?

Hell broke loose again. The red haired girl from the beginning grabbed his shoulder, and squealed:

-Is that true? This is so cool, could you ask an autograph for my brother? It would made him so happy!

That was at least a nice ask, unlike the other who followed just after it:

-If you’re her best friend, you should have PLENTY of picture of her in nice outfits! You have to show us all sexy ones!

Satoru almost choked on this one, and suddenly understood why Max melted and Tsubaki went back to mute mode -he was beginning to feel like lying in the ground and play dead again. Rabbit boy at least appeared to be regretful, and he tried to do his magic again, to tame the crowd, but with no success.

That’s the moment the one responsible of all of this mess decided to come back. Satoru spotted her first, thanks to his power and their bond, he always knew where she was and how she was. It took him not even a second to see her tiny figure 100 meters away, as she jogged back to the dorm. Unfortunately, this aspect of Satoru’s power was two-way down, and Mahô stopped jogging, surprised by what she was feeling. She noticed the crowd, and Satoru felt her frown as she continued to run  but staying on the same spot, looking curious.

Satoru decided to have what he liked to call a telepathic discussion with her. Technically he couldn’t do that, he was just not that good with his power. But he could help her make the good connections, understands better what she was seeing and push her thoughts in the right direction. He stared and focused. The bond he shared with Mahô was one of the strongest, only second to the one he had with Shouto and Momo, she understood immediately. And he heard his thoughts as clear as the day. It went first as it was for him:

Why are there so many people in front of the dorms?

Then it turned into: Is that Satoru, Max and Tsubaki? Why are they the one handling the crowd, they are no social butterflies…

He pushed the clue into her brain, one that was already existing but she was trying really hard not to see ; the only link all four shared. Wait, if there are handling the thing together, does that mean I’m linked to the mess? It helped that she managed to see Satoru in particular and noticed that he was staring at her. Oh gods he is looking at me, and he seems really mad, why is he mad at me?

From there it was easy to conclude: Did I do something wrong?

And then she looked for mistakes she did -which was not so many, as far as Satoru could see from glimpses he had in her minds. She did stutter a bit during her introduction, was rude to a couple of people without wanting it. Then it clicked in Mahô’s mind. She realized that she said she was going to train for a competition to another girl before leaving class, that she had coaches she needed to meet to plan the training and her schedule around school time. Satoru focused on this thought alone and heavily insisted on it. Oh fuck. Mahô’s thoughts did nothing but halt all at the same time as she realized.

She looked again at the crowd and her mind repeated : Oh fuck. Oh fuck. She understood. Satoru smiled approvingly : Yes, now come and help me clear this mess, he pleaded her mentally. But then Mahô turned around and started running the opposite way.

YOU TRAITOR!

And honestly, Satoru was nowhere near his best friends’ athletic skills, there was no point to argue over this. Yet he still ran after and catch her by the collar. He didn’t even say a word of goodbye to his classmate and dashed forward, determined to not let her flee. Satoru rarely felt anger toward anybody but right now all he could think was Oh no don’t you dare try to get away!

His bond had the advantage to let him know immediately where she planned to take refuge, and being adopted in the Todoroki household allowed him to know the UA campus as well as his own home. He took a short cut and jumped on her back as she passed through a sneaky passage between the gymnasium and the pool.

-How could you run away!  

She yelped as she hit the ground.

-I can’t believe you planned to let us handle YOUR mess! What kind of hero are you; running away from your responsabilities!

-Those are not responsabilities, those are fans that’s very different! Babbled Mahô with a nervous smile, trying to get away.

That would not work on him.

-Heroes must know how to handle fans, Mahô, and treat them well!

-BUT I SUCK AT IT!

This was a rare thing to hear, Mahô admitting she was not good at something. That let Satoru shocked enough for her to roll out of his grasp and stand back, ready to run again. But she didn’t and instead sputtered:

-I never know what I should do with my hands and feet when I’m with supporters…Should I shake their hands? Should I kick them?! I just…And I always say the wrong things and I come out rude! And-and…

-I’m sure it’s not that bad.

To be frank, Satoru was sure it was that bad, because Mahô rarely put filter on, and he already heard her say rude things with a smile and an innocent look.

-I gave ONE interview in my life Satoru. ONE. And apparently I said something SO RUDE, it made the buzz and the video is still somewhere on the internet even though it’s been FOUR YEARS.

-What the heck did you say?

-That I didn’t plan to be a professional sportwoman but a hero, that I was doing this for fun!

-Tell me you didn’t say that.

-OF COURSE I SAID IT SINCE IT WAS TRUE. WHY WOULD EVERYONE TELL ME IT’S WRONG?!

-BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS CRUSH ALL YOUR COMPETITORS AND THEY ALL PLAN TO BE PRO AND YOU SAY TO THEM YOU’RE ONLY FOOLING AROUND WHEN THEY ARE SERIOUS MAYBE?!

-WELL THEY SHOULD TRAIN MORE TO BEAT ME THEN?! IT’S NOT LIKE I TRAIN MORE THAN THEM AND I’M MORE TALENTED? THAT JUST MEAN THEY DIDN’T GO 100%?!

Satoru facepalmed and let out a tired sight. Indeed, she was rude and she didn’t know what to say to make it better. But the problem was still there: she was a celebrity -he still didn’t quite believe it, as for him she was forever Mahô, his best friend. And the job came with responsabilities.

-You have to see them, you know that, he said.

Mahô started sweating, guilty.

-Yes I know. B-But I kind of planned to meet them…you know, later? Like…after training.

-And when is that?

-A-Around 10 PM.

-On the first day of school?

She looked away. He probably hit spot on because her gaze avoided him at all cost. He could feel that she was lying without even the need to touch her. After a new sigh, he took her hand and started to drag her to the dorms. She knew better not to resist -she probably could handle him easily though.

-Satoru, pleaseee, don’t do that to me, I really, really suck at it! I will do whatever you want, I will do your homework, i-

-No thank you, don’t do my homework, I want a good grade. Anyways, it’s better to take off the band aid quickly. Just…Just smile okay? You can do that. You have the perfect smile on every picture!

-But then they will ask things and I will have to stop smiling to actually talk to them! What if I turn mute like Tusbaki? Or worst, what if I say rude things again and someone record it and put it on the internet? And what if they ask me for autograph? My calligraphy suck, I don’t know what to write beside my name…what if I made a typo on my OWN name?!

Satoru bit his lips. He thought of the boys in the crowd who called her sexy. What would they think now, staring at the weeny teenager with no-boobs, but a body so strong she could punch him before running away? (And he was thankful she did not do that, despite the fact she was actually considering it).

-It’s okay, Mahô. I’ll stay with you, okay?

-You’re no better than me in front of crowd, she lamented.

Spot on and rude. I’m trying to help you, you could at least be grateful!

-Yeah, he blurted, not denying. -But I’m good at knowing when you say something rude when you don’t. I can hear what you’re thinking before you actually go and say it. I will pinch you before you’re making the mistake. I will not have to say anything; just stand by your side and give you a sign when you’re going to far. That’s my forte, right? Why you wanted to become a hero with me right? We’re a team don’t forget it. Better start working as such and learn how to do it right away. This is why we came to this school for after all!

Mahô looked at him, eyes shining with emotion, and she suddenly jumped on her feet to pull him into a crushing hug. For a moment Satoru feared that she went for the “kill and run” option, but then she said;

-You’re the best friend ever and I love you! My hero!

He blushed and made a point to deny it. Because he was not a hero yet, and putting up with her shit did not turn him into one.

-Yeah. Yeah, now let go, we need to back to the dorms.

And they did. Of course, the crow was still there, even if they both wished they scattered out while they were away. (No luck urgh). Satoru took a step back and let Mahô on the frond, she gave him a helpless stare, as she was submerged by people. But he stood his ground and stayed right behind her back, at arm’s length, as he promised, he would help. Even if the crow was indeed fucking scary.

-You’re the Shindo girl?

-Is it true that you’re training for the planned new Olympic game?

-You’re tinier than in the clips!

-Can you do a backflip?

-I heard you laughed at the practical exams!

-I heard you bombed the written exam!

To be totally honest, Mahô did a great job and gave the crowd her perfect picture smile. He knew she had that in her, and was proud she was looking anything but nervous as she had been in front of him.(And he was even prouder that he allowed him to see her being nervous, that meant she trusted him) Everything was going smoothly. The redhaired girl from the beginning took a step in and managed to ask for an autograph, as she showed Mahô her notebook. Mahô looked at it, and her mind turned into a puddle of panic.

This is it! I thought they would ask for it! Help me Satoru I don’t know how to sign an autograph! My calligraphy SUCKS. What if I make a typo?! What if I spell my own name wrong?! I don’t want to sign. I NEED an excuse! I-I-

Satoru tried to pinch her before she opened her mouth, but he had underestimate his best friend’s speed.

-I don’t know how to write, Mahô said with a dead-serious-face. And her mind let out a scream that was very much like a pterodactyl’s agony screech.

Satoru pinched his nose instead of her and took a deep, deep breath. Okay. Okay. That was going to be harder than he previously thought. Lucky them, Mahô was in her sport gear, and so was not wearing any accessories on her, so none of them betray her state of mind. Her clothes, though, started to buzz off a bit, and wrinkle around her body, infected by the nervousness of its owner. That was no good at all. In no time her power was going to start affecting every object in the perimeter. So he did the only thing he thought off to make it better. He let out a nervous laugh.

-Ah-ah Mahô, that’s a good joke! Come on, let me handle that.

He took the notebook of the redhaired girl, who repeated with a smile “Oh, it was a joke!” and asked for her name and her brother’s:

-Because it’s for your brother you want this, right?

The redhaired girl nodded with a big smile on her face, fidgeting, hiding her hands behind her back as soon as he took the notebook.

-My name is Kojima. Koyuki Kojima, she whispered. And my brother is…

Satoru nodded and asked for the kanji, as he handled it to Mahô. It went better. When he felt like she was about to write it wrong he asked Kojima again, as if he was the one not hearing the kanji right. In the end, Mahô managed to write something without an error. It was simple words: for the Kojima family, and her name. Before Mahô handled it down, though, Satoru added:

-Thank you for your support!

And Mahô stood up, understanding the hidden message, and added it to the autograph before handling it to the owner. The redhaired girl didn’t seem to mind about the weak calligraphy and gave them a beautiful smile and thank you. It helped a lot, though, since the first contact went well, Mahô was feeling a bit less nervous. Everything after didn’t falter her new refound confidence. Not even the stupid comment about her sexiness in the outfit.

-I could show you some of my last costumes, if you like them so much, she bluntly said to a boy.

Which was a great move that Satoru approved.

-But I doubt they would suit you, though, she added without letting Satoru the time to pinch her again.

They had a lot of work to do, the strategy of pinching was not that good, she was just too fast. Thankfully, Kojima laughed, probably assuming it was a joke again, and so everyone went along with her. Anyways, they dealt with everyone without making a scandal (Momo would had been so proud of him) and before they knew it, they had said goodbye to the last supporter before dining time.

Satoru let out a sigh, and Mahô did the same.

-That was scary, she said.

But what was even scarier, thought Satoru, was the face of their classmates when they went back to the dorms. They were all scattered around, but surely, they didn’t miss a single thing, watching them behind the building glasses or a few steps away. Satoru didn’t recognize everyone so he assumed the whole two classes of the first years were gathered here. Gods. And he had wished for a peaceful first day!

-So. Huh, you’re really a celebrity, managed to mumble one of the boy in Satoru’s class. He was floating around in his spectral form, as he had been all day, and looked a bit puzzled. It threw Satoru a bit off, since he didn’t know the boy at all and couldn’t even touch him, Satoru had no clue about what he was thinking.

Mahô though, seemed to understand that she was on a bad start and whispered:

-Well, I wouldn’t call me a that…

-Oh? What would you call you off then? You’re very much like a celebrity. From what I gathered, you’re the favorite in not one, but two sports for the next Olympic games. First Olympic that would be held for years since the apparition of quirks! Television talked about you today!

The one who said that was another boy, from Satoru’s class, and his tone was full of venom even though it was said with a bold calmness.

-Y-Yeah, that’s so impressive! Immediately tried to desamorce some girl with brown hair and cheerful grin. Satoru appreciated her effort, he recognized her as the giggling girl from before. The one who had seen him freeze in front of bunny-boy.

-Y-You really are something else, added another girl, with redhair, looking nothing but embarrassed about her own words.

-I heard you’re also the daughter of a hero? That must helped a lot to get in.

Again, it was a stained comment, but this time it was made by a chubby girl with glasses. As the boy in Satoru’s class, she said it with a strange calmness, that made her words even colder. Mahô started to panic and Satoru immediately put a hand on a vase next to him. It had started shaking, echoing Mahô’s emotions. He had to find a way to make it back to safe grounds.

Even if they had been friends for more than five years now, it was actually the first time Satoru ever shared a class, even a school, with his best friend. He had known that she was not really the confident girl he met when on school ground, but knowing it and witnessing it were two different things. The Mahô he liked was a loud, cheerful, and blunt girl that was not afraid to say everything that pass through her head, and didn’t care about what other thought of her. But the girl beside him very much cared. Her thoughts though, were, as always, a mess:

What can I do, this is going all wrong. I have to say something to make everything better or I will have no friends here! (What can I say?) What did I even do wrong? (Maybe I should shut up). Yeah it’s better, i shouldn’t talk every time I did it made things worse. But if I did, I will have no friend? (Who care, I didn’t come here to make friends, I came here to become a hero!)...But three years is a long time though.(I have Satoru it should be enough). But he’s not in the same class as me, and we’re stuck for hours in class. (I have Max in my class, we’re not as close, but it’s still something like a friend I suppose?)  It’s already hard enough to just sit around and do nothing but not having anyone to talk to? I suppose I could always go and call daddy between classes, if there is no one to talk to,( I would have to do it anyways). Or maybe I could train between classes too. (Doing stretches, we never do enough stretches). And maybe repeat my programs and figures. Yes I suppose I can make a do without any friends, but…(I don’t want to)!

It was hurting to hear her think that way. It hurt Satoru to see her give up before even trying. It was just not the girl he was used to. And he would not allow her to be isolated. But what can I do to help? He had no clue how to make it better either. He could see that there were people who were curious among classmates, but some had been very much hostile right away. Maybe I should just give up on those ones, and focus on the others. But it left a bad taste in his mouth, he didn’t like to cast anyone aside.

-Mahô’s father is not influent enough to help her get in UA, he said instead, hoping that it would help them see Mahô as an equal. -She passed the exams like everyone else in this room.

Max -who was back in human form- bit his lips, since it was not the case for him. But Satoru was surprised to see a girl with weird aquatic hair do the same. He would have liked for both of them to speak up and help, but he couldn’t reproch them not to either; acting like as a shield was nothing pleasant.

-Well, it looks like this year teacher decided to go for quality rather than quantity! Claimed the rabbit guy with a smile. -That’s great! I wish my family had the same mindset!

Satoru let out a small chuckle, and rabbit guy gave him a thankful glance in return. Surely, Satoru was the only one to get the joke, he doubted anyone knew that the rabbit-boy had twelve sisters and brothers.

A petite girl with snake skin came closer to Mahô, and though she avoided her gaze, she whispered:

-You will have you hands full, training as a hero and a sportwoman, are you sure you’re going to be okay?

Satoru decided he liked her a lot, she was showing some compassion. And Mahô thought the same, as she nodded, finding back her usual smile:

-Yes, don’t worry! I’ve been having competition since forever, and I’m on the junior league since I’m twelve, I’m used to it. Thank you for your concern though you’re cute!

Satoru saw how everyone from his class tensed up hearing the comment. She still had some work to do, to not look like she was rubbing off her greatness to their faces. But at least, people from Mahô’s class didn’t seem to mind -they probably heard worst from her during the day. One boy, with ink all over his face, managed to make sure the conversation didn’t end there and asked:

-What is it like to live with a hero, then?

Satoru let out a relieved sight, happy to see that it was going to end well, and he allowed to leave Mahô’s side and let her handle things. That, he would understand not even two seconds later, was a grave mistake. Because, once again, Mahô spoke without thinking and Satoru was too far away from her to pinch her in time so she could shut up.

-My dad is awesome, but he retired when I was nine so I don’t remember much of our everyday life when he worked. You should better ask that to Satoru, he’s the son of Shouto and Creati, he must knows better!

There was a dead silence and every face turned in his direction, giving a shocked look. Again, Satoru gave Mahô the look, sending him very annoyed thoughts via their telepathic conversation, and she seemed to understand her mistake. She put her hands on her mouth and repressed a “Oops!”

TRAITOR!

Yes “OOPS” he would have liked her better if she had put this damn hand on her mouth before speaking. But he didn’t say her it was a secret and she had no way to know. And as Aizawa said, the secret was going to be out tomorrow at best. (Still. He would have liked it to be tomorrow).  He blushed, looked to the rabbit boy. That was also a mistake, too, he immediately regretted it. The boy was very much staring at him with a deadpan look.

Crap. This is bad.

Mahô tried to come to his rescue and correct her mistake only to make it worst:

-I mean, well yeah he is, you know, but…he’s like, huh. He’s not the only one though! Tsubaki is Recovery girl’s great grandson too, and Max is from a hero and diplomat family from another country too, you know so, it’s like, no big deal? Right?

Tsubaki very much decided to go back living in his hoodie, and his neighbor (Satoru remembered him introducing themselves as Kussan during class) looked quite bewildered by his reaction. As for Max, he started melting again, and a flower mutated girl let out a yelp as she was trying to protect herself from the boiling wax. Arya a girl from aquatic hair from his class reacted in time and used her power to bubble Max into a strange floating water. He could not melt if he was under water. -But apparently he couldn’t breathe either. Which was problematic and caused quite a commotion.

In front of the mess happening right before their eyes, the cold guy from before sighted, put back his glasses into place, and stated:

-Okay, does anyone else has another secret to share? Anything that could blow up to our face before tomorrow? Go ahead, it seems like it’s time!

To Satoru’s surprise, the spectral boy raised his hand and stated:

-Well, I’m not really here, physically I mean.

Satoru had been very careful, to make sure that he started off his first year at UA with a good start. In the end, his carefulness was in vain. But, as he heard his classmates laughing :

-We already know that, you’re an astral projection it’s given!

He decided that it was okay. 

#my writing #bnha fanfic #ocs #lot of ocs #satoru todoroki #better care #mahô shindo #by the way i still need FOUR BOYS #so if anyone want to give one he's welcomed

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Ants

“Dave Matthews Band (DMB) was barred from playing in Chicago after the incident,” she said. 

My thoughts immediately went back to my college dorm room, the last time I’d listened to DMB with any consistency. Ants Marching from Under the Table and Dreaming was one of my favorite songs the first 1000 times I heard it. I couldn’t understand 80% of the words Dave sang (OK, more like 95%), but through the years, Ants Marching became instantly recognizable to me. Wherever I heard that horn and drum beat, I was neither happy nor blood-boiling angry. I didn’t want to smoke or immediately run for another beer either. 

I couldn’t help wondering if the guys in the band felt the same way about the song after playing it so many times. Had become their American Pie (Don McLean), a song that, if not played live, could mean blood in the streets? Or did they always give the people what they thought they wanted, just to keep themselves and their audience at least anatomically awake between self-induced altered states of consciousness?

I’m long-removed from a college dorm room, but I sometimes feel like a marching ant even today. I probably look like one in the windshields of the cars that have to wait to turn as I cross the street on my way to work every morning. If I’m lucky, there will be a long line of cars that can’t immediately make the right turn they so desperately want to because I’m doing my thing. If I’m really lucky, the cars at the back of the line start honking their horns at each other out of frustration because they can’t see who the holdup is: me. I love it when, after I’ve safely crossed, cars at the front of the queue speed up, their drivers either pissed for having lost thirty to forty-five seconds of their in-a-hurry-to-get-nowhere commute to my deliberate stride, or incredulous that people like me still use their legs to move rather than their own overpriced and oversized machines of choice.

Driving in on this highway All these cars end up on the sidewalk

Fortunately, not all of the animal kingdom moves about in SUVs Can you imagine two pseudo alpha male giraffes in Gold’s Gym t-shirts getting in a car accident because, instead of keeping their eyes on the road, they were too busy gawking at their phones because one of the penguins texted some nude photos of the newest female giraffe the whole zoo had been talking about? Some long-necked SOB forgot to activate the lane departure warning feature in their Escalade. 

Anyway.

Like most of their animal kingdom counterparts in zoo confinement, humans can wander around absently, until something jolts them from an all-too-natural, blissfully unaware condition. Case in point would be the humans on an architectural boat tour that time in 2004 when a bus driver in a DMB convoy inexplicably decided to empty about 800 gallons of shit and god knows what else from the bus’s septic tank at the precise moment their boat passed by. 

Poopgate was born. 

Recently, I was also caught blissfully ignorant until I found a tiny ant making his way across my bedsheets one morning as I was making my bed. I thought it was odd to see just one ant, but I really didn’t put much thought into it. I just figured he’d partied too hard the night before, gotten roaring drunk on high-fructose corn syrup, and separated from his friends. Little did I know how close his friends were. 

I’ve lived in my current apartment for almost a little over years. In all that time, it never occurred to me to clean underneath my oven. When you cook as much as I do, bits of chopped onion, severed celery, or minced-but-meant-to-dice mushrooms can fall through the crack that is the space between the countertop and the oven. There’s always been a small margin for error. 

The tiny ants looked like bits of food or sauce that had splattered out of a pan and onto a virgin surface when I’d had the heat of the stove on too high for too long. Their purpose seemed singular: get over that (what probably appeared to them to be a) wall. If one had gotten lost in my bedroom, dozens if not hundreds had gorged themselves on the leftover buffet on the floor beneath my oven, and now, their corpulent asses were trying to showcase remarkable agility by scaling the wall between two separate counter spaces in my kitchen, like Marines battling the logs of an obstacle course. Only I couldn’t tell the Senior Drill Instructor ant from the confused ant-equivalent-of-testosterone-filled recruit ants.

Does his teeth, bite to eat and he’s rolling  

It’s amazing how the perceived crisis of the ant invasion made me spring into action. Crises or any kind of stress had a funny way of snapping even my porn-addicted brain out of a Saturday morning post-ejaculation fog.  

They all do it the same They all do it the same way

“How dare these ants force their way into my home. I’m going to kill them all,” I told myself. I could feel again, but I truly wanted nothing more than for those ants to be dead and gone so i could go back to cycling between my addictions to porn and living for the weekend. I knew the ants weren’t on my lease, so I wanted them out, as much to avoid being charged for unreported occupancy of my apartment  as having hundreds of pairs of tiny eyes watching what I really did when the blinds were closed. 

Hell, who was I kidding? At my addiction’s lowest point, I was engulfed in such a love affair with the performers on the screen that it might as well have been just the three, four, or five of us there: me, the computer screen, and however many people happened to be starring in whatever eight to twelve minute clip I’d either stumbled upon, or known I’d wanted from the moment I woke up in that morning. I knew the ants were there, but I still had to get my fix, no matter who else was watching.

She thinks, we look at each other Wondering what the other is thinking But we never say a thing And these crimes between us grow deeper

I evicted the ants fairly quickly thanks to help from a neighbor who had some over-the-counter insecticide, the maintenance staff who moved and finally cleaned under my oven, and the pest control company that treated my place amid the carnage of dead insect bodies frozen in miniature yet permanent Jesus Christ poses after betraying me one too many times.  

I may have overcome the ants, but it’s taken much longer to overcome Saturday mornings’ post-ejaculation fog. I try to fill my time with creative endeavors instead of flying off the handle whenever a real or imagined tragedy happens, such as spilling coffee grounds gymnastics-style behind my washer and dryer, or having the washer decide to go out walking because I got greedy and filled it with things that would force it to go off balance instead of delaying my gratification until another, smaller, less intense load. 

I shouldn’t need tragedies of invasion or violation to stir me into action. I too can remember being small, playing under the table and dreaming. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from ever seeing that first porn video. I wish I could tell my younger self how many hours his future self would spend consuming porn, feeling like shit inside, then feeling just good enough to do it over, and over and over again. 

Wash, rinse, repeat.

The first thing I did when I started my weeklong vacation from work yesterday was to start the stopwatch on my phone. Not because I wanted to have some immediate temporal value attached to any Porn Masturbation Orgasm achievement, but because I wanted something I could use to hold myself accountable. Something to remind myself of the time I could be and have been spending doing other things. I’ve always had the antlike scale-the-countertop intensity, but I lost it slight of it in a fantasy world of 34 DDs, reverse cowgirls and superhuman stimulus cocks that might as well have come (pardon the pun) out of comic books. 

Now I’ve set out to get it back.

Take these chances Place them in a box until a quieter time Lights down, you up and die

Right on Dave. I imagine people in Chicago are still salty about poopgate, but at least I’ve grown beyond associating marching ants exclusively with my college years. Some might say that’s progress, yet I know I’ve got a long way to go. 

[peculiarberry]

Cats and Cuddles } McBerry

Who: Rachel Berry and Mason McCarthy What: Rachel comes over to meet Mason’s cat and they all snuggle When: September 4th Where: Blaine and Mason’s dorm room Notes: 

Mason was having an amazing day so far. He was the proud new daddy to a beautiful sleek black cat he'd found at the shelter with Parker's help. And now Rachel was about to come over to meet his new friend and he was actually pretty excited about it. He'd tried to be supportive of his friends during the whole Rachel and Blaine attempt to date debacle, but in doing so he'd found he really enjoyed talking with Rachel. She was being so supportive of him with the musical and they shared a lot of interests. Plus, she liked puns. Which hopefully meant she'd enjoy meeting Aaron Purr even more than usual. Mason figured he'd have to 'wait for it' to find out. And then he laughed at his own joke before hearing a knock on the door and going to let Rachel in.

Rachel: is excited to see Mason, especially since she had convinced Blaine to help her make cookies to hopefully get him to read the book she'd given to him. She also hopes he doesn't take it as her trying to steal his twin sister's idea- he had just mentioned it worked for him, so why shouldn't she try that first? She finds herself in front of his and Parker's door and she knocks on it softly, hoping not to startle his new cat who is now in a new place. Rachel is trying to imagine what kind of cat Mason got, if he named it after a musical, and if the tiny thing will like her. Rachel never had a pet as a child, they were always so busy, but she loved other people's animals that was for sure.

Mason picks Aaron Purr up and cradles him under his arm, mostly to make sure he won't try to escape since he's not sure of the cat's habits yet. He seems to be a pretty calm dude though which is exactly what Mason needs. He opens the door with a smile, his eyes lighting up at the sight of cookies in Rachel's hand. And then realization hits. "This was all a ploy to get me to read, wasn't it?" he teased, laughing gently as he steps back to allow Rachel into the room. "That's okay, I still get cookies. Rachel, this is Aaron Purr, our third vice president... if cats ran the government. He shot Alexander Hamilcat, but we don't talk about that."

Rachel: shakes her head, "Only a little bit." She has to calm herself down and not just reach for the cat in his arms. "I thought maybe I could give you one and you can have more the more that you read?" She raises an eyebrow at him, "But if you want to eat two right now I'd be okay with that as long as I can hold the cat." She practically beams when he tells her the cats name, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Oh Mason that is so perfect, Aaron purr is the best vice president we could ever have. I know how much you love Hamilton so I'm shocked at your choice." She sets the cookies down and holds her hands out a little too expectantly.

Mason gasps slightly at this brilliant negotiation that Rachel's come up with. "You get me on so many levels," he laughed. He held the cat out and set him in Rachel's arms, giving him one last scratch between the ears. And then he darted right for the plate of cookies, taking his two allotted ones immediately. "You can sit on the bed with her if you want. Or I got some toys on the floor that Parker helped me pick out. She likes that feather on a stick thing." He sat in his desk chair and bit into one of the cookies happily. "Mmm, that's good."

Rachel: "I try." She teases before happily taking the cat from him, nuzzling it slightly but not wanting to overstimulate him. She listens to his words and happily takes a seat on the floor before setting the cat down. Rachel hopes she can get it to stay as she grabs for the feather on the stick. "Cat toys are kind of silly." She says, blushing a little at the compliment on the cookies. "If I'm being honest you should thank Blaine because he helped me make them and I honestly just delegated the situation. I'm not much of a baker or a cook for that matter." She laughs, remembering all the burnt dinners at her house that resorted in take out. "Aaron Purr is very playful I like him a lot."

Mason tucks his feet up under himself in his chair as he watches the two playing on the floor and a smile curls up on his face. "Yeah, I guess they are. But there's some pretty silly human toys out there too, if you think about it. Sometimes I watch these weird tech toy videos on YouTube and it's just like why does that even exist?" He kept on chewing on his cookies, happy as a clam with sweets in his hand. "I swear I'm gonna put on my freshman 15 in my sophomore year living with Blaine. But it'll be so worth it." He nodded along enthusiastically at her observation. "Isn't he? I think he'll fit in really well around here."

Rachel: is teasing the cat with the feather and as it reaches his little paw out to get it, she pulls it away, turning it into a little game. Rachel can't remember the last time she had been easily amused. "A lot of the gadgets out these days seem useful though, the spinners and those cubes. I'd probably have fun with one of those things." She offers with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Well the good thing about Blaine's food is that it's as healthy as sweet treats can get and you seem fairly active so I wouldn't worry about weight."

Mason nodded along. "True. Those are fun. I have one of those cubes around here somewhere," he remembered, casually glancing around as if it would just appear. "Mads is always trying to help me find ways to concentrate better." His brows drew together curiously as he looked down at Rachel. "These are healthy? But... they taste so good? Does not compute! It's good to hear though. You kinda have to stay in shape if you wanna be a good cheerleader."

Rachel: "Have you tried chewing gum or sucking on a mint?" She looks to him, not sure why she'd try to give him advice, of course she wasn't abusing medication that isn't hers to take to focus, but it helped a lot when she had to do her math. She was in no place to preach about things that help focusing. "Yeah, that is true, eating too much of anything isn't all that healthy. "So is cheerleading your favorite thing? You must be a decent dancer if you can do cheer. You should come with Jeff and I to this Salsa place he brought me to the other night." The cat, seems to get bored with the feather and she sets the toy down, scooping it up in her hands again. "I don't know how you're not just holding him forever, though I appreciate it because I get to."

Mason: "I've tried most things," he admitted. "Some days are better than others on the concentration scale. But I do my best. And keep busy, like I said." He shrugged, figuring he'd always be trying to figure out the inner workings of hiss own brain. "It's definitely one of them. I've been doing cheer and gymnastics since I was a toddler. And, yeah, it definitely helps with the dance skills. Salsa? That sounds cool. I guess I'm gonna have to learn to tango pretty soon," he recalled with a laugh. "I like to share the cuddles. From myself and my cat."

Rachel: "Sometimes keeping busy is better for that kind of thing, so you don't have time to lose focus." Rachel doesn't know that her words are helping any, but she wants to hear about his experience and be a friend to him- her interest spiking ever since the very interesting conversation between him and Blaine on tumblr. "I did gymnastics as a toddler myself." She says with a grin, "Definitely didn't stick though, most I can do now is a handstand and a cartwheel. I bet Alison would be more than willing to learn Tango with you, and it will help you make a connection, so the connection between husband and wife is really there. Sebastian and I watched some of the musical yesterday for that reason." She sighs at the memory of it but the thoughts fade away at his mention of cuddles. "That reminds me I think you owe me cuddles, or at least a hug."

Mason nodded along. "Pretty much exactly my thinking. Just keep going and I won't get distracted." His eyebrows raised in interest when he found out she used to do gymnastics too. "Hey, that's more than a lot of people can do at our age. I feel like most people lose the cartwheel ability after fifth grade if they don't keep practicing. Meanwhile, I'm the nerd doing back handsprings through the courtyard," he laughed. "Yeah, I'll definitely have to talk to her about it. I don't really know her that well yet, but that's probably about to change. Ooh, how'd that go? Hanging out with Sebastian?" he asked with a scrunched up nose. He had a feeling he was going to have to get used to the guy with everything Blaine was saying to him recently, but he still had his doubts. "I am always up for cuddles!"

Rachel: "Maybe you could teach me how to do that sometime? I'm fairly flexible and I can almost do a back flip." She really isn't sure if a back handspring is something that could be taught, but it sounds fun, especially if he is doing the teaching. "And I don't think you're a nerd but if you're happy giving yourself that title then I think that's okay." Her faces falls a little at the mention of Sebastian and their time together. "Not great honestly. I got too nosy, he got too sarcastic. I threatened to break his fingers if he messed with Blaine and then he left. We didn't do much preparing for our roles admittedly. I think he likes Blaine though, but I'm also just being a romantic." She laughs before letting the cat out of her arms. "I prefer to be the little spoon if that is alright and since it is your bed you should probably get in first." Rachel slips off her flats and sets them beside the door. "I'm excited to be snuggling with you." She blushes slightly, hoping the cat would maybe join them as well.

Mason: "We might want to start with perfecting the back flip," Mason suggested. "Handsprings require flying through the air, so it's kinda something you have to work up to. But I'm always happy to help with gymnastics. It's a really good work out too. And my classes have taught me all the best stretches." He wasn't that surprised at her reaction to Sebastian, even if so many other people seemed to adore him. "I think he might breathe sarcasm, to be honest. I think you might be right though. They've been spending a lot of time together lately. But then he hits on Jeff all the time too so... I'm keeping my eye on him." He smiled with delight and moved from his chair over to his bed. "You're a lot more polite than Jeff. He just walks in here and plops on top of me. Or Mads who steals all my blankets to wake me up. That's mostly at home though." He pulled the covers down and settled in, laughing when Aaron Purr jumped up on top of him.

Rachel: "That sounds like a good start. I think there is a spot in the dance hall that has some mats so we could practice there, unless you can reserve the gym for something like this?" She isn't entirely sure about the details of it all and she didn't really make her way into the gym, her dancing kept her pretty active and she'd much rather run outside. "Yeah, well I'm glad he has a nice roommate like you who will look out for him I just don't want him getting hurt, especially after everything that happened between up." She giggles, because they were fine now, but there was still pain that had come from it all. "We don't know each other well. I wouldn't feel right just getting in your bed, but next time I'll remember that." With a wink, she slips into the boys bed lies down against him, pulling his arms over her so he can pull her in. "This is perfect, you're really warm, and there is a cat." She reaches an arm over to pet the little guy.

Mason: "Probably not. The gym's usually booked for classes or practices or whatever," he mused. "But the dance hall would work. We could always use the courtyard, but I understand if you don't wanna start out in public." He nodded in understanding. "I know. He's so nervous about dating in general and I just don't want Sebastian to hit it and quit it so to speak. Not with Blaine. He deserves better than that, as I'm sure you'd agree." Mason snuggled down happily, always up for a good cuddle. The fact that he'd been feeling a little more than friendly towards Rachel lately didn't hurt either, though he didn't want to rush anything. It did feel really nice having his arm wrapped around her though. "No, please, I appreciate it. Jeff annoys the crap out of me when he jumps on me," he said, giggling when the cat sniffed at his ear curiously. "Get used to it, Aaron Purr. You've been adopted into a cuddly family."

Rachel: "I'm not sure I'd want anyone to see me mess up at my first few attempts."' She admits quietly, feeling like the blush on her cheeks would never go away around this boy and she doesn't quite understand it. "But if you ever feel like you're running out of things to do and need something to focus on I'd be happy to offer my assistance. I think it would be cool to say I can do a full back flip and maybe even a back handspring." It's nothing set in stone but the idea of hanging out with him again and doing something that will light a fire in her, because she'll want to do a good job, is exciting in itself. "Jeff is pretty snuggly too but I'm not so surprised he just makes himself at home. If you could do that in anyone's room, it would certainly be yours and Blaine's." She settles into his arms, comfortably, and she hums to herself quietly, just enjoying the contact and the warmth his body provides. "I want to trust Blaine's judgement on Sebastian. He's smart and knows what is good for him, but Sebastian seems to flirt with everyone and that's not fair to Blaine if they are more than friends."

Mason: nodded in understanding. "I get that. Practicing in private is good sometimes. Then you can awe people with your skills, like 'Who! Where'd she learn to do that?!' But I'm sure we could fit in some time. Just don't try anything without a spotter. I don't want you to hurt yourself," he warned. He gave her a gentle squeeze of affection and smiled into her hair, which smelled way too good. How did girls smell this good? What was their secret? "I think we both try to provide a welcoming environment to our friends. And it's nice to be the room everyone wants to hang out in, makes you feel special." He sighed at Rachel's concerns, since they sounded a whole lot like his own. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But Blaine has to decide what he's comfortable with for himself. All we can do is be there to support him."

Rachel: "Well, that's what I'd have you there for, right? To spot me and to teach?" She sighs softly as he squeezes her, liking the feeling a lot. "You both are a lot alike. I can't see a more perfect roommate match up..Maybe Jeff and Nick are on that list too, but still. You're both talented, have incredible energy, and are both excellent cuddlers. I'm a little jealous that Blaine gets to live with the cat. I want to live with your cat." She laughs, squeezing him a little bit and curling in closer."You're right. I don't want to come off overbearing when it comes to that subject with him--or any of my friends for that matter but I can't help it. I don't want anyone hurting I guess. I'm glad he has people looking out for him and I'm sure I haven't given Sebastian enough of a chance."

Mason: "Exactly," he agreed easily, really liking the idea of spending more time with her and getting to show off maybe just a little bit. He was a McCarthy after all. "Yeah, we've been doing pretty well. I don't mind his music and he doesn't mind my... energy." Yeah, that was a good word for it, he decided with a small chuckle. "We haven't cuddled with each other yet though. You think the world would implode? And don't be jealous, you can visit the cat whenever you want. Maybe you can cat sit for me when I have to go out for away games or cheer competitions too," he suggested, having a feeling she'd definitely like that idea. "We're gonna have to deal with Sebastian one way or another, I think. Especially you since you're married to him. But hopefully everything will work out."

Rachel: "I imagine it would have to. If you both cuddle each other no one will have a chance with either of you. You'd run off and live a life full of perfect cuddling." She giggles, feeling a tinge of jealousy that she doesn't understand. She'd much rather have Sebastian and Blaine than Blaine and Mason. "Do you mean that? Because I would absolutely take over your bed and just claim it when you're away so I can watch Aaron and bug Blaine more than I already do." She turns in Mason's arms to face him, "We'll get through it and Blaine wouldn't choose Sebastian if he didn't deserve to be chosen. Not that we know what's really going on there."

Mason: just giggled at the deep conversation they were now having about cuddling. "That wouldn't really be fair to the rest of society at all, would it? We have to spread the cuddle around. Which sounds a little gross when I say it that way," he realized, but just continued laughing it off. "If Blaine's okay with it, sure. Or you could take Aaron to your room too. Whichever works better. I just don't want him to get lonely without me. Luckily he seems to have plenty of fans." He smiled at Rachel once she turned to look at him. "Well, I'm pretty sure Blaine likes him in some way or another. In a kissy kinda way."

Rachel: "He would not be alone because I will watch him and I will absolutely take him to my room if Blaine doesn't want me around. But I guess you should probably ask Blaine first if he wants to watch him so he doesn't get upset. Since Aaron technically lives with him too. Would you and Blaine ever be away at the same time? What would I do if I needed a stuffie or a cuddle then?" She gasps a little worried at the though, despite it being their first time cuddling. "A kissy way." Rachel grins, "Blaine deserves a friend he can kiss and actually enjoy it." As she says that she hears the door open, her body tenses a bit and she turns to see Blaine enter the room, look at this eyes wide, and promptly turn around shutting the door behind him. "Um, I should probably get ready to leave." She whispers.

Mason: popped up into a sitting position, trying to say something to Blaine before he disappeared again, but his roommate was too quick. He really hoped he wasn't breaking bro code. Clearing his throat, he nodded slightly. "Probably. Sorry our cuddles got cut short. We'll have to have more soon," he laughed softly. "Thanks for coming over."

Rachel: smiles softly at the boy, "It's okay. I just need to get going." She gives Aaron Purr a kiss on the head before slipping off the bed. "Thank you for having me and for the cuddles." Rachel leaves the room, feeling extremely bad about Blaine walking in like that. What if he got the wrong idea? She shouldn't be doing things like that in his room, should she?

#para7 #para

[ravens-nest-ofthings]

YJ OC: The Huntsman

Andres Begay

18/19 years old

Biracial: Mexican/Native American

Tiny and swol. 

His is about 5′4″ but he isn’t smol. Very muscular (like gymnast or boxer). Typically wears really big hoodies to cover up his muscle mass.

Part of Young Injustice

He is a sniper

Joined through Rose/Queen (will be explained below)

No real powers but has many cybernetic enhancements:

Cybernetic eye - helps to better zoom in and also can track targets through walls. 

Its colors his right eye to be grey, making it appear as though he has heterochromia (brown/grey).

Something similar to a pacemaker except it helps him to slow his heart beat

He has many implants in his brain that regulate his whole body

Mostly hormonal to keep anxiety down so he doesn’t get too nervous and fidgety on a job. Also if needed it will flood his system with adrenaline which will make it seem like he has superhuman strength or speed for a short time. 

Most people know Andres to be very serious. When on a job he is very, very quiet and only speaks up when he feels necessary (which sometimes means a sassy remark). 

However, when he is just relaxing and feels comfortable in his environment, he can be more laid-back. Totally loves to tell stupid jokes that makes everyone face palm and say they hate him.

He is extremely focused and will get agitated with others if they aren’t taking a situation seriously, especially in high risk ones where they all could die. He will get really snarky with everyone before dropping off the radar all together. Andres would take a few days off to re-center himself before joining the team again. 

Doesn’t really play well with others cause for a long time he worked alone or on small tactile crews. 

Low-key is pretty cynical. He is in his line of work for the money strictly and is pretty willing to back stab anyone who gets in the way, so he doesn’t see that anyone else can be any different.  

Because of this nature, Andres at first refuses to get close with anyone on the team. He only talks to the YIJ members out of necessity and doesn’t even give any of them his real number for a long time. His aversion of them only gets worse with time cause he realizes he actually enjoys their company and he wants to stay far far away from attachment and feelings.

So some backstory time. Before joining YIJ he was a gun for hire along with his parents. His parents started training him from a young age and fully fitted him with his cybernetic enhancements when he turned 14. Although he is well adverse in multiple combat styles and weapons, he prefers a sniper rifle and a baseball bat.

At about 16, Andres started working along and pretty much would do any job, “good” or “bad” as long as their was a good pay in the end. At age 18, he received an offer from a US Senator to retrieve her daughter from a hostage situation. She had be held for over a month and no had yet saved her and the Senator was getting real tired of having to pay a a couple grand each week to ensure her daughters safety. 

Andres easily took down the captors from a near by room top and when he entered the warehouse he expected to find a young, sobbing girl. He is quiet surprised to find that he comes across a teenager, no older then him giving him a cold resting bitch face. 

“Let me guess, your my knight in shining armor.” “I guess?” “Well hurry up will you? My back hurts.”

Little did he realize that one job would change his life. Not even a full year later, Andres received a call while on a job from the same girl he saved. She promised him money beyond his wildest dreams as long as he is able to provide a “protection” service. 

Essentially if he joined YIJ, he would come along on their heists and ensure that each of them got of their alive. Rose promised that he would have a cut and would even have her monetary cut. He eagerly took the opportunity. 

Meanwhile on his current job (with his parents for “old times sake”) because he was distracted with the call, his months ended up getting shot down and died. 

Now, Andres is with the team and is hella anti-social and paranoid. While staying at the abandoned theater, he refuses to sleep anywhere near the others. Instead, he decides to make his nest where it is practically impossible for anyone to get up to safely. He hides out on the catwalk and in the rafters of the abandoned theater and pretty much disappears. 

He had the whole place set up with ropes and wires that will easily drop him down but the way to get up there is a real challenge if you aren’t adept in climbing.

Secretly he had the whole place outfitted with a bomb-ass pillow fort and gaming center (he loves to play games like Minecraft to relax).

Andres also has a giant monster pupper! She is pretty much stands taller then him on her hind legs. It’s some kind of mutt but it mostly resembles a doberman who is named Bebe. She comes on all of his jobs

Like her master, she is very serious and ferocious while on a job. She will not hesitate to bite your arm off if you get close to her or her master.  She is big and intimidating and most people run at the sight of her. 

However, when off the clock, Bebe becomes the sweetests, bestest girl ever. She basically is a lap dog that wants all the attention and treats. She loved playing catch and having her tummy rubbed. She will do all sorts of tricks if you promise her treats, however, she only responds to commands in Spanish. 

Btw Andres is fluent in Spanish and English. 

Bebe’s roll of the team is to protect those on the ground. She is trained similar to police dogs, and will fight anything in her path to make sure you get out safely. Very good doggy. 

Andres didn’t really choose his alias, but the news more gave it to him. He is most often seen with Rose/Queen out of the whole team when starting out and while the media was calling her the “Evil Queen” they started dubbing him as her “Huntsman.” He just kinda rolls with it after that. 

His villian outfit is really simple and pretty much just includes bullet proof padding, a hoodie, a baseball bat, and a sniper rifle. He hates wearing anything that will inhibit his vision, so he uses face pain to mask his appearances.

Although they aren’t really close, Andres does know some things about Rose before some of the other members like how touch and affection help her. He will sometimes just lay a hand on her shoulder to help calm her down when he sense she is on a verge of a panic attack. Neither of them say anything about it afterwards but she does appreciate it.

Possible FC: Carlos Pena

#oc intro #oc info #Andres Begay #The Huntsman #Rose Nelson #Queen #Young Injustice #YIJ OC #Sorry no drawing #just wasnt feeling it #Also if anyone wants to talk about connections with him of Rose or anyone #Im totally down!!!!!!!!!

[sportinnovation]

A day in the life of Eddie Izzard

They recognise you everywhere and expect you always to be funny. From interview to interview, they whirl you. People tug on your patience, but you never get angry. For a day, we walked in the footprints of Eddie Izzard: comedian, actor, marathon runner, and charity patron.

Aliens, giraffes, and slapping people in the face with fish – it’s half six in the morning and Eddie Izzard is serious.

As he pecks away at a breakfast of sausage and scrambled egg, Eddie digests as much information as possible. In an hour, he will appear on BBC Breakfast to speak about sports volunteering and Join In’s BigHelpOut campaign and he needs the message settled in his head.

Pale blue eyes stare into nothing as he listens to the plan. Seven out of ten sports clubs need more help. We aim to get 10,000 new volunteers by Christmas. Somehow, he must thread these stats seamlessly into his couch-side chatter.

This is not the Eddie Izzard you expect. On screen, he seems frantic and scatty. In person, he is understated, pensive, and particular. Everything is on point. Not a hair on his blond head rests out of place. The eye makeup, suit jacket, tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and handbag all marry tidily.

Fingernails clack on the table. Each is painted burgundy, except for two: a fingernail of Union Jack and another glossed in the flag of Europe. After several minutes, he has digested enough. Eddie is ready. And when he speaks, everything changes.

He goes from studied to theatrical in an instant. Richness comes to his voice. Hands flutter by his face. Like a gymnast on the parallel bars, his rhythm builds. With every passing second, he becomes more fluent. Funnier and funnier – until his speech is alive with 10,000 volunteers, giraffes, the Big Help Out, aliens, and fish-slapped faces. So that is what all the fuss is about.

Portrait of a patron

Indeed, fuss follows Eddie wherever he goes. Even when he’s inside BBC Manchester at half seven in the morning, the buzzing is never far away. There’s a film crew, snappers, campaign managers, pens wittering, and gawking – lots of gawking.

You can measure the madness of his morning by counting his spare moments. In a two-hour period, he spends a minute staring at Boris Johnson on the TV and a few moments skimming the paper. The rest is spent in the eye of a storm, starting with breakfast-time TV.

When the first questions come, he is well prepared – the minutes spent ironing the creases serving him well. This time there is no need to limber. From subject to subject Eddie flits in a blurring 10-minute journey.

He talks greed…

‘I was a kid. You were a kid. You’re greedy. But as you get older, you get this wonderful feeling when you give.’

 …the devilry that is refined sugar…

‘I lost more weight by dumping refined sugar than by running 43 marathons. No animal eats refined sugar and they’re fit, fit, fit, fit for life. We think that fitness is a running around kid thing and then you let it go.’

…before, inevitably, moving onto aliens…

‘Volunteers can be all ages, all colours and creeds, even from different planets. Anyone. Giraffes.’

In these few, short minutes we see why Eddie Izzard has endured where other have faded. The absurdism, the scattershot delivery, and playful charm make him unique. 

But that isn’t all of it. Watch Eddie for a while and you realise that he is a technician. The hand movements, the way he hangs on some words and rambles through others, the bits and bobs from of his day that re-appear later on stage – none of this is accidental.

It goes well. The country loved it, yet this self-awareness follows him outside the interview. For a moment, he seems troubled. Did he speak too fast? Because he needed to, he said, for his intonation.

But he doesn’t dwell on it, nor does he seem bothered by the scrum that greets him when he leaves the studio. Social media folks take pictures of him and a camera’s unblinking eye captures it all for a behind-the-scenes film. Eddie quite literally takes it all in his stride, answering questions about the time his toenails fell off as he is whisked away for his next appointment.

When Eddie’s face turned cola brown

In a room full of BBC employees, Eddie is bellows master, whooshing the laughs out of his audience.

You get the sense that he could be in his living room. One minute he talks about his favourite footballer – former Crystal Palace, Arsenal, and England left back Kenny Sansom – the next he recalls the time his face turned Coca-Cola brown after taking cholesterol pills.

You notice also that he polishes and repurposes a couple of jokes that worked well earlier. Other snippets from his day are pasted into this lunch-time Q&A. Like corks pushed into a wine bottle, phrases and subjects stick in his head and do not leave. Once, twice, we hear talk of disposable time, the volunteering bug, and his emancipation from the wicked world of refined sugar.

Then he is freewheeling again. First, he lilts into a Belfast accent before pondering aloud this year’s marathon undertaking: 27 South African marathons in 27 days, one for each year Nelson Mandela spent in prison.

Combine the standup comedy tours, acting career (he recently ate his own leg in an episode of Hannibal), political work, marathon training, and charitable endeavours, and you wonder how much time he has for anything else.

Yet there is no mention of a holiday. When his manager heard about the 27 marathons in 27 days, she pled with him, “Why don’t you take a month off,” she said, “and not die?”

The toll of time and tiredness

You can be forgiven for forgetting that Eddie Izzard is 53 years old; but as day meanders into evening, the schedule weighs heavily on him.

Two more engagements follow the staff Q&A: an interview for a news feature and 90 minutes spent cooped inside a tiny sound-proofed studio (or giant coal bunker) spreading the volunteering gospel to 11 regional radio stations.

Despite the demands placed on Eddie’s time, he never once complains, though he does come close. The moment arrives on a picnic bench in Trafford Athletics Club, as he devours a salad and listens to the itinerary.

During the course of the evening, he will act in a dozen short pieces to camera in various volunteering guises. The crew will film him shooting a starting gun, making tea for club members, raking a long jump pit, and dipping for a photo finish with former 5,000m world record holder Dave Moorcroft. These he expects.

And then he is told about a 45-minute newspaper interview. This he does not expect. His head twitches and his eyes flash like blown embers. An interview? For how long? You can hear the strain in his voice and a flash of the eyes. For a moment all is silent, and then he nods... and goes back to his salad.

As he eats, Trafford Athletics Club comes alive for the evening’s Grand Prix. An hour earlier rain peppered the track, but now there is a brightness to everything. Runners jog and chat and stretch along a track hidden by towering trees. The waft of frying burgers and chips lures the less active to the yellow-white clubhouse.  

People pour through the gates, gabbling as Eddie rises to stretch. A light blue running jacket and shorts have replaced his suit. Vigorously, he shakes out his limbs as if tricking his body out of tiredness.

He is not built like a runner – too much sturdiness around the shoulders and arms, not enough of that willowy long-leggedness; and yet Eddie owns an athletic feat that few on the planet can match: the running of 43 marathons in 51 days.  

Ten minutes later, he sits on a hurdle in the middle of the track with a mic hovering by his head. A camera lens points two feet from his face and a crew fusses. But he doesn’t see them. Once again, the cheeks lift and his eyes brighten as the camera rolls. “We’re here today,” he says, “thanks to plenty of blood, sweat, and volunteers.”

Dapper as an Italian policeman

There are scripts for each film, yet he sticks only loosely to them, allowing space for his fluid streams of consciousness. The pace, however, is relentless. After 12 hours of non-stop talking, Eddie’s brain is slowly starting to scramble. Tiredness slithers among his sentences. When he speaks, words slur and clash against one another.

Hands flitter by his temples in a frantic moment, as if he is taking several imaginary throw-ins. ‘There are so many things in my head,’ he says. Around him, the ground swells with athletes and well-wishers. For Eddie and the film crew, it will only get busier – and noisier.

For a flawless half minute, he delivers a piece to camera as 20 club members wait on him. To be a film extra is a novelty in the beginning, but the shine quickly wears off. A bird’s squawk interrupts him. For how much longer, you wonder, will these club members sit easily? Eddie resumes. An aeroplane whistles overhead. Unruffled, he says something to make them laugh and starts again.

Sometimes you forget that he is in his habitat. The speed of thought – the ability to work a crowd – he has been doing it for so long that it flows. Like when he is mid-monologue and a baby gurgles. He pauses and speaks to the infant. ‘Indeed,’ he says, and keeps going as if it is all part of the script.

And yet, as with most of us, Eddie is not easily read. He seems to love entertaining strangers and conversing with an easy charm, but he can also be detached. A vacant, pensive air comes over him as he stares for a minute at an athlete’s footwear or wonders aloud about why he never had a BBC sitcom, talking as if to no one but himself. Finally, the evening reclines into shadow. Eddie’s day – this marathon day – is almost done and everything is winding down.

The camera crew fiddles; the campaign folks discuss the script; and the club members watch the most magnetic event of all: the 100 metres.

Eddie stands with his little blue jacket perched on his shoulders, ready to take it off when it is time to film. But then a change comes over him. Suddenly, the jacket is alive on his shoulders. He turns to the lady beside him pretending to be an Italian policeman in love with his own uniform.

He smiles. “There could be a bank robber going by and he would still be admiring his uniform.” She laughs and Eddie Izzard seems happy. At the end of the day, he’s still doing what he does best.

Making people laugh.

 Eddie’s day in numbers 

18 – hour working day

2 – salads

10 - films

11 - regional radio interviews

1 – TV interview

10,000 – the number of volunteers he is trying to get into local sport

£0 – how much he gets paid for all of this

#Izzard #eddieizzar #volunteer #sport #spoty

[beatricedickson]

What Type Of Food Help To Increase Height Stupefying Useful Tips

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Grow Taller Pyramid Secret

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#What Type Of Food Help To Increase Height Stupefying Useful Tips #Get Taller At 30

[sarahaltmanposts]

After the treatment...

November 28, 2018

It has been almost a month since my chemo treatments ended.  A month filled with lots of activities, some cancer related and some just about regular life.  Maybe it’s the timing or maybe I would’ve had this experience at any time of the year, but I’m finding there is a sadness that has descended upon me, kind of like when I woke up this morning and there was a thick fog outside.  And I’m having trouble navigating myself out of it into the light.  

November is notoriously a challenging month for me.  No matter what my state of mind is going into the month, by Thanksgiving I feel the sadness creeping in.  November 30th will mark the seventeenth anniversary of the day we lost our daughter, Hope.  And even though throughout the rest of the year I can usually reframe that entire experience for the gift it has offered, come the end of November, I’m just sad.  

Layer that with the transition out of chemo and it has been just plain tough.  

On the physical level, my body has responded well to the end of chemo. I’m starting to get the feeling back in my finger tips and the tingling has lessened quite a bit.  But my skin has erupted with bumps that I can only imagine are the toxins finding a way to work themselves out of my body.  The bumps itch, but I can’t scratch because then I bleed.  So I do my best to ignore them.  They’ve been there for about two weeks now and I’m hoping they will soon subside.

I’ve also gotten my appetite back and it has returned with a  vengeance.  This was most evident when I was in Colorado Springs for my son’s gymnastics competition.  Did you know that the Doubletree hotel offers free chocolate chip cookies at the front desk? And they will give you one any time you ask!  Feeling too embarrassed to return several times a day, I took advantage of my son’s youth and had him  request the warm, delicious treat on my behalf. I think I ate two a day for the four days we were there!  They also had a wonderful breakfast spread that was included with the stay. Although I love breakfast, it’s not a meal I indulge in that often. But at the Doubltree that week I filled my plate with several samples each morning.  I ate as if I’d been rescued from a deserted island where I hadn’t eaten in months.  I just could not get enough food.  

This is problematic for a couple reasons.  One, it triggered all my eating issues from my twenties.  Even though I know I can afford to gain a few pounds, I worry about that slippery slope. Images of the blueberry girl from “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” enter my brain.  I know it’s not logical, but my fear is that once I start eating, I will immediately balloon out to the big girl I was in my youth.  

Also, with my current state of mind, I can’t discern whether it’s depression that I’m feeding or a real need for nourishment.  So I worry that this need to feed myself will never end.

But of course it does, at least intermittently.  Since I returned from Colorado, I’ve managed to get back to my regular eating habits several days a week. But there’s a battle that goes on in my head every day about my desire to eat loads and loads of carbs or treat my body with the care it deserves and make healthy choices.  Some days, the depression wins.  And it certainly doesn’t help that the holidays are upon us and there’s lots more opportunities to indulge.

But my sense is that the eating is just a symptom of the larger problem: this nasty depression that’s lingering.

Yes, dealing with the death of Hope is one thing.  But this feels like it’s much more about the cancer stuff.  

I was recently at a doctor’s appointment and found myself sitting next to the most lovely young lady.  Her hair was a bit longer then mine, (Oh, yes, I have hair again!  It’s growing in slowly, but pretty soon I will be ditching the scarves and doing my best ‘Wakanda Forever’ fierce woman look from “Black Panther.”) and I began a conversation with her about where she was in her treatment.  Turned out she did the same regiment as me.  After chatting for a bit, I asked her if she experienced depression upon completion of her treatment.  Her eyes widened as she exclaimed “Oh, yes!  Very much so.”  She went on to share how she began seeing a psychiatrist to give her support and after a month of being on a low dose of anti-depressants, was beginning to feel herself again.  She also learned about how chemo affects our brains and explained how it can take several months for us to begin to feel better.  I was so grateful for that conversation.  

All along, I have felt so supported by friends and family, but this conversation solidified a recurring thought  I’ve had about reaching out for additional help from cancer support groups.  

This journey began nine months ago.  And for the outsider witnessing me in this process, it may appear that I’m fine and no longer need support.  But what I’ve realized is that being in treatment provided me with an active role in fighting cancer. And now, with treatment ending, I feel isolated and unprotected, like I’m fighting without any weapons.  

I hope I’m not presenting too bleak a picture here. It’s not like I’m walking around feeling doom and gloom all of the time. The busyness of my life keeps me from dwelling in the lows for too long, and I’m grateful for that.  These feelings are more an undercurrent, a constant that sits right below the surface. And even a tiny scratch causes the feelings to flow.

So while I’d thought the chemo ending was going to be the beginning of the end, I guess I’m realizing that I’m still deep in the heart of the process. I have so many fears about learning that the cancer is still there, that I will have to continue treatment, or even that I still may die from this.  

So the doctor’s appointments continue, the testing and the medications will be a constant. In the next six weeks I have eight doctor’s appointments and a surgery.  And I was told I will most likely be on medication for ten years.  

As I write that, I hear a voice in my head uttering “wah, wah, wah”.  What a pity party I’m having for myself. And believe me, the irony of my strong desire to stay alive, but feeling so sad and complaining about my experience does not escape me.  I’m doing my best to release judgments.  And while I work on forgiving myself, I ask that you, too, please forgive me.  I really don’t like that part of myself, but these blogs are about transparency and this is where I am these days.

I guess part of my lesson is that I can feel two conflicting things at the same time.  So experiencing tremendous gratitude for the blessings in my life and  sadness or depression simultaneously is ok.  

It occurred to me during one of my recent walks  that maybe this is my winter; a time to be quiet and still and listen to my heart.  Maybe, like some animals who hibernate, I’m settling in so I can awake, fresh and new, ready to start the next chapter, a healthy, more grounded self.  

Deep breaths, one foot in front of the other, acceptance, gratitude, seeking out the opportunities to learn and grow.  This is my life and I am grateful.  And so it is.

In loving,

Sarah

[certaincollectionthingme-blog]

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