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missymurphy1985 · 3 years

Text

The Lesson

After breaking up with your long-term boyfriend, you finally found the courage to enrol at university, studying Modern Theatre. Your life now taking an unexpected detour to its original plan of marriage, babies, settling down. This is going to be an interesting year.

Tag List (message me to be added): @queenshelby @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @margoo0 @cloudofdisney

Warnings - smut / teacher.student relationship

Main Characters - Cillian Murphy (he's 35 and single for the purpose of this fic, no children)

"Hey!!! Over here!!" You heard Sarah, your best friend, shouting from the other side of the hall and made your way over.

"Thank god, I was starting to think I'd gone to the wrong place! This place is huge!!" You laughed as you hugged each other. Your bag slung over your shoulder, you linked arms with Sarah with your other arm as you made your way down to the Lecture Theatre.

"So how are you feeling?" Sarah asked.

"Nervous! I never, in a million years, thought I'd be doing this! I feel so old!" You laughed. At 26, you were easily the oldest student here, but Sarah laughed your worries away.

"Trust me, you're not. Once they revealed who the teacher was going to be this semester, a fair few extra people signed up to do that course y/n!" You looked at her confused.

"What, Mr Allen?? He's about 75 isn't he?" Sarah laughed again and left you at the door to your classroom, making her way to her own Design Studio at the bottom of the corridor to teach her own class.

"You'll see when you get inside!" She called behind her, smiling.

You took your seats near the front of the room, looking behind you you could see a gaggle of ladies in the back corner, all of them easily over the age of 40 with no clear interest at all in the subject at hand. They were all giggling like children.. this was going to be fun, you thought, rolling your eyes. Turning back round, you caught a glimpse of a dark haired man making his way through the door at the back of the room. As he made his way to the desk in the centre of the stage area in front of the students, you couldn't help but gasp a little. Jesus he was cute....

The ladies at the back squealed in delight and the man rolled his eyes.

"Right then, let's make a few things clear from the off shall we folks?" He spoke, his Irish accent booming through the auditorium. Everyone fell silent.

"I have a passion for the arts - I've been involved with them since I was 19. I'm here to teach you all I've learned over the last 16years and I plan on teaching it to like minded, dedicated people. People who want to make a career out of the beauty that is theatre. Those of you here simply to catch a glimpse of anything OTHER than a teacher doing his job, the doors at the back of the room." He stood still, leaning against the desk. The gasp at the back of the room was so loud, you couldn't help but giggle a little. Busted ladies. They all whispered to each other, a few of them glaring in the man's direction as they made their way to the back of the room. Slowly but surely, a few others also left sheepishly, men included, and you couldn't help but notice the man smiling a little underneath his floppy brown hair and round glasses. Who was this man??

"Now that's taken care of, I'm hoping I'm left with students that are here to learn the theatre and nothing else..." He paused, looking round the room. His eyes met yours and he paused for a second, raising his eyebrow slightly. You were now the oldest in the room, and you felt even more out of place. You kept a straight face, and maintained the eye contact with him. He wasn't bullying YOU out of here, you didn't care who he THOUGHT he was.

"Right... Well we'd better get going then!" His demeanour changed, he smiled broadly clapping his hands together. "My name's Cillian Murphy - please for the love of God call me Cillian... Mr Murphy is my Dad and I'm not quite ready for that level of old yet." A few chuckles in the room - that tension was gone. "This isn't the first time I've done a class like this, and I've had to evict people part way through for.. ah.. shall we say inappropriate behaviour. Wanted to nip that in the bud from the offset, so I apologise to you all now for the way the class started. Now, do you all have the textbooks the school sent out last month? Let's start on page 35 shall we?" The class, including you, opened the books in unison to find the chapter on Lighting and Sound. Cillian glanced back over at you, a look of uncertainty on his face. You could feel him staring, but refused to look up at him.

"So how are your classes going y/n?" Your mum walked into your apartment to find you studying, book one side, laptop the other and you making notes in the middle of your desk in the corner of the room. You'd given her a key a month prior so she could let your dog, Juno, out during the day while you were at uni.

"It's hard work! I had no idea there was so much to learn about the theatre, they make it look so easy!!"

Your mum laughed and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on for you both. Kicking back, you allowed yourself a break after 3 hours studying and met your mum at the small breakfast bar.

"I hear you have a new teacher too? Cillian Murphy?"

"Yeah, he's amazing! He's been there and done it all mum, the stories he tells are fascinating!"

"You know who he is, right?" You did know. You'd googled him when you got home after that first lesson. Pretty big hot shot actor, but you weren't bothered. He seemed pretty down to earth and normal to you.

"Yep I know - you'd never think it though, he's so... Normal I guess?"

"Cute too."

"Mother! Behave!" You both giggled. You couldn't deny he was very attractive though - but you could tell he was a professional. No way had he even looked at you that way - in fact you were convinced he thought you were there purely for him, rather than the course, so you were even more determined to pass this semester with flying colours to prove a point.

The following weeks were filled with more information than you could get your head around. You hated to admit it, but you were struggling to keep up. You hated admitting defeat, but you were really starting to wonder if you could carry on at this pace. Your work was starting to slip, and Cillian had noticed it too, much to your dismay. He'd called a 1-2-1 with you this afternoon, and you were convinced he was going to pull you from the course. You knocked on the door of his office, the defeat written all over your face.

"Come in y/n.."

"Hi.." you tried to smile as you sat across from him. He had your latest piece of coursework in front of him on the desk and he was leaning back in the chair, eyeing you through the rims of his round glasses. Standing up, he made his was over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room and pulled out a bottle of Irish Whiskey. You watched him, silently, as he put two glasses on the desk.

"Shouldn't be drinking this during the day, but felt the need. Want one?" You smiled, nodding your head.

"Conversation is clearly not going to be a fun one, no?"

"What makes you say that? I'm just lightening the mood y/n, you walked in here looking like you were going to either cry or knock me out!" He laughed, and offered you the glass. You took it, and sat it in your hands. Your fingers connected and you forced down a gasp at the contact. You'd refused to show him any kind of attraction but it was difficult while he was sat so close to you.

"Listen, I know I'm falling behind Cillian, I'll make it up I promise -"

"Stop. It's okay. Yes, your marks are dropping slightly, but not by much, okay? I'm seeing real potential in you. I invited you here to talk to you about some extra classes to help bump you back to where you need to be. What do you say?" He took a sip of the whiskey and so did you. Relief washing through you as the warm liquid fell down your throat. Hopefully it hid the blush in your cheeks.

"Um.. wow... Okay.. yeah! That'd be great, thank you!" He smiled again. God that smile... Stop it y/n.. he's your teacher, stop.. he sat back down at his desk and handed you a book.

"Great! I've put my phone number on the inside cover. Have a read of this, and call me when you're done. I think you'll like it." You took the book and smiled. A history of Modern Theatre. You agreed, definitely an interesting read.

"Is it classed as 'appropriate' for a teacher to give a student his phone number, Cillian?" You smirked, referring to his opening outburst on that first day. He chuckled.

"Maybe not, but I'm not a teacher, I'm an actor helping out the local university for a semester while the actual teacher takes a leave of absence." You'd heard Mr Allen had fallen ill, Cillian was just a temporary stand in for three months. Nothing permanent. "I have a new job starting in January, I'll be done here by Christmas." You couldn't help but feel a bit sad at the thought of him not being around anymore. Without admitting it, you'd looked forward to seeing him every day in class. He stood again, and raised his glass in a toast. You raised yours.

"What are we drinking to?"

"You. We're drinking to you y/n. I'm telling you, I'm seeing some real potential with you - you're going far, just need to focus more on the content, that's all." You blushed again.. was that the reason you were distracted? Him? Maybe. "Meet me back here tonight, around 4:30? Should be done with marking by then, we can make a start?" You agreed, a nervous knot forming in your stomach.

**************************************

You'd been having your 1-2-1 meetings with Cillian for more than a month now, and your marks were certainly improving. You had finished the book he gave you, but you hadn't plucked up the courage to text him yet. Watching TV alone in your apartment one evening, you downed your third glass of wine and picked up your phone. He wouldn't have given you the number if he didn't expect you to use it, come on y/n...

"Hey Cillian? Just letting you know I finished the book. Really good read, thank you! I'll have it back with you in the morning. And thank you for spending time with me helping to improve my marks too, it's really helped. Y/n x" pressing send, you cursed yourself, why the hell did you put a X at the end!!! You cursed again when it was delivered... Then again when its status changed to 'read'... Oh crap... A reply.

"Glad you liked it! It's been a pleasure, you're doing a great job! Cx." He put one on his text too... Come on y/n, you're not a teenager anymore, get a grip of yourself!!! Your phone pinged again.

"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow xx" 2 kisses? Ping.. "Maybe we can finish more than your coursework.x" What did that mean? Was he flirting with you?

"What did you have in mind? X"

"There's still half a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, shame to let it go to waste X"

"I don't think you'd be able to keep up with me Cillian 😉" you typed, feeling a bit braver.

"Challenge accepted y/n. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon X" you knew his stint at the university was coming to a close, was he flirting with you?

****************************************

You knocked Cillian's office door at 4:30 sharp, knowing how much of a stickler he was for punctuality. You felt nervous, after your texts last night you didn't know what to expect - was he flirting or were you just overthinking it? The door opened, and he stood aside to welcome you in, a smile on his face as he greeted you.

"Good to see you y/n, come on in!" He walked to the cabinet in the corner. "I never turn down a challenge, you in?" You smiled, nodding, as he poured two glasses.

"Good job I left the car at home this morning," you chuckled as he brought his glass to meet yours. Both of you sinking it down in one, you grimaced as the liquid slipped down your throat and he took the glass from you to pour another.

"We'll take this one a bit slower y/n, what do you say?" His eyes darkened slightly, the alcohol clearly having an effect. You couldn't help the warm feeling running through your groin as he licked his lips to clear them of the whiskey remnants that sat on them.

"Whatever you say sir.." he glanced up at you as you said 'sir', and leaned against the desk.

"Sir? Since when did you call me sir?" He tilted his head back slightly, glass swirling in his hand. You sipped your drink and stood to face him, confidence growing. You could see his attraction towards you, and you decided to go with it.

"Since you decided to try and seduce your student... Sir." He swallowed hard, the game clearly up, watching you take a step towards him. Your bodies inches apart, he brought his hand up to rest on your hip, pulling you that little bit closer.

"Probably shouldn't have put kisses on a text to your teacher, then, should you.."

"Probably shouldn't have given me your phone number then, should you.." the air was hot now, your bodies touching gently, your breathing becoming deeper. You brought your hands to his chest, over his shoulders, and he quickly spun you round so you were now sat on his desk. His lips found yours and he ground his hips against your core, your legs parted allowing him access, skirt hitched up to your waist.

"I've wanted you since that first day... Fuck y/n you're beautiful... Sexy... Smart..." He kissed your neck between each word, breathing becoming hot and heavy. Suddenly stopping, he kissed your lips before making his way to the door, turning the key in the lock, before coming back to finish what you started. Unbuttoning your blouse and opening it, his hand snaked around your breasts, underneath the black lace bra. Groaning slightly, he moved his hands lower, down your abdomen.

"Leave as much on as possible... I'm taking you on this desk, right now.. you okay with that?"

"Like I said sir, I don't know if you'll be able to keep up with me.." your leg pushed him away slightly as you stood up, pushing him against the wall. You sank to your knees, taking his trousers and boxer shorts down with them, his cock springing up, twitching, begging for attention. Gasping, he watched you lick a circle around the swollen head, down the shaft, before taking one of his balls into your mouth and sucking lightly. His hand in your hair now, pulling it gently as he groaned. You continued teasing him with your tongue, before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth, giving it a hard suck, releasing it with a pop, sending his head back against the wall.

"Fuck... Take it y/n.. take it down..." You smiled, before sinking your mouth over his cock, all the way down the back of your throat, groaning into it sending shockwaves through him.

"Lets see how much you can take..." You sucked harder, not giving him time to react. Moving your head quickly up and down his shaft, you felt your core begin to leak, you'd never felt as turned on in your life as you did right now. You felt his legs start to shake...

"Yes.. fuck yes... Feels so good baby... Suck it... Harder.. god fuck yes..." His balls tightened, you could feel him trying to pull back but you held him firm with your hands on his hips, willing him to empty into you. "I'm gonna... You might... Jesus.... Fuck...." He came hard, gripping your hair for support as he came hard, you felt his cum shoot in the back of your throat and swallowed as much as you could, some of it spilling down your chin. You pulled your mouth away, holding your mouth slightly open so he could see his cum on your tongue before swallowing it back down.

"That was... My god... Fuck y/n..."

"Oh you will sir, you definitely will. I'm not done with you yet.." you stood up and sat back on the desk, legs parted again to reveal your core to him, completely bare. He didn't see you remove your underwear while you were sucking him, but he wasn't complaining. Gathering himself, he moved to stand between your legs and pulled your lips to his, kissing you passionately, tasting a little of himself in the process and feeling surprisingly aroused from it. He moved his mouth down to your core, running his tongue along your open slot painfully slowly.

"Cillian... Please... Need to cum...."

"You will, baby, oh you will..." You moved your hands to his soft, floppy hair and pulled his face where you needed it. He loved you taking control and took your clit with his tongue, pressing it, rolling it around his tongue as he felt you begin to shake. You lifted a leg onto the desk to give him better access, and he inserted two fingers inside you, tipping them up to meet your g spot deep inside, emitting a sharp cry from you as you three your head back.

"Yes!!! Oh god yes... Right there... Fuck!!" Your hips were involuntarily rolling against his face now, riding his tongue as he brought you more pleasure than you thought was possible. Within minutes, your orgasm was building, and sensing it, he pumped his fingers harder against that one spot that was making you see stars. Three pumps and you came hard against his face, liquid flowing from you like a waterfall, hitting the floor underneath you as you screamed Cillians name. He leaned back on his ankles, watching you coming undone, smiling. Once you'd caught your breath, your eyes fell onto his his.

"Feeling proud of yourself there Mr Murphy?" You smiled. He stood between your thighs again.

"Extremely. But I'm not done with you yet. Turn around y/n." His blue eyes darker now. Your core throbbed, knowing what was coming. Standing up, turning round, you bent over his desk, his hands parting your legs. Taking a condom from his bag behind him, you heard the packet rip open and you rotated your hips, teasing him. He groaned deeply as he started to push his length into you, inch by inch.

"Ohh... Oh god..." You weren't ready for his size, you legs parting as much as possible. Inch by inch he pushed, allowing you to adjust, before bottoming out, his balls resting near your still throbbing clit.

"I'm gonna fuck you hard against this desk, y/n... You're gonna take every thrust like the good girl you are..." You bucked your hips up and he responded by pulling his cock nearly out, and thrusting back in powerfully enough to make you scream his name. Picking up the pace, he leaned over to grab your hair in his hand, giving it a sharp tug as he thrust into you from behind over and over, relentlessly.

"Harder... Cillian harder!!! Fucking... Oh god yes!!!" Loving the sound of your cries and the feel of your pussy contracting around his cock, he knew you were close to another orgasm.

"Rub yourself... Rub your clit baby, make yourself cum for me..." You reached a hand round to your core and found that bundle of nerves. Circling it hard, your orgasm built up again and you swore you saw stars.

"Good girl.... That's it baby... Let it go, I've got you... Let it go...." That was all you needed to hear. You came hard, and he couldn't hold back once he felt your walls contracting round him. "I'm... Oh y/n yes... Yes!" He stilled, you felt his cock pulsate, filling the condom. Both of you breathless, he fell forwards resting against your back.

He pulled out gently, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the bin, he chuckled slightly.

"Remind me to empty the bin before we leave... I don't think the cleaner will expect to see that in there in the morning!" You laughed too, standing up to face him.

"That was incredible... Just amazing..." You rested your head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your hair gently.

"I enjoyed that too y/n.. and I'd really like to see you again, if you'll let me?"

"I'd like that..." You smiled. You'd convinced yourself if anything happened it would probably be a one time thing, I mean he was a famous actor, what would he want with you? You had no illusions going into this.

"My teaching finishes here in 2 weeks - what do you say I take you out for dinner when it's done?"

"Sounds like a plan Cillian. But am I supposed to stay away until then?"

"Definitely not, y/n, we've still got a few 1-2-1 sessions to squeeze in before I leave..." He leaned down to kiss you, pushing you back against the desk again. His erection pressing against your core again. "It would appear I'm able to keep up after all y/n..."

#cillian smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian teacher x you #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x smut

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evolmaze · 3 years

Text

bts hyung line find/hear your confession

summary - hyung line finds or hears your confession

pairing - jin x reader, young x reader, hoseok x reader, namjoon x reader

genre - fluff, angst, comfort

word count - 3.1k words

warnings - some angst, otherwise pretty harmless!

a/n: parts for the maknae line will be out soon!

masterlist

JIN

You had spent weeks racking your brain for some sort of answer, for an explanation why you suddenly thought your friend and neighbor from down the hall was the only person for you. It had happened so quickly, you didn’t even realize. One night you’re watching a movie together, something you’ve done at least once a month, and the next thing you know your heart is racing at the idea of him being in the same room as you. You had no idea why you started to feel this way, but the instant you realized, you couldn’t stop yourself from constantly watching him, thinking of him, wondering what in the world you were gonna do.

You were currently on the phone with your best friend, complaining to her for the hundredth time about how rude it was that Jin thought it was perfectly normal to walk around the laundry room shirtless, “I mean come on f/n, he’s so hot it should be illegal. The man has the body of a god, and I as an innocent bystander should at least be given a warning before walking into it!”

“What do you mean ‘walked into it’?” she asked, amusement in her voice, and you groaned.

“I was doing laundry the other day, and I ran right into him as he was leaving the room, I dropped my clothes everywhere, and he totally saw my underwear and bras, but that’s not the point, the point is that he was shirtless, he was laughing at his clumsiness, and it was the hottest thing I had ever seen.”

It was at that moment that Jin had walked up to your door, preparing to ask you to borrow your hammer, when he heard your voice faintly through the wall.

“F/n, I don’t know what to do, I’ve literally never felt this way about someone before, and it’s not like I can even say anything, we barely know each other--yes I know we’ve hung out before, but everything feels different now, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll probably pass out the next time I see him, and if he’s not wearing a shirt again, oh my fucking god, plan my funeral please.”

Jin laughed quietly, deciding he could ask for the hammer later, he had other plans to attend to, like making sure to ask you about this supposed incident the next time he was in the laundry room; shirt conveniently off for your viewing pleasure.

YOONGI

“Hey I have a question,” Yoongi mused, turning down the radio. You and Yoongi were on your way to a cabin up north, planning to meet some friends there for a fun weekend getaway. You’d been on the road for almost two hours now, and he had decided that it was time to break the silence that had settled between the two of you.

“Yeah what’s up?” you asked, closing your book, and setting it in your bag. You waited as he beat his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

“Who’s Voldemort?” you froze in your seat, and turned to him slowly, gauging his expression. How the hell did he know about that?

“Why do you ask?” you said slowly, thankful for your sunglasses that hid your panicked expression.

“When you asked me to grab your bag from your room, there was an envelope addressed to ‘Voldemort’sitting on it. Do you have a pen pal or something?”

No, no you did not have a pen pal. Stupidly, you had written your feelings to Yoongi out on paper, an ode to all the boys i’ve loved before. You planned to store it away forever, never to be read again, in hopes of riding this stupid crush from your heart. All you wanted was peace, and the ability to hang with him without the looming cloud of love stalling over your head, but you must have forgotten to put it away before you left.

“Uh, no, no it’s not that,” you muttered, trying you best to sound nonchalant. “Just a letter I was writing to someone, probably won’t send it though.”

“Their name isn’t actually Voldemort, is it?”

You laughed, “No it’s not. It’s a pseudonym, my friends and I used it all the time to talk about boys we liked in middle school.”

Yoongi sat in silence for a second, and you hoped that that was the end of the conversation. “Do you like this Voldemort?”

You paled, and cleared your throat. “Uh, I don’t know, it’s complicated. I’m trying to get over them, so it’s probably best to not talk about it.”

Yoongi nodded, and didn’t say much for a while, and you assumed that was the end of it, thank god. The drive went on in silence, and you calmed down a bit, mentally cheering for evading a disastrous situation. You even talked with Yoongi about other topics like the weekends upcoming events, and how excited you were to try this new soju flavor. It was nice, peaceful, and definitely less stressful then the previous conversation. That was until you both started talking about college and first impressions. You had been explaining your thoughts on your other friends Namjoon and Lia when he stopped you.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, “Didn’t you and Lia have nicknames for everyone?”

“Yeah, we made up nicknames for everyone based on Harry Potter characters...” you said, trailing off on the end as you connected the dots.

“Yeah!” Yoongi exclaimed, oblivious. “Like yours was Ginny, Joon’s was Lupin, mine was..” he paused, looking over at you suspiciously. “Mine was Voldemordt, right?”

You shook your head, “Noooo, yours was something else I think.”

“Hmm, no I’m pretty sure it was Voldemordt,” he said. “Cause you and Lia always joked about how I was pale just like him,” You didn’t say anything in response, instead finding the dirt under your nails way more interesting.

“Y/n...” he called, pulling you from your thoughts. You didn’t look at him, too embarrassed to talk about it. “Hey, it’s fine, seriously.”

“Ah, can we please not talk about it,” you whined, putting your head in your hands. This was so awkward. You had written a middle school crush letter to the man sitting right next to you, and you still had to spend the whole weekend and ride back with him, great.

“Okay,” he said simply, tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel again. “I guess I’ll just have to wait to read it.”

“Oh no way, you’re not reading it!” you yelled, facing him as adrenaline raced through your veins. “I’m burning it the second we get back.”

“But why? I wanna hear all the nice things you said about me, you never compliment me in person.”

“Shut up,” you said, a blush blossoming on your cheeks. He laughed, lightly swatting your knee.

“So mean,” he teased. He lifted his hand to pull your hand from your face. You looked up, surprised by his action. He was never one for skinship, especially with you. “You know I’m joking, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, no, I do, no worries, it’s fine”

“Good,” he said simply, bringing his hand back down the arm rest, except he hadn’t let go of your hand, so yours followed suit, held in his grasp. You stared intently at your intertwined hands, and then looked at him, confused. He was staring straight ahead, but you could see the smile forming on his face, and the red hue on his cheeks as well. Looks like you weren’t the only one with a secret.

HOSEOK

Hey y/n! Do you have a copy of the notes from last class that I can borrow?

You smiled at your phone, Hoseok had definitely slept through class again this week, and as always, you were more than willing to share notes, any excuse to talk to him, right?

Yeah for sure! Give me one sec and I’ll send you a link to my notes

You had always preferred to take notes on your computer, you could type way faster than you could write, so in fast-paced lectures it just made sense. You found the document within a folder the two of you shared information. With Hoseok consistently sleeping through one class every other week, and you having such detailed notes, it made much more sense to just put all your notes in a folder he could access. You found the latest document with your notes, and quickly shared it with him.

Just sent it now, it’s in the folder with all the other ones in case you need them too! Let me know if you have any questions!

Sounds great, thank youuuuu!!!

You grinned at his response before going back to your studying. He usually had questions, so you were a little surprised when he never texted you back. You figured maybe he understood it better than you, and made a mental note to ask him some questions next time you saw him. You went about the rest of your day, finishing up your homework, getting your laundry washed and put away, and four hours later, still no word from Hoseok.

“So weird,” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed your keys. You had talked about meeting him for dinner tonight, so you wondered if he was still up for it.

Hey are you still up for dinner tonight? Hope studying is going well!

After 10 minutes, and no response, you grew worried and annoyed, so you decided to just walk over to his place yourself. The walk was short, you jammed the whole way, wondering what you’d get tonight, and hoping that your professor would put out grades soon. Walking into the dorm, you passed a number of doors before standing outside Hoseok’s.

You knocked three times, and waited patiently for him to answer. The door creaked open slowly, and you watched as his head appeared in the crack. He stared at you and said nothing.

You cleared your throat, “Uh, hey. I texted, but you didn’t answer, are you still down for dinner tonight?” He said nothing still, and you sighed. “It’s fine if you’re busy, I can go. Text me next time you’re free to hang.” You didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but you were hurt, confused why he was acting this way all of the sudden, especially with no explanation. Waving goodbye, you turned on your heel and walked down the hallway. You made it about three steps before he called out your name.

“Y/n, wait, I’m sorry.” turning around, confused, you saw him open the door. “Please come in.” He gave you a half smile, and you sighed, ignoring the smile that sat on your face as you entered his dorm. It was dark, his blinds were drawn, and it looked like a hurricane had come through here, which was odd since he was usually so clean.

“Hey what happened here? Everything okay?” you asked, worried, when you turned to face him he was standing by his desk, computer in hand.

“I--I, um, need you to read this,” he said, handing you his computer. You raised an eyebrow, and turned the computer around. As your eyes adjusted to the bright screen in the otherwise dark room, your heart dropped into your stomach.

It was about a week ago when you wrote a letter to Hoseok. It was 2 in the morning, you were so tired, but you couldn’t sleep, the whirlwind of thoughts running through your mind were too much to handle, so you wrote them all down. Wrote down everything you wanted to say, and closed your computer, never intending to read it again. What you had failed to notice that night was that you created the document inside a folder, the very folder you shared with the man in front of you. You had carelessly titled the document to hoseok so it’s no surprise that he clicked on it, he probably thought it was a funny message to him, but instead he got a look right inside your heart.

You looked up to see him already watching you closely. He looked pained, confused, and most of all angry. “Why would you say those things?”

“I, I, uh--” you paused, you knew at the time it was wrong to write them. He had a girlfriend, they’ve been together for almost a year, and they were so happy together, and you had no problem with that. You loved Julia, and had even introduced the two, but you also couldn’t help how you felt, you had no intention of him ever reading this, you felt awful. “I swear, I didn't realize this was in here, Hoseok I’m so sorry.”

“But you wrote it, and put it in this folder, you must have known I would have seen it at some point.” he protested, coming closer to you.

“I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose, I opened it in the wrong folder, I, oh my god, Hoseok I swear to god I never wanted you to read that.” you said, tears filling your eyes. You had jeopardized everything with your carelessness. He took the computer from your hands and set it on the desk. You couldn’t look him in the eyes as he sat next to you on his bed.

“I believe you,” he said quietly, and you nodded. “I’m sorry there’s not more I can say.”

You shook your head, “Why are you apologizing, it’s not your fault. I was the one who put it in the wrong folder. At least the worst part is over though,” you laughed weakly at the statement, the worst was far from over, but at least you could stop staying up at night wondering what he thought about you. “I’m sorry that you’re in such a weird position, I promise that I’m working on it, I’ve been trying to get over it.”

“You don’t have to apologize for what you feel, y/n.” he said, standing up in front of you. “This is nobody’s fault, let’s go get dinner and talk it out, yeah?”

You smiled at his attempt to smooth things over, you agreed, but a part of you wondered as you walked out the door how long it would last before you grew distant and never spoke again. For now, you’d cherish these last few memories with him, and always remember the times before it.

NAMJOON

“Just say it,”

“No!”

“Why not?!”

“Cause I already told you no!” you sighed in annoyance, flipping through another page in the magazine you were currently reading, or trying to read at least, until Namjoon showed up and rudely interrupted you.

“Come on, y’n, I need to practice!” you laughed at him, practice? What in the world was he thinking?

“You’re not seriously saying you want to practice this,” you said, setting down the magazine and facing him. He looked at you, and you realized he was serious. “Ugh, fine.”

He grinned, happy that he had finally convinced you to help him out. All of this started about a week ago when Namjoon caught wind that a girl in his bio class had a crush on him, the man absolutely lost it, so flustered and confused, he didn’t know what to do. You felt like you were watching a cheesy romantic comedy with the way he came to you, pacing back and forth in your living room. He was totally clueless, had no idea what to do, and came to you for help. You had been around the block a time or two when it came to dealing with situations like this, so it was no surprise that he wanted your expertise on how to politely reject someone.

It wasn’t that the girl in Namjoon’s bio class was awful or anything like that, it was the fact that Namjoon barely had time to live his own life, let alone make room for someone else. You were lucky if you spoke to him once a week, you practically had a heart attack when he showed up today. He explained to you the rumor he had heard, and how he had also heard that she was going to confess after their next class together. All of that combined was enough to stress the man into oblivion, so he desperately asked for your help.

“y/n thank you so much, I just don’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?”

“You’re literally the nicest person I know, there’s no way she would leave feeling anything but mildly sad, knowing you, you'd probably offer to pay for her bus fare home.” The look on his face had you laughing as it looked as though he was seriously considering it. “I’m kidding, Joon. Don’t do that.”

“What?” he said, “I definitely wasn’t gonna do that.”

You smirked at his obvious lie, “Whatever, let’s get this over with.” Taking a breath, you tried to get into character: a biology girl who likes Namjoon. “Hey Namjoon,” you said, trying to sound flirty and leaned casually on the side of the couch.

“Hey, y/n-”

“Don’t use my name,” you laughed, “use her name.”

“Oh okay,” he said, and he took a breath before looking into your eyes, “Hey, Emily. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” you said, getting up from the couch, and walking over to where he stood by the kitchen island.

“Oh what’s that?” he asked, moving away from you just a bit. Your act must have been spot on, you smirked.

“I have feelings for you, Joon.” you said, trying to sound nervous and excited, however the hell someone sounded when they admitted their feelings. You were never one to discuss such personal topics, probably the reason why you were single at 23, but whatever, you liked it that way. Poor Namjoon looked terrified, and you’d take being single over being the cause of a situation like this any day.

“Oh,” he said simply, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “I-oh, I’m sorry, y/n--Emily, I’m way too busy for a relationship right now, I’m sorry.”

You grinned at his attempt, it was weak, but you’d work on it. By the end of the night, he’d be confident and sound sure of his feelings, you could feel it.

“Okay,” you said, patting his shoulder. “That was good, but next time sound more sure of yourself, your reasons are perfectly valid, and if she’s as nice as you say she is, I’m sure she’ll understand. Again.”

#bts imagines #bts fluff friends to lovers #bts fluff imagines #bts #bts hyung line #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jhope #jin #yoongi #namjoon #jin imagines #yoongi imagines #rm #namjoon imagines #jhope imagines

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forthekags · 3 years

Note

Heyy could we please get an angsty to love admission where kags thinks she like hinata

AN: Hi! This is a good one. I couldn't decide what route to take it so in a way I made two different scenarios. However, I think this one is more closer to what you might've had in mind. It's gonna have to be a 2-part thing because it got a bit lengthy and then the other one is still hanging around but I'll be posting that sometime this week. (More notes at the end)

About: Y/N caught a glimpse of Kags and is curious what lies beyond the sulking and seriousness of this airhead. He can be quite stubborn and not the best at talking. However, she finally has the chance to sit down with him- one on one.

Part One

You laughed at how Shoyo explained his latest match with his expressive bam! And pows! Unfortunately, you missed it because of a high fever but Shoyo texted you their victory the second they secured it. Though, you were slightly hoping that another team member would notify you. Or at least ask if you were okay.

You were feeling better now thanks to the ball of sunshine moving around here and there. He made you forget everything you were mentally feeling.

"Hinata!" A low voice intruded the conversation and turned a few heads. You stood from your spot on top of Shoyo's desk and patted your skirt a bit. You recognized Kageyama's voice instantly. It was always intense and serious, sometimes it had the power to make you flustered with a simple greeting. "Yachi is waiting for us," he announced.

They usually met up with their manager to work on homework and get extra notes to stay on top of school work. It was necessary for them so they can go to every away game even if it was just for practice.

"Oh yeah," Hinata realized. He got up and grabbed his notebook from his desk and a pencil. You watched him and then glanced back at the dark-haired boy who looked away. He was frowning as if he was displeased. "Want to join us, Y/N?"

Your eyes met his brown ones again. "Are you sure it's not too much trouble?"

"Hinata!" He called again, a little more annoyed.

"Of course not, you're smart so it'll be double the help." He smiled so sweetly and reassuringly at you while he ignored his teammate. You blushed at the compliment.

"Hinata! Let's go!"

"We're coming!" He yelled back, then offered his hand to you. You agreed mostly because you didn't want these two to get in trouble for screaming as if they were outside in the field. You were dragged towards Kageyama and then let go once all three of you were together in the hall.

You were put in the middle of them and that realization alone flustered you. You took sneak peeks at Kageyama while walking. His sharp jawline was the most evident thing you could see since he was facing away. His hands hid in his pockets giving him that careless persona at first glance.

It makes sense why some people keep their distance from him. He's always gloomy or serious, at first glance that is. You stared at him a bit longer though, and noticed how he was very oblivious and quite the cloud chaser. There were times when he was seriously trying to think and the gears were turning, and then there were times where he dozed off. Looked out the window more than at the board. And when you went to their volleyball game, how different he was. Maybe a bit more intense, it even gave you goosebumps. But there was more, the pride and grin when he served the ball with incredible force. The nervousness he got when he was off his game. There was a much bigger variety during that time and it amazed you. You wanted to feel that, to find something incredible and always run towards it.

Kageyama had introduced himself to you like he normally does, absent-minded and nonchalant. He wasn’t mean to you but he wasn’t always the most welcoming. You've been trying to talk to him a bit more but he always looked busy or in a mood. For example, last week after classes ended you tried to catch up with them before they went into their practice to wish them luck, or… well that was your only flimsy plan. You were so nervous you couldn’t look at him when you said it so you just looked at Shoyo and it was then that he told you to come to their game. It would’ve been even easier to wish them good luck, more specifically, wish him good luck.

The three of you reached Yachi’s class where she was already setting up. Hinata rushed over and greeted her and you couldn’t help but smile. He’s so nice to everyone and the amount of energy he has. It looks tiring to you but maybe it’s different for him.

“Oh, I invited Y/N, I hope that’s okay.” Shoyo introduced you to Yachi and you replied with a small hi. “She’s really smart so you don’t have to tutor her.”

“Oh? If you don’t mind, can you help Kageyama with his English? Hinata has been struggling on the last chapter and if he doesn’t get it now, he’s not going to get the new one.” She said as if she was calculating some plans and then she snapped back. “Only if that’s okay with you! And you Kageyama! I don’t want to pressure you or anything!”

You raised your hands to calm her down a bit and gave her a reassuring smile, “I’m completely okay with it, English is my best subject. Unless Kageyama has a problem with it…”

You looked at his tall form- he was still looking away from you but you swear there was a hint of pink rushing to his cheeks.

“It’s fine-”

“Great!” Yachi interrupted, “Now let’s go over this one more time.”

You moved a row over and towards the back of the class to an empty desk. He pulled a chair and sat to your right. His knee slightly brushed over yours when he scooted in, which he apologized for right away. You gave him a tight smile and waved it off- your words would sound incoherent if you tried to use your voice.

“Your notes look like Yachi’s but less intense,” he commented when you took out your notebook. You didn’t know if that was a compliment or not so you kinda just shrugged. “Are you not going to talk?” He blurted out making your cheeks go red. When he realized what he said, his own face turned a similar shade in which he just went back to reading your writing.

“Sorry- I mean, I can talk I just-”

“Don’t want to talk to me?” Your eyes snapped to him who was still avoiding. Your head tilted a bit confused at the assumption.

“No, that’s not it-”

“Can you teach me some English now?” He asked a bit roughly. You swallowed a lump in your throat but agreed.

Maybe you thought too highly of him…

It continued about the same, you’d try to make a joke to provide some relief from the tension but he’d just make odd comments that ultimately ruined the mood. By the end of the session, you were pissed off and salty about the interaction. This was your first time one on one with him and he turned out to be a total douche.

You slammed the book and your notebook. That finally made him jump just a little in his seat.

“Is something wrong with you?”

You scoffed at his question. “There’s nothing wrong with me, but maybe you should check on yourself sometimes.” You packed your stuff and got up from your seat. “You know I didn’t have to help you.”

“You want me to apologize for you accepting the invitation that I had no part of?” He taunted, “it’s not my fault you can’t say no to your little crush.”

You were bewildered. And if smoke could come out of your ears like in cartoons, you’d be fuming. What the hell is this idiot talking about?

“What the hell are you talking- you know what, nevermind. You could’ve said no to me helping you if I bothered you so much, Kageyama!” He stood up and you walked up to point your finger at him and then cross your arms. He was a bit taken aback at the act.

“Uh guys?”

“What!” You both said while turning your heads towards a nervous Hinata.

“Uh… can we keep it down? You’re about to get in trouble if you two don’t hurry up and head to class.”

You looked back at Kageyama, still angry and wanting to say some last line but your mind went blank. Instead, you stomped your foot and walked out of the classroom with one last huff.

AN: Part 2 coming soon. AND If this isn't really what you meant, don't be afraid to let me know what you're looking for exactly :)

#Kageyama #TobioKageyama #haikyuu #hinata shoyo #haikyu fanfiction #fanfiction #anime #tobio angst #hq x y/n #Y/N #Kageyama X Y/N #Reader Kageyama #short story #short #shoyo hinata #yachi #2nd year

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pogueshomecoming · 3 years

Text

remember that night - jj maybank x reader

description: jj drunk texts you 6 months after the break up

masterlist, taglist, and request links are in my bio

word count: 3.1k

The blank page of your journal sits in front of you. So many thoughts run through your mind, but none seem to make it to the paper. You'd been waiting for this moment for six months, and now that it was here, you were literally at a loss for words.

Using your thumb and index finger, you toy with the corners of the book, wondering if you should read your older entries for inspiration. You didn't really want to relive what you wrote, though. What were you supposed to do?

Six months ago, you got broken up with. Your first heartbreak. Your first love. And a promise you'd made to yourself was to keep track of your progress. That way, next time some stupid boy wonders into your life and leaves with (what feels like) everything, you'd know that eventually, you'd feel normal again.

But now, you're here, six months later and feeling like you did before you met him. It's almost like it doesn't feel as good as you thought it would.

The day after it happened was the worst. You didn't do anything but lay in bed and cry. Growing up, you always imagined heartbreak as a mental thing. You didn't expect your whole body to ache in his absence.

After a month, though, you started to pick yourself up. Each day you found something new to focus on, and by the second month, you had hope again. Three months in, the world wasn't as gray and rainy. There were terrible days, but they became less frequent. Month four and five passed in a blur. You resumed life as it had been and turned your whole thought process around. Now, it was time to actually put it behind you.

Is that why you hesitated? Did it almost feel like completely letting go of him? Why was that an issue now?

As if on cue, your phone lights up next to you, vibrating against the table so abruptly that you have to catch it from plummeting to the ground. It's late on a Saturday night. Who's texting you anyway? When you finally get it turned the right way, the screen lights up, and you see the name you'd been trying to forget all this time.

JJ Maybank.

Of course. His timing was never right. It's almost like the higher powers that be are laughing at you, watching you struggle to convince yourself you'd been over him, just to make him pop up again.

You're tempted to delete the message and pretend it never existed. There wasn't anything JJ had to say that would make you feel differently about him. Then again, if you have no intentions of replying, there's no reason not to read it.

do you remember that night we went for a drive?

Immediately, chills run down your spine. You drop your phone back to the desk and lean into your chair. What was JJ doing right now? Was he sitting outside of the chateau, letting the cool breeze blow over him as he lays in the hammock and reminisces on that night?

It was late. Too late for you to be awake on a school night and definitely too late for you to be leaving the house. Nevertheless, you crawled out of your window and held onto the tree outside of it for dear life as you slowly lowered yourself to the ground.

JJ is sitting on his bike, the engine idling quietly as he waits for you with a smile on his face. "Let's go, baby!"

You jump down, and your hand flies to your mouth to motion for him to be silent. Even though your parents wouldn't be awake, you had to be careful. Your siblings were a different story.

"Where are we going?" You jump into his arms, feeling him squeeze around your middle like he always does. JJ laughs at your eagerness.

"For a little drive," He smirks. You have no choice but to trust him at this point, so you take his helmet and hop onto the bike behind him.

JJ starts to head to the beach, but at the last moment, he turns down a hiking trail. You'd never ridden this part of the island, and the only thing keeping you from freaking out is that you had eyes on the shoreline the whole time.

As you went further and further, the beach started to disappear below you. You hold on to JJ a little tighter as he continues through the black woods with the small headlight illuminating the feet in front of him.

"We're almost there!" He turns his head to reassure you.

Soon the trees in front of you open up, and there's a small flat area that leads off a cliff. Chipped asphalt covers the place like there was once something here. JJ comes to a stop and turns the bike off, setting it up on the kickstand before he helps you off.

"We used to cliff jump here as kids. Now, most of the time, the water level is too low, and it's dangerous. I like to come out here and listen to the waves, though." JJ takes your hand, and the two of you walk out to the edge. It's not as high up as you expected.

"It seems like a nice place to relax." You agree. JJ lets go of your hand and walks back to the bike. He opens the side pouch, pulling out a couple of blankets he'd stuffed in there.

"Can we sit for a little bit? I want to hold you." JJ's voice is strained from tiredness, the words softening your heart immediately. He didn't bring you out here to be reckless and rebellious. He wanted to be with you.

There happens to be a grassy spot right in the middle of the broken pavement, so you nod, and JJ lays down the first blanket. He plops down and holds his arms open, waiting for you to crawl into them. You face him, placing your legs over his and wrapping them around his backside. The other blanket that is now around his shoulders engulfs you both.

You lean your head on his shoulder, looking at his neck for a moment before you gently close your eyes. This week had been exhausting for you both. It had started with a fight, one you weren't sure you'd recover from, and ended with JJ getting in trouble by taking the blame for Pope. With everything going on, it was nice to have a moment to yourself.

JJ squeezes you in an attempt to bring you closer. He presses a kiss to your cheek to let you know he's thinking about you. The warmth of his body and the blanket mostly protect you from the occasional seaspray that happens. You could stay here forever, genuinely.

Although your relationship was relatively new, you and JJ had grown closer than the average couple. It stemmed from growing up in a household where you held on to anything that seemed even remotely good for dear life. You hadn't even told him you loved him yet, but you trusted him with your life completely. Recent events that revolved around treasure hunting and possible murderers had proved that that's for sure.

It's silent between you two for a little bit, both of you listening to the waves and each other's heartbeats until you hear a faint roar that slowly but surely starts to get louder.

"Do you hear that?" You lift your head to find out that JJ has that stupid smirk on his face again.

"Yeah, get up, hurry." There's no real urgency behind his voice, but you do it anyway, bringing yourself to your feet and holding his hands as he pushes himself off the ground. Without giving you an answer, he returns to the bike and puts the blankets away.

When JJ is back at your side, he points behind you, to the ocean, with a big grin. You turn, and at first, you don't see anything besides gray clouds.

Then you see the rain. It forms a horizontal line that's rapidly headed towards you as the clouds move.

"It's wild. I've never seen a storm move like that from anywhere but up here." JJ says excitedly.

"Yeah, sure, JJ. We need to go before we're caught in it."

You tug on his hand, moving toward the bike, but you're jerked back when he stays with his feet planted. "It's too late."

JJ stands facing the ocean, his arm still extended behind him with you holding his hand. His whole body seems to relax. For whatever reason, he really wants to do this.

So, you take a deep breath and close the distance between you two, standing shoulder to shoulder with your hands tightly clasped together in the middle.

The rain gets louder as it approaches. Your grip on each other tightens in anticipation. When it finally washes over you, it's soft at first, gaining speed as the storm moves. Chill bumps rise all over your skin as your hair and clothes start to stick to you.

JJ lets go of your hand and walks to the edge of the cliff. He lifts his arms in the air, tilts his head toward the sky, and lets out a scream until he's out of breath. It makes you smile, watching this boy that you love act like he's completely free when you know there are so many things in life holding him down.

Without thinking too much about it, you suck in as much air as you can and scream just like he did. JJ whips his head around, looking at you over his shoulder. The look is indescribable, but it showed you all of his emotions. Here he was, looking at this girl that understood him enough to follow along with his crazy antics instead of judging them. His eyes were full of admiration, but most of all, love.

You couldn't believe how this felt. Never had you ever understood what someone was saying with just their eyes. Maybe the rain added to the effect, but as soon as JJ takes his first step toward you, you know exactly what's coming next.

Instead of running into his arms like most girls do in the movies, you stay put, letting your smile grow bigger the closer he gets. JJ shakes his head, laughing at you with just a couple steps left. You reach for him, opening your arms just as he crashes through him.

The two of you move with his momentum. JJ sweeps you off of your feet, spinning you around as you squeal in excitement. You let him hold you higher, raising your arms and looking to the sky to take in everything around you.

JJ sets you on the ground, and you don't let him say anything before you lurch forward and press your lips to his. He takes one step back to steady himself, but his hands stay planted on your hips as he kisses you back with just as much force. You hold each other's cheeks, never wanting to be further apart than this.

He's the first to pull away, but both of you are breathless. You stay forehead to forehead, never breaking eye contact.

"I love you." He whispers, barely audible over the rain.

"I know." You nod, watching him roll his eyes as you laugh.

"I'm kidding. I love you too." You kiss him again.

"As much as I want to stay right here forever, we should get going. The trails will get too muddy, and I don't want you to get sick." The words leave JJ's mouth, but neither of you move. Instead, you kiss again, each taking a turn to peck the other on the lips, and each kiss getting longer.

"Okay, okay. You're probably right." You playfully push his shoulders, so there's more space between you.

JJ takes your hand, and you straggle behind him as you walk back to the bike, not ready to leave yet. You're looking at the ground when he lets go of you, only to look up and see him holding one of the mainly dry blankets from earlier. "It might keep you a little warmer on the ride home."

The memory ends, leaving you shaking in your seat. Sobs escape your throat, and tears stream down your face. You try to catch your breath, but it doesn't seem possible—all of this from one little text message. The damage has been done. There's nothing that can stop it.

You look at your phone once more, finding the time to be 2:30 am, the same time it was when you got to the cliff that night. A frustrated groan leaves your lips as you shut off your phone and collapse into your fluffy duvet.

The next morning, you wake up hoping it was all a dream. Instead, you find that your eyes are puffier than usual, and that familiar ache in your chest is back. You toss and turn for a while, trying to force yourself back to sleep so you wouldn't have to think about last night. Nothing goes as you plan, though.

When you finally get the courage to turn your phone on, you realize there are more texts from JJ.

do you remember that night we went for a drive? 2;30 in the mroning u kissed me, it was poring rain we ehld each othr tight

Your stomach knots, recognizing them as a result of JJ having too much to drink.

That night was incredible. In the days after that, you remember reliving that kiss in your head over and over again. Then, it was a fond memory. Now, you can't think of any bright side. It only brought you pain and misery.

You feel the same as you did the day he ended things, and that's what baffled you the most. JJ is the one who broke up with you. It wasn't mutual. It was his choice and his alone. Why would he reach out? He didn't want this. He didn't want you.

The thought stings, but it's true. JJ didn't even have the decency to break up with you alone, the other pogues watched from the porch.

You send a text to a few of your friends, canceling plans for the next few days so you can wallow in your stupid heartache and think about the boy who just ruined six months of progress.

Three days later, you find yourself angry. Why did JJ think it was okay to waltz back in after so long? He shouldn't even have your number anymore, considering he was very clear about not wanting a relationship. He wanted the space, not you.

You get up and take a shower, followed by getting dressed and leaving the house, not bothering to address your parents questioning looks. Only fifteen minutes later, you find yourself standing on the gravel outside of the chateau.

Now that you're here, you realize you hadn't thought anything out. You were blinded by your anger and weren't being rational. It was too late to back out now. Besides, this might be a good way to release all of that pent-up energy you'd created for yourself in the way over here.

You don't let yourself think about it much longer before you're opening the door without knocking.

Understandably, the three pogues in sight snap their necks to look at you. John B steps in front of Kie and Pope, lifting his hands from his sides slightly as if he's defensive. It makes you angrier somehow as if you're the bad guy here.

"Where's JJ?" You fume.

"Oh, he's-" Pope starts to say something, pointing his finger over his shoulder before Kie can slap her hand over his mouth. It's too late, though. You already know he's here. Kie grabs his hand once she notices he's still pointing and throws it back to his side.

John B sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "He's here, but he's not feeling well-"

"Not like that matters. It clearly didn't to him. I'll be quick." You push around them, not caring to listen to their protests because they're not doing anything to physically stop you.

Deciding to give him a little bit of a warning, you knock on the bedroom door and tap your foot impatiently on the floor. There's shuffling on the other side, and as soon as JJ opens it a crack, you're pushing it open and stepping inside.

"What are you- Alright, come in, I guess."

JJ is shirtless, a pair of basketball shorts hung low on his hips, and his hair is sticking out in all directions.

"I just want to know who the fuck you think you are. Drunk texting me stuff months after you ended things!" You point your finger at him, making him step backward, but you just take another step forward.

"Why wouldn't I remember that night? It was the first time I felt like I belonged with someone, so I'm painfully aware of the memory, JJ." You sneer.

JJ opens his mouth to speak, but you hold your finger up to silence him.

"I don't think you realize just how hard I had to fight to live my life again, to feel better without having to try. How do you not think of someone who completely blindsides you with a breakup?"

He looks baffled, not sure if he can speak yet, but the answer is no.

"My point is, JJ, I worked hard to get to where I'm at. You don't get to contact me six months later trying to reset things. Fuck you, don't reach out to me again." You spin around, leaving through the same door you came in from.

The inside of the chateau whirls around you as you make your fast escape, trying to get away without giving JJ the chance to catch you despite hearing him call your name.

JJ stops at the edge of the porch and watches your wheels spin in the gravel as you drive away. He couldn't say anything else, and he wasn't going to try.

You were right, but there was a lot JJ hadn't told anyone. Like the fact that he only broke your heart, so you didn't have the chance to break his first. He never wanted things to end, but it felt like he'd gotten too comfortable, so he bolted.

So, JJ reached out because his curiosity got the best of him, but it only confirmed that he was too late. It was a stupid mistake, and it only resulted in the heartbreak he was trying to avoid.

jj taglist:

@wlwkie @jjjmaybank @shawnssongs @hopelesswritingxd @newsiestrash123 @millie-753 @jjtheangel @ohbx @babysbestlife @psychicforest @fanficscuziranout @maebanks @pogue-writings @maybankdreams @thelocalpogue @maybe-maybanks @dpaccione @teenwaywardasgardian @extratragic @pixelated-pogues @kitluvs1 @a-brooding-bird @ilovejjmaybank @damonsalvawhore27 @beth-winchester21 @danicarosaline @outerbanksbro @collecting-stories @yelyahryan @brightcosmos @ssprayberrythings @abbiesthings @sadcupofcoffee @niya-savage @queenofthepouges @poguepunk @perkeusjackson @fanofmany @ultradolans @love-chx @outerbankslut @cognacdelights @killingbxys @dmonchld @bricksatlandyswindow @astronomical-parker @holland-styles @holland-styles @brithedemonspawn @camillemonty @gviosca @jjmaybankzz

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank angst #jj maybank obx

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babybluebex · 4 years

Text

it takes two [peter parker]

➽ pairing: peter parker x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 3.0k ➽ summary: an accidental discovery leads peter and you to discuss poly-nylons, tony stark, and aunt may’s burnt meatloaf. ➽ warnings: awkward teenage feels, fluff, all that good stuff ➽ a/n: nerdy little peter melts my heart uwu. enjoy!

“Hey, Y/N. Y/N!”

I turned to see Peter fumbling with his books, and I extended my arms to catch them. “Hey, Pete,” I chuckled. I looked at one of the books in my hand and saw the official autobiography of tech giant Tony Stark, and I laughed. “We get it, man, you’re in love with Tony Stark.”

“I’m not,” Peter said quickly. “Just wanna read up on my boss.”

“Right,” I said with a click of my tongue. “The whole internship thing. That seems like a pretty sweet gig, Pete.”

“It’s…” Peter began and nodded. “It’s alright.”

“What do you actually do?” I asked, placing the biography of Peter’s one true love back on his stack of books. “Do you do paperwork? Or Mr. Stark’s laundry?”

That elicited a laugh out of Peter. Peter Parker and I had been friends for a while, since we were lab partners in eighth grade biology, and I had been one of the first people he told about the internship. As excited as he was to get it, though, he never really talked too much about it. “I do…” He began. “Um… Stuff.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I’m asking,” I said, shouldering my backpack. “What kinda stuff?”

“This and that,” Peter shrugged. “Sorta whatever needs to be done.”

I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh,” I responded. “Well, since you’re not gonna tell me, I’ll tell you some big news.”

“Sure,” Peter said. “What is it?”

“I got an interview for MIT,” I grinned, and joy overcame Peter’s face. His arms instinctually went out to hug me, but his stack of books went tumbling to the ground around us. He paid it no mind and hugged me tightly anyway, rocking us as he embraced me. Peter gave amazing hugs; that’s one thing nearly everyone can agree on.

“That’s awesome, Y/N!” Peter exclaimed. “When is it?”

“Friday evening,” I said. “And I’m freaking out really bad. Do you think you could help me prep?”

Peter had already bent down and begun to retrieve his books. “Why me?” He asked. “A-Ask Flash, he’s on the debate team.”

“Because I don’t want to ask Flash,” I sighed. “I want to ask you. God, Pete, you got an internship with Stark Industries! Why wouldn’t I ask for your help with interviews? I mean, I assume there was an interview process…”

“Um, sorta,” Peter said. “Yeah, yep, there was.”

My eyes narrowed. “What was that turn around?” I asked. “‘Sorta’ an interview, but also yes?”

“It wasn’t a, uh, a typical interview,” Peter said. “I met Mr. Stark’s head of security before him.”

“Wait, hold on!” I cried. “You’ve met Tony Stark?”

“I told you about this!” Peter smiled. “We went on that company retreat!”

“Th-The one to Berlin?” I asked. “You met Tony freaking Stark in Berlin? How’d I not know this, Peter?”

“I remember telling you,” Peter said. “I missed those days, and I texted you asking about homework, and you told me we had a test and asked how the retreat was, and I said that it was awesome and I met Tony Stark.”

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “But come on, Petey! Please help me prep for this interview, MIT is my dream school!” I grasped his arm and pouted at him, and I said, “For me?”

Peter rolled his eyes jokingly. “Sure,” He said with a smile, as sincere as always. “Just come by tonight, I’ll get Aunt May to order a pizza or something and we’ll work it out.”

I hugged Peter tightly. “Thank you!” I giggled. “Hey, save me a seat at lunch, yeah?”

“Umm, Ned’s brought a few pieces of his Death Star,” Peter began. “It might take up a lot of space.”

“I’ll help,” I said. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“S-Sure,” Peter said, the tips of his ears turning pink. “We could use your smaller hands for some of the more intricate parts of the build.”

“Great,” I said as the bell rang long and high for classes to start. “Crap. I’ll see ya, Pete!”

The day passed as slowly as any normal school day would. I didn’t have a math club meeting that afternoon on account of our faculty sponsor being sick, so I was able to go home before I went to Peter’s. I gathered all of my MIT stuff from my desk and shoved it into my bag, and I opened my computer for a minute before my mom inevitably made me come to the living room. Twitter was already open (I didn’t pay great attention during last period physics), and I clicked around the trending page for a moment before seeing, at the very bottom of the list of trending topics, something called the “Man-Spider”. It wasn’t being talked about too much, but it was a trending topic in my area; knowing that someone would probably ask about it at school tomorrow, I clicked on it.

It was a shaky phone video of a man in a blue and red suit on the rooftop of a building that was adjacent to the videographer. “Hey, you’re that Man-Spider from YouTube!” the videographer yelled.

“Call me Spiderman!” The suited man replied back, his voice echoing around the street.

“Okay! Do a flip, Spiderman!”

The so-called Spiderman flipped backwards, eliciting a whoop from the videographer. The video ended there, and I huffed out a quiet laugh. Peter was really into gymnastics; he would like this video. I tagged him, @pparker101, figuring that he would watch it before I got to his place.

When I finally got myself up and made my way across the borough to Peter and his Aunt May’s apartment, May answered the door. She was a tall and thin woman with long hair that she usually pulled up, and she smiled when she saw me. “Aw, hey, Miss Y/N,” May said. “What’s going on?”

“Peter’s helping me with an interview thing tonight,” I said. “Is that alright?”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course,” May said, waving her hand around. “Where are you interviewing?”

“MIT,” I replied. “The actual interview is on Friday, but, since he’s got that internship with Stark Industries, I figured he would help me prepare.”

“Oh, good job,” May said. “Yeah, Pete popped out to get a sandwich, but you’re welcome to wait for him. Are you hungry? I’m making meatloaf.”

I had known May for long enough to know that it was safest to skip out on the meatloaf. “Oh, I’m alright,” I told her. “I ate before I came.”

“If you change your mind…” May sang and scrunched her nose at me as she smiled. “Pete said that you helped him and Ned with their Death Star build today; how was that?”

“Pretty great,” I smiled. “It was a lot of pieces and we’re not finished yet, but all working together was pretty sweet.”

“I bet,” May replied. “All of you are so smart, I could never do that, even with instructions.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see Peter replying to me on Twitter with a simple :). “Thanks, May,” I said. “Um, I think I’m gonna go set up in Peter’s room.”

“Alright, Miss Y/N,” May said and gave me a quick hug. “Have fun.”

Peter’s room was messy as always, discarded projects all over the place, and laundry piled in the corner of his bottom bunk. I sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk and started to extract my papers and things to practice, but there was a weird sound from behind me. It was quiet and I almost missed it, but the cool breeze that hit my shoulder helped alert me to the fact that the window was open. I turned over my shoulder, expecting to see the widow accidentally unlatched and opening, but instead I saw something completely different: my best friend crawling on the ceiling.

I couldn’t form words. I wasn’t convinced that I was actually seeing what was happening. Peter was attached upside down to his ceiling, wearing a weird onesie-looking outfit with alternating red and blue panels. He was quiet as he crawled to the other side of the room, and he extended his hand, his middle two fingers and thumb folded into his palm, and a string of white shot from his wrist and attached to the corner of the door. Peter tugged the door closed with ease, as if he had done it before, then he expertly flipped from the ceiling and landed on the carpet with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. His back was to me, but, now that I saw him better, I saw that he wore the exact same outfit that the Man-Spider wore in the Twitter video.

“Holy shit, are you the Man-Spider?” I cried, and Peter flinched. He turned to me, his face stricken with panic, and I saw a black arachnid symbol in the middle of his chest. “You are! Holy shit, Peter--”

“Dude, shut up!” Peter hissed quickly. His hand came up to his chest and he pressed on the spider symbol, and the tight suit loosened and fell off of his body. “I-I’m not the Man-Spider--”

“Spiderman!” I recalled from the video. “Peter, what the actual fuck--”

“Shut up!” Peter pleaded, rushing to me and pressing his hand against my mouth. He was right on top of me, his chest nearly touching mine with each breath, and his dark eyes were wide at me. “Y/N, you… You can’t tell anyone. Please!”

I shifted my head in order to remove his hand. “Are you serious…” I began. “You’re Spiderman? Wait, how did this happen? Was it the Stark internship, did Tony Stark do this to you?”

“I’ll explain everything,” Peter whispered. “Just, you really cannot tell anyone.”

“Does May know?” I asked quickly.

“Are you kidding me?” Peter scoffed. He reached down and grabbed a shirt and began to dress himself; I had noticed that, after the suit came off, he was only in boxers, but I figured that it was better not to say anything. “If she knew, she’d go ballistic.”

I sighed heavily and sat down on the bed once more. “Make this make sense,” I groaned, pressing my head into my hands. “Did this happen to you? Did you make it happen? Is this a Bruce Banner thing?”

“No,” Peter said quickly, and he sat down next to me. “Look, it’s a really long story, but the basics are that I was bitten by a radioactive spider and now I can do weird things. Like, things I never was able to do before. I’m really strong now, Y/N, and I just… I can do that.” He said and pointed to the ceiling. “But Tony Stark found out about me somehow and he tapped me to help him in some sort of weird fight with him and Captain America. He made me that suit! It’s really cool!”

“It is!” I said quickly. “So, are you, like, an Avenger now? Is that what the Stark internship is?”

Peter paused for a moment, and his cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, I mean…” He started. “Basically, yeah, I’m an Avenger.”

“Oh my God,” I laughed. “That’s awesome, Peter! But… Why would you keep this from me?” There was no point disguising the hurt in my voice. That was it, plain and simple. “I thought we told each other everything.”

“We do,” Peter said. “I just… Mr. Stark told me to keep this a secret. He said that anyone who knew could be in danger. I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. The secrecy hurt and it wouldn’t stop for a while, but my excitement overshadowed that. “This is super cool, Peter,” I laughed. “So, the thing you just shot, do you-- Like, does your body make that? Like a spider? Was that a web?”

“Yeah, it’s a web,” Peter smiled widely. “But my body doesn’t make them. That would be super gross.”

“Sorta, yeah,” I agreed.

“Nah, it’s, uh,” Peter began and rushed over to the forgotten suit on the floor. “It’s a poly-nylon substance that’s loaded in these web shooters that Mr. Stark made me. They’re super strong and take three hours to fully dissolve. They come out of this shooter that I wear on my wrist.” He lifted up the silver web shooter to show me, and I grinned at it.

“That’s awesome,” I chuckled. “Wait, does Ned know?”

“No,” Peter said quickly.

“MJ?”

“No.”

“Liz? Betty? Flash?”

“You’re the only one,” Peter reiterated. “Nobody else knows. Mr. Stark, Happy, Pepper, everyone at SHIELD, and you. You’re the only outsider.”

“This is…” I began. “This is really cool, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t it dangerous?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I mean… Yeah. Everytime I go on a mission, I’m not really sure if I’m coming back.”

I sighed and rubbed my neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Petey,” I started. “But I really don’t like this. The idea of my best friend being an Avenger is super cool, but it’s scary as shit. I can’t lose you, Pete. Nobody gets me like you do, and I don’t know what I’d do if you died and I didn’t know why.”

Peter was quiet as he came back to sit down next to me, his web shooter still in his hand. He toyed with it for a moment, then placed it in my lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Pete, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “You were doing what you were told was right. If anything, Tony Stark needs to apologize to me.”

Peter scoffed. “Good luck with that,” he said. “You’re cool. Ya know that?”

“Me?” I chuckled. “You’re freaking Spiderman, dude! You’re cooler than everyone at Midtown! So, is Peter Parker, like, your alter ego? Like Batman?”

“Batman isn’t real,” Peter said pointedly.

“The point stands, ass,” I said and shoved his shoulder, eliciting a laugh from him.. “By day, you’re a nerdy high school student and, by night, you’re an Avenger?”

“Sorta,” Peter shrugged sheepishly. “I guess, I mean… Not to brag, but--”

“Brag away!” I said.

“I’m supposed to be helping you with your interview,” Peter began. “I think maybe we can table this until later. Yeah?”

“Fine,” I said with a pout. “Let me get my stuff…”

I turned to retrieve my papers and everything that I had brought, and Peter’s hand returned to my lap to grab the web shooter. The fates, though, decided to throw a wrench into our casual moment, because the ajar door burst open to show May. Before I knew what was happening, Peter had shoved the web shooter down between my thighs in an attempt to quickly hide it, and he pressed his lips to mine. I caught on instantly; his hand between my legs only made sense if we were kissing. It was an easy cover up, something to get May out of the room, and-- honestly-- probably something that May had been suspecting all along.

“Oh!” She exclaimed and backed out of the room, and Peter gave me a tight grimace. I could almost hear him stuttering out an apology. “Sorry, guys! I didn’t mean to--”

“That’s about my luck, huh?” Peter said loudly and laughed. “It’s-- Ah, shit-- Sorry, May!”

“No, don’t be sorry,” May said from behind the door. Peter pulled the web shooter from between my legs and grabbed his suit, and he shoved them under the blankets behind me. “Don’t let me interrupt... Whatever that was. Peter, please remember to use a--”

“May, hush!” Peter cried, and I saw genuine embarrassment rise in his cheeks. “We’re not-- We weren’t--”

“We were just kissing, May!” I said quickly. “Nothing else!”

“Right,” May said. “Have fun. Meatloaf’s burnt, so, if you guys want something to eat, we can get Thai. Or you two can get Thai and I’ll stay here--”

“May!” Peter groaned.

“Right, I’ll leave you two alone,” May said, and Peter and I held our breath until we were sure she wasn’t at the door anymore.

“God, sorry, Y/N,” Peter mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s the only thing I could think of--”

“No big,” I said. “But I’m sure May thinks we’re dating now.”

“She’s thought that since eighth grade,” Peter said and rolled his eyes. “Now she has ‘proof’.”

“I mean…” I started. Too late to go back now. “I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought of it before.”

“Us dating?” Peter asked.

“I know you like Liz and MJ, so it’s always been…” I started. “Never mind.”

“Sure, I like Liz and MJ,” Peter said. “But I like you too. Like, in a different way than I like Liz and MJ.”

“Like, in a girlfriend way?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said. He was looking down at his lap, obviously abashed and not wanting to look at me. “You’re really funny and smart, and you’re super pretty… Mr. Stark thinks you’re cute too.”

“Tony Stark knows about me?” I asked. “He thinks I’m cute?”

“N-Not in a creepy way,” Peter said quickly. “When I went to Berlin, I brought a picture of you in my luggage, and Mr. Stark-- Well, Happy found it and he told Mr. Stark, and he said that you were pretty… Encouraged me to ask you out… Gave me… Ahem, pointers on how to ask you out.”

“Really?” I grinned. This was amusing to find out. Tony Stark knew who I was. That was almost as cool as finding out my best friend was an Avenger. “What’d he say?”

“Some really gross stuff, to be honest,” Peter chuckled. “Nothing I’d ever say to you, not even jokingly. But… Whatever. Anyway. MIT interview--”

I leaned in towards Peter and kissed him again, and I felt his smile against my lips. He kissed me back, his arms wrapping around me and tugging me close, and, when the kiss broke, I whispered, “So, does Spiderman have a girlfriend?”

“I’m sure he can get one if he wants to,” Peter said.

“Does he want to?” I asked.

“Duh!”

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x bestfriend!reader #peter parker fluff #spiderman #spiderman x reader #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #mcu #sm:hoco #sm:ffh #ca:cw #avengers #i miss tony stark #q

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blubberquark · 3 years

Text

Excel, Word, Access, Outlook

Previously on computer literacy: A Test For Computer Literacy

If you’re a computer programmer, you sometimes hear other programmers complain about Excel, because it mixes data and code, or about Word, because it mixes text and formatting, and nobody ever uses Word and Excel properly.

If you’re a computer programmer, you frequently hear UX experts praise the way Excel allows non-programmers to write whole applications without help from the IT department. Excel is a great tool for normal people and power users, I often hear.

I have never seen anybody who wasn’t already versed in a real programming language write a complex application in an Excel spreadsheet. I have never seen anybody who was not a programmer or trained in Excel fill in a spreadsheet and send it back correctly.

Computer programmers complain about the inaccessibility of Excel, the lack of discoverability, the mixing of code and data in documents that makes versioning applications a proper nightmare, the influence of the cell structure on code structure, and the destructive automatic casting of cell data into datatypes.

UX experts praise Excel for giving power to non-programmers, but I never met a non-programmer who used Excel “properly”, never mind developed an application in it. I met non-programmers who used SPSS, Mathematica, or Matlab properly a handful of times, but even these people are getting rarer and rarer in the age of Julia, NumPy, SymPy, Octave, and R. Myself, I have actually had to learn how to use Excel in school, in seventh grade. I suspect that half of the “basic computer usage” curriculum was the result of a lobbying campaign by Microsoft’s German branch, because we had to learn about certain features in Word, Excel, and PowerPoint on Windows 95, and non-Microsoft applications were conspicuously absent.

Visual Basic and VBS seemed like a natural choice to give power to end users in the 90s. People who had already used a home computer during the 8-bit/16-bit era (or even an IBM-compatible PC) were familiar with BASIC because that was how end-users were originally supposed to interact with their computers. BASIC was for end users, and machine code/compiled languages were for “real programmers” - BASIC was documented in the manual that came with your home computer, machine code was documented in MOS data sheets. From today’s point of view, programming in BASIC is real programming. Calling Visual Basic or .Net scripting in Excel “not programming“ misrepresents what modern programmers do, and what GUI users have come to expect after the year 2000.

Excel is not very intuitive or beginner-friendly. The “basic computer usage” curriculum was scrapped shortly after I took it, so I had many opportunities to observe people who were two years younger than me try to use Excel by experimenting with the GUI alone.

The same goes fro Microsoft Word. A friend of mine insists that nobody ever uses Word properly, because Word can do ligatures and good typesetting now, as well as footnotes, chapters, outline note taking, and so on. You just need to configure it right. If people used Word properly, they wouldn’t need LaTeX or Markdown. That friend is already a programmer. All the people I know who use Word use WYSIWYG text styling, fonts, alignment, tables, that sort of thing. In order to use Word “properly“, you’d have to use footnotes, chapter marks, and style sheets. The most “power user” thing I have ever seen an end user do was when my father bought a CD in 1995 with 300 Word templates for all sorts of occasions - birthday party invitation, employee of the month certificate, marathon completion certificate, time table, cooking recipe, invoice, cover letter - to fill in and print out.

Unlike Excel, nobody even claims that non-programmer end users do great things in Word. Word is almost never the right program when you have email, calendars, wikis, to-do lists/Kanban/note taking, DTP, vector graphics, mind mapping/outline editors, programmer’s plain text editors, dedicated novelist/screenwriting software, and typesetting/document preparation systems like LaTeX. Nobody disputes that plain text, a wiki, or a virtual Kanban board is often preferable to a .doc or .docx file in a shared folder. Word is still ubiquitous, but so are browsers.

Word is not seen as a liberating tool that enables end-user computing, but as a program you need to have but rarely use, except when you write a letter you have to print out, or when you need to collaborate with people who insist on e-mailing documents back and forth.

I never met an end user who actually liked Outlook enough to use it for personal correspondence. It was always mandated by an institution or an employer, maintained by an IT department, and they either provided training or assumed you already had had training. Outlook has all these features, but neither IT departments nor end users seemed to like them. Outlook is top-down mandated legibility and uniformity.

Lastly, there is Microsoft Access. Sometimes people confused Excel and Access because both have tables, so at some point Microsoft caved in and made Excel understand SQL queries, but Excel is still not a database. Access is a database product, designed to compete with products like dBase, Cornerstone, and FileMaker. It has an integrated editor for the database schema and a GUI builder to create forms and reports. It is not a networked database, but it can be used to run SQL queries on a local database, and multiple users can open the same database file if it is on a shared SMB folder. It is not something you can pick up on one afternoon to code your company’s billing and invoicing system. You could probably use it to catalogue your Funko-Pop collection, or to keep track of the inventory, lending and book returns of a municipal library, as long as the database is only kept on one computer. As soon as you want to manage a mobile library or multiple branches, you would have to ditch Access for a real SQL RDBMS.

Microsoft Access was marketed as a tool for end-user computing, but nobody really believed it. To me, Access was SQL with training wheels in computer science class, before we graduated to MySQL and then later to Postgres and DB2. UX experts never tout Access as a big success story in end-user computing - yet they do so for Excel.

The narrative around Excel is quite different from the narrative around Yahoo Pipes, IFTTT, AppleScript, HyperCard, Processing, or LabView. The narrative goes like this: “Excel empowers users in big, bureaucratic organisations, and allows them to write limited applications to solve business problems, and share them with co-workers.”

Excel is not a good tool for finance, simulations, genetics, or psychology research, but it is most likely installed on every PC in your organisation already. You’re not allowed to share .exe files, but you are allowed to share spreadsheets. Excel is an exchange format for applications. Excel files are not centrally controlled, like Outlook servers or ERP systems, and they are not legible to management. Excel is ubiquitous. Excel is a ubiquitous runtime and development environment that allows end-users to create small applications to perform simple calculations for their jobs.

Excel is a tool for office workers to write applications to calculate things, but not without programming, but without involving the IT department. The IT department would like all forms to be running on some central platform, all data to be in the data warehouse/OLAP platform/ERP system - not because they want to make the data legible and accessible, but because they want to minimise the number of business-critical machines and points of failure, because important applications should either run on servers in a server rack, or be distributed to workstations by IT.

Management wants all knowledge to be formalised so the next guy can pick up where you left off when you quit. For this reason, wikis, slack, tickets and kanban boards are preferable to Word documents in shared folders. The IT department calls end-user computing “rogue servers“ or “shadow IT“. They want all IT to have version control, unit tests, backups, monitoring, and a handbook. Accounting/controlling thinks end-user computing is a compliance nightmare. They want all software to be documented, secured, and budgeted for. Upper management wants all IT to be run by the IT department, and all information integrated into their reporting solution that generates these colourful graphs. Middle management wants their people to get some work done.

Somebody somewhere in the C-suite is always viewing IT as a cost centre, trying to fire IT people and to scale down the server room. This looks great on paper, because the savings in servers, admins, and tech support are externalised to other departments in the form of increased paperwork, time wasted on help hotlines, and

Excel is dominating end-user computing because of social reasons and workplace politics. Excel is not dominating end-user computing because it is actually easy to pick up for end-users.

Excel is dominating end-user computing neither because it is actually easy to pick up for non-programmers nor easy to use for end-users.

This is rather obvious to all the people who teach human-computer interaction at universities, to the people who write books about usability, and the people who work in IT departments. Maybe it is not quite as obvious to people who use Excel. Excel is not easy to use. It’s not obvious when you read a book on human-computer interaction (HCI), industrial design, or user experience (UX). Excel is always used as the go-to example of end-user computing, an example of a tool that “empowers users”. If you read between the lines, you know that the experts know that Excel is not actually a good role model you should try to emulate.

Excel is often called a “no code“ tool to make “small applications“, but that is also not true. “No Code” tools usually require users to write code, but they use point-and-click, drag-and-drop, natural language programming, or connecting boxes by drawing lines to avoid the syntax of programming languages. Excel avoids complex syntax by breaking everything up into small cells. Excel avoids iteration or recursion by letting users copy-paste formulas into cells and filling formulas in adjacent cells automatically. Excel does not have a debugger, but shows you intermediate results by showing the numbers/values in the cells by default, and the code in the cells only if you click.

All this makes Excel more like GameMaker or ClickTeam Fusion than like Twine. Excel is a tool that doesn’t scare users away with text editors, but that’s not why people use it. It that were the reason, we would be writing business tools and productivity software in GameMaker.

The next time you read or hear about the amazing usability of Excel, take it with a grain of salt! It’s just barely usable enough.

#end-user computing #computer literacy

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missmitchieg · 3 years

Text

Alex, Not Alexis

When Alex Mercer was born, his doctor called him a baby girl. His parents dressed him up in a pretty pink onesie with white stripes and took him home. They named him Alexis Abigail Mercer. They liked to call him Lexi for short.

At a year and a half old, Alex was sat in the living room watching Sesame Street while his mother, Rebecca cooked dinner and his father, George sat reading the newspaper. He smiled and giggled when Suzanne Farrell appeared in her pretty pink tutu and danced around like a ballerina. He clapped as she twirled and stood in fifth position, and Rebecca decided then that her little "Alexis" was going to take ballet lessons when "she" turned two.

At two years and a month, Alex was put into his first ballet lesson, clad in a pretty pink tutu, just like Suzanne. He was taught how to stand in position, how to move his arms and hands so he could dance, just like her. He smiled proudly at himself as he twirled in his little tutu, his proud mother watching with happy tears in her eyes.

When Alex started school a few years later, he was nervous to be in a new environment. He's always been a little anxious about trying new things and about being away from mommy and daddy. The little boys and girls at school already seeming cliqued up and excluding him did not calm him down.

For a few years, he would come home from school upset and crying because the other kids laughed at him for panicking, needing his Epi-pen, or whatever bad thing happened that set him off like a boy pulling his pigtails. When he didn't, he would tell his mom he was sick, because he did sort of feel sick, and ask for chicken soup and a mom-approved show on the TV.

But when he felt alright, he would just go and suffer the consequences. Until one day in third grade when he met this boy named Luke Patterson. Luke was nice to him and would yell at bullies for being mean because "She's not doing anything bad! Just leave her alone!" and run to tell a teacher to get them in trouble.

"Thank you, Luke, for making them go away." Alex would tell him and push his bangs out of his face, behind his ears. He was sort of starting to hate his long bangs and long hair. But he loved his pink clothes.

"No problem!" Luke would respond and grab his hand, and they would take off together in search of crickets and grasshoppers to chase.

They stayed best friends all though out the rest of their elementary years, and into middle school. His parents loved Luke for Alex. A little boy who shared their sweet "Alexis'" faith and was nice to "her"? He seemed absolutely perfect. Until they got to know him.

See, Luke was sort of a stubborn, rebellious boy who liked rock bands and electric guitar. It only got worse when the pair met Bobby Wilson in the seventh grade and introduced them to Reggie Peters, who wore leather jackets and Bobby only encouraged Reggie, Luke and Alex sneaking out to see bands they liked, and who called their sweet baby Alex. Little did they know it was because Alex had asked the three of them to call him that.

Alex laughed as he stood in the arcade with Bobby, Reggie and Luke, beating Reggie at Street Fighter for the third time that day. Their arcade trips had soon become a regular thing, and they had learned to ignore the strange looks they got from the fact of the four of them being three boys in rebellious rocker boy garb and a girl in a baby pink hoodie, grey baggy shorts, hair shoved under a black snapback, and Nike sneakers.

"Way to go, Alexis!" Reggie cheered him on, fist in the air in celebration at his best friend winning yet again.

Alex blinked and felt his smile falter just a little, giving Reggie a fist bump. "Thanks, buddy."

Reggie took notice of her smile shrinking, though, and frowned a little, tilting his head. "Hey, you ok? Something bothering you?"

"What? No, I'm fine. Just-" Alex stopped to take a deep breath, shoving the anxiety building up in his stomach down. He knew his friends would be fine with such a small change, so why did the idea of asking this of them make him want to throw up the pizza they just ate? "I- Can you guys stop calling me Alexis? I don't like that name. I want to be called Alex." He admitted and bit his lip, bouncing on his heels.

"Oh, sure." Reggie shrugged like it was nothing.

"No problem, Alex." Luke agreed with a smile.

"Alex it is." Bobby nodded. "But is Lexi still ok?"

Alex considered it for a second and nodded with a smile. "Lexi is still ok, but thanks for asking first."

"Hey, we just want you to be comfortable, Alex." Bobby smiled and Alex chuckled, bumping shoulders with him. "Thanks, boys."

"Anything for you, Lexi." Reggie promised. "Besides, it would be weird of me to call you a name you don't like when I ask everyone to call me Reggie instead of Reginald. Just feels wrong." He said, scrunching up his face when he spoke his full name.

"Or Bobby instead of Robert." Bobby cringed.

"Or Luke instead of... Um, Lucy." Luke admitted and bit his lip, watching his best friend's reactions carefully.

"Luke fits you better." Alex told him, silently promising to keep his real name a secret from the rest of the world for all eternity, and he saw appreciation in Luke's eyes at that. So his best friend was both Christian and transgender (and maybe so was he). It didn't have to be a big deal. Luke was still Luke, and he would always be just Luke to Alex. He smiled, silently pointing his thumb at the game machine.

"I like Luke!" Reggie grinned, giving him a comforting pat on the back.

"Yeah, man. It sounds cool. Sounds like a rock star name." Bobby commented and Luke chuckled as he put another coin in the slot to play (and lose) again.

So it was settled. His boys called him Alex and Lexi and he called his boys Luke, Reggie and Bobby. It worked for them. It felt right.

He knew he couldn't just ask his parents to stop calling him the name they picked out that they loved so much, so he just didn't. And he definitely wasn't planning on ever telling them that he was pretty sure he was a boy like his best friends, not a girl like they had previously thought, because he'd heard the awful way his very conservative, very religious parents had talked about "disgusting queers and their sick desire to poison the youth and watch the world go up in flames".

So yeah, he was very much content with keeping it a secret until he turned eighteen and moved out so he could do whatever he wanted to, like cut his hair and legally change his name and get a whole new wardrobe that he didn't have to hide in the back of his closet behind pretty church dresses and ballet class tutus. Like his cool hoodies and pants and sneakers. He still loved the color pink. It was still his favorite. He was just a boy that liked pink. Not a girl. It didn't have to be a big deal.

And he did keep that secret, very well. For a while. Some punk kid at school told his parents and they told Alex's parents, who promptly threw a massive tantrum about having a daughter, not a son, and how they did not raise "Alexis" to be like this. How they were not going to raise a "queer" and Alex needed up to clean up "her" act or "she" could find another place to live because "she" could not stay there if "she" was going to be like that.

"And what if I like the way I am, dad? What if I like that I think I'm a boy, and like that I think I might like Luke?" Alex finally snapped and crossed his arms, and both of his parents were shocked into silence.

"Really, Alex?" Luke asked softly, uncharacteristically quiet for once. He looked up at Alex from the couch where the pair were previously finishing Math homework together, his eyes wide and hopeful.

Alex softened and gave Luke a little smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, Luke."

"And Luke, how do you feel about our Alexis?" George sneered at Luke and sent him a bitter glare, almost daring the boy to challenge him, and Luke, well, he never said no to a dare or a challenge.

Luke pursed his lips at George and gave him a sickly sweet smile. "Well, I dunno who Alexis is, sir, but I do know that Alex is one of the coolest, smartest, most talented and amazing boys I've ever met." He answered, putting an emphasis on "Alex" and "boys" just to piss George off.

"Luke." Rebecca spoke up, fists clenched and eyes trained on Luke. "Say that again." She ordered slowly, as if asking him to speak again would change the words that came out of his mouth.

Luke scoffed, standing from the cough and dropping his text book to the floor. "I said, ma'am, that Alex is one of the cool, smartest, most talented and amazing boys I've ever met, and I like him, too." He smiled and took Alex's hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze and smiling when Alex squeezed him right back.

"Get out of this house! Both of you!" George commanded, pointing toward the door.

"Bye!" Alex waved and walked out with Luke, as if this was something perfectly normal and fine, getting on his bicycle. "Let's head to Bobby's. Reggie's already there with him."

So now Alex was taking up residence in the Wilson garage. He guessed he really should've known they would find out some way or another. He wasn't openly telling people he was a boy named Alex, but he also was necessarily acting like the little ballerina princess people used to know as Alexis. No, now he was just that "girl" that always hid "her" hair under hats before just cutting it all off, and that "girl" that played the drums and hanged out in the arcade or played basketball with a bunch of guys.

Reggie came soon after, when his parents' fighting had just become too much for him to handle. Alex always felt bad and wished there was some way he could snap his fingers and magically have everything be fixed, but there was nothing he could do to help anyone. That didn't help his anxiety, either. The only thing that helped, was drumming. So he drummed, a lot.

The boys ended up forming a band that they called Sunset Curve. (Reggie came up with it. Reggie also designed their logo. Both things he was very proud of. And the boys loved it.) It took them a few years, Luke and Alex deciding they were better as friends, Luke moving into the garage, and some gigs at book clubs, but they were starting to get big. Big enough to play The Orpheum.

And then three of them ate some bad hot dogs.

Alex guessed the afterlife wasn't so terrible. Sure, he was dead and he couldn't eat pizza or Bobby's mom's famous meals anymore, but dying brought him and Luke and Reggie to Julie. With Julie came Ray, and Carlos, and Flynn. And sure, he couldn't actually talk to Ray or Carlos, but he could talk to Flynn with Julie's whiteboard or Julie relaying messages to them, so he had that.

And then came Willie.

Sweet, funny, handsome Willie that was nice to him, and answered his questions, and used the name Alex had asked him to. Sweet, funny, handsome Willie that showed him how to move objects by focusing his energy into his hands, and gave him a new coping mechanism for his anxiety. Sweet, funny, handsome Willie that liked to cause trouble with cops, and went by "they" and "them", which Alex would always respect, because he knew what it was like to be misgendered and he was never going to do that to his sweet Willie.

There was just one little thing bothering him on one random Saturday. He hadn't yet told Willie that he himself was trans. He was going to! He wasn't going to keep that a secret from someone sort of like him. He just hadn't gotten around to it yet, but now he would.

"Hey, Wills." He piped up as they were sat in a museum, shouting a little and talking through his stressor of the week.

"Yeah, Hot Dog?" Willie smiled, running their finger through Alex's soft blond locks.

"I'm trans. I'm a trans boy." Alex told him after a moment of hesitation, leaning into Willie's gentle hand.

Willie raised their eyebrows and their smile widened, scooting closer to Alex. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

"Willie?"

"Hmm?"

Alex blushed and chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath and looking Willie in the eye. "I really like you. A lot."

Willie gasped softly and felt their jaw drop as they looked at Alex, a soft smile forming on their face. "I like you, too, Lexi."

Alex smiled at the way the affectionate nickname sounded on Willie's lips, raising a hand to tuck Willie's hair behind their ear. "Then, can I kiss you?"

Willie let out a giggle and nodded, leaning in slowly. "Yes."

Alex leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips against Willie's, his hand grasping Willie's neck gently. He pulled away slowly after a while and bit his lip, still unable to hide the smile on his face. "That felt really good."

"Yeah." Willie agreed.

"Can I do it again?"

"God, yes." Willie nodded immediately. "Yes please, Lexi."

Alex giggled then and kissed Willie again, softer and slower this time.

So, yeah. Maybe the afterlife wasn't perfect, but it came pretty damn close if you asked Alex, so he wasn't going to complain.

#julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #willie #jatp fanfic

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yuta1forme · 3 years

Text

light & shadow pt. 1 | yuta

summary: standing in line for doyoung’s book signing, yuta wonders if he has ever acted normally around you

author’s note: i had no idea how else to split this story into a readable format so this will be a two (maybe three) part series! as always let me know if you would like to be tagged in the future parts!

taglist: @sweet-rintarou

prologue: [21:26]

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, college!au (this part)

pairing: yuta x reader

length: 1.7K

There are certain fundamental truths Yuta knows about the universe - the sun always rises in the east, milk goes before cereal and that Nakamoto Yuta does not blush.

“Nakamoto Yuta, do I have permission to flirt with you in Japanese?”, the translation app reads out in its robotic voice. He whips his head around to face you as if the words had left your mouth and not the phone held in your hand. And then he feels it. That unfamiliar heat rising to his neck and cheeks. One look at the amused grin on your face and he knows that you have noticed too. If there is one thing that has not changed in all eleven years of him knowing you, it’s that he should always expect the unexpected from himself when he is around you.

Even right now, hearing you gush about your attractive new coworker, Yuta feels an unfamiliar knot of form in the pit of his stomach. He suspects that it is the protectiveness he feels towards you that is making him feel so strangely antagonistic towards this man he has never met. But there is a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that tells him that that’s not the only reason why.

You always had a way of getting a reaction out of him that no one else could, always had him feeling emotions that he didn’t know he could feel. His relationship with you, while not better or worse than the relationship he had with any of his other friends, was certainly different. It always had been.

In freshman year, equipped with only a translation app on his phone, Yuta left his hometown of Osaka for Seoul. He had been offered a full-ride sports scholarship by Sooman University. He would play for the school’s soccer team and pursue, to his parents’ relief, a more “practical” degree in Business Management.

He would be playing with the team where some of his favourite soccer players had first gotten their start before moving to the Japanese league. It was a dream come true. Well, almost.

He had just never imagined it would be quite this...lonely.

Over his first month in the city, he could count the number of people he had spoken to on one hand. The first was his roommate with whom his conversations were limited to “hello” and “good morning”. The second and third were two middle-aged cafeteria ladies, who would coo over him and give him an additional helping whenever they saw that he was down. The younger of the two looked so much like his aunt, that it made his heart long for his family back in Osaka.

The fourth and final person was Mr. Jung Yunho, the Student Affairs Counsellor - an energetic man in his early thirties who had lived in Japan for most of his adult life. He had sense that something was amiss and had tried to pry into what was bothering Yuta right from their first meeting. After about three weeks of beating around the bush, Yuta had finally, begrudgingly, confided in him about his homesickness and his trouble communicating in Korean. Mr Jung had listened intently through it all, occasionally patting his shoulder to comfort him.

“You must feel very lonely, Yuta”, the older man had told him, resting one hand on his shoulder, eyes shining with sincerity.

It was lonely. He didn’t have a single person he could call a friend. Everyone he had met thus far seemed so busy, living a life far too fast paced to notice the quiet foreign student at the back of the lecture hall. He wondered if anyone in his classes would even notice if he stopped attending lectures. The only time he felt like he belonged somewhere was when he was playing soccer with the team, but even then he wondered whether he could call his teammates, his friends.

“Let’s start with helping you communicate first, shall we?”, Mr Jung had said, interrupting his self effacing train of thought.

“I’ll put you in touch with someone who can help tutor you in Korean. A Korean Literature student who’s been working with some other foreign students as well. I have a gut feeling you two will become great friends!”

That was how Yuta had come to know you. He clicked on your kakaotalk profile picture and zoomed in to your beaming face. You had one of those warm, welcoming faces. A face that one would trust immediately. Your face gave the impression that smiling was your resting face. The laugh lines on either side of your mouth and the crinkles beside your eyes were further proof of that.

Yuta had sent you a short, impersonal message introducing himself as the student Mr. Jung wanted you to tutor. He had not wanted to get his hopes up. Having been all by himself in a foreign country for the past month, being dependent on someone felt strange to him.

Still, before he went to bed that night he found himself refreshing his messages, hoping for a notification from you. As his luck would have it, you hadn’t replied even the following morning. Yuta had swallowed the lump forming in his throat, pushing any disappointment out of his mind.

You made the decision to move, all on your own, to this country far away from your friends and family, where you don’t even speak the native language. You have to face the consequences on your own too. Y/N is not obligated to help you. No one is. This is your own battle, for you to fight on your own.

With those thoughts in mind, he had busied himself with getting ready for the first match of the season against the neighbouring university.

At half-time, Sooman University was trailing behind Seoul University with a score of 3-1. With the centre forward benched because of a foul, things weren’t looking up for the team. Yuta had made several attempts to score a goal throughout the game but had been stopped by the right-back, Park Minsoo, on Seoul University’s team. He was much taller than Yuta and had a larger build, which he used to his advantage.

If there was one thing he absolutely hated, it was foul play. Yuta’s teammates had tried signalling to the referee that Park had been playing dirty, but the referee, infamous for being biased towards the Seoul University team, had brushed off their concern.

After having collided with him several times over the last half, Yuta was getting impatient. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him but he had let his anger get the best of him. After another foul-worthy tackle from Park, Yuta used his side to shove the man out of his way with all his energy. Perhaps it was the momentum with which Yuta had crashed into him or pure dramatics, Park landed on his back howling in anger.

The referee blew his whistle to signal a pause and the players from both teams began fighting amongst each either, trying to put the blame on the opposing team’s player. The situation with Park must have been grave because the Seoul team’s coach and manager hurried on to the pitch as well. Yuta’s team captain stepped forward to defend Yuta from the wrath of the other side. But ofcourse, being Japanese, Yuta barely understood a word being spoken. There was no way he would be able to dig himself out of this.

The thought of being benched for the rest of the semester crept into his mind. The fear of losing his scholarship made his legs tremble and he instantly regretted not heeding his older sister’s lifelong advice to him to be more gentle.

Then you appeared. Like an angel, only instead of white robes and a halo made of pure light, you wore a blinding neon green visor and an equally garish hot pink t-shirt bearing the Korean Literature Department’s logo. He saw you hop down the bleachers and squeeze through half a dozen sweaty soccer players, to thrust yourself in between Yuta and the opposing team’s coach. You explained somewhat emphatically to the referee that Yuta was a foreigner who barely spoke Korean and that any missteps on his part were purely a misunderstanding because of the language barrier. The man didn’t seem convinced, grumbling and gesturing animatedly at the two of you, egged on further by the other coach’s growing impatience.

Yuta wished he could understand what was being said. He tried to hang on to every word being spoken, but the adrenaline from the tackle and the heightened atmosphere made it even harder for him to concentrate. He picked up a few words here and there. A mention of a foul. Then someone yelling out the word suspension, which made him clench his fist so hard he thought he would pop a vein in his arm.

But he understood the last words to come out of your mouth, perfectly well.

“Please let my friend off the hook this one time? I apologise on his behalf”.

Friend. No, he definitely had not misheard that. You had called him your friend.

You had yanked Yuta forward by the arm, pushing his head down into a deep bow. Yuta took the hint and apologised, somewhat robotically, to Park and his coach. He was not bothered by the condescending smirk on Park’s face or the dirty looks that were thrown his way by the rest of the Seoul team as he allowed himself to be dragged off the field by you.

You dragged him quickly to the empty booths near the back of the stadium, sat him down and handed him a bottle of Gatorade.

“I saw your text. I’m really sorry I didn’t reply any earlier. But to be fair I had wished you good luck with your game but I doubt you saw my message considering you were down here getting shoved around by that asshole Park”, you had started rambling while Yuta chugged the drink.

Then he did something that he would cringe about for years to come. He should have known right then, on day one, that he could never act like his usual self around you.

He had shot up out of the seat, stepped forward and pulled you right into his arms, lifting you a couple of inches up in the air due to the sheer force. Through shaky breaths, he had whispered out a barely audible thank you to you. To his relief, you didn’t fight him off.

After a few seconds, you broke the silence and embrace.

“Hey, I know I just saved your ass but you’re kind of really stinky from the sweat”, you had said in between giggles.

He had dropped you back down and grinned somewhat apologetically at you in response.

After that day, he was no longer alone.

#yuta #nakamoto yuta #yuta fluff #yuta scenarios #yuta college au #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct friends to lovers #nct college au #yuta friends to lovers #moonrise

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sunsetcurbed · 3 years

Text

you showed me faith is not blind (miracles happen)

Pairing: Alex/Willie Words: 5,369 Rating: T Chapter Warnings: none read on AO3

Chapter Summary: "What the fuck?" Luke murmurs across the table from Alex, just loud enough to grab Alex's attention from worksheet. "What the fuck?" he says again—much, much louder. His head snaps up and his eyes, burning, land on Alex.

Alex flinches back. "Dude, what?"

(*)

Their movie night starts off as normal with the group in the kitchen making their snacks. Alex has no reason to suspect that anything will go differently than his past experiences. So when things do... change, he's thrown off.

In Julie's living room, there's a couch, a love seat, and a recliner. Luke and Julie always share the love seat and Flynn claims the recliner. That leaves Alex, Willie, and Reggie to figure out who gets the two armrest seats of the couch and whether the other wants to take the middle cushion or just lounge on the floor. They… don't have that issue today.

Reggie is the first one inside from band practice so he is the first one done making his popcorn so he gets first claim. When Alex and Willie make it out, Willie gestures for Alex to take the other, and quirks an eyebrow at him. "I'll figure something out," he says. Alex eyes him warily but takes the seat anyways, grateful for a place to set his water down. Willie stands there for a moment, staring between Alex and the middle cushion. He sets his popcorn next to Alex's feet, then sits on the middle cushion with his back facing Alex, and reclines himself back so he's lying across Alex's lap. He grins up at him. "Told you I'd figure it out."

Alex quite literally has no idea what to do or say. What comes out is: "I'm going to drop so much popcorn on you."

"Cool. More for me."

He's thankful for his friends, because over the next hour, every single one of them sends him a look when Willie's attention is elsewhere, which lets him know that he's not just being dramatic. This… this is new and this is—

Alex doesn't want to call it weird.

He's actually quite enjoying it, once the initial awkwardness has faded away. He likes the weight of Willie in his lap. It's grounding. And Alex has an arm across Willie's abdomen, and Willie is absentmindedly playing with Alex's hand that's resting on Willie's side, and Alex likes the feel of Willie's fingers on his. Still, it's all overwhelming, but Alex finally has his proof that he needed to refute Willie: he's wide awake and doesn't fall asleep at all through the second movie, which Willie teases him about from his lap.

He spends the rest of movie night trying not to wonder what this could possibly mean because he knows the most likely answer is that it doesn't mean anything.

Days blur together for Alex after that—he doesn't have an off day (he doesn't have an off hour). Honestly, he likes that. He likes the constant going, the constant moving, the constant action in his brain. It keeps him from lingering on one thing for too long, from letting one thing manifest and grow into something beyond itself and gnaw away at Alex until he's a shell of himself.

He has his prince lessons, therapy twice a week—which his grandmother had offered to bring to the consulate after he had a panic attack in front of her on Sunday—, school, band practice, his new Friday "date" with Willie after prince lessons, and then on Saturday the 13th, Julie and the Phantoms play Camelot, a wildly popular nightclub that they'd worked their entire high school career to book. They're excited about it, and Alex is even more excited about it because his grandmother has actually booked the VIP suite, which, as Alex had expected, hadn't been reserved. She invites Alex's parents to come as well, so they hire a baby sitter for Ava and Austin and make a night of it, and Alex plays his heart out (not that he usually doesn't, but this feels special). The next day, at his shortened Sunday prince lesson, he catches his grandmother humming along to Finally Free a few times, though he doesn't point it out. He doesn't need to bring attention to it. Just… knowing is enough.

Somehow it's already Monday the 15th, two weeks into his prince lessons. He is getting more used to the routine now. He still does his homework at lunch, but he doesn't focus quite as hard, as he has learned that he has enough time left at the end of each day to do it. Still, sometimes it is nice to watch Netflix instead of doing homework. That's his hope for tonight as he sits at their lunch table, bent over his math homework. Reggie and Flynn are lost in conversation and Willie is talking about some skating competition with Greg and Shawn, while Julie and Luke are on his phone.

"What the fuck?" Luke murmurs across the table from Alex, just loud enough to grab Alex's attention from worksheet. "What the fuck?" he says again—much, much louder. His head snaps up and his eyes, burning, land on Alex.

Alex flinches back. "Dude, what?"

Julie is leaning into Luke's space, reading whatever is on his phone that's made Luke so upset. The rest of the table is silent, even Greg and Shawn. Alex is just… waiting, at this point, really, but Luke seems too angry for words. Alex can see him literally shaking. So instead he turns to Julie to gauge what to expect from Luke based off of her reaction. The way her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead and her lips are parted, he guesses it is something big. And then her eyes flick to him. "Alex," she starts, but Luke cuts her off.

"So, what," Luke hisses leaning over the table, dropping his phone like he's completely forgotten it. "You were going to drag us along for as long as you could and then drop us at the last minute to go live in some castle in a country you didn't even know the name of a month ago?"

"Luke," Julie whispers, grabbing at his chest to pull him back.

"Thought maybe you'd get one last hurrah, but oh, no, don't even bother to mention it to us," he spits, spinning in his seat fluidly, standing up, and storming out of the cafeteria. Julie sends Alex and apologetic look and then chases after Luke. Flynn sighs and gets up from the table, chasing after her best friend.

Reggie is staring, wide eyed, shell shocked. "Uh… what?"

"I… don't know," he says even though he has a guess. But he's not sure how Luke would know or how his phone would factor in. Alex reaches for the phone that Luke had left abandoned and freezes. One of his instagram pictures is on the screen, but it's not on instagram, it's on a news site. Beneath it, there are several blocks of text.

Prince Alexander of Beasiga, 16, is a student at performing arts high school Los Feliz High School in the Los Feliz District of Los Angeles, California. The prince is in a popular pop-rock bank with three other members (Julie Molina, Luke Patterson, Reggie Peters). The band is called Julie and the Phantoms and they were last seen playing at the popular nightclub Camelot, November 13 th where sources confirmed his identity. The prince is the band's drummer and a back up vocalist.

Alexander has been on the honor roll at his high school multiple times throughout his schooling career and is in the highly renowned music program at Los Feliz High School. He is close with a small group of friends who mostly keep to themselves. According to all sources the prince is currently unattached romantically and has never been linked to anyone, not even close friend Julie Molina.

Sources say that Prince Alexander will be presented at Beasiga's annual Independence Day Ball on December 21 st , accepting his role as future ruler of the small but mighty country.

Alex drops the phone to the table after that, completely uninterested in anything else that it has to say. He doesn't need to read a news article to know about his life. He is living it. Except he certainly isn't planning on accepting his role as future ruler of Beasiga on December 21st.

On either side of him, Willie and Reggie lean in to look at the phone. Willie's hand immediately comes up to his shoulder and squeezes while on his other side, Reggie snorts.

"Dude, what?" he laughs. "Is this news article calling you a prince?"

Alex looks at Reggie. He feels his knee start bouncing under the table, and Willie must too, because his hand goes from Alex's shoulder to Alex's knee. "Uh… yeah. It is." he says. He takes in a deep breath when Reggie laughs harder and lets it out. "Reg. It's right. I—I am."

"Oh, sure," Reggie laughs, elbowing Alex in the side. When he looks over to Alex and sees his face though, Reggie pauses. Slowly, the longer he looks at Alex, the more the smile on his face fades. After a minute it's nearly gone. "Dude, seriously?"

Alex swallows. "Yeah, Reg." He reaches for the phone and holds it up shaking his head. "But—but this isn't—I didn't—I've made no decision. Well, yeah, I have—I'm not gonna, I'm not gonna be a prince. Two weeks ago I almost passed out during my public speaking midterm. Do you really think I'm planning to throw away the band to be a public figure for the rest of my life? Do you think that'd go well for any of us?"

"Of course not," Reggie says, seemingly offended that Alex thinks Reggie could share Luke's thoughts. "You love our band. I know that. Besides, even if you were going to move and become prince, we'd find a way to make it work."

Alex stares at Reggie for a long moment, and then feels a small smile form. "Thanks, Reg."

Reggie shakes his head. "That's not something you thank me for, man. That's just how we work. We're a band. That doesn't stop just because you're royalty now."

"You're taking this surprisingly well," Willie says from Alex's other side. "I knew Luke was gonna freak—didn't realize how much—, I said Julie's gonna try and find a way to fix it in her own way—probably offer to talk with his grandma—, and I guessed Flynn was gonna reference Prince Charming, William, and Harry all within twenty-four hours of finding out, so there's still... twenty four hours left for that. But I really wasn't sure for you. And yet I'm still surprised. Huh."

"I don't really know how you're supposed to react when you find out your best friend is a prince, to be fair," Reggie points out. Alex and Willie both laugh. Reggie narrows his eyes. "Wait. You knew?"

Willie grins. "Oh, yeah. From day one."

"We've been best friends since kindergarten, Alexander!" Reggie gasps, dramatic and exaggerated, in a way that lets Alex know he's not really upset.

"Yeah, well," Willie leans into Alex's space and rests his chin on Alex's shoulder. "What we have is stronger."

Alex feels his heart pick up into overdrive and his face heat up, all while Reggie raises his hands in surrender. "Whoa, okay, I know where I'm not wanted."

"Who said we didn't want you?" Willie asks in a deep voice.

"Okay!" Alex yelps, shifting so Willie's chin falls off of Alex's shoulder. Willie starts giggling, and Reggie falls into laughter, and Alex just feels like he's about to combust. He stares at the table while the two of them get this out of their systems, which leads to staring at Luke's phone, which leads to thinking about the article, which leads to—"Oh, my god."

"What?" Willie and Reggie ask at the same time, both still laughing.

"The news published a story about me."

"Uh, yeah, we were just reading it," Reggie laughs a little more, but Alex notices Willie go silent next to him.

"Yeah, I know, Reg," Alex says. "But—this is supposed to be a secret, at least from the public. I admit I didn't tell you guys for reasons that don't matter anymore, but—they're not supposed to know I exist yet."

"Oh," Reggie says, slipping from laughter to serious just like that. A lot can be said about Reggie not taking life in general seriously, but a lot can also be said when it comes to him taking the lives of his friend's seriously. "That's not good."

"No, it's not."

"When was it published?" Willie asks.

Alex picks up Luke's phone and unlocks it—eleven years of being his best friend having earned Alex that privilege—and looks at the publication time. "An hour and a half ago. Why?"

"Hey, Alex?"

Alex turns in his seat to find Flynn standing behind him. "Yeah?"

"Principal Lessa wants you in her office."

"What?" he frowns. "Why?"

"Your… grandma? is coming. There's a lot of news stations outside the school waiting to talk to you," Flynn explains.

Willie sighs. "That's why."

"Fuck," Alex says. He twists in his seat to get up, but Willie's hand on his arm stops him. He looks at Willie.

"Hey. See if you can get out of lessons today. I think you deserve it. If you can, text me and I'll wait for you after school, we'll go do something that will get your mind off this shit, okay?"

Alex feels so overwhelmed with relief and love and joy—with Reggie's reaction, with Willie's care, with their friendship. He nods at Willie, and then stands up and collects his things. He leaves Flynn with Reggie and Willie and makes his way to Principal Lessa's office, which is on the other side of the building. To get there, he has to pass through the front wing, and through the front doors he can see multiple news vans parked in the normal student pick up lane. He groans to himself and carries on faster to the front office.

His grandmother and John make it to Principal Lessa's office within five minutes of him, and they quickly get down to business. They discovered that it was a leak from one of the college interns at the consulate—that she was at the Julie and the Phantoms show at Camelot and was talking about Prince Alex once she recognized him on stage. Unfortunately, one of those people she had spoken to had been a journalism student with a job at a local paper that had looked into the story, which—likely to the student's surprise—had actually checked out.

Through all of this Alex is surprised that he keeps his fragile composure, even though he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. It's just… the news breaking means eyes on him. And, well. He has to admit now that Julie was right, at least partially. He might still suck at giving speeches (but also probably not because he got an A on his speech when it was one on one with only him and Mr. Kullins) but really, the truth is he can't have people looking at him because he's scared of what they'll see. He's scared he'll let them down. He's scared they'll notice everything wrong with him. Fuck, he's scared they'll be able to know what he's thinking, just by looking at him. Half the time, he wishes he didn't have to listen to his own thoughts, so even just the thought of other people knowing what he's thinking…

So, yeah. No surprise, Julie was right. She usually is, even if Alex likes to pretend that she's not at first. She knows it too, so at least he doesn't have to admit it to her.

It's been just about an hour since they all gathered when the bell rings to signal the end of what would have been Alex's public speaking class. His grandmother looks at Alex and clasps her hands together. "Well. Shall we see if police have escorted them away and get you out of here? We can get an early start on the 1800s history."

"I was actually gonna talk to you about that," Alex murmurs. "Uh—my friend wants to know—you know with. With my anxiety this has been a lot. So he suggested maybe skipping lessons today?"

Her face softens. "Oh, why Alexander, of course. I don't know why I didn't think of that. I'll call your driver and have him take you straight home."

"Oh," Alex frowns, "well, he actually—we actually thought we might. Just hang out a bit? Get my mind off of today? So he was going to drive me."

There's a long pause. "All right," she says. "As long as you don't go out anywhere too public, at least today, not without any security. Please, Alexander, for my peace of mind?"

"Oh, no, totally," he agrees. "We're probably just going to get tea and maybe get food. Sit in his car and talk about how this sucks."

His grandmother simultaneously pulls a face and laughs, and that's how he knows that he's growing on her, improper language and all. "All right then. I hope your afternoon with your friend helps," she says sincerely. She stands and turns to Principal Lessa. "Thank you greatly for allowing us to visit your school and use your office today."

Principal Lessa shakes her head. "It is not a problem. I am just sorry this happened. Please know that we will do everything we can to ensure that he is as safe as can be."

His grandmother smiles at her and then walks out of the office, followed closely by John. Alex is left sitting alone with his principal which—awkward. She gives him the choice of going back to class or hanging out in the front office for the last period of the day. Since his last class of the day is biology—which first, he enjoys and second, means he could potentially be missing something important—he opts to go back to class, but not before sending off a quick text to Willie, promising to meet him at the end of K wing after class.

Biology goes by quick and it's clear that no one in his class has seen the news yet, because not a single eye turns to him the entire class, aside from his late entrance. He can't say the same for the rest of the school, as he can feel a few eyes on him as he makes his way through the halls after class has ended. It's not the majority, not even close, but it's enough to be noticeable, enough to make Alex's skin crawl, heat creep up his throat, and spots dance in his vision. He tries his best to ignore them, but it's hard, especially when he hears his name a few times.

K wing is a reprieve. It's the least crowded wing in the entire school, and even though it leads to the student parking lot, since people who drive themselves don't have to rush, the flow of students leaving is slow and not all at once. Alex is grateful for the lack of stares, and pulls out his phone as he waits for Willie. Swiping through his phone, the typical list of suggested articles pop up and he freezes when he sees when he's not in not only one but three of them. So, people in his biology class may not have known today, but they definitely will tomorrow, along with everyone else in all of his other classes, and everyone else that he passes in the halls. Alex felt sick dealing with the few stares he got today, how in the hell is he going to manage the entire school looking at him tomorrow?

Or, maybe he's just being really self-absorbed. Maybe they won't care. They might see it, read it, think 'oh, ha, what a nerd,' and write it off. They'll pass him and won't look at him because why would they care that he's a prince? It's not like they live in Beasiga. It's not like him being Prince of Beasiga impacts them in any way. So, yeah. Self-absorbed.

"Hey, hot dog."

Alex clicks his phone off and pushes it in his pocket, pushes his thoughts away. "Willie. Hey."

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Alex figures that this is going to be like their Fridays, where Willie picks him up and sort of just—wings it as he goes, but as soon as he gets in the car he has a purpose. He drives them to Alex's favorite tea shop and, before Alex can even begin speaking to the cashier, asks for the order to go. When their tea is ready they start driving again, a fifteen-minute drive until they're at one of the hiking trails just outside of Los Feliz. Alex supposes it's just to give them something to do, or to keep them away from other people, he's not sure why Willie chose this, but he doesn't think Willie factored in the tea to the hike. The tea is hot in his hands while they walk so he has to keep passing it back and forth between them.

"See, with invisibility you could skate wherever you wanted within reasonable distance, but with teleportation you could skate in a lot more places legally by just popping away," Willie explains, answering Alex's question about his reasoning for his choice of super powers. "So like, it'd have to be one of those two for me, I'm just… I don't know which one."

"I feel like you'd get more added benefits beyond the skating perks with teleportation," Alex says. "Go on vacation whenever, break in places, no rush hour traf—"

"I'm sold. No rush hour? Down."

Alex watches Willie make an exaggerated motion with his hands and then kicks at the trail dirt. He smiles and turns away.

"What about you then?" Willie asks. "What's your super power?"

"I don't know," Alex admits. "Is there a super power where you just… don't get anxious?" Next to him, Willie laughs. "No, I… I'm not sure. Indestructibility might be nice. I… I, like, wanna die of old age. Not in a car crash or some freak accident."

"Nice. Fits with your brand."

"What brand?"

"Anxiety."

They keep talking—they talk most of the time, about weird encounters they've had in Downtown LA, about whether or not ghosts are real, but never about the news article—sorry, articles. And when it's silent it's nice, too. And then sometime later—he's not sure how much later because he hasn't looked at his phone once, but their teas are gone and thrown away in trailside garbage cans—they make it to a peak. They take a seat in the dirt right off the trail and in the distance he can see Downtown LA. Alex's legs are stretched out in front of him and he leans back on his hands, and Willie sits next to him, cross-legged. They're close enough that Willie's knee is pressing into Alex's thigh and Alex is trying not to think about that, because he still can't make sense of what has changed the past couple of weeks, of how it's changed and why it's changed—of the touches of the hand holding of the dates of the—this was actually my parents first date, too—of the too.

"So what'd your grandma and, uh, her people say about all of this today?" Willie asks after a few minutes, finally broaching the subject.

Alex shrugs. "They weren't happy, obviously. It was, uh. An intern from the consulate who did it. I feel bad, but it's just… I mean… it was just… everyone knew that the press wasn't meant to know, right? They had a briefing over that. And I don't know if she wasn't there for it or wasn't paying attention or if she just didn't care… But, yeah, a journalism student got her first published article in LA Times because of it, at least." Willie's eyebrows shoot up, mirroring Alex's exact initial reaction. "But, um. Grandma's really mainly concerned about my safety, you know? Lessa had to go over our school's security with her a few times for her to feel secure, and John asked to have someone from his security team in the front office for anyone who visits throughout the day so they can vet them, which Lessa agreed to, but… I don't know. It feels over the top, but… you didn't get to see it, but there were so many news vans outside the school today, man. It was wild. So maybe it's not over the top. It's—just. Man, this is just like the prince thing all over again. It feels like a joke, or like a dream, you know?"

"Yeah," Willie says, nudging Alex's shoulder with his. "How's your anxiety dealing with it?"

"Honestly? Not that great," he admits. "Julie made me realize that it's not so much public speaking I'm bad at as it is people… noticing me. And now? So many people are going to notice me and I don't know how to handle that. I've always been anxious, and then I became a prince. Which did not calm me down. Now, to add to that, the world now knows I'm a prince. What do you think that's going to do for my anxiety?"

"Huh," Willie huffs. He looks over at Alex, tongue poking in his lower lip. His eyes drift from Alex out to looking at downtown LA, and then his entire demeanor changes. "I bet I know something that will help," he says, and in one quick motion hops to his feet. Alex watches him from where he's still sat in the dirt. Willie stares down at him with a maniacal grin on his face. "Yelling. on. a mountain." And then he throws his head back and screams.

Alex drops his jaw, whipping his head around. "Willie!" he gasps, reaching over and grabbing at the other boy's leg. "Willie—shh!" Willie stops, laughing, and looks back down at Alex. Alex stares up at him. "We're okay! Everything's okay!" Alex calls out as loud as he can.

"C'mon, man!" Willie encourages. "Ah!" he screams, much shorter than his first go. He nudges Alex with his foot.

Alex huffs. "Ahhhh," he breathes, sounding more like he's sinking into a hot bath than he is dropping off the top of a roller coaster.

Willie laughs, loud and open, and reaches down to grab the front of Alex's hoodie. "No, dude. You're doing this. Come on. Stand up. Spread your feet, brace yourself, take a deep breath. Ready?" Alex does everything Willie says and then bites his lip, hard. He can already feel the scream welling up inside him, ready to burst out. So when Willie screams at him, Alex screams back, and feels a pressure release somewhere deep inside him. When he cuts off, he already wants to do it again, so he does, and for much longer this time—this time, he screams until his lungs are screaming in their own way for air, and Willie screams right along with him. Tension that Alex didn't even know he had snaps and he feels like some lock inside of him has been broken. He's breathing hard and feels himself beaming at Willie, who has grabbed on to him at some point and is still holding him in his grip. Alex, in his current state of mind, really doesn't want Willie to let him go. And yet, Willie flashes his eyebrows and takes a step back, dropping Alex's shoulders in the process.

"Feels good, right?"

Alex grins. "Yeah. It does." And then. "Oh, my god." He looks around them again and yells, "we're okay! Everyone's fine!" In a normal voice he says, "there's going to be a news article later tonight about the search for two hikers who were screaming for help, isn't there? Because that's how my life is going."

Willie tosses his head back and laughs, and falls back to the ground. Alex joins him a second later, hesitating only because he's not sure if he should sit as close as they were initially sitting or not. He settles on a middle ground—sitting close enough that Willie could brush against him, but that he wasn't pressed against him. When he's settled back into the dirt, Willie starts the conversation back up. "I am excited to see what rumors might pop up about you though," he says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Alex has a sudden thought. "What if they find out I'm gay?" Oh, god.

Willie frowns. "I thought you were only out to us?"

"I mean, technically, but there have been rumors at our school for—for how long now?" Years. There have been rumors for years. And all it took was one person like that intern talking to the wrong person and passing that rumor along and then Alex will have to—have to ask Flynn to pretend to date him or something and—no, god, no he can't do that, to himself or to her. "And like you just said, rumors are all the news need—and I don't—I don't want to have to deal with a fake girlfriend to get those rumors to go away, or, or—"

"Alex," Willie coos, gripping Alex's bicep tightly in his hand. "Alex, calm down. It'll all be okay. You won't have to. Okay?"

"But my parents," he says, realizing. Oh, god. It's not just the public he has to worry about. "My grandma—they don't, she doesn't—she doesn't know."

"That's okay," Willie says.

"She should know though. I'm just—I'm not… brave enough…" …but he can be.

He just screamed at the top of a mountain for the hell of it. It's not a very tall mountain, it's really much more of a hill, but that takes away from his point.

"Alex, what, of course you—"

"Willie?" Oh god. Whatever that lock that broke inside of him was, it was really, truly broke. And there was no going back.

"Huh?"

He closes his eyes. Okay. He's doing this. This is a thing he's going to do. He's going to be brave. He's going to do this, and then he'll be brave enough to tell his grandmother, right? If he can do this he can do anything. He's going to do it. He is. Just in—3, 2, "I like you," he blurts out, and… it's out there. He did it. Some pressure in his shoulders releases but—but that's not all he has to say. "And like, before you say something dumb like 'I like you too, dude.' I just. I mean in the way that's probably closer to the way that means 'I'm in love with you' than anything else. So like. Maybe not I like you. Maybe I love you. I don't know. I'm not sure how that's supposed to feel but I've felt it for a long time, specifically towards you, and it's never gone away, and it's only gotten stronger, so maybe that's love, but maybe I just have a really big crush on you? I don't—"

He's cut off by—

Huh.

He's cut off by Willie kissing him.

Without hesitation, he kisses back, hands automatically reaching up to hold Willie's face, his thumbs tracing over Willie's cheekbones as their lips move against each other. Willie's knee presses way too hard into Alex's thigh, probably hard enough to leave a bruise, and Alex can feel Willie jostling back and forth, can feel his hand sliding along the dirt as he shifts his hand to change his position. It's a little awkward, but it's—

It's good.

Willie pulls back far too soon, but Alex can feel the grin spreading on Willie's lips against his, before they even part. Willie doesn't lean all the way back. He pushes their foreheads together and bumps their noses together. "Maybe I just have a really big crush on you, too," he says.

"Oh."

Willie laughs, and sits back then. "Alex?"

"Huh?"

"You know that means I love you too, right?"

"Oh. No."

"Alex?"

"Huh?"

"I love you too."

#willex #willex fic #willex fanfic #jatp fic #jatp fanfic #ysmfinb #my writing

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aknosde · 3 years

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Fátima I’ll have you know that I wasn’t actually going to drop all of this but then you told me to and I can’t fucking resist you. This is really long I’m sorry. Percy Jackson tiktok au:

This au is like 99% fluff. The only thing that keeps it from being 100% is that I’m maintaining Percy’s history of child abuse, Annabeth's tenuous relationship with her parents, Leo’s mom’s death, The death of Carter and Sadie’s parents, as well as Hazel’s issues (minus the dying), but these things don’t actually come into play.

As you can deduce above, the characters are Percy, Carter, Sadie, Hazel, Annabeth, and Leo. For the sake of my sanity, they are all sophomores in high school.

Character Histories

Percy and Hazel met when he was five and she was four. Hazel’s mom brought her into Sweet on America while Percy was hanging around Sally. They quickly became inseparable, had playdates most weekends until they could control their own schedules, and at around 8/9 years old they started referring to each other as siblings.

Percy: *standing, having a serious conversation with another child at the park*

Hazel: *climbing him*

Percy: WHy are you doing this? The jungle gym is right over there?

Hazel: *continues to climb him*

Percy: You’re a gremlin *pats her affectionately*

Annabeth and Leo met when they started middle school. Annabeth’s relationship with her father and stepmother has reached a nice area, not perfect, but good, and she doesn’t really talk with her birth mother. Leo’s mom died when he was in fourth grade, he’s fostered by a middle class family, and goes to private school with Annabeth on an academic scholarship.

Leo: –so the problem is that this formula doesn’t work with the diameter of a cylinder but I need...

Annabeth: speak english please

*fifteen minutes later* Annabeth: I think I’ll put vertical supports her, although triangular would be more stable, but according to the building codes...

Leo: I beg of you,,,

Cater and Sadie’s history stays much the same, they were raised separately until Julius died, except he died during a cave in on one of his digs, and Ruby died in a construction accident. (She was walking by when the supports failed) They started living with Amos in eighth grade. Yes, Amos still has a baboon, an alligator, and an indoor basketball court.

Carter: And so that’s why Amos named his baboon Kufu.

Sadie: You are literally the most annoying person alive, can I have your fries?

Carter and Percy met on the subway when they were ten, going to a day camp in the summer while Julius was giving some lectures in the city. They were inseparable for the week, and then didn’t speak to each other for four years.

Hazel’s mom has a few mental illnesses that developed when Hazel was around 10, she’s still present in Hazel’s life, and they live together, but she’s not always all there. Once Gabe is out of the picture Hazel spends a lot of time at the Jacksons’ apartment, enough where she keeps a toothbrush there.

As for Gabe, he remains his normal abusive self. Things come to a climax when Percy is 11/12 after Gabe throws a bottle at him. There’s no reasonable excuse for this, and Sally comes home while Percy’s still crying. Gabe’s dealt with swiftly, but Percy has some scarring on the left side of his face.

Also quick note: in this au Percy is 1/2 black, 1/4 moreno, and 1/4 native american. (Moreno and native from Sally and black from his dad)

Their Accounts

So as in the post that got this all started, Percy’s account is largely Ancient Greek and Roman mythology and history. He also does some stuff for indigenous mythology, but he’s super into the greek and roman stuff. (Insert this meme (it’s the thirteenth one down)) He also does skateboarding and some light gymnastics/parkour/acrobatics.

Hazel is a gymnast. She’s also just super nice and supportive so she makes those motivational videos, but mostly it’s gym stuff and her and Percy hanging out. She’s not quite as popular but she doesn’t really care. She is also the #1 horse girl, and rates horses. Percy would tease her, but he’s also a horse girl.

Sadie does comedy. Some if it’s scripted or little skits, but there’s a lot of her just ranting at her camera. Also her life is just weird (*cough* alligator and baboon *cough*) so people just like to see what she’s doing. Also a theatre kid™, sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Carter gives detailed accounts of every Egyptian myth he thinks is cool (all of them), but he makes more comedic abridged versions too. He’s also known to make videos laying out archeological digs. About a quarter of his videos feature Sadie insulting him in the background.

Leoooooo! He has a lot of comedy, the first video of his to do well was a situational comedy, he always has a sarcastic comment or a bad joke. Most of his stuff now is for robotics. He’s on the robotics team at his and Annabeth’s school, but he does a lot of stuff on the side just making crazy cool contraptions. He has a series of him going scrounging for parts because he doesn’t exactly have the money for a lot of his stuff. Also skateboards occasionally.

Annabeth’s account in verging on booktok. Every time she reads a book she reviews it, and if it’s popular she’ll record herself reading it and put the best clips together. She’s still really into architecture, she talks about it often, shows some of her sketches, and has a series where her followers can pick videos in New York and she’ll go and critique them. Also has some lifestyle videos about staying organized, but only for school stuff because otherwise she’s pretty messy.

Prequel Stuff

Carter and Percy reconnect when they start duetting each other’s mythology busting videos. They have two series together, one on parallels between Greek and Egyptian myths (called Percy and Carter’s Mythological Mashup) and another about hellenistic culture, specifically about Egypt during the Ptolemaic Dynasty. (Working title: Colonizers suck,,, but the Aesthetics)

Them getting closer forms a friend group of Percy, Hazel, Sadie, and Carter, and they hang out most weekends. Their parents are all friends now.

Okay, The Actual Thing

I lied, there’s a prologue: everything starts at the very end of freshman year when Percy posts a video of him, Hazel, Carter, and Sadie at central park. (caption yet to be determined). It ends up on Leo’s fyp and his though process goes something like ‘oh, it’s a bunch of pretty people who aren’t white.’ He follows Percy and forgets about it.

So Leo’s life is going pretty normal, Percy’s videos pop up on his following and for you pages. Nothing really happens until Percy makes a video detailing a type of ancient greek technology (im thinking torsion catapult but its not set in stone). Leo thinks it sounds really cool, so he makes it and duets Percy’s video

From there, their friendship develops. Leo keeps making models and prototypes of ancient tech for some of Percy’s videos, and eventually he starts doing his own research. And in turn, Percy duets Leos videos and talks about the historical significance of certain mechanisms or their origins. By now, they’re mutuals and talk pretty often.

Annabeth also follows Percy after one of his videos appears on her fyp, but much later then Leo. In fact, he’s on her page because she follows Leo. She’s with Leo when this happens, and asks him about Percy and checks his profile before following him. He follows her back the next day.

The first time they interact beyond liking each others videos is when Annabeth takes part in one of those ‘creators are struggling like you’ with her ADHD and dyslexia, which Percy continues from her.

One day Percy and Leo (quite literally) run into each other, and as they’re mutuals and do text, they decide they might as well hang out in person, thus Leo is indicted into Percy’s friend group.

Leo eventually brings Annabeth along too

And the rest of it would be shorter 4+ panel comics and maybe a few mini arcs. I have specific videos outlined for each of them.

#i spaced this out because i can't read big blocks of text so sorry if its annoying #this is literally my comfort au #also all of the characters are queer #i don't have any percabeth plans #its purely friendship fluff #this is basically just a master post #tiktok.pj.au #long post #riordanverse #max.txt

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rays-animorphs · 2 years

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Read-through Book 9: The Secret

Part 1: Still Curious About Whether Cassie Would Be Willing To Compromise On A Nice Suit

I thought we might return to the normal cycle once we did Ax, which would mean Tobias is next, but apparently we’re doing Cassie instead. I like Cassie, so it’s hard to complain, but I’m kinda annoyed about Tobias getting shorted. Tobias deserves to have more to his character than “can I live with myself as a hawk?”

I hope there’s an actual secret in this book.

Cassie’s morphing into a wolf on the cover, which is good, and her human form as promised has short hair and a fairly boring flannel shirt and, yeah, I think they did her right.

“It’s kind of a nice last name” aw, now I want to know Cassie’s last name.

Andra. Cassie Andra.

Animorphs: encouraging awareness of keeping your personal information private for safety’s sake.

“You could squash one under your foot and it would be helpless to stop you.”

Huh.

Does Cassie have any siblings? We haven’t had any mentioned.

I guess Cassie calling the Taxxons “evil” counts as making a moral judgment. Cassie sounds different this book. “Enemy” this, “squashing” that, “evil” this other thing. No “I don’t like tartar sauce.”

“The murderer of Elfangor. A killer. A destroyer.” OK, Cassie has definitely figured out how to pass moral judgement. New Cassie.

I guess Applegate couldn’t wait to explore New, Angry, Done With This Shit Cassie, and I can’t blame her.

Cassie, you got over 40 more books to go. Pace yourself.

No way does Cassie get to work with a live rat in middle school science class.

“That’s the great thing about Rachel — she’s always willing to help talk you into doing something you probably shouldn’t do.”

“My face bulged like a zit about to pop.” This is still one of the least disturbing morphing descriptions.

Writing being a different animal in a compelling way is just so good.

“You wouldn’t think that squat body and those stubby little legs would be good for climbing, but I really do believe that rat could have gone just about anywhere it wanted to go.” Some of the old, happy Cassie who loves animals is still here.

“Then we went to her house and gave her little sister a home perm. Business as usual.”

“I, on the other hand, will show up for my own wedding someday dressed in jeans and boots and socks that don’t match.” Good plan. Jake will tell you you look gorgeous.

(It's hard to read tone through text, so I want to clarify: I mean this unironically. Dressing up for big events is great for people who like that. Going to your own wedding dressed in jeans and mismatched socks is also great and no one should have to wear something they don't like for their wedding day just because it's "traditional" or "everyone expects it" or boring bullshit like that.

I have come up with one halfway decent reason for going with a traditional white wedding dress other than "people might not like it if you don't", and that is when my grandma had dementia I realized that if she was at a wedding, probably the only way she would be able to keep track of who the bride was is having one uniform bridal outfit that got reinforced over her entire life. On the other hand, the groom dresses like any other man wearing fancy clothes. So is it really that important that the bride where "one day in your life" clothes if she doesn't even want to? (Absolutely no shade on women who genuinely want the fancy dress, I'm sure Rachel's already got some ideas about her perfect wedding outfit and I'm sure she'll both be happy in it and look stunning in it.)

It actually means a lot to me that Jake likes the way Cassie looks dressed the way she usually does.

“Someday I am going to knock you over the head, stuff you in a big bag, drag you to the mall, and force you to buy a dress. You can keep the big rubber boots, if you insist, but we’re getting you a dress.”

"You're kidding, right?"

She's kidding about you getting to keep the rubber boots.

#animorphs read-through #animorphs book 9

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 4 years

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Elisabeth & Noah in the origin world (2/?)

First date

He is not sure if he should text her or not.

On Monday, upon waking up with every ounce of alcohol finally off his bloodstream and after he has spent the entire Sunday recovering from the worst hangover he’s experienced since his college years, Noah is back on his reserved nature, the timid one, the one lacking the amount of whiskey-infused courage it takes for him to deal with matters revolving around human interaction, especially with women. He’s not a social outcast per se, but his confidence mostly accompanies him in the career-oriented side of his life.

It’s not like he’s not interested. He crossed the line of “interested” when he stooped to the lowest level possible, looking her up on Instagram, of all things, via Agnes’ account.

(His little sister has a long list of questions and he has a long list of brotherly favors that he promised to fulfill in exchange for her seven-digit password.)

She doesn’t have a vast presence on social media, a quality they apparently share. He keeps a long forgotten Facebook account and a professional LinkedIn one and acts blissfully ignorant towards any other platform that isn’t YouTube. Her Facebook account - oh yeah, he checked that one too - is a mix between personal and business, opinion posts about socio-politcal matters on the grounds of their country to the entirety of Europe to the endlessness of the globe and take-action events in regard to the causes she supports, occasionally interrupted by a reunion selfie with an old friend or a brunch date with her mom and her sister. That particular post redirected to some Instagram link, so, unwittingly, his curiosity was peaked.

Her Instagram account is colourful, vivid, filled with adventures and laughter. Just from an idle scroll, Elisabeth Doppler - Winden born, age twenty-four, Energy Engineer, Berlin based - can easily be perceived as someone that quite enjoys life. Her group of associates and friends seems endless and her gallery consists of photos of dinners with young professionals, pub-crawling with girlfriends, road tripping across Europe, Erasmus Programme memories, tree-planting projects, women’s rights marches, snorkelling, paragliding. Noah spends the whole Sunday afternoon feeling overwhelmed and in awe, tapping picture after picture, mesmerized by her lovely smile that adds a softer undertone to her busy bee of a life.

He finds it fascinating, her mindset and her lifestyle, but, at the same time, he fears that their personalities may clash, his more keeping-to-himself attitude the polar opposite to her seemingly outgoing one. Then, it’s also the age barrier. He thinks that thirty-two might be a little off-putting for someone in their early twenties, a decade that comes with a whole other set of expectations and milestones than the one he is currently in. The major problem, though - a chronic problem of his - is that he’s thinking too much.

Fortunately, that’s not a thing they have in common.

Elisabeth texts him on Monday morning, at 9.54 to be exact. He’s in the middle of a lecture, teaching History of Religion 101 to an auditorium filled with sleepy freshmen, when his phone screen lights up, its glow illuminating in the dimly lit room. It’s a simple “good morning” paired up with a smiling face emoji but it’s enough to cause his heart to race and his mind to short-circuit, leaving him reciting things off the projection screen without really registering what comes out of his mouth until the lesson is over. With sweaty hands and in the mist of internal panic laced with excitement, he texts her back at 10.38 an equally casual “hey, hope you’re having a good morning, too”. He beats himself up for not asking her anything the minute he presses send, like, how she’s doing, if she’s at work - literally anything, Noah, Jesus Christ, now she’ll think that you don’t care, nice work, you idiot - especially as the hours pass and there’s silence from her end. He spends the rest of the day drowning in miserable self-pity, checking his dead phone literally every minute, until there’s a new message from her, telling him that she had a very busy day at work and asking him how his day was.

(Thank God, because he was about to send her an embarrassing word vomit apologizing for having zero social skills whatsoever.)

They continue their back and forth texting for the rest of the week, casual conversations about their everyday lives turning into debates about the best places to eat and the best movies of all time to metaphysics and social justice that keep them up till the small hours of morning, Elisabeth sending him blowing-a-kiss face emoji’s for goodnight and Noah smiling like a silly teenager at his phone screen. Right in the middle of one of their more “serious” conversations, Elisabeth venting about income-based discrimination, Noah asks her out. It’s abrupt and totally irrelevant to the context of the rest of the bubbles that litter their personal chat at that moment but he can’t really help himself. She is a woman he wants - needs - to know more about, not through a screen, but in person, sit there and watch her express all the things she has in her brilliant mind.

They arrange to meet on Friday night, after she finishes work, since Noah has to attend a seminar in Dresden on the weekend and since both of them are too impatient to wait any longer. Noah arrives first at the bar she gave him directions to and decides on waiting for her outside but decides against smoking a cigarette, even though he’s itching to, out of habit and nerves. She rounds the corner barely five minutes later, strutting towards him in an electric blue pantsuit and a plaid maxi grey coat, her whole face brightening with a stunning smile when she notices him, and, just like that, everything else fades, his anxiety about their first official date, his mental fatigue after holding office hours, his insecurities, his worries and she is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.

A wave of panic washes over him momentarily, his inner perfectionist making a huge deal out of not having a clear plan of how to greet her. A handshake is too impersonal, a kiss too presumptuous. Ultimately, he attempts an awkward, one-arm kinda hug - which is ridiculous because a) he’s a freaking grown-up and b) her tongue has already been inside his mouth and he doesn’t recall his hands being particularly respectful the night of Jonas’ wedding, when she pushed him against a wall and stole his breath with a glorious kiss - an action she probably misconstrues as a leaning in and this results in them doing a clumsy dance right there on the pavement, but she giggles and her eyes shine with amusement, so his self-deprecating frown gives its place to a handsome smirk, when she moves closer to him and leaves a soft peck on his cheek, as a belated greeting. She smells of sensuous jasmine and intoxicating amber, her perfume aery but with a spicy twist that succeeds in stimulating all of his senses. He holds the door for her to enter and his hand lingers lightly on the small of her waist, as they make their way through the tables to the bar.

They settle on two empty barstools and order their signature drinks, Gin and Tonic and Whiskey on the Rocks. Elisabeth takes her phone out of her tote bag but before she gets to type anything, Noah holds her attention. He thinks for a moment and then makes his hands move, forming tentative gestures that lack any grace or flow but succeed in signing “It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”.

Elisabeth beams, impressed, her lips mouthing an excited “how?”. He just shrugs and shyly pulls out of his messenger bag a thick sign language book, a recent purchase of his which he’s been studying with every chance he got. Her whole face softens, touched by his sweet gesture, before she types on her phone.

That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you. Even though you shouldn’t have; apart from technology’s assistance, I’m pretty good at reading lips.

He uses his phone to reply. Yeah, I gathered that much. I just want to talk to you in your language.

The look that she gives him under her fluttering eyelashes is so tender and lovely that he can’t help but stare, a foolish grin plastered on his lips and a hot blush painted on his neck, creeping from the collar of his grey shirt.

They talk - type, to be exact, with the occasional mimic of a word or two - about everything and nothing, fast thumbs trying to keep up with their effortless conversation on the notifications’ section of their phones. He learns about her childhood in Winden, her hellish pranks to her older sister Franziska, her loving parents that separated when she was a preteen but never stopped caring about each other or being there for their daughters. She talks about her hometown friends and her honor roll high school experience, moving to Berlin to attend university and falling in love with the lively vibe of the city, getting her Master’s in Energy Engineering and recently landing her first job on the field at the Tiedemann Enterprises, a very prestige corporation in the industry of renewable energy. She’s still particularly excited about this, being part of a team of researchers thriving to improve energy efficiency based on an environmental friendly strategy.

Noah tells her about his memories as a young boy in Vechta, how he lost his mother when he was only six, due to complications while giving birth to his sister, how his father was never really in the picture after that tragic incident. How the local church and especially Sic Mundus, a church based organization for neglected children and troubled teens, contributed to his and Agnes’ well-being and education, helping him land a university scholarship and get a job, so he could afford moving his sister to Berlin, too, after he got his bachelor degree, and offering her a more stable living situation and a normal life. How, apparently, his aptitude for the humanities and his upbringing in a religious environment drove him to follow an academic career in religious studies, a field that he finds beyond interesting, especially its anthropology aspect.

Somewhere along the conversation, too absorbed into their own little world to register the fewer people in the bar and the clock ticking towards closing time, his hand, as if it has a mind of its own, slides slowly over the wooden top of the bar, her slender fingers meeting his hesitant approach halfway. They’re barely touching but it’s electrifying, the feeling of even an inch of his skin against her skin so exhilarating and powerful, like the impact of meteors colliding or the universe exploding into pieces. It feels like a Déjà vu, like a glitch in the Matrix, like they know each other from the past or recognize each other from their future. It’s a feeling both of them kept seeking, a feeling that they silently vow never to lose.

Noah pays for the drinks, despite her objections, and Elisabeth insists that, next time, the bill is on her. He smirks, a tad tipsy on the whiskey, a lot tipsy on her, and teases her that he must have done something right, because this is the first time a girl agrees on a second date with him this fast. She just shrugs, a cheeky smirk playing on her lip-glossed lips, as she types, if I left it up to you, we’d still be on the PG-13 “good morning” texts. He laughs, an effortless, loud laugh and he catches her staring - no, not staring, checking him out - the corner of her longing smile trapped between her teeth. He fights the insane urge to kiss her senseless right here in this empty bar with the bartender mentally plotting their death for keeping him past his shift.

He accompanies her to the U-Bahn station and his heart skips a heartbeat at the prospect of sharing ten more minutes with her, according to the information display over their heads. She wishes him to have fun in Dresden and he confesses that he wishes he could stay here, to spend the weekend with you, he wants to add but refrains, in fear of confessing too much too fast. Instead, he tells her that he had an amazing night and he’s so relieved and purely happy when she nods vigorously in agreement, her low ponytail bobbing lightly and her beautiful face radiating even under the harsh fluorescent light of the station. The atmosphere around them is suddenly very charged, their bodies gravitating towards each other, and their eyes engage in a stare off that speaks volumes and holds so much unresolved tension. He can hear the bright yellow train approaching and his breath quickens as he takes a brave step forward, invades her personal space, and his eyes declare defeat, falling to her lips. He’s the one to kiss her this time, a soft peck that turns into a needy battle of dominance when she melts into his arms and angles her face to kiss him more, deeper, hungry mouths dancing together in passion, his shoulders hunching over her smaller figure, his hands cradling her cheeks. Her own hands sneak under his coat and suit jacket, delivering a heavy caress over the material of his shirt before she closes her arms around his waist, Noah letting a trembling exhale into the kiss and his lips forming a lazy smirk against her giggling ones. Smugly, Elisabeth tugs lightly at his lower lip with her teeth, a naughty essence to the playful action, and this fuels another round of heated kissing, their bodies pushing and pulling, their heavy PDA a thing they’ll be embarrassed for in the morning. For tonight, though, they’re just two people getting drunk on each other in the middle of a train station, as if tomorrow will be the end of world and they’ll cease to exist.

When they pull back for air her lips are lipgloss-free and her eyelids, still closed, are fluttering over scarlet cheekbones. Noah has never witnessed a most beautiful sight in his life.

Elisabeth gets on the train with a dazed and dazzling smile, promising to text him when she arrives at her apartment. They refuse to let go of each other’s eyes until the train vanishes into the dark tunnel and Noah is left there, on the empty station, a finger reaching to his lips, not quite believing that the fruity taste of lipgloss that still lingers in his mouth or the woman whose lips left their trace behind are real and not a product of his wildest fantasies. There’s an extra hop in his steps as he walks up the stairs to catch the train to the opposite direction, boarding the vehicle at the last minute and sliding quickly on a seat, lovesick smile intact and a newfound feeling of contentment and thrill nested in his chest.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and types, unable to wait any longer.

I get back early on Sunday. Would you like to have dinner with me?

#dark netflix #noah x elisabeth #elisabeth x noah #elisabeth doppler #hanno tauber #noah #noah dark #noabeth #noahbeth #this turned out huge #but i have way too many feels to control myself #myedits #ogparadise

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wisteria-lodge · 3 years

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snake primary (bird model) + lion secondary (bird model)

I’m feeling really lost when it comes to my secondary. I’m fairly sure I’m a Snake Primary with a strong Bird model. But My secondary is tripping me up and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve been severely depressed for about 6 years, dealing with PTSD for 12, and dealing with anxiety since middle school. I’m also getting evaluated for ADHD. I’m getting help so don’t worry. So, here we go.

You seem pretty okay. I’ll keep an eye out for possible burning though.

Bird: I do think I have a Bird model. I plan things, I research the heck out of things when I need to make a decision, I’m always asking for advice (like now…), etc. But a lot of that seems driven by anxiety and fear of messing up. I literally never asked for advice until middle school, which was when the anxiety started.

We have us a Bird secondary model that you built as a coping mechanism.

I do love to learn languages and I like to watch videos on YouTube about historical fashion and stuff like that. I used to read constantly but I’m so burned out that lately I haven’t read much. If I have a new interest, I can never do things by halves. I also have a huge cookbook collection and a huge collection of quotes on Evernote. I love puzzles and figuring things out. But yeah sometimes I’ll just be like “let’s check every book about tea/socialism/the regency era out of the library.” Then I text my Double Badger friend who is super into tea about it and she responds, “Just enjoy drinking your tea, what are you doing??” Okay now I’ve confused myself and I’m wondering if I really am a Bird. Or maybe that’s all ADHD hyperfocusing. Probably? Ugh. Who am I??

So your Bird model is also something you use to play, that’s good. And you love being social too. People focused Bird?

I don’t think I do the Bird Actor thing, though occasionally I’ll pretend to be a character for fun when I’m walking on the sidewalk or something. And I’m not a strategist? When I play chess or RPGs or write I just kind of try to go for it and figure it out along the way.

You’ve got a bit of an improv-for-fun thing going on. Snake? Lion?

But that doesn’t always end up working so I do now plan out my longer pieces of writing to avoid plotholes and getting off track.

Coping mechanism Bird secondary model.

I’m very conscious of how I frame things. Like if I sense incoming drama, I make sure to speak up first and frame things in my favor so that people will be on my side. It’s not automatic, though. Like as soon as I realize there’s going to be some sort of confrontation, I’m thinking to myself very quickly, “Okay. To get people on my side I need to talk to them before the other person does and frame things X way and make these facial expressions.” Usually this does not involve lying, just telling the truth in a way that favors me.

This honestly sounds pretty Actor Bird. This sort of thing is a lot more… automatic, if you’re doing it though a Snake or a Badger secondary.

I was a terrible liar until high school when I made the effort to learn how to lie effectively

Here’s that Bird secondary again, picking up the slack.

I do feel like I tend to reflect people a little, though? Like if people are talking about politics and make it clear they’re super conservative, I will just talk about the few things that I agree with.

That could point to Courtier Badger…

I don’t like arguing with people anymore because I’m scared they won’t like me or will be offended. This goes double after the last two elections when multiple people dropped me for disagreeing with them and other people said I made them uncomfortable for…having what I see as generic normal opinions. I’m also just not good at thinking up arguments on the fly at all because everything gets all jumbled in my head and I forget details so arguing makes me feel stupid. I tried to do debate one year in school… Oh man what a disaster. If I’m arguing in writing though and I can look stuff up? They better watch out.

Wait, whoa. You like arguing for fun? And the only reason you don’t is because things got more intense after the last election + arguing in real time is annoying since sometimes your memory doesn’t cooperate? Oh that’s Lion. Lion secondary or Lion secondary model.

At the core of it though, I don’t really lie unless it has a purpose (getting something I can’t get otherwise, trolling friends for a laugh, avoiding punishment) and isn’t a big deal.

“trolling friends for a laugh” sounds pretty darn Lion secondary. As does the implied getting-into-trouble that “avoiding punishment” would require.

Will I answer on a form that I’m x religion that I was raised as to get into a Facebook group I really want to be in? Yes. If someone straight up asked me what religion I am currently practicing? I would NEVER lie about that. The thought makes me feel physically ill. I also lost those family members because the thought of pretending I liked the loser of our recent election was disgusting. And if I truly hate someone because they deeply hurt me or a loved one, nothing can make me pretend to like them. The most I can do is be coldly polite in that situation and usually I can’t even manage that.

That’s Lion. I could see that go back to either a Lion primary or secondary, but if you’re happy with your Snake primary, I’m going to put down another point for Lion.

But like…would I lie about my address to get a library card for the much better county library system next to my tiny independent city? (My state is weirdly structured). No guilt at the thought of that and I’ve seriously considered it but they require proof of address.

You’re a little bit of a rule-breaker, aren’t you? And that’s a side of yourself you really like. That’s Lion.

Basically if it will help me get something I need, I’ll feel better about lying, but otherwise I feel uncomfortable and usually I try to be at least “technically” truthful. Which sounds sort of Lion? Oh wow I thought I was going to be asking about Snake vs Badger but instead it’s Bird vs Lion.

…ADHD Lion with fun and helpful Bird model? IDK.

I think so :)

#sortinghatchats #sortme #wisteria sorts #lion secondary #bird secondary model #snake primary #snake lion #adhd stuff #submission

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cyclopstm · 3 years

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DISABILITY && MENTAL HEALTH

This post will cover items such as disabilities, mental health, PTSD and trauma in relation to Scott. These are things which are either canon for him, or headcanons I want to pay more attention to on my blog.

I do not have any personal experience with any of the items I will address in this post, which means that most (if not all) of my information is gained through reading and research online. If there are items I missed out on or have described incorrectly, you may contact me about this to kindly help me figure out a new/better way to put things into words. It’s in no way my intention to upset anyone, or bring forth wrong information.

To me, it just feels like Scott is a good opportunity to improve the representation of characters and people who deal with visual impairment because the narrative that disability is binary caused that most blind characters in popular media have no vision at all. Blind characters in heroic roles like Daredevil, have powers that completely compensate for their blindness while blind people who don’t have these compensations are usually portrayed as helpless.

As a team leader and a superhero, Scott offers a good opportunity to include people who are visually impaired, yet often ignored or left out of the heroic narrative.

Needless to say, do NOT reblog this post && don’t interact with it if you’re not a RP blog.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS : 1. Scott’s brain trauma and injury 2. Scott’s PTSD during his youth 3. Symptoms and signs of PTSD for Scott 4. Scott is (legally) blind 5. Scott cannot distinguish colours 6. How Scott deals with his visual impairment 7. The X-Mansion and dealing with trauma 8. Additional notes

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1. SCOTT’S BRAIN TRAUMA AND INJURY When Scott was a young boy, he went on a travel with his parents and his little brother Alex. The family’s private jet was ambushed by an alien Shi’ar scouting ship. The boys lost their parents on that unfortunate day and in the crash, Scott took a hit to the head after his mutant powers manifested for the first time and allowed Scott to break his fall and allow him and Alex to survive. The head injury Scott suffered on that day would permanently disable the part of Scott’s brain which would have enabled him to control his optic blasts. Additionally, Scott (as well as Alex) suffered traumatic amnesia regarding the accident. Unlike his brother, Scott was forced to remain hospitalized for up to a year.

As a teenager, Scott began to suffer from severe headaches and he was sent to a specialist (Mr. Sinister in disguise) who provided him with lenses made of ruby-quartz. Scott’s mutant power erupted from his eyes as an uncontrollable blast of optic force and the only means to control it ever since have been the ruby-quartz lenses Sinister gave him. Sinister knew the lenses would help due to experiments and research he had been doing on the boy while Scott lived at the orphanage where Sinister had feigned being the owner.

2. SCOTT’S POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER DURING HIS YOUTH After losing his parents and waking up alone at the hospital after the plane crash, Scott was placed in the State Home for Foundlings, an orphanage in Omaha (Nebraska) where he was subjected to batteries of tests and experiments by the orphanage’s owner, Mr. Milbury (alias, Mr. Sinister). He placed mental blocks on Scott and took on the role of ‘Lefty’, who was Scott’s roommate and bully at the orphanage. During his time spent at the orphanage, Scott was subjected to several occasions which would leave him traumatized — such as the attempt of one of the other orphaned boys at taking his own life, and Scott’s failed attempt at saving him. Any time anyone came close to adopting Scott, Sinister intervened.

At some point, Scott demolished a crane with his optic blast, by accident. He had saved a crowd of people by using his blast again to destroy the crane before it would crush the people, but they believed he was out to kill them and chased the young mutant boy. Scott woke the attention of a mutant criminal who sought to use Scott’s powers in his crimes, but abused the kid when Summers refused. At that time, he had also attracted the attention of Charles Xavier who tracked down Scott and took him in as the first of his team of X-Men...

3. SYMPTOMS OF SCOTT’S PTSD — Reliving the traumatic event (during his childhood) :: as a boy, Scott was fond of airplanes and dreamed of becoming a pilot himself one day. But when he was taken to an air show by one of the orphanage’s nurses, he had a violent traumatic reaction in the middle of the show, reciting things he otherwise doesn’t consciously remember. — Negative Thoughts and Feelings :: Scott often deals with feelings of anger, guilt, fear or numbness. He’s prone to blame himself for things going wrong on missions with the X-Men. When someone comes to pass, he’s quick to take up responsibility and the blame for it, and occasionally even deals with survivor’s guilt. Scott also feels cut off from his friends and family and hardly keeps much interest for day-to-day activities. He hardly does them to relax, but rather only when they become necessary. — Avoidance :: Scott feels like he has to keep busy at all times, he doesn’t want to think or talk about anything in relation to his past, feels emotionally cut off from his feelings, struggles to express his emotions or affection towards others and thus comes across as numb and cold and very serious and occasionally does risky things which could be self-destructive or reckless. He’s often the first in line to sacrifice himself for the X-Men not only because he’s their leader, but also because he has little to no value for his own life. — Disturbed sleep and lack of sleep. — Taking risks and hypervigilance. — Intrusive thoughts. — Nightmares. — Trust issues. — “No one understands.”-mentality. — The sense of never being at peace.

4. SCOTT IS (LEGALLY) BLIND While Scott was born with perfectly normal eyesight, and perfect vision, he no longer has the ability to see without his ruby-quartz lenses ever since his optic blasts came to manifest. Only ruby-quartz can keep the optic blasts under control, meaning that any other means of vision such as regular glasses or lenses would not be of help for Scott. Scott literally can’t see without his ruby-quartz shades. Opening his eyes would prove incredibly destructive to his nearest surroundings.

Someone who is completely blind can’t see any light or form. Of the people with eye disorders, only about 15% can see nothing at all. If you’re legally blind, you can still see, just not that clearly. Normal vision is 20/20. That means you can clearly see an object 20 feet away. If you’re legally blind, your vision is 20/200 or less in your beter eye or your field of vision is less than 20 degrees.

In addition to being unable to distinguish colors due to the red tint in his glasses, they also reduce his low-light vision, which means Scott deals with low vision.

5. SCOTT CANNOT DISTINGUISH COLOURS I’m not using the term colorblindless in this post for the main reason that Google gives me too many search results in relation to racism, and I do not intend to use a term that has a double meaning that could be taken the wrong way.

Scott’s ruby-quartz lenses cause him to see the world through a veil of red. The lenses are tinted in red which alters Scott’s general, every day perception of the world. He sees the world in shades of grey, white, black and red and can no longer distinguish any other colours. Maybe rather than ‘colourblindness’, Scott deals with something alike to monochromacy. Though, Scott’s monochromacy is perhaps not of a kind that has been officially diagnosed in real life cases before.

The comics and movies rarely acknowledge Scott’s eyesight aside from him claiming to have an ‘eye condition’ as an excuse for him to wear sunglasses all the time. Scott’s adaptations to being unable to distinguish different colours would be mostly rather subtle and maybe it doesn’t inherently add onto the story a comic book or movie wants to tell, but they shouldn’t be ignored in how I wish to bring Scott in my writing...

6. HOW SCOTT DEALS WITH HIS VISUAL IMPAIRMENT — High contrast text and browser extensions for reading. — Color coding his outfits. He labels them with what color they are and organizes his closet by items that go together. — As a prodigy at billiards, Scott has a special billiards set adjusted to his specific needs. — Large prints for letters, books, digital fonts, etc. — Increased brightness on any of his devices’ screens. — Assistance from ‘self-driving’ tech when flying the Blackbird or riding his motorcycle. He knows the majority of controls through muscle memory by now. — Assistive technology to improve contrast, especially at night. — Scott owns a touch-based Rubik’s Cube. — Help from his closest friends.

7. THE X-MANSION AND DEALING WITH TRAUMA Scott and Ororo both (among others), are hyper aware of the traumas some of their students have experienced. They recognize behaviours and reactions in trauma survivors because they have been in such a position themselves as well. They made sure the school has a clear set of rules and policies on the safety and comfort of students. The school faculty received training in mental health first aid, there’s places students can retreat to when they feel anxious or suffer from power meltdown.

People like Scott, Jean and Rogue would know how to handle students who have gone through different types of abuse. As trauma survivors themselves, they’d take extra steps to reassure students who have every reason to distrust adults. They would announce themselves when approaching students from behind, maintain wide personal space bubbles and refrain from initiating physical contact such as hugs or touching students without asking them first. They see there’s no use in raising your voice to the kids, and won’t tollerate any kind of jokes about trauma. Scott is rumoured to be very strict on the rules of the house concerning mental health.

8. ADDITIONAL NOTES While Scott is aware that there is no shame in any of what he deals with every day, he still keeps it under wraps a lot. He doesn’t ever want for his visual impairment or his trauma to become his only and main personality trait other people associate with him. This is why a lot of people may not even know that he is dealing with these things on the daily. He’s very subtle about everything and only those who get to know him better may begin to see and notice things which indicate that he’s disabled. Scott has grown so adjusted to living with his disabilities that they commonly no longer cause him trouble.

The only people who know Scott is visually impaired because he told them himself are Charles (confidant and father-figure), Jean (lover, the person he maybe trusts more than anyone else), Hank (as the resident scientist), Ororo (as his fellow team leader) and Emma Frost (as his therapist).

Scott has been able to take therapy sessions with Charles during his early years, and later on with Emma Frost. Jean has also helped him an incredibly great deal on coping with his trauma and PTSD, lack of self-esteem and dealing with his emotions and expressing them more openly.

To this day, Scott still suffers from migraines and occasional moments of memory loss. His brain injury does not always allow him to maintain or store knowledge accurately. His migraines are a result of his optic blast building up surplus energy. When Scott can’t use his optic blast regularly, he will build up a surplus energy which manifests into migraines.

#( META. )#( SAVED. )#tw ptsd #tw mental health #tw disability #tw trauma #tw abuse

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