#brazil exchange student

[wooahaeproductions]

Tracing Time (part one)

Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi) x Female Reader

Summary: In order to cope with your mother’s death, you decide to study abroad in Rio for the summer just like she did. You come upon the diary she kept during that time, following all that she did 20 years ago. However, you didn't expect finding love would be part of that process.

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, comedy, smut (in part two), strangers to lovers au, neighbors au, college au

Word count: ~4.7k

Warnings: mentions of a family members death and mentions of ways to cope. Part two will have smut and will have it's own warnings.

Rating: 18+ for the completed fic

A/N: It's finally here! I struggled to write this for some reason but hopefully part two will come easier. This fic is for svthub's 2024 World Tour Collab and I am so happy to be apart of another collab. Please check out all the other amazing works as well! I also want to thank my beta readers Summer @beomcoups and Kiki @nonuify 🥰~Maren

You took a deep breath as you stopped in front of the student housing building and started at its gorgeous architecture before pulling an old photo from the front pocket of your bag. You held it out in front of you, confirming this was the building the smiling woman in the photo was standing in front of. You were here, standing in the same spot your mother had at your age when she studied at the very same summer exchange program in Brazil that you were going to.

You slipped the photo back into your bag and took one more big breath before bringing yourself and your luggage into the lobby of the building. You were supposed to meet the student liaison for the university exchange program there to get your dorm keys along with your class information. You looked around the large lobby in awe. It looked much more like a hotel with its grand marble floors and sophisticated ambiance than student accommodations. 

“You must be Y/N!” You heard a woman say in accented English and you spotted her walking across the lobby toward you. She was an older woman wearing a designer pantsuit, and her hair looked like she had just been at a salon. You certainly weren’t in Chicago anymore. Everything was different here, and you had only been at the airport and this place so far. 

“Hi, I am she,” you responded to the woman, feeling a little overwhelmed already. Which honestly wasn’t that unusual given the circumstances of the past year. 

“Welcome to PUC University and Rio de Janeiro. I’m Mrs. Delgado,” she said. She must have sensed how overwhelmed you were because she gave your arm a gentle pat before continuing. She pulls a packet of paper out of the bag she was carrying and hands it to you. “This is your class schedule and some information about the benefits available to you as an exchange student. There are only three classes since it is a summer program, one being the Portuguese class that all of our international students are required to take, Drawing 110, and Brazilian Art and Architecture.” 

After explaining your schedule, she then pulled out a set of keys that jingled on an ornate keychain, one that matched the building. “And these are the keys to your dorm,” she said, handing them to you. “I’ll let you get settled and ready for your first day tomorrow. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me and boa sorte!” A second later, she was gone leaving you staring at your dorm number on the keychain. 

“203,” you murmured the number, looking around to see if there was any indication of where your room would be. You opted to ask the boy manning the front desk, whose English was actually great. He pointed to the staircase on the other end of the lobby and told you it was up those and to the right. Just as you were about to head up the stairs, wheeling your suitcase behind you, someone just about knocked you over. A guy to be exact, a handsome one at that. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m late. I’m so sorry, but I’m late!” He blurted, briskly brushing past you with a rushed apology. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, blinking while he ran out of the building. You didn’t have the energy to think about him right now despite his looks, not that you ever entertained the idea of a meet-cute this way or god forbid actually falling in love in this scenario.

You shook your head and put the handle down on your suitcase so you could carry it upstairs with you. You turned the key in the door to your room and walked in, your eyes taking in where you would live for the next few months. It was simple, much like a hotel room but you did have a tiny kitchenette that you didn’t expect to have and a window that looked out to the square that was in front of the building.

You brought your suitcase up on the twin bed so you could unpack a few things before thinking about finding dinner. You put a few clothes in the small dresser that was there before stumbling upon the whole reason you were here: your mom’s diary. You picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed with it, fingertips stroking the leather cover.

Six months earlier 

People were coming in and out of the house giving you and your family words of condolences, but everything was a blur to you. You sat on the couch in the living room when you had all come back from the funeral home, numb to everything. Tears had long since been exhausted, and now all you were was an empty shell, an empty shell without a mother. You were vaguely aware that your grandmother had sat down next to you, brushing your bangs out of your eyes before gently placing a book in your lap: your mother’s diary from when she was the same age as you.

You opened the leather book up, looking at the cover page that you had stared at so many times since your grandmother had given it to you. You recognized your mom’s loopy writing confirming that the diary belonged to her and Summer 1985 written underneath. You turned the page to the first entry, the one that had the photo of your mother outside this building stuck in right before it. It was dated June 15th of that year, when she arrived in Brazil and was in the same student housing. 

As you read your mother's account of her arriving at student housing, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were hearing her voice again. It was almost as if you were just on a trip and you were reading a letter she sent you. But of course, you weren’t just on any trip, and she was gone. 

Your stomach grumbled, interrupting your reading, and you closed the diary. You sighed, wondering if you should venture out to find something to eat. You pulled out your phone and laid down on the bed for a few minutes while you looked to see if there was someplace close that sounded decent. However, jet lag took over, and you fell asleep with your phone in your hand, it falling and smacking you on the forehead some time later.

Fourteen hours later, you awoke to your phone alarm going off. You panicked. Was that the first time your alarm went off? Were you late for your first class? You hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all, but that darn jet jag overcame you. Pressing your finger on the phone screen to silence the alarm, you were relieved to find that it really was just your first alarm. It was 7:30 am and you weren’t late, you had plenty of time. Which was a good thing because your stomach had upgraded from the light growling from last night to feeling like it was about to eat itself. 

You had done your research before enrolling in the summer program and knew that the university offered a student cafeteria for meals that was part of the tuition fee. You assumed it was in the packet of information you received yesterday as well, but you hadn’t had time to look over that yet. You got dressed in a simple sundress, one that was classy and suited to the warm weather in Rio. You grabbed the book bag with all your class materials from where you placed it at the small table by the door and headed out of your dorm.

The lobby was bustling with others probably also headed to their morning classes. The university’s campus was only a short distance away, so you opted to walk although it looked like the dorms had bikes outside the building that you could borrow if you wanted to. Your first class didn’t begin until 9 am and you would have plenty of time to get there as well as get breakfast at the cafeteria. 

You walked out of the dorm building and out to the cobbled stoned square. You paused to bring a map up on your phone, making sure you were about to head in the correct direction. You continued to walk on the brownish-gray stones as you passed by a few little shops before the cobblestones turned into a normal concrete street. You followed it up a small hill before you reached a large traffic circle with the main university building behind it. 

Luckily there was a campus map just outside the doors to the main entrance. You looked at it, finding where the cafeteria was and also noting where the international building was for your class afterward. The cafeteria was teeming with students getting food, mostly breakfast at this early hour. You got in line and grabbed some sliced fruit and scrambled eggs, as well as some coffee. They had some items that were also common for Brazilian culture, but you opted to try those later when you were less nervous and didn’t have a class to attend right after.

You scanned your meal card at the checkout which had been in the packet of information that Mrs. Delgado had given you yesterday. You chose an empty table near the windows and ate your food as leisurely as you could before class. Your stomach was no longer trying to eat itself and all that remained was an uncertain feeling in the pit of it. You didn’t even know why you felt all this turmoil, but nothing felt right or even normal since your mother passed.

You placed your empty tray at one of the receptacles by the door and walked out of the cafeteria. You followed the path you mapped out earlier, leading to the international building. You had about 15 minutes before the class started, so you didn’t need to hurry. You looked around at the buildings on your way. The campus looked much like a normal campus but all buildings were made from stucco material and the main roads had a wave-like pattern in them.

You reached the classroom after a few minutes. The door was on the outside of the building and you opened it. Still being a bit early, there were only a few people in the classroom. You chose a seat in the middle, not too far in the front but not too far in the back. You sat your bookbag on the floor next to you, took out the textbook with your notebook and a pen, and set them on the table in front of you. A couple of loud students entered the classroom and you couldn’t help but look up at the noise. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The same boy who nearly ran you over yesterday was among the group. You inwardly groaned. Worse yet, when he scanned the room for a seat, he spotted you. You looked down at the desk, trying to hide your face to no avail. “Oh! It’s you!” He exclaimed, coming to sit in the space next to you. You kept looking in every other direction but his, hoping he would think you were actually someone else.

He didn’t seem to be aware that you were trying to avoid eye contact and continued to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Soonyoung! I’m really sorry for almost running into you yesterday but I hope we can be friends since it looks like we are both exchange students!” Now you couldn’t help but stare at him. How could someone have so much energy and also be so clueless to your anti-social cues? Your brain was tired just listening to him ramble on. 

You weren’t sure what else he was saying but it sounded like he asked a question. “-your name?” Oh, great, he was asking for your name. You contemplated not telling him, but he would probably annoy it out of you anyway. “I’m Y/N,” you responded, your irritation slightly bleeding into your tone. Soonyoung didn’t get to say anything after that. Luckily, the teacher walked into the classroom at that moment, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention and effectively cutting off any conversations happening. 

The teacher, who introduced himself as Mr. Morales went over the class syllabus, and then you started in on the first chapter of the textbook which introduced the different sounds the Portuguese language had versus English. You avoided Soonyoung’s gaze the entire time but you could feel it on you. As soon as class was dismissed, you threw your belongings back in your bag and booked it out of the classroom before he had time to think about catching you. 

You didn’t have more classes today, your other two would happen tomorrow so you had planned to take the somewhat long trek to see the famous statue in Rio, Christ the Redeemer. It would take you about an hour and a half by bus, but your mother had visited it, so you wanted to as well. You pulled out the bus timetable and map (one of the many things in the packet that Mrs. Delgado had given you) from your bag as you walked back toward the front of campus where the bus stops were.

You found the stop for the correct bus number and sat down in a seat under the covered area to avoid the early afternoon sun. The timetable showed the bus you needed would be there in about five minutes and once you got off it, you would have to decide if you wanted to walk to the statue or if you were going to take a tram. 

You sat there watching students walk by as you waited, looking like they were having the best time being at school. You felt so out of place, questioning why you even decided to come here. Would this really make you feel closer to your mother, make you feel better about her being gone? You highly doubted you’d ever feel better about the latter. 

You stuck your hand inside your bookbag, finding your mother’s diary and brushing your hand over the smooth leather surface. Somehow feeling the front of the book, touching a physical item of hers always soothed your thoughts. You knew you would continue feeling like you didn’t belong in a place as amazing as Rio, but you wanted to keep seeing what she saw and hearing her voice through diary entries, even if it was something you could only hear in your head. 

The bus arrived, pulling you out of your thoughts and you got up to get on it. You tapped the bus pass on the pad at the front near the driver and scanned the bus. There were quite a few people on the bus but it wasn’t packed. You spotted a window seat near the middle and took it. The ride was kind of long but you had nice scenery to look at and the bus wasn’t too loud. You took some time to relax a little and soak it all in. 

About an hour later, the bus had reached its destination. You had arrived at the bottom of a somewhat large mountain near the entrance to a rainforest. You looked at how high it was and at the statue at the top. You definitely were not going to hike that today, and opted to take the tram that was available instead. There was a little kiosk nearby where you bought your tram ticket and a schedule posted on the side that said the tram came every 5 minutes at this time of day.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long at all since you bought your ticket just a minute or two before the next one arrived. You handed your ticket over to the driver and got on the tram. It reminded you of those trams they had when you went to the zoo or something. The sides were open so you could feel the breeze as the tram climbed the mountain and you could smell the different plants and trees.

The further the tram climbed, the closer the famous statue got, and soon you arrived at the bottom of it. The tram stopped at the park at the top of the mountain that contained Christ the Redeemer. You got off the tram, in awe of how big the statue really was. You knew it was big, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. 

Many people surrounded the bottom of the statue and there were no benches to be seen. You found an empty area on one side and decided to sit on the concrete floor of the platform. Looking up at the statue, you settled in your sitting spot and pulled your sketchbook and your mother’s diary from your bag. You opened the diary to the next unread page, dated a week later than the first. Another photo was stuck in the pages and you took it out, seeing another photo of your mother smiling, with Christ the Redeemer in the background.

June 21st, 1985

Rio has been amazing. I haven’t been here long but it sometimes feels like home to me. I feel like I belong here with all this incredible architecture. And guess what? I met a boy! I came to visit the famous Christ the Redeemer statue and he offered to take my photo with the statue. He was actually in the middle of drawing a caricature for another girl but dropped everything when he saw I was trying to take a photo of myself with the statue. I couldn’t help but swoon a little. I found out he studies drawing at the same university that I’m attending for the summer. And then he asked me out for dinner! I’m really excited to go on a date with him. Will this just be a summer fling or could it be more? 

You took in this entry. Did your mom meet someone here? Was it your dad? You couldn’t help but be curious about this man and you wondered how far their relationship had gotten. Was he the person from whom you got your talent for drawing? You had so many questions and knew that those questions might go unanswered. For now, you opted to try and feel connected by drawing something yourself.

You took your sketch pencils out of the small pocket at the front of your bag and opened your sketchbook up to a blank page. Setting it in your lap, you looked around, deciding what you wanted to sketch exactly. Just the statue or the people surrounding it too? You decided to just sketch the statue to start with and fill in surrounding areas as you saw fit. You drew, looking up every once in a while to look at the small details of the statue. 

One time you looked up and noticed someone busking close to the bottom of the statue a little bit in front of you. He looked cute from just a glance. He was dancing to a little boombox playing near him with a cup next to it, collecting any change people were willing to give. You looked closer and realized who the dancer was. Soonyoung. You sighed in annoyance. Was he everywhere? Was the universe messing with you?

You continued to draw, hoping he was too distracted by his busking to notice you. There were tons of people around, there was no way he could spot you among all of them. As you sketched your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn back to him like a magnet. His dance moves were sharp but smooth and you could see his routine completely consumed him. You kept taking glances while sketching.

You were finishing up the last few lines when you heard your name called. You thought he was too enthralled with his busking to notice you, but you were very wrong. He picked up his cup of change and his boombox and jogged over to where you were. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, stopping in front of where you were sitting and giving you a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Um, yeah. I decided to do some sightseeing and do some sketching,” you responded, a little meekly. You felt weird around him now for some reason. He was annoying in class earlier, but now he seemed different and you weren't sure what to think. He was still bright and energetic but not irritatingly so. 

“Oh, you draw?” he asked, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m studying here this summer. Art,” you explained.

“Cool! I’m here for performance arts if the busking hadn’t given you a heads up already,” He offered with a small laugh.

He paused your small conversation for a minute to take a look at his change cup to see how much he had made today.

“Listen, if you are done with what you wanted to do today..there’s a nice cafe near the tram station and if you are hungry, I made more than enough money today so I’d like to treat you,” He rambled. It wasn’t exactly a question, but the way he said it was actually kind of cute.

You were hungry and you supposed it couldn’t hurt, right? “Alright,” you agreed and a smile stretched across his face again. You put your sketchbook, pencils, and mom’s diary back in your bag and stood up, brushing your pants off from any dirt that you picked up while sitting on the ground. Maybe you should take a page from your mom’s book and get to know Soonyoung a little more.

You both walked back down off the statue’s platform and down the stairs to where the tram would pick you up and take you back down the mountain and to where the cafe Soonyoung mentioned would be. Once again, you did not have to wait long for the tram to arrive and you both got on, Soonyoung sitting next to you.

You could feel the breeze again as the tram descended the mountain this time. You looked over to find Soonyoung looking out the other side quietly, the wind ruffling his hair lightly. He had the same smile on his face as earlier, making his face look strangely childlike compared to the manly confidence he had earlier while busking. You liked seeing the two different sides of him. It was cute. He could be quiet when he was by himself, a big difference from when he was with a crowd.

While you were busy staring at Soonyoung, the tram stopped back at the bottom of the mountain. “Y/N?” Soonyoung questioned, holding out a hand to pull you up from the seat.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, not realizing you had spaced out. You took his hand as he pulled you up, noticing how big it was. It felt nice, having your hand engulfed in his. You continued to hold on to it as you both got off the tram. When you both got off, you let go awkwardly, not wanting to give Soonyoung the wrong idea (even if you did really like holding his). You hadn’t even been on a date yet. He gave a nervous chuckle and just beckoned you to follow him. 

You followed him down a few streets from the park area where you guys were previously, to a little hole-in-the-wall cafe that was surrounded by other shops and small apartments. It was small and felt homey when you walked in the door with Soonyoung. You waited at the front for a minute or two before someone came by to seat you. “Oh? I see you brought a friend today!” The waitress said before grabbing some menus and guiding you to open-air seating at a back patio that featured a small garden to the side of it.

She sat you two at a table and sat the menus in front of you. “I’ll be back in a few to take your order,” she said before giving Soonyoung a knowing wink. 

“I take it you come here a lot,” you commented.

“You could say that,” he responded with a sheepish grin, “I usually make enough to come here each time I busk, so two to three times a week?” 

“Two to three times a week?!” You were surprised that he busked that often and that he chose to come here every time.

“Yeah, it’s the only way for me to make some extra cash. I’m here through a special program so they only pay for my tuition and dorm fees,” he explained. You nodded. You were similar, except that you had your grandmother sending you spending money when you needed it. 

You turned your attention to the menu, trying to decide what to eat. There were a lot of options but you decided to try a more traditional Brazilian stew called Feijoada. Something hearty sounded good after the busy day you’ve had so far. The waitress came by and took your order while Soonyoung ordered Moqueca, another type of stew but with seafood.

You made more small talk while waiting for your food to arrive such as where you were originally from (You: Chicago, Him: Seoul) and what types of foods you liked. You passed the time well enough that your food felt like it came out quickly. It looked amazing and your stomach confirmed how hungry you were by giving a small growl. Loud enough, however, to make Soonyoung let out a small giggle.

You start digging in when Soonyoung nervously broaches a topic. “So, when we were at Christ the Redeemer you mentioned doing some sightseeing. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into things, but it seems like it was more than just seeing the sights here.”

You put down your spoon and contemplate whether you want to open up to him or not. You sighed before starting your explanation. “You’re right, it’s not just general sightseeing. In fact, my mom is the whole reason I’m here.”

“Your mom?” He asked, prompting you to continue.

“Yeah…she um, died about 6 months ago,” you said, looking down at your stew like it was the most fascinating thing in the world at the moment.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung frowned, his voice turning sympathetic and you swore his eyes had a sheen to them.

“It’s…okay. Or at least it’s becoming okay,” you responded honestly and then continued. “Anyway, my grandma gave me my mom's diary. One she kept while she was here doing this program with the university. So I decided to do it too and see all the same sights she did hoping it might make me feel closer to her or something? I don’t know.” You were rambling a little now. 

“I think that’s neat,” Soonyoung said after a minute.

“You do?” You asked, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, I think it’s cool. You get to go stand where she stood and see the same things she saw with her own eyes. That’s definitely a good way to feel closer to someone,” He encouraged.

“It does,” you agreed.

“This might sound weird and I know we’ve only known each other a few days but would it be okay if we go to the places your mom did together?” Soonyoung asked. His eyes no longer had the sheen you saw a minute ago but instead held a mixture of empathy, excitement, and something else you couldn’t decipher. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself nodding. “I think I’d like that,” you said, a smile starting to tug at the edges of your lips. Then you leaned over the table to give him a small peck on the cheek. He looked a little stunned for a minute but then he smiled back, a wide smile that showed his teeth and you had to admit he was adorable. 

How could you go from being so annoyed by him to liking him a lot in just one day? You didn’t know but maybe your mom would have wanted this for you.

©️wooahaeproductions

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[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ i ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

author's note: i wont take tags for this im sorry 😭 also, i changed the faceclaim

masterlist.

The room is dimly lit. You didn't like dim lighting. It reminds you of your childhood bedroom. A barely functioning lightbulb hanging on the ceiling, your mother never bothering to change it. You were too short to change it yourself. You asked your neighbor once to do it for you but he had asked for a night with you in exchange so you kicked him out of the house before he could change the light bulb. You chose to study under the sucky light which became the reason behind your poor eyesight today.

You sit on a chair across Atty. Kim Jin Hwang, HAN entertainment's legal representative and one of the best lawyers Seoul has to offer, with a table dividing the two of you. He’s a man in his fifties, quite close to the age of retirement. He’s a veteran and despite his age, his mind is still sharp. 

You refrain yourself from tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. Anxiety does not look good on you and you refuse to show people that you're anxious. Anxiety is weakness so you keep your posture straight and make sure to keep eye contact with Atty. Kim. If you look away first, you're a coward.

“Tell me honestly. Is this you in the pictures?” Atty. Kim Jin Hwang points at the pictures sprawled across the table. They’re blurry and grainy and incredibly zoomed in. You can't even tell it was you from some angles. You look quite different from the person that you were when you were sixteen. HAN Entertainment is particularly fond of investing in their idol’s plastic surgeries and while they only fixed your crooked teeth, removed the hump on your nose bridge, altered your uneven ears, bleached your skin, and plucked your brows—which are quite minor changes—you still hold very little resemblance to the teenage you. 

You grew up well. Thankfully, you inherited only the best parts of your parents. Or at least, the best parts of your Mom. You have no idea what your father looked like, only knowing that he was from Brazil or some country in South America.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, not bothering to lie. What is the point of lying anyway? People have been calling you all sorts of malicious names across different social media platforms and you’re sure Atty. Kim has seen some of them. There’s no point lying to his face and saving your image anymore. Might as well admit that you are exactly the kind of person they’ve been yapping about. An illegal driver. A criminal. 

“Why did you do it?” Atty. Kim asks and truthfully, you did not expect the question. You expected the what and how and where and when but never the why question. You fall into a thoughtful pause.

“I was sixteen,” you shrug your shoulders, almost uncaringly so. “I wanted to leave home as early as I could and to do that, I needed money. Nobody wanted to accept student part-timers and I tried doing stuff like tutoring and doing other people’s assignments but it wasn't enough. I have a friend who joins street races. He’s not a good driver but he’s got a good car. He really wants to win so he cheated and let me drive his car on the condition that if I win, he’ll split me the winner’s money. I did it. I won races in that car, acting as if he was the one driving it.”

Atty. Kim gives you a long look. You don’t know what it means. 

“Alright,” Atty. Kimlifts his chin and rises from his chair. “That concludes our meeting. In the meantime, you lay low. We’ll handle everything.”

You nod, “Okay.”

True to Atty. Kim’s words, HAN entertainment handled everything. They released a statement that you watched one race because you were sixteen and clueless and didn't know you were getting yourself involved in an illegal activity. It helped that you drove under a different name so people were easily convinced of this lie. You knew your friend—the owner of the car— wouldn't even reveal that it was you who’d driven the car. His ego would be bruised once the people discovered that he cheated on the street races and a sixteen-year-old girl with no license and no personal car outperformed him. 

Additionally, HAN announced that you were to depart your group—ORACLE—which absolutely destroyed you because ORACLE had been the place where you felt like you belonged. ORACLE had been your goal. You worked yourself to the bone to the point of collapse because you wanted to be in ORACLE and wanted to remain in ORACLE.

Nevertheless, you accepted your fate easily. There was no point destroying the other members because of your fault alone. 

Your members cried for a whole week after the announcement was made public through HAN Entertainment’s official social media platforms and you spent every single day you could still spend inside the dorm reassuring them, telling them that you’d still be there for them, that you’d be standing behind them in each step to their success. You loved your girls so much. You wouldn't even choose to leave them. If only fate was a bit kinder to you. If only life was less brutal.

Furthermore, HAN made you publish a handwritten apology letter. You couldn't remember what you wrote anymore but you did remember how heavy the pen felt, how your hands trembled as you wrote each sentence, how writing the damn letter took three hours because you kept breaking down midway. They announced your hiatus promptly after. They used the term indefinite hiatus but it might as well be retirement.

You can't believe that you suffered through sixteen years under the same roof as your incredibly abusive mother, left home with only a backpack and a paper bag of cash just as you hit eighteen years old, worked your way in the harsh world by juggling three part-time jobs and a scholarship-shouldered university education until a scout noticed you, undergone the rigorous and borderline suicidal training of a KPop idol to-be, and sacrificed everything you had—mental stability, blood, sweat, and tears—just so you could pass every monthly evaluation and become your company’s darling, only to have everything disappear because someone found pictures of you predebut in an illegal street racing event. Fuck. 

You were fucking sixteen at that time! You didn't know any better. You only wanted money. You didn't have a license. Getting one is too expensive. You borrowed a car from a friend. It's an unregistered car. You drove the car. You won races. You stopped when you turned eighteen. That was it. 

Knetz decided to crucify you for a sin born out of your desperation when you were sixteen. When a dog was hungry, it ate whatever was thrown its way, uncaring if the food thrown at it was good or not because its primary instinct was only to cure its hunger. It was not as if you sexually assaulted someone. It was not as if you bullied someone and involved yourself in school violence. It was not as if you drank alcohol and drove or even involved yourself in gambling. Sure, street racing was illegal but you never even hurt someone! You never even crashed into someone mid-race.

You’re sure you’re going to leave the company and you won't fight their decision if they want you to do so. People spit out their gum when they lose their flavor. That's also what the industry did. You saw it happen too many times to too many idols. They collect pretty faces, push them to their limits until they could be loved by the public and once the public decides they’re not worth loving anymore, they’d spit them out. You are a gum in this story.

You feel like you’re eighteen again. You want to run away from home all over again. You ran away from the house you were born in once and now, you’re going to run away from the house you worked hard to live in. You want to pack your bags and board the next plane to another country even before the light of the rising sun touches the ground. That gnawing feeling of not belonging to a place that’s supposed to be home kept tormenting the cracks of your heart and the only way to seemingly get rid of it albeit only temporarily is to pick up on your feet and run away, never to leave anything behind you. Not ghosts, not traces, not memories—nothing.

But HAN entertainment won't let you. Yoon PD-nim knocked on your door, a contract in hand. He offered you an apartment to live in, a salary, a place in the company, and told you to keep creating songs. HAN Entertainment knew your talent in song making and producing was partly behind the success of ORACLE, their rising girl group. You were too useful to get rid of easily. 

And like that, you spent the last two years making music for every kpop group under HAN Entertainment. You mostly made B-sides for the junior girl groups, AURORA and PRIZMA, and the title tracks for boy groups, HIRA and 1THEBOY. You worked for soloist, Ciel, once for his last comeback before his mandatory military service and worked on half a mini-album’s worth of songs for ORACLE every comeback. Thankfully, the songs gained positive feedback from the general public. That was your ticket to keep staying in HAN entertainment as a ghost producer and ghost song-writer.

Two years. You rotted in your apartment and the studio. This felt no different than the time you lived under your parents’ roof. You felt like a ghost, present but also not quite there. It's quite fitting, you think. You're a ghost producer and a ghost song-writer. 

This was not a life worth living but you’d rather a life not worth living than have nothing at all. 

You empty your fifth cup of coffee for the day—an unhealthy brew of Americano with five shots of espresso—before standing up from the ergonomic chair where you’ve glued your ass on in the last two to three business hours. The demo for Sunset Paradise is almost finished. There are still a few parts that need major adjustments and refinement but you’re confident that you’ll be done by midnight.

Manager-nim enters the studio just as you reach the door. You jump, almost kicking the indoor potted plant inconveniently positioned near the door. The caffeine made you extra jumpy today. Once you get over your tiny shock, you bow your head in greeting. Manager-nim mirrors your actions.

“You're still working?” he asks.

“You're still bald?” 

Manager-nim rolls his eyes at you, smiling. You chuckle. 

Manager-nim, or rather, Song Dan, is ORACLE’s manager. He is a middle-aged man who only came up to your shoulders. He’s shaped like a square with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He treated you and the other members of ORACLE as if you were his daughters. 

“I’m going to go get coffee. You can sit here for a while,” you invite, gesturing to the tiny cream couch. You use your feet to nudge the potted plant and clear Manager-nim’s path.

“No coffee,” Manager-nim stops you, taking a seat. “That's enough coffee for you today. Sit down here. We need to talk.”

“You can't kick me out. I won't give you Ciel’s first post-military mini album and ORACLE’s summer title track if you do.”

Manager-nim’s eyebrows draw together, a vertical wrinkle appearing between them, “What? No. We're not kicking you out.”

Your shoulders sag, relieved.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single.”

At that, your entire body stiffens, eyes going wide as saucers. You let out a noise in disbelief.

“You're joking.”

Manager-nim’s face doesn't shift in the slightest.

“You're actually serious,” you rub your chin with your hand. 

What is Yoon PD-nim trying to pull now? Two years have passed since you’ve disappeared from the limelight. You're certain that you're not returning to the world of flashing lights and stage performance anymore and you’ve already accepted that your career has ended.

“Why?” your voice slightly wavers as you ask. Manager-nim sighs heavily, patting the vacant space beside him.

“Take a seat. We’re going to be talking for a while.”

The girl in the mirror stares back at you. She looks exhausted. She has deep bags underneath her eyes. Her shoulders are bony. They look like they're about to pierce through her pale skin. Her lips, which should be a nice shade of pink, are pale. Her eyes hold emptiness.

You pull your gaze away from your reflection and direct it to the bathroom sink, where a hair brush sits on the white tiles quietly. Fallen hair gathers up in its numerous sharp teeth. At this rate, you’re going to end up like Manager-nim—bald. 

You can't go bald. You have a weirdly shaped head.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single but before the release, he needs you to be in a PR relationship with someone.”

You hiss loudly, slapping a hand on your temple. God, you want to act like Manager-nim never said that. You don't want to remember it.

You? A PR relationship? With someone you don't know? How atrocious. You didn't even need to hear Manager-nim out until the end. You are out. You do not vibe with romantic relationships. They make your skin crawl.

“Listen, [Name]. This might be your only chance to come back again.”

“What if I don't want to come back again?”

“Then why are you still here? Why are you still making music? You're good at leaving so why didn't you?”

The public still terrifies you but you will never tell that to anyone. You can’t even go out and buy groceries without trembling. So many eyes. So many judging eyes. They're all waiting to destroy you again with their stupid eyes and stupid mouths with sharp teeth. A stupid PR relationship won't save you.

But what if it will?

You hold the edges of the sink and lean the majority of your weight against it. Your knuckles slowly turn white. Your knees feel weak. You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

Why are you still here? A voice in your head asks.

I just want to be home. You reply.

Do it. This is your ticket to go home. It says.

You open your eyes and gaze into the mirror. 

Do you want to be home?

More than anything.

With a nod, you push yourself away from the sink and exit the bathroom.

Yoon Sang Hyuk, CEO of HAN Entertainment—the black marble desk name plate indicates; the text an intimidating shade of gold. The owner of the name sits behind the table, his legs crossed over the other. His face is sealed with a neutral expression. Suddenly, a satisfied smile works its way across his face and you swear the wrinkles that permeated his entire face doubled in amount.

“I knew you still had it in you,” he says calmly. “That's good.”

“Thank you,” you say, your tone coming out bland. 

“I’ll give you a manager and you are to leave for Singapore tomorrow.”

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Oh and [Name]?”

“Yes, Yoon PD-nim?”

“I know you're smart and you're hardworking and you're strong,” he begins. “I am confident you’ll do well so when you fly out there, don't be intimidated by any of them. You're as powerful as them. Remember the reason why you're there in the first place and do what you think is best.”

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you observe. 

It's questionable; the amount of trust he’s giving you. You already expected that Yoon PD-nim would send out an entire escort team just to make sure that you're not going to mess up again and get yourself involved in a PR nightmare incident. Who knows? Maybe someone will dig up pics of you copying homework from your seatmate in middle school and crucify you for being an academic cheater while you're out there holding hands with your fake boyfriend.

“I know you won't make the same mistake twice.”

You finally catch the underlying message behind his seemingly harmless words.

Focus on coming back and don't make another mistake. 

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Lando Kinder Norris,” you read the name on the folder, brows furrowing. That's a rather unique middle name. “British-Belgian. Born November 13, 1999—” 

It's good that your fake boyfriend and you were born in the same year. You're not very fond of age gaps.

“—in Bristol, England. Currently racing for McLaren. Car number 4. First entry is the Australian Grand Prix.”

Below is a series of long paragraphs detailing his racing history that you’re definitely not reading. Shoving the folder aside, you lean back into the seat and cross your arms over your chest. Your eyes flutter close. Jinnie, a HAN entertainment manager who looks like she’s half white and half Asian, gives you a judging look from her seat. 

“You should read it,” she advises.

“No,” you say.

“I spent hours compiling that information,” Jinnie frowns. 

“You compiled the wrong info,” you tell her, not even bothering to glance towards her. “Nobody will believe we’re real if I only know the things written in Wikipedia. You should have asked his PR team how he likes his coffee, if he prefers brunch dates or dinner dates, if he likes staying in or going out, if he likes the sunny weather or the rain, if he’d rather get food delivery or cook, if he’d like to hold hands and walk side by side or walk ahead of you so he can act like your guard dog. Those things.”

To be loved is to be known.

“You speak as if you have romantic experience.”

“Do poets have to experience the things they write poetry about?” you retort. “Immanuel Kant believed that everything depended on how individuals interpret and respond to his environment based on their personal opinions and feelings. I don't need to experience it to know.”

Recurring observations are your common source of knowledge. Reading is another.

And besides, this isn't your first PR relationship. You like to think that you know exactly what you're doing.

“Tell me something that's not written in the folder, Jinnie-ssi,” you open your eyes and tilt your head so you can lock eyes with her. “For example, why does a distinguished racer need a fake relationship? I can’t be the only one benefiting from this agreement.”

Jinnie purses her lips, “I don't know much.”

“But you know something,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. “Tell me.”

“There have been rumors that Lando Norris got a girl pregnant. The woman marched into Woking and demanded to see him. Apparently, he got her pregnant when they slept together in a bar,” Jinnie shakes her head. “It's a messy ordeal but McLaren recently proved that Lando wasn't the father. Too bad though, the public isn't believing them.” 

“And they think giving him a girlfriend would somehow make the public love him?”

“They need to show the world that their boy isn't an asshole,” Jinnie says. “That he’s a loving, loyal partner. That he isn't capable of committing fuckboy crimes because he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home.”

You snort. McLaren really decided that you’ll be the best girlfriend? How did they even know your existence? The KPop community and the F1 community are worlds far away from each other. It's easier for them to choose a supermodel, an American actress, or even a pop star. But no, they really decided that a washed-up KPop idol is a good girlfriend for their star boy. You can think of a few reasons why they chose you. 

“Are you sure he really isn't the father?” you ask. Companies can ignore morality for the sake of protecting their golden images. HAN Entertainment is no different. For all you know, you’re going to be fake dating an asshole who made a woman pregnant and refused to take responsibility. He’d be no different from your father who left your pregnant mother.

“Beats me.”

An hour later, the plane lands in the most expensive city in the world, Singapore.

You have three choices: a VAQUERA blue devil sweatshirt, Motel Rock chute trousers, and a Adidas forum low shoes combo, or a varsity baseball jacket, Bonbom rhee cargo pants, and a Curetty C round toe mary janes combo. You went with the varsity jacket-cargo pants-mary janes combo. You put on a bonnet to finish the look. When Jinnie enters the hotel room and sees what you're wearing, she immediately says:

“No. You're definitely not wearing that.”

“What's wrong with this?” you ask, looking down at your fit. This is what you usually wear. They're comfortable and acubi fashion is a trend nowadays. 

“You're a WAG now. Dress like it.”

Your eyebrow arches.

“WAG?”

“Wife and girlfriend,” Jinnie replies. Your confusion isn't absolved, not even the slightest. Your mouth pulls to the side.

“And how does this correlate to my fashion sense? Do race car drivers control their girlfriend’s fashion style?” you genuinely question.

“No,” Jinnie says. “But they’d prefer it if you dress in something befitting for a WAG, you know? Elegance? Classic timely looks?”

You put a finger up, “No.”

Jinnie huffs, “I’m not taking a no for an answer. Wear a satin dress. Wear cotton trousers and silk blouses. Look like you're from an old money family, not some hip hop dancer from the streets. You're no longer your own person, you are an extension of Lando Norris. You have to look a certain way, act a certain way, talk a certain way. Your goal is to make Lando Norris look good.”

You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek, annoyed. Your jaw is tense.

“And when Lando Norris looks good, you’ll look good. Good enough that the public will love you again to support your new song. Do you understand?”

She's right.

She's right.

You hate that she's right.

No matter how bitter the truth tastes, you are irrelevant and Lando Norris is your ticket to going back. In any other world, you will never ever allow yourself to become a jewelry for a man to wear. So you grit your teeth, keep the ugly prideful monster within you at bay, and clench your fists. You have nothing and when you have nothing, you need to be resourceful and make use of the people who have the things to push you to the top again.

You let out a sigh, “Jinnie, choose my outfit for me.”

Jinnie nods and leaves the room immediately.

It's three days before the Singapore FP1 2023. Jinnie drives you to meet Lando in his hotel. They organized a lunch gathering with you, Jinnie, Lando, and the other McLaren PR representatives who are responsible for this entire PR scam. 

You're wearing a Versace tweed cardigan and a boucle tweed skirt paired with high heel leather boots and Greca goddess large shoulder bag. All black in color. Jinnie is the one who styled your hair. She insisted on it actually, claiming that your beach waves hair isn't doing it. She flat ironed the hell out of your hair so now, it's straight as a pole. She also sprayed your bangs with strong hold hairspray to keep them in place.

The outside world is nothing but a blur of high-rise buildings and cement pavements as the car runs. You're picking on your nails. They're clean but bare of manicures. Your two pinky nails are a bit too short. You tried to stop yourself from biting them in the airport but you can’t resist.

Two years is a long time. A bit too long in your opinion. You don't remember the things you learned in your etiquette classes anymore—how to stand in the public, how to walk, how to pose in front of the cameras, how to smile, how to greet people, how to look completely in your element despite being anxious of having a thousand eyes staring at you, how to act as if you're not crumbling at the pressure of looking good for everyone. That's the only way they’ll love you. If you look good in their eyes.

“We’re here.”

You blink.

“Come again?”

Jinnie points outside the car window. The car stopped and you didn't notice.

“Sorry,” you mutter, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You let out a breath, roll your shoulders back, and push the door open. Your entire face relaxes and you smile politely at the valet when Jinnie hands him the keys of the car. You ignore the starstruck expression on his face as you gesture to Jinnie to lead the way, following after her but not before saying your thanks to the valet. You're polite. You're trained to be.

You keep your shoulders square and your walk confident as you enter the hotel lobby. There aren’t a lot of people inside. There's a family of four in a corner, a group of elderly people sitting in the waiting area, and a group of posh friends chatting near the front desk. You can see a few heads turning in your peripheral vision. You can't blame them. You can be stunning if you try to be.

Your heart begins to ram violently against your rib cage. A million butterflies infest your intestines. Your ankles feel like it’ll snap in half a few minutes later. Your mind chants: DID THEY NOTICE HOW SCARED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE HOW TERRIFIED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE? DID THEY?

You want your ball cap and your sunglasses and your face mask. You want to hide your face.

You have to control your breathing as subtly as you can but you continue walking as if you're the prettiest yet the most down-to-earth creature to ever grace the planet. You fix your hair again once Jinnie and you stop in front of the elevator. Jinnie presses a button and you wait. While waiting, you twist the sole of your boot against the floor. It's better than tapping it against the floor. The elevator dings and the two of you enter the empty box.

When the doors close, your knees give out. You slam your hands against the stainless steel walls to stop yourself from dropping to your knees on the floor. Jinnie’s hands wrap around your waist, supporting as you pull yourself up. Her face contorts in worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks. You nod quickly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you lay your palm against your chest, right above your drumming heart. “Thanks.”

You straighten up, tugging the hem of your Versace tweed outfit to smoothen the creases and fixing your hair again. You clear your throat. The elevator dings and the doors open. You step out and your mask slides in place. 

Jinnie leads you to a private dining hall. In the middle of a hall is a table occupied by five people wearing tacky orange-black polo shirts. You recognize one of them to be your fake boyfriend, Lando Norris. 

Jinnie had already shown you what he looked like in her tablet and a few printed pictures but the pictures didn't do him justice. He looks extra charming personally.

He's still not your type.

The entire group rises to a stand just as you and Jinnie reach the table. You give a ninety degree bow, hands flat on the collar of your top so you won't accidentally give the McLaren people a view of your chest. (It's not like they have something to see anyway. Your chest is flatter than a rice field.) The edges of your lips curl upwards in a polite smile. You see Lando, your supposed fake boyfriend, try to imitate the bow, although he doesn't go as deep as you did. Your head tilts slightly at his action. 

Jinnie is the first one who speaks, stretching a hand in front of her to shake hands with the McLaren team. She introduces herself in fluent English, “I’m Jinnie Jo of HAN Entertainment. It's a pleasure to meet you. This is [Name].”

They each introduce themselves one by one. Nicole, Greg, Kyla, and Louis. You try to memorize their faces and their names, drilling it into your brain so you won't forget. You're going to be working closely with them after all.

“Hi,” you greet them. You also shake hands with each of them. It feels weird, shaking hands as greetings. You are more accustomed to bowing. 

“Wow, Jinnie, your accent is good,” Kyla compliments your manager.

“Thank you,” Jinnie smiles pleasantly. “I was born in Chicago. English is my first language.”

“How about her? Does she speak English?” Louis inquires. He's giving you a funny look. You ignore it.

“She does,” you smile at him pleasantly. “I’m very fluent. You don't have to worry.”

Risha, the Canadian member of ORACLE, was the one who helped you master English. You even have a Canadian accent when you speak English because of her. Additionally, you also took language classes when you were a trainee—Japanese, Chinese, English, and you even requested Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Korean sign language. You dabbled a bit on Tagalog, too, because you know how large the ORACLE fanbase is in the Philippines. You continued taking the classes up even after debut, even after all the members of the group had stopped, because you wanted to master the languages for the fans, to be able to hold conversations with them, to connect with them. You only stopped going to the classes after leaving the group two years ago. It's nice to see that your English skills are still in perfect shape.

“Please take a seat,” Nicole invites. You and Jinnie sit down. You place your bag on the empty chair beside you and when you pull your gaze up, you coincidentally meet Lando’s eyes. They're blue and green with flecks of hazel dusted in the middle. It's the first time you've seen someone with eyes wielding three different colors. They're stunning.

You smile at him. He smiles back and then averts his gaze. You turn to Nicole, who’s sitting beside you.

“Now,” she says, putting two folders on the table. She slides them towards you and Jinnie. Jinnie picks them up. You don't. Instead, you stare at them. 

“What are these?” you question, slowly bringing your eyes up and meeting Nicole’s gaze.

“Contracts,” she answers.

“Contracts?” you echo, picking the folder up and opening it. You take your sweet time reading from top to bottom, tilting your head a bit to the side.

“You don't have to read it all. It's all just formalities. Just sign it,” Louis inputs. “Reading can be hard for you since it's not your first language—”

“I read just fine,” you interrupt, not glancing up as your eyes thoughtfully scan through the words printed on the paper. “Thank you for the concern but this is a contract that involves me and my future. I wish to know what I’m agreeing to.”

Louis wisely keeps his mouth shut. You put your hand on your mouth so you can discreetly smirk.

When you finish reading, you slowly set the folder back on the table. You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you tap your finger on the wooden surface of the table. 

“This is unfairly written, don't you agree?” you ask. “You're putting rather lots of demands on me but so little on him.”

From beside you, Jinnie thins her lips. You know she's also thinking the same thing. Fucking HAN Entertainment. They didn't even make sure that the contents of the contracts are not disadvantageous towards you. You are disappointed but not surprised. They really just sent you to be devoured by wolves and demanded you to not make a mistake.

McLaren also thinks they can just choose a washed-up KPop idol to cosplay as their golden boy’s trophy girlfriend and make her do all their demands with little benefits and zero complaint. They deliberately chose someone who still holds popularity but little power. Someone who needs them as badly as they need her. They chose you.

Assholes. The two of them.

“What do you want him to do anyway?” Louis sneers. His face is beginning to look a little too annoying. “He's busy building his career. All you have to do is support him and make sure everyone knows it because you have none. That's all. Or is that a little hard for you?”

Louis is getting this all wrong. Jinnie told you that you're going to fix his reputation for him so his career wouldn't be ruined. In exchange, he gives you publicity so you could bring your career back from ruination. This is not a parasitic relationship where only their side gets the benefits. How could you even work on that comeback of yours if you're going to be glued by his side? 

Your jaw ticks with restraint yet you choose to smile, “He’s not the only one building his career.”

You pick up the folder and toss it to Jinnie, who catches it skillfully. 

“Throw that away. We're flying home. I don't need a PR relationship to promote my single that much.”

Satisfaction fills you when their faces grow alarmed. 

Ha.

“Wait,” Kyla stands and she shoots a dirty glance towards Louis. Your eyebrows scrunch a little. “The contracts are open to revisions.”

You clap your hands together, smiling widely.

“Perfect. Jinnie, hand me a pen.”

The team leaves you and Lando alone in the hall to eat, to give you both a chance to get to know each other. 

You allow your eyes to scan the hall. It has a bright spacious ambiance. The windows are stretched from the floor to the ceiling, allowing as much natural light inside. Singapore looks absolutely breathtaking down below. The flooring is made out of natural pine and a crystal chandelier hangs atop the table where you and Lando ate. You keep thinking: what if it'll fall? You shake the thought out of your head and put a fork full of pasta into your mouth.

“Is the pasta good?” Lando asks. You nod, humming and smiling. You don't like it one bit. You're also mildly allergic to shellfish. You're definitely going to get a bad case of rash later. You hope Jinnie is prepared with a medicine kit. You forgot to bring yours.

You wipe your mouth with your table napkin, announcing, “I’m full.”

You have only eaten half the plate.

“Oh you have a…” Lando points at the corner of his lips. You wipe the same area in your face. “No, the other side.”

You wipe the other side, “Is it gone?”

“Allow me,” he says, standing up from his chair and leaning across the table to thumb the stain. 

“Is it gone?” you ask again. Lando nods.

“Yeah, it is.”

He goes back to his seat.

“Thank you,” you smile. “You're already doing great with the whole fake boyfriend act.”

A flustered smile splits Lando’s face, shaking his head.

“I try.”

“By the way,” you begin, leaning a little forward. “Did they also give you a folder with my information?”

Lando nods, “Yeah.”

“Did they also suck?”

He purses his lips.

“Well….” he drawls.

“You can tell me if it sucks. The one my manager gave me looks like it's copy-pasted from Wikipedia.”

Lando chuckles. 

“I mean, your biography is very…detailed? Too detailed, I think. I didn't remember most of them, sorry. I only remember a few of them. Like your birthday. January 1, 2000.”

“1999.”

“Pardon?”

You wave your hand in a theatrical flourish, “I was born in 1999. The company manipulated my public information.”

Lando’s brows raise in surprise.

“They do that?”

“You’ll be surprised,” you lean back into your chair.

“But why?”

“So every member in ORACLE can be born in 2000. I don't know,” you shrug your shoulders. 

“That seems like an unnecessary change.”

“It is,” you agree. “But HAN wants everything to be perfect. They see a flaw. They fix it to their liking immediately.”

“What are the other things that are a scam in your biography?”

“Scam is a big word,” you tell him, amused. “But I’ll tell you. In exchange, tell me about yourself. Not the info I can read in Wikipedia. In order to make this work, I have to know you.”

To be loved is to be known.

“Alright,” Lando says. “We can take turns asking each other questions.”

“Cool,” you bring a glass of water towards your lips, taking a sip. “I’ll start. How do you like your coffee?”

[nofingjustaninchident]

hi, I’m not great at requesting things but if this makes sense could you write a high school au where Jason is a football player. I think it would be cute cause he’s definitely tall enough and strong enough but then add in him being kind and wow he would make the BEST high school football player boyfriend. Thank you

⛧° Jason Grace x Nerdy! Reader hcs °⛧

content: jason grace x reader, college au!

warnings: cursing, allusions to sexual stuff (not much tho), stupidtly fluffy and corny.

a/n: bby if i tell you i dreamt about this, would you believe me? like, i swear to all the gods, i dreamt with this and woke up thinking about writing it… well, here ya go. oh, and i also made her a brazilian, i hope you don’t mind? if you do, just ignore it, please 🫡

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

Of course, he’s a great football player.

Like, i know no shit about football, i’m a soccer girly, but he’s the best quarterback in the city. like, he’s really really good.

And obviously everyone believes he’s such an asshole and a womanizer.

But in reality he’s so so nice

Sure, he sleeps with some girls and all, but not as much as his teammates.

He’s also the only jock that sticks with a girlfriend. Not for long, but still more than the other guys ig

So when he was having trouble with maths, he needed a tutor, cause he had to have a back up plan of he didn’t went for the pros

Such a nice boy, fr.

And he went talk with the teacher to ask who could teach him.

And that’s when he found you.

You weren’t exactly a super nerd. You just liked to study.

But you had a lot of friends, since being the only exchange student did bring this sort of popularity around the university.

And when he first came to you, you were kinda bitchy.

You know, you had a bit of hatred towards football players. No idea why, it was just there.

Even with that, you were too kind-hearted to don’t tutor him.

And when you got to know each other… you kinda started liking him.

On your first study session, the library was too full, so you went to the outside

Which was really working out, till Jason found a little bird that probably fell from his nest

The guy was so worried that he almost took the bird home

He would’ve done it if you didn’t stop him

But he found the nest and put the little bird back there

And you just stood there, like “what the fuck? isn’t he supposed to be a douche?”

It happens that he’s not.

And you became pretty good friends with the frequent study sessions and all.

Not to mention he was pretty offended when you told him you didn’t like football.

And you were very offended when he asked if the spoke Spanish in Brazil.

He knew it didn’t, he just did it to piss you off.

He really wanted you to go to one of his games, but you never said you were really going.

So, one day, when his team was having a match against Harvard University, he was more than surprised to see you at the stands, right in the front.

With his jersey. With his number and name on your back.

He honestly felt he was gonna cry right then and there.

He got so happy he made a touchdown. They won.

And you were there, cheering for him and pretending like you understand anything that was going on there.

When the game ended, he came rushing towards you.

“Congrats, Gra-“ Before you could even finish your sentence, he kissed you.

Oh, and it was heaven.

After this, you started dating and it was the best thing you ever experienced.

He was such a gentleman.

Doors? Don’t even touch that. Dates? He’s paying, duh. You’re tired? He’ll carry you, bridal style.

You get the point.

You started liking football because of him. And he started liking soccer because of you.

a/n: i don’t know what to feel about this lol. idk what you’ll think of the brazilian thing, but if you don’t like it, i’ll remake it, promise!

[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Wrote a lil something awhile back with this premise (link here) but as I'm catching up with the recent updates on diasomnia chapter, I thought "why not write this with them?", thus this idea was born. Though I haven't writed for the whole diasomnia before so lemme know if you think they're too ooc!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Here in Brazil when we met someone new or just as a form of greeting, it's customary to give them a hug and a kiss, or a polite handshake. And in general we are really affectionate with our friends. So I was thinking how some of the characters would react.

Malleus is touch-starved, plus he doesn't know much about the world and the customs of humans. So when you, a little human, constantly greet him with warm hugs and ask him to lean in a little so you can kiss his forehead and cheeks? Mal-Mal here is over the moon, wanting more of that affection he doesn't get so often, he wants to hear you making that high pitched voice while you hold his face and while you pat his head and stroke his horns. By seven, you certainly don't know what fear is. And little by little he returns your affection, laughing at your surprised expression when he kisses your forehead and smiles full of mockery.

Always so mischievous Lilia tends to use his powers to levitate you next to him every time you hug him as a form of greeting, at this point this is already a little tradition of yours. He loves receiving your kisses, pink adorning his cheeks every time, but he prefers to cup your face and pepper it with slow kisses, and sometimes sway and twirl with you from side to side as if you two were dancing. Lilia loves your small gestures of affection, even if they are just deep-rooted customs from your culture, they still mean a lot to him. I also feel like he would be the type of friend to create a secret handshake, something unique just for the two of you.

Sebek feels his cheeks flush, he tries to lecture you but only low murmurs and strangled screams leave his lips with every kiss you leave on his cheek and every hug offered. He's like a child who received the gift he's been waiting for his whole life and now he's so excited that he can't express himself, although he doesn't need to shout how he feels when his eyes express to you how much each of your gestures means to him. He will deny everything and try to act like he always does, but he is much softer on you after receiving your daily kisses and hugs.

Silver smiles, imitating your greetings as a sign of respect for you and your culture. Every kiss, handshake and hug exchanged leaves him warm inside, the other students are not as warm as you and he finds this change interesting. He likes to wonder if everyone in your country is as warm and welcoming as you, and he would love to hear you talk about where you come from. He would love to ask you to hug him while he takes a nap, but the idea is embarrassing enough for him to put into words, but maybe one day it will come true.

[daetko]

helloo, how are you? hope you're good! could you write some headcanons about hinata shoyo crushing on an exchange student from brazil? that's okay if you can't, thank you for your attention 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ᥫ᭡ hinata shoyo, and the exchange student . . .

⊱ cw: fluff, a bit short!

⊱ a/n: hi anon! thank u for ur request! hope u’re good aswell! ＾▽＾ i hope this met your expectations & sorry for taking a bit long to respond >_<

⊱ masterlist

when you first transferred, it was a little difficult for you to get used to the unfamiliar environment, however, it didn’t take very long for you to make friends. you ended up being chased around by an extroverted ginger, who was eager to know all about you and your culture!

shoyo would ask you endless questions about your culture, language, cuisine, and most importantly — the sports, specifically; volleyball.

he’d attempt to learn a few portuguese words which, according to him, he did so for the sake of his curiosity, when in reality he was just hoping to impress you

the day you met he went home excited to research your country’s volleyball team

you’d do “lunch trades” with him in which he’d give you a bento his mom made for him while in return you give him a Brazilian dish

he’d definitely teach you how to play volleyball, at least the basics, because that’s his favorite thing to do and he loves seeing his favorite people learn about something hes so invested in

when he finally built up the courage to ask you out; he’d already learned how to ask you to go on a date in your language, all red and fidgety hoping he didn’t mess up

it goes without saying you’d be invited to all his matches — you’d swing by the gymnasium whenever you had a free period to watch him play, which he often gets nervous not to mess up

you’d be familiar with his friends & rivals eventually because whenever you two met up outside of school, he’d show you the schools of teams he played against in the area, while you sat on the back of his bike, arms hugging his waist.

years later, hinatas now in brazil and couldn’t be happier to be accompanied by you as you show him guide him around your home country

he’d play beach volleyball with you, just like he taught you when you were in high school.

[dixons-sunshine]

i i love your brazilian reader so much😭😭 we dont really have that kind of representation😔 maybe could you write something with her and young daryl? maybe she could be an exchange student and got friends with daryl and is teaching him how to make brazilian food(and desserts too)? that would be adorable!! i love your writtings soo much💕

Run Away With You | Daryl Dixon x Young!Brazilian!Fem!Reader

Summary: Meeting Daryl Dixon was one of the best things to ever happen to you. He was introverted and shy, but with you, he was free to be himself. While preparing one of your favourite desserts, you suggest something to Daryl.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse.

Word count: 839.

A/n: I wrote this at midnight while almost falling asleep, but I hope you like this! And thank you, @v1rtualv4mp, so much for helping me with the translations! However, some phrases are from Google translate and the recipe for the dessert in this was found from Google, so please feel free to correct me regarding any mistakes!

And with this fic done and my inbox cleared out, I can now officially say that requests are reopened! Feel free to send them in!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Should I fill it all the way up or nah?” Daryl questioned you, holding the tray in his hands.

You shifted your attention from the stove to him. “No, only three fourths of the way. That's what my mom taught me.”

Daryl nodded and followed your instructions, carefully pouring the custard into the dough-filled muffin cups. Afterwards he handed the muffin tray to you, carefully observing as you placed the tray in the preheated oven.

Daryl leaned back against the counter. “How long do we need to bake it fer?” he questioned, motioning towards the oven.

You joined him against the counter, leaning your head against his shoulder. Daryl stiffened momentarily before relaxing, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer into his side. He pressed a soft, tender kiss against your temple, smiling softly when you let out a small giggle.

“For about one and a half hours,” you answered him, checking the time on your wristwatch. “So we have to take it out at about four-thirty. Then we let it cool down for ten minutes and then we have ourselves some delicious Pastéis De Nata.”

Daryl hummed. “Portuguese Custard tart?”

You rolled your eyes at him, sending a playful smile up at him. “Sure, if you want to be a falante de inglês chato,” you joked, earning a faint, playful jab to your side, making you laugh. “Hey! Do you even know what I said?”

“Nope,” Daryl replied, shaking his head with a faint smile on his face. “But I do know tha' it probably wasn't a compliment.”

“You're right about that,” you laughed and nodded, nuzzling yourself snuggly against his side. However, you withdrew from his hold when he flinched in pain, sending him a concerned look. “What's wrong, amor?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nothin'. Jus' my father who got a bit carried away last nigh'. Nothin' I can't handle.”

Your heart sank to the depths of your stomach at his revelation. You took his hand in yours and interlaced your fingers, squeezing his hand reassuringly. However, you knew that Daryl hated addressing his home life out loud, so you opted to try and cheer him up.

“You know, we could run away together.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows in surprise, an amused smile gracing his beautiful features. “Yeah?” he asked, looking into your eyes. “And where would we even go?”

“Brazil,” you answered instantly, shrugging your shoulders. “I might be biased, but I do believe that it's one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I just know you'd love it.”

Daryl thought it over for a moment, before letting out an approving hum. “Well, let's say I agree to run away with ya to Brazil. What would we even do?”

“A gente poderia ir no Carnaval, e talvez visitar meus avós,” you mumbled to yourself, soothingly rubbing your thumb over your boyfriend's knuckles. You giggled at the confused look he gave you. “It doesn't matter what I said. We could do anything you want, gatinho. Just name it and I'd make it happen.”

“I've always wanted to go check out what Brazilians do during that festival ya keep ravin' 'bout,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “So we could start with tha'?”

You smiled and nodded. “Anything you want, amor. We'd have to wait for Carnaval to start in a couple of months, but we could make it happen.”

Daryl smiled. “Have I ever told ya tha' I love ya?”

“You have,” you nodded, stepping into Daryl's arms and peering up at him. “And I do, too. Eu te amo tanto.”

You leaned in and kissed Daryl on the lips, savouring the taste of him. However, the moment was short-lived, because the power soon went out, causing you and Daryl to look at each other in confusion.

“Well,” Daryl started, looking towards the oven. “Guess tha's gon' take longer to get ready.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Seriously? That's your concern?”

“Wha' can I say?” Daryl mused, sending you a playful smile. “I was really lookin' forward to tha' custard tart. Would've packed some fer our journey to Brazil.”

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Translations:

falante de inglês chato: boring English speaker.

amor: love

A gente poderia ir no Carnaval, e talvez visitar meus avós: We could participate in the Carnaval, and maybe go visit my grandparents.

Eu te amo tanto: I love you so much.

[ryan-sometimes]

... I just read your post about getting with the new girl after telling off that guy and... Girl, I yearn for this kind of thing happening to me. Please, details???

Okay, so I didn’t set out to prove that guy wrong or anything. I didn’t even set out to have sex with her. It happened naturally. It was the first day of my senior year of high school, and we were having a general school assembly to start the new academic year. I went to a VERY small school (50 students per grade), so we all knew each other. I spotted this really beautiful girl across the hall who I didn’t recognize, so I knew she was a new student. I pointed her out to this straight guy I was somewhat friends with and said I found her beautiful. The straight guy then tried to bet me on which one of us could fuck her first. I told him off for betting on a woman and then immediately forgot about this conversation.

Over the next couple of weeks, I found out this new girl was a junior, and she was only going to be at my school for one semester as an exchange student. By coincidence, my best friend was actually a junior himself, and he ended up befriending her completely apart from me. She naturally joined my circle of friends. When my best friend found out that I thought she was cute, he formally introduced the two of us and we started going to parties and clubs together. I went to HS in Brazil where the drinking age is 18, so because we were all 16/17, it was very easy to get into bars and clubs.

By a complete coincidence, it turned out this girl was bisexual. We spent a month or two getting to know each other, texting, hanging out, etc. We ended up kissing a few times at parties and the movie theatre, before we hooked up once at my house. By the time we hooked up her exchange semester was almost over. It was the last week of school of that semester when I encountered that straight guy again and told him that I had hooked up with that girl, because he had mentioned her in a conversation with me for a reason I couldn’t remember. He then brought up the bet again, which I had COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN ABOUT!!! I didn’t set out to fuck this girl on a bet, she just happened to naturally become part of my friend circle and after we got to know each other, things just happened that way.

The straight guy was lowkey pissed at me for fucking her, because I had rejected the bet. I told him that I had only rejected the bet, not the idea of her entirely. Anyways, that’s how it happened.

[hogwartsthenextgeneration]

I have the idea that Hogwarts does an international 4 month long school exchange every student can be involved in during their 6th year. Ngl haven’t actually wrote anything but here are the schools I would have them go to!

James - Pacific Islands School

Albus - Mahoutokoro (Japan)

Lily - Uagadou (Uganda)

Teddy - Durmstrang (Scandinavia)

Vic - Beauxbatons (France)

Dom - Caribbean Islands School

Louis - Ilvermorny (USA)

Rose - Ilvermorny (USA)

Hugo - Beauxbatons (France)

Roxanne - Pacific Islands School

Fred - Castelobruxo (Brazil)

Molly - Durmstrang (Scandinavia)

Lucy - Castelobruxo (Brazil)

Scorpius - Mahoutokoro (Japan)

Alice - Uagadou (Uganda)

Frank - Caribbean Islands School

[faggotcitosis]

happy disability pride month to all of us who are queer and disabled! we are a gay t4t disabled/neurodivergent couple (autistic/bipolar/fybromialgia & adhd/bpd) couple living in brazil. my partner andrea, who is the primary income earner, had a rapid increase in her chronic illness symptoms for the past few months, making them the current situation has made them not able to work as much + in and out of expensive doctors appts and treatments to try to figure out what's going on. we live in a small town, so specialized healthcare is at least an hour away. this raises the cost of ndrea's healthcare substantially :(

bc of that, we have less money coming in and we're in debt. im unable to work (full time student + small town has no part time gigs) and currently trying to get a formal adhd diagnosis but not having much luck.

our pets also require on-going medical care (chronic conditions) & we help financially support our very close trans lesbian friend who is affected by the russo-ukranian war the best we can.

financial instability has been making everything worse. being able to pay off this month's bills would put us in a much better position.

we are about $300usd behind on our monthly bills but any extra that we would get would go to paying off our debt generally. the conversion rate is around 5.5 so even a little bit helps.

i can offer in exchange art commissions & andrea can do essay editing/writing (humanities).

pa.y.p.al . me: andr3333a

v.e.n.m.o: @Andrea-Glenn-19

we can also take pix (for brazilians) and wise. dm for details!!

0/300$

[pebbleswritessometimes]

Hello!! ☺️

I saw your post for Larissa prompts. Well, we're getting near Valentines Day and I'd like to request a holiday fanfic. In a staff outing Larissa finds out that Reader never received a Valentine's card for whatever reason (maybe no one ever gave them one or for cultural reasons, in Brazil for example, only established couples exchange cards). So Valentine's Day arrives and Reader starts receiving many cards from students and from the staff (platonic love), she ends up finding out that Larissa gave the idea for everyone and wanted Reader to feel loved. Maybe she even ends up asking Reader for an actual date? (Super corny but it is what it is 🤣)

Valentine’s

Sorry this is so late, not proof read <3 words: 943

“You’ve never been given a Valentines card? You’re joking!” Larissa had responded in disbelief, alongside your coworkers. You couldn’t help but chuckle at their reactions,” Pffft, no! It just wasn’t something that we did, unfortunately. If you weren’t in a romantic relationship, then you didn’t get things like valentines cards, or those cute little bears.”

Someone could’ve assumed that you had just insulted each of their mothers individually, with the way they stared at you, mouth agape. “Close your mouths, we’ll all have to be back at the school soon. Finish your food,” you laughed, shaking your head, and each began to shovel their meals in, in an attempt to complete them before you had to drive back to Nevermore.

“Alright, Class!” smacking your pages upon the desk in an attempt to get them to line up, “I’m proud of you all for doing your best on your tests this week. I figured maybe you’d all enjoy an early dismissal.”

Smiles spread from one side of the room to the other, each student offering a “Thank you,” and giving their praises to you as a teacher. You propped open the classroom door, prepared to greet each student on their way out. Glancing over in their direction, they were all hovering with small colored envelopes held in their hands. Curious, you inquired, “Are you all alright? What…what’s this?” extending your hand towards the pink sheet of paper that your eldest student had pushed out in your direction.

Flipping over the card and tilting your head, you gently dragged your fingertips across the letters. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Y/N!” Followed by words of the students admiration for their favorite teacher. You. Each of your students had signed and left their own little note on their envelopes. Trying your best to not make the tears welling in your eyes noticeable, “Why, thank you. You’re all so sweet!”

Collecting another card each time a student left the classroom.

Taking the stack of cards to your desk, you sat and carefully read each one. Chuckling at each silly joke, sniffling at the heartfelt words, and growing ever so grateful for your home at Nevermore. You carefully placed them all in your bag and set off to join your coworkers for lunch, you couldn’t wait to show them your very first valentines cards. How truly lucky you felt.

“Miss! Woah-“ you spun around to see who was calling for you, catching Enid on her way towards the floor. “Oh goodness, where’s the fire, Miss Sinclair?” helping her stand up straight, she straightened out her uniform and grinned. “Sorry! I was just so excited to run into you in the hall so I could give you- oh wait where’s..” patting around her blazer in search of something. “Oh, no no no. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N. I must’ve left my card for you back in my dorm. I-“

“Here.” There’s that unmistakable monotone voice of the lovely, Miss Addams.

“Oh, Wednesday! Thank you thank you!!” Buzzing with excitement, Enid handed you the rainbow envelope. You were about to thank her, before you noticed that Miss Addams was also shoving an envelope in your direction. Matching her signature black attire, it was adorned with a wax seal. “You too, Wednesday? Goodness. What did I do to get so lucky to have students like you all,” you opened your cards and listened to Enids bubbly chatter. “Well, when Principal Weems had mentioned her idea of everyone chipping in to give you your first real Valentine’s Day we all-“

“Weems? She put you all up to this?” You instantly felt the butterflies that fluttered in your tummy and prickled your cheeks pink.

Thanking the girls for their cards, you practically ran to Larissa’s office.

Without knocking on the door, you waltzed into the office. You smirked, “Principal Weems? The craziest thing happened today,” leaning over the edge of her desk, pulling out the cards from your bag.

“Oh? And what’s that, Miss Y/N?”

Handing her the envelopes, you went over how each student and colleague had gifted you your very first valentines cards. Searching for something within her gaze, “Any clue on how they might have gotten the idea?”

Fiddling with her fingers, Larissa had bashfully confessed, “Well, I- you’ve just been such a lovely addition to our family here at Nevermore and to know that you’ve never received a valentines card? Oh, we simply couldn’t have that, now could we?”

Smiling as thanks and grabbing your things to go, you laughed and headed for the door.

“Oh, Miss Y/N! I nearly forgot. Here, I got one for you as well,” Larissa spoke with a smile. Yet, her voice seemed a little shaky. “Larissa! You didn’t have to, really, you’re so sweet- you…” blinking a few times, trying to make sure you were reading her beautiful handwriting correctly. Looking up at her through furrowed brows, you wouldn’t have been able to stop the smile that grew on your face if you had tried. “Are you asking me out on a date, Principal?”

“I- I understand if you would rather not, you’re my employee after all, but…but you know-“

“I’d love to, Larissa,” cutting her anxious rant short. You bit your lip and stood upon your tippy toes, leaving a small kiss on her cheek.

Watching her fumble her words and blush like crazy was the simply a joy to witness. You danced out of the room and leaned against the hall wall, clutching the card from Larissa to your chest. You’ve been pinning over this woman since you started working here, God.. how worth the wait it was.

[vaspider]

Hello, excuse me, would you please allow me to bake you an entire cake for your post on myths and retelings. It says everything I have always thought, and often times typed out in an angry rant, only ten times better than I could have ever put it. I appreciate it immensely. If you're ever in Brazil please pop by for that cake.

I have always wanted to visit Brazil. The girl I was in love with during HS was an exchange student there for a year. I will take you up on that if I ever do!

[armageddon-generation]

Justice For MCU Hulk: Everything cut from The Incredible Hulk (2009) that saves its characters

After She-Hulk renewed criticism of Bruce Banner’s characterisation in the MCU, I looked back at The Incredible Hulk. It’s the shortest MCU movie (1hr 52 mins) so this extra 25 minutes of footage would bring it to about the same length as The Winter Soldier, vastly improving Bruce’s characterisation, his romance with Betty, and General Ross as the villain. 

Alternate Opening in the Arctic (2:16)

The most famous cut, Bruce’s attempted s*icide referenced in The Avengers. Strong, shocking character beat to open the film

Hulk’s origin

The film’s 3-minute title-sequence condenses “40 minutes” of Hulk’s origin & its aftermath. This was mostly unscripted (Norton contributed a lot) with “points of entry” for flashbacks throughout the film that unravelled the mystery of what happened..  

In an interview, director Louis Leterrie explained:

“[the Arctic was] a few months after the incident … afterwards we were flash forwarding to Brazil … a few years later ... then afterward you were getting flashbacks—that’s the way the script was structured—to tell you the story … everything you saw in the credit sequence. People hated it … what the hell is this? Is this a sequel? Is this a re-boot? We don’t understand anything.”

Building the Lab (1:07)

Most of the cut Brazil footage is filler, but I like Bruce dumpster-diving to make DIY lab equipment

General Greller (2:28)

Ross’ motivation. He’s the true villain! 

I’d cut the 1st exchange between Ross & Greller, moving straight from the plane to Blonsky entering the office. 

Nice character-building (‘is there any medal you haven’t won?’)

Greller criticizing Ross’ supersoldier program ties into the wider MCU (Hulk as a supersoldier attempt was only later established in The Avengers) & makes Ross more culpable

Bruce Delivers Pizzas (0:36)

The girls’ dorm should stay cut, but Bruce helping students with an experiment at his old university is a lovely character beat

Betty and Leonard (0:30)

Doc Sampson!

So the love triangle doesn’t seem quite as lopsided

Bruce and Betty Talk (3:18) 

Sets a clear timeline for Bruce

Sets up an ‘ethics cloud’ around Sterns/The Leader, and suggests he turned Bruce over to Ross in Brazil

Betty is proactive. Her arc becoming disillusioned with Ross starts here. Her keeping their data in an ornate jewelry box builds the Bruce/Betty romance

“Hope comes back so quickly” is a strong character beat

Dinner with Bruce (1:30)

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a light” is a nice character beat: Betty’s house is the eye of the storm in Bruce’s journey

Leonard characterisation!

The Orchid (1:27)

Betty is proactive again!

The Orchid as a metaphor for their love

Bruce and Leonard (4:17)

Leonard: I’ll confess something to you if you clear up some things for me. First, I confess as a man, Betty’s lover, that I’ve always hoped you were dead. Not because I don’t like you but because I love Betty. And I’ve known that unless you were really gone, or she believed that you were… there’d always be three of us in this relationship. I dreaded the thought of you walking through the door. But… now that you’re here, I have to admit I’m very happy about it. Because I’m also a psychiatrist. And I’m very committed to putting light into dark corners, so to speak. Betty has a very dark corner that I’ve never found my way into, despite considerable careful effort. And the only thing that I know about her dark place is that you’re in it. So… Why are you something that she won’t talk about?

Bruce: There are aspects of my personality that I can’t control. And when I lose control it’s very dangerous to be around me. I hurt Betty in a way that I will never forgive myself for.

Leonard: You don’t drop your career and fall off the face of the Earth for 5 years because you have an anger management issue, Bruce. You see a shrink.

Bruce: It’s a little bit more complicated than that.

Leonard: Trust me when I tell you I’ve heard them all.

Bruce: Not like this.

Leonard: Completely honest and yet avoiding the heart of the matter. Exactly like her.

Leonard’s big moment! He’s an actual character! Learning Bruce hurt Betty motivates him turning Bruce in

Chatting to a psychiatrist about the Hulk like a real-world personality disorder is gold

Lots of work on the romance, the ‘Dark Corner’ in Betty’s mind that Bruce inhabits.

Justification for Leonard ratting Bruce out. It's implied Leonard deliberately drains the car battery to discourage Betty going with Bruce

Motel Room Conversation (1:14)

Bruce: I’m sorry.

Betty: It’s okay. It’s so mysterious, this thing inside of you. All the other scars have healed.

Bruce: Not mine. His scars heal but mine don’t

Betty: Yes they do. They leave a mark, but they stop hurting [exposes a scar under her fringe, from the Hulk accident. Bruce turns away.] Look at me. That pain didn’t last. Not knowing was so much worse. I looked for your face everywhere. I never stopped.

Proactive Betty again. Real meat for the romance, addressing their shared trauma & Bruce’s guilt

Nature’s Mystery (3:02)

Ross: Major, a great writer once said, "There are clefts in the rock, where we see the back part of God, and tremble." There's no training for what you saw out there because it's not an enemy that confronts us, it's a new power. Let loose through a crack in the cliff of Nature's mystery. How many times do you think that's happened in all of human history? Fire. The splitting of the atom. The universe unveils a secret and people recoil, cowering in fear and awe. And then comes the person who stops trembling. Who steps forward to face the flame, and seizes the burning stick and says "This will I master and use."

William Hurt gets to act. This monologue is the best dialogue in the film. Ross’ motivation is so well-expressed here

On the Hulk Hunt (1:07)

Builds Blomsky’s frustrations with Ross and motivation to become Abomination

Ross and Sparr (1:40)

Betty: I will never forgive what you've done to him.

Ross: He's a fugitive. He made choices.

Betty: You made him a fugitive. To cover your failures, and protect your career. I know what you said to him after the accident. Before I woke up, what you proposed? That's why he ran away and gave up.

Ross: His work, his blood is the property of the United States Army, and my duty precedes my personal feelings in this matter.

Betty: Freedom, democracy, our way of life.

Ross: Something like that.

Betty: You believe in so much. But we have to start with truth or the rest of it doesn't work. Don't ever speak to me as your daughter again.

“If you took it from me I’m gonna put you in a hole for the rest of your life”. Ross is the villain!

Cut the Major, but Betty confronting Ross re: weaponizing the Hulk is a strong cap for her arc

Bruce Confesses in the Helicopter

In the novelisation:

“on the helicopter, prior to jumping … Banner admits to Betty that because he thought he killed her when he first became the Hulk, he tried to kill himself. The Hulk wouldn’t let him, which is why he thinks the Hulk will save him from the fall.” 

Leonard Calls Betty (1:40)

Follow-up on Leonard and Betty. Nice moment for her

Tldr; This extended version still wouldn’t be *great*, but it’s a significant improvement from mediocre to good, especially in hindsight with how Hulk has been treated since AoU. 

[yupirawr-dino]

COD and Harry Potter pt2

In a Harry Potter AU, like, taking it seriously, Valeria, Alejandro, Rudy, etc would be in Castelobruxo because that's the magic school on South and Mesoamerica, she would be in Brazil, maybe she, Alejandro and Rudy go to hogwarts as exchange students.

If we try to have a similar story between Valeria and Alejandro, i feel like they would have been friends until their 4th or 5th year because Valeria uses unforgivable curses and Alejandro finds out, having an argument blahablahablah and they kind of "hate" each other(?) and Rudy is just there, like, tieso y confundido, taking Alejandro's side after he knows what happened.

Valeria can also be a death eater (mortífago), i feel like she would be a pure blood, Ale a muggle-born and Rudy a muggle-born too, she is their friend until 4-5th year and then becomes a death eater, being one until Los Vaqueros, the shadow company and TF141 (in a magical way) finds her and arrest her asking questions about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then being send to Azkaban, but escaping.

Alejandro and Rudy would be Aurors

[thelunarfairy]

What do you think about Amane's rumor?

Because every mistery has some parts of the rumor mistaken, but the only true part about his rumor is that he is in the womens bathroom.

He is a boy, and most importantly HE DOESNT GRANT WISHES

He doesnt have that ability and has to resort to pretty unorthodox methods lol

Love your posts btw lol

Awww thank you ♡

Hahaha The legend of Hanako-san from the bathroom. Basically Hanako-kun is very similar to the legend from my country.

Yes, here (Brazil) we have the same legend. Here she is known as "the blonde in the bathroom", the blonde girl who was a student and killed herself in the last stall of the women's bathroom. Since then she has haunted the last bathroom stall. The way to invoke her is identical to the anime. She doesn't grant wishes, but people always try to invoke her to find out about her true story.

It's the best-known legend in the schools here hahaha so, at the school where I studied we tried to summon the blonde from the bathroom to try to discover her true story (there are several versions)

Unfortunately, or fortunately, she never showed up haha

In none of the versions, whether Brazilian or Japanese, do they grant wishes, this only exists in JSHK. (Here in Brazil, Hanako-kun's anime/manga was nicknamed "the Japanese bathroom blonde anime" hahahaha)

But back to Hanako, he doesn't really grant wishes like that God, but he always charges for the service. Tsukasa doesn't seem to be able to do this either, in fact the two are linked with the God who grants wishes.

See, when Hanako went to try to fulfill Yashiro's wish to extend her lifespan, Aoi would be sacrificed in her place, right? Right.

Then, Aoi would be taken as a sacrifice to that God. Number six even started the ritual with her, similar to what happened with Sumire, Aoi had to change her clothes because she was going to be sacrificed. In exchange for Aoi's sacrifice, Yashiro's life would increase.

Isn't that what happened to Amane? Tsukasa asked God to save his brother, Amane was saved, but Tsukasa was sacrificed.

In other words, they ask God to make their wishes come true, but Hanako prefers not to do that because the cost is high. Tsukasa doesn't seem to have many problems with this, he has a greater connection with the God than Hanako, it seems.

One thing I don't understand is, if the supernatural must necessarily follow what the rumors say, why didn't Hanako turn into a girl? Mitsuba became that deformed monster for a while, so why don't the rumors totally work with Hanako?

What would happen if Tsukasa decided to change the Hanako rumor? I think he hasn't done it yet because he wants the yorishiros to be removed.

Anyway, I rambled too much now hahaha

The Hanako rumor is an urban legend, it doesn't say anything that is directly related to Amane (until now), it's a fake story. All mysteries have a false story (rumors) and a true one.

I'm looking forward to the arc of number seven *u*

Hoooope you liked it, thanks for the ask! ♡

[boogernotbogger]

To set a person

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Miya Atsumu gets the brilliant idea to set you like you are a volleyball. Trouble ensues.

Please support me on AO3 here!

Miya Atsumu is a volleyball player. Miya Atsumu loves setting. Miya Atsumu loves you. But that said, Miya Atsumu has now realised that it was probably not the best idea to combine the two things he loves the most in the world.

Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys randomly passing the ball back and forth with you, while you both unwind after a hectic day at work. He enjoys making you jump about, ensuring that you always get a nice easy set from him. He enjoys having endless conversations with you about his sport, discussing strategies, analysing plays, watching matches, and everything in between. He loves it when you watch him play.

What he doesn’t love is waiting for you outside a hospital room, sick with worry about your broken finger, and afraid of whatever wrath he is going to be subjected to, once you’re out. After all, it was not your idea for him to toss you like you’re a 67cm 280gm yellow and blue ball of Mikasa goodness.

~~~

It starts off innocently enough. You are sitting at Onigiri Miya, doing homework, after a long day at college. Your shift just ended and you are waiting for Osamu to finish closing up and join you. This is your daily routine- college, work, homework, chats with Osamu, and then, his idiot twin would walk in, loudly complaining about his ever-hungry stomach, and then the room would light up and you could finally relax before going to your shared home together.

Today is no different. Tsumu saunters in a bit later than usual, but with the same monstrous appetite as always. He dumps his sports bag on the counter, kisses you on the forehead, flicks his twin and shop owner on his forehead, gets kicked in return, makes a show of being in agonising pain, and then scarfs his food down like he hasn’t been fed in the last two weeks. You just sigh in bliss at your choice of a perfect partner.

Once he has sufficiently attacked his food, the three of you start trading stories about your day. It has been a perfectly normal day, college was fun, your friends had juicy gossip to share, you’d met your favourite regulars at the shop, homework was easily completed, and both twins were in high spirits. Then Tsumu starts to talk. And it is at this point that Tsumu starts talking about Shoyo.

Now, everyone knows that Miya Atsumu is a little bit in love with Hinata Shoyo. The entire world is in love with Shoyo, even players from Brazil and Argentina, university students from the US, and somehow, a chocolatier from France. But even so, the way your boyfriend is talking about Hinata tonight is different. He is reverent. Awed. Mesmerised. You can see the stars in his eyes as he speaks about his favourite spiker (“Yes Samu, shut up, Sho kun has finally surpassed you and you can rot in your jealousy.” “I don’t even care about your favourite spiker, you scrub”).

“And you would not believe what Sho and Bo did today!” You perk up, noticing the increased vigour in his voice. And sure enough, his eyes are sparkling, and he has that childish excitement all over his face, that generally makes him more endearing and at the same time, increases everyone’s heart rate, from anxiety. Not to mention, if Atsumu endorsed something done by Hinata and Bokuto, the two people who had one single unicellular volleyball bouncing around in their heads for brains, then there would be chaos, to put it mildly.

“Even Omi Omi was impressed!”

Osamu and you exchange alarmed glances.

There would be chaos involving hospitals at best, and arson at worst. All centred around volleyball, of course. No player in the Japanese V-league has the braincells for anything outside volleyball.

~~~

Atsumu looks up as you walk out of the Radiology room with your x-ray negatives. “A fairly clean break, but it’ll still take forever to heal,” you mutter, as you lead him back to Orthopaedics for setting your pinky back in place.

“And it hurts like a bitch.”

~~~

“And then Sho kun jumped higher than he ever has for any of my sets! I really should talk to him about that, if his contact point is higher, he’ll probably even be able to intimidate that 2 metre dude from the Railway Warriors. I mean, that dude’s absolute audacity! He looks at Shoyo like he’s just a friend from school and not some intimidating-ass opponent to be feared. Just because Sho taught him….”

He finally shuts up, being cut off by a smack to the head with the dirty countertop-wiper, courtesy of his loving twin.

“Anyway, Sho kun soared and Bokkun had his arms outstretched in perfect form for receiving and Sho somehow managed to curl his legs inwards, so he managed to bounce straight out of Bo’s receive and into Omi’s waiting arms. And it was such a perfect receive! Sure, Bo could have bumped Sho slightly higher, but he was still high enough to be set. They refused to let me set him though. Omi caught him in a perfect bridal carry, and walked out with him, and looked at me like I was the non-existent dirt under his shoes and said with enough disgust to make weaker men cower, ‘Get your grubby hands away from our points-machine, Miya. You’ll just send him to the emergency room trying to pull off one of your fancy sets.’ Again, the audacity. But oh man, I want to try setting a person. I’m sure I can do it. I mean, I do lift weights and I am a setter after all, and if Bokuto can do it, so can I…”

His voice trails off as he gets lost in his fantasies, and you turn towards Osamu, only to see that he’s trying to suppress his giggles, slowly backing out of the room so as to avoid whatever is to come.

He isn’t quick enough.

~~~

“And that would be all. If you follow the aftercare instructions diligently, you’ll be fine in no time. And just to reiterate, do avoid taking more painkillers than necessary.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” With that, you get up, taking your prescriptions in your right hand, tenderly clutching your wrapped up left, to your chest. Your boyfriend murmurs his thanks too, as he follows you out of the room. You buy the prescribed medicines, and make your way to his car.

“Uuwwwahhhh y/n san, are you ok now? I got you chocolates to make you feel better. I was gonna get you a video of myself being received so you know how to position your body better, but Omi san said that it may make you more upset.” “And I was correct. Can you not see her pain?”

“Hey hey hey y/n! How did it feel to be set by the hottest setter in the V-league?” “Kageyama is the hottest setter Bokuto san!” “Then she can ask Kageyama to set her next time” “Again, can’t you two dumbheads see her pain?”

Next time?

Atsumu intervenes, having noticed your anger about to burst. “Hey guys, we appreciate your presence, but we really have to go home now. Y/n has to rest. We can talk tomorrow?”

The three nod, and you nod back to Sakusa, since he was the only one being (somewhat) considerate of your pain, as you climb into Tsumu’s car, all set for a long night of pain, apologies, more pain, and more apologies. You can hear the dumbass duo noising around outside, but you just lean your head back, text Osamu that you’re alright, and try to get some sleep. The air is thick with tension as your boyfriend drives you both back home.

~~~

Osamu refuses to “receive” you and send you to the setter, so Atsumu decides that it’s best for you to jump off a table and curl up into the cannonball position, so that he can “set” you directly. Osamu is responsible for catching you. Both of you protest, and of course, all protests go unheard and Samu gives up, knowing it’s easier to go along with his twin’s hare-brained ideas than to resist.

Secretly though, you know Samu is also a curious little shit who wants to see how well one of the best setters in the nation can set a person.

“If anything goes wrong, and that includes so much as my clothes getting dirty, if anything goes wrong Tsumu, you can consider yourself girlfriendless for life.”

He gulps at the very real threat in your tone, but undeterred, just says, “Nothing will go wrong, I promise. I am an expert.”

Samu and you just sigh, and Atsumu goes to adjust the camera as all of you get in position.

And before you know it, you are jumping off the picnic table as high as you can. Just as you squeeze your eyes shut, you see Miya Atsumu crouch down the way he does for particularly low passes, into the position that makes his thighs bulge and girls swoon. You feel his confident hands touch you firmly for a moment, and then you are tossed up, higher than you jumped before, and your eyes fly open to the sound of his delighted laugh.

The world is a blur as Osamu positions himself under you, and that’s when the panic hits. You flail, he slips, the world seems to slide around as you drag him down with you. You bring your hands under you to support yourself, and hear a sickening crunch as you land entangled with Osamu’s legs.

For a moment you just breathe, gladly noting that you are on the ground in the mortal plane, and not dead. And then the pain hits.

All that leaves your mouth is a whimper as your entire body turns its attention to the pinky finger on your left hand. It is bent at an unnatural angle, probably from having two grown-ass adults fall on it. You nearly throw up when you see something white covered with blood poking out at the bend.

An open fracture, your brain notes, while your breaths start coming out faster and faster, trying to keep up with the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, and the pain radiating from your finger into your whole hand.

There are voices babbling around you, and hands fluttering around in the periphery of your vision, and you vaguely register apologies. But your world is narrowed down to the bone peeking out of your finger, and you feel yourself start gasping for breath, each laboured breath choking on a sob. And then suddenly, familiar hands are taking yours in them, ignoring your scream, and your finger is loosely covered with white gauze, effectively blocking the gory spectacle. You notice that Tsumu’s hands are shaking as he holds up a water bottle to your lips.

An ice pack is pressed into your left hand and you hiss, but it immediately numbs the pain and you look up to see Osamu standing with another ice pack and your packed college bag, keys ready in hand. “Atsumu will drive you to the emergency room, it is faster than calling an ambulance. I was not hurt. I really am so, so sorry for dropping you, but we can talk later when you’re not in excruciating pain. Y/n, look at me. Focus. Does anything else hurt? Did you twist anything? Are you feeling dizzy or numb anywhere?”

You shake your head no, and Atsumu lets out a sigh. Your head whips towards him, and he avoids your gaze as he helps you up and into his car, strapping you into the passenger seat. The brothers discuss something more, and then you’re off into the night, your muted whimpers the only sound between you. His drives with one hand, his free hand clutching your uninjured one in a death grip.

~~~

“So, how bad does it hurt?”

It’s the first non-essential sentence exchanged between you two since you jumped off that damn cursed table. You consider just ignoring the question as your expression speaks for itself, but there is a tremble in his usually arrogant voice, and it sounds like he is on the verge of tears himself.

You turn towards him and sigh, and take his hand in yours again, and his eyes widen before he firmly fixes them to the road.

“Much less than earlier, it definitely helps that I can’t see the bone poking out anymore. Oh, and the painkillers definitely work. It is just a throb in the background for now, but it’ll get worse later.”

“Huh uh. You’re attending classes tomorrow? I can take the day off to give you company if you don’t.”

You sigh again. You notice that you’ve been sighing a lot today. You affirm that you will go to college because of “the damn attendance policy”. He hums in response and the silence resumes as you see your apartment complex around the corner. He parks the car.

“Since you are still holding my hand, does this mean that I will not be girlfriendless yet?”

He sees you narrow your eyes and adds hastily, “And honestly, technically, if one were to be very precise, one would say that Osamu would have caught the uhh, the tossee, beautifully had the tossee not panicked. Technically. In fact, technically, one would say that it was not even the setter’s fault, since his set was perfect. It was the, uh, the tossee who unnecessarily flailed about and caused him to lose balance. Technically only. I mean, I am not accusing you or anything of course. You are perfect. A Goddess. The best. Even as a ball, you are the best thing I have ever tossed. Truly. It was my fault. Totally.”

His voice trails off as your expression turns more incredulous with each word leaving his mouth, and he shuts himself up. He has the look of a man awaiting his death sentence. His usually perfectly-styled hair is mussed from all the times he has run his hands through it. His lips look like they are one bite away from bleeding. He’s wringing his hands, a nervous gesture you have never seen him make. His eyes look like they are going to spring tears any second, and his nose is twitching in anticipation of the tears.

You just sigh again and hold your arms open for a hug, and he collapses into you, threatening to take you down again as he sobs against your neck.

“I got so scared, y/n! I thought I had killed you! I know that I had no right being scared, since it was my idea in the first place and you were the one about to die, but I was so scared I couldn’t move. This was even worse than the time Samu dislocated his thumb trying to spike the shut bucket of balls I had set for him, and back then he had threatened to tell Ma about it.”

Before you have a chance to ask about that incident, he squeezes you tighter, musses your hair, and pulls back to look at you. His eyes are red and his nose is running and you can feel the wet patch against your neck. He holds your shoulders with both hands, and vows, “Never again y/n. Never again.” He takes your hand in his and leads you upstairs to your flat, as you finally give a small smile at the hard part of the night finally getting over.

~~~

“You thought the hard part of the night is over? Well, the hard part is just getting started,” he says, waggling his eyebrows as he shimmies out of his shorts, his glorious thighs on display. You groan at the terrible pun, but have no one to blame but yourself. After all, it was your idea to destress by having sex, and sex usually was accompanied by your ridiculous boyfriend’s ridiculous innuendoes.

“Nah ah, none of that,” is all the warning you get as he quite literally sweeps you off your feet and gently places you on the centre of the bed. Very slowly, he starts undressing you leaving kisses every time he exposes a new part of your body. Once he takes off your bra, he cups your breasts with a gleeful expression and you think of the time he likened them to “two small volleyballs I can smack around”. Before you bring up that incident, he turns his attention to your left hand, leaves a soft kiss on your palm, and carefully places it next to your head on the pillow. “Don’t wanna accidentally jostle it,” he explains.

He continues undressing you, one hand tracing your chest, circling your nipple. It slowly wanders down your ribs, counting each one to reach your belly, where he keeps it flat to hold you in place as you lift your hips up for him to remove your pants.

He slides off your jeans and your panties in one smooth motion, and nuzzles his face to your pelvis, leaving wet kisses from your navel to your thighs, and you wriggle impatiently in bed, wanting him to just stop treating you like a fragile piece of glass.

You bury your free right hand in his hair, and guide his face where you want it, right in between your thighs. He grins up at you and places one wet kiss on your clit, and you shiver at the heat that pass through your entire body. You stroke his face and he leans into your touch, before he pulls back and slowly inserts a finger inside you. His left hand comes up to hold your hand.

His index finger leisurely explores inside you, and soon he inserts another, now trying to stretch you out in earnest. His lips are steadily making their way down your labia and he tentatively licks a stripe along your perinium before he changes directions and attacks your thighs. His fingers find your g-spot and press, while his teeth nibble on the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. You squeeze his hand from the shock of pleasure that travels along your spine and moan something that sounds like his name. Satisfied, he leans back to admire his artwork, and you see a dark red bruise already starting to form.

Before you can complain about him going too slowly, he comes back up to kiss you, tongue dancing with your own, and inserts a third finger inside, now in a hurry to stretch you open. You smack his hand out of the way and finish the job yourself, giving him time to shrug off his clothes.

“C’mon Tsum, hurry up, I’m ready,” you pant, as he takes out a condom and lube from the drawer next to the bed. He hastily unrolls the condom along his length, and you take a moment to marvel at him, before you’re moving up to sit in front of his cock.

Not breaking eye contact with your boyfriend, you take his cock into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks out to take in as much as you can. Your right hand comes up to stroke along whatever you can’t fit in, and he gasps, his big, beautiful thighs quivering with each sensation passing through him. His hands are holding your waist to steady you, and he whines when you pull off him.

You smirk, and move to sit on his lap, and he gets the memo. He lifts you up, as you guide your sopping wet pussy down on his cock, and both of you moan as he fills you up. You pause for a second to kiss, and then jiggle your hips, indicating that you want to move. He keeps a hand on your waist to support you, the other splayed across your back, as you set an energetic pace. Not breaking the momentum, you lean in for a kiss and he meets you in the middle, fireworks bursting behind your eyes as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Next thing you know, Tsumu is biting your lip as he cums, and that is all the push you need to find your release. He continues stroking along your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you ride the aftershocks, and you slump into him, well and truly spent.

~~~

Afterwards, you find yourself dozing off on his lap, his hands stroking through your hair, as you finally relax after the long day you had today, knowing that tomorrow, Hinata will try to give you tips on how to be a better ball, Bokuto will try to make Atsumu admit that he is better at tossing people, and Sakusa will try to say that he is above them, but will probably give you finger pads or something for the next time you’ll be tossed.

You know that by now half the V-league has the video of Atsumu’s “failed” set, because in his panic at the hospital, instead of asking his teammates for help, he sent them the video.

You also know that at some point during the next few days, more volleyball freaks will try to set you, because you are the first person dumb enough to agree to being set. And each person will promise to do a better job than Tsumu; never mind that his set was perfect, and it was you that flailed about.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Brazil and Cuba sign cooperation agreement during CRES+5

The document reinstates academic exchange between the two nations. The initiative is part of the Brazilian government's policy, which aims to reintegrate Brazil in the international community and global discussions.

On Wednesday, March 13th, during CRES+5 – a follow-up meeting to the III Regional Conference on Higher Education (CRES) – Brazil and Cuba signed a new cooperation agreement in the field of higher education, facilitating the resumption of academic mobility for students from both countries. The Brazilian Minister of Education, Camilo Santana; the Cuban Minister for Higher Education, Walter Baluja García; and the president of the Brazilian Coordination for the Improvement of Higher Education Personnel (Capes), Denise Pires de Carvalho, were all present at the meeting and signed the agreement.    

This aligns with the Brazilian government's policy, which aims to reintegrate Brazil into the international community, with a particular focus on the field of education. "A comprehensive strategy is in place to reposition the country in global discussions and take on a leadership role. We need to put Brazil back on the international stage and on the subject of education," said Minister Camilo Santana.   

He also said that he hopes for closer relations with Cuba and that the partnership will benefit both countries. "I hope for a closer relationship with Cuba, a country that has historically shared strong ties with Brazil. We will both benefit from strengthening cooperation between countries," he added.   

The Cuban Minister endorsed Camilo's speech and stressed that the historical and cultural similarities between Brazil and Cuba contribute to the collaboration between the two nations. "Our concerns are similar when it comes to renewable energy, university sovereignty, culture and other topics. So these are aspects that we are certain we can collaborate on with institutions and academics in Brazil and other countries," said Walter García.

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