#i cannot be certain of their pronouns but i can raise my eyebrow and go “oh they're one of those” /neutral

[tenshi-agerasia]

ensemble stars characters as things i experienced on a cruise to mexico

i'm waiting for a flight that i'm ten hours early for so here's some rare 鬼畜 text content . incorrect quotes and imagined scenarios, long post under the cut

starting off with some incorrect quotes

rei: can you walk?

eichi: i think so, i'm much more energetic nowadays-

rei: no you're not. shiratori-kun, get him a wheelchair, we're skipping all the lines at the airport‎‎

‎-

eichi, getting physically patted down by tsa in a small dark room because his wheelchair couldn't go through the full-body scanner and it was too much physical effort to stand up: this is all sakuma-kun's fault

-

aira: tenshouin-senpai! you almost left your louis vuitton designer scarf at the security checkpoint! what if someone had stolen it?!

eichi: thank you, shiratori-kun! but it's fake

-

akatsuki in the elevator with a group of strangers

stranger, in a thick southern accent: so what're y'all up to t'night?

silence

souma stares straight ahead. he thinks the stranger isn't talking to them.

stranger, feeling slightly awkward: so, y'all stayin' in your room?

kuro: um... yeah

-

afterwards

keito: how did he know that our room doesn't have a window

kuro: ???

keito: ??? he said something about our stateroom not having a window like his

kuro: you mean when he asked if we were staying in our room?

-

hokuto: how much money have you spent at the arcade

makoto: uhhhh... i don't know, i'm not good at math

mao: how much did each of the figurine blind bags cost you

makoto: four plays is $4.50 and i get an average of 87 tickets at the piano game. the gachapon is 750 tickets each, and 750 / 87 = around 8.62 plays, and 8.62 x 4.50 / 4 = $9.6975

-

wataru: iiiiiit's..... showtiiiiiime....

yuta: can we leave

hinata: the waiters are dancing now, we can't just leave

one minute later

yuta: can we leave

hinata: i'd love to see you try to leave in this situation

three minutes later

yuta: can we leave

hinata: QUICK THEY STOPPED MAKE A RUN FOR IT

-

jun: i don't like my new haircut

jin, shaking his head knowingly: yeah you shouldn't have cut it on a cruise

jun: i lied. i love my new haircut it means the world to me

-

jun, still struggling to come to terms with his new haircut: now i kind of look like the scaramouche guy from genshin

hiyori: i was thinking more like edna from the incredibles

some people that i encountered!

kaoru as the guy that (successfully) invited one of the waitresses to dance

yuzuru as the sweet lady who asked me how to swipe her room card for the arcade because her son (tori) wanted to play a game

ritsu as my mom who spent most of the time sleeping

rinne as the tour guide that would add "rawr" to the end of his jokes

tsumugi as the poor woman who got stuck in a hammock and had to ask me for help

yuta as my brother who i forced to go on a rusty cable sliding thing you could only hold on to by hand, only for it to get stuck before it reached the middle

hinata as me who dragged the rope attached to the handle and tried to run (on sand) to pull yuta/my brother on the cable slide, only for him to fall (on sand)

rei as the people who watched and laughed

yuzuru as me playing the discord golf game with my friends on vc, only to get screwed over by the lag from cruise wifi

anzu as my friends who were still at home and took this chance to win by miles

makoto as my brother and i when we made one of the arcade machines run out of tickets to dispense three times

makoto as my brother who dominated the entire leaderboard of a piano game with his high scores

tomoya as my mom who was upset that she didn't get to see any flamingos up close

mao as the guest services guy who kept getting interrupted by phone calls that lasted less than 50 seconds

tsumugi as the worker who asked me "do you speak mandarin or chinese?"

adonis as my dad who would only eat meat because "it's more worth it that way"

hiyori as the hair stylist that gave me the scaramouche/edna haircut and kept calling me "madame" and insisted that i trust his vision (he was a lovely guy, i just wanted it more short :()

anzu as my aunts that were constantly trying to video call my mom on wechat, only for the call to disconnect because cruise wifi sucks

mayoi as the dinner waiter that jumpscared my mom on the lunch buffet line

midori as the buffet worker who kept sorting the lettuce leaves by size and color

rinne as the guy at the casino who told a worker he wanted to "have a gambling addiction responsibly"

tori and tsukasa as the little girls who tried to convince their mom to let them eat only cake for lunch

kaoru as the white guy who tried to engage in a conversation with me in the elevator but only made the situation more awkward

souma as the guy who got into an argument with someone (kaoru) over whether the fish he ate was bass or salmon (it was salmon with some bass)

shinobu as the boy who ran up and down the stairs yelling that he was looking for ducks (?)

wataru as the russian lady in charge of the dining room who would loudly whisper "iiiiiit's...... showtiiiiiiime" into a microphone every evening

tomoya as the waiter with a tired, dead inside expression who still had to dance for the russian lady's "showtime"

adonis as the guy that woke up at six in the morning to run laps around the deck for some unknown reason

wataru as the guy who posed for a picture like he was pinching the setting sun

hokuto as the guy taking the picture, but from an angle that made wataru look like he was pinching nothing and standing there stupidly

promo time ~ preorders for the niki's cookbook fanzine are open until march 12! i made some recipes for it, go check it out :)

[puckwritesstuff]

How would everyone react to Vali courting a man? In that AU, since she is on the aro side and is still exploring, I think she'll think nothing is wrong in trying. But the boys being protective, I'm sure they will have the "talk" with her cuz the family has a history of having bastards and just protective in general. Thank you!

Vali very rarely finds herself in the company of men, but every once in a while, there is one that meets her standards for who she is willing to be with. Hardly anyone understands, but when is that not the case for relationships in this family.

---

Váli didn’t read often, but when she did, her favorite place to go was her grandmother’s garden, on the bench under the apple tree. She was deep within an Vanir adventure novel, when Brandr came into the garden, dragging Nari with him. She regarded them and went back to her book.

“We want to talk with you,” Brandr said.

“We is a strong word,” Nari muttered.

Váli sighed, marked her book, and set it down.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“We have some questions,” Brandr said.

“About Inge,” Nari said.

“What about Inge?” Váli said.

“Well, there are rumors,” Brandr said. “He’s certainly handsome enough to turn a young woman’s head, but everyone was surprised when he turned yours.”

“He’s not exactly your type, is what they are saying,” Nari said. “Never mind that you have told us, in confidence, that you are not looking for a relationship.”

“That is not what I said,” Váli said. “I said that my feelings towards relationships are not the same as others. Not that I do not desire affection or companionship.”

“And the other thing?” Nari said.

Váli sighed. “I should not have to explain to two sons of Loki that Inge is neither man nor woman, though he uses male pronouns and presents himself similarly.”

“He calls himself a man,” Brandr said.

“As does our father,” Váli said. “But it’s more complicated than that, and you should not require an explanation from me. And in any case, my affection is not so fixed on any particular gender that I cannot find any fluidity within it. And in any case, Inge has made a strong argument for himself, and curiosity has led me to believe that it will be an engaging affair.”

“That’s the next thing,” Nari said, sitting down next to his sister. “I… you do understand that both of our parents have bastards, yes?”

Váli rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Nari, is that any way to talk about Sleipnir?”

Brandr crossed his arms, shaking his head.

“He’s a member of this family, I don’t care how many legs he has, and you shouldn’t either!” Váli continued.

“You’re not funny,” Brandr said.

Váli stood, putting her hands on Brandr’s arms.

“I can make my own choices,” Váli said. “And Mother has made certain that I am well versed in many varieties of contraceptives.”

“Yes, because that’s worked so well for her,” Brandr said. “We want you to be safe.”

“I know,” Váli said. “And I appreciate the sentiment, if not the actions you often take to secure that safety. But I have it on good authority that it should not be of concern in this particular relationship.”

Brandr raised an eyebrow.

“Inge is… in some ways my inverse,” Váli said. “He has little interest in the intimate.”

Brandr and Nari exchanged looks.

“So you aren’t..?” Nari said.

“That is hardly your business,” Váli said. “Nor the business of the court at large. We would ask for privacy.”

“Of course,” Brandr said. “Though I must say, Inge’s quite the catch.”

Váli smirked. “He is, isn’t he?”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

travel books and romance novels // Colin Bridgerton

Summary: Colin visits the library for research into his next trip; he didn’t expect to find you.

A/N: Colin’s desire to travel honestly reflects my own. For purposes of the fic, I have aged Colin up - it’s more to fit the plot line of Book Four which is his book anyway. I’m not sure how to feel about this fic, I'm happy with it but I’m not at the same time. I’m not being too harsh on myself however, this is my first time writing for Colin and I haven't got to grips with his character yet. I hope you all like!! <3

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Colin is very cute, pining, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers, female reader, she/her pronouns, marriage proposal, happy ending.

Word count: 4k

Colin Bridgerton had spent over two decades of his life on this planet and had yet to find something or someone he loves more than travelling. The bug first bit him in his early twenties; desperate to experience a Grand Tour – a tradition of which that had strongly died out in the past century. He had read about it so often; dreamed of it nearly every day that eventually he put the idea forward to Anthony and his mother, Violet.

Though Violet was apprehensive at first, she warmed up to the idea once Colin gave her permission to choose some of the countries he would visit. Anthony held no qualms; having travelled to France and Spain before tragedy forced the family title upon his shoulders. Being able to travel would forge Colin into the man he should be; it would give him experience, and plenty of stories to tell his children and then eventually, their children.

Upon arriving back in London after his second trip away, Colin found himself glad to be home. He had sorely missed the sounds and smells that accompany London; the clipping of horses hooves and the constant chit-chat of men and women. It was home; it would always be home.

However, as he stepped off the boat or the train, Colin always wondered the same thing. How long would it be until he craved adventure once more?

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

A month.

Colin lasted a month in the company of his beloved family before he was desperate to head off on his next adventure. However, he had no clear destination in mind. He had visited Europe, toured the Mediterranean and had hopes of crossing the Atlantic one day soon, but for now - to save his mother’s poor nerves - was content to remain closer to home.

He wasn’t one to visit libraries himself, usually sending a list of books with a servant whenever they visited the place, but this time he fancied the walk to stretch his legs. He had decided that research was the best way forward into finding his next destination, his next adventure. The library could offer such a thing.

It truly was a thing of wonder; so many books and serial publications at home in one place. The library at Bridgerton House was well stocked and Colin knew he could walk in freely and take whatever he would need, but there was something attractive about going out to find exactly what you need. There was also the added bonus of a lack of interrogation from his much-loved mother.

A huff leaves his body as Colin is pitched forward; barely catching himself before knocking into one of the shelves. Turning, Colin readies the words he wants to fling at the person who had yet they die in his throat when he finds you standing behind him with an apologetic look on your face, close to tears.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” You gasp, bowing your head politely and in apology, “I hadn’t meant to walk into you.”

Colin smiles, brushing down his suit jacket, “It’s no worry, Miss (Y/L/N). No harm done.”

“I hope not,” You reply, biting your lip.

His smile grows wider at the note of concern in your voice. “Truly, Miss (Y/L/N), no harm done.”

“Nevertheless, I apologise.”

“What are you reading?” He asks, nodding at the two books in your hand, changing the subject.

“They’re romances,” You admit shyly, “I read to my aunt twice a week. She rather enjoys them.”

“And you? Do you enjoy them?”

“There are some that I enjoy, yes, but I prefer books with adventures if I’m being honest.”

“Adventures?”

You nod, “I like them very much. What do you read?”

Colin frowns; confused at the question. You gesture to the shelves of books surrounding you, “What do you like to read, Mr. Bridgerton? We are in a library after all.”

“Non-fiction,” He replies, nodding his head to the stack dedicated to true life accounts of travellers. “I’m here doing research.”

“Research?”

“For where I want to travel to next,” Colin clarifies; walking towards the stack, all the while knowing you’re following.

“Have you an idea?”

He shakes his head; disappointed at the admission. For his last two trips abroad, he had known exactly where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do and see. Now, however, he was struggling for ideas.

You nod your head; seemingly understanding the predicament Colin has found himself in. Holding close the hardcover editions of the romances your aunt loved so much, you take a step back from the third eldest Bridgerton.

“I hope you find your location soon, Mr. Bridgerton,” You murmur in farewell, turning away from the tall brunette.

“I hope you enjoy your romances,” Colin replies, watching you walk away. Fleetingly, he wonders if he will see you again.

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

The library remains just as silent as the last time Colin visited. The books he had borrowed heavy in his hands as he returns them to the attendant who nods in thanks. Distantly, he wonder whether he will run into you again. Since meeting you last, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you.

Colin barely knew you or your family; didn’t know much about your lineage or even whether you knew of his, yet he had not stopped thinking about you and the way you held your books so close to your chest, as if protective of them and what they held even if you didn’t own them. He couldn’t explain the urge he had to get to know you. Colin felt certain that if he wasn’t to see you in the next day or so he was to go mad from the unknown.

Luckily for his sanity, he spies a familiar head of hair amongst the shelves, and he cannot help the surge of happiness that runs through him when he recognises you reading the spines of the books. “Miss (Y/L/N)!” Colin calls out in greeting; rushing over to you.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You smile, “How have you been? Have you decided on your next destination?”

“I have not though I’ll think of something soon.”

“I look forward to finding out. I’m sure Lady Whistledown will report on it.”

“I’m sure she will,” He drawls; his contempt for the author of the gossip sheet well known amongst family and friends. “How did the romances go down with your aunt? Did she enjoy them?”

Nodding your head, you explain, “Very much so. She usually stays awake for a chapter or two before falling asleep, but this time she stayed awake for close to five. I’m here looking for more books by the same author.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Only if you aren’t too busy. I wouldn’t want to pull you away from something more important.”

Colin shakes his head. “I would be happy to help.”

It takes the better part of an hour. Colin proving to be a distraction to your thoughts as you trawl through the shelves in the library. His very presence throws your mind into overdrive; overthinking his intentions for helping you, but also noticing just how handsome he truly is.

“I think we have enough for now,” You eventually comment, finding it hard to keep the sadness out of your voice as you realise that your time with the Bridgerton is up.

“Are three books enough?” Colin asks warily, as if he doesn’t want the time spent together to end either.

Sighing, you nod, “It’s enough to keep her occupied for a while. It takes us a few weeks to get through one book with me visiting her only twice a week.”

Colin nods understandingly, “Then the other romance novels must be for you.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I much prefer adventure novels though I did tell you that the first time we had met. Though I suppose I didn’t make that much of an impression.”

“I can assure you; you did. I just couldn’t help but notice that you must read far quicker than your aunt so surely you must read the other books you have borrowed.”

Caught out, you avert your gaze back to the books in your hand. Colin tries not to smile in triumph but fails miserably. “How often do you come here?” Colin asks, “Do you borrow books for your aunt alone, or do you read to another relative?”

Pursing your lips, you think over your answer. “I only read to my aunt and I suppose I come here at least once a week, usually on a Wednesday.”

Colin nods, “I shall see you next Wednesday then.”

Watching the Bridgerton walk away from you, you cannot help but wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into.

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

The friendship that develops with Colin Bridgerton felt entirely natural; as if at some point in your lives your paths were always meant to cross, and a friendship was to begin. Colin finds you in and amongst the stacks of books the following week; a triumphant grin on his lips and his eyes bright with happiness when he finds you once again in the romance aisle.

He starts to offer you suggestions of books to read, meeting you at the library week after week; all the whole continuing his research into where he wants to travel next. He hasn’t settled on a destination, yet he comes to realise that this is the longest he has remained in London in years. Usually, Colin would return home, manage a month with his family before taking off again. A routine his mother has come to despise despite offering her blessing for every trip.

Weeks continue to pass and whilst his family know that Colin has become infatuated with someone, he isn’t ready to share you with them yet. He isn’t ready for the inspecting glances and interrogations from his mother, brothers, and sisters. For now, Colin was more than content to share you with the romance books you swear you don’t love as much as you truly do.

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

The café is busy and getting busier from a lunch rush when Colin sits down across from you. His hair remains a mess despite how often he runs his hands through it in an attempt to flatten it; his eyes are bright as he smiles widely at you.

“I thought you were going to be late,” You admonish, but there’s no heat behind it.

Colin takes a sip of his tea, “I could never be late, not for you.”

“You’re a flatterer.”

“And you’re a romance fan, no matter how many times you try to deny it. Tell me, what are you reading right now?”

You purse your lips, deciding whether to relay the information to him, but the longer you wait, the larger his smile gets. “Definitely not those novels,” You comment, “There is romance in my latest book, but I am reading it for the adventure. It has pirates if you must know, very adventurous.”

Colin laughs, reaching for one of the small cakes on the stand.

“I don’t know how I stand your company,” You complain, trying your best to calm your stomach long enough for you to enjoy the food on your plate. The butterflies raging there were making it rather hard.

“You like me, that’s why.”

“I suppose that is more judgement on me than it is you.”

Colin’s only answer is to wink before returning his attention to the food on his plate. For a while, it is silent between the two of you. happy smiles are exchanged between you both and quiet laughter when you both reach for the same cake; Colin, ever so gracious, lets you have the cake. Instead, he tops up his tea and then yours from the teapot.

“I would like to visit Russia next; I think – St. Petersburg,” Colin declares, breaking the silence once and for all.

“Truly? You would travel so far?” You ask, eyes wandering to the globe on the table in the corner of the room, a display item. Centred on England, Russia could not be seen for the distance between them.

“I’d travel to all four corners of the earth if I could,” Colin admits, voice honest.

You sit back in your chair, eyes wide with wonder at the prospect of travelling even outside the county without a chaperone. “I’d love to travel.”

“It is a marvel,” Colin smiles, thinking back to his trips through Europe and the Mediterranean.

“The only chance I’ll get to travel is on my honeymoon which will be a marvel in itself,” You reply, picking at an invisible thread on your skirts.

“Why?”

You sigh, “Mother doesn’t hold much hope for my marrying. She believes that I have been out for too many seasons and have nothing left to offer that could possibly entice a man into courting me, never mind proposing.”

Colin finds himself gripping the arm of his chair in an attempt to keep his anger at bay. Such words leaving your mouth should be a crime. You have plenty to offer. However, at the sight of your slumped shoulders and sad eyes, Colin realises that you believe the words of your mother; that you truly have nothing left to offer.

On a whim, Colin asks, “Are you attending the Duchess of Hasting’s ball tonight?”

Shaking your head, you explain, “Mother isn’t one for huge events no matter the title of its holder.”

Colin surges forward, grasping your gloved hand, “Come, please. My sister won’t mind. I’ll have her add you to the guest list and send a carriage for you.”

You remain silent as you think over his proposition, ready to turn him down and return to your life of safety but the determination in his eyes and the joy in his smile leaves you nodding your head instead.

“Alright,” You agree, “I shall wait for you carriage.”

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

The London home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings could only be described as grand. Candles line the way to courtyard in which the ball would be held; they provide a romantic atmosphere, providing many a dark corner where young couples could sneak away from their chaperones.

Upon your announcement, you find yourself walking through the large crowd of people, unwittingly searching for the familiar head of brown hair. He finds you first, however, smiling widely as he notices you in the crowd.

Colin excuses himself from his conversation; making his way over to you as fast as he can without bringing too much attention to himself.

“You came,” Colin breathes as if in disbelief that you stand before him. His eyes run over you; taking it all in as his heart races. He hasn’t felt like this before; he hasn’t ever known anyone to make him feel like this. Colin feels as if he wants to show you everything, introduce you to everyone, but also keep you for himself should anyone want to steal you away.

“I said I would,” You smile, heated from his attention.

“You look beautiful,” Colin states truthfully.

“Thank you,” You answer, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you care to dance?” Colin asks, a hand outstretched and waiting.

Smiling, you nod your acceptance. You take his offered hand, letting him leads you to the dancefloor where many other couples are readying themselves for the opening notes of the dance. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Anthony’s eldest brother getting ready to dance with his wife, Kate. He offers Colin a smile and a nod to which Colin’s shoulders relax somewhat. You raise an eyebrow at the brunette only for Colin to shake his head; nothing you need to worry about.

Colin’s hands find themselves in the correct position son your body as you reach for his free hand, resting your hand on his shoulder. The music soon starts up and Colin begins to lead you round the dancefloor in a flurry of spins that leaves you giggling. His face lights up at the sound of your laughter, soon finding himself joining in.

“Stay for one more dance?” He asks as the music dies and you pull away, desperate not to let go of you just yet, happy enough right now to feel your hand in his and your body pressed so close.

“I’d love to,” You answer honestly, letting yourself be pulled back to the dancefloor where Colins hands soon start to feel like home on your body.

By the end of the second dance, you begin to feel dizzy from the spinning. Smiling gratefully at Colin, you apologise for having to bow out. He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand, “Shall we get a drink? I’m sure I saw some lemonade not too long ago.”

“Lemonade sounds perfect. I seem to have worked up quite a thirst.”

“Then by all means,” Colin declares, bowing dramatically at the waist, “We must get the lady a drink.”

Laughing softly, you follow Colin to the drinks table where he hands you a small glass of the cold drink. He goes to take a drink from his own glass but is distracted by his mother calling his name. Colin apologises before leaving you in the company of his sisters, Eloise and Hyacinth.

“Good evening, mother,” Colin greets, dropping his head to kiss her on her cheek.

“Two dances in a row?” She asks as greeting, curious to know just who has distracted her son in this manner.

Colin ducks his head; not ashamed to have been caught out in his feelings, but ashamed that he hasn’t introduced you to his family as of yet. Across the room, despite the music, he hears your laughter. His attention rests on you as he watches you laugh at something said by either Eloise or Hyacinth. Your smile is wide as you try to cover it with your hand; trying to be polite but neither sister care that much as they continue to make you laugh.

You’re beautiful, he realises. He’s known it all along, of course, but with that smile on your face, Colin cannot help but desire to be the one who brings such a smile to life. He wants to be the cause of your smiles and your laughter; the reasons why your eyes crinkle in the corner. He wants it all; he wants it with you.

“I think you know why you haven’t set off on another adventure,” Violet states pointedly; eyes dancing between her son and where you stand, talking to Eloise and Hyacinth. A mother always knows.

Colin’s eyes don’t need to follow his mother’s; they had been on you since you excused yourself from him. He’s finally ready to confront what he had known along. “I think I know too. Do you approve?” He asks; realising he sounds like a child desperate for his mother’s attention.

Violet Bridgerton smiles, brushing Colin’s cheek softly with a gloved hand. “I think you suit each other perfectly.”

The smile that breaks over Colin’s face could only be described as blinding as he takes his mother’s hand from his face, kissing the back of it before leaning in to kiss her cheek. Against her cheek, he whispers, “Thank you, mother.”

Violet nods, eyes lined with tears as she watches her third eldest son walk away from her. She would be the first to admit how well suited you both are; the need for adventure alive in the both of you. She shakes her head fondly as she watches her son make his way over to you; holding out his hand, asking you to dance to which you graciously accept.

Violet begins to walk the outskirts of the ballroom; feeling nothing but pride and happiness for each one of her children and elated in the knowledge that there was soon to be another marriage in the Bridgerton household.

-----------

The morning after the ball is a pleasant one. The weather wonderfully warm as the sun shines through the windows; heating the drawing room pleasantly. Turning your face, you take in the rays, careful not to risk too much exposure.

Your latest read remains open on your lap as you continue to bask in the warmth of the sun. So far, the book has captured your attention and has failed to let it go. The heroine of the novel too relatable personality wise for you to take a break long enough. At this point in the novel, she had offered an ultimatum to her suitor – he can join her on her next escapade, or he can find another woman to marry. You could only hope he would join her in her next adventure; their comradery was too perfect to end so suddenly.

However, after the events of last night, you found it hard to focus on the book long enough to turn the page. Instead, you found yourself reading the same line over and over again, desperately trying to lose yourself in the witty prose of the author.

But your mind focused on last night: the music, the dancing, the company. It had been a dream; it felt like a dream – only your mind could cook something up so perfect, yet deep down you knew you had experienced every second. You were certain you were still dizzy from the spins you had taken when dancing with Colin.

Biting your lip, you think back to the three dances you had shared with the third eldest Bridgerton. Three dances – could it be true? Shaking your head, you answer your own question. It was true; you remember every moment with crystal clarity. Three dances with Colin had to mean something; it had to mean he felt something for you. Your heart begins to race as you think of the possibilities

“Miss,” Your Butler states, interrupting your daydreaming, “A Mr. Colin Bridgerton is here to call on you.”

“Show him in,” You answer, standing from your window seat, brushing down the skirts of you dress. Biting your lip, you could only hope that you looked presentable.

“(Y/N),” Colin greets as he enters the room, a large smile on his face. A bouquet of red roses and lady’s breath in his hand that he offers to you.

“They’re beautiful, Colin. Thank you,” You whisper, eyes darting around the room for a vase. They would be put in there after Colin had left.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“What did I do to deserve flowers though?” You ask, a teasing note in your voice.

Colin smiles, “I know where I want to travel to next. I came to tell you.”

A pang of disappointment rushes through your body soon followed by upset. Placing the flowers on the nearest table, you do what you can to avoid his gaze as you ask, “When do you leave?”

“That’s the thing,” He starts, shifting nervously, “I have something to ask of you before.”

“What?”

“Travel with me. Come with me,” He all but pleads, reaching for your hand, “As my wife.”

Your eyes widen as Colin’s grip on your hand tightens. “What?” You question, breath coming in a hurry. “What are you asking me, Colin?”

“I’m asking you to marry me so we can travel together. I’ve seen the world once; I want to see it again with you.”

“I have to admit this isn’t what I expected today,” You ramble, trying your best to not look into his eyes. The moment you do, you’re done for.

“(Y/N)…” Colin interrupts, cutting off your nervous rambling. “I need to know an answer, love.”

It’s only then that you let yourself look into his blue eyes; reading the emotions written over his face. He was promising you adventure; the likes of which you had only read in books. Colin was promising you a future full of love and laughter; a dream you had hoped for since you were a young child.

Suddenly, as you look into his blue, blue eyes, it’s all clear.

“Yes,” You whisper, somewhat breathless but entirely ready to begin your future with the man in front of you, “Let’s see the world together.”

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff​

[zukoszukhoes]

Walking on Air- Prologue

Zuko x airbender!reader

female pronouns in this chapter

// summary: Sensing danger on the horizon, Avatar Roku seeks out an airbender to guide his reincarnated self on his journey to restore balance to the world. However, restoring balance requires skill, drive, and stability- and, in a world where nothing is certain, balance may be harder to achieve than the avatar may think. He has a mentor to guide him, but with the world thrown off-kilter by war and a mysterious prince set on capturing him, he- and his mentor- will have to look within to find what they need to secure peace.

// warnings: none

~~~

Roku always found the Western Air Temple beautiful.

The other air temples were certainly beautiful, but they were lonely, separated from the real world by a layer of clouds. The Western Air Temple, however, was open to the world, welcoming the sprawling canyon vegetation with open arms. Airbenders flew across the canyon, swooping through the air, utterly free. For many, that’s what the Air Temple was- freedom.

For a moment, Roku wished he could take a glider and join them. 

But he couldn’t. If there’s anything he had learned from years of being the avatar, it was that one’s duty was inescapable.

As Roku exited the council’s chamber alongside the Western Air Temple’s elder monks, he reminded himself that what he was about to do was a part of that duty. He was making a sacrifice for the greater good; yet, he couldn’t help but think of the girl the same way he thought of his own daughter- and as a parent, he’d view what he was about to do as nothing short of murder.

“She’s over there,” the Elder Monk Ilo said solemnly, nodding towards a girl sparring against two other air benders towards the edge of the temple’s main courtyard. “I’ll leave you to speak with her.”

“I’ll let her play a while longer, before she cannot be a child anymore,” the old avatar thought, watching the girl engage with her opponents.

The girl had large, grey eyes and rosy lips pulled back in a sly grin. Blue Airbender tattoos poked out from beneath her training uniform. She laughed as she fought, playfully dodging attacks from two other young airbenders. Although she was poised to defend herself, she held her body loosely and with ease, as though she was merely playing a game. 

One of her opponents, a young bald boy, shot an arc of air towards the girl’s feet. He didn’t have his tattoos, but he attacked with a deftness that suggested he had skill. The girl leapt high in the air and flipped to land behind the boy, who she quickly pushed down with a gust of wind. She grinned, triumphant, but her smile quickly disappeared when her other opponent used the force of her body to shove the girl off of the boy. The girl stumbled and fell to one knee. Scrambling to her feet, she put her hands in front of her to defend herself, only to find herself cornered on the edge of the temple by her two attackers. She watched her opponents for a moment, studying their body language. Sensing a slight movement in the female attacker’s stance, the girl moved her arms around her torso and sent wind slicing towards the other girl. Instantly, the attacker jumped to dodge the blow, and retaliated with a blast of wind that shot straight into the girl’s chest, making her lose her balance and stumble off the edge of the temple.

Roku’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move to save the girl. Her two opponents grinned and high-fived, turning away from the edge. Roku kept his eyes trained on the edge of the temple, sensing the fight wasn’t over yet.

And, as if conjured by his thoughts, the girl shot back up into view, surrounded by a swirling tornado that kept her suspended in the air. The other young air benders cried out in shock and stumbled away from the edge. The girl surged forward and pushed the tornado outwards, sending her opponents flying into the central fountain. Smiling at her victory, she lowered herself to the ground gingerly, and went to lend a hand to the two air benders.

“We were so close,” the female opponent moaned, wiping her soaking hair from her face.

“We technically won! We knocked her off the temple!” The boy grouched. “If it was a water bender they wouldn’t have come back up.”

“I played by the rules,” the winning girl said as she approached the fountain. She reached down and wrapped her hand around the boy’s forearm, hauling him out of the water. 

“You cheated,” the boy grumbled. He pressed his fists together and a ball of air flew outwards from him, splattering the girl with water from his clothes. She made a face of disgust.

“I guess I deserved that,” she muttered.

Roku approached the girl, knowing he had to end the pleasant scene before him but dreading it nonetheless. “(y/n),” he spoke.

The girl turned, surprised. She looked Roku up and down and raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly, obviously confused by his Fire Nation clothing. “That’s me,” she replied. “And who are you?”

“My name is Avatar Roku. May I speak with you for a moment?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Avatar Roku- I didn’t know it was you-”

“There’s no need for apologies, dear girl.” Roku said calmly. 

The girl- (y/n)- bowed deeply. “It is an honor to meet you, sir.”

“You as well. Do you have a moment?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Good. Come with me.” Roku turned and began to walk back towards the inner chambers of the temple. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, but quickly caught up to Roku and fell into step beside him.

“What brings you to the Western Air Temple, Avatar?” (Y/N) asked, her carefully measured voice failing to hide to slight tremor of fear in her tone.

Roku glanced down at the girl, again feeling shame in his chest for what he was about to ask. “You,” he replied simply.

(Y/N) blanched, taken aback. “Me?”

Roku stopped walking. Looking out at the canyon and its vast chasm, he was reminded of his days as a young avatar, when he trained at the Southern Air Temple. Life was so peaceful, as it should be in childhood. Roku took a slow, deep breath, savoring the mountain air.

“Avatar Roku?” (Y/N) asked tentatively.

Keeping his eyes on the rocky canyon, Roku started, “You are an excellent fighter, (Y/N), but you are too tethered to the material world. You lack the lightness needed to become an expert.”

(Y/N) frowned. “Excuse me?”

Roku glanced at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I’m correct, am I not?”

(Y/N) looked away, shame coloring her features. “The monks keep telling me I need to let go of the world to be a true Airbender. But I can’t let go.” She looked up at Roku. “I don’t think the way they do. I don’t think attachment is a weakness.”

Roku nodded. Yes, the monks had picked well. “Sometimes, our shortcomings can be our greatest strengths.”

The girl paused, eyes narrowing. “Why did the monks send you to speak with me?”

Yes, she was certainly observant. He took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t put off the truth any longer.

“I have lived a long, full life, of which I am grateful for. However, as my time comes to an end, I worry about the challenges I am leaving behind for my future self,” he looked at the girl, reading the confusion in her eyes. “I sense bad things coming in the future. Something is going to throw the world out of balance- and I won’t be here to stop it.”

“What kind of things?” (Y/N) asked, her body tensing.

Roku’s eyes hardened. “A war is coming, (Y/N). One that is going to wipe out the Air Nomads. I will try my best to stop it, but I may be gone when I am needed most.”

(Y/N)’s face was white as a sheet. “How do you know? What does this have to do with me?”

“I received a vision warning me of this war and the implications it would have for the next avatar. I’m afraid the next avatar will be the last of his kind when he returns to restore balance. He will need guidance to realize his full potential. It brings me great pain to ask you to do this, (Y/N), but it needs to be done. For the avatar’s sake- for the world’s sake,” he met the girl’s gaze. “In one hundred and twelve years, the avatar will arrive at the North Pole to master water bending. When he does, you will be there to help him achieve his destiny.”

(Y/N) looked up at Roku with wide eyes, fear echoed inside of them. The carefree girl he’d seen just moments before was gone, replaced with someone having to become an adult in a matter of seconds. “What do you mean?” she whispered, voice quavering. 

“Being an avatar, one is constantly faced with choices they may not be equipped to handle. The next avatar will need someone who understands the importance of duty to help him make those choices and restore balance to the world. I believe you are best equipped to be that guide. If you agree, I will escort you to the Northern Water Tribe, where you will be put into a deep sleep until the avatar arrives. When the avatar reaches the North Pole, you will be woken from your sleep and sent with him to complete his training.” Roku said.

(y/n) gaped up at Roku. “Why me? Why not someone else?” She whispered.

“The monks recommended you to me for your great skill in air bending and your ties to the material world. The next avatar will need to be reminded that he can never be truly immaterial- his sole duty is to the world, not his own spirituality. You, with your understanding of the concept, will help him comprehend and execute his ow duty.”

“But what about my life here?” (Y/N) blurted out. “My friends? My family? My training?”

“You will have to leave them behind,” Roku said, hanging his head in shame.

The girl looked past Roku out at the canyon, eyes skimming over the stone temple. Her face hardened. “Do I have a choice?” She asked, her voice stony.

“We always have a choice,” Roku said. “It’s just a matter of making the right one.”

(Y/n) looked away. “The monks chose me for this,” she murmured. “They chose me.”

Roku stayed silent, letting the girl take her time. She was making a life-altering decision- one that would change her path forever- and she deserved a moment to think about it.

(Y/n)‘a shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Then, the girl turned, eyes full of determination. “I’ll do it.”

Roku nodded solemnly. “It’s a long journey to the North Pole. We’ll be leaving tonight. Pack your things and meet me in the Hall of Status’s tonight.”

(Y/n) nodded and bowed. “Thank you, Avatar Roku.”

Roku bowed back, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty at her thanks. He was taking her whole life away from her. Nevertheless, he let her go to collect her things and say her goodbyes. It would be a long time before she saw a familiar face again, and she would need a few moments of hope to propel her through what lay ahead.

[over-under-through1]

headcannons

(side note, Blossom as usual uses she/they pronouns)

BC gets really bad period cramps so Butch let’s her use him as a punching bag to relieve tension. it works

Mitch and Butch finish conversations/leave each other by saying “Bye Bitch”. Buttercup asked Butch once on why they do it and Butch told her “we found out that both of our names are one letter off from Bitch”

no one calls anyone by their real name unless the situation is serious. Buttercup to most of her teammates and her siblings is “BC”, Blossom is “Bloss”, Bubbles is “Bubs”, etc.

Blossoms guilty pleasure is YA cheesy romantic books. she hates that they love them

Bubbles is a big Potterhead and she makes everyone take the house quiz

Buttercup and Brick are Slytherins, Blossom is a Ravenclaw, Boomer is a Gryffindor, and Butch and Bubbles are Hufflepuffs

Butch has an avid hatred for the Gang Green Gang

I said this before but that post didn’t get shown to a lot of people, but Buttercup started giving people “nicknames” by adding random extra letters to the end of their real name just to piss them off and it became a habit

she calls Brick “Brickolas”

“good evening Brickolas”

“that isn’t my real NAME, BUTTERCUP.”

Blossom is a horrid singer

Boomer has a peanut allergy and I’ve said this in many shit posts but here’s me making it AU cannon

Boomer ALSO jokes about his trauma

poor boy is slightly fucked, please someone comfort him

I said this in the Christmas post, but I want to expand a bit. Brick can read people incredibly well. he can tell when people are lying by just the quiver of their lip, he can tell when someone is uncomfortable and needs to leave a situation from the slightest raising of the eyebrows. that being said, he cannot read Buttercup Utonium for shit

she has an unbreakable poker face, and no matter how hard Brick tries to crack her code he can’t figure it out

to understand the inner workings of Buttercup, you have to have a certain gift, and the only people who possess said gift are one Butch Jojo and one Mitch Mitchelson

and even they struggle, if Buttercup really doesn’t want anyone to know what she’s thinking

she’s able to go from expressive to stoic in 2 seconds flat, and from this skill she and Brick are the team assigned by a unanimous vote to go in for interrogations.

95% of the time they can get a confession from any suspect 

literally everyone is a Marvel nerd except for Brick who once had the AUDACITY to say that DC was better. he got attacked by Buttercup, Blossom, and Butch for 5 minutes with hurtful words before Buttercup lost it and started to genuinely tackle him to the ground. Butch and Blossom did nothing to stop her. they watched on with maniacal glee. the blues eventually had to be the ones to pry her off of him. this is where Brick’s slight terror of Buttercup stems from

Butch is scared of the dark

Buttercup found out and after seeing how serious it was to Butch, decided not to poke fun at him for it

she bought him a nightlight. Butch thought she was trying to tease him but after she explained that she “just wanted to do something nice” he like,,, he looked at her, looked at the nightlight, then back at her. he smiled and said lowly “thank you”

he didn’t realize it then, but that was the moment he fell in love with her

Brick is a collector of the most obscure shit. it’s concerning

Blossom once went into his room and got curious so she opened his closet and a hundred different items came tumbling out onto them

coins, those plastic tables from pizzas, action figures, hand sanitizers, pictures of cows from magazines, bow ties, movie posters, traffic cones

yes I said traffic cones. he may be reformed but he still sometimes commits petty crimes. such as stealing street work material

Blossom organized an intervention because “jesus christ Brick you cannot keep living like this. what are you going to do with 200 bow ties?! do I even want to know where you got those traffic cones?”

I’m probably gonna start doing this once a month, start a draft at the beginning of the month and add onto it throughout then just post whatever has been added at the end, that way I can get more content out there that’s less rushed. hope you guys enjoyed this post :))

the way this was supposed to be posted yesterday but i literally forgot i made it

[angeltannis]

Iron Boy, Chapter 3: A Quest For Validation

(Ao3 Link)

All the thinking in the world was nothing compared to The Real Deal. Which, that fateful day, came in the form of a companion Moze decided would understand.  

FL4K was extremely meticulous with the feeding times for their pets, which meant they were always in the same part of Sanctuary at the same time every day. This day was no different. Several bowls were lined up in a perfect row on the floor of the ship’s central hub, each filled with a different kind of food ranging from pellets to squirming grubs.  

If FL4K was surprised to see Moze lingering by those bowls that particular day, they didn’t express such a sentiment. Instead they stomped by her with their usual diligence, followed closely by an array of beasts. “Here you are,” they said in that deep, mechanized voice of theirs, stepping aside to let their pets at their bowls. “Feed.” 

“Hey, man–” Moze hesitated as FL4K met her gaze with that single LED eye of theirs. “Uh, I mean...” Speaking in masculine terminology was her go-to for everyone, including herself. FL4K never failed to remind her that they were neither man nor woman, and that her gendered slang made no sense in application. “FL4K. If I were to ask you to do something really weird, and then never, ever talk about it again, would you be down for it?” 

“A bizarre request. I cannot commit to a response until I am given more details.” 

Double-checking to make sure no one was around, Moze knitted her fingers together. “Would you be willing to call me a ‘he’? Just so I can see how it feels?” 

FL4K’s unreadable face was unsettling at the best of times. Now it left her with no idea how they were going to respond. 

“Maybe you could just, like...” Her voice faltered, dropping in volume. “’Oh yeah, Moze, he’s a really cool guy. Well not a guy, but like, a cool Vault Hunter. And he’s got lots of style. And the ladies love him. Something like that.” 

FL4K stared at her for a long time. Then, in a tone entirely deadpan, they said, “Yes, Moze. He is a really cool guy. Not a guy. A cool Vault Hunter. He has lots of style. And ladies love him.” 

Her stomach fluttered again. Wow. “Do you...think that suits me?” 

“Humans’ gendered pronouns are largely incomprehensible to me.” 

So FL4K could voice Moze’s requested pronouns, but could not weigh in on if they suited her or not. For that, she’d need human input. 

Still though, the tingling in her stomach was real. “Huh. Thanks, FL4K.” 

“I am uncertain what I actually accomplished, but you’re welcome.” 

Humans understood pronouns in a social context. But they could also pass judgment and reject her. Was there a human onboard this ship who could give her an honest opinion without potentially turning her into a social pariah? She was too nervous to talk to Amara about it, and Zane was unreliable at best. Telling Moxxi was as good as telling everyone on the ship, and Ava was way too young to get it. 

Wait a minute. There was absolutely a human on board who could give her honest feedback without fear of social rejection.  

After gobbling down some skag jerky and downing half a bottle of Rakk ale from the kitchen, Moze dragged her feet to Sanctuary’s upper level. 

~~~

In the army, one was taught to keep pace. Keep rank. Fall in line. Movements, words, even thoughts were trained to a rigid rhythm, and to break that rhythm was to risk your entire squad breaking formation in battle, a death sentence. 

The way Dr. Tannis moved, talked, and even just existed flew in the face of everything Moze had had drilled into her all those years. She was erratic and chaotic, unpredictable. Her behavior made Moze nervous for just that reason. She preferred conversations where she could be reasonably sure of what the person was going to say next. Talking to Tannis felt like reading dialogue written by a predictive text emulator. 

When the infirmary door lifted into the ceiling, Tannis had her back turned. The door opened constantly when people walked by (side effect of the ship being designed by people with no spaceship design experience, to put it politely), so it made sense she might ignore it. But Moze had a feeling the doctor intentionally ignored entrants to her lab, anyway. 

As Moze took a few more steps inside, she realized Tannis was talking to herself. No, wait–she was talking to the toothbrush propped in a cup on her desk. Of course.  

“No, no, you must have misplaced it. Ava specifically said she would not steal from my lab when I wasn’t around.” After a moment of silence, Tannis whipped her chair over to face the toothbrush. “Well I am more inclined to believe her, considering you lied about putting the toilet paper backwards on the roll. Who does that?!” 

“Uh, hey Doc?” Moze was practically on top of her before Tannis finally turned around. 

“Oh, hello...you.” Tannis made no attempt to hide her scant recognition of the Vault Hunter who had helped save her life just a few months prior. “Do you require something of me?” 

“Yes.” Unlike most everyone else, Tannis actually appreciated and understood the art of getting right to the point. It was just about the only thing the two of them had in common. “I need your opinion about pronouns.” 

“Oh, you can use any for me, I don’t care.” With a wave of her hand, she was already turning her chair back around. 

“Not for you.” Moze reached out and turned the chair back around. Tannis raised her eyebrows, but did not protest. “For me.” 

Tannis’ face scrunched. She briefly–very briefly–met Moze’s eyes. “I do not feel as though that’s something I could make a call on.” 

With a sigh, Moze leaned against the desk housing Tannis’ array of illegible papers and empty coffee mugs. “Do you think it’d be weird if I asked people to use he/him for me, even though I don’t think I’m actually, like, a guy? ” 

Tannis was eyeing her paperwork. It was clear Moze was little but a distraction to her. “I find it equal parts baffling and amusing that you are asking me to be the judge of ‘weirdness’. How on earth should I know how the slack-jaws aboard this ship will perceive non-traditional relationships to gender? Most of them glaze over upon the use of a word with more than two syllables.” 

“’Kay, look. Lemme explain.” Moze held her hands out in emphasis. Tannis’ eyes flicked from the right to the left in turn. “I’m kinda going through a thing here. It’s probably not a big deal, but I wanted to ask somebody who won’t treat me different afterward. I know you pretty much treat everyone with equal...” 

“Apathy?” Tannis volunteered. “Disdain?” 

“Yeah, those. So that’s why I’m asking you.” Moze drifted her hands down, emphasizing the entirety of herself. “Do you think I’d make a good he/him...whatever I am?” 

Tapping her chin, Tannis eventually said, “As surprised as I am by your decision to recruit me as your pronoun advisor, I must admit I am flattered. So I will give you my honest opinion.” Her bright green eyes, so vivid with life and curiosity, searched Moze for another moment. “I was not entirely sure of your gender when I met you. I’m terrible at that sort of thing, anyway, but...” 

“Wait. You couldn’t tell I was a woman?” 

Tannis shrugged her leather-padded shoulders. “I pay very little attention to gendered markers and such. Or to people in general.” 

“So you...” In spite of her bravado, talking about such delicate topics made Moze feel very, very small. “You think people would be cool with calling me a he? It’s kinda weird.” 

“I’d certainly call you that. Easier than trying to remember your name.” The accompanying blank stare emphasized Tannis’ point. 

Moze stared back. “It’s Moze.” 

“Right. Of course.” 

As much as the cyclical conversation had largely gone nowhere, it somehow made Moze feel better. At least one person on this ship didn’t give a damn what pronouns she used, and would respect whatever she chose. 

“I appreciate this, Doc.” Moze was tempted to give her a good-natured whack on the back like Lorelei had done, but quickly rethought it. “I might change my mind, but, well, I might not.” 

Tannis gave a sage nod. “It took me decades to really begin to know my own self. You’re young yet–it’ll come to you in time. And there’s nothing better than embracing yourself and your quirks!” Plucking her toothbrush out of its cup, she said, “Isn’t that right, Greb?” 

The surprisingly maternal bit of consolation dismantled the last bits of wall Moze had erected around her vulnerabilities. Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” 

“Anytime, Nose!” 

She was buried in her paperwork again before Moze could bother to correct her. Apparently that was the end of the conversation. Moze slunk out of the lab, her head filled with more thoughts than ever–but for once, they were not entirely bad. 

~~~

What little confidence Moze had worked up talking to FL4K and Tannis was obliterated the moment a certain other Crimson Raider sat down with her at the same dining hall table. Moze froze in place, the greasy meat of her sandwich sliding out onto her plate with a series of plops. She didn’t look up. She didn’t have to. The meticulously-moisturized deep brown arm lined with otherworldly blue tattoos that leaned down onto the table told her everything she needed to know. 

“Ugh, greasy meat scraps again? You really need to start eating better.” Amara’s multiple arms set down six plates, filled with probably every food group. “Didn’t they teach you how to take care of yourself in the military?” 

Uncertain how to respond, Moze took a big bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. 

Amara started in on the dish nearest to her, a hefty salad. “What’s the matter? Ratch got your tongue?” She laughed that teasing but good-natured chuckle of hers that made Moze’s heart rate increase. “I’m pretty sure they do eat tongues, actually.” 

Amara was not someone Moze felt comfortable with. Not because she disliked her–in fact, it was entirely the opposite. She made Moze sweat a whole lot more than usual, and say things even dumber than usual. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Moze attempted a laugh as boisterous as Amara’s. Her laugh was so small and thin compared to Amara’s deep, rich voice. “Sorry, just...really focused on my...sandwich.” 

Most of the remaining meat had fallen out. Moze was basically eating grease-soaked bread. 

Amara’s gaze flicked from the plate full of sandwich innards to Moze’s rapidly-pinkening cheeks. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. 

For as boisterous as she could be, Amara kept many of her opinions close to the chest. Moze had literally no idea how she felt about gay stuff or gender stuff. She had no idea whether Amara herself was gay or trans or anything like that, either. Much as she wished she knew what Amara was into. 

The tiny bites of bread she took slid down her throat like that deep-fried thresher tentacle she definitely had not grabbed off a food cart at Carnivora that time. Why did this have to be the time Amara suddenly took interest in her? Did she have some magic siren sense that told her when someone around her was in distress? 

She wanted so badly to reach out. Amara was the closest thing she’d had to a “gal pal” in, well, ever, really. Is that something we’d still consider ourselves? Or would I have to be something else? Amara’s...bro? That felt weird, but then another thought crept shyly through her mind–she was nowhere near ready for dating, maybe never would be, but if she did...could she call herself someone’s boyfriend? That thought gave her those stomach flutters again. They didn’t feel like food poisoning or gas. They felt like when you managed to dig up a good memory amidst a sea of bad ones. 

“I gotta go.” Moze informed Amara of her departure as she was already in the process of departing. Amara simply watched her, a frown on that gorgeous face of hers. Moze had never thought Amara cared–at least, not enough to hide her movie star smile behind a frown of concern. Yet there she was, not a trace of bold, cocky smile to be seen. 

She thought about Lorelei’s offer to talk again, and of Tannis’ oddly supportive advice. Maybe more people cared about her than she thought. Maybe she didn’t have to be scared to show her vulnerabilities to the people around her.

Turning back around was about the hardest simple thing she’d ever done. “Okay, actually,” she said, trying for a voice that was strong and devoid of fear, “there is something I wanted to tell you.” 

[tgai-spock]

Lines of ice from rolling waves and subtle villains

Silly stomaches on speechless mornings

Chapter 3

His father was up for breakfast the morning Spock came out of his bedroom. They had a large house on vulcan, and a small apartment in the town of  san fransico because of his fathers close work with earth, and because his mother often liked to visit Earth at least 4 times a year. She couldn’t bare the heat a lot, and if she was to go out on vulcan she usually did when the sun was rising or setting. It seemed peculiar to Spock as he often ignored warnings and would walk into the middle of vulcan’s forge during the heat of  the day. Amanda always said she loved vulcan, but she enjoyed spending a week or two occasionally on earth, to explore, visit friends and family, and stock up on her favourite foods or seeds.

Today there was a pit in his stomach that meditation didn’t seem to quell. His new school was not near any vulcan desert that he could sprint into, where people would eventually give up following. What if he wanted to be alone? He needed to be alone. Although meditation didn’t keep the pit away Spock instead reminded himself that he wasn't going to be at school long, as he’d find a way to leave. Whether it was with his parents permission, or without. He put his suitcase by the front door and walked over to the breakfast table of plomeek soup. It was his favourite soup.

“This is an unusual meal to have for breakfast” Sarek commented.

“It’s Spock’s last one, possibly for the year” Amanda said “and I thought he might appreciate it.” Spock nods his head once, he wants to say yes, he wants to say thank you, but he feared that each word he could say in front of his father might not correspond to the strictest set of logic, and this early in the morning was a time well before his rebellious attitude had a chance to wake. Amanda said nothing, put a hand on Spock’s wrist and smiled before going back to her breakfast. After breakfast Sarek removed the bowls from the table and began to wash them.

“Okay it's time to get going” Amanda said standing up and she and Spock moved towards the door.

“Goodbye son” Sarek said not looking up from his washing. Spock put on his shiny silver hat.

“Bye” he said walking out the door.

Amanda walked with him towards the school, she wanted to be with him for as long as possible.

“Why don’t I just live in the flat on earth and live off take out for a whole year?” Spock asked.

“Spock. Are you really going to wear that hat on your first day of school?” Amanda asked.

“I’ve already put it on” Spock said, he was growing very illogical of it.

“If you fancy spending half term in the flat, I could see that, but at least phone and let me know first. You’ll be safe in the school and thats where I want you to stay.” They stopped outside the school where the roads were packed with traffic, hover busses, hover cars and a few ships flying overhead. Amanda dutifully placed a kiss on Spock’s forehead.

“Good luck, and if you run into any trouble, if anyone says anything even slightly to you, phone me right away.” Amanda said. 

“Okay” Spock gave up “what am I to define as mean?”

“Anything that can be describe with the sound ‘phobic’ like xenophic.” Amanda said, both her hands on his shoulders.

“Claustrophobic.” Spock said.

“You’re doing it on purpose now. Go on, I love you,” Amanda said and pushed him off to follow the multiple signs placed around the outside of the school. The signs read ‘this way first years’. Several students of a higher year, wearing lanyards and ‘helper’ tags pointed and pushed the scurrying first years to the far end of the building. Spock was led to towards an area with a number of wooden picnic tables, where trees were growing apples along the side of the building, and a final arrow pointed to a propped open double door, inside of which were a lot of tables and chairs. The last sign read ‘take a seat in here’. Incase he couldn’t read there were more elder years with badges that said ‘prefect’ pointing them into the building.

The first years were all bundled into a huge cafeteria, mixed with square and rectangular tables, with wooden chairs placed around them. At the very end of the room, was a stage, with an empty podium and microphone. People streamed in from every angle, yelling and tumbling. Spock needed to sit at a table. He needed to do it fast, he needed to choose, square or rectangle. His immediate thought was square, but he didn’t want to be stuck sitting next to just 1 or 2 other people. If that happened he might be expected to make conversation, or he’d come off as rude. The more people at the table, the less likely they were to talk to him, right? He found an empty rectangular table that could fit six people along the sides,  and two at the edge if you really wanted to push your luck. He chose a seat along the side, at the edge. He pulled out his phone, and began to chew it, and then immediately stopped. He didn’t know what had compelled him to chew it, but he had caught himself hopefully before anyone else saw. He turned it on and off. He wanted to looked at his phone, but he didn’t want to do anything on it. Someone pulled out the chair at end of the table, which was next to him.

“Hello” they said sitting at the end of the table.

“Hi” Spock said. They had sharp angular features, a rectangular chin with a small dib, large round ears, and brown hair, cut in a shape of a bowl, with several escaping curls. They, also had a sticky label stuck to the centre of their chest which read ‘they/them’ underlined.

“Nice hat” they said.

“Oh.” Spock said, he had completely forgot he was wearing it “thanks. Erm, nice… pronouns.”

“Yah? Pretty neat right? No ones going to misgender me this year if I make it clear from the start, right?”

“That makes sense. I’m Spock, whats your name?” Spock said coming off as far friendlier than he intended.

“I’m” they pursed their lips and squinted.

“I’m? Spock asks wondering if that’s their name.

“Hold on I forgot my name.” They say.

“You forgot your own name?” Spock asked with his eyebrows raised, not that they could be seen beneath his hat.

“I had a dead name, and I chose a better name but lots of kids made fun of me for it, so I thought with this school I’d go in fresh with a new name since it wasn’t legal anyway.”

“Okay” Spock said, what they had said did make sense to him, he just found the concept of forgetting a name, chosen or not to be bizarre.

“You got to help me choose a new one, quick.” They said desperately placing their hands on the table in front of them.

“What?! I am sorry I cannot help you choose a new name. We have only just met” Spock said he really didn’t know what to do now. While this human was attempting friendly conversation, Spock had never had a conversation like this, at all. On vulcan if something was a personal matter, it stayed personal.

“I’m just nervous!” They said in a panic, as two others took a seat on the opposite side of the table. One girl with long blonde hair and a large squashed black mole on her chin, and a boy with spiked blond hair.

“Hey I’m Becky” the girl said with a long drawn out southern accent, and she places a hand on the boy next to her “and this is Jim.”

“Hi” Jim said with a slight tilt of his head and a tiny smile on the corner of his cheek “nice hat.” Was that sarcasm or not? 

“Thanks.”

“Whats your name?” He asks.

“Spock.”

“I’m” they said in a rush to introduce themself “I’m Moriarty?” 

“Moriarty? Thats a neat name” Jim says his eye lighting up.

Moriarty sweated “it sure is.” Spock was uncertain if Moriarty was their chosen name as he still didn’t seem very certain of it. There was still a scuffle going on at the other side of the hall, as though the doors had somehow become blocked and hundreds of people were trying to get indoors.

“Take a seat please” one adult yelled, or possibly a tall prefect. At the the other end near the stage’s podium was a man. His eyes searching the room from left to right, taking note.

“I’m going to start by saying it” Becky said almost yelling to be heard over the rumble of noise made from movement, and someones screaming “I don’t believe in magic, when I told my parents I wanted to go here because they ran a course on magic, I was under the impression they were going to teach me to be a  professional magician.”

“A magician you say? Did you know the first travelling magicians came from russia?” Moriarty asked leaning forwards.

“No. Thats cool.” Becky said.

“Can you do any tricks?”Moriarty asked. Becky took out a pile of her cards and shuffled them.

“Pick a card, and then put it back” she said leaning over to Moriarty. Mortality picked out an ace of spades, showed it to Spock and placed it back. Becky shuffled the cards and pulled out a king.

“Is this your card?” Becky asked.

“No” Moriarty said. Spock frowned his mouth opening slightly. He’d only been here a few moments but he already didn’t know what he was witnessing. Becky shuffled the cards and pulled out the two of hearts.

“What about this?” Becky asked.

“No.” Moriarty said grinning.

“So you agree I need professional training to be a magician?” Becky asked, her eyes reaching across the table to milk the words from him.

“I mean” Moriarty said nodding his head to the side “I guess.”

“Were any of you guys under the false assumption you were going to train to be a magician?” Becky asked “because I can’t be the only one who made that mistake.”

“I was not” Jim said “but, magic’s totally going to be a bonus of this shit-fest, gonna get a real nice kip in that lesson.”

“I didn’t choose magic” Moriarty said “they have really good science courses here, and I wanted to use them to get into starfleet.” Becky gasped and she went to say something but stopped when the man on the stage at the end of the room tapped a microphone.

“Ladies, gentleman, in-betweens and others, please quiet down, it’s time to begin.”

[Chapter 1]         [Chapter 2]       [Chapter 4]

[arigatouiris]

out of my league // t.h — 15

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: swearing; fluff; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: You guys are the best. Ugh, but this chapter is like fluff max. Just fluff. And some swearing. But GOD SO MUCH FLUFF. And every TV show mentioned here is fictional soooo. Hope ya’ll like the last chapter!

Do keep a look out for my other stories, on queue! My main masterlist~

Word count: 2883

Series Masterlist

13 | 14 | 15

   “You’re set to meeting the casting director, this afternoon.” The director of the show told (y/n) over call.

Once that conversation ended, (y/n) felt a panic hit her system. It had been three days since her script was approved, and the team had jumped immediately to cast members. The previous cast had rejected the second attempt, all except Harrison and the other main character, a new artist named Chelsea Hayworth. It was strange, the show’s name was still the same but it felt like everything was starting from scratch, increasing her anxiety each day. Harrison had to personally tell her that this was how things worked, and that there was nothing to worry about now.

   The story was not a complicated one. Paint it Red was a series of three novels written by Theodore McLarsen, a writer (y/n) regretted not knowing before. She’d met the writer before finishing the script and he was a lovely person, encouraging her and also gave her pointers for certain scenes. The story was about Frank G. Richardson, an illegitimate son of a government employee who was running for office, and how his life changes after a tragic terrorist attack kills his family. His life changes after this, forcing him to somehow take up a role in the criminal underworld. One of the other main characters is his half-sister, Clara Richardson, played by Chelsea. But, the biggest dilemma was who may be cast as Henry, a drunk truck-driver by day and a mafia leader at night.

It was initially speculated that Sean Bean would play this role, but now he wasn’t. So the casting remained unclear. (y/n) noticed that her phone pinged, and saw a text message from Tom. A smile crept on her lips as she saw a picture of him with Tessa, asking her when she’ll be free for lunch. ‘I can’t join you for lunch today, sorry. Have to meet the casting director.’

She looks outside her window and sees how gloomy the weather was in London. It’s definitely going to pour, and it’s freaking September right now. Grabbing an umbrella, she headed to her car, fully intent on reaching the studio before it poured.

   On reaching the location, she spots someone she thought she’d never see again in years. Grinning rather cheekily, (y/n) made her way to Jenny, the reporter who had defamed her months ago, and greeted her.

   “What a nice day, isn’t it?” (y/n)’s voice was sickly sweet.

Jenny rolled her eyes, “(y/n).” She spat.

   Jenny, however, looked terrible. It was strange, and no matter how much bad blood the two shared, (y/n) always agreed that Jenny was quite the looker. However, at that second, she had bugs underneath her eyes, her skin was pale and her lips were chapped. She looked tired, and the cup of coffee in her hands indicated that Jenny had a headache. Having studied in the same college as the woman, (y/n) was aware that Jenny only had coffee when she had a headache.

Sighing, “Jen, are you alright?”

   “I’m supposed to meet your show’s casting director. And besides, look at you. Using your influence with Tom to gather fame. What a move.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, “Jen, go home. I’ll tell Laurel to give you a call. You look horrible.”

   “Excuse me, I don’t need your pity—”

   “Jen, seriously. It’s going to pour, and I know you don’t have a car. The cab service around here is shite when it rains, just go. It’s not pity. You look like a talking corpse and you and I both know you’re not great behind the camera.”

Jenny scoffed. She looked at (y/n), who noticed Jenny’s gaze soften. The woman then sighed, threw the coffee cup into the trash and walked away. However, Jenny paused a bit and sighed, looking at the ground. Turning to (y/n), with a deadpan, she said, “You’re going to kick ass. You always do.”

(y/n) smiled and nodded, watching Jenny leave.

*

   “So, we have a candidate who we think might be good for the role of Henry.” Laurel said, grinning widely at (y/n).

   “Laurel, I trust you. And I have no clue about casting.”

   “I understand and use this knowledge fully against you. But, considering what Tom told me the other day, you might like this choice.” Laurel said, winking.

   “What do you mean?”

The two were inside the office that Laurel shared with (y/n) for the time being. It was a small space, but not too small—four windows that provided ample lighting for the room, two tables, one for each of them, and a cute couch on the right side. The room was quite minimalist, which (y/n) adored.

All of a sudden, the theme for Star Wars begin to play. (y/n) blinked, obviously knowing the tune, and stared at Laurel, who was sitting in front of her. (y/n)’s back faced the entrance to the office, and the woman stood up slowly.

   “What’s—”

As the theme progressed, (y/n) heard the door open, she finally saw that Laurel was recording this on her phone, and this finally hit her. (y/n)’s eyes widened and she turned to the door right away, revealing Mark Hamill with a blue lightsaber, walking toward her.

   “Fuck me,” (y/n) cursed, her hand going to her mouth, her fingers trembling. She could faint right then, she was sure this was a dream, there was no way this was real. There was no way Mark Hamill was in front of her, holding a lightsaber.

   “Fucking shit.” (y/n) cursed more, her face turning red as a tomato. She could hear Laurel laugh in the background, and Mark Hamill paused in front of her.

The music stopped and (y/n) let out another array of colorful terms, causing Mark to snicker a bit. She rubbed her hands over her face and froze as he handed her the lightsaber.

   “No fucking way, no fucking—” She took it and felt her eyes well with tears, which she blinked away rapidly or she’d not be able to see this clearly. “I cannot believe this.”

A smile rose to her lips as a blush rose to her cheeks. She looked at Mark and grinned, and he came forward and hugged her. He could feel how much she was shaking and he laughed some more.

   “Goodness, you’re shaking like a leaf!” He said, smiling widely at her.

   “I’m going to die—”

   “I really hope that doesn’t happen,” He said, ruffling her hair. “What is with you and your analogies on death? Even your tweet.” He turned to Laurel and nodded once.

   “I took a look at the script, I’m very glad to be a part of this.” Hamill said, standing right beside (y/n).

   “Oh my God.” (y/n) said, letting the tears fall. She turned to look at the door to see Tom and Harrison standing there, grinning at her.

   “You guys are horrible.” She said, still trembling.

   “I love you.” Tom said, laughing.

   “Honestly, (y/n), I sure hope you don’t keep shaking every time we meet because it’ll be a lot now that we’re working together.” Mark teased.

   “Mark Hamill is teasing me. I can die in peace.” She muttered.

   “I’m gonna take that lightsaber back if you don’t stop making those death jokes.”

*

Once that meeting was over, Tom and (y/n) headed out for lunch. Just as they exited the building, Tom grabbed her wrist and spun her around. Her face was still slightly red, a sight that made him chuckle at her, causing her to slap his shoulder.

   “Was that a joke?” She asked, shyly.

   “You’ve always wanted to meet him!”

   “Well, yes, but… Oh my God. I still cannot believe it.”

Tom kissed her forehead as he said, “It’s true, babe. Mark’s in your show.”

   “It’s not my show!” She fought, pushing him away playfully.

Tom laughed some more before entwining his hands with hers. He kissed her temple and put an arm around her waist, pulling her form to his. It had been three months since they got together, and it’s been lovely. When Tom was busy, (y/n) was working and when (y/n) was busy, Tom was understanding. The relationship, although fairly new, felt comforting. It was as if they were friends, which they were, and confidantes, which they were, and lovers, which they were.

   Tom was aware, and it was clear as bright as day, that they were from two different worlds. Two entirely different people. But upon their coming together, they created- they found- their own path and together they had their own world and in their own world, they were the same. Everyone else outside of it—everyone else was over there. Away. And they together—they together were here. They were right here. They were the same.

   “I love you, Tom.” (y/n) said, blushing and he felt it.

   “I love you, (y/n). And I hope one day you’ll love me as much as Mark Hamill.”

   “Oh, sweetie, keep dreaming.”

That evening, Tom invited both Harrison and Aditi over to (y/n)’s for dinner. Aditi was the first to arrive, and for some strange reason, she had taken it upon herself to tease Tom Holland, and make him uncomfortable.

   “You might as well move in, because you’re always here.” Aditi said, scoffing.

   “Jesus, Aditi,” Tom grumbled, turning away, “I’m not always here—”

He caught (y/n) raise both her eyebrows at him and he sighed. Turning back to the Indian woman, he shot her a nasty glare.

   A moment later, Harrison let himself inside and took his jacket off. He made himself comfortable on the table, which had the food ready, shooting (y/n) a flying kiss, and greeted Aditi. He looked at Tom scowling and then back at Aditi who grinned innocently and read the situation.

   “I don’t want to know.” He said, happily.

   “But, on a more serious note, Tom Holland,” Aditi said, just as (y/n) sat down at the table with them. “If you hurt (y/n), I’ll kill you.”

Tom smiled before nodding, “I won’t.” He looked at (y/n) and placed his hand on hers, above the table.

   “No,” Tom turned to look at Aditi, who had a very serious expression on her face. “I will kill you.”

Tom’s smile wavered. “Yes—”

   “Actually, if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” Haz said.

   “Guys, I… I won’t hurt her. God.”

   “You better not.” Aditi grumbled.

   “Alright, let’s eat!” (y/n) said, clapping her hands together.

*

The casting was done. Shooting was set to begin in close to three weeks, and (y/n) was practically free at the moment. However, something, didn’t sit right with her. She had made peace with almost everything that had happened so far. She loved Tom, who was also considerably busy with post-production involving his movie, Harrison was learning the lines that she had written for him, she had Mark Hamill’s phone number (a massive dream come true), and she was doing what she had always dreamed.

   And despite all this happiness, something was missing. Standing outside the door, she felt her heart beat rather slowly, something about this made her nervous. She breathed, before knocking twice. After a few moments passed and no one answered the door, she knocked on it some more.

The door opened and revealed Susannah, a shocked expression on her face.

   “Can I come in?” (y/n) asked, smiling shyly.

Susannah nodded, quickly moving aside. (y/n) walked inside and let out a breath.

   “(y/n), what brings you—”

(y/n) quickly embraced Susannah, making her swallow her words. Susannah’s eyes widened, her words were stuck in her throat, and she swore she felt like she would choke on her spit. Her hands slowly wound themselves around (y/n)’s form, and tears filled her eyes.

   “Thank you,” (y/n) said, softly. “I know why you did it.”

Susannah shut her eyes and cried, knowing full well that she could have done it differently. She could have been easier on (y/n), not have her believe that this was all her fault. Once again, Susannah’s peace of mind depended on (y/n)’s kindness, and she felt dreadful.

   “Don’t beat yourself up, Susannah. Please. I forgive you. I do.” (y/n) said, pulling away.

Susannah wiped her tears and smiled a bit, “Don’t say psyche.”

(y/n) laughed. “Of course not, I’m not five.”

   “I’d say psyche.” Susannah said, sniffing.

   “Of course you would.” (y/n) rolled her eyes.

*

She was set to meet Tom for dinner that night. He had been coming to her house a lot these days, and she wondered if it was too soon to ask him to move in with her as a joke. He was an actor, and he probably (definitely) had a better house, she had been there a couple of times, only to see Tessa. She wondered if he ever thought of asking her to move in with him, and quickly brushed away the thought.

No way, it’s too soon, she thought, blushing.

Turning on the TV, she felt blessed when the Graham Norton show was airing. Leaning back, she waited for him to announce the guests and her heart skipped a beat. They kept this from me?

Harrison and Tom were both on the couch that night. She didn’t know when this was shot, a couple of days ago, but whenever it was, they had kept it from her. She grinned a bit, hoping Tom would walk in when this show was airing.

   “So, you—” Graham pointed to Tom. “—just finished with Hopelandish, right?”

   “Oh, yes. It was beautiful. Most of the shoot was in Croatia, which is a beautiful place. And it was fun because Donald was an absolute blessing to work with. He’s hilarious.” Tom said, chuckling.

   “Right, right. So Harrison, you’re shooting for Paint it Red, aren’t you? It was initially pulled out?”

Harrison nodded, “Yes, apparently the script initially didn’t match up to what our director had in mind, so one of my close friends, (y/n), rewrote the whole thing. It’s brilliant.”

   “This is the same (y/n) who used to be a critic and got into trouble for doing her job?”

The couch laughed. “I mean, who doesn’t?” Graham grumbled, before chuckling, “But, you’re not the only one close to her, is it?” Graham pointed out.

(y/n)’s heart flipped. Tom looked slightly bashful as Graham continued, “We also have this,”

An image of (y/n) and Tom holding hands in Haz’s shoot site was displayed, causing her heart to flip. Oh my God, she thought as she saw this, watching Tom squirm on the couch.

   “I really didn’t think…” He laughed some more, his face completely red.

   “Wow, Tom Holland is actually blushing. Relax, Tom, you’re just holding hands in this. I wonder what would happen if I showed them the picture of you two kissing, because I have it.”

The couch laughed some more, before Tom covered his face with his hands. Harrison was laughing as well as he leaned back against the couch.

   “Yes, yes. Um... So, it’s a funny story,” Tom said, taking a sip of the beer. “She, uh, I practically begged her to meet me because I felt terrible for the whole shaming thing she went through for writing the critique for Birds of a Feather,” Graham nodded.

   “And um, we became friends shortly after and yeah. It’s good, Graham, I love her.”

Graham’s eyes widened and so did Tom’s, before he began laughing and covering his face again.

   “You really can’t keep anything with yourself, can you?” Graham teased, (y/n) laughing as she watched this.

   “Does she know? Have you told her?”

Tom nods bashfully. “What he hasn’t told her is that he plans on asking her to move in with him, but he’s too chicken to say it out loud.”

   “Haz!” Tom said, surprised.

   “Come on, mate.” Haz said, slapping his friend on the back. Tom laughed.

   “I’m sure she’ll say yes, at least for Tessa.” Graham said, rolling his eyes.

A moment later, Tom allows himself in, and (y/n) turns off the television. She turns to him, as he approached her and kisses her, and noticed her face was red.

   “What happened?”

   “I was watching something hilarious.” She said.

   “Oh, what is it?”

   “I’ll move in with you, Tom.”

Tom froze. He stared at nothing before turning to her, slowly, and blinking a couple of times.

   “The show.”

   “Yep.”

   “Jesus.”

(y/n) laughed before hugging him from behind. “You’re such a shy idiot.”

   “You still chose Harrison for your show and not me.”

   “That’s because Harrison is more handsome.”

Tom gasped before turning around, “What? We’ve been dating four months.”

   She leaned in to kiss him on the nose and said, “What a lovely four months it’s been.”

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff​, @aestheticgaybish​, @noobmaster63​, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay​, @wonders-of-the-multiverse​, @boushalaivre​, @jackiehollanderr​, @nerdypisces160​, @yourwonderbelle​, @quackson606​, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff​, @fandoms-stuff​, @danicarosaline​, @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo, @multiverseprincess @spider-mendes @jazzhandspotter @the-rad-mad @itsjlynadaxoxo

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KITA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CORIOLANUS. Admin Minnie: Kita, I genuinely don’t think we’ve had a Cyrus like yours join us in Verona. The way you capture both Cyrus’s beauty and his ugliness both. All that entitlement, all that arrogance, all that charm — you’ve grasped it masterfully. You understand Cyrus on a deep, personal level; but that’s not why I was so excited to accept your application. Ultimately, it was this line that really won me over: “But mostly, I am here because of this: if I do not stand witness to a falling star, if I do not love him as he is–, then I fear no one ever will.” I’m already in love with your Cyrus for who he is, and all the potential he has to ruin my life! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER Alias | kita Age | 20 Preferred Pronouns | she/her Activity Level | I think I can be fairly active. I am a full-time student, so my priority will always be there, but I always aim to get my replies done within a week. 6/10 or more? Hopefully more. Timezone | EST 

(also English is not my first language so pls be kind)

IN CHARACTER Character |

Cyrus Vicente Sloane ; CORIOLANUS FC: Lorenzo Zurzolo

Alt fc: Wolfgang Novogratz

What drew you to this character? |

oh Gods, where do I begin? Of all Verona’s monsters, Cyrus Sloane has to be one of the worst. At once, spoiled rotten, cruel and innately duplicitous, Cyrus is an arrogant princeling whose tyranny knows no bounds. And yet, as soon as I finished reading his biography, I knew it was over. He materialized in my mind like some sort of phantom, flashed that winning smile at me and visions of him haunted me ever after.

I saw his head across Brigette’s lap on a lazy summer afternoon. Sipping champagne out of long-stemmed glasses, wearing filigreed gold masks to cover their ugliness inside, the two of them are tyrants, fickle and fiendish things about to wreak terror on a city that has only known it.

———— “do you love me, cyrus?” she pouts. he smiles. when he kisses the petulance from her lips, there is no answer needed.

I saw his lips tilt upward into a smug grin as he and Lawrence meet up in a dingy bar. When the time comes, he throws his head back with laughter, he leans in, whispers something just loud enough for the other man to hear. This is a dangerous game to play, Lawrence knows. Nothing, after all, is ever given freely. But one look at Cyrus, at that indigent boy who seems not at all concerned with his traitorous tongue nor the consequences of it, and his fears are momentarily assuaged.

———— “all of this is just talk between friends, signor vernon,” cyrus says, waving off worries with an unconcerned shrug. lawrence pauses, raises an eyebrow, “is that what we are?”

I could wax poetic about why Cyrus is the way he is, why he plays at being charming, demands to be worshipped. But, in the end, it boils down to this: the rot in Cyrus Sloane is that he could not find it in himself to be forgiven. The anger he has in his heart, the revenge he plots– it is all because he cannot find anyone to blame but himself.

In Capetown, he learned to make weapons out of fleeting sweet-faced grins and honeyed lies. Barely into manhood, he won the hearts of his countrymen, had the ear of a kingpin, sat poised for an easy throne. But, though he had everything one could ever dream of, he still gave it all up in order to return to the place of his first and most terrible failure. Look, I have no doubt that he tells himself that he hates his mother. I have no doubt that he even believes that. However, I know that if you cut him open, you would see that he only hates that he does not hate her, not really. He hates that he cannot fault her for anything that she has ever done.

He had always idolized her, had always thought her the paragon of perfection, of stoic and unbending strength. He had never even blamed her for being cold to him– after all, his mother was never anything but pragmatic. She must have had her own reasons to toss him to the wolves. He blames her only for this: for propping up a mirror to his nature, for casting a light on a part of him that he would rather have never acknowledged… for reminding him that he was weak enough to be unwanted, that no matter how hard he tried to be beloved—he would only ever be left behind.

Yes, he is a sharp and cutting thing, hard to look at. He burns so bright, my icarian boy. He fashions himself so easy to be loved and flies so close to the sun, taunting it to shoot him down. He will ruin Verona, if he has his way. He will almost certainly burn himself up to do it. And I suppose I have applied— in part, to try and stop him, to save him from himself. But mostly, I am here because of this: if I do not stand witness to a falling star, if I do not love him as he is–, then I fear no one ever will.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1— Nothing short of a prodigy in politics + war, this princeling figures some form of leadership to be the most natural application for his talents, and, as it seems, he seems destined for it. Impressed by Cyrus’ verve and natural aptitude for diplomacy, Cosimo has promoted the young man to an emissary and holds Cyrus in high regard. But, while Cyrus seems content in his position and its upwards mobility, he does not intend to take orders forever.

In his biography, there are inklings of a betrayal from Cyrus to the Capulets written throughout his biography. His position to Lawrence as an informant is an obvious clue of lack of loyalty, but it definitely goes far beyond that. Cyrus pays no mind to any man (nor God). He is only concerned with his own interest.

While the possibility of Cyrus becoming a Montague is tantalizing, I think Cyrus hates the Capulets for what they have done to him, but he hates all of Verona the same way. Trading loyalties to the Montagues, to another mob family with a rigid hierarchy isn’t how Cyrus sees himself. He wants to be King, not just a soldier with a different perspective of the Castelvecchio Bridge. Right now, Cyrus does his best to play at peace. But, as the war in Verona streets escalates, the number of neutral sanctuaries decreases, I intend to make Cyrus prove himself loyal to a side, once and for all— whichever one that may be.

———— “Do you not trust me?” Cyrus grins. With his teeth bared and the whites of his eyes glittering in the dark, he looks like the Cheshire cat. You think you have never trusted him less.

2— Earnestly, I think that Cyrus probably wouldn’t betray the Capulets for the Montagues. However, I didn’t say Cyrus wouldn’t betray the Capulets altogether. In fact, for his goal (just like… enacting revenge on all of Verona), I think it’s more likely than not that he will betray them at some point. A thread I’ve been following through the biographies is Cassian’s ties to certain neutral parties (olivia + mona in particular). I could be misreading, but Olivia has her eyes on him. Mona knows his secrets. Like snakes, they cut through the grass, wrap themselves around the prey and they squeeze. Pressure mounting, Cassian might crack sometime soon. And Cyrus— well, he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

In the biography, it is explicitly stated that Cyrus seeks to overtake Cassian. Though Cyrus plays the part of being his dutiful student, he has no real affection for his mentor. Ever since he has been in Verona, he has tried to get closer to his mentor. However, when he spots Olivia’s watchful gaze on the man, I think Cyrus will jump at the chance to act– to finally show that he is not someone to be underestimated. I think this is a perfect opportunity for him to stumble.

I would love to see him team up with Mona and Olivia to amp up the pressure on Cassian. And moreover, I would love to see Cyrus’ loyalties be swayed to them entirely. In my eyes, Mona Chen is someone who thrives in duplicity, whose mother (and father) has not been kind to her and someone who Cyrus knows- will never bow to anyone. It is those things that Cyrus respects. It is those things that will make Cyrus vulnerable to her.

Perhaps Cyrus just passes information about Cassian to Mona and Olivia at first. he offers his assistance from time to time. But maybe things go deeper. Maybe he sees Mona as the coming storm, as someone who will brings the winds of change. Maybe Cyrus can be even convinced to follow her entirely. In any case, this is a perfect opportunity for Cyrus to make a misstep, for him to reveal too much about himself and having that be his undoing. Mona is a woman who deals with secrets and has no problem weaponizing that. It would be awful for him, if she had some dirt of him.

———— “You cannot think that I will let you crush my mentor,” he says, “at least, not without my help.”

3— What is Cyrus without his mother? What is a list of plots without Cyrus and Vivianne on it?. Honestly, I don’t even know where this is going to go. I just know that it’s going to hurt so exquisitely. If you asked Cyrus about his mother, he would laugh. I have your love, he would say, why do I need hers? There is no hard feelings between the two of them, he says. What she did gave him a better life. I mean, just look at him. He was spoiled in Capetown, given everything he ever wanted. And now that he is back in Verona, his good fortune has only followed. Right?

In the years since Cyrus left Capetown, Vivianne has only thrived. She has married Cosimo, become the underboss of the city’s best crime family (fuck u, montagues). She has even found a surrogate daughter to replace him, one that she loves in ways that she never could with him. It is clear that the problem was never with her. To a layman’s eye, Cyrus is nothing but an indigent boy who aims to make Verona his playground. Reveling in every waking moment in the city, he’s a reckless and terrible thing, content to leave caution to the wind so long as he conquers these streets. But the truth is– he has no appetite for ambition without her as an audience, no desire to prove his happiness and success if the news will not travel somehow to her ears.

He hates Vivianne. But what he hates most about her is that—while he would have done anything for her attention, she never seemed to care for him. ———— “You have the world, Cyrus,” she says, calm as ever. He laughs. ”Does it matter? I would have given it all up if you had just been there.”

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | not yet.

IN DEPTH In-Character Para Sample:

//// I WROTE THIS LITERALLY ALL TODAY BC I WANTED TO GET MY APP IN PLS DONT JUDGE TOO HARSHLY

Mass had only ended an hour or so ago. The candles lit for the service still smoldered from having been snuffed out. But Cyrus held no pretensions—sanctity had left this house of worship far before that.

There was nothing holy about this place, he ascertained.  

Perhaps there never had been.

Of course—he would not deny that, as a child, Cyrus had found the Cattedrale di Verona impossibly beautiful. A feat of architecture like no other, it had filled his chest with wonder to see the golden mural that arched across the vaulted ceiling, the reverential way sunlight passed through the stained glass. However, he had long since learned that the spectacle was only a clever ruse. Just like most things in Verona, beauty existed only to hide the rot that so often lurked beneath.

As he walked through the empty pews now, he felt a visceral disgust with himself. How had he not seen it? While he sat in these very seats, knelt on this very floor, sought out something bigger than himself, looked in every corner to find out why the room always felt so empty, he had been blind to the cracks in walls, the chips in the paint. The priest had said once to him that “in god, he would find all answers”—but there was no salvation to be found here.

Even when he had needed it the most, he had never found any salvation here.

Yes, you see he understood now. There was only one reason why he came to the Cathedral now: to drink in his bitterness, to remind himself of the debt he was owed.

The Cathedral was his, just like this city was. Not in that he believed in it or that he loved it more than anyone else, but because he had paid for it ten times over. It had promised him mercy and benevolence and safety, but, when every alley had looked like fear and every corner had held another terrible surprise, it had denied him of all of it. When he was weak, they had cast him aside, and he still remembered that casual cruelty, still felt the sting of rejection and could not bear it.

With no one around to stop him, Cyrus clambered atop an empty pew and went to light a cigarette. While the puff of smoke rose ever upwards, caressed the faces of Abaddon and John, St. Michael and Magog, he laughed. How prescient of them, he thought to himself, to paint a picture of their own reckoning.

He stubs his cigarette out on the pew. It leaves a scorch mark, but he does not seem to care. He offers a rakish smile to no one in particular. He laughs.

“You would forgive me,” he says to the empty air.

(And look- look at that winsome smile, at that careless leer. You could try to fault him for something. He would dare you to. But you would still forgive him anyways.)

[jathis]

They

Jassa uses they/them pronouns and doesn’t see themselves as anything but an Elf.

This has caused issues

“You know they’re never going to acknowledge it.”

Jassa looked up from rolling their crude cigar with some of Jax’s pipe leaf, raising an eyebrow at the other. “What?”

“You’re refusal to identify as anything. They’ll never allow it,” Jax warned with a shake of his head.

They snorted, borrowing a match from their friend to light their cigar before taking a pull, smoke flowing from flaring nostrils. They cracked their jaw once in annoyance, leaning back in their chair. “Technically I’m not wrong,” they said.

“The High Council recognizes male or female; they won’t recognize your refusal to identify as either.”

“The marriage proposals don’t care.”

“I’m fairly certain some of them see you more as an oddity than a legitimate Breeder for them. Don’t you care about that?”

“Course I do.”

“Then why..?”

“Because it doesn’t matter what’s between my legs or what’s in my body. My ability to impregnate or become pregnant. I’m an Elf. My name is Jassa Wyspurr. That's who I am.”

Jax shook his head, offering them a fond smile before bringing his pipe to his mouth for a puff. “Leah managed to barter for some of Merchaw’s moonshine,” he said.

“Yeah!” Jassa laughed, getting to their feet, “let’s get drunk, Jax!” they crowed, clapping him on the shoulder. There was a moment’s silence as Jax stood up and Jassa coughed. “Jax?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t care what people insist I am; as long as I have you and Leah who know who I am, I’m happy.”

He smiled, nodding his head. “Always,” he promised.

***

The small spider crawled calmly down her arm and over the back of her hand. Ilvara turned her hand just as it reached the end of her nails, watching as it crawled over her palm and back up her arm again. The spider only faltered once, disturbed by the sound of muffled curses and chains rattling, followed by a heavy thud as something was thrown to the ground.

“So, what have you brought me back from your first surface raid?” Ilvara asked, her attention still focused on the spider’s lazy climb.

“I thought you might like a surface Elf to play with,” he said proudly, puffing up under his own importance. He deflated a little when Ilvara snapped her head to look, red eyes flashing. “I uh…”

Jassa hissed softly as they pushed themselves up off of their face, spitting out blood. They were grabbed by a hand with nails as sharp as animal claws, biting back a pained groan as the tips dug into their chin and drew blood.

“This one is uglier than they usually are,” Ilvara noted, turning their head one way then another, “what is it? Some pathetic male or ugly female?”

“M’name’s Jassa,” they mumbled. Several small snake heads lunged forward, hissing at them in warning. Jassa blinked, realizing that the snakes were the lashes on a whip hung low on the Drow’s hip. “Oh wow you really have those things…”

“It’s...talkative,” Shoor offered.

Ilvara snorted, snapping her hand away as she stood to look at Shoor. “You didn’t even check?”

“All it kept saying was that it was an Elf named Jassa! I thought…”

“Perhaps I thought wrong by promoting you so soon,” Ilvara hummed. There was a soft snicker behind her and she rolled her eyes, turning towards the source. “And what amuses you so, Jorlan?”

The scarred male stood up straight from the wall he had been leaning against, offering Ilvara an elegant bow of his head. “If Shoor cannot identify it; I can if you wish it.”

“Pretty sure I already said my name…” This time one of the snakes sank their fangs into their cheek, piercing freshly scarred flesh to draw more blood.

“I suppose I could have you do something instead of laying about making quips uninvited,” Ilvara conceded.

“I would never dare make a single word uninvited in your presence, my lady.”

“Shoor, I’m getting a headache. Come and help relieve it in my chambers.”

The younger Drow moved at once to stand beside her, shooting Jorlan a smirk as she placed one of her arms in his own. “Anything for you, my lady.”

“Who knows? Maybe Jorlan will find comfort that there’s something here uglier than he is,” Ilvara said over her shoulder, taking her leave.

Jorlan allowed his upper lip to curl once he was certain they were gone. The sound of faint movement brought his attention back to the Elf. “So is this going to be boring or fun?” he asked.

Jassa sat up, dabbing a hand over the fresh wounds from the snake. “I’m an Elf and my name is Jassa.”

He nodded at that, smiling as he drew a shorter lashes flogger from his belt. “Fun then,” he agreed.

“This is just home all over again,” Jassa hissed.

[grigsby-writes]

I Didn’t Sign Up For This

Who knew that kissing one angel would get me into this load of trouble. I slump against the wall beside the door to Lucifer’s office. Then again, perhaps it was kicking an angel that made him call me to his office. Maybe they should just stop letting angels down here in the first place! Yeah... yeah, that’s a good argument. I cross my arms and turn my mouth into a scowl in preparation for the door opening.

The door opens.

“Enter,” Lucifer waves me into his office and I take a seat in one of the crappy swivel chairs. It surprises me that his tone isn’t angry, just sort of… quiet. My knee bounces up and down nervously, I place a hand on it to cover up the movement.

“Satan…” I say his formal name, hoping to get on my boss’s good side.

“I go by Lucifer with my colleagues, as you know. Lore, what you did wasn’t acceptable. You know that demons- any beings of the underworld for that matter -cannot… interact with angels in any way.”

“Sir, at the time we were working together, and technically I didn’t attempt to bring her over to our side, nor did I do anything to publically soil the name of Light, so I didn’t do anything agains-”

“This was not the first time you’ve gone against your contract!” Lucifer’s voice raises, eyes flashing with cold aggression, then he settles back down. He laces his fingers together and lays them on the desk, “I’m afraid you’ll no longer be a demon.”

“You’re firing me?” My voice breaks, despite my facade of calm.

“Not quite, I’ve talked it over with the Light, and thought it’s not very common, we’re making an exception for you.” He pauses, pondering his next words. “If we simply fired you from your position, you’d go die with the other hell-residents. You could still cause trouble; violate your housing regulations, try to escape punishment, etc. Another thing we took into consideration is that our murderer section is very overpopulated and, unfortunately, you wouldn't get a spot there for a while. But more than those two things, you just don’t fit here.”

I cock my head to the side in disbelief, “I’m going to be transferred to Heaven?”

“No,” He lets out a short, relieved laugh, “No, you’d never make your way up there.”

“Then what do you mean by I ‘don’t fit here’. There isn’t exactly another place to fit, and considering what I did to get here, I think I fit just fine!” My tail whips back and forth angrily.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, or there. Lore, you died younger than most do. You didn’t die how you were supposed to, you instead took it into your own hands and changed fate. That makes your entire story muddy. It ruined the way Fate foresaw the future. You aren’t supposed to be dead, not really.” The Devil leans back in his chair casually, “You decided to change it all, making our jobs harder.”

My mouth opens and closes silently, brows furrowing, “So what you’re saying is…”

“You’re being reincarnated.” He finishes with a small smirk.

“I’d like to opt out.”

“Not an option, sorry.”

“I’ll file a complaint then.”

“Also not an option, this decision is final,” His gaze is stony.

I let my mouth hang open, not caring that I look stupid. I can’t go back there. I push away from the desk, jumping to my feet. My leathery wings spread behind me in anger. “You can’t do that!”

“Ah, but I can.”

I take a harsh breath in and kick the desk. “Don’t send me back there!” I slam my hand against the wall, cracking the drywall. “If I go back there it’ll only mean trouble. If I’m sent there the same thing will happen. I hate it. I hate the mortal realm. I hate people. I hate the Light.” I hate the Devil and how he’s just sitting there with his legs crossed and an amused look on his face. My body shakes with emotion, what emotion it is, I can’t tell for sure. Fear, anger, excitement, it doesn’t matter. “If you-if you send me there, I’ll just come right back! You can’t twist the system that much, not even a fallen angel like yourself can.”

“Sit down, for fuck’s sake. And believe me, it’s much harder to kill yourself now. Times have changed, it’s no longer as simple as jumping from a bridge as an angry mob chases after you. You can’t just disappear, humans have finally figured out how to keep track of kids.”

“Why me? Why do you have to send me? You know that I hate humans and the mortal world!” My voice raises, trying to hide the growl building in my throat.

Lucifer fixes the papers that I messed up in my outburst, “Consider it probation. A temporary punishment.” He stifles a laugh, “It’s like old times again, when we gave everyone a personal punishment. This is yours.”

I stare at him incredulously, he’s actually going to go through with it. “Please, no,” I whisper.

“Please, yes. I’m giving you a second chance at life! Most dead people would jump at that. You’d get to live out your life, die, and then come back here. Because let’s be honest, even with a second life you’ll never get yourself to Heaven.”

I stare at him longer, trying to let my thoughts settle. “But,” I say slowly, “But I’ve been dead for ages, I’ll never fit in with the new society. And what about my physical form, what’ll I even look like?” My mind flashes with fear again, bright, hot fear. I cannot deal with a human body. “Not to mention the fact that if they do keep track of people as much as you say they do, there’s no way a new one turning up won’t alert everyone!”

“Don’t worry too much, it’ll work out. And as for your form, we’re just going to get rid of the bright hair, wings, horns, tail, and grey skin. I’m not that cruel.” He chuckles, “If you’re good, we could even give you a certain guardian angel.”

“Wait, really?” I don’t sit down, but I do relax a bit at the idea of having someone watching my back.

Lucifer nods and turns his chair around, facing away from me. “Yes, really. Go, do whatever you have to do before you’re reincarnated. Life will be here to collect you shortly.”

I stand there in silence for a moment. Breathing hard despite not much physical exertion. Finally, I turn on my heel and let my feet carry me out of the office. The door slams behind me.

I gulp, leaning against the wall once more. I can feel my heart thud against my chest, a single sound that I focus in on. I bite my lip, sliding down the wall and burying my face in my knees. I’m going to be alive again. I’m going to have to leave the underworld. I just lost everything.

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

Life doesn’t ‘collect me’ per say. Instead, she plucks me from the underworld, teleporting me with no warning into her own office. Within the blink of an eye, I’m out of the heat and darkness of Hell and into a cozy office. There are cream colored couches and a white desk to match the white walls. Life herself has dark hair and caramel skin, her eyes are a bright green. She is dressed in a sky blue skirt, a floral patterned shawl draped over her thin shoulders. Sort of elegant and natural.

I realize that I’ve been staring and look away quickly. Life doesn’t seem to notice, she simply stares out her window into what looks like a very bright light. “Heaven’s very pretty, isn’t it?”

“Oh, uh,” I look out the window more carefully, “I guess it is.”

“Hmm,” Life finally turns to me, I stand a bit straighter. Her bright eyes tear into my own. “Are you ready to be alive?” I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical or not, but the truth is I’m not ready. Still, I brighten my eyes a bit and tell that I am, in fact, ready. Her face remains neutral. Life stands from the chair where she was seated and walks over to her desk. She flicks through a couple of manila folders, frowning twice. I fidget uncomfortably, anxiety bobbing in my stomach. Finally, she looks up at me. “Okay, you’re all good to go! Everything seems to be in order, here,” She holds out one of the files. “That’s the information you’ll need, your mortal identity. Memorize the information as best as you can.”

I take the folder, opening it in my lap. There are two papers, one appears to be my current file.

Hell Being

Name: Lore

Age(at death): 15

Cause of Death: Suicide

Reason For Placement in Hell: Small Genocide (4 deaths, multiple injuries), Suicide, Resistance, Pride

Status: Demon

Resides: In The Demon Sector

Punishment: N/A

Comments:

~Unsettling number of defiances, but I expect nothing less from my demons.

~Preference for they/them pronouns, nonbinary.

~Offers diversity to our group of demons, which is good for how the public view my work environment.

The second paper, my new mortal identity, doesn’t have just the handwriting from before, which I believe to be my boss, Lucifer’s. This new handwriting is clearer, from obvious practice. The form seems to be a collaboration.

Mortal Identity (Reincarnation)

Afterlife Name: Lore

Mortal Name(current, not former): James Holston

Mortal Age: 15

Sex: Unspecified

Life(up to this point): Orphan being driven to their foster home in Charlotte, North Carolina. Will be attending Mallard Creek High school. Traumatizing past, prefers not to talk about it. Family died in car crash. Moving from the countryside.

I look up uncertainly at Life, she gives me a small smile in return, “Sorry, we had to rush to place you somewhere, so your backstory is pretty boring.”

“Could I, uh, keep my name?” I dig my nails into the paper, in crinkles and dents.

“The one you’ve down here?”

“Yeah,” I nod, release the paper.

“It’s not a common name in the mortal realm, you do know that, don’t you?” Life quirks her eyebrows, leaning forward on the desk, still standing. It makes me uncomfortable how she towers over me, like a mother scolding her child.

“I’m aware, you can keep the last name if you want.” I hold out the folder, Life grudgingly takes it and quickly changes the name to Lore Holston.

“Well then, any other questions?” I shake my head in response. Life sets down my files and approaches me. She places one hand on each of my temples. “It’ll be like waking up, but when you do, you’ll be alive.” I nod, breathless. “We’ve assigned you a guardian angel to help you adjust to the new world. However, you still must be careful, the next time you die… you won’t be coming back.”

“Got it,” My voice is just above a whisper, anticipation and anxiousness mixing in my stomach. Life closes her eyes and concentrates. I find my own eyes drooping closed, then black.

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

Life wasn’t lying. When my eyes open I feel as if I’ve been asleep all my life and only just woken up.  I take in a deep, gasping breath, once I do that I can feel my heartbeat. I can feel hot and cold. I can feel my brain buzz in the groggy just-woke-up kind of way. My eyes go wide, adjusting to the bright light. I start to make out the voice of a man in front of me.

“Hello?” I call out quietly, mostly just testing if my voice functions.

“Well, look who woke up!” The man sits in a leather chair in from of me, he holds on to what looks like a wheel. “You’ve been asleep for most of the ride. I was surprised, most people have trouble sleeping in cars when they go over gravel.”

That’s when I start to panic. I’m moving, fast, across a large, grey, stone road in a cushioned box. The man continues to chatter, spitting out strange terms, words I’ve never heard before. I’m strapped in my seat by a cloth belt. I try to rip it off me. If I can escape, then I can fly away from this place and- I don’t have wings. Or a tail. My head is free of horns and my hair lies flat. I pull harder on my restraints, but they only tighten.

“Hey, you doing alright? You’re kinda quiet.” The man asks calmly from his seat. I don’t respond, just pull harder. “Lore, what are you doing?” I grunt, tears brimming my eyes. Why am I here? I should be dead, not alive! I don’t belong, and I’m trapped and I can’t do anything. “Stop that! You’re going to break your seat belt!”

“I’m going to vomit,” I mutter, still panicked. The man’s eyes go wide, and he turns the wheel rapidly. The box swerves to the side of the road and the wall opens up. I fight against my ‘seat belt’ and lean out of the box. Somehow, despite not having eaten anything real in ages, I vomit. And then I’m breathing hard, bile still stinging the back of my throat. Tears stream down my face, clouding my vision.

Suddenly, there’s a new voice.

“I can’t say that I envy you.” It’s familiar, and looking up, I see the translucent face of that angel. That angel who I was assigned to show the underworld. That angel who I worked with for over a mortal year. That angel who I risked everything for and loved.

“Anael?” I croak. She touches my shoulder lightly.

“You okay?” The man is turned in his seat, concern just surfacing in his eyes.

I stare at Anael. Her hair is shoulder length, auburn and curly. Freckles are splattered over her nose, the kind that only spring up during the summer months. She just how I remember her, almost. Her eyes are no longer a rich brown, but have turned solid black, even the whites. It’s a common style among demons in the underworld. I decide not to ask her about it.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

The man must see my mouth move, “What did you say?”

“Think your words, he’ll hear you otherwise.” Anael pulls me back into the box. “Tell him you didn’t say anything.”

“Nothing,” I tell him, wiping my mouth. The door closes and the box begins to move once more. “Wha-” Anael looks at me with frustration, putting a finger to her lips. Oh, right, thinking.

What is this thing? Who is he? Where am I going? I ask Anael frantically, Why are you here?

“Honestly, did you read anything they told you to?” She sighs, settling in the seat next to my own. “This is a car, like a carriage that moves on it’s own, only the man is controlling it. If someone asks you anything else about cars, tell them you don’t know much about them. The man is a child’s service worker. They make sure kids are okay and being treated right. His name is Horus Helmigan, he’s driving you to your foster home, where you’ll live until adopted, or you’re too old to stay.”

Why are you here? I repeat myself, hoping my thinking-tone isn’t too harsh. I’m truly very glad to have her here. My heart swells at the thought of having her around.

Anael smiles, “I’m your guardian angel.”

My mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’. I turn and face the front of the ‘car’. This is a seat belt? I I gesture to the fabric strapping me back.

“Yes, it makes cars safer.” Anael explain, I nod in response.

We ride in silence for the most part. Occasionally, Helmigan pierces my quiet with a comment on how beautiful the roadside is, or if I’m ‘doing okay back there’. Finally, after what could be minutes, could be hours, I’m not quite sure, we pull up into a what Anael tells me is a ‘driveway’. In front of the driveway is a good sized house made of a red brick. It’s at least two levels, lights are one in every window.

Helmigan exits the car and my door opens automatically. However, I can’t see how I’m supposed to get out of this seat belt. I struggle for a moment before Anael instructs me to click the little button in the seat. I step out of the car, stumbling until I find my balance. I feel dizzy, the edges of my vision going black before clearing. Helmigan is taking what I assume to be my bag from the back compartment. Anael appears behind me, I jump, startled.

He leads us up the front path to the door, dragging my bag behind him. He knocks twice on the door, it opens to the round face of a middle-aged woman. She smiles at us.

“Hello! Are you Mr. Helmigan?”

“I am, I am!” He steps back so that I’m the only thing in front of the door. “This is Lore Holston, you’ll be fostering him- er- them.”

“Pleasure to meet you, please, come in.” The woman steps back to let us in. The front room has a carpet leading up stairs and a door to my left. To my right is the living room, it has leather couches and worn coffee tables. The women gestures for us to sit on the couch and we obey.

Helmigan and the woman discuss a few final things about my arrangement, then Mr. Helmigan leaves. I sit awkwardly for a few seconds before the woman stands. I don’t pay attention as she walks away from the couches. I lean my elbows on my knees, twiddling my thumbs. This house is where’ll live, these people I will have to talk to regularly. What I’m I going to say?

“Are you coming?” She interrupts.

“Oh, y-yeah,” I stand quickly and walk over to her, unsure of what we’re doing exactly.

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself to you properly,” She holds out her hand, “My name’s Patricia Walter, though our previous foster kids call me Patty.”

“Lore, but you should already know that.” I shake her hand, gripping tightly. “They/them, not he or she.”

“Yes, yes, I was told that.” Patty starts up the stairs. “Come, I can show you your room.”

I glance behind me, Anael has disappeared again. I’m not surprised, Angels and Demon flicker between the mortal realm and the afterlife. Jumping in when needed and then leaving. However, a small part of me wishes for someone else at my shoulder, then at least I wouldn’t be alone with this stranger. I walk up the stairs, holding onto the railing this my bag slung over my shoulder. Three doors downs on the right, Patty opens the door. Light spills into the dark hallway. I step into the room, Patty standing behind me. There’s a bed against the far wall, covered in a plain blue quilt. The walls are a cream, bare but for a few photos of flowers. There is a birch dresser and matching desk with a swivel chair much like those found in the offices in hell.

I look back at Patty, she smiles again and says, “Okay, well, you get settled. My husband will be home soon, we’ll eat then.”

“I’m not hungry,” I snap, though I don’t mean to.

“Oh,” Patty’s face flashes with anger, before relaxing. She looks like she understood something just said, like she’s analysing me. “I’ll call you down later, just in case you’re hungry then.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, closing the door behind her softly. I stare at the plain door for a moment. It’s not fair. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be in this human house, in some kid’s old bedroom. I shouldn’t Be without my guardian angel. I should be in Hell. I should be torturing some cruel soul. “Agh!” I yell in frustration, hitting my fist against the wall. It hurts. A feeling demons can’t feel, pain. There is a hole in the wall from my hand, but my hand is in worse shape. It comes back slightly bloodied and with my knuckles starting to bruise. I exhale, annoyed. I punch the wall again.

Patty yells something from downstairs, I don’t respond to whatever she says. I shake my hand, ignoring the pain like I learned to do all those years ago. To the right of the door, there is a mirror. I look at myself, a bit surprised that I actually appear. My skin is no longer grey and dead, but a tanned white. My eyes are very dark brown, almost black, but you can’t see them very well through the mop of dark red hair on my head. Lucifer could’ve done better, I’m sure if it were up to him, he’d give me my demon form just to mess with people. I smile, but it quickly disappears. I walk to the bed, laying down. I just hope that sleep takes me quickly.

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

“Dinner!” Patty hollers upstairs. I jolt awake, forgetting for a moment that I’m mortal now. Demons sleep, sure, but we don’t do it for anything but to pass the time. When we wake, we jump right up, no trouble. I’m not used to this groggy feeling of consciousness. Slowly, I make my way downstairs, stomach aching despite not feeling hungry earlier.

Patty meets me at the bottom of the stairs and leads me through the kitchen into the dining room. She has a smile on her face, but instead of being warm, this one is sickeningly sweet. I take a seat at the table, uncomfortable with how formal it seems. Patty clears her throat, taking a seat next to the head. I look up quickly. Sitting at the head of the table is a dark looking man. He has as defined jaw, and cheekbones that cast shadows on his face.

“Oh, hey,” I glance at him a second longer before looking down at my plate. It has carrots and potatoes to one side, a porkchop on the other. There is so smell, but perhap I simply don’t remember food well enough to know it.

“My name is Matthew Walter, you shall address me as ‘Sir’.” When I don’t look up, he repeats himself.  I still don’t look up. I want to, but I can’t. Something is keeping my head down. My eyes dart around, nervously searching for something, but I don’t know what. Then the table is upturned, food spilling down the side. Patty yelps, leaping from her seat. Finally, I can move again. Mr.Walter stands, seething with anger. He shouts something, I don’t know what exactly, but he’s mad. He lunges at me, going for the throat. Patty charges into him, pushing him away from me. He grabs her arm and throws her against the wall. I hear her neck snap, blood dribbles from her mouth as she goes limp.

A scream escapes my lips as I scramble away from him. He chases me out of the dining room, into the kitchen, and up the stairs. I take a picture from the wall and throw it at him as he storms up the stairs. My mind is slow and foggy, but a searing memory of fear and pain immobilizes me. Mr. Walter’s image becomes larger, morphing into the familiar face of my father. I yell for help, begging that whatever God there is saves me from this fate. But it does nothing. His hands wrap around my neck, lifting my into the air. I struggle for breath as he crushes my windpipe.

“That’ll teach you,” He slams me against the wall, “To disrespect me.” My vision is getting fuzzy around the edges. “You useless,” Slam, “Idiotic,” Slam, “Freak.”

He releases me, dropping me body to the ground. I don’t have the strength to get up. Mr. Walter hits me, he kicks me again and again and again.

Again and again and again.

Again! And again! And again!

Because that’s what I deserve and what does it matter if-

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

I wake up screaming. I jump off of my bed like it’s on fire. My chest rises and falls quickly as I take in short, scared breaths. I can’t find my rhythm. I can’t move, but this time it’s because of panic, not because of a stupid dream. I didn’t realize I was in a dream, I should’ve. I’ve haunted so many dreams, but for the first time in centuries, I have my own and figure that it’s real. And now look where I am. Useless, weak, insane.

I run my hands through my hair, pulling the strands bit, hoping to find solace in the pain, but I don’t. I have to get out of here. I have to leave, right now.

I scramble for the window, try to pry it open. Nothing, it’s stuck. I hit it with my fist, but it only shudders. I find a book and hit it, nothing but a loud noise. Patty and her husband must hear it by now, they’re going to come looking for me, fuck.

I hit the window harder, finally, it cracks. Just a bit, but I know that it won’t be long until it’s shattered now. I raise the book, but a hand holds me back.

“Let go,” I growl, not quite knowing who it is. I only know that they’re stopping me. The person’s hands only grip tighter. “Let go!”

I can’t move the book, this is not a human. No mortal could hold me back. I stop trying to hurl it towards the window and slam it back into their face. The person yelps in surprise, letting go of the book. I twist around to see Anael.

“Nice of you to show up,” I spit. She could’ve stopped the dream. Or had me not sleep. She could’ve done something. But she didn’t.

“Don’t.”

One word, that’s what I get? One word?

I pick up the book and quickly smash the window. The web of cracks expands, nearly covering the whole window now. Anael rushes to stop  me, but not before I can deliver one more blow. The glass shatters. She grasps my arm, turning me to face her. I peer into to her jet black eyes.

“Please, don’t.”

“Let me go,” I beg, tears falling from my eyes.

“No,” Anael pulls me closer, preventing me from reaching the window. “No, Lore you can’t.”

“I need to!”

“It won’t help, I promise you that.”

“Let go of me! You don’t understand, I have to go back.” I claw at her arms, but, of course, she isn’t affected by it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m your guardian angel, I have-I have to protect you!”

“I’m not safe here!” I break through her grip and run towards the window. I climb onto the edge, looking out into the night sky.

“Just tell me why. What happened?” I know she’s stalling, but I give in regardless.

“You know what happened!” I turn to face her, back to the sky. “You could see it, I know you could!”

“I didn-”

“Don’t lie to me Anael.” I cut her off before she can even start.

“I couldn’t stop it, I’m sorry.”

“Why couldn’t you? You’re supposed to protect me!” I scream, not caring the someone could hear me.

“Someone could hear you…”

“He was so much like him, Anael. That man in my dreams was so much like him.” Anael looks like she’s about to comment, but I quickly continue. “Do you understand what that’s like? I can’t even remember my name in my past life, but I remember him. I remember the fear, and pain, and suffering, and sadness that he caused me. I remember how it felt to hold the knife above his heart, as he had threatened to do to me so many times before!”

“This isn’t the solution, you don’t want to go back there.”

“But I do! I want to because that happened last time. Last time when I died I was so happy. I was excited to stop feeling pain.” I take a deep breath, “I just don’t want to feel pain.”

“I understand that, but Lore, this won’t work. Trust me, please.”

“You don’t understand, though! This is a punishment for me!”

“Oh, so getting to live again is a punishment?” She retorts.

“How would you know, you didn’t get punished!”

“I didn't get punished?” She takes a shuddering breath, almost a laugh. Anael points to her eyes, “I got punished alright.”

“Practically every demon chooses eyes like those, it’s no punishment.”

“Every demon, I’m not a demon, I’m an angel!”

Oh.

“No one will even talk to me! Do you understand that? I’m completely alone and dead.” Tears brim her eyes, “At least you’re not alone.”

I step down from the window sill.

“It won’t be any better here, so I might as well be there.”

“It’ll get better.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” I ask quietly. Anael hugs my tightly.

“It will,” She pulls me closer, “It will because I’m here and you’re here. And we’re not alone.”

[cubcop-blog]

oh hey, congrats on finding this post,... mom.

anyways, i know that there's been a bit of.. confusion in the past days about my identity and things like that.. if you are snooping through this, you won't find much except random suggestions ( i dont look at them because its weird to me) and my likes, which is actually pretty useful stuff for you.

Ok, soo if you are wondering why i have this post up here, its because i feel like writing can express myself more than verbally speaking.. the only thing i would like to say is if you are going to say something or question ,heres a few good tips i got from (actual) posts of advice for lgbtq+ related things:

Don't yell or raise your voice at your child, and maintain a calm and (if possible) not too loud voice.

Sexual orientation isn't what you think it is- about sex, fantasy dreams of that sexuality or desires. It actually consists of liking, and can be possible with out these "pleasures". Please, do not assume that sexual orientation = always attracted to having sex/dreams of with that type of gender/person.

This is NOT A phase. if your child says they are sure of their gender, then just go with their lead, even if its against your beliefs.

Gender identification and Sexual orientation IS NOT affected by the environment! Even if there's certain quality aspects or likings, nothing can change your child's gender, love interest, or belief.. and you can't poke a hole in theirs.

gee, I'm still worried that you are going to ridicule me on this, but i understand if you don't feel super ok.. but i know one thing you are not going to do to my self being and identity- no matter how many times you say "no, this isn't right" or "you are not a label- you dont need to do this for attention" and "you are my only daughter, why the (heck) do you still think you are a boy??!".

all i have to tell you is..

mom, i know my self better than you, even if im not so sure...

i kept this away from you for 4 years, even if i said i was associating with this since 11yrs old. This was on my chest for 4 years! and this might be vile in text, but you cannot just push me away and just say its a phase. 4 years, and you never asked that "what do you feel like sometimes?" question. and just a few days i decided to come out to you.

it irks me a bit. not a lot. just enough to cry while typing this. im not mad, im just trying to "prove" my point and tell you what i am.

some days i hate myself.

some days i don't.

some days, i just try to layer up so i don't see my "girly chest" and other feminine features. i hate the dysphoria from that.

I'm scared, mom.

scared of being pushed away, deadnamed, and forced to use she/her pronouns.

what if i tell dad and he tries to kick me out?

what if we can't find a lgbtq+ counslor?

what if, just what if??

aspergers.

it DID NOT make me this way. i chose to do this.

i guess the correct way to explain is..

well,

uh..

my brain works in such a way that it only can understand some things-

example: my face. my brain keeps telling me that well, that my face is more like dads, so my face would be "masculine." same thing goes for my legs, neck and anythig else i got from dad, right?

but the thing is, i don't see much of your side in my structure, even if i have your eyes or eyebrows,chest,etc..

i just feel weird.

sometimes i have to look in the mirror and remind myself, day after day, painfuly thinking: "if genetics and resemblance is the most important part of recognition, why do i not line up or at least look more like my mom? so why does my brain think i look more like my dad just because of my face? is something wrong, or am i raising my expectations too high?"

I'm tired of this.

at school, everyone calls me by any pronoun, but mostly he/him, and im cool with that. sometimes i ask my teachers to refer to physical gender and pronuns so you wouldn't expect your kid to be trans.

"jay" was the only name i could possibly feel boyish with..but i knew that modeling after my dad was a mistake, because at first it confused you. i swore to myself that i wouldn't go by any other name except jay or my original name, and it pains me to actually type all of this, so please mom, don't push this aside, it means alot to me.

it pangs my heart, because i remember that last year, while you were scrolling helplessly through facebook, you had watched a video of a boy who was expressing himself through wearing a girl's scarf and wanting to be a fashion designer.. i remember you also saying that you would support your children just like him, no matter what..

what happened to that?

I know this sounds a tad off, but why would you say that you support that and then don't seem to support me when i came out to you?? and im not trying to argue, im just confused, really.

so, im just.. distraught.

distraught as in: to believe and led astray to a miscommunication or have a confusion of truth.

I will say this again, in a more clear way:

I am transgender FtM , meaning that i identify as male, not female.

and i haven't transitioned yet, so I'm not entirely "male" yet.

my sexual orientation is pansexual, meaning that i can love anyone, and can be in a relationship with anyone. my romantic attraction is currently homoromantic- and this one i cannot stress enough, this means that i am more attracted to GUYS, not girls since im transgender.

and yes, i know that i might of told you that i was more attracted to girls, but i was confused at the question you asked me..

but this DOES NOT mean that i fantasize about girls or boys in an inappropriate way, or want to do anything -intercourse- related, because i do not need to worry about that yet- not until I'm out of the house, anyways.

furthermore, my expression in clothing is still feminine, but i prefer dresses and skirts in the spring,summer-same goes for shorts and other breathable clothes. in the winter and fall, i layer up on jackets,sweaters and heavy coats.. i think you might already seen me wear the big fluffy jacket.. i like that one.

gives me a lot less stress because i cant see my chest (ironically, that rhymes)

as for name changes, as of right now i don't want to cause much stress with you trying to find my birth certificate or things like that, because i feel like even though my name is more adapt to a girl, i feel like it can work for a boy's name too!

(funny story, there was a boy named justice at Ed White Middle School while i was there in Texas! - i had a bit of a crush on him, but he was a tad bit annoying at the end.)

there's a whole bunch of things i also forgot to tell you, a bit of relationships over these years i was scared to tell you-

-I used to be in a polyamorous(multiple) relationship with Lindsey Jones, a 7th grader here at Rock Creek MS (just turned 13) she was super nice and supporting of me, and her boyfreind was actually Christian Young, a good freind of mine who now plays the baritone sax (hes an 8th grader now)! Sadly Lindsey moved away due to family fights and abusive sisters, but we cared for her through that.

-In my late 7th grade year, there was this (adorable) guy named Tim(late 6th grader, barely 12??), and he was homosexual but had a huge dorky crush on me- but i was only going to be his friend, because of age gap.

-6th grade year. Christian was new and so was i. we had a lot of things in common, and had alot of likes.

one day, somewhere in june (i think) he asked me out.

i kinda didn't know how to take this because we were actually the same age, and just in a best freind type of relationship.

so i nicely said no...

-ok, this was back in Hawaii(?), when i was on summer break.. this blonde boy named Collin was actually pretty nice to me and caring.. and im not making this up, because i remember his name vividly.. i think it was the first relationship I've been in.

so.. i hope this covered a lot.. none of the relationships I've been in have been sexual or abusive, and no, it wasn't foul either.

end of post. have a corgi attempting to jump a fence.