#i have no hand-eye coordination whatsoever

[starblazes]

wanting to be active on lisa's blog vs my disdain for genshin's game mechanics

[gloryseized]

ooc;; INBOX CALL! I’m mobile bound at the moment so like this and I can send some memes! Specify muse please~

[inkdrinkerworld]

i loveee touchy!bestfriend!james and i personally am not touchy whatsoever except for like a fewww people and idek why i like thinking of reader like that and Sirius and Remus and everyone are like ?? how come you rest your head in james lap and not ours how come you hold his hand blah blah and readers just like idk he’s just so comfy

Omg same!! They’d be so confused

You’d been studying for hours in your bedroom while James, Sirius and Remus had sorted out their own stuff.

You’ve got a midterm coming up and it’s for one of the more confusing topics ever so you’d told the boys not to bug you under any circumstances.

Now, a couple hours later, your eyes are blurry and your stomach is being teased by the scent of what you think is a roast dinner from the kitchen.

Your descent down the steps is anything but coordinated and you’re lucky James had been on his way up when you missed the last step and almost went flying across the floor.

His hand comes to your waist and another around your shoulders to steady you.

“Was just coming up to see if you wanted to have tea with us.”

You nod, in no hurry really to get out of James’ hold.

“Think you should lay down first, angel. You look about ten seconds from passing out.”

Remus and Sirius are setting up dinner in the living room- a bad habit you’ve all got stuck in when you didn’t own a dining table.

Their eyes go wide as saucers as they watch James sit and pull you into his lap. It’s mind boggling to them that there’s not even a hint of resistance on your part.

You hate being touched- you like to be the initiator and sometimes even that is a no-go. Remus and Sirius haven’t had brazen touches like James gets every day.

You lay your head on his broad chest, hearing his heartbeat steadily as you lay there.

“You gonna be able to eat, or d’you want me to pack it away?”

You shake your head, “Don’t move yet Jamie, think I’m gonna fall asleep.”

James nods, kissing the crown of your head- an action that makes Sirius grip onto the plates in his hands a little tighter.

“Fucker thinks he’s so smooth,” Remus mutters as he sets the cutlery down. Sirius nods, eyes on James who appears to be whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“Apparently they both are.” Sirius says, jutting his chin in your direction so Remus can see the way you’re playing with the hair on the nape of James’ neck with a little smile on your face.

[oik-tooru]

EITA SEMI AS YOUR SKATER/DRUMMER BF

characters eita semi, kenjiro shibaru, satori tendou

a/n i’ve posted this on a prev blog before so if it sounds similar that’s probblably why!

The clock on your phone reads 5:00 p.m. on the dot. Tucking the device back in the pocket of your hoodie (actually, it was his hoodie), you watched on with a fond smile, falling back to lean on the palms of your hands. 

The faint outline of Semi’s figure whizzed past you, wind tickling the exposed skin on your legs. Echoing down the empty, vast plane of the skatepark were the rattling sounds of the skateboard, wheels gliding along the chilled concrete. Their clickety-clackety sounds were a familiar comfort to you, reminiscent of a train chugging down the tracks—a beacon of nostalgia and a place that was like home to you.

He was like home to you.

Tugging the hood over your head, you hauled yourself up off the ground and made your way towards the metal railing, just next to the half-pipe. Semi paid you no mind, too focused on not eating shit as he went up the ramp, suspending himself in the air for a moment, before gracefully gliding back down and repeating the process over again.

You never got tired of watching him. In fact, the more you watched Semi skate the more entranced you were. Unlike him, you had no coordination on a board whatsoever; you were lucky to be able to just stand on the thing, let alone actually move along with it. So it was always a treat for you whenever you had the chance to witness Semi in his element, taking control of the skateboard and wielding it under his feet as if it were a weapon, streaking across metal railings and drifting on curved concrete. Other than the band, you’ve never seen Semi enjoy himself so much.

Speaking of which…

“Hey skater boy!” you called out. “Let’s go, you’re late!”

Semi paused, glancing over from where he stood atop the half-pipe. He flashed you an angelic smile, making your heart skip a beat as he came down, planting his feet firmly on the ground and stopping right in front of you. He tugged his beanie off, silver hair messily framing his flushed face. You reached over and gently brushed his bangs away with the sleeve of your—his—hoodie, laughing softly when Semi tilted his head up, bumping his nose against the curve of your wrist.

“Having fun?” you asked, bringing your hand back down. 

“Yeah, thanks, I really...I really needed this,” he said breathlessly, bending down and picking the skateboard up, tucking it under his arm. With his other, he threw it around your shoulder and pulled you close, leading you out of the skatepark.

“Good, ‘cause now Shirabu’s gonna chew my ass out for making you late,” you snorted.

“I mean, it’s quite a walk to the venue, and we’re never gonna get there quick enough if we just walk.” Semi shrugged nonchalantly, trying and failing to keep the rising smirk off his face. You raised an eyebrow, freezing in your tracks and stepping away from his hold.

“What are you implying?”

Semi’s smirk widened, eyes drifting down to the board in his hands, and that’s when it clicked. Immediately, you whipped around and began fast-walking down the street, ignoring your boyfriend’s mirthful laughter as he jogged to catch up with you.

“Oh, c’mon–”

“Semi, I am not riding that thing.”

“Why–”

You threw him a look over your shoulder, unamused at the bouts of giggles bursting through his lips. Semi wasn’t stupid—he knew the reason why, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy seeing you squirm about it every now and then.

He finally caught up to you, steps slowing down as he grabbed onto your hand and slipping his fingers between yours. You pretended not to notice the way your skin flared up at the sudden gesture. Instead, you buried your face in the collar of the hoodie, relaxing as the familiar scent of lavender and sandalwood permeated your senses.

“I’ll hold your hand the whole time if it makes you feel better–ack!” Semi yelped when you firmly elbowed him in the side.

“Are you kidding me? I told you to be here by five, and it’s almost fifteen minutes past. Semi, I swear if you didn’t need your hands today I would’ve broken them by now.” Shirabu jabbed Semi’s chest with his finger, brows furrowed in frustration and lips downturned in a disappointed pout. From where you sat on the leather couch, an amused snicker left your lips.

You regretted it almost instantly as Shirabu’s attention was now brought on you, and you braced yourself.

“Y/n, don’t even get me started on–”

“Shirabu,” Tendou scolded lightly, coming up behind him and placing his hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “We’re on in five, get ready. You can yell at them later.”

No sooner did the words leave Tendou’s lips came their manager stumbling into the room, headset resting crookedly upon his face. 

“What are you all still doing here? The fans are waiting, let’s go!” He gestured hurriedly. 

The other members of the band quickly followed suit, each of them picking up their respective instruments; Shirabu with his guitar, Tendou with his bass, and Semi with his drumsticks. You trailed along behind them, chest vibrating at the sheer noise coming from the crowd as you neared the stage. 

Once they were behind the wings, Shirabu pulled them into a huddle, wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders. You stayed back and gazed at them with a soft smile on your face, occasionally taking a peek through the curtains. Compared to other venues, this one was significantly less substantial in terms of space and audience number, but the screams and shouts of support from the crowd definitely rivaled those of bigger venues. 

The band finished their huddle with a simple chant, and almost immediately, the stage lights dimmed, causing the audience to scream even louder (if that were even possible). You sat back on one of the crates, heart racing as you watched Shirabu run on stage, followed by Tendou. But instead of going along with them, Semi swiftly turned around and strode over to you.

Your expression fell into one of confusion. “Semi, what are you–”

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence before Semi’s lips connected with yours. His free hand, the one that wasn’t holding his drumsticks, tenderly cupped your face, thumb gently stroking your cheek. The kiss was delicate and warm, like a single flutter of a butterfly’s wing on your lips, and it was just so like Semi you couldn’t help but tug him even closer.

“Hey Semi! If you’re done sucking face, we need you out here! Don’t make me come back there and drag you,” Shirabu announced into his mic, rolling his eyes as the audience members erupted into even louder cheers

A laugh bubbled out from your lips and you pulled away, resting your forehead against Semi’s. His eyes were open and peering intently into your own, causing your face to flare up once again. You pushed your hand against his chest.

“Go,” you urged. “Don’t give Shirabu another reason to yell at us for.”

Semi didn’t move away for a second, but then he surged forward once more, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

“Cheer for me, yeah?” he breathed. “Always.”

[inklore]

lost in the fire

premise: as miguel pulls you on top of him he knows that no matter what happens, no matter who is sent to kill you next, letting you die will never be an option. 

pairing: assassin!miguel o'hara x f!assassin!reader

word count: 1.4k

contents: mentions of guns and violence, bruises, blood, brief piv, sooo much angst, enemies to lovers, this is an au therefore not comic canon.

note: i didn't expect to actually really love this lil storyline so if there's any interest whatsoever i could for sure see this as a mini series.

haunted hoedown day eight.

This might be the last time. 

The final straw that breaks the patience of his boss. 

The ammunition that loads the gun and has it pressed to his temple. That finally pulls the trigger and puts an end to this web of chaos—lust—and fuckups he continuously lets happen when he’s sent out to kill her.

To kill you. 

An endless chase is what he tells his boss. 

A tip off. 

A job that’s set up for him to lose because you’re always three steps ahead of him. 

Someone has to be setting him up. A thorn in his side that refuses to be pulled out to allow him to wrap his hands around your throat, pulling life from your lungs instead of moans. 

But he knows after this, after this fuckup, after coming back empty handed again, this will be the last time. That they’ll send someone else to do his job. That he will no longer chase you around a new city or country and end up between your legs.

Bruises and dried blood around eyes and noses, cheeks, and eyebrows smoothed out by hungry lips and gentle teeth. 

The next person sent to kill you won’t fight you for dominance; won’t put his fist to your cheek to wind you enough to wrap a hand around the back of your neck to pull you to his lips. 

No.

It’ll be a gun pointed at your head.

A knife at your throat. 

And as much as Miguel loves his job, as easy as it for him to kill someone. To not bat an eye when blood stains his suits, his skin, his tongue from a cut lip, he loves you more. 

He hates himself for it. 

Grovelled over it for nights, days, months, a year. 

Swears the next time will be when he comes to his senses and does his fucking job. Not end up in bed with you. Not let your nails dig into his back, his thighs in pleasure, but instead in pain. 

Instead of begging him to let you come, you’ll be begging for him to not kill you. 

Then he sees you.

That cat like look in your eyes—michief, tortment, a challenge—and he’s back to where he’s started. Ignoring all the consequences that will come from this. 

He hasn’t asked you if you feel the same. Doesn’t dare. 

You were sent to kill him the first time. He sent to kill you. 

And instead of either of you doing your jobs, you ended up in bed. 

Again.

And again. 

He’s seen you kill so easily. He’s seen you bleed. He’s seen you stitch yourself up. He’s seen you come. He’s heard you whisper sentiments in his ear that sound too close to love to not be anything other than that, but when morning comes, you’re gone, and it’s as if it never happened. The clock resetting, the board wiped clean to start the game all over again. 

A note scribbled in your handwriting on the pillow that still smells like you of your next coordinates. An invitation to actually do his job—an invitation to give it up and come to you on his own and not with a contract attached to it. 

He doesn’t know which holds more truth.

Doesn’t know why he never let himself jump over the hurtle to find out. 

Together the two of you could take down whatever men are sent to do what the both of you should have done a year ago. You were the best. He was the best. 

“No weaknesses; we need people like that in this business.” His boss had said. Complimented him on how little he cared about in life other than doing his job and doing it well. 

He can hear the disappointed grunt his boss will give before he shoots him between the eyes, discovering the only weakness Miguel has is the woman standing in front of him now. 

Your scowl casts a dark shadow over the fire in your eyes. A fire that’s usually there for other reasons. Not from the heavy sentiment that holds the tension in the air after he’s said them. You’re angry at him for swiping the board clean of all the pawns. From letting reality in before both of you actually wined up dead. 

“Don’t you know how sick with love I am for you?” There’s anger in his voice, but it’s not at you. It’s never at you. It’s anger hiding the anguish he feels for feeling for you. For letting himself fuck a target. 

For letting it go past that. 

For letting the ice around his heart melt instead of holding steady enough to get the promotion that would surely come from your blood on his hands. 

The thought alone makes him sick. 

“Love has nothing to do with this.” The anger in your voice holds nothing but that. The only slip of anything other than fumes and flames ready to burn is your hands. How your fingers crack and twitch at your sides. 

A tick of nervousness, a tick of things getting too real for you—something Miguel picked up after he let it slip that he loved you one night. How you can’t stop fidgeting when he asks you about work or asks you why you don’t just kill him.

“Put me out of my misery because I’ll be stuck in it if I don’t kill you, and I can’t.”

“You just don’t want me to be the death of you because you’re not man enough to do what you’ve been sent to do.”

There’s a sting in his chest, one he has to look away from you to swallow down. His fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “There’s no getting out of this alive for either of us. This is the best option.”

The suggestion, the plan he had come up with before showing up here, that he had begged you to listen to. A plan that would have the both of you running for the rest of your lives, but you’d be together. 

Alive.

Together. 

“There is no best option here, Miguel.” You turn your back to him. Your reflection in the window shows all the emotions you’re not letting him see—not allowing him to see. “Not when love is involved. Everyone loses.” 

Love is involved. 

The closest you’ve come to actually telling him you love him. 

His heart squeezes, his eyes shut, clenching. 

When he walks over to you, when his hand runs along your side, he can feel you try to move away, silently resisting him. But your body doesn’t get the memo from the neurons in that beautiful brain of yours because you’re leaning into him when his palm splaws against your abdomen. 

Fingers at the junction of your neck and chin to turn your head to look at him. The anger in your eyes glossed over by the same anguish he feels pulling the strings of his heart. 

“One of us dies or both of us do.” Miguel says softly, eyes looking from yours to your mouth. “Because I’m leaving this room with you, not without you. You do your job,” kill him, “or we make the chase fun for them before they do what we never could.” 

There’s a silence that falls where you’re just staring at him. Every thought and word you’re not speaking all over your face. “I don’t think I like this hero complex of yours,” you sigh, bringing your hand up to the back of his neck. 

The corners of Miguel's mouth pull from a smirk into something soft, “you know how to stop it.”

“As much as I like to make you bleed, I like you living even more.” You say before bringing your mouth up to his. The kiss gentler than you’re both used. A kiss that cements both of the targets on your backs into a beacon for your bosses to come and find you. 

Kill you. 

But as Miguel pulls you on top of him, the two of you working quick to pull him from his pants and have you sink down on him—a mutual breath of relief falling from your open mouths—he knows that no matter what happens, letting you die will never be an option. 

Killing when you have nothing to lose is never quite as gruesome as when you do have something, someone. 

And you’re not something Miguel is going to lose.

[undead-supernova]

The Room Burned Down / Masterlist

Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

plot: maybe going to award shows together isn't as fun as you think it's gonna be...so, baby, can we dance through an avalanche?...I'd hold you as the water rushes in...

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: public shaming, some fluff, a hint of spice, arguments, smoking, mentions of addiction, mentions of abuse, mentions of fatphobia

wc: 5.8k

“Do I have to talk to the press?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” your manager, Clara, said, typing away on her phone.

“They’re going to rake me across the coals.”

It had been nearly a month since your first date with him. Despite his hope that the noise would die down, it was only exasperated by the fact that you two hadn’t been seen out in public, sparking breakup rumors. But it was only that he had his promo and you had yours, traveling round and round with no time to rest. You even had outfit fittings for this very event that kept you in two different cities. It hadn’t put any strain on your relationship. If anything, it did the opposite. You lived your own lives, calling when possible. Texting nonstop once you caught a break at the same time. It was all so new for you. 

Clara looked at you through the reflection of the mirror, her professional face on. “If they do, just smile and walk away. Thank them for their time. Just try to stay neutral like you always do. You’ll be perfect, I promise.”

            Knock.

You peered over at the wall, a smile forming on your lips.

You knew exactly who would pull that move.

Knock, knock, you sent back.

            Knock, knock, knock.

            Knock, knock, knock, knock.

“Stop it, oh my god.”

A giggle left your lips. “Sorry.”

It was merely a coincidence that Corroded Coffin was getting ready for the American Music Awards on the same floor as you…directly next to you, that is. All by happenstance and absolutely nothing else. There was no coordination whatsoever and if anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d deny it. 

But here you were, causing mischief within the first hour of being situated. To be fair, you hadn’t seen Eddie yet, rushed off before Corroded Coffin even showed up. It was whiplash, Clara already spouting off the plans for the night. The time you’d get into the car. When you’d get out. The red carpet. Reminding you how to pose, how to smile. All the while, people floated around you with makeup brushes and endless cups of coffee. Hushed whispers and sighs.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

When you didn’t respond, you watched your door open in the reflection with Eddie stepping in, dodging the assistants and the assistant’s assistant running around. You smiled as you took in his appearance. Loose t-shirt and sweatpants, all cozy and soft. Hair damp, bangs pulled back. You noticed he’d been sat down for makeup, only one of his eyelids dusted in navy eye shadow. 

God, you’d missed him.

“What’re you doing in here?” you asked, nearly jumping up to give him the biggest kiss he’d ever received. But when your knees jerked, Clara placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you down. The pout on your lips wouldn’t even sway her.

“You didn’t answer my knock,” Eddie said, trying to sound innocent, placing a hand over his chest. “I thought you were dead.”

You giggled, but Clara only sighed, shaking her head as she fought a smile. “I can’t believe you both. Like toddlers, I swear.” She turned to Eddie. “Get out of here. We leave in two hours, and I know that hair takes at least one. Don’t make me call Paige.”

Eddie sent you a wink from the shadowed eye. “See you later, babe.”

You chuckled. “Bye, Eddie.”

Today was big for the two of you. Big big. You were sitting at a reserved table with Corroded Coffin. Just you, Eddie, Grant, Gareth, Jeff, and Ronnie. All together. In public. On TV. 

Your boyfriend would be with you unlike the last few wanting nothing to do with the exposure, usually hiding across the room. But Eddie insisted, only wanting to be near you all night. There for you, rooting for you as you were there for him, rooting for him. Getting to spend time with his close friends and his girlfriend.

Everything was starting to fall into place. The noise was becoming more bearable the more they stayed out of earshot. The world was unable to penetrate the magnificent walls you’d built around your hearts. And if you could just get through tonight without a fuck up or a bout of controversy, everything would be okay.

When you emerged from your hotel room, nearly ten minutes late, you found Eddie waiting for you, dark eyes widened as he looked over your outfit. You were in a Sixties Go-go dancer fantasy with a sparkly pink romper, the straps wrapped around your neck. Tall block-heeled boots reaching your knees. A thick pink boa to drape over your elbows. Dripping in jewels. 

An absolute daydream.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Eddie exclaimed, picking you up and spinning you around, the boa floating to the floor. You took in his scent, that beautiful mixture of nicotine and bergamot from whatever cologne he’d started wearing lately. His breath was fresh against your neck, your ear, your jaw. His warmth bleeding through his double-breasted navy suit, textured from the polyester and cherry blossom pattern. 

When a nearly silent gasp left your lips, Eddie wasted no time with hiding himself with his hair and nipping at your neck. Your grasp on his shoulders tightened as his fingers dug into your sides. Feeling his tongue lightly flick over the mark made you feel, well, insane. Had it really been an entire month without his breath? Had you really spent an entire mouth with his voice over the phone, guiding you through your orgasms as you whined and begged for him? Had you really gone this long without him?

Despite wanting to pull him back into the room and rip off his ridiculously expensive clothes, you grabbed your boa and his hand before jogging towards the elevator.

Jeff, Grant, Gareth, and Ronnie were already down at the car, probably drinking complimentary champagne and getting ready to sit in the audience for four hours, waiting for their names to be called. You couldn’t blame them. It did get rather boring after a while of the cameras and commercial breaks and announcers and performances. You’d almost been asked to perform, but before you could say yes, they asked Olivia to do it instead. It wasn’t something you minded, but there was a little part of you had felt sad at the loss.

But you were here to have fun, not worrying about who was who or what people had to say about you. Just have fun with the people who knew what real fun was. Be able to survive the night. 

Survive. Endure. Have fun.

As you made your way through to the lobby, hand in hand, you glanced over at Eddie again. You couldn’t believe how beautiful he was, always seeming to take your breath away. It was an accurate cliché, but one that couldn’t fully encompass how you felt. Hell, the English language wasn’t even enough.

“You’re a vision in navy,” you complimented, taking him in once again.

“Apparently, it’s a deep Prussian,” he corrected before rolling his eyes.

“Oh, my bad,” you replied sarcastically. 

“Hey!”

Paige was storming towards you, scowling. 

When you looked at Eddie, he just smiled at her and waved. “Paige, how lovely to see you tonight.”

But Paige merely groaned. “Get your asses to the car.”

“Look how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, Eddie—”

“Cut it, Romeo,” Paige interrupted, shoving you through the door and into the limo with the rest of the band. Everyone cheered, handing you both champagne before clinking your glasses together.

You couldn’t help but look over at Eddie, his grin just as wide as yours.

I’m so in love with you, you thought, so close to letting it fall out. I’m so, so in love with you.

“Come on,” Paige shouted, making you flinch as you watched her signal to the driver. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

As soon as you were let out of the car, Clara led you away from the group, ushering you towards the photo ops and interviews. Men behind cameras called your name, begged for your attention. This was still something you found strange, like being held in a cage. You were to be spectated, gawked at by the public as nothing more than a show. A source of entertainment that extended far beyond your comprehension.

But Clara had trained you for this since the first time you ever stepped out on one of these carpets. You knew how to give them what they wanted. So, you put your hand on your hip. Pivoted every few seconds for different angles. Let the light hit your highlighter at just the right moment. A smirk. A laugh. Shiny smile. Shiny eyes.

It killed you the moment you heard your boyfriend’s name being called from behind you, harmonious with the sound of the rest of their names being shouted out. The photographers were going nuts as they found their way onto the carpet. You wanted to look back at him, wanted to admire how he shone. 

Because he did. He always did.

Eddie Munson knew how to shine without even breathing. Without talking. Without smiling. He could part a crowd like it was nothing, could bring everyone to their knees if he merely snapped his fingers. It was undeniable.

Everyone wanted him.

And, dangerously, he was all yours.

“You’ve been busy!”

You chuckled, trying to keep your eyes from flickering over at the camera being shoved in your face. This was the first interview of the night, the first of five. Five. It was something you’d agreed to months ago, but you didn’t realize just how taxing it would feel until the blonde woman in front of you stuck her microphone up to your lips.

“Oh, yeah!” you responded. “With writing the new album and thinking about the next tour and stuff, I’ve just been running around and trying to keep everything in check. Plus, Acacia My Dear means so much to me, I don’t want another album to overshadow that hard work.”

“And I’m sure you get a lot of support from your new boyfriend, Eddie Munson.”

You’d anticipated the mention, mulled it over and let yourself spiral late at night. But nothing prepared you for your dry mouth, for the lump in your throat as you began to scramble for an answer.

“Well, I’ve been really focused on my music,” you responded.

But she wasn’t letting up. “Will there be any songs about him on the new album?”

“I think art is always up for interpretation.” You smiled bigger despite your frustration, looking over her shoulder and pretending to notice someone. “I have to go, thank you.”

But you weren’t out of the woods yet.

            “Have you collaborated with your boyfriend on anything?”

            “I really like to write by myself. The songwriting and the music are so important to me. Obviously, it’s important to the people who are so talented in different ways. I’m just grateful that people seem to care about it as much as I do.”

            “You and Eddie are so different. How does that translate at shows like this?”

            “I think everyone is here because they’re successful and talented at what they do. I can only hope that I measure up tonight.”

            “Do you think Corroded Coffin has a chance tonight?”

            “Everyone here is so talented. I hope that everyone gets a chance to shine as much as they do. I know that winning isn’t everything, but I hope I have a good shot.”

            “Is your new album influenced by Eddie’s sound at all?”

            “I’m talented and successful because of the sound I’ve cultivated and what I do. I think that I will continue to evolve as an artist and as a songwriter and, for me, I believe that I have been doing just that.” 

Four more interviews and each one talked about Eddie and not your music. Not your success. You hissed to your publicist that no one was allowed to even mutter Eddie’s name in an interview again and she furiously nodded and apologized. Clara nearly told you to cool it, but you stormed off into the venue. You didn’t want to hear from her. You’d done your fucking job.

When you spotted Eddie inside talking to Grant, you immediately found yourself in his arms. Away from the cameras. Away from the vultures. 

“Eddie.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, rubbing your back. 

“I think I’m gonna cry,” you gasped, anxiety flooding your system. Your hands were shaking, mind frenzied by the noise and the people and the fucking embarrassment.

“No, hey. It’s alright. Tell me what happened.”

You pulled back, but Eddie kept his hands on your waistline. Kept you close.

“They just kept bringing you up. I tried to steer it all away back to my music, but they just kept going.”

“Hey, they asked me that shit, too.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that my relationship is private, but I’m proud of all your hard work right now. ‘Cause I am.”

Immediately, you felt like a shitty girlfriend. “I should’ve said that. I’m sor—"

“Look at me, baby,” he interrupted, searching your eyes. “Tell me your favorite Beatles song right now. Hm?”

Searching your mind, you were caught on the only lyrics that came to mind.

            “Life is very short and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.”

“‘We Can Work It Out’.”

“And we can,” he replied with a small smile, tapping your chin. You nodded. “Let’s just go sit down with everyone and try to bring the energy back, alright? I’m right here with you, baby. Always.”

But there were other lyrics to that song, ones that echoed even louder.

            “Try to see it my way

            Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong

            While you see it your way

            There’s a chance that we may fall apart before too long.”

Everything was turned around, the smiles and the laughter returning you to your senses. Corroded Coffin won the only award they were up for tonight. Naturally. After that, Jeff had pulled out a hidden deck of cards. You, him, Eddie, and Gareth were in a mean game of Go Fish, giggling your way through Gareth trying to cheat.

You were hardly listening when someone said your name onstage. Looking up from your cards, you heard the tail end of it. 

“…is about to switch genres, sitting over there with her new boyfriend.” The crowd around you laughed. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You saw Eddie’s hand in your peripheral vision, saw the middle finger starting to lift, and pushed his hand down. No need to make a scene.

“Quick, Eddie. Don’t get too close!”

Without hesitation, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, and Ronnie all stood up and flipped him off. Ronnie even pointed hers directly at the camera filming your reaction.

The audience gasped while other celebs at tables cheered them on.

What the fuck was happening?

Eddie glanced at you before getting up and stepping onto his chair. Slowly, he raised his middle finger.

The crowds roared, the presenter starting to look embarrassed as the whole room turned into chaos. Dozens of pictures captured their defiance, their retaliation.

And you?

Well, you sat there with a neutral expression, already trained in the art of disguising your emotions. Your lips didn’t hold a smile or a frown, something set in the middle. You controlled your eyes to stay in position, refusing to widen or fall half-lidded. Refusing to look up at your boyfriend.

But inside, you were something else entirely.

Full of rage at the jokes, full of fear at the way Eddie’s whole band went to bat for you. Furious at yourself for being unable to find the will to stand up with them. Terrified at what the world was about to say about it. Humiliated that they felt the need to pull a stunt to a stupid joke you’d heard a million times.

“Woah, woah, guys! Calm down!” the presenter said with a shaky laugh. He was clearly not anticipating what was happening. “It’s all jokes, promise. All jokes. Nice organization, though, truly. Anyways, moving on to the next category. Here presenting the award—”

As everyone sat back down, Jeff and Gareth went back to their game like it was nothing. 

You turned to your boyfriend. “Eddie—”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes meeting yours. “I can’t just let them do that. People have to know that it’s not okay.”

“Eddie, they’re gonna talk about us,” you said, noticing your southern accent bleeding through. Fuck. “Y’all can’t just do that. Think of tomorrow, think of—”

“And the nominees are for Best Pop Album are…”

You had to look away, remember where you were. Because that was your name they were saying up there, yourface they were zoning in on. 

And it was you that everyone was looking at as you were declared the winner.

You began standing, Eddie helping to pull out your chair. Turning to him, you thought about kissing him, thought about hugging him. Thought about giving him any sliver of physical affection while the world was watching. 

His hand reached out for yours, but you gave him a small smile before dipping your head and walking toward that stage. Alone. Without anyone by your side to help you up the steps. The applause was nearly deafening, the support seemingly louder than before. 

But you had to focus, clearing your throat as you took the shiny award, resembling a shard of glass ready to pierce your skin at a moment’s notice. You reminded yourself of where you were, what you were doing. What you had to do. Face the world yet again. 

Leaning into the microphone, you began.

“I’d really like to thank my record label for giving me the opportunity to explore new sounds and trusting me with the writing and producing process. Acacia My Dear is obviously a play on the Beatles song and I was so inspired to create an album centered around a fictional version of myself that I created. To tell that story was so euphoric and beautiful.” A few cheers sounded. “My art is what keeps me going and I’ll never stop loving it. Never. Um,” you stumbled, looking back out at the crowd before back at your award. 

There were words on your togue.

I’d like to thank Eddie for being so supportive these last five months. 

But you only shook your head. 

“So, yeah, this is for the fans and the many, many young queer women out there who want to make music. Y’all—” you paused, careful to switch your accent back. “You all can do it and you can be successful.” You lifted the award high into the air. “If I can, you can, too. Thank you.”

You’d made it to the vacant bathroom, made it to the sink in time to feel yourself start to lose it. 

This wasn’t the time to lose it.

You couldn’t.

But you were.

Being an outcast in high school was something you had in common with Eddie. While your circumstances differed and you didn’t know much about his past, you knew that you were both given the same nickname. Freak. You weren’t too sure exactly how you were supposed to be much of a freak, but you’d been labeled as such since grade school. It was always something new, from your interests to your appearance to whatever you said or did in class. The punchline to bets made by boys in the name of sheer boredom.

But girls and boys are both cruel. And whoever said boys shouldn’t hit girls never went to your schools. You were pushed into walls. Punched. Called names. Cyberbullied once emailing became a thing. Humiliated on social media once that came around. You were ugly, fat. Freak. A wannabe musician who had no talent. Freak. A loner who sat by herself and wrote during recess because nobody liked you enough to let you to play with them. Freak. Booed when you sang at your talent shows, left uninvited to sleepovers and birthday parties.

Freak.

The only thing you held sacred was your music that you recorded on GarageBand and uploaded to YouTube and Soundcloud, back when all of that was way more popular. It gained traction somehow, your song “High Walls” getting thousands upon thousands of views and praise. A record label saw the spike and took a chance on you, thinking you were talented enough at eighteen to make it big.

And you did. 

But you still had nightmares about those days. Spent time in therapy talking about how ridiculous you felt that you were still haunted by teenage girls and boys, all surrounding you with hollering laughter and pointed fingers. How you still heard their words echo in your mind whenever you looked online and saw the vile things being said about you. Still felt the sting of salt in your wounds whenever friends you’d made would stab you in the back.

The sound of heels brought you back to your reality, brought you back to the faint hum of the performance on the other side of the theater. For a moment, you thought that maybe Ronnie or Clara decided to see if you were okay. 

But you were disappointed to find some actress you forgot the name of. You recognized her face and nothing more. Her dark hair curled down to her shoulders, showered in golden eyeshadow and body glitter. She recognized you immediately, eyebrows shooting up at the mere sight of you.  

But she kept moving to the other side, holding her words back. You knew they were coming, anticipated them as she got settled. Her lips wrapped around a vape, her back and one red pump pressed against the wall. 

Crossing her arms, she began her prodding. “Some show, huh?”

You only shrugged.

“Want a hit?”

You looked at her, seeing that the offer was coming from a place of understanding rather than passing judgment or niceties. Because her mouth was scrunched up to the side, like she felt bad for you. Like she was genuinely just trying to figure out how to help.

And though you never really smoked cigarettes all that often, you took it from her and pulled a long drag. Well, maybe too long. The rush of nicotine hit you hard, dizzying before you felt the release. Like you were flying, like you were escaping from whatever hell you were being trapped in. And it was fleeting, the moment ending as soon as the cloud of smoke left your lips.

You handed it back to her. “Thanks,” you said with a breathy laugh. The familiar taste of MAC lipstick lingered on your tongue. 

“Yeah, no problem.”

Thinking the interaction was over with, you went back to looking at yourself. Your mind was close to clearing, was so close to being brought back from the brink of madness. If you could just get through the night without another hiccup or mistake, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe if you stayed perfectly calm—  

“Eddie Munson, huh?”

You refrained from letting out a scoff, your impulse control not strong enough to keep you from throwing up your hand before it slapped against the counter.

“Yeah. Eddie Munson.”

She noticed your irritation but didn’t get upset. She only watched you, tilting her head as she took another drag.

“What’s he like?”

The question rang in your head, echoing around you like there were a million voices asking at once. Because he was the one that everyone wanted, the one everyone gravitated towards. He was yours but he was also everyone else’s. Even if you could separate the two, could extract him from their narratives and stories, they would still be there. All rallied behind him like an army following blindly in his honor. 

But it wasn’t like they would do the same for you, was it? No, you were an outsider to the genre, to the subculture that he was in. You were just some popstar who didn’t get it, didn’t get him. Chasing a momentary high like that drag you took. Here one second, gone the next. Lulling him into the haze before fading into the gray. And you realized that even if you were given the chance to be with him forever, a chance that now seemed extremely slim, you would never truly be the sole person who got to keep him. 

Loving him forever comes with a cost. 

Looking back at your reflection, you sighed.

“A dream.”

Before you gave her any time to respond, you left.

Your ride back to the hotel was quiet, Eddie’s breathing becoming ragged with every red light they endured. He was worrying you, not even looking you in the eye when you got back to your seat. For the rest of the night. When you got a car together. When you stepped into the lobby. The elevator.

But then Eddie was taking off his blazer, trudging down the hallway, the boom of his combat boots bouncing off the walls.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” you asked, trying to keep up.

“You barely even touched me the whole night.”

“Y’all stood up and made a scene!”

“Because he was being a goddamn prick.”

“I know, but that’s why you just don’t give them a reaction! It just causes more attention and then people think you do it because you want attention and then it just gets spun into something it’s not because people love drama—"

“No,” Eddie said harshly, turning around to face you. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about the fucking internet. I wanted to congratulate you on your win and yet you just walked away. It hurt.”

“What you guys did hurt me. It was unprofessional.”

Eddie stopped then, pausing to really look at you for what felt like the first time since the band stood up. 

But he had no time to respond.

“Hey, what the fuck are you yelling at him for?!” Ronnie shouted down the hall, her boots just as loud as his.

She really did look a lot like Eddie, with the same curly hair and hardened stare. The same protective nature, the same wild heart. But her eyes were void of any compassion, any sympathy. She was fucking pissed, and it was only directed at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did y’all ever think about how I’d feel about it? It was tough enough to publicly sit—”

“I’m so sorry that sitting at a table with your boyfriend and his friends is such a chore for you.”

Behind her, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff approached, their laughter cut short at the intensity of her words. Eyes trained on the scene in front of them. All three men silent, all three men watching the showdown that you didn’t ask to be a part of.

“Ronnie,” Eddie said. It sounded more like a warning, but she was still looking at you, still ready to pounce.

And so, she did.

“You’re a coward,” Ronnie seethed. “You’re lucky to have someone like him and I know you’ll gladly throw it away just because it isn’t the fucking fairytale you imagined. This is real life, sweetie. I know you sit there in your fantasy world with your sugarcoated lyrics and your fake smile. Too afraid to let anyone know how you really feel. Too afraid to hold your boyfriend’s fucking hand. A goody two-shoes who does nothing but cry about how unfair her life is even though you have everything you could ever need.

“You think you’re risking everything for him? For us? No. You’re not risking a goddamn thing if you just sit there and take it. Avoid it. Act like it’s not happening. We stood up for you because we fucking care about Eddie and Eddie cares about you. We didn’t have to do that. We could’ve just let him make fun of you for three more hours and let you get humiliated. But we did that, and I don’t care if you didn’t like it. You needed help. And you’re an idiot for acting like this has anything to do with professionalism. 

“You’re nothing but a coward. I can only hope you’ll change your fucking attitude for Eddie’s sake. But if you’re going to keep acting like this, you need to leave him and us the hell alone. Don’t drag someone into your fucking mess if you can’t clean it up.”

You tried not to cry in front of her, tried not to give in to bending and breaking of your soul. Her speech was loud, deafening, ringing in your ears like waves crashing into each other. Instead of replying, you turned and ran into your hotel room and slammed the door behind you. Sobs escaped your lips as you did everything you could to take all that shit off. Threw the boa on the floor. Threw your shoes at the headboard. Let your jewelry land wherever the fuck it wanted. 

But your romper was harder, sticking to your skin with the sweat and nerves and— 

The door opened, Eddie rushing into the room like it was burning down. And in some ways, it really felt like it. The heat and the sweat and the nerves and the way Ronnie shot those flaming arrows, the way it set your brain afire. The way it was starting to spread.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry about Ronnie. She gets really protective of me; it’s been a thing since we were kids—"

“Maybe this is too much,” you interrupted, “Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone less messy. Less cowardly.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you suggesting we break up?”

“I just,” you started, watching his eyes start to widen. “I don’t know. I feel like your whole life is being thrown into chaos because of me and I don’t want you having to change your whole life or fuckin’ feel the need to defend me on national television. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to Grant and Gareth and Jeff and Ronnie.”

“Baby, I want you, okay? I’m willing to push through the bullshit if it means that I’ll get to fucking see you at the end of the day or week or even month. You’ve changed my life.”

You shook your head. He was lying, he had to be. Or he was living in delusion, riding on that fucking fairytale that Ronnie claimed you’d created. That wasn’t his reality, wasn’t yours.

“You just don’t understand, Eddie!”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “I know this is hard on you. I know. But you’re not the only one hurting, okay? I don’t like this any more than you do, and I don’t think it’s fair that you’re acting like I don’t get it. People call me a man whore or a player or whatever. And even though I recovered, people still think I’m a fucking cokehead. That shit is brutal. I’m not this crazy person who does what all the bands did in the Sixties or Seventies. Hell, even the Eighties and Nineties.”

Your eyebrows pulled in tight at his admittance. 

“It sickens me,” he continued, his stare intensifying. “I’m just a loser who got lucky and got out of a shitty small town.” He gestured away from himself. “I’m still that loser. That freak. And I was never given a chance by girls after we blew up—hell, most guys laughed at me. I had to just figure this out for myself, and I,” he gestured back to himself, “have chosen to remove myself from it. Remove myself from that picture they’ve painted for me. And then I found someone who fucking understands.”

As you listened, Eddie’s hand came back down, brushing against yours before weaving your fingers together.

“Someone who sees the world like I do and chooses me despite it being so…so loud. And you have spent your life thinking you have to do this alone. I get it. So did I. But one thing I’ve learned that you haven’t is that you don’t have to do this alone. We got you. I got you.”

“This is going to look so bad for you,” you whispered, tears running down your cheeks.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t care.”

Your head shook for you, rapidly denying his words. 

“And the rest of the band.”

His fingers met the back of your head, trying to soothe you as he rubbed circles into the muscles.

“I don’t care.”

Your eyes searched his as you tried to make sense of it all, make sense of the fact that he was still here. He hadn’t left. He’s saying things that no one, no one, had said to you before and meant so fervently. 

“And me,” you finished, barely above a whisper.

He paused for a split second, long enough for you to catch it before he finally looked away, tucking his lip into his mouth.

His forehead bumped against yours, taking a deep breath. You did the same, breathing him in as you tried to find the will to stay.

To fight.

To keep whatever the hell it was that you had.

“Baby, I want to be with you.” His eyes shot back up to yours, tears collecting in his eyes.

“And I want our privacy. Trust me, I understand how you feel. But I still want to go outside and be as normal as we can. I wanna go get dinner and coffee and do whatever the fuck we want. I want to post a picture of you and dedicate my songs to you and be open and whatever the fuck else I want.”

“I feel the same way.”

“I know you do, baby. That’s why I want you to understand me. I want the same things you do, and I want us to figure out a solution together. I know we can do it. I just know. So don’t…don’t go.”

You closed your eyes, choking on a sob as you tried to make sense of it all. How he could still be here, fighting for you to keep going. 

“Eddie…”

His hands clutched onto yours as he sniffled. You felt his tears landing on your skin.

“Stay.”

This was messy. You were messy. A big, huge, ginormous mess that was getting in the way of everyone else’s happiness. Being everyone else’s disappointment. It was only a matter of time before you fucked up and ruined this. Ruined him.

But he’s still there, asking you not to leave.

“Is it really that simple?” you asked.

“Look at me.” 

And you did, watching his tears cascade down his cheeks. Watching as his face grew desperate, watching as his lip quivered.

“Please, don’t go. Stay.”

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Helping hand

Request: hii, I’ve been obsessed with like teacher Harry but also gym Harry so could you combine the two? Teacher Harry who teaches P.E or is like the schools coach? And he coaches y/n? And he helps her without judging her and other stuff happens maybe?? Thank you!!

A/N: thank you for the request lovely!! Although some of these teacher x student stories are sexual this one is not. This one is just sweet and cute and is pretty random? But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

“Y/l/n you’re late!”

Coach styles’ voice rang around the gym, students jogging around the sides of the large building “sorry coach!” You called dressed in shorts and a random T-shirt as you began jogging beside your friend “well guess I’ve pissed him off already huh” you murmured to her as she glanced at you smiling “he’s just in a mood… it’s alright” she assured with a soft laugh and you sighed nodding just hoping she was right. “Keep it up! Good job.” Coaches voice rang around again as a few students finished their fifth lap round the room. You watched multiple students soon come to stand in front of coach styles, including your friend, and you too walked over to coach who’s green eyes immediately looked at you “miss y/l/n why are you not continuing your laps?” For gods sake he was giving you a hard time “what?” You spoke confused “six laps around the room, y/n. You’re on your third. Three more to go.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes a silent groan bubbling up in your mouth before you took of running again, attempting to cut the corners off so you didn’t make a fool out of yourself “all the way round y/l/n!” You groaned ignoring him but nonetheless began jogging round the whole room— completing the corners too. You were certain your legs were about to fall off as finally you completed your sixth lap… you swore coach styles had eyes everywhere but you knew he was just passionate about teaching you the correct way to do things. “Good job y/n. Now we’re going to stretch ourselves then play a game of dodgeball.” Dodgeball? For fucks sake. He couldn’t be serious. “Coach we do dodgeball all the time can we not do something else?” You question getting a few looks of agreement and annoyance. Coach styles looked at you and raised his brows “well I was thinking about football but last time I checked you girls cannot kick a ball without tripping up and doing yourself damage.” He was not wrong. Not wrong whatsoever. Actually he was incredibly right— only last week had ten of the 18 students in the class he teaches were bed-bound due to a twisted swollen ankle. “Well some of us have coordination issues.” You stuck up for you and your friends, coach styles looking you in the eye “clearly.”

-

God was coach styles getting on your fucking nerves. He was so frustrating. You watched him as he bowed his head running his fingers through his hair which was slightly damp with sweat from how much running about he had been doing to help you all. “Y/l/n this is all on you!” He called the other side of girls having eight remaining and only you remained on your side “coach I cannot do this by myself!!” You yelled out to him. “Yes you can.” Was all he said as a flurry of balls was suddenly chucked at you, you dodging them all miraculously and catching the last one— knocking them out instantly your team cheering coach styles smiling slightly from the side lines. “Good job! Keep it up!” He spoke to both you and the other team who were getting more and more aggressive due to you knocking several players out of the game until you were left with three players to knock out… great.

A shaky breath left your lips as you suddenly chucked a ball at one of the players the player dodging it perfectly. “Y/l/n hold the ball like this!” He showed you a technique and you did as he showed you, before tossing it at the player again getting closer to hitting them “yes! Just like that good job!” He eyed the other girls giving them advice here and there about to say something to you again, distracting you as suddenly and very abruptly a ball slammed straight into your face with such a force it knocked you down, a groan leaving your lips as you gripped your nose which was suddenly gushing with blood. A couple of gasps ran around— the girl who had hit you running to you “shit y/n I’m so sorry!” You only shook your head trying to cover how bad the bleed was “it’s okay..”

The blood was dripping down your lips and chin and onto your T-shirt coach styles quickly dismissing the other girls for next class before he hurried up to you with what looked like a towel scrunched up “here apply pressure.” He spoke crouching down beside you, you quickly using it against your nose which was already bruising “do you think it’s broken?” You asked him nervously removing the towel to show him, expecting him to grimace yet he kept a perfect poker face “it’s not that bad.” He comforted hand resting upon your shoulder “an ice pack and some medicine should hopefully keep it at bay.” He spoke reassuringly to you and you nodded accepting his help as he helped you stand up, hand grasping onto your elbow and hand to keep you steady as he stared at you “you good y/l/n?” He questioned, and you nodded not realising how much blood had escaped your nose but when you pulled the towel back and saw the amount of blood your stomach churned… oh you couldn’t stomach blood. Your breath hitched “y/l/n?” He voice went slightly fuzzy and you glanced at him seeing three of him, your brows furrowing in confusion as he soon asked you a question one you couldn’t hear— the towel dropping from your palm as your knees buckled beneath you as you fell face first into his chest… embarrassing, right?

“Woah? Hey… y/l/n? Jesus Christ…” he secured his grip on you staring down at your head as he tried to figure out what to do, until he heard footsteps seeing one of the girls from the team “hey Martha!” He yelled in the ginger girls direction watching her pick up her P.E kit “yes si- woah what happened to her?” “She fainted. Can you get the nurse for me? Now.” He watched the red head girl scurry off and he sighed peering down at you before he shook his head “you’ve really knocked yourself for six y/n… wouldn’t be surprised if next week you break your arm” he muttered playfully mainly, as if hoping you would crack a smile or roll your eyes— but you were fully unconscious.

The nurse checked you over and had eventually given Harry an ice pack to hold to your nose which was bruised but she said it wouldn’t swell hopefully… but she advised him to keep you off of the dodgeball and any other activity for a while which he agreed to knowing it was probably what was best for you.

-

A while passed a few hours at most— Harry had given you some lunch and made you drink orange juice to get sugar into your system until eventually P.E was the next lesson again. Crazy right? But it was P.E first thing in the morning and P.E last lesson of the day… the college was weird to say the least. “Coach styles?” You knocked lightly on his office door, not dressed in your P.E clothes due to the fact your top was covered in blood “y/n.” He greeted with a smile “how are you feeling?” “Fine. Thank you. Uh do you think I could borrow a T-shirt? From lost property?” You questioned nervously watching coach styles nod as he stood up, “sure. Not that you’re going to use it… but-“ “why not?” You asked softly “I’ve been advised to keep you off dodgeball and any kind of sports and training until you’re feeling better.” He spoke calmly “but coach I’m” he only shook his head silencing you as you sighed softly watching him grab a T-shirt from somewhere before he gave it to you. You thanked him and quickly exited the room.

You got changed before headed to gym class where you sat down on the benches and just watched your friends play dodgeball. The T-shirt smelt of strong cologne— nice cologne… good cologne often made your stomach flutter with butterflies and you were certain it was just because you were a female… who knows? Certain colognes just knew how to drive people crazy. Coach styles made you keep an eye out for any foul play to keep you also in the game in some way or another before eventually the day was over but to your surprise coach styles stopped you “can I talk to you?”

You nodded and walked back with him into the gym area “I saw the way you position your body and it’s a reason why you can’t throw the ball far enough… here let me help you.” His hands rested upon your shoulders as he positioned you in a certain way, his head close to your shoulder so he was eye level with what you were looking at “then do whatever you’re more comfortable with— overarm or underarm and throw it.” You nodded preparing yourself to throw it but that’s when your stomach fluttered, the closeness making your senses tingle… that smell… the cologne… that was coach styles’ cologne… you were wearing coach styles’ T-shirt…— well. You blinked quickly shaking it off before throwing the ball “nearly- nearly. Try again.” He gave you another ball making you try over and over again until eventually you had been successful and he looked at you smiling “good job, y/n. That’s what I want to see when you play alright? When you’re feeling better of course.” You let out a small laugh and nodded “thank you coach” you murmured softly “Harry.” He said and you stared at him confused “what?” “When I’m not teaching call me Harry.” Your cheeks flushed red and you smiled glancing down “okay… thank you, Harry…. I’ll see you around..” you spoke smiling gently waving goodbye to him before you exited the gym feeling your cheeks heat up further a small smile remaining on your lips. Coach really was something else.

[featherlight-touches]

Hii, I wanted to ask if you take requests. If you do, could you do a lee! Cyno and let! Alhaitham? Feel free to ignore :]

hello hello!!

I don't usually get requests but I'm not against doing them at all! It's not much, but here is something for you. I hope you enjoy!

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

“Tell me again, Cyno,” the smug voice of Alhaitham taunted from his sitting position on Cyno’s waist, who struggled to shift the weight. “How is it that a simple scholar like me is able to best the General Mahamatra in combat, hm?”

Cyno’s red eye pierced up at Alhaitham’s, his stoic expression refusing to cave into any emotion.  “You got lucky, that’s all. If it weren’t for Tighnari’s distraction, it would have been over for you in an instant.”

“Hey, don’t blame me! I only asked what the point of this was,” Tighnari interjected from the side, who sat at the table beside a very interested Kaveh.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that Alhaitham doesn’t play fair when it comes to these kinds of things,” the blonde sighed.

“If this were a real fight then it would be in my best interest to fight in what ever way was necessary for me to win. You let your guard down and I used that to my advantage,” Alhaitham explained loud enough for all to hear. “You should know better.”

Cyno couldn’t argue with the scribe’s logic, as much as he would love to. He only sighed in annoyance, shooting his gaze off to the side.

“Do you yield?” Alhaitham asked, which Cyno stubbornly ignored. He would not give Alhaitham the satisfaction of admitting defeat. “It would seem you need a little more persuasion,” before Cyno could react, nimble fingers pinched his exposed side.  

“HA!” a startled laugh was forced out of him. “Alhaitham…”

“Now that I have your attention,” Alhaitham smirked down into the General’s eyes. “Do you yield?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” Alhaitham began scribbling his fingers up and down Cyno’s torso, silently delighted from the struggles and small chuckles escaping him. “I’ll just keep this up until you do.”

“Typical of you to cheat, Alhaitham!” Kaveh scoffed, rolling his eyes at the scene.    

Cyno rarely laughed, tickling him was probably the only way to get the loudest laughs from him which his partners tried to do from time to time, but the General rarely ever went down without a fight.

“Al- Alhaitham!” he gasped between his laughs, his legs kicking out as he squirmed from left to right with what little room he had to do so. Alhaitham’s fingers travelled from his sides to his ribs, up to his underarms and then back down to his stomach. Alhaitham played dirty when it came to tickle fights, he wanted to keep his opponents guessing and not let them get used to the spot under assault. “Ack!, hahaha, stop it!”

“Do you yield, Cyno?” Alhaitham asked again, not letting up on his tickles whatsoever. Cyno could barely speak at this point let alone coordinate his hands to stop Alhaitham’s. His head shook with further defiance which only encouraged the scribe to keep up his antics. “So stubborn.”

Cyno worked up his strength to force the scribe off his waist which he managed to do, Alhaitham lost his balance from on top of Cyno and fell to the ground beside him, allowing Cyno some space to escape, or so he thought.

“Huh?” Cyno felt a hand grip around his ankle, and he turned to see Alhaitham’s taunting smirk staring back at him.

“Not so fast! I still have the upper hand here.”

“Oh no… not the foot.” Tighnari cringed, his ears lowering down in knowing.

“Is that bad?” Kaveh asked, curiously noting the fox’s expression and watched as Tighnari quickly covered his ears.

“Well…”

“AHAHAHA, NO!”

Cyno’s laugh bellowed through the house, shocking Kaveh with the volume.

“Oh, wow,” Kaveh stared in disbelief at the sight of Cyno laughing and slamming the ground with his fist. “That’s quite the reaction.”

“Uh huh.” Tighnari muttered, the volume seemingly irritating his ears no matter how much he covered them.

“STOHOHOHOP!” Cyno pleaded, his lashes becoming wet with tears that started to form in his eyes.

“For someone who doesn’t wear shoes, you certainly have yourself quite the weakness here, Cyno,” Alhaitham taunted again, chuckling to himself as he scribbled his fingers all over the laughing General’s sole. “Better hope no one finds out or it won’t be just me besting you in combat.”

“SHUHAHAHAHAT UP!”

“I think he’s had enough now, Alhaitham,” Kaveh said, worried that Cyno was starting to lose his sanity from laughing so hard. Tighnari had to excuse himself away from the noise as it was becoming too much of a headache for him.

“I will stop when he yields,” Alhaitham says again, just as stubborn as the man he was tormenting with tickling. His fingers made their way up to the toes when suddenly.

“OKAHAHAY! I YIELD! NOT THERE!”

It all stopped within an instant, leaving Cyno a panting mess, faced down on the ground. Alhaitham didn’t say a word but returned to his seat at the table and picked up his book, silently resuming the page he left before his little fight. Kaveh stared at him in disbelief before sighing.

“Well, that was something. Tighnari, you can come back now! The children have finished their games.”

This earned a glare from Alhaitham and Kaveh gulped, that expression was the one he used on Cyno when he tickled him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kaveh warned, leaning away in his seat. “You had your fun, go back to reading your little book.”

Alhaitham smirked before looking back down at the page in his hand. However, Kaveh still felt on edge and taking one quick look at Cyno and how out of it he still was from the tickling Kaveh decided to leave the room instead to escape any funny ideas.

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Connection

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Connection Word Count: 2494 Reader insert: she/her pronouns. She is not American unless you are, just has a history in American law enforcement Warnings: drug addiction, self-depracation, crying, minor fluff if you squint. Spoilers: none

All his life, Dr. Spencer Reid has been told he is a genius - gifted, different. When you, a new member of the BAU, arrive, he expects the same weirded-out reaction from you as everyone does. But when you don't, and you instead find him interesting, Spencer finds himself forming an attachment to you. And as the years go on, is it really any wonder that he falls for you?

This is one of the six times you secretly say I love you to Spencer: your first real connection.

Full story | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4  | Part 5 | Part 6

It became a casual thing, for you to comment on how wonderful Dr. Spencer Reid was. Every day in the office, whenever you travelled to cases, even out in the field, sometimes in not-so-great situations. 

It was only ever once, but you always managed to find something to say, 'You are a wonder, Dr Reid,' to him. Sometimes it was his full name, sometimes just doctor. Sometimes, he was just Spencer. Apart from JJ, you were the only one who ever really called him by his first name. Oddly enough for him, he liked it when he was just Spencer, not the Boy Genius or freak or computer.

But the next time you told him that and it meant something to him was ten months after he ended his drug addiction.

He sat at his desk in the bullpen finishing some paperwork, or at least attempting to. They'd just gotten back from a long and exhausting case and his brain (the very thing he knew he could always rely on) refused to coordinate with his hands and eyes. The information he wished to write out felt jammed at his fingers tips, appeared blurry in his vision.

'Gosh,' he breathed out, leaning back in his seat defeated as he rubbed at his tired eyes. No doubt black bags sagged beneath them. 

It had been a long, exhausting case. The team had gone to Dallas to find a serial killer who'd been leaving a trail of dead doctors and pharmacists over the span of months which had suddenly turned into weeks, then days once his team joined the case. 

The unsub had spiralled, devolved so to say, alluding to a psychotic break. But when they'd found him, he was not the malicious, sadistic person they'd first expected. Spencer was the first on the scene and had instead found a young man in his early twenties, not much younger than himself. All he'd wanted was some off-market narcotic that took away the pain from the physical abuse he received from his father.

And while Spencer's trauma was not the same, he couldn't help but see the parallels. When he'd looked the young man in the eyes, it was like looking into a mirror. All he saw was himself, drowning in his own trauma, his own fear, his own pain. 

Spencer scoped the bullpen, suddenly noticing the silence. Not a single person was left. He then looked at his watch - half past ten. He hadn't noticed people leaving whatsoever. Not surprising considering his current state, his current condition.

Spencer slowly reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk, a sudden urge coursing through him to do so. Slowly again, almost hesitantly, he pulled it open and leafed through the many spare manilla folders that sat oddly in there until he reached the bottom.

It was just one vial, but just the mere sight of it sent relief rushing through Spencer. Dilaudid. He gently cradled it up to his eyes, admiring how the glass doors of the entrance became obscured as he looked through the transparent but murky liquid. After this case, what he wouldn't give to have a needle right now. Just one hit-

'Well, if it isn't Dr. Spencer Reid burning the midnight oil.'

Spencer almost dropped the vial as he scrambled to shove it deep into his pant pocket just as you appeared out of nowhere from the conference room.

'Sorry,' you said, an apologetic smile already on your lips. 'I didn't mean to startle you.'

'It's okay,' he replied as casually as possible. It was one thing to nearly be caught out by your colleague that you had an illegal narcotic you used to have an addiction for in your hand, but another when that colleague is one you've admired since the day you met. 'I was lost in thought, anyways.'

'Well just as well then. I can only imagine how depthless your brain must go with all that knowledge crammed in there.' You walked down the stairs to the floor of the bullpen and walked to him. You were still in your clothes from the past twenty-four hours, and your light makeup looked like it was lifting off your face like a second skin. Even your unrelenting smile seemed to sag with exhaustion.

Spencer straightened up in his seat, suddenly concerned. 'You okay, (Y/N)? You look-'

'Like trash?' you finished as you pulled up a chair of your own and sat in front of him. 'I have no doubt.'

Spencer looked behind her back into the conference room, his eyebrows furrowing when he spotted stacks of folders and loose paperwork spread across the table. 'That all yours?'

You looked back to the mess of words and paper you'd just escaped and sighed dramatically. 'Oh, yeah. Seems like the longer the case, the more paperwork you have to do. Poor trees.'

'Yeah...' Spencer found it odd how much paperwork you had to get through. Even he didn't have that much to get through. But before he could question you about it, your soft voice filled the damning void that surrounded him.

'How are you feeling, you know, after this case?'

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'Don't give me that,' you say, your smile now replaced by a seriousness Spencer only saw on you when you were making an arrest or in really dire situations. You've worked together for almost three years now, he knew all the faces you pulled, all of your likes and dislikes, how you liked your coffee only after you've completed one task for the day to prove you can survive without it but choose not to. 

He knows you, so it should not be surprising that you know him just as well.

'The moment we found out the unsub's objective, you've been a little... off.'

'Well, it shouldn't be surprising considering that was me just ten months ago,' he said matter-of-factly, pulling back into his shell, putting up his guard. 'I mean, if Hotch hadn't have found out about it, that could've been me-'

'No it wouldn't have.'

Spencer scoffed, but not in a demeaning manner. He just didn't believe you for a moment because he could see the facts, the statistics, in his head. 'Over 45% percent of addicts relapse at least twice. This is without the intervention or support by health care clinics and families and friends, and this case just proved that. So, yes, it could've been-'

'But it wasn't,' you intervened again, your voice echoing like soft thunder through the empty office. It gave you presence, forcing Spencer to look at you, like really look at you, and face what you were about to say.

'You had help and support from people that care about you, Spence,' you continued, sitting forward in your seat. 'And I don't care about the statistics, you're not one of them. You're your own person and you can determine where you add value in life, not by some... statistically-informed percentage prediction... thing.'

That drew a laugh out him, the quiet but sudden sound surprising him slightly. 'Stastically-informed percentage prediction, huh?'

'Shut up,' you grumbled and playfully punched his shoulder. When you both calmed down, you continued. 'When I realised who we were looking for, for a moment I kind of got scared.'

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow 'Scared?'

You nodded. 'The truth is that... when you were kidnapped and... you had to endure all that pain alone... I was terrified. We all were. Even when we found you, I was terrified. Because I knew you would never be the same, and not that it's your problem, but I knew in that moment that I would never forgive myself for not finding you sooner. For not going with you and JJ to the farm.'

Tears welled up in your eyes and Spencer immediately leant forward. To do what, he didn't know, he just needed you to know he was there for you, like you always were for him.

'I'm sorry,' you mutter, blinking the tears away before they could fall. 'Your trauma is not my own. I have no right to express my guilt.'

'There's nothing to feel guilty for,' he said, reaching out slowly with his hands, the ones that slightly shook as he laid them on your own. 

To his relief, you smiled. It wasn't full, but it was there. 'You're a horrible liar, Spencer Reid.' That brought some laughter out of you both, lightening the suffocating air of the office. 

'But even when we found out about you and the dilaudid,' you continued, pulling yourself together, if only to let Spencer know your true thoughts. 'I wasn't even mad.'

A large lump formed in Spencer's throat, and he had a hard time swallowing it along with the threat of tears that burned behind his amber eyes. 'You... You weren't?' 

It was the mixture of surprise and hope that pulled at your heart, that made you feel obligated to keep speaking. 'Why should I have been? I was not the one who was tortured mentally and physically by a split-personality murderer; and who also witnesses the darkest, most ugliest aspects of humanity every single day of his life. It was not my place to judge how you hold onto your own humanity.'

Your eyes until then had never left his, but they flickered downwards then, and Spencer froze at where your gaze landed. 

It only lasted a moment before your eyes returned to his, and it startled him the lack of sympathy he finds there, but instead warmth. 'It is still not my place to judge,' you said, twisting your hands so they could clasp his fully. 'All I know is that... you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. So much stronger than me, JJ, Pen, Emily - heck, I'd say you're even stronger than Derek. But not Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi, though. Then again, no one is.'

You both chuckled at that, and all the tension in his body seemed to dissipate at the sound. So light and airy, it was what he imagined heaven sounded like. 

'The point is,' you continued, giving his hands a squeeze, 'you are a wonder, Spencer Reid. We all see it. You've just got to now see it, too.'

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded and conflicted within himself. He felt like he wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. And a great urge to suddenly engulf you in a hug started itching his limbs, which was weird because he didn't care much physical affection, or affection in general. But before he could decide what he wanted to do, you decided for him.

You gave his hands one last squeeze before letting go and standing up. The absence of your touch left him cold as he followed you as you went back into the conference room to pack up. Surprisingly it didn't take you long until you came back out, your coat and bag in hand.

'Don't stay up too long, now,' you said as you passed him by, your smile so radiant it was almost as if you weren't crying just a few minutes before. 'We've got a long day ahead.'

As soon as the elevator door closed on you, he pulled out the vial of dilaudid and stared it down. It was like it was taunting him, sitting idly, innocently, in his palm, as if it knew he desperately wanted it, needed it.

'...you are stronger than you give yourself credit for... you are a wonder, Spencer Reid. We all see it. You've just got to now see it, too.'

For some reason, though, he suddenly didn't need it. The fire, the urge, the want and reliance for it - he was suddenly weightless with clarity, if only for a moment.

Spencer chucked the vial in the dumpster outside the office when he left. It was hard, but he did it. He knew he wasn't cured, that there was still a long road ahead. But it was a start.

The next day when he came into the office, Derek was the first to comment on his haggard appearance.

'Seriously man,' he said, trailing Spencer out of the break room, 'you look like a ghoul. Did you sleep at all last night.'

'I was here late last night doing paperwork,' he explained, sitting himself and his coffee down at his desk. 'You should go see (y/n), she probably looks a little worse for wear herself from staying late last night, too.'

'Oh, she stayed late too, did she?'

'It's not like that,' Spencer insisted, swatting at Derek pathetically. 'She had a mountain of paperwork to finish of her own.'

'Y/N?' Emily said as she walked by with JJ, identical coffees in their hands. 'She finished her paperwork at about the same time I did.'

'Yeah, we were walking out together before she turned back into the office. Said she had to talk with Hotch,' JJ said.

'I remember that,' Spencer added. 'You guys said goodnight to me on your way out.' Not that he had responded, he suddenly recalled, a pang of guilt punching his gut.

'Who had to talk with me?' The man himself suddenly walked by, stopping at the congregated group upon hearing his name.

'Y/n,' Emily answered. 'Last night.'

'Oh, yes. She, uh, asked if there was anymore paperwork to do.'

'Why would she do that when she was done?' JJ asked. 

'I don't know,' Hotch said, making his way towards his office, 'but who am I to turn away someone who wants to do paperwork for free? Now, briefing in ten minutes.'

As the others dispersed back to their desks, Spencer didn't know how to feel about this new information. It didn't help the matter when you finally dragged yourself into the office, dark circles peaking out from under your thin layer of foundation. But as you sat at your desk, eyes drooping as you logged onto your laptop, he knew just what to do.

It took you a second to register the cup of coffee being held in front of your dazed eyes, and another to realise who was holding it.

'Late night?' Spencer asked, a coy smile on his lips.

Despite your exhaustion, you managed to grab the cup without spilling any of the precious caffeine that would help you through the day. 'Yeah,' you decided to play dumb, answering as enthusiastically as possible. 'Paperwork, you know. Never-ending.'

Spencer hummed, contemplating his next words carefully. 'Well, I hope giving up your sleep was worth it, then.'

'I'd like to think it was.'

The way you didn't hesitate to answer struck a chord of truth in him that left him dumbfounded once more. Twice in under twenty-four hours? That had to be a new record for him.

But instead of freezing up, he managed an honest smile as he clanked his coffee cup with your own. 'Well... it is certainly most appreciated.'

[etoileholland]

the happiest place on earth

Synopsis: In a turn of events, Tom gets to be the man in the Spider-Man suit at Disneyland. But what happens when he meets you and blows his cover?

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: None

A/N: salut! I am back for a second! I wrote this months ago but I was too busy to post it :( anyways I hope you enjoy! 

“Okay Tom, remember. You gotta speak in your Peter voice for the entirety of the meet and greet, and you shouldn’t try to do or say anything that would give you away.” The coordinator of the Avengers campus stated to Tom.

He had no idea that he would be putting on the suit today, and having photos taken of him in the suit, yet here he was.

He had come to Disneyland with his assistant and manager to check out the new Avengers campus since he had the day off. He didn’t attend the opening ceremony because he was in London working on a project, so he decided to check it out when he had a free chance in Los Angeles. He thought he was surprising the theme park by him coming by, but instead he got a surprise of his own.

“Our actor for Spider-Man came down ill, and we can’t get anyone into the suit quick enough for Spidey to make an appearance today.”

The coordinators and photographers all looked over at Tom while he stood there nervously. He knows the importance of being there for your job, and he didn’t want to leave Disney hanging. So he knew what the solution had to be.

“Put me in the suit. I can take photos with guests, and I have the accent down perfectly.”

“No!” The coordinator exclaimed. “We can’t put you in the suit whatsoever. What happens if someone finds out?”

“No one will.” Tom assured him. “It’ll only be for an hour or so, and it’ll work out perfectly. I promise.”

Tom’s manager looked worryingly over at him, but Tom only nodded his head. “It’s only gonna be for an hour, I can handle it.”

Since the Spider-Man character at Disneyland was based off of Tom, the proportions of the suit were almost perfect. It was the correct height, and although it was a tad bit tight, it was manageable.

“Remember what I told you—don’t make any wrong choices.”

“I won’t, I’ve got this.” The photographers led Tom to the location that they were taking photos with Spider-Man at, which was near the front of Avengers Headquarters..

A queue had already formed when Tom walked over to the location, and taking a deep breath in, Tom walked out and mentally prepared himself for this.

A young kid with his twin sister and mom were the first in line, and Tom noticed that the little boy was wearing a Spider-Man suit of his own.

“Would you look at that.” Tom giddily said to the boy, “I can’t believe I’m looking at the real Spider-Man! Can I have your autograph?” Tom asked the kid, and knelt down to be at eye level. The boy’s face lit up, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“I want your autograph too please.” Tom got two pieces of paper from the photographers and proceeded to sign one of the papers for the kid, and the boy (whom he found out was named Calum) wrote his name on the other and handed it to Tom.

After some photos, Tom wished the kids farewell and worked his way through the queue.

Tom was finding it fun to do this, and he enjoyed keeping the secret that it wasn’t just any actor pretending to be Spider-Man—it was the real deal.

The line had started to slow down after thirty minutes, and he counted about 25 people left. He was so busy counting the crowd that he didn’t notice you walking towards him.

The photographers led you to Tom, and when he noticed someone walking towards him, he gasped.

“She’s pretty, yeah?” One of the photographers whispered to Tom. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and he nearly melted into a puddle when you looked at him. His breathing subconsciously became faster, and before he knew it he was about to start panicking.

For once in your life, be cool. He thought to himself. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he was sure he would have a panic attack. Yet all of his nerves dissipated when he saw your smile, and as a wave of calm washed over him, he lightly cleared his throat and prepared to speak in his American accent.

“Well hello there darling, how are you on this fine day?” He asked, and just as he finished his sentence, he began to mentally curse at himself. Who says that? He thought to himself, so much for being natural and suave

“I’m doing fantastic on this fine day, my good sir.” You replied with a beaming smile, and to top off the comment, you playfully bowed and did a curtsy. This earned a laugh from both you and Tom, and when he jokingly bowed back, you two were full on giggling now.

When he saw that the photographer was motioning to him that it was time for a photo op, Tom reached out his hand for you to grab. When you did so, he gently brought your hand to his face and gave it a kiss. He heard a click of the camera, and continued to play up his actions.

“You know how to make a girl melt, don’t you Peter?” You asked.

The mention of Peter brought him back to reality, and it made him realize that this was all pretend. He wasn’t Tom flirting with you, instead it was Peter, and Spider-Man. None of this was real, no matter how badly he wished it was.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He finally answered back, his tone turning downwards at the end of the sentence. Before he could say much else, the staff members that were watching gave him a look and pointed down at the watches, signaling that time was almost up.

“Would you like to pose for a picture with me?” He asked, and you nodded happily.

“I know you probably get this a lot, but can we do the famous Spider-Man squat pose?” You asked excitedly, “it just looks so cool when you do it.”

This comment made Tom smile, and he popped a squat to get into the position.

As he bent down, you sneaked a look of his behind, and let out a small gasp. Tom didn’t see you staring, but the photographers sure did, and they all stifled a laugh

“What’s so funny?” He asked, but when he looked at you your eyes were wide, and your expression embarrassed. “Did my suit rip or something?”

“I’m surprised it didn’t, since you’ve got a fat ass.” You blurted out without thinking. When you realised what you said, you covered your mouth and closed your eyes. “Oh no, I said that out loud, huh?”

“Oh you sure did honey.” Tom replied, “but I must admit I’m quite flattered by that.”

Since your comment caught him off guard, he replied in his regular British accent, and not as Peter Parker.

“Shit.” He uttered under his breath, and looked over at you who was staring at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen.

You opened your mouth and said, “You’re-”

“Done.” The cast member frantically answered, and grabbed Tom’s arm. “I’m so sorry but Spider-Man has to leave…and um, save the world!” The cast member led Tom away from you, and the photographers quickly followed him.

With a quick turn of the head, Tom turned around to look at you one last time and waved at you, and yelled “sorry!”

You stood firmly in your tracks, and watched as they frantically whisked Tom away. As he was being led away from you, you saw him turn his head around repeatedly to see if you were still behind him, but less than a minute later, he lost you in the crowd, never to see you again.

Tom was led frantically by the cast member who was watching over Tom, and Tom knew that he was gonna be in trouble. It was an honest mishap, yet he knew his cast members and his assistant would not be happy with him,

“Are you crazy?!” The cast member retorted. “Now that girl knows it was you in the suit, and once she blabs about it, we’re going to have a fiasco on our hands.”

Tom watched as the member was becoming visibly angry, but in his defense, he didn’t think he would break character. He was fine all day, no problem at all. It wasn’t until you flustered him so much that he slipped a little bit, big deal.

“I don’t think she’ll-”

“How do you know, hm? She could go on social media and say something, or, or…” the cast member stammered, “well I don’t know what she’ll do with that information, but it could go badly for us.”

“Or maybe if she does say anything, no one will believe her.” Tom’s assistant spoke up. “She has no proof, and even if she did, it could be anyone in the costume.”

“True.” The cast member added. “It just could’ve gone terribly.”

Tom looked at his assistant and the cast member, and sighed. “She was really nice, so I doubt she’ll say anything. And even if she does, there’s no proof, which means that no one is in trouble.” He adjusted himself in his chair, and crossed his arms.

“Right,” his assistant responded, then picked up her belongings. “Are you ready to go Tom?” She looked over at him, and frowned when she saw the frown that was on his face. To be honest, all Tom wanted to do was rush into the park and find you, even if just for a second. You left such a wonderful impression on him, and he would do anything to see you one more time.

This thought gave him an idea--maybe not the best one, but an idea nevertheless.

Tom, not wanting to show his hand, feigned indifference. “Um, yeah. Let me just get out of the suit, grab my things and use the restroom.” When he got up from his chair and walked over to his bag, he noticed that the back door of the dressing room was barely propped open. The main door where they entered the dressing room was on the other side of the room, which gave Tom another idea. He walked back over to the chair where he was sitting, and placed his bag on the nearby table

His manager nodded, and Tom pulled out his clothes from earlier and set them down on the table.

“Would it be possible to get a bit of privacy?” He asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“Yeah, of course.” His manager replied, “we’ll be waiting for you outside the door.” She pointed towards the door they came in, and Tom nodded his head in agreement.

“Sounds great, see you in a bit.” He began to unzip himself from the suit and watched as the two left the room. Quickly he threw off the suit, and stuffed his clothes that he came in back in his bag. He rummaged through the bag, and let out a small squeak as he saw another shirt and pair of pants.

“Now they won’t be able to spot me in a crowd.” He said to himself, and quickly began to change into his new outfit. He got dressed in record time, and ran into the bathroom to fix his appearance.

Knowing that they were still expecting him to use the restroom, he flushed the toilet without using it, washed his hands and ran back towards the door where his manager was waiting for him.

“I’m almost done, just give me like 3 more minutes.” He exclaimed through the door.

“It’s okay, take your time.” His manager answered back.

“Thanks!” He replied, and quietly made his way to the other side of the dressing room, where the other door was. If he was correct, this door would lead him to the other end of the hallway, where he’d be able to slink into the park, no problem.

He quickly and carefully opened the door, and peeked his head out of the entryway. There was no one around, and so Tom sped walked out of the door and towards the main exit. As the tunnels made sharp turns, he made sure to look before he rounded the corner to make sure the coast was clear.

The doorway was in his sight, and was less than a minute away, as long as he kept up his brisk walk.

“Please let me be able to get out, please let me be able to get out.” He pleaded to himself as he swiftly approached the door. Extending his arm outwards towards the door handle, he pushed with force and he was met with the bright sun in his eyes. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, but it didn’t take long for him to realize where he was at—in Hollywood Land, which is right next to the Avengers campus.

“Oh thank god.” He sighed in relief, “but I still have to be careful. I have to make sure no one recognizes me at all, whatsoever.” Placing his sunglasses on and putting on a white golfing cap, he set out on his most important mission today—finding you in an endless sea of people.

—- Amusement parks are great places to get lost in, due to the sheer amount of people around. It surprisingly allowed for him to have some anonymity, and because he was wandering around the park by himself, he got to cut the lines on many of the popular rides. Seeing children with smiles on their faces, couples walking around with intertwined hands, and happy families brought a lot of joy to Tom.

People weren’t lying, he thought to himself, this truly is the happiest place on earth.

Tom, of course, realized that people were still looking for him, and he just kept ignoring all of their pleading calls and texts. For once, he just wanted to feel like a real person, and not be micromanaged. And even though he was still having fun, he couldn’t stop searching the crowd for you. At first, it was exciting, but now, it feels borderline creepy.

After an hour, the insistent calls and texts ended, with the last text saying we won’t look for you, but when you’re done wandering around the park, let me know.

It’s been hours of him wandering through endless crowds of people, yet there was no sight of you anywhere. The previously warm California day had cooled down into a crisp winter night, and the cold was making the search for you less fun. Now all Tom felt was cold, tired, and hopeless.

This is just getting creepy now man, why have I spent over three hours looking for this girl? He pondered to himself. Now I’ve turned into an obsessed fan, yikes.

I have to give up. I have no other choice.

As he sat underneath the shade of the tree in New Orleans Square, he took a deep breath in, and mentally told himself to remember this feeling of happiness and solace. He knew that he would have to call his assistant back to tell her where he is, but he didn’t want this feeling of content to end so soon. As the cool winter breeze enveloped him, he smelled the delicious churro stand that was near the main walkway.

Dang that smells good, I’ve gotta get one. Or maybe two, or three…

Tom got up from his seat and walked over to the stand. The line was sparse, so it didn’t take long for him to move to the front of the line. He stood in the line and ordered two, because he couldn’t decide on an original or a s’mores churro.

“That’ll be $7.50.” The vendor said. Tom fumbled  for his wallet, yet while doing so, he dropped it on the ground beside him.

“Well, that’s embarrassing.” He muttered under his breath. But before he could crouch down to pick it up, someone said—

“Here you go.”

“Cheers.” Tom held out his hand to retrieve his wallet, and looked to see who had handed it to him.

The sight of you standing there, holding his wallet, made him feel even more flustered.

“Oh, thank you.” He answered nervously, and handed the vendor a ten dollar bill. “Have a nice evening.”

“Excuse me sir, but you forgot to get your churros.” The vendor called out to him.

“Oh, that's right, huh.” He swiveled on his heels and grabbed the two churros from the vendor. “Mercy me.”

Stifling a small giggle, you clicked your tongue. “Who would’ve guessed that you would actually be like Peter.” Your eyes focused on his face turning beet red.

“Well, about that. I usually am more suave, darling.” He emphasized clearly. “But being around a pretty girl makes me nervous.”

You playfully placed your hand over your heart, and you knew that your face was getting warmer. “You’re awfully cute when you’re nervous. Now I’m nervous too, knowing that a pretty boy thinks I’m attractive.”

The both of you stood there, grinning at each other, in your own little world.

“Why did you buy two churros?” You inquired, which broke the silence between you two. “Were you planning on eating both?”

Tom glanced at you, and with a cheeky grin, he answered, “no love, I knew I was going to run into you, which is why I bought two.”

“Oh god.” You guffawed. “That was terrible acting. I’m surprised you still get gigs.” Extending your arm, you playfully tapped his shoulder. “You might want to look into a different profession.”

Tom gasped, rather dramatically. “Oi! That was incredibly rude.” He stated, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “I’m off the clock now.”

That comment earned a genuine laugh out of you, and Tom’s laughter mixed with yours, creating a wondrous sound. Hearing his laugh was something you knew you could never get tired of listening to. You wished you could stay in this memory forever.

“So, which churro would you like?” Tom asked, holding out both churros in front of him.

“The s’mores one please.”

You grabbed it from his hand, and your fingertips touched for a brief second. It was electrifying, but you moved away before it became awkward. You looked up at Tom, and noticed his face was pink, eyes wide with joy. It was cute seeing him so flustered and wide-eyed, and you couldn’t help but notice how his mannerisms really were like Peter’s. Or Peter’s were like his. Regardless, it didn’t stop you from thinking he was the cutest thing in the world.

A family hurriedly walked past you and Tom,  which broke the bubble of your little world. Looking down at your shoes, you took a step sideways. “We should probably get out of everyone’s way.”

“Yeah.” He piped up, and led you back towards the center of the park. You wove through the large crowds of people, dodging people who were waking in the opposite direction. Someone nearby started speaking in a different language, and the curiosity in you made you turn your head to see who it was. Tom, who turned around to make sure you were still behind him, noticed your gaze astray, so without thinking, he reached and grabbed your hand.

Instinctively, you pulled your hand away before seeing who had grabbed it. Yet, when you saw Tom standing still, still holding his hand out, you reached out for it.

“Sorry, I didn’t know who’s hand I was holding.” You sheepishly answered.

“It’s good love, sorry for startling you.”

Instead of responding, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and off you two went. It didn’t take long to find a place to sit, right below the shady tree where Tom sat just a few minutes ago. Before you sat down, Tom dusted the cement block with his hand and motioned for you to sit.

What a gentleman, you thought. You sat down next to him just close enough for your knees to touch. You both sat in silence as you ate and took in the moment. Tom looked over at you with the same kind eyes that he’s looked at you all day with.

“You know,” he paused, “I just realized I didn’t get your name; how embarrassing.” Tom admitted while looking down at his shoes.

You told him your name, and Tom held out his hand for you to shake. You did so, and you noticed Tom didn’t pull his hand away. Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away and took another bite of your churro. Tom followed suit, and neither of you spoke for a minute. The silence between you was comfortable, and you both spent a few minutes just enjoying each other’s company.

“Do you mind if I say something?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.

“Of course, ask away.” You answered back. You looked at him with curious eyes, and watched as Tom carefully thought about what he was going to say.

“Well, I’m surprised you’re treating me so…regularly. You haven’t bombarded me with questions about being famous.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to it, that’s all. I’m surprised you’re treating me so normally.”

Tom’s response made you feel a bit sad for him, knowing that he’s so used to people wanting something out of him. Fame, money, or bragging rights, but you didn’t want any of those things from him. He just seemed like a nice person, and you enjoyed your conversation that you had with him while he was portraying Peter. You took a minute before responding to make sure what you wanted to convey was worded properly.

“I know you’re famous, and that’s cool, but you’re also just a regular person. One who buys two churros because they can’t make up their mind--and one who eats and gets cinnamon sugar all over their face.”

You watched Tom’s eyes wide, and you giggled as he wiped his face with his sleeve. “All good?” He asked inquisitively, and you nodded your head yes.

“I am treating you like a real person, because you are.” You continued, and flashed Tom a soft smile. His face softened at your response, and he smiled back.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and turned his face away from you. You noticed he was blushing, but you didn’t want to say anything to embarrass him. Instead, you looked into the crowd of people and smiled once more.

“You know, people weren’t lying about this place.” You spoke up before you took another bite of the churro. You noticed Tom’s gaze came back to you, and his face was still slightly pink.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” He asked politely, waiting for your response.

“This really is the happiest place on earth.” You beamed, looking Tom in the eyes.

Without skipping a beat, Tom answered back.

“Undoubtedly.”

[thisisyourauthorspeaking]

Would like to resolve a debate with a roommate :)

How likely is it that a random person with no previous flight experience could land a plane in the event the pilot became incapacitated?

How about a 747 vs a small aircraft? (Since commercial airliners now have so much automation and can practically land themselves)

What about a 747 if autopilot stopped working? How likely could someone with good hand eye coordination (and can drive a car well) land the plane by manual control only?

Say you took control and attempted to land, hit the runway odd and broke the landing gear, causing the plane fuselage to hit the ground and slide to a stop. Are planes resilient enough that everyone would still be alive? What are the chances of casualties in this case (and at what speed thresholds)?

If you've played Battlefield or such games, how close are the flight controls there to flight simulators or actual flight? Video games are obviously designed for player experience and realism, but if you are used to those controls, would you have ingrained bad habits trying to learn to fly an actual plane?

And finally, according to my roommate (who has no flight experience whatsoever but provides me infinite entertainment with claims that he can fly a plane): "when you land, you can't shallowly glide into the runway for a landing because you'll lose too much airspeed. You need to approach, take a sharp dive, and then level out before you land". Please rate that statement on a scale of 0 to flaming make-shit-up.

Thank you very much!

Alright, I'll break this answer into a few sections:

(Full disclosure, I don't fly airliners, but I am still certified as a commercial pilot and am drawing conclusions from my professional knowledge.)

Layperson saving the day by landing the plane:

In an airliner? Not a chance in hell. While there is an element of truth to the belief that an airliner can "land itself", the process to set it up is highly complex, and one wrong step can screw the rest of it up.

First, you need to get into the cockpit. For the sake of this ask, let's say the flight attendant knows about some super-duper-secret-hypothetical override to open the door from the outside. Otherwise, this plan is dead in the water.

With autopilot

Misconception number one: Autopilot flies the plane for you.

Autopilot doesn't know your intentions. Autopilot has no self-preservation instincts. The only thing autopilot knows is the course that the person at the controls programmed in, qualified or not.

Autopilot will keep you on course, but it's the pilot's job to make sure that the course being set doesn't send the plane into the side of a mountain, or in the completely wrong direction.

There is a sliver of truth to the idea that an airplane will "land itself", but in order to set it up, it requires a few steps from a qualified pilot that knows what they're doing.

Now, in order for autoland to even work, it has to be paired with a set of antennas on the ground at the desired airport, called an Instrument Landing System, or ILS for short. In order for the autoland system to receive the signal from the ILS, the pilot must tune the navigation radios to the frequency published on a map that looks like this, in addition to setting courses and programming the navigation computer.

Needless to say, if you're not trained to read these, then you'll have a hell of a time setting up the approach.

Additionally, you need to then configure the autopilot to pair with the ILS.

Here's an exercise for you and your roommate: without looking it up, find the radio panel and autopilot control in the cockpit of this Airbus A320, one of the most common airliners today:

Let's say you do find it - what buttons do you push, in what order? Do one of them wrong, and it won't work.

Misconception number two: Air traffic control can help you fly the plane.

ATCs are not pilots, and they can't tell you how to set it up or what buttons to push. All they can do is tell you where you are, give you headings to fly, and give you landing priority due to your emergency.

How do you configure the airplane? How and when do you extend flaps? What's the maximum safe flap extension speed? How and when do you extend the landing gear? What's the maximum safe gear extension speed? Autopilot won't do that for you.

TL;DR: Sure, the plane could land itself, but that requires a series of inputs that a layperson is highly unlikely to know how to do.

Without autopilot

Let's say you accidentally push the wrong button on the stick while trying to declare an emergency. Congratulations! You are now flying the plane manually!

Now it's up to you to manage airspeed, power setting, altitude, pitch attitude, vertical speed, heading, and course.

ATC can still give you headings to point the nose in, and they may even get you lined up with a runway, but it's up to you to slow down to a safe speed, and configure the plane for landing.

Misconception number three: you can slow an airplane down just by pulling the throttle back.

Step one of slowing down is to reduce engine power. But, if that's all you do, then the airplane will keep the speed it's trimmed for, and just nose down to maintain it. The second piece of this puzzle is to pull back on the stick, just enough to maintain altitude.

But, there's a catch: At slow enough airspeeds, you enter what's called the "region of reverse command", wherein the controls seem "backwards" - you're adjusting your pitch (angle of nose up/down) to manage your airspeed, and you're adjusting your power to manage your altitude. This is highly counterintuitive to someone with no training, and when done incorrectly, can cause the airplane to stall and dramatically nose down.

Echoing above: How do you configure the airplane? How and when do you extend flaps? What's the maximum safe flap extension speed? How and when do you extend the landing gear? What's the maximum safe gear extension speed?

If you extend those at the wrong time, then they'll do far more harm than good.

If you're too fast on final approach, you'll sail right past the runway and end up crashing into whatever's behind it.

If you're too slow on final approach, you'll stall before you reach the runway and crash into the ground.

TL;DR: Hand-flying to a safe landing is a skill that needs to be honed and practiced regularly, and a layperson would not be able to do it without help.

Small plane

There is only one one case I know of in which a layperson managed to land a small plane, but this was only possible because of a few factors:

It was a clear day, and the man was able to navigate by landmarks on the ground.

There was no door between the man and the cockpit.

It was a small plane with simple controls.

Air traffic control knew a pilot, and relayed that number to the man in the plane.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Like I said above, air traffic controllers are not pilots. Additionally, there is no "hotline" that passengers can call to get talked down to a safe landing. This was just an extremely lucky "I know a guy" situation.

TL;DR: It can only happen if everything goes perfectly.

Gear-up landing

Let's say that somehow, your roommate managed to get the airplane to the runway with everything going exactly to plan, and with no help. But, oh no! The landing gear is broken!

No biggie. Gear-up landings happen all the time, and they're perfectly survivable. I actually know someone who was in one (in a small plane), and the biggest thing was how embarrassed he was. In the case of an airliner, the primary threat is getting everyone off the plane due to the possibility of a fuel leak.

Video games/flight sims

Games like Battlefield or Ace Combat are not at all accurate to the real handling of an airplane, and have no value as a training tool. However, they're inaccurate enough that the skills don't translate over, and you don't really get any bad habits from playing them.

What really trips people up when learning to fly are games like MSFS or X-Plane, because they're just realistic enough to mimic how planes actually fly, but the way that they're presented and controlled can teach tons of bad habits, such as:

Focusing too much on the instrument panel, and not looking outside at the horizon

Not using rudder or trim (important for smooth, coordinated flight)

Not preparing them for emergencies (ever notice how just about every MSFS flight has clear skies and perfect visibility?)

Exacerbating the dunning-kruger effect by presenting the games as hyper-realistic and good for training, when that is not the case

Because most MSFS players are attracted to the airliners, there is the chance that what they're "learning" about flying is not applicable to the fundamentals, which have to be done in a small plane.

Because of this, I actually discourage students from using home flight simulators to practice maneuvers, because not only are they not getting an accurate feel for the airplane, but they also may be doing the maneuver incorrectly and letting it go unchecked.

Simulators which are used specifically for flight training have to meet a specific set of regulations, one of which is to have an "instructor station" where the instructor can monitor the student's performance, and also practice scenarios that the student themselves cannot predict.

Landing flare

Your roommate's explanation is mostly incorrect.

When an airplane is on final approach, it is approaching the beginning of the runway at an angle of approximately 3 degrees, and following a system of lights called a VASI (visual approach slope indicator) to keep it on this 3 degree glide slope.

So, it is a rather shallow angle. Once the airplane has followed the glide slope and is now a few feet above the runway, the pilot executes a maneuver called a "flare" in which they pull the nose up in order to bleed off the rest of their speed.

When the pilot flares for landing, the airplane was already at a nice, slow speed for landing. If the pilot attempts to keep their speed up, then it will take much longer for the flare to bleed off their airspeed and make the airplane touch down gently.

If the flare is too aggressive, the airplane will "balloon" and fly higher above the runway, at which point the solution is to apply full power, circle around, and try again.

If your roommate were to "take a sharp dive, and then level out before you land", then they run the risk of either a) ballooning, or, because they gained so much speed from that dive, b) floating too far down the runway and potentially not having enough room to touch down and stop. if they really fuck it up, then they'll land nose-gear first, possibly damaging the wheel or even losing control and veering off the runway.

My overall opinion of your roommate:

From what you've said, they do seem to have a genuine interest in aviation, but they're misinformed by pop culture, aviation influencers, and MSFS.

My suggestion to the roomie: Their homework from this Tumblr flight instructor is to find a nearby flight school, and ask if they do discovery flights. You'll get to actually fly the plane, and you may catch the same aviation bug that I caught. We could always use more pilots!

[yoonieper]

Oh Holy Night | KNJ

Heaven is where you are. 

❅ Paring: Namjoon x Reader

❅ Genre: Fluff

❅ Rated: W for Wonder

❅ Warnings: None, just softness and pretty things :3

❅ Word Count: 2.3k

❅ Prompt: “Winter Wonderland” 

❅ Summary: Your beautiful winter prince takes you out for ice skating, something he promised would be magical~ 

❅ Thank you: Thank you so much @jamaisjoons once again for the banner~

❅ Now Playing: Soon and Let Me Be Your Wings mashup from the movie Thumbelina (cover by Nick Pitera) (Highly recommend to listen to while reading, big hint, it goes with the story ‼️) and Crystal Snow by BTS 

❅ Author’s Note: Hey babies~ This was a bit rushed (like everything these days lol), but I've had this in the drafts since last year and I'm happy to finally have it out 🥺~ This is the last of the holiday fics I have planned to publish this time around, but I also have maknae line fics for the upcoming winter season/christmas that will be out in December so this isn't the end! This is just pure, soft Namjoon appreciation so hope y'all enjoy!

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much :D

main masterlist

It was his idea to take you out to the ice skating rink. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t shocked, knowing how clumsy your boyfriend could be at times, but he insisted that he wanted to go with you. How could you refuse?  

You ended up in a rink at the edge of town. You had looked all over to find one outdoors knowing that’s what he preferred, but your little town only had the rink open at the college that practically consumed the place you call home. That wasn't enough to dissuade him, and you both made it a date.

Upon getting there, your face lit up seeing how they chose to decorate it. Paintings of school mascots and school achievements were hidden behind streamers and fairy lights were strung to a point at the top of the ceiling. 

“It’s beautiful…” You sighed, relieved that this could in somewhat make up for the fact you were at a college skating rink and not the beautiful outdoor date your boyfriend had pictured. 

You turned toward him and saw that smile you’ve already begun to fall in love with as he watched a few couples skate by. You’ve only been dating a few months, but these months have been better than you ever could have expected. You were in love, it happened so fast but you didn’t want to look back whatsoever. 

You were brought back to reality when you felt the gentle tug of his hand to one of the benches. Namjoon already had skates beforehand and he surprised you earlier with a pair of your very own. They were both matching white skates with shiny, silver blades, and the minute he put them on you couldn’t help but think he looked like a Disney prince. His fluffy white sweater (one you were also wearing) seemed to sparkle under the dim light, which matched his entire white ensemble, something you both purposefully coordinated to blend in with the winter wonderland. 

You couldn’t help but blush when he reached his hand out to help you up, maybe it was just your eyes playing tricks on you but there seemed to be almost this heavenly glow that radiated off of him. He really was your Disney prince. 

You were helplessly enamored with the man in front of you. 

“Do you know how to skate?” He asked so gently. 

“A little, enough so I shouldn’t fall… too many times.” You laughed and he couldn’t help but join in. 

“Well don’t worry. I’ll catch you if you fall.” He smiled and you could have just melted right there. You knew he would.

“You know how to skate?” You asked him as well. It might seem like a dumb question considering it was him who suggested coming to the ice rink, but you were still having a hard time picturing your clumsy boyfriend somehow managing himself on thin blades across slippery ice. 

Joon guided you over to the railing right before one of the entrances to the rink. He smiled at you before easily maneuvering himself across the barrier.

You thought this would be a quick demonstration that he in fact did know how to skate, he’d go around once and you’d be proven wrong. 

Never in a million years did you expect your boyfriend to so gracefully glide across the ice. You were enthralled as you saw him so easily round the corners, before spinning around and skating backwards. If he didn’t take your breath away before, when he skated towards the center of the rink and jumped up, doing a fancy spin, before perfectly landing and flashing you one of those signature smiles.

You felt just as stunned as all the other people who were skating around the rink, your mouth could practically touch the ground at how far it dropped. 

A mother who was holding the hand of her daughter passed you and mouthed you an impressed “wow” as your boyfriend began skating back to you. 

You honestly had no words. 

You didn’t have any words when he made it back over to you either, and all you could do was look at him with so much admiration as he helped you onto the ice. 

There were truly no words to describe the experience. You felt like a character in a movie as he held onto your hand and you both easily slid across the ice, everyone in the rink seeming to only be able to focus on the both of you. 

You didn’t notice, too busy looking at how handsome your lovely boyfriend was. You were tempted to ask where he learned to skate like that, but you found yourself tongue tied still as you fawned at how he beamed despite all the commotion because of everyone watching you.

You did a couple simple laps around the rink, mostly Namjoon letting you get used to being on the ice once again. You almost tripped once right as you both started making your way around, but Namjoon’s grip on you was enough to keep you up. You hardly did much to be honest, you were having a little too much fun being pulled around as jealous people whispered how lucky you were and how handsome and charming your boyfriend was. 

You truly were. 

Namjoon leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Just focus on me.” You didn’t have time to question it before suddenly, instead of skating beside you, Namjoon skated around and pulled your other hand into his as well so he was facing you.

Part of you wanted to say something about how you definitely weren’t as good of a skater as him, but then you remembered how he said he’d catch you if you fall. Instead you looked into his eyes as he started pulling you along with him. 

It was strange, the world around you seemed to disappear as the only thing you could see was him. 

No longer were you in this college rink, with the eyes of everyone watching you both, but it was just you and him together in a true winter wonderland. 

You don’t understand what his gaze did to you, you had been so worried about embarrassing yourself on the way over, but as you looked into Namjoon’s eyes all you could focus on was how much you admired the man in front of you. 

Namjoon slowly began pulling you along and you didn’t know how but suddenly the routine he had in mind started to unfold. 

You hardly noticed the snow beginning to fall from the sky steadily, your eyes remained trained to his as he spun you around across the ice. In any normal situation you would have fallen straight on your face, but no, instead you were able to maintain your balance and couldn’t help but beckon over your winter prince. 

Instead of the white fluffy sweater you watched as the snow began to transform his outfit into a suit of the purest white you had ever seen and a short cape that sparkled like snowflakes as it flowed behind him.   

The snow began to paint an icey wonderland around you both, a large frozen river was now your skating rink and the snow covered trees coated the edges. The air around you both was hot despite the temperature that should be freezing, but why wouldn’t it be when he was here with you. 

You smiled as you watched him go down the river slightly before he happily returned back to you. He flashed you that infamous dimpled smile before taking a polite bow, ready to guide you down the river. 

You giggled slightly, before you curtseyed– you hardly paid any attention to the fact your own cozy sweater was replaced with a short dress that came down just above the knee, it was almost akin to a ballerina’s skirt and was made of that same beautiful material as your boyfriend's cape. Underneath the material was fluffy white fur, the same material that made up the short jacket you were wearing. You might have also noticed the sparkling tiara above your head, but who cares about that anyway when you have this beautiful man in front of you. 

As soon as you took his hand, almost like that was a cue, a bewitching symphony began to play as you both skated hand in hand down the river. 

But neither you nor Namjoon mentioned it as you marveled at the sights around you. A fluffle of white bunnies jumped around in the snow by the banks, a couple of snowy owls hooted at you both as you passed by the trees, and doves danced and dove above your heads. 

The whole world around you seemed to glow and sparkle, the sun shining up above reflected off the snow, making everywhere you turned seem to illuminate with life. It was as if the ground itself was covered in crystals. 

“Let me be your wings.

Leave behind the world you know.

For another world of wondrous things.”

Namjoon spun you around before lifting you up. You couldn’t help but laugh, finding the whole situation unbelieve, but your heart was full as you soared down the river. You couldn’t be happier, you couldn’t be more free.  

You both made it to where the river had pooled at some point, giving you a little more room to move around. 

Namjoon took the opportunity to let go of your hand, fancily skating around you before stopping at the other end of the pond. 

It was then the sounds of a beautiful orchestral piece filled your head like the soundtrack of a movie as you glided across the ice. It was as if you had been doing this for years, the way your body moved so naturally to the melodies playing in your head. 

Namjoon easily joins into your rhythm, as you skate around the pond he embraces you in his arms before lifting you up.

“Anything that you desire, anything at all.

Everyday I’ll take you higher

And I’ll never let you fall.”

You never felt more free, more loved than in his arms– you knew he would always have you. 

You both danced to the music that played, your blades carried you across the ice mindlessly, you both were too into each other to really know what you were doing. But you didn’t mind, you loved the way he carried you, spun you around, and held you in your arms like the most delicate thing in this world. You felt more fragile than the ice all around you. 

You both laughed slightly when you both stopped before continuing down the river. You could hardly pay attention to the enchanting winter land around you both as you looked into his eyes.

“Let me be your wings

Let me be the one you love

Let me take you far beyond the stars.”

All you could focus on was him, the dazzling man in front of you and how perfect he was in this snowy forest. This was his element, his home. 

Hand in hand you continued down the river but for a second you turned forward, a little surprised to see the icy pathway you’d been skating on was coming to a sudden drop. 

“We'll see the universe and dance on Saturn's rings.

Fly with me and I will be your wings.”

Your boyfriend never faltered in his pace, not caring about the drop ahead. You didn’t either, you knew he had you. 

Before you could grasp what was happening, Namjoon spun you around and pulled you close. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as you looked into his enchanting blue eyes and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath you. 

You were falling, but not for long as you watched these majestic wings appear behind your boyfriend. Your glorious ice prince, who shined brighter than the sun up above, as his wings carried you both through the sky.

You both never once stopped dancing, the sky your new rink as he easily spun you around. You never felt more out of your element yet at the same time couldn’t feel more comforted, it was a giant leap of faith you took, and he made sure to catch you with the warmest embrace. 

You knew he would never let you go.

“Let me be your wings

Leave behind the world you know

For another world of wondrous things.

We'll see the universe and dance on Saturn's rings.

Fly with me and I will be your wings.

Anything that you desire,

Anything at all.

(Anything at all.)

Everyday I'll take you higher

And I'll never let you fall.

You will be me my wings

(Let me be your wings)

You will be my only love

Get ready for a world of wondrous things

(Wondrous things are sure to happen)

We'll see the universe and dance on Saturn's rings.

Heaven isn't too far.

Heaven is where you are,

Stay with me and let me (you) be your wings.”

You could hardly believe the sounds of the applause as you finally looked around to see everyone back in the college ice rink staring at you both, with smiles on their faces. 

It was only then that you turned back to your boyfriend, a little confused about what just happened. 

Did you just imagine that all? Why were they clapping? 

Instead of saying anything, he just slightly pulled you to one of the exits of the rink. You honestly didn’t want him to either, you figured it was likely your imagination running ramped again, but as you stared at his broad back, you couldn’t help but notice the tiny bit of snow covering his sweater. 

Despite it being white, the twinkles reminded you of the snowy forest you skated through in your fantasy.

What just happened?

[nancydrewwouldnever]

RANDOM MUSING: Don't you hate it when lack of coordination kicks in and you miss your mouth and end up pouring your ice water down your shirt and into your bra? //

I feel like there is some double meaning to this that I'm not getting. What is it? She didn't turn up to that film fest thing, right?

No double meaning whatsoever. I'm sitting here with cold tits because I have no hand-eye coordination. 😂

[marisol-holme]

The retired good girl's guide to writing

Little Pigeon Stubby Steps

I remember my casual interview with the Ideas Foundation like it was yesterday. My hair was still long, and I chose to wear a smart sky-blue collared shirt for the zoom call. I hadn’t been able to eat because I was so nervous. I wasn’t nervous for the interview itself, normally I’m quite confident going into them, I was nervous because I didn’t want to let Heather down. 

Heather, my friend, mentor, landlady and now interviewer had recommended I apply for the role. She’d spotted me drinking wine and smoking cigarettes in the corner of her garden, like some washed up dejected moron. I’d told her I’d been applying to jobs, but I wasn’t very successful. Truth be told, the constant rejection took its toll and probably looked quite sad from outside myself. The number of times I’d check my emails when I parked in the driveway and ended up crying was… embarrassingly high. I was bummed out and I think my vibes were bumming Heather out so much that she offered to look at my CV and give me some pointers. CV spruced up, I applied for a Marketing and Events Executive role with the Ideas Foundation.

I was interviewed by Heather, Helen, and Joe. Three people was a little nerve wrecking, I’m not too arrogant to admit, but I answered all their questions well and felt confident. I’ve always been good at thinking fast on my feet and my general knowledge isn’t too bad. I think it’s stupid to be judged on those merits though, there are a whole host of brilliant people out there that might not be too ‘sharp’ initially or be nervous or whatever. I remember trailing off at the end of the interview in a depressed sort of fashion and hoped they hadn’t noticed. I was quite tired, and I’d sweated through my shirt. I don’t think I’d even showered. I was glad that it was over zoom. I was giving depressed. They hadn’t got back to me with an offer before I handed in my notice at the nursery. My limbs had been feeling like lead for a while now, and I was sleeping on bean bags or in my car on lunch breaks. I could barely move around with the same energy. I felt bad for the kids that I was trying to educate. I don’t think they noticed but their parents certainly did. 

I was always open with the parents, professionally of course, but I told the truth. Maybe my unwillingness to turn a blind eye to the total extortion that was going on made me feel depressed. I hadn’t signed an NDA, so I had no obligation to the company whatsoever. The company that allowed their employees to take work home to complete… unpaid. It has probably changed now. I hope it has. The colleagues I had didn’t deserve all that. Maybe that makes me a dick to cast pity over them, or maybe its a residual depressive perspective, but my god was it a sorry state of affairs. 

My new job came through and I was to be paid about three grand more to do something, in my eyes, that was far less physically and mentally demanding than childcare. The job description was varied, and I had a lot to learn. John taught me how to use WordPress, which has proved to be very handy, and the basics of SEO management; Joe taught me how to coordinate and execute and event – this was very nerve wrecking for me and not something that I enjoyed; Marie taught me the academic backing for PR and article writing; I had to use my own initiative to figure stuff out, which I enjoy. Helen and her sister, Charlotte, taught me a lot about comms, although I’m not entirely sure that I know what comms is still. Throw in some decent knowledge about HubSpot, email marketing, social media management, scheduling tools, blah blah blah and I learnt quite a lot. But mostly I enjoyed writing the articles. Helen had to reign me in a few times as I’d get a too political for a nonpolitical organisation. I am political. 

I’d also started watching Sex in the City after work, having recently come out of a viewing slump that meant I was rewatching the same three shows constantly (Russian Doll, Bojack Horseman, The Queen’s Gambit). I love Sex in the City. I find it funny. I think for the current societal climate and post #metoo movement, it’s aged kind of badly. But, take it with a pinch of salt, read it as a satire, understand what it did for women in the 90s, and it’s a damn decent show. The characters are real and flawed, never able to pass the Bechdel test, and honestly, a great laugh. It took me a while to realise that I really liked Sarah Jessica-Parker’s character, Carrie Bradshaw. Carrie is insensitive to her friends, most of the time, obsessed with Mr Big, and writes a sex column. Oh, how I admire her.

Turns out, a lot of women hate her character. I mean, she is kind of annoying, but I think Carrie’s behaviour is quite synonymous with what misogyny looks like in women, and women do not like to think that they might be perpetrators of misogyny because, then they would be no better than a misogynistic man. I hold my hands up, I’ve got plenty of internalised misogyny swirling around my brain, I’m not ashamed of it, I’m actively trying to deconstruct it. But like homophobia and racism, if you can’t accept you might be afflicted by these structurally oppressive thoughts and behaviours, then you’ll never be a part of fixing them. A slight tangent but an important one. 

Anyway, I admire Carrie, her career, and her fashion. I allow myself now to browse Vinted and buy some cute clothes, to experiment with my style a little more. It was something that I forced my partner to watch, and I think he did secretly enjoy it too, even if the script is unbearable. Mostly, the show allowed me to feel okay with where I am at in life. I’m 24 years old, living independently, in a healthy relationship, employed and learning to love myself. I think that constitutes as doing more than okay. 

Then, before I knew it, my tenure at the Ideas Foundation finished abruptly. Well, I kind of knew it was coming because the charity wasn’t so hotly funded, and with looming elections literally everywhere, all the big corporations and brands were clinging onto their cash. Very generous of them! 

This was my first redundancy. I felt pretty okay with it. I actually felt sort of relieved. I’d been daydreaming about finding a job in a magazine for a while, so I felt bad only because I thought I’d manifested the early end to my contract. With hindsight, I probably should have communicated this to my work, but rejection is redirection whether it is intended to sting, or not.

[milkcolle]

a while ago i was like....... well if im already gnc and im jirai i really need to try makeup like theres nothing gender invalidating about wearing makeup. but i put it off for soooo long but now.......... i have tried................. no selfie because i dont really like posting just pics of my face im an outfit pic only kind of guy but im actually kinda happy with the final result despite having no prior experience whatsoever and really bad hand eye coordination! but fuck eyeliner. fuck eyeliner to hell and back. god.

[divvsodumb]

Hate

"I hate the idea how you'll get to love someone "

[listens in silence ]

Me?

Hate me for being a lover, giggles "

"lover, no hate you for being overprotective,overly jealous, overorchestrated"

[tears flood the lashes, wet with pain,

lips sewed to not weave bites on hearts, saving others killing hers,

in vain]

replied did I finally,not unbashed yet:

over protective, for hers is the only love that kept me sane,

it's not over protective,it's how overly I care for the only room I know in a fort so disbandoned,in a palace so mundane

a fortified place,where you'd capture emeralds,where portraits haunt the staircase,

where where nights leave you swooning with shivers of haunted stories you struggle to erase,

where lover kills his love,his hands scratches fortified walls

utter guilt and love races to the finish lines of his hands to crawl

to haunt my room,to not protect her overly is--

Its to close your grandma's door you'd vry to in nightmare,

"oh youll die so soom ,so weary,don't leave grandma, theres not many days spare "

To not see that rooms door open - is to not protect you enough,to let anyone have the doors key to you,is to not love you enough

Jealous you say,

She a home I've grown, with doors protecting her not yet born

"you- a painting - watercolors no,

I thought you were a painting drawn in 5th grade with oil pastels of not 54 shades

with 3shades borrowed,and sky always left mild,

fir the blues spread so easy in life than in the wild

the more I smudge you,the shades I see,i hate how they copy my smudged grass to match the perfect lime green or maybe a dusty sage

whatsoever they doing,don't copy my painting,just turn your fucking page

to be jealous is to pick your favourite maths sum you fail to solve first,

adding 2's, getting 5,

eating oranges with knife

Overorchestrated you say,

as if I mastered plan of failing and breaking

Guilty of being planned indeed I'm

planned enough at 11:11s ,

But what to pray I scrounge,

####how last of prayers bashed did he,

nor I nend up at seashores, collecting my hairs from eyes, crying why it all worked out,nor do I sense deafening beats, touch cold hands, breathe scents###

so yes I'm planned and orchestrated enough to miss 11:11s,

what do you wish for when you've seen vained whispers and bells,

you pick your diaries and guards up,erase your poetries to tell

you, just stand ,stand

Reading manuals of how faith prevails fortune ,faith beholds love, faith touches lights

it makes it end always bright.

reading manuals of faith without faith

##not enough of sin is there to sink the love ##

##Insecure you say,

blame all the downward smile for this one now

In the wolrd,for no rationalisation end me up with no other reasons to not stay,

no gods I missed whom were I to pray##

So what you said is indeed "hate you for being a lover" game

and this time,I'm too tired to play

####,to fail at failing the calculations of the coordinates of the brightest star,

where my dead love rests , shining after embellishing my scar###

If your blame is to plan to laugh at jokes you'd cry to,to listen to the songs you hate,