#when he poses and shows his neck/profile... IT'S OVER

[shineemoon]

[SCAN] ONEW ✨ SHINee The 8th Album 'HARD' © majingi525

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 99

Part 1 Part 98

Steve spends a short three days in the hospital before they start the discharge. It’s surprising, somehow, that spending time slowly dying in the Upside-Down is more traumatic on the body than literal possession. Eddie can’t wrap his head around it. 

He’s sitting on Steve’s bed, hopefully for the last time, hip to hip as he kicks his feet out over and over again at the same tempo of his beating heart. Steve’s got their fingers interlaced on Eddie’s thigh, flexing his own fingers to that same rhythm Eddie’d started up. 

“You think it’ll be much longer?” Steve asks, slumping his head to the side and atop Eddie’s shoulder.

His hair tickles Eddie’s cheek. Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it back, but Steve’s still holding his hand, and the other one doesn’t quite reach. 

“Nah, the old man’s good at getting what he wants.”

“That’s because he’s got the same big, sad eyes as you.”

Eddie squawks in fake affront even as warmth pools in his cheeks. Few people have mentioned a resemblance, and it makes him go soft and gooey every time.  “I don’t have big, sad eyes!” He shakes Steve’s hand around gently in his - he’s always, always gentle. “I’m too tough.”

Steve snorts, small and tired. Even with relatively minor injuries, neither of them have been sleeping well in the small hospital cot. It’s starting to show in the circles beneath Steve’s eyes. Eddie wants to bundle him up in the backseat of Wayne’s truck and tuck him into their bed at home.

They won’t even have to come back. All they’ve got is some sort of cream for Steve’s burns, and Eddie’s bruised ribs and broken nose  are supposed to heal all on their own. His concussion’s already behind him, even if things still go a little wonky if he moves his neck too quickly. 

They can just convalesce. Maybe Wayne will bring them soup. Or burgers from the diner and a strawberry milkshake to split. Anything will be better than the mind-numbing sterility of the hospital, as long as they’re together. 

If only Wayne would hurry the hell up. 

It’s not Wayne who walks in. It’s not any of their friends, or family, or an unnamed doctor in blue scrubs. It’s not anyone he recognizes at all.

It’s a perfectly matched pair - like salt and pepper shakers at a fancy diner. Eddie feels his shoulders curl, a silent question mark to their upright forms. 

The woman looks like a mannequin, in her gray pencil knit skirt and matching cardigan, belted tight enough to make her look like a wine glass. Her hair is a windswept brown and her chin’s raised just so. 

The man’s suit is a pewter gray, matching her skirt perfectly. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, like he’s posing for a catalog as he looms imposingly on the threshold. 

She knocks on the frame of the door, calling a quiet, “knock knock,” as the man strides in. 

Eddie feels Steve’s hair brush against his cheek as he sits up and twists, to look at the new arrivals. Eddie doesn’t look toward him, can’t tear his eyes away from the pair, as the woman comes to stand beside the man, photogenic smile plastered to her face, even as the man glares down at them.

“Steven,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in an expression Eddie knows intimately. He’s seen it on Steve’s own face enough times. It’s less charming on the older, meaner model. 

Steve drops his hand covertly and shuffles slightly to the left and away, leaving Eddie’s hand to flop to the mattress, bereft. 

“Dad,” Steve replies.

Eddie turns, can’t not when Steve’s voice comes out so even, so lifeless, so dead. It’s just like when the mind flayer was running the show. Like Steve’s not there at all.

He is though. And that feels worse, because as Eddie stares at Steve’s perfect profile, he can almost see the years of distance and berating stacking themselves into the clench of his jaw and that familiar furrow of eyebrows. 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His Dad doesn’t shout, but the hiss somehow still feels like it’s echoing off the bare walls of the hospital room.

Steve flinches back. Eddie sits on his hand as it twitches without his permission to grab onto Steve’s own. 

“For what, sir?” Mrs. Harrington’s perfect face scrunches up into a wince as she looks sidelong at her husband’s stony face. He opens his mouth, eyebrows angrier than ever, and Steve blurts, “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t help. 

“Sorry,” he says evenly, like his fist wasn’t clenched in preparation for a strike. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Steve sits, wordless, as he stares up at him, unblinking. 

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Steve.” It sounds sympathetic, but Steve’s back curls in, arms wrapping around his ribs as he looks down at his own hanging feet. 

Eddie sits on his other hand.

Steve remains silent while storm clouds bloom above Mr. Harrington’s head.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, crossing arms and tapping perfectly manicured fingers against her own forearms, that same familiar beat that Steve gravitates toward without any of the soul.

“Sweetie,” she starts, no warmth in her voice or eyes. “I understand that you might have been feeling a little sick, but that’s no excuse for the state you left the house in.”

Eddie looks at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, and sees Steve looking right back, eyebrow quirked up in a silent question Eddie doesn’t know how to answer with witnesses.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, looking back down to the linoleum between his feet. 

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Harrington demands, voice raising with each syllable he utters. “You flooded the house, Steven!”

Steve flinches at the sound of his name. Eddie reaches out for the connection between them and plucks it, thrumming it like a guitar. Steve smiles, just a little, down at his socked feet. 

It’s a mistake. Mr. Harrington’s nostrils flare. Eddie sees the resemblance in the way his nose leans just slightly to the left, almost charmingly crooked. But there’s none of that familiar light behind Mr. Harrington’s eyes. He’s an empty pit, a bottomless well.

“We’ve had to replace all of the carpeting on the second floor,” Mrs. Harrington cuts in, looking down at her nails, uncaring as Mr. Harrington’s incensed further by her words.

“We wouldn’t have even known if the Allen’s hadn’t called us!” He’s shouting now, gesturing wildly toward the open door like whoever the Allen’s are, they’re waiting right outside, watching the show.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Richard. Don’t make a scene.”

As if spurred on by his wife’s chastising words, Mr. Harrington’s voice only gets louder. “You soiled the carpet beyond repair.” He punctuates his words with a raised finger, like he’s counting down all the sins he’s ready to lay at his son’s feet. “You made a spectacle of yourself in front of all the neighbors.” Another raised finger. 

He points both fingers  at Steve’s face, finger close enough to his nose that Eddie wants to snap out and bite it. “You left the garage open to be ransacked!” And here comes raised finger number three. 

Steve’s curling further and further into himself, creating distance between his Father’s wagging finger and his vulnerable face. 

“Leaving the door open, Steven?” Mrs. Harrington asks, just as aloof and uncaring of the scene in front of her, even as she says, “we could have been killed.”

Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out. It’s all just such a cartoonish display, almost unbelievable even as he watches it play out in front of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but both their gazes have already snapped over to him. 

Well, better him than Stevie. Stevie, who Eddie’s seen with that same curled posture hiding in his closet, and looking up at his own goddamn house from the passenger seat of Eddie’s van.

He’d been straight backed facing down a demogorgon but just the sight of his parents has him fading into himself. No fucking way. Not on Eddie’s watch.

Eddie slaps his own thighs once, sharp enough that it stings. Mrs. Harrington jumps, just a little, at the sound. Eddie stands, shifting on the balls of his feet until he’s just slightly in front of Steve, ready to defend. 

“Wouldn’t you have to actually be home for that?” Eddie asks.

Mrs. Harrington gasps, hand over her cheek like Eddie had slapped her. “Excuse me?” she asks, at the same time that Mr. Harrington demands, “who are you?”

Eddie puts his pointer finger to his chin, pouting like he’s really thinking this through. “You know, I think you’d know that if you were ever actually around.” 

Steve stands, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as his Dad takes a threatening step toward Eddie. 

“This is Eddie,” Steve says, voice flat and cold. King Steve’s come out to play. Eddie grins, manic and wide in that way that’s always worked to rile up cops and teachers alike. It works just as well on the Harrington’s. He sticks out his tongue and almost laughs again when Mrs. Harrington takes a startled step back. “You’d know that if you gave half a shit about me.”

Mr. Harrington scoffs as he looks Eddie up and down, eyeing the rips in his jeans, the frayed hem of his t-shirt, the unkempt length of his hair. He turns away, dismissing him without even a word as he looks back at Steve. 

“It’s time to go,” he says, glaring down at his son. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Steve takes a step away from Mr. Harrington’s grasping hands. Eddie reaches out, interlocking their fingers again and squeezing tight. The splint on Steve’s finger sticks out awkwardly, digging into Eddie’s own hand as Steve squeezes right back.

“Eddie is my home,” Steve says, like that isn’t the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

He almost swoons, even as Mr. Harrington rages, looking between the pair of them, making connections Eddie desperately hopes are true and even more desperately hopes the man won’t go spreading around. 

“Last chance,” Mr. Harrington says. “Or we’re-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Wayne chooses that moment to walk in. His stance goes loose immediately, gaze sharp. 

“Richard,” he says. Calm, cool, and gruff as he meets both their enraged eyes, one after another. “Nora.”

Mrs. Harrington sucks on her teeth, mouth pursed as she holds her silence. Mr. Harrington has no such compunction. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Wayne raises his eyebrow before turning his back on them to run his eyes over Steve and Eddie in turn. “You boys alright?” Steve nods, but Eddie raises his hand to flap it back and forth in a wishy-washy gesture that Wayne grimaces at. “Ready to go home?”

Richard scoffs, taking a threatening step forward. “What do you mean home?” Steve flinches as the last word lands with derision. Steve doesn’t respond, just looks down at his own shoes with a clenched jaw. 

Mrs. Harrington sighs, and it lands in the room like a blow. 

Wayne’s eyes have gone hold and hard as he turns around and steps fully in front of Steve. “Steve’s been staying with me for over a year,” Wayne says, tone modulated and controlled even as his hands clench. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“Steven,” Richard says, a warning hidden in his tone. “Last chance.”

Eddie leans around Wayne to look between the pair. He resists the urge to pull Steve behind him. Eddie squeezes his hand and is floored when Steve’s shoulders immediately straighten, chin raised just so, like he’s keeping his crown straight atop his head. 

He stands, shoulders back, head held high. Eddie stands right along with him. 

“I’m not going with you,” Steve says, boring holes into his Father’s head with the force of his conviction from behind Wayne’s shoulder. 

Mr. Harrington’s  jaw clenches with whatever he sees on Steve’s face. He reaches his hand out, palm open and beckoning. “Give me your keys,” he demands, curling his fingers like he’s in a cheesy karate movie and begging his opponent to make the first move. 

Steve laughs. “You want my car?” His laugh is hollow. “You’ll have to go get it from the trailer park.”

Mrs. Harrington eyes Eddie and Wayne like she’s putting pieces together he’d rather she not have. Even still, she turns away with an airy, “Come on, Richard.” When he doesn’t immediately follow her directions, she continues, “this isn’t the place.”

Mr. Harrington’s snarling like a dog, finger still raised in threat as he hisses, “this isn’t over,” before turning and striding through the door with enough careless force that his shoulder hits the frame with a meaty thwack. 

“See you next year, then!” Eddie calls, waving bitchily at their backs. 

They all stare at the open door, waiting for an attack that never comes until Mrs. Harrington’s heels stop echoing down the corridor. 

“What the hell was that?” Wayne asks gruffly. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched, as he glares out the open doorway, but at Wayne’s question, he slumps, stepping closer to Eddie until he can lay some of his weight onto Eddie’s shoulders. It hurts his ribs, but Eddie takes it gladly, wrapping his hand around Steve’s waist. 

“Just the usual,” Steve says, sounding exhausted. 

Wayne eyes him critically as Steve avoids his gaze. Eddie squeezes Steve’s side, flickering his fingers against his waist just to feel him wriggle against the feeling. 

“Alright, kid,” Wayne says, reaching out to squeeze both their shoulders comfortingly. Steve slumps further into Eddie who gladly takes his weight. “I think it’s about time we all get home.”

Eddie smiles, bumping his hip into Steve. 

He was already home. After all, Steve’s right here. 

Part 100

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[softdoctorreid]

quick change | reid x reader

summary: spencer needs new clothes and you're more than happy to assist. a quick lil fic inspired by this post from @entrop-y!

• post-prison reid, gn!reader

+++     +++     +++

Inspired by this post from @entrop-y!

Things had been so busy at the BAU that you hardly had time for anything to take up space in your brain other than cases and profiles. Not even your favorite distraction - your boyfriend, of course - had been able to steal your attention. But after a long case in Arizona, you were back on the ground at Quantico, finishing up some less-than-exciting paperwork, and your mind was finally beginning to… wander. As were your eyes. Staring at Spencer’s broad shoulders as he leaned over the desk across from you in the bull-pen. His hair fell so perfectly around his face, his tongue swiping over his lips as he focused on the files laid out before him. The more you stared though, the more you couldn’t help but notice the way he couldn’t sit still, constantly fidgeting in his chair. Shifting occasionally, tugging at his shirt or pulling on the sleeves of his jacket.

When he got up from his desk, you waited a few seconds before following him into the kitchenette where he was refilling his coffee cup.

“Hey, Spence, everything okay?” you asked. “You seem a little - I don’t know, uncomfortable.”

He sighed, leaning back against the counter. “I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Just what?” You stepped closer to him, reaching out to hold his hand. It was an unconscious instinct to offer him your touch as a form of reassurance, trying to help with whatever had him so nervous.

Spencer glanced over your shoulder, making sure you were alone in the kitchenette. “It’s my clothes,” he admitted. “They just feel weird.”

“You mean they’re too tight?” The buttons on his cardigans had been struggling lately, shirts clinging far too tight to his body. You guessed it was a combination of age and the stress of his time in prison that had changed his body in the last year, softening all the places where he used to be scrawny. He’d taken to wearing his pants lower on his hips to accommodate the little tummy he’d developed, but you still thought it couldn’t be comfortable the way his belt and revolver dug into his waist.

“I guess it’s getting pretty noticeable, huh?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Only because I like noticing,” you teased. “I mean, you’ve filled out in all the right places, Spence. I can’t help but stare. But as much as I like how much of your body these tight clothes show off, it’s no good if you’re not comfortable in them.”

“Yeah. I keep telling myself I should buy something new but I haven’t had time. I don’t know, part of me doesn’t want to admit that I have to size up?”

“I know you don’t like change. But maybe this could be an opportunity to find new things you like.” Your eyes lit up. “And I could come with you! Please? It’s been the longest week at work and watching my beautiful boyfriend model nice suits sounds like the perfect treat. Plus, you can get some clothes that actually fit you better.” You worked your face into the pout you knew he just couldn’t resist.

And that’s how you ended up sitting outside a dressing room at the store, waiting for him to try something on. You happily watched as he paraded before you in suit jackets and sweaters of various colors and sizes, giving in to your pleading each time you asked him to spin around or pose for you. You brought him new suggestions and sizes, showering him with compliments in each outfit and making sure he felt comfortable in front of you. 

“Oh, that one is stunning on you.” “I swear it is unfair how handsome you look in that cardigan.” “Spencer, that suit is absolutely sinful. You have to get it.”

You could see his confidence growing, as he stopped shrinking in on himself with each thing he tried on, relaxing at the praise you heaped on him. 

“I like this one,” he said, standing before you in a maroon suit. “But the sizing is off. It’s definitely too snug.”

“I agree, that color was made for you. Let me go grab you a couple different sizes and see if that fits better,” you offered. It wasn’t hard to find the set on the rack, snagging the next two sizes up of the jacket and pants. Just as you were about to knock on the dressing room door, you got a better idea. You tried the handle and sure enough, he’d left it unlocked, allowing you to slip into the room. Spencer turned around wearing just his boxers and a sweater, and you raised a finger to your lips, shushing him before he could startle. 

“I need a VIP seat to this fashion show,” you said. He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head at you, but you could tell from the smile he wasn’t able to suppress that he was just as pleased with your new idea as you were. Spencer shrugged out of the sweater and you fought the urge to reach out and grab his ass - you were determined to be a good VIP seat-holder, at least for now. The show was certainly worth it, watching him do up a pair of the suit trousers and meticulously button a shirt. God he looked so good putting on a suit jacket. 

“This blazer feels better,” he said, stretching his arms out. Spencer reached down to button it, neatly fastening the jacket without it tugging or gaping over his belly. He smiled, seemingly satisfied. “The pants are a little baggy though.”

“Try these, they’re a size down.” You couldn’t help but giggle at him trying not to fall over in the small changing room as he hopped out of the pants and into the next pair you handed him. “Now give me a little twirl,” you commanded.

Though he rolled his eyes, he complied, spinning around for you. “I think these are better but they’re tighter around the waistband,” he frowned. “If I eat a big meal, they might not be comfortable. Maybe I should get the ones that are too loose?”

“You could,” you said, eyes trailing over him. The maroon trousers hugged his backside so perfectly. “But this pair makes your butt look so good, and it’d be a shame to waste that. What if you got this pair and had them tailor the waist out a bit?”

“Oh. I didn’t know that was an option.”

“For a genius, you can be pretty clueless sometimes,” you laughed. You stood up and ran your hand over the buttons of his crisp white shirt. As much as you loved how little his tighter outfits left to your imagination, there was something so irresistible in the way he seemed much more relaxed in clothes that were more comfortable. “But that’s what you have me here for. What do you think? Or do you want to get the other pair?”

Spencer’s hands snaked around your waist. “Mm, I think I’ll stick with these. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the view.”

You fought to keep your laugh quiet. “I know Morgan says your pretty face is your best asset, but that’s only because he doesn’t spend enough time looking at your ass.”

“Morgan’s not a VIP,” he said, leaning close and brushing his lips over yours in a butterfly-light kiss. 

“Worth every penny.” You undid the button of his jacket, helping yourself to squeeze at his hips. “I’m really gonna need a private show later, babe, because you’re just too handsome. All of you, Spence, all of you is so beautiful. Want to see all of you. Touch of all you,” you added, hands dropping lower. “And more.”

He gulped, those pants evidently feeling a little bit tighter now. “I, uh, I should get changed then.”

“Oh, do I get a striptease?”

Spencer just smirked. Without a word, he slipped off his blazer, carefully setting it aside on the dressing room hook before unbuttoning his shirt unbearably slow. His eyes never left yours, staring with such intensity in his dark eyes that it made you shiver. You waited with baited breath as he stripped out of the shirt, letting you take in every glorious inch of his body before he undid the fly of his trousers, knuckles tracing the path of the happy trail down his belly. This time he didn’t hop, slowly stepping out of the pants. His confidence wasn’t the only thing that had grown, his half-hard cock visibly tented his boxers.

You bit your first, letting your desire out in a slow exhale before forcing yourself to stand and occupy your hands with grabbing the items he wanted from the hook on the wall. As much as you wanted him now, you didn’t trust yourself to be quiet and weren’t about to get in trouble for jumping his bones in a public dressing room.

“I’ll take the stuff you want and check out,” you said, kissing his cheek. “You just put your clothes back on so we can hurry up and get home and I can take them all off of you again.”

+++

tell me what you think here!

[dualdeixis]

[Image description: Digital drawings featuring a variety of characters from Octopath Traveler. There are full descriptions of all images under the cut. End image description.]

you know what? octopath is the only game i’ve ever played that accurately depicts what happens when you eat an olive. thank you octopath

[Image description: First is a drawing of Primrose, Ophilia, Kit, and Lyblac, with certain aspects of their designs altered. Primrose steps forward in a beguiling pose. She wears a red dress with a short, layered front and a long, flowing back. She wears gold jewelry including three rings on her right hand, a headband with a flower adornment, and a belt around her waist. Her knife is strapped to her right thigh and she wears medieval women's knee-high hose, black with red garters, beneath her sandals. A note next to her reads, "Elements taken from 15th century Italian illustration of dancers." Ophilia holds up her staff. A long lace veil covers her head and is tied beneath her chin. She wears a brooch on the left side of her cloak. The notes next to her read, "Mourning veil worn for varying lengths of time depending on relation (parent = 1 year). Mourning brooch of braided hair worn indefinitely by choice." Kit's design is much the same. He looks with slight wonder over at Lyblac, who stands tall with her hands clasped and a blood red halo around her head. She wears a black escoffion and a black and red houppelande with dagged sleeves.

Second is a drawing of Mattias, Esmeralda, and Lianna, with certain aspects of their designs altered. A note above Mattias and Esmeralda reads, "Obsidian fashion is ahead of the times (entirely because I mistook Mattias's sprite as having a ruff)." Along with the ruffs around his neck and wrists, Mattias wears a yellow doublet, orange jerkin, a gold necklace with a red jewel pendant, black paned trunkhose, a blue cape with a pattern of yellow stars, and a black cap with a blue feather. He has a confident expression, with one hand on his hip and the other splayed outwards. The note next to him reads, "If he's posing as a merchant he needs a stupid little hat and plume." Esmeralda holds up a black dagger in one hand and clenches the other into a fist with an irritated expression. She wears a French hood, a black gown with slashed sleeves, and gold jewelry around her neck and waist. The gown's skirt is full on the left side, layered and translucent in the middle, and has a slit on the right side to show the crow tattoo on her thigh. The note next to it reads, "Put it back." Then it points to Mattias's left leg and says, "He has it too." Lianna has a neutral expression as she holds up Aelfric's Lanthorn with a dark flame burning within. She wears the robes of a vestal of Galdera. The note next to her reads, "Love how he made her a special little anti-cleric outfit (takes off mourning veil)."

Third is a drawing of Alfyn smiling in profile, showing off his messy, dirty blonde hair with the sides shaved. To the right is a bouquet of seven white lilies. The text above them reads (in all caps), "Donio sam ja sedam ljiljana / Majko da li znaš još sam sam / Majko da li znaš još sam sam / Spava malena slatka glavica / Majko pokrila mi je travica / Majko pokrila mi je travica."

Fourth is a collection of doodles. 1. Lyblac and Kit stand in front of the Gate of Finis. Kit asks, "what are u trying to say." Lyblac points to the Gate with a smile and says, "go here." Kit asks, "in the dark ?" Lyblac says, "go in the dark." 2. Galdera says, "AND I'M BAD!" The souls around the Omniscient Eye say, "MEAN!! GREEN!! BAD!!" 3. To the left, Therion holds up a pair of rivet spectacles to his eye. To the right, he wears a paisley-patterned headscarf and a chador over it with a small smile. The text reads, "His chador swag. Based on an outfit my friend saw me wearing in a dream cuz I thought he'd look cute in it." 4. Two anthropomorphic birds wear cloaks and hold up staves. The first one has a neutral expression and the second looks more aggressive. The text reads, "My brother mistook Believer I + II in Seaside Grotto for bird people and now I wish they really were bird people." 5. A screenshot of a post by user tlirsgender: "Consider: a gay dude and a lesbian who are BEST friends and also dating the same person but not each other because they are a gay dude and a lesbian but their mutual partner has a weird enough gender for it to work. Polycule that’s lgbt like all at once." Beneath it, Alfyn and Primrose happily shake hands while Therion stands in the background with a neutral expression. The note next to them reads, "This concept is so funny to me that it kinda loops around to being compelling." 6. Cyrus smiles and quirks one eyebrow while pointing upwards. The text reads, "LOVE IS IN THE AIR? / WRONG! LIGHTNING BLAST." 7. Primrose leans back on a counter and Therion sits on a stool with his hands clasped. Both look miserable and share a thought bubble which says, "I'm the only bitch here who's incapable of love and sincerity." They glance at each other curiously, and then return to being miserable and sharing a thought bubble which says, "Nah I'm way more sick and twisted than you."

Last is a comic. In the midst of a battle, Ophilia holds up her staff and does 719 damage; Cyrus holds up a tome and does one hit of 1284 damage and another of 1365 damage; and Alfyn holds up his axe and does 649 damage. One enemy remains: a Creeping Treant with one shield and vulnerabilities to axe and fire. In the foreground, Therion says, "Alright..." He prepares a full-boosted Wildfire and says, "Time to end this." Cyrus shuts his tome and says blithely, "I think not. You shall do exactly 2 damage." Ophilia holds a hand over her mouth and blushes, saying, "Oh my, is the Professor teasing?" Alfyn laughs, "Pff, c'mon now, Therion knows what he's doin'!" Therion uses Wildfire on the Treant and breaks it, doing 2 damage. Therion, Alfyn, and Ophilia stand lined up and look very startled, while Cyrus smiles mildly and thinks, "Oh wow, for real? I literally just said that for no reason." The note beneath the comic reads, "*Based on a true story where I was Therion and my brother was Cyrus. I laughed so hard I cried." End image description.]

[attackfish]

Anonymous asked: "Can I ask for 5 headcanons in the “Azula and Zuko are Iroh’s children AU”, please?"

Continued from: [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], and [Link].

1. Iroh recieves word that Zhao is planning to attack the home islands at the same time as he finds out that the Avatar has shown up. Some days are just like that. What takes a little bit more time to reach him is that the Avatar is in fact only twelve. Which means he's neck deep in planning a defense, while at the same time making vague plans for the best diplomatic approach to make to the Avatar, and hoping that the Avatar might be willing to preside over talks with the Earth Kingdom to formally end the war. Plans he shares with his good friend and mentor, King Bumi.

2. So it's Bumi who gets to write a letter back saying, by the way, the Avatar is twelve. He came through Omashu. Old friend of mine. Was frozen in an iceberg for a hundred years. Didn't age. Twelve. And just like that, all of Iroh's halfbaked plans are swept away. Of course the Avatar is twelve. That's exactly the kind of thing that happens.

3. So Iroh doesn't have anything particularly innovative to do as far as defending the Fire Nation, since he really is just going to beef up some of the security he already has in place and make sure his children know how to get to the bunker and how to lock it down if anything goes wrong. Instead of more dramatic defenses on the homefront, he takes a more proactive approach. Which is to say he sends a fleet into southern waters to hunt Zhao down. A fleet, that has been thoughtfully equipped with gifts, and prepared statements to the various locals that this fleet means nothing but peace, and simply wishes to apprehend a violent Fire Nation outlaw, and as a thank you for allowing the ships to pass through their waters, here are these gifts as a token of our appreciation. Iroh is aware he has a lack of goodwill and he needs to do something about that, which is a polite way of saying that nobody trusts the Fire Nation as far as they can throw them, and nobody likes seeing Fire Nation warships sailing through their waters, close to their homes and families.

4. As the person who alerted Iroh to the danger Zhao poses, Hakoda gets special attention, and a messenger hawk informing him of the fleet's imminent arrival. Hakoda might be willing to give Iroh the benefit of the doubt in most things, but not with a fleet near his home, so he rushes home to be there in case of attack. Which is how he learns about the Avatar, and Sokka and Katara leaving. It's a lot to process. Which means he's there when the fleet shows up, and one of the ships docks, and a young, very ernest ship's captain reads a declaration of Iroh's good wishes, and a request for Hakoda to help them determine Zhao's last known location. He also finds himself loaded down with the oddest assortment of jewelry, silks, sugar, tea, and cooking pots, as if Iroh had no idea what Hakoda might want, so he sent everything. Well, that was nice of him. Hakoda and Bato help the captain figure out where Zhao is probably heading, the captain throws a small feast full of strange spicy, wonderful food, the fleet leaves with the next tide, and everybody heaves a sigh of relief.

5. Aside from performing some much needed diplomacy, the fleet also accomplishes its goal, in that it apprehends Zhao. Or to be more accurate, they shoot Zhao's ship out of the water, and he and most of his crew jump ship, and are fished out, shivering and half dead. They are taken away to the capital prison to await trial and execution. But there is another high profile prisoner in the capital prison, the man Zhao claims to be trying to restore to the throne, the Firelord's brother.

[generalluxun]

New Rider (fanfic)

Just a short one shot for my pre-canon friends. Nathan from Gym club makes a new acquaintance while waiting for Marinette to show up for their date. Link to AO3 in profile, text under the cut.

Nathan was actually early when he pulled up and killed his motorcycle. He pulled off his helmet and immediately ran a comb back through his hair before looking around. Marinette was nowhere to be seen. There was just some bookish little ginger sitting on the bench Marinette had said to meet her at.

Nathan took his time stripping off his gloves. He stuffed them into the pocket of his bomber just so. Another scan, still no Marinette. He got off his bike and leaned on it, arms crossed, then uncrossed. He pulled out his aviators and put them on, then took them off and hooked them in the collar of his bomber. Satisfied, he waited several more minutes in that pose before standing up and pacing.

His bored wanderings took him to the bench eventually. "Hey, four eyes, mind if I sit?"

She was a tiny little thing, straight shoulder length hair held back from her face in a headband, brown glasses, and an actual sweater vest in the summer.  She blinked at him with big aqua eyes through her thick lenses. "Um, okay…"

Nathan flashed her his best smile on principle. She just ducked her head back down and returned to reading. Nathan craned out of curiosity. It was a comic book, but like an actual book, way too thick and all in black and white.

Nathan watched her turn a page. There was tons of writing too. He made conversation, "I didn't know they made nerd comics." 

She looked up again, covering the pages with her hands. "It's manga," She said in a voice almost too soft to hear.

Nathan tilted his head, reaching down to peel one of her tiny hands away and look at the page again.. "I never heard of him. Is he one of those heroes in the US? Not as cool as Ladybug, I'm sure."

The girl blinked at him again. She took her hand back and fidgeted. "No, not exactly…"

Nathan grimaced and checked the time again. Then dove back in. "I'm Nathan, what's your name?"

"Sa-Sabrina?"

He flashed another 200w smile. "What, you're not sure?"

She swallowed, fidgeted with her book, then nodded. "It's Sabrina."

Nathan stretched his arms across the back of the bench. Sabrina was curled too far forward for the stealth-hug, but his bomber highlighted his broad chest even more in this pose. "Soooo… the person I was supposed to meet is late. You like motorcycles?"

She perked, her whole body straightening up, not that there was much of her to add height to. "They're kinda neat," she conceded.

Nathan glanced back at his new mount. "You wanna check one out?"

She glanced over, then in a sudden flurry of contained motion her book was away, her bag zipped up, and she stood, holding it by the handles in front of her and bouncing on her toes.

Nathan didn't roll his eyes while she was looking, but it was definitely a case of nerd squared. Something to pass the time.

He levered himself up from the bench, checked the time again, then sauntered to his bike over with his diminutive shadow in tow. He hopped on, and shifted his weight, lifting it off the stand. "Ducati, Five fifty cc, not even a hundred K on her yet."

Sabrina was looking it over with undisguised curiosity. "It's red, like Ladybug."

Nathan beamed. "Noticed that, did you? She's a sleek beauty. It seemed right. Listen to her sing."

He opened her up and pressed the ignition.

Nothing.

Nathan frowned and rechecked everything then hit the ignition again.

Nothing.

A flush of embarrassment crept up from his neck. As he tried a third time. "I don't know what's…"

Still nothing. Frustration spurred him to try again, rough where before he had been delicate. He almost missed the peeping voice, "Can I look?"

He shot her a sharp look which made her wilt. That reaction snapped him out of the moment. He couldn't lose his cool in front of some nerd, or be all flustered when his date showed up - he scanned the park again. "Yeah, sure."

He hopped off the bike, bleeding off some of his anger through motion.

Sabrina set down her bag and scrambled up onto the motorcycle. She began toggling switches, and both the shift and clutch. When she flicked the lights on and off several times Nathan asked, "What're you-"

A small but matter-of-fact tone interrupted him. "The clutch seems fine, your electrical is in working order. It's not even trying to turn over though."

She wibbled and flopped back off the bike, digging in her bag. He gaped when she pulled out a small hard case toolkit. He was still so stunned when she immediately went after the spark plugs that he missed a prime opportunity to show off his strength.

Instead of getting to flex, he instead watched her throw her meager bodyweight into the torque wrench to pop them off. Her hands took a bath in petrol but she kept right on working, holding each of the four plugs up for scrutiny.

Nathan was so entranced he jumped when she announced, "got it!"

She began rubbing the end of the plug mercilessly with her cuff.

While she worked, she chattered on. "Some of these high end models are so picky. They only fire off the other cylinders if they ignite in order. One messed up plug and nothing. This lead is dirty, it looks like impurities. You said less than a hundred K? Still your first tank then, right? I bet the dealer used cheapo stuff to fill it up."

She was already into reassembly by the time her spiel was over. This time Nathan didn't miss his chance. He shrugged off his coat, down to his t-shirt. "Here, let me get that."

He cranked the plugs back in tight, one handed, being sure to turn so he could show off his bicep on the pull. The little grease monkey watched, enrapt.

When he stood up she scrambled back onto the bike without asking. She went through startup again, cranking it an extra time to make up for the spilled fuel. One slender thumb poked the ignition and the Ducati purred to life. Sabrina clapped her hands happily, bouncing on the seat.

Nathan figured she had been holding out on him. “So, you ride?”

She instantly ducked, shaking her head. “Oh no. My dad has one for work. He doesn’t know how to do anything with mechanical stuff, or electronics, or repairs, or painting, or-” she blushed and added hastily, “he’s a good police officer!”

Nathan laughed as Sabrina tried to melt into the bike’s seat with a tomato blush. In a surge of kindness, he offered a distraction. “Well, give it a go. C’mon, let’s see you.”

Nathan kicked the stand up and turned the handlebars to clear the parking space. Sabrina yelped and reached for them in a panic. Nathan gave the whole bike a shove to get her going.

Sadly her “no no no no waaaiitt!” came too late.

Sabrina had no control over the bike at all. Her 40kg self struggled against the engine, waffling inexpertly between gunning it to keep from falling and cutting it to try and avoid hitting anything. She got the bike turned around more by accident than design, but in doing so slipped, almost falling off. Her grip gunned the engine again, sending her careening out of control.

Nathan saw the accident in-the-making. People had already scattered. She was coming right at him. She was bouncing right off the seat. In the moment he stared down his own bike, juking aside just at the last second to catch Sabrina as she flew free. He turned and tucked, rolling with her as the bike jumped the curb and skidded to a halt on its side in the grass behind him.

She was panting and sniffling. He was panting. His blood was pounding in his ears. He remembered the important first thing to ask. “You okay?”

Sabrina uncurled from his chest, blinking over towards where the bike lay before looking up at him. “You saved me.”

It took another moment for it to click. Nathan sat up and grinned. “I did, didn’t I?”

Sabrina pushed herself up, wiping her eyes and letting out a shaky sigh before smiling too. “Yeah, like a real hero.”

Nathan swelled with pride. He stood and reached down, offering a hand up like heroes were supposed to. “It was my pleasure.”

Sabrina got up with his help, glancing worriedly over to the grass again. “But your bike…”

Nathan shrugged, heroes were big about things. “Now it’s got character, and no one can say I was the one who messed it up.”

Sabrina blushed again and shuffled her feet.

Nathan coughed. “I’d better go get it.”

She nodded.

Nathan went to survey the damage and found he was incredibly lucky. There was paint-wear and grass stains along one side, with a few scratches from where it hit the sidewalk as well as turf, but everything looked in order.  He wheeled it around, walking it back out to the parking spaces.

Sabrina had been collecting her tools and was all packed up by the time he got back. Her brows were still knit in worry so he hopped on, flashed her another carefree smile, then started it back up without any problems. “See? Works like a charm.”

She let out a huge sigh, one oily hand pressed to her chest. “I’m so glad.”

Nathan chewed on a thought, which wasn’t normal, but he gave it a whirl. Reaching back into the ‘saddlebag’, he pulled out his spare helmet. “Want to go for a ride?”

Sabrina goggled again. “Really?”

Nathan lifted his chin, and gave her a classic charmer smile. “Sure, you’re cool, for a nerd.”

Soon she was arranged behind him in a too-large helmet, her bag stowed where the helmet had been. Nathan was just about to set out when he heard his name from a familiar pair of powerful lungs.

“Nathaaaan! Nathaaann! Nathaaaan, I’m hereeeeeee!”

Marinette came running up at a full sprint. She bent over as soon as she stopped, gasping. “Uncle’s… Grandpa’s… Bakery…exploded… Sorry… late….”

Nathan waited for her to catch her breath. She looked up and her head swiveled between Nathan and Sabrina behind him. Nathan shook his head. “I got someplace to be, Nettie. I hear my little bro Felix is free most days. He’s more the speed for a shortie like you anyway, right?”

Nathan gunned the engine, felt the arms around him tighten in response, then flashed Marinette one more smile.

He missed her confused reply as he pulled away, “But… I’m taller than Sabrina…”

[aneenasevla]

Devil's Food - Chapter 23

MasterList /Ayami’s Profile /Previous

Chapter 23 - Red Flags

Ohma waited for his friend at the usual place, this time he had arrived early.

He knew it was none of his business, this arranged marriage thing and all, and he was even wondering why, exactly, he wanted to ask him that.

Then he remembered what they used to say about the Kures. They were the type that when they chose someone and married, they used to stay with them for the rest of their lives, no matter the circumstances. And he felt that the girl had strength, as the Kures liked, and that, by some miracle, she liked him, to the point of being sad when she mentioned the cancellation of the engagement. And now Kanami had said that she indeed was heartbroken, it was indeed new.

It was the first time in his life he'd seen a girl even like that kid, hence the miracle. And, of course, he noticed here was something wrong with him too. He just knew that Raian was looking really weird lately. That past month they had met a few times, and each time he had noticed a pattern. He was more aggressive, like a cornered cat, restless, he didn't seem to focus much on training and with that he ended up losing more times, and with that he got even angrier. Knowing that lad, for him to do something stupid would be a step further.

But of course, he would come solely to fight, so he would do that first, meanwhile, he would come up with an excuse to talk sense to him.

He heard the sound of his Harley motorcycle speeding to a stop on the side of the road. It was said-whose, taking the keys out of the contact and removing his helmet as if it were the plague, with an audible grunt. Ohma didn't say anything, just watching him get off the bike and look out over the landscape as if he smelled danger. He shook his head and started walking into the park, turning towards the seaweed-head as if surprised. 

First red flag; he didn't notice him right away.

“Hmm, you're already here,” he grunts.

“Yeah, I got here early today” Ohma approaches. 

Second red flag: he didn't call him any of his nasty nicknames when he saw him, on the contrary, he seemed already pissed with life itself.

“I’m not blind, and I have a watch” he shows the wrist device “‘Come on, then, I don’t have all day.”

“What was this? Are you tired of me?” Ohma teases, and one of the blonde's brow twitches “I thought you'd like to train.”

“I'm getting sick, you're getting easier to defeat” Raian shrugs, waving his hand “I'm almost learning the Niko Style just watching you.”

“Heh, I’ll pay to see it” the seaweed-head strikes the combat pose. Raian looks at him and smiles, coming to his senses a little.

“Tch, you never learn…” He also prepares himself.

… 

Raian falls to the ground for the third time, and gets up once more.

“No, again!” He growls, spitting blood on the floor.

“Raian, you're tired, calm down.” Ohma says, also with some sore spots but clearly much less screwed than the other.

“I said” he growls “again!” And moves towards the seaweed-head, who dodges his punches easily, redirecting the last one.

“Raian… you will end up killing yourself like this…” Ohma warns, worried. The blonde growled at him and continued to attack, even though he had already lost the point of using the techniques and using only brute force.

That was the third red flag. He was getting beside himself.

Ohma would have to finish the fight fast, or he could do something stupid, like activate the Removal, then he would have to use the Advance and it sure wouldn't end well.

He watches Raian's movements for a few seconds before deciding on the best way to act: the blonde tries to grab Ohma, but the latter redirects the Kure to lose his balance and expose his back. Using his elbow, tensing his muscles in Adamantine and doing an up and down motion, Ohma hits the back of Raian's neck, knocking him flat on his face hard, to incapacitate him for a second. The concrete cracked, but the seaweed knew the guy would survive it.

As expected, Raian tried to get to his feet, shivering and grunting from the force, but the blow Ohma had delivered was one of the Kure family's own technique, designed to render the opponent incapacitated, or, if one had Raian’s bred body and eyes, at least reduce his movements.

“Damn it” he grabs Ohma's foot, but is then kicked by the same foot.

“I asked you to stop, motherfucker, that's it for today, enough! More than that is excessive” Ohma complains.

Raian, stubborn, still tries to move, but is forced to agree. He straightens his neck and lets out his breath, still making a very ugly face. Ohma sighs.

“What's going on, Raian? You are very abnormal today. No, for a few days now, maybe a month.”

Raian sits up, massaging his neck, checking if he still had everything working, but stays silent, not wanting to look at his friend.

"You think I wouldn't notice, asshole?" the seaweed-head continues, crossing his arms. Seeing that his friend didn't respond, he sighs “okay, you don't want to talk, it's personal, it's fine. But that's no reason to kill yourself, dude.”

“Said the guy who already died like that…” the blonde grumbles.

“And I could have stayed dead because of that same mistake” Ohma walks away, going to his own backpack and opening it “Don't commit my mistake, asshole. Here” he throws a bottle of water to Raian, who catches just with reflections, when he gets up.

Raian walks over to sit in the shade, still silent, opening the bottle to start drinking. Ohma sits beside him, at a safe distance but still in the shade, drinking his own bottle of water too.

The two were silent like that, Ohma calm, Raian still frowning. The first knew that the second was the stubborn type who would rather die than tell his problems, so it was a good thing he knew more or less what was bothering him beforehand.

“Summer is at its peak, isn't it?” Ohma starts “your birthday is very close…”

“Do I look like someone who cares?” Raian counters.

“No, but I heard that birthday it's cake day.”

“Oh, sure” the blonde rolls his eyes “It’s always about the food.”

“I heard the Bakery has a new flavor, but the funny part is that it has your nickname on it.”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow “Did your girl honor me, by any chance?”

“I asked the same, but she said no, the name of the cake is actually ‘Devil's Food’...”

“Ah” he snorts a laugh “Food names are so stupid…”

“Yeah, I thought so too, the thing was pure chocolate, to the point of giving your teeth a lot of pain. Like Kana said, ‘So Decadent it looks Immoral’.”  Ohma makes air quotes “so I thought I'd ask her to make you one just for fun. I brought it today, since we won’t talk for a while until next week”

“That’s a nice thought. Too bad there's no seaweed sweet cake too, so I could stick your face in it.”

“That's if I don't get yours first, you son of a bitch.”

The two laugh quietly. Ohma felt the air less tense, so he began:

“Yeah, there was even a girl who wanted to buy it, but she refused just for the name of the cake. She said she didn't like Devils…”

“What a finicky bitch, it's just a cake.” He shrugs.

“That's what I thought, she looked pretty scared. Kinda average-low height” he indicates with his hands “Full of curves, round cheeks and when I looked straight at her face, I saw two big eyes, almost like anime ones, and she squeaked with fright when I frowned, that was so funny, she looked exactly like…”

“A mouse” he completes, without expression. Ohma turns to face him as Raian widens his eyes and looks away.

“Ah, so you really know this girl…”

“How am I supposed to know?!” Raian grunts “I've never seen fatter…”

“I never said she was fat” Ohma starts smirking, Raian grunts, all messed up.

“Stop it, Tokita, I should be the troll here!”

“No, you're not a troll, you're a devil…”’

“Fuck, you're not a troll either!”

“Okay” Ohma raises his hands “but you usually don't react like you've been caught when I talk about someone. Spit it out, go. What's going on with you? If it’s messing with you, if I have to punch someone…”

“How the hell did you meet that mouse?” Raian looks seriously at the other.

“I was innocently eating at the bakery when she showed up. Gym clothes, as if she was going to one of the many ones in the area. Kanami and she became friends and then I was introduced. She seemed to recognize me somewhere. I was kinda surprised, since I’ve never seen her before, and after she mentioned Fusui, she asked if I knew you.”

Raian was angry at the absurdly small world he lived in, and that damn sister of his and her talkative mouth. He snorted and shook his head.

“Tch, she'll probably keep her distance from you from now on…” he shrugs. “I kicked her out of the village. That traitor's daughter is better far from us than near…”

“Daughter of traitors? Explain this properly…”

“Her father used to provide exclusive weapons for us, he started selling them to others, we ended up with him and the girl took the father's place…”

“Uh… I don't understand. If your dad had been accused of a crime and you were guilty of being his son…”

“To hell with my old man!” Raian raises his voice “I didn't fucking do anything, why did I… oh.”

Ohma stares at him without expression. Seriously, he was so lacking in empathy for someone to have to explain…?

Raian shrugged, waving his hand, snorting annoyed.

“Pff… fuck it. I don't need her…” he then starts to laugh “wait, did you say she was going to the gym? Hehehehe… god knows she needs it, hahahhaa… it will be difficult but who knows she can do it…?”

“And what's wrong with her? She seems like a strong person…”

“Are you fucking blind?”

“I ask the same, idiot. You've seen wrestlers the size of trucks, what's your problem?”

“I doubt you would say the same if the Bakery Auntie was like that…”

“If Kanami were still fat, I would like her just the same…”

“What? ‘Still’? Was that monster girl ever fat?”

“Yes, I’ve seen old photos of her” Ohma drinks the rest of the water “and honestly I wouldn't really care about that, what she did to me, her skills and her knowledge, to me is what really matters. The thing is, I saw that mouse-girl of yours, she was sad, when she probably should have runned out screaming when I mentioned I knew you…”

“She’s not mine, you idiot” he grunted, his mind too upset that it was true “And she really should have runned, she proves that she’s crazy by staying…”

“I don't know what you did, you psycho idiot, but you lost this one.”

Raian turns his head to his friend “How come I lost? What did I lose?”

“You really missed the opportunity to meet someone besides me who finally looked over that monster face of yours and saw you as a person. A person who is more like a weapon or ‘the strongest in the family’ and, would you look at that? She talked to you normally!”

“Now you decided to lecture me, motherfucker?” Raian grunts “You look just like my grandfather, holy shit.”

“Who else can do it, in this damn world? Grandpa is dead. Hollis and Reichii will only glare at you annoyed, and I'm sure this leader of yours doesn't care about you, she just cares about passing your fucking genes on and maintaining your reputation.”

“Holy shit, what a grudge…” Raian laughs “And they say I’m the grumpy one…”

“Shut up, you would hold one too, If you were in my place…” Ohma sighs “but ok, now she's gone, as you said. You said you don't need that, and I respect that” looks a little sideways, trying not to smirk as he sip a little from his bottle “I just hope she's happy with the guy she chooses in the future, I hope she finds someone who's certainly better than you…”

Ohma could barely react to what came next.

One second Raian was talking to his friend, the next he had him pinned to the wall by the neck, the wall cracking from the impact, so much so that he spit out what water he was still swallowing, coughing breathlessly.

“Repeat that, you Loch Ness with Cthulhu’s spawn!” he squeezes Ohma's neck “repeat it, if you have balls that work!”

Ohma quickly recovers from the sudden attack and retort with a front kick, taking advantage of the fact that Raian was already half damaged and makes a move to try to break his arm, but the Devil was quick and pushed away. The seaweed took the chance to strike back.

“I said” Ohma continued punching, “that you're an imbecile, you keep looking at me and Kanami with that ugly jealous face, but when finally some creature in their right mind decides to like you, you scare them away!”

Raian blocks some attacks and tries to fight back, but receives two, one in the shoulder, another one almost to the chin, but he blocked. Ohma feints a punch and uses his reaction to plant a kick in the face that sends him to the ground. And keeps going:

“And now you’re here, not being able to fight back even my most basic attacks, because you refuse to accept that you lost, but you're actually in this sorryass state. That's pathetic, Raian. You know better than that. Where's the guy who trained with me when I was recovering? Who was there and helped me when I needed it most?”

Raian gets up slowly, controlling himself not to explode “she didn't want anything to do with me…” he looks at Ohma, still getting up. In fact, after hours of training, taking real blows, the guy was still getting up. He had amazing stamina, Ohma had to admit. “She just wanted to get out of her fucking father's debt, and restore her family's honor. Probably taking advantage of my position to escalate status and perhaps sabotage the clan from within. I don't need someone like that, Tokita! If I’m going to have someone who can stab you in the back at all times, then I'm better off alone.” he spits the blood from his mouth, in the reopened wound.

“Yeah, I see that. But you have these goddamn Kure instincts, and clearly you’re missing her” Ohma points out, and when Raian looks at him menacingly, he sighs “Relax, man, I felt the same thing in my turn. You're feeling weak, and of course you don't like it, you get more and more challenges, taking risks and when you just can't do something, you get more and more frustrated and feel like shit, because you’re upset for losing something so important, rinse and repeat. It's that happening to you?”

There were two things Raian hated. One, that he had people who pissed him off, two, that this said person was right. And Tokita Ohma at that moment was being both.

“And what do you expect me to do, creature of the abyss?!” he exclaims “She probably hates me now, and she's absolutely right!”

“What do I expect?!” Ohma points with both hands to himself “I'm not your dad, you fuckass, you solve your own problems! Act like a man and take a day to go talk to her or whatever! She looked pretty sad, even though her family’s problem was solved, and you're there, all pissed off because, I can clearly see it, you clearly imprinted on her like you almost imprinted my back’s pattern on that wall!” points to the wall, in fact, it was almost the mark of Ohma's back. Raian felt a slight urge to laugh.

“And it was awesome, admit it.”

“Yeah, now this is definitely going to haunt the people who pass by” Ohma can't be serious anymore “but go on, motherfucker, get your shit together and resolve this mess for once, unlike you I'm getting sick of using you as a punching bag, so immovable you are.”

“Immovable is that face of yours, you fucking cooldere” Raian retorts “argh, I came here for hitting you but I ended up getting a damn lecture…”

“This is purely your fault. I bet you've been drinking on the roof again because of that.”

Raian smirks “You know me so well, you wish you had married me, didn't you?”

“Fuck you, damn it, If I did, you'd be making me a bottom all the times. That’s not right, I want to fuck too.”

“So you’re saying the Bakery Aunt pegs you…?” he smiles mischievously.

Ohma runs after a laughing Raian, who dodges a flying kick from him at the very last second.

“You’re better run away, you fucking albino!”

“I'm not albino, damn it, find a better curse, Nessie!”

The two continued to fight, Ohma finally having a training partner to match him again.

…

Back at home, Raian sighs as he walks through the halls. Some of the relatives looked at him arriving and turned away. He was used to it.

He hated to admit it, but he had to recognize when he was starting to push his own limits, and he also hated to be lectured, but that was what he had. In hand, a plastic bag with a box. He got to his room and opened it.

Another cake. Like last year. This one was almost black, the chocolate in the frosting was so dark, and it was sure to give cavities to anyone who ate it because of how sweet it looked. Definitely Devil's Food. Heh, appropriate.

Of course he wouldn't get cavities alone. He took a knife and cut a piece of the cake, then took the lid off the box and put the piece there. He saved the rest and went straight to his sister's room, which, due to her property still being renovated, still lived in the mansion.

"Fusui." He knocked on the door.

“Not Here!”

“ ‘Not Here’, my ass, you bitch! I can hear you” he almost laughed.

“Go away, Raian”

“Okay, the cake is at the door” he shrugs “which of course, is a lie.”

“Go to annoy someone else, Devil. Or do yourself a favor and die.”

 He laughs, she's been like this since what he did in the cafeteria. He could kick the door open, but knowing his sister, she could pick up a gun and point it at him, and the way he was still angry, she'd shoot without hesitation. He shrugs and leaves, leaving the piece on the floor. It wasn't worth arguing about anyway.

And also if he hadn't left the piece to her, she wouldn't have left him alone if discovered the cake, two mice with one shot.

He stopped, remembering the conversation from earlier. He grunted a little and walked into the bedroom, kicking some used clothes aside in order to gain access to the wardrobe. It's been a very ancient Kure tradition to receive weapons as gifts, it's been a long time since he's tampered with the things he'd gotten for his birthdays over the years. He looked for one in particular, at the backside of the furniture’s insides, he even sneezed with excess dust.

After a search, he finds what he wanted. He takes the cylindrical package and takes it out of the closet. Look at the package.

He'd gotten it from his father when he turned eighteen. At the time, he didn't think it was as cool as the chainsaw he got when he was ten (which was even confiscated after he knocked down one of the pillars in his grandfather's house), but still, it was a nice gift, so he kept it in the bottom of his wardrobe. Nine years later, it was the second time he had unpacked it.

He watched the Katana. It was indeed a little old, it certainly wasn't first-hand, but it still had the colors vivid and intact: the black scabbard with gold lettering saying "Yama no Ito", as expected, and the grip had blue stripes, and a gold finish on the hilt and pommel, and some gold details as well. He drew his sword, slowly, it had a purplish glow that followed the light, the metal still sharp, the edge still intact. The serial number was one of those still from the time that were engraved by hand, it was carved in: zero-one.

He stood up and made a movement with it, the edge barely making a sound as it cut through the air. Another blow, and this time it made a sound, but still very low, almost a hiss. He looked for something he could destroy and found an old lamp. He caught it, threw it in the air, and hit it with a quick swipe. The plastic, wire, and rubber thing broke in two like butter. Or a severed head, whichever was nicer.

“Heh, silent and strong as a mountain” he smiles approvingly “heh, really… now I understand why the old man was so into them.”

He felt like cutting more things with it, just like a kid who discovers a new toy, maybe take it on some mission, why not? He puts his sword back in its scabbard, and, sitting cross-legged on the bed, looks at it, his arms crossed too.

He was already fed up with it. Sick of feeling like shit, sick of being seen by the leaders as an idiot, sick of his own sister glaring at him, sick of his best friend complaining about what an ass he was being. Who do they think they are to look at him with such contempt? He was like that sword, strong and very useful. When needed, used, when not, kept and forgotten in the closet… the difference was that he could cut alone, and it was much more dangerous. And he could get angry, too, and he could fuck things up...

Speaking of fuck something up, it reminded him of the hustle he'd made in the cafeteria, the original family that made these swords... and more to the point...

That Mousie.

Truth be told, he did what he thought was right. He didn't regret doing the thing itself, and would do it again... if he hadn't been agonizing and actually listened to the story to the end, or at the very least, pressured them both to tell him the whole thing, but he'd been so upset that, if someone happened to show up in his path that night, it was already over for that cousin.

Also… why was he so upset? It was something to be expected, given the mysterious circumstances in which she arrived. For a while he thought that all that patience with him was simply because she was obliged to stay there, and she had to win him somehow...

And she almost did, something in himself said to himself. But now… he didn't know exactly what he had. He was still angry, but partly because there was nothing else he could name…well except one, and he was trying his best to hold back, thank you.

He felt someone approaching the door and soon heard a knock.

“Rai?” was Fusui's voice.

“What…?” He turns his head towards the door.

“Did you bring this cake?” She opened the door, looking at him. He nodded.

“Yeah, so you don't come after my birthday cake again,” he replies in a grunt.

“Wow, thanks…” she approached him, the cardboard lid of the box was replaced by a plate and a fork, and part of it was eaten “It's actually delicious, what cake is this?”

“My food.”

“I know it’s yooouurs” Fusui rolls her eyes “I’m talking about the flavor’s name, it’s chocolate, but it has a unique…”

“It's mine” he raises an eyebrow, smirking “the name of the cake is exactly Devil's Food. The bakery auntie now has this tradition of giving me a cake every year, it seems.”

“Wow, how cute of her…”

“Tokita, apparently, learned that birthday is cake day…” he shrugs his shoulders “I don't complain, however, ehehehe…” he looks at his sister, and looks away.

Fusui looks at him, and puts her free hand on her hip “… so this cake… you gave me a piece, without me asking… are you apologizing to me?”

“Hnf, if the shoe fits…” he grumbles, picking up the sheathed Katana and looking at it. Fusui's eyes widened.

“Wait, that sword… isn't that the one Dad gave you?”

“Yeah…” he observes its conditions “it’s that Yamanoito one…”

Fusui hesitates. Looking at him like that, he seemed almost… calm. Even the menacing aura had subsided. She wasn't quite sure what it all meant, but she was glad to see him treat the sword with some kind of zeal. And to have kept it all this time, and yet, to continue taking care of it, after everything that has happened…

“So… you… still want her, huh?” She speaks softly, just for him to hear. Without malice, almost tenderly. Raian immediately tenses, shoulders shrugging for a second. She saw his teeth grinding.

But the sword was still safe and secure in his hands.

"What if I want, Fusui?" He sighed in exasperation, looking at her.

Next Chapter Here

[perennialwitness]

THEO

Theo sat alone in the window seat of a passenger train, staring out at the Eastern European countryside as it whizzed by. He was back on the continent again for the first time in years. Convinced by Matt to join him on a month-long sabbatical to take their minds off of the political climate in The States. In order to assuage Theo’s guilt for fleeing, he made the claim that it wasn’t uncommon for Black artists to seek asylum in European nations to allow themselves the peace to process and create. Think about Quincy Jones or James Baldwin, or Nina Simone, he would say, and Theo would agree, if only so that he would drop the subject.

A vibration in his lap shook him from his ruminating, his muscles clenched at the sight of his phone screen and the banner it displayed. A message from Rosalina Cruz-Diaz (@QueenOfThorns). He and Rose followed each other’s Feeds, though they hadn’t spoken directly in years. It was a way for them to silently acknowledge each other’s existence and observe from afar. The message was a reply to a photo he’d shared of him and Matt posing with two blondes in front of Brandenburg Gate.

I can’t believe you’re in Germany! You just missed me.

Theo scanned the text several times quickly before locking his phone and dropping it into his lap. He knew she was in Europe as well and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t hope to accidentally cross paths. Had she been thinking the same? His mind whirled with potentiality, thoughts sweeping in great ellipticals gathering force with each revolution until the pressure mounted and he forced his gaze outward through the window, his thoughts kept busy tracking the blurry landscape, soothed by long strokes of earth tones. He unlocked his phone again once he cooled off and began typing a response. Something casual, fun, something that showed he was well-adjusted without her and living a fulfilled life.

Did I? Oh well, better luck next time.

Three bubbles appeared at the bottom left corner of the screen and he locked the phone again, not wanting to appear too eager by seeing the message as soon as it was sent. His right leg shook up and down in a twitchy rhythm. He had the sudden urge to clench his jaw and crack his neck. His thoughts now turned to what he might say if he ever saw her in person; likely that he’d seen it all coming, that their end had been inevitable, doomed from the start. His phone vibrated and with clammy hands he unlocked it quickly, too quickly.

Who says there’s gonna be a next time?

Theo caught his own smirk of amusement reflected by the screen and it stung. He knew immediately what this had become. Rose was speaking in a language she’d reserved for him a lifetime ago. A reference she knew he’d understand. Rather than reply he pulled up her profile, the bio read: A Rose by any other name. Radicalized Afro-Latina Carmen San Diego. If you catch me I’ll tell you secrets. None of her photos were of tourist attractions or national monuments. Instead they depicted the intimate moments that occurred along the way. It made her seem to be perpetually in transit, never arriving at any place in particular. There were many times when he’d thought to comment on a photo, spent half an hour agonizing over word choice, but he never followed through. He tapped on her most recent, dated three weeks ago. It was black & white and captured Rose perusing records at a small shop in Kreuzberg. She’s mid gasp, eyes alight, pinching the edge of a copy of Pastel Blues. He swiped at his phone, taking him back to the message screen. He typed and as he did he was reminded of Rome. They weren’t making a stop there on this trip at his request. He was unsure if walking those streets would have a reaction on him or not and fearful of ghosts from his past he thought it best to avoid the Eternal City altogether. Though despite his efforts she appeared all the same, seeking to acknowledge their shared proximity to the place where it began.

I don’t know, it’s all coming and going.

Over the years Theo attempted on sleepless nights to rationalize his heartbreak. He’d tell himself that the love he felt for Rose was a result of something larger than them both, that their entanglement was as inevitable as their separation. They were young travelers bursting with hormonal desire, attempting to justify their escapes by validating themselves with the presence of another. Holidays were an opportunity for the romantics to act out the moments that felt too forced for day to day life, a chance to be cheesy and dramatic with the understanding that their actions will exist solely in that one point of space-time, carried onward only by memories as their lives would likely never intersect again, less they faced the reality that whatever magic conjured then had not been between their true selves but the people they dreamt of being. Theo and Rose had broken this rule and the result was their failed relationship. With time he came to believe that impermanence is an aphrodisiac, an invitation to tempt fate and while these moments may burn loud and bright they fizzled just as rapidly. Their love, like all love, had been a gamble, with particularly low odds and to lose such a wager was better than having never played at all. Her response was instantaneous.

Always will be.

As much as he tried, those rationalizations never stuck. He’d loved her, all of her, not just the version that existed in Rome. He’d seen the gory bits and his love remained constant. It was her who’d fallen out of love with him. He hadn’t lived up to the expectations she had for him, she hadn’t given him the opportunity to. She’d deemed him without potential and therefore a waste of her time. Theo sighed and focused on his hands as he tapped out,

Why didn’t you wait for me?

He stared at the text wondering if he should ruin this moment with accusations. Thinking better of himself he deleted the words, checking his need for answers. He’d gotten the message loud and clear.

I miss you and I hope you’re safe.

He snuck one last look at her profile, locked his phone and returned to his gazing. Proud of himself for showing restraint, he used it to soothe the wound reopened in his chest. It was the mature thing to let her go, he’d wasted enough of her time and she’d made it clear what the situation was when she left. He had no right to interfere, even if she was the one who’d reached out it was sanguine to assume she’d had anything other than platonic intentions. They could be friends, should have been from the start, he was beginning to see that now. What began as defensive logic for the sake of his id slowly dissolved and he began to paint pictures in his mind of what could have been. Matt was a good friend, loyal, but never really interested in the details, he arrived in every new city with a checklist of places to visit each of which only holding his attention for the minute or so it took for him to snap a selfie. Rose though, she had a knack for it, traveling, and a way of imbuing even the most mundane experiences with suspense and anticipation befitting an odyssey. Theo imagined himself following her around the planet, stumbling upon ancient spaces and taking them in with her whispering facts she’d gleaned from books and documentaries in his ear like gossip.

By the time Matt returned from the restroom, languid and unable to catch his balance on the speeding train, Theo was fully engulfed by his fantasies and did not acknowledge him as he took his seat. With a groan he slid into a slouched position, running a hand over his damp forehead.

“Left a mess in there, hard to aim with this thing bouncing around.” He waited, but Theo offered no response. “Hey, so uh, remember I told you about that girl I met at the bar last night?” Nothing. “Sticks, such a cool name, anyway she hooked me up with this—” Matt scrounged around his pocket for a moment shifting dramatically from side to side so that he bumped Theo’s shoulder finally drawing his attention.

“What?” he muttered with a few rapid blinks as he readjusted to reality.

“— It’s supposed to be like a psychoactive sleep drug,” Matt produced a pill bottle of little black tablets. “I’m thinking it’d be dope for the train rides, like a little trip between trips.”

“You know this counts as smuggling, right?” Matt looked from him to the bottle, his eyebrows scrunching in thought.

“I don’t think anyone cares. It’s not illegal, I’ve never even heard of it. When was the last time someone checked your bags anyway?” He gave the bottle a shake and let the rattle of tablets tie off his point. “So, you down?” Theo wavered, he didn’t love the idea of both of them being incapacitated in such a public place. Though in the second it took him to respond his mind was changed by a single thought; What am I doing any of this for, if not to take chances?

“Give me one,” he said and Matt shook out two tablets one for each of them, with a slight cheers they dry swallowed the NYX and then they were gone.

[mileapokp1677]

Three Steps to Win You (CH 17)

Title: Three Steps to Win You

Rating: M

Pairing: DaddyChan/Tankhun, Kinn/Porsche, Vegas/Pete

Category: M/M, AU Nerd-Jock

Summary: Accidentally, scientist Tankhun Theerapanyakul embarrassed footballer Captain Chan "Daddy" Knight in front of his coach, teammates and fans. He had to fulfill three tasks from the captain before his apology was accepted.

Chapter 17

(Tankhun POV)

Monday Morning 

As usual, at 7.30 AM sharp, Tankhun was already in the queue line of the Hattrick to buy his favorite Americano. He decided to get a jumbo size coffee today, gods knew he needed it. There was too much stuff and drama that happened last weekend. Good thing he looked absolutely stunning today wearing the blue Ferragamo Navigator sunglasses, black classic Ferragamo combat boots and a navy/white mini spot ascot tie from Turnbull & Asser. His boring white shirt and skinny black pants for work, for sure, no longer looked plain. 

Today was a slow day for the cafe, because it only took Tankhun less than 10 minutes from the time he started queuing until he could sip his first coffee of the day. His coffee, like always, was perfect and so was today's weather. For that, he felt so grateful. 

Ah~ I feel so much better already

Call it a de ja vu but suddenly Tankhun felt the exact same way as he felt weeks ago when he met Chan for the first time here. As soon as he thought of something positive, things just took a 180 degree turn fast. 

Click! Click!

Fuck, Anna Banana proved to be very efficient. Tankhun even willing to bet his new sunglasses that currently, there was one or more paparazzi behind him, ready to take pictures of him.

Well, Tankhun had been reading fashion magazines since he was 10 years old, and he knows exactly the best angles for his face and body. If that evil woman had meant to post an ugly photo of Tankhun, it would never have happened, for he would never have allowed it.

Bring it on!

Tankhun calculatedly turned his body 45 degrees to his right, showing off his perfect profile, he then opened his mouth a little, lifted his chin slightly, and put his long neck on display. Hold that pose...

Click! Click! 

That’s a perfect Naomi... How about a Tyra now?

Now Tankhun, facing in the direction that he believed the paparazzi were hiding, pushed the navigator sunglasses over his head and left them there. He then dramatically took a sip of his hot coffee while both of his eyes staring intently at the front. Smizing now…

Click! Click!

Afterward, Tankhun slowly lowered his sunglasses so it perched perfectly on his nose again before turning his body 180 and walking catlike towards the university, with a satisfied smile on his lips. Once he entered the university area and was sure the paparazzi could no longer stalk him, Tankhun took his cellphone out of his bag and texted Chan.

[Tankhun T]

Your ex from hell is not wasting time. One or two papz following me from the Hattrick. I'm at the Uni now, and I think they're no longer following me, but who knows for sure, right? 

Instead of replying to the text, Chan gave Tankhun a call, who picked it up immediately.

"Are you okay?" asked Chan, who sounded a bit worried, straight to the point.

"I'm fine. As a matter of fact, I’m super fine. You just wait until they post my pictures. I look so~ fabulous if I may say so myself."

Chan chuckled before responding, "I've no doubt. You always look great, baby."

“Chan! What do I say about-”

“Wait! Tankhun, hear me out first,” pleaded Chan. “I’m big on endearment, okay?”

“What?”

“Please bear it with me, but I always call my special one with an endearment and she knew all about it.”

Tankhun sighed. “Seriously!? So, no option but to do it?” 

“Yes. So, please?” the captain pleaded again. “Please?"

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” said Tankhun. “But you only get to choose one, okay? And please no sugar or honey or DEAR, I hate them.”

“Thank you… baby?” replied Chan delicately. “How about it? I already called you baby twice in front of Anna.” 

Baby?

Tankhun didn't know what had happened to him exactly, maybe he had gone mad, but his face suddenly felt a bit hot and…  fuck, did he just blushing?  

Tankhun Theerapanyakul get hold of yourself, you’re not a fucking teenager anymore, for God’s sake. 

“Tankhun?”

“Y-yes?” 

Tankhun closed his eyes. Damn it to hell! He never stammered, never.  

“Is it acceptable?” asked Chan.

"What?"

"Baby, is it acceptable to call you that?" inquired Chan, making sure.

“Yes… Yes, it is,” affirmed Chan, with a steady voice.

“Do you think you can ask your boss for a longer lunch time today?”

“It can be arranged, but why?” 

“I’m at the stadium near the Hattrick right now, for morning practice,” explained Chan. “Let’s have lunch together. If those papz are still around the Uni, let's give them what they want.”

“I’ll talk to her and update you about lunch.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

“Chan?” 

“Hm?”

“I'm in front of the research center now, so I better go.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later, baby,” said Chan. “Be good for Daddy.”

“Ew~ Chan! What the fuck!” yelled Tankhun. “EW~~~” 

Chan laughed like a maniac. 

“Apart from that one time, when I asked for your autograph for Kim, I never called you Daddy ever again and I never will. You hear?” stated Tankhun firmly. 

“You know what they all say, right, baby?”

“What?”

“Never say never,” said Chan. “Ciao, baby.” 

“CHAN!” 

But the call has been disconnected. 

UGH! Damn that man! 

Tankhun stomped his feet on the ground in annoyance, but at the same time his heart beat faster.

Oh, God… 

******

(Chan POV)

BSFC Training Ground

Chan was still giggling as he put his phone in his personal locker. Even though the last two days had made his emotions go up and down like a roller coaster, today Chan was in a good mood. Of course when he got Tankhun's text earlier about the paparazzi he was a little worried, but those bastards indirectly have made it possible for him to have lunch with Tankhun. So he won't complain much.

“Was the one who just talked to you on the phone Doctor T, Cap?” 

Pete, who apparently was behind him and suddenly asked a question, took Chan by surprise, but of course he recognized his co-captain's voice.

"You've been sneaking up behind me a lot lately, Pete,” accused Chan as he closed his locker. 

"I didn't mean to do that, Cap. But lately you've been out of focus several times. Sometimes, you don't hear my footsteps or even my voice calling you," reasoned Pete.

Chan turned his body to face Pete and didn't know whether he liked the meaningful smile on the 25-year-old midfielder's face or not.

“What’s with that face?”

Pete softly laughed before responding, "Cap, I know it's none of my business, but the boys and I... we’re happy when you're happy. It's been a long time since we heard you laugh like you did on Saturday, or just now."

"Nosy."

"We think Doctor T is super cool!"

“You guys really like him?” asked Chan, testing the water. 

“Yes!” declared Pete firmly. “So, it was him on the phone, right? You look happy, by the way.” 

Chan just smiled and ruffled Pete's hair. "Let's start today’s training, my snooping co-captain!"

Pete laughed again.

"Yes, Sir!"

****** 

(Chan POV)

12.25 PM, the Research Center

“Hello there, I’m here to see Dr. Theerapanyakul,” said Chan to the Research Center receptionist, whose eyes were fixed on the computer screen in front of her.   

“Do you have an appointment with him, Sir?” asked her as she finally raised her eyes to look at him. “Oh my GOD! DADDY CHAN!?”

“Hi,” greeted Chan again. “Could you please tell Dr. Theerapanyakul that I’m here?” 

“Yes, of course, Sir!! Oh my God, Oh my God… I can’t believe this,” muttered the receptionist, looking so frantic. “Ah, I’m so sorry, Sir! I’m a huge fan of BSFC, it’s just shocking that you’re here! I had no idea that you and Dr. T…. Oh, never mind, I’ll inform him right away.”  

“Wait, on a second thought… What's your name?” asked Chan. 

“Sunny, Sir.” 

“Could  you do me a favor, Sunny?”

******

(Tankhun POV)

12.35 PM, the Research Center 

“Professor Erica, if there's nothing else to discuss, may I return to my office? My date will arrive here any minute. He is very punctual,” requested Tankhun to his boss, the head of the Research Center. 

Instead of answering his question, Professor Erica, all of a sudden, stood up from her chair with a super shocked face, and screamed, "Your date is the Captain of BSFC!?"

Tankhun, who was also in shock, immediately stood up and responded to the Professor, "How did you know, Professor!?"

Professor Erica just pointed at something behind Tankhun's body with her finger, before she shouted at her assistant, "Cookie, bring me a marker and a paper now… STAT!"

No, no... no way in hell… 

Tankhun turned around quickly and sure enough Chan -- the bastard, who looked so bloody handsome in simple jeans and white t-shirt, was standing there. He was leaning against his boss's office door frame, in his hand he carried 3 white rose buds.

“Hi, baby,” greeted Chan with the biggest smile on his face, which at that moment, Tankhun wanted to scratch so badly.

"Baby?” shrieked Professor Erica. “Tankhun Theerapanyakun, how dare you hide this from me!? I thought we're friends!”

I’m so~ dead  

TBC

AN: The phrase "Ciao, Baby" was inspired by Peter Knight aka Daddy Chan's ig story clip that he made to say goodbye to fans after KPTS finished airing. Those of you who have never seen the clip, you must see and hear for yourself, how sexy Daddy Chan's accent is when he says the word baby. faint

[lgcrp]

◔ ┈ LOADING … TRAINEE PROFILE INITIATED !

YOO CHANMIN ( READ MORE HERE )

AGE 21 ( 30 JANUARY 2003 )

TRAINED FOR 3 YEARS ( SIGNED JULY 2021 )

              INTRODUCTION VIDEO FOUND … PRESS PLAY ?

“hi, my name is chanmin!” the young man greets the camera with a nearly unparalleled level of enthusiasm, his face bright and not a hint of tiredness to him, though surely he has been working hard this whole time. “i’m currently a legacy entertainment trainee who’s looking to take over the world when i finally debut!” he strikes a super hero-esque pose. it’s hard to tell if he’s being serious or not.  “no, seriously.” it’s hard to tell if he’s really serious or not. “i’ve been interested in music and sound since i was a kid. it’s amazing how it can affect you mentally and even physically. i want to share that energy with the world and continue to learn more about it myself.” a pause comes over him, like chanmin forgot to prepare something for the video but is trying to wing it anyway. and maybe that’s the truth, since it really looks like the awkwardly long silence should be cut. “i can do a backflip!” he proclaims, and seems like he’s about to actually do it before he stops himself. “just kidding, i’d probably land on my neck and kill myself. no, what i’ll actually show you today is how fast i can talk.” he takes a deep breath and pauses, this time building suspense instead of leaving an awkward silence. and when he does finally speak, impressively quickly at that, he’s reciting the entire script of the bee movie of all things. chanmin finally runs out of breath, ending his skills showcase there. “see?” he grins at the camera. “anyway, please look after me! i’m looking to being on stage and meeting you all someday soon.”

            INTERESTED ? REACH OUT TO THE TRAINEE !

[vwk7121]

ADRN631 Saskia Norman Week 3

These are the only materials that I had access to or could find for the DIY studio photos I tried taking at home, so it wasn't very affective, especially since they weren't really big enough to have far away from my head. With the plastic sleeve I could only get any reflectiveness to show up when having it right up against my skin, which meant it would show in the photo. The tin foil also didn't work out so well as a reflector without being very close up to me.

This image was the only good result I could easily get without having the tin foil cutting into frame, and the only real difference from what the lighting was like without it is just that my neck is a bit less shadowed.

In this photo I was trying to use baking paper as a defuser, which also didn't really work, but it was the closest thing I could find even if it just blocked out the lighting a bit. I was trying to take away the brightness of the ring light I was using but it didn't much of a difference since I didn't have the proper material.

This is the contact sheet for my SDL and I chose to take photos of my brother. With my ring light I was able to try all the different light angles and moods, but he wasn't comfortable with having his body in the photos so I could only do close ups for the composition.

Marti Friedlander

This is a self portrait photo the reminded me of the SDL task in the first week. This photo is taken in a mirror, which was most likely the only way of taking a self portrait while being able to see yourself back in 1973. Since this is a black and white photo the dynamic range and contrast of lights and darks is important depending on the mood, and the dark clothing, hair, and shadows created by the camera over part of her face add to the mood that this is not just Friedlander messing around with the camera for fun.

The composition is half-body framing, showing a lot more of the body/torso as a close up photo, and this shows a very clear view of how the photo was taken through the mirror. Even though the camera is centered she is slightly to the right, most likely to move out of the way of the camera so at least some of her face is visible. The mood created from this image is somewhat serious, with the focused look on her face, but also not really once it's understood that this is a mirror self portrait.

Isabella Bubola

Although it's taken in landscape, this portrait photo caught my eye with the use of sky reflection in the glass as the main source of bright lighting. It's bright enough that it's hard to see her eyes clearly, and combined with the blurry glass texture it makes her face feel very far away from the rest of her body. The dark of the ground/plants being reflected in the glass create the perfect black background for this photo, really bringing out the highlights of her hand when attention is already being drawn to her face.

The composition is a close up frame, but because it's in landscape the top of her head does get cut off to prioritise the landscape that's being reflected. The whole photo gives off a very soft and tired mood, almost feeling dreamy with the way her face looks with that reflection layered on top, and the faint raindrops on the glass add the the calm, sleepy mood as well.

Annie Lebovitz

This photo is another side profile that interested me because of how few I was seeing. The lighting in the photo has a lot of dynamic range specifically with the shadows, which is useful for the mood created. There is especially a lot of dark area created from the shadow of the hand against the wall, and the sleeve as well. The dark parts of the photo grab the most attention and create a strong, intense, and mysterious mood already, but the other focus is the composition of the pose.

The composition is another landscape close up, but this time the hand is included as part of the symmetry in the positioning and balance within the photo. Having the hand held up and the subject looking at it makes you wonder why she's looking at her hand, or if there's something more to this photo, adding to the mysterious part of the mood being made.

'Whose Migrant Mother was this?' Video Response:

I think that my opinion on the ethics of this photo and the circumstances around how it was taken is very neutral for the most part. The only part that really stood out to me when first watching the video was the fact that Florence Thompson and her family were not part of the pea pickers that Dorothea Lange was originally there to photograph, which I thought was a bit unintentionally bad due to the potential for misrepresentation. Because of this I also think that Florence was valid in her feelings about herself being a misrepresentation of what the real pea pickers were going through in that camp and at the time.

But then, on the other hand, I also think this photo didn't have that much of a misrepresentation issue because everyone was in a similar state and life at the time. There were a lot of other people who were probably in very similar living conditions that weren't also pea pickers, and it is used to teach about the struggles and hardships of people during the Great Depression, so it's hard for me to say that the use of the image and the meaning put behind it is a hundred per cent unethical.

[donnahinkleystaceytroy]

Lot #196: I DREAM OF JEANNIE (1965-1970) - Jeannie's (Barbara Eden) Season 1 Bottle Jeannie's (Barbara Eden) bottle from Season 1 of the fantasy sitcom television series I Dream of Jeannie. Jeannie was released from 2,000 years of imprisonment when her bottle was uncorked by astronaut Anthony Nelson (Larry Hagman) after his space capsule strayed off course and marooned him on a desert island. This bottle is seen in a photograph displayed in Stephen Cox's "Dreaming of Jeannie: TV's Primetime in a Box" book.

Jeannie's magical bottle was not a prop created for the show but instead a repurposed special Christmas edition Jim Beam whisky decanter. Although there have been several claims as to who discovered the decanter over the years, director Gene Nelson asserted he noticed it whilst passing the window of a liquor store and was so taken by the bottle that he brought it to the show's producer, Sidney Sheldon, and it was later painted by the props department. This style of bottle was used throughout the show's five seasons, although when the series transitioned into colour for Season 2, the bottle was updated to a brighter colour scheme so it would be more distinctive on camera.

This teardrop-shaped bottle is made from smoke-green tinted glass and features a tapered neck, a bulbous base and the markings "D-334 119 64 1" embossed on the bottom. It displays hand-painted gold-coloured accents and an ornate leaf design. The glass stopper has a cork end. Although the bottle stopper was only briefly seen in the first episode (misplaced on the beach as part of the storyline), it was used for publicity shots. Accompanying this bottle is a copy of the "Dreaming of Jeannie: TV's Primetime in a Bottle" book, two promotional photographs; one depicting the bottle posed against sand, the other a still of Eden and Hagman with their respective autographs signed in black pen, and a custom clear acrylic display case featuring "I Dream of Jeannie, 1965" applied in white vinyl on its black-painted wooden base. The bottle exhibits areas of wear to its paintwork and remnants of blue paint on the cork stopper. Dimensions: (bottle) 13 cm x 13 cm x 28 cm (5 1/4" x 5 1/4" x 11"); (display case) 23 cm x 23 cm x 59 cm (9" x 9" x 23 1/2")

Additional Provenance:

This lot was originally sold by Profiles in History in the Hollywood Auction 40 in June 2010.

Estimate: £40,000 - 80,000 https://tinyurl.com/35ea3tb5

[nonbidiary]

Boogeyman, you're sad

I redownload the Facebook app on my phone. I haven't touched it in weeks. It was my primary source while working and connecting with the community while I was a news reporter.

The shell of that person, still friends with council members, the local mayor, multiple firefighters, and parents of children who died at some point between June 2018 and June 2021.

I decide it is time to update everyone on my life. Breaking news reporter at three USA Today papers in New York to an aspiring floral designer in Brooklyn.

Instead of a masculine person posing in photos with me, I share an image of my first girlfriend holding my hips as I wrap my arms around her neck and we dance on New Year's Eve.

A lot has changed. Except my father. I scroll down my feed after posting and see he created yet another Facebook profile that was recommended to me. His bio basically states he is the Boogeyman. Which is an improvement from when he used to only refer to himself as big daddy. *throws up*

I scroll on his page to see months of him posting images about how kids can't blame their parents for their own actions. This is hilarious to me because isn't that what he did?

I grew up without grandparents in my life. He isolated us from any kind of family around the time I was 6 or 7. My earliest memories of playing with my cousins stick in my brain because I've always loved community.

He said his parents would beat the shit out of each other, and he and his sisters were always worried about foster care. I really think he tried to put that fear into me and my brother, so we wouldn't confess at school what went on at home.

To the normal eye, this was a nuclear family living the dream. My parents owned a three-story house with an acre of land and a view of Pike's Peak in the distance.

My best memories at that house are when I'm too young to know about sex. Once that possibility showed up, my father stopped seeing me as his child and more as property. I remember sitting in the basement when he showed up and decided to give me the talk about my period. He says he was a nurse when I was younger but honestly I don't trust this man.

He would tell me that tampons break your hymen, and as a good catholic girl, I was to only use pads. When I couldn't get my period, I went to the doctor and they told my parents I would need to take birth control to help kickstart it.

I remember sitting at the kitchen counter when the pills came in the mail. He was stern and told me these were only for health reasons and I shouldn't think otherwise. We prayed over the pills and I took the first one.

I felt like I was the problem. I always feel like it's my fault, and that is thanks to him. How can I blame the guy?

He only ever hurt me for any mistake I could possibly make. Remote controls stopped becoming associated with watching tv as a family and instead became a weapon to throw.

Dinner knives became subtle threats on the dining table as my mother, brother and I tried to keep a low profile to avoid his tantrum of stabbing the wooden table when he's upset.

My side of the table faced north. My best friend became the clock on the oven. Counting down the minutes to when we would stop being hostages at the table, but instead spread throughout the house.

My bedroom door can open and close, but the wood is busted after one too many times of him deciding he is angry enough to break down my door and wake me up in the middle of the night.

I said the "Our Father" prayer every night before bed and asked God to help my family. I watched Dr. Phil almost every day with my sperm donor and wished we could go on so Phil could address why he's so angry.

Instead of seeking help, I decided to just take it and take it. I thought every day about killing myself. To kill the thing he said changed his life when I was born. To kill any version of the person he wanted me to be.

I remember in 8th grade my teacher asked us to put on A Midsummer Night's Dream skit. For my group, I was to play a man's part and needed to borrow one of my dad's sweaters.

Standing in the closet, my father hands me a brownish knit sweater that I put on. I think he's just as surprised at how boyish I look as I do, so he immediately tells me to not become a dyke.

The harshness of that word infiltrated my brain. I didn't understand. I was just wearing a sweater for a school project. The next day when I wore the sweater, I remember a classmate I didn't particularly like gasp in delight at how much of a man I looked. I remember feeling complete joy but the sudden wave of remembering my dad's words would hold me back.

Anyway, you're wearing all the men's clothes now. You have a girlfriend who adores you. You are nonbinary and not taking anyone's shit. It's a new year and so much growth is waiting.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

You again, Spider | Spider-Man Prequel Series P.7

Follows the events of Spider-Man 2

Catch up on parts 1–6 -> Series Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Tobey!Peter Parker x female!reader/ Black Cat (romantic), tobey!peter x Mary Jane Watson (only for S1), Harry Osborn, Gwen Stacy, Eddie Brock, Norman Osborn, Otto Octavius, J. Jonah Jameson (pretty much every character from the Raimi trilogy)

Content Warnings: profanity, criminal activity, flirtatious banter | Female reader (she/her)

Premise: Peter’s plans never seem to work out—which has become more prominent as he struggles to balance both a civilian and superhero life. Unable to see MJ’s show, Peter starts his night on patrol only to find himself in a pickle when his webs seem to fail on him. And he’s not the only one to witness it happen, because a curious cat lurks in the shadows.

Note: I know this is short, but the next few will be longer I promise.

———————————————————

One second Peter Parker, donned in red and swinging across New York city after failing to make it to Mary Janes show, thinks everything is going to be fine. He’ll get to class early, apply for another job, and try to get MJ to forgive him. Then the next second, he finds himself in a pickle. A pickle in which he’s falling through the air and landing, very hard, on the roof of a building. Thankfully the air vent tunnel broke his fall.

But his back was going to take the brute of it.

Peter was sure all of New York could hear his scream. Limbs failing all around until eventually he let out a nasty grunt upon making impact. Huffing, he pulled himself up and cranked his neck. ‘What the hell?’ He thought to himself. What occurred had never happened before. There was already so much going on, the last thing Peter needed was for his powers to start acting up. As hand started to rise, preparing to take off his mask, a faint giggle stopped him before he could. A familiar giggle at that.

Turning around, Peter froze when he located the source. “You,” he said aloud. She was sitting perched on the ledge of the opposite building looking down on him. The Black Cat. The name of New York’s newly infamous cat burglar, dubbed by J. Jonah Jameson of the Daily Bugle himself. For almost two years she’s managed to rob over a thousand businesses and high profiled individuals—all while keeping out of Spider-Man’s reach. Rumor has it the Black Cat has been working for the organized crime boss Kingpin.

Like Spider-Man, no one has successfully identified the woman. It’s said her white hair is actually a wig, the color of her eyes are contacts, the mask she wears muffles her voice and there’s no hints as to what her background may be. All that was known about the cat burglar was she was great at breaking & entering, handling a grappling hook, and making a fashion statement. Since she rose to ‘fame’ there had been an increase in black leather sales.

And here she was looking down at Peter with a glint in her eyes. “You again, Spider.” There was no doubt she just witnessed him fall several stories and break his back and ass on the vent tunnel. It’s a good thing she laughed, otherwise Peter would’ve exposed himself. “That look liked it hurt.”

“Well it sure didn’t feel like a massage, that’s for sure.”

Another giggle, “What happened, Spider? Got your webs in a twist?”

“Feels like it,” he mumbled, but she heard nonetheless. Her eyebrow quirked up, almost disappearing beneath the black outline of her mask. Peter shook his head before asking, “Been busy tonight causing trouble?” The twitch beneath her mask gave him the answer.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She pushes off the ledge, landing on the roof of the building he was on in a cat-like pose. As she stood she said, “it’s been busy these days. I’ve moved up in the ranks than just a simple gem burglar.”

Tension filled Peter, eyes narrowing under his mask. “So it’s true then. You’re working for Fisk?”

“More like returning some favors I owe him.” She walked over slowly, but doesn’t get close enough. It was tempting for Peter to shoot a web at her, to prevent her from getting away, but given it just failed to swing him there was a chance it would not work. She probably knew this too and was testing him.

“He’s a dangerous man.”

Something flashed in her eyes. “All men are dangerous.” Peter wanted to defend himself, but knew it would do no good. There obviously was a deeper meaning to her words. Part of him wanted to know, but out of respect he did not question her.

Instead he changed the subject. “So…I’m sorry I don’t know what to call you? Black Cat? Cat? Person who’s calling me trouble?”

“ooo I like trouble,” she hums, hopping onto a thin ledge to balance herself. Peter nearly rushes when it looks like she stumbles in her high heels, but she simply was doing a turn. “Cat is also nice. Fits since I call you Spider.”

Peter tries to ignore the anxiety filling him as she continues to spin and twirl on the ledge. One wrong move and she would go over the building. And unlike his downfall, there would only be hard pavement to catch her fall.

But then again she had her grappling hook and managed just fine for two years. Maybe he was worrying too much.

“Anyways….Cat, what’s caused you to just..” he waves his hands awkwardly and she just tilts her head him. Peter then sighs, “you know. For two years you’ve kept hidden from me. Now all of a sudden you—.”

“Well when you hear Spider-Man screaming for dear life and literally falling out of the sky, it makes one curious don’t you think?” She does a handstand, making Peter’s breath catch before coming down and flipping off onto the roof. “I know, I know, curiosity is what killed the cat. But considering your….technical difficulties regarding your webs, I doubt that will happen tonight of all nights.”

He scoffs, “don’t get too cocky now.” It only makes her giggle, rolling her eyes in the process. When she does another spin he catches sight of the grappling hook attached to her side. “I take it was a slow night then, considering you stopped whatever it was to come check on me.”

“Check on you?” She repeats amused, then gives a shrug. “I guess you can call it that. Would’ve been tragic to find New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man knocking on deaths door. What happened anyway?” He could hear the curiosity in her tone. It made him unease, for she could surely take advantage of the situation at any second.

“I’m really not sure,” he says honestly, glancing down to his wrists. He pulls the suit down slightly to check and finds nothing wrong with it. “Some kind of spoof. B-but I’m sure it won’t happen again,” he rushes out urgently, assuring mostly himself than her. She just gives a ‘hmmm.’

A few seconds of silence pass over them. Neither knowing what to say next. It felt a little awkward, but then again what does a superhero and their criminal nemesis talk about after two years since their last encounter?

Then she started to snap her fingers, pointing him as if she was trying to put a name to something. “You know, there’s something familiar about you. But I just can’t put a name to it.” Peter tenses lightly, tilting his head as he stares back.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms, bringing her pointer finger to her chin to tap it. “There’s something about your…..aura, I guess. Like I’ve met you outside of this,” she gestures between them. Again, a rush anxiety fills Peter. What if she was right? Could they have they met at some point in the civilian world?

It was possible. But New York is huge with millions of people alone in the city. Maybe Peter walked passed her on the street and had no idea. Or photographed her in the background in one of his photos. Maybe he was just some bloke to her who bumped into her on the subway. Whatever it was Peter didn’t dwell on it. As long as he didn’t give himself away than he was safe.

It would be bad news if a associate of Wilson Fisk knew his identity.

“Eh, who am I kidding?” She then chuckles, making him relax. “Big city, big world. I’ve robbed people who’ve met me in everyday life and they have no idea. Gotta love living this life off the grid.”

“Hehe. Yeah,” he scratches his neck. Crisis averted. Peter then looks at her both with curiosity and suspicion. “Why do you do it anyway? Rob high profile people like it’s nothing?”

There’s a light scoff from the Cat, her hand brushing hair from her face. “Wouldn’t you if you had the chance?”

“Committing crimes is not really my forte, as you can see.”

“Well duh,” she rolls her eyes again. “How could you be the cities favorite vigilante if you did? Anyway the point is, Spider, I don’t take from those who are in need of it. Basically they’ll still be fine if they were to lose a couple thousand dollars or that watch worth 25k, or even one of their dozen cars collecting dust in a garage.”

All Peter could do was let his mouth slightly part open. Of course she didn’t see it. “It’s still stealing,” he tells her, hand going out as if to emphasize his point. “You’re still committing a crime.” While he could agree that it was unfair how the rich slept comfortably at night while thousands of people were homeless or barely making it day by day, the law was still the law.

“Ugh,” she made a gagging sound while waving a hand. “Self-righteousness is so overrated, Spider. Think of all that could be done if they were to give up just a faction of what they make. Kids in the orphanage would have plenty of clothes and food and things to keep them entertained. The soup kitchen and shelter could house more people on the street and give them a warm bed at night. Schools in the projects would be funded.” With each sentence she got more passionate, he could see it in her eyes.

The thought then crossed him, “Are you saying you don’t keep the things you steal?” There was a flare of respect and admiration to the burglar. “You essentially give it back to those in need.”

There’s a flicker of pride in her eyes as she nods, “Although I do keep a small percentage to myself. As a treat, you know. But the majority does go to those things. There are more people in this city deserving of it than some greedy corporate scammers.”

Peter was astonished. Never has he met someone so selfless—ignoring the part where she does keep a bit because honestly he couldn’t blame her—but still, not many criminals were like her. There was still the question though, “Why Fisk?”

“Like I said, favors.”

“Okayyyy,” he draws out, “But how? He’s the most dangerous and well known crime boss in the city. How does a lone cat burglar get on his radar?” Something in her gaze told him she wasn’t in the mood to get into it. The talk of curiosity killing the cat dawned on him—only it was in regards to him and not the one with the namesake.

“Let’s save that for another day, Spider. Long stories require time and that’s something you and I don’t have right now. Better to leave things unsaid—for safety reasons of course.” He sees her glance over her shoulder, as if to check if someone is watching. Then he remembered Fisk always had spies at the ready for his employees.

“Sure thing,” he agrees, also taking a moment to scout the area. Luckily nothing was out of the ordinary. The only thing they could hear was the sounds coming from down below.

She clapped her hands, the sound making him jump slightly. “Well then, this is where I take my leave. It was fun running into you again—although it was very unorthodox if I must say.” She starts to walk toward the ledge, Peter follows her but keeps distance. When her back is to him he attempts a web in her direction, but nothing comes out. “Nice try,” she calls out, causing him to freeze as heat takes over his body.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” he mumbles under his breath.

She laughs, spinning on her heal to face him. White hair whips against the slight breeze and her hand goes to her grappling hook. “I’ll be seeing you, Spider,” she makes a motion of her eyes to his. “Hopefully you’re little problem will be fixed. Can’t have a spider without it’s web.”

The young man sighs, defeated and annoyed by the timing. Finally the Black Cat was in his grasps, but he failed to catch her once again. “Catch you later, Cat. Literally.” The last word makes her laugh again, this time harder with her head tilting back. She even wipes away a fake tear much to his annoyance.

“You’re funny, Spider.” The grappling hook removes from it’s holster. “You’re an optimist. I’ll give you that.” With one last wink followed by a ‘see ya,’ the hook shoots off to the adjacent building, pulling the woman off her feet and into the air. She swings past Peter and out of his sight. Gone in the blink of an eye.

All Peter could do was drop his head to his shoulders, shaking it as it goes. First disappointing MJ, then his web situation, now loosing the Cat amongst it all. Luck was just not in the cards for Peter Parker. Or Spider-Man.

Would he ever get a break? Not even an elevator ride would give him that.

………………..

Tag list: @todaywasafairytale07, @r0bynsblogins, @edgycatx, @gwephen, @fuck-goes-on, @m-1234, @secretsthathauntus, @grippleback-galaxy

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hi Hi could I request Kuroko, Kagamai, Akashi, Midorima and Murasakibara reaction to their s/o who's into photography and loves to take photos of them because they think their the most beautiful muse. They say things like "the light is hitting you perfectly please don't move until I take this picture." something like that lol

A/N: anon…this, THIS is a masterpiece of an idea and I love you for it (๑♡⌓♡๑) please enjoy! ♥️

Tags: the boys [KKMMA] x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Kuroko:

ok so the first time you took a picture of him was during lunch break

since he usually likes to spend his free time in the classroom while eating his homemade bento, the moment you became a couple you’d always join him

one day you were a bit late because one of the teachers had held you up, so you quickly texted him an apology for your delay and told him you’d be there soon so he can start eating without you

when you finally arrived, you immediately proceeded to apologize but promptly shut your mouth as you saw the scenery before you

Kuroko was reading one of his many novels, his elbows propped on the very edges of his desk, bento box and chopsticks untouched before him, blue eyes fixated on the text before him

everything about this was perfect as is, but what really gripped you and made you unconsciously reach for your camera, that you always had dangling from your neck, was the way the morning sun hit his face casting an ever so small shadow that only further accentuated his beautiful and calm facial features

as if in trance you gently push the small button on top of your camera and the shutter goes off

surprised by the sudden sound he turned his head in your direction and wanted to greet you but you cut him off even before he uttered a single syllable: “Tetsu, don’t move! The way the sun hits the back of your head right now is perfect…I just need to take a picture so bear with me for a moment.”

the way you had your left arm outstretched to stop any of his movements while your eyes were hidden behind the small rectangular object didn’t stop your boyfriend’s light blush to spread across his cheeks

he wasn’t used to being the only one in a photo so that alone made him a little nervous and embarrassed, but your silent comments and compliments on how his hair looked even more remarkable under the sunlight or how his facial features managed to perfectly cast shadows on his face that made him look more mature made his heart race faster than any game

luckily for your lover, this situation showed him another side of you that he rarely got to see, and who was he to interrupt your adorable mumbling just because of his embarrassment?

.

since then you used any and every opportunity to take his photo, whether it was in Maji Burger as he drank his usual smoothie or when he waited for you in front of a fountain in the park where you scheduled your date

when he finally asked you about it you proudly announced: “I’m sorry, but I can’t help the fact that my lover is such an amazing model for basically any type of photo! I always thought that you were hiding your beauty beneath those bangs and turns out I was absolutely right!”

you continued showering him with compliments until he couldn’t take it anymore and shut you up with a gentle kiss

“If it weren’t for your keen eye, I could’ve continued hiding myself and avoid the other’s gazes”

“Do you hate being the center of attention that much?” you whispered out, your eyes directly peering into his own big ones

with a smile he gently caresses your cheek and answers: “Your attention is all I need.”

Kagami:

Kagami was aware of your fascination for photography, I mean how could he not be when every time the two of you were out together for different reasons, you’d always take your camera with you and snap a photo or two

what he wasn’t aware of though, was what or better said who the subject of your images was

every time you reached for your camera the lens was always aimed in his direction and it never bothered him, because he figured that you were taking a photo of the scenery behind him so he never bothered to pose, smile, or anything of that sort

one day though it made him wonder whether his presence might disturb whatever images you’d taken so the next time you aimed your camera he turned his head, looking directly into the object’s circular lens, and just as he was about to say something the familiar sound of the shutter shut him up

“Perfect…that might be the best one yet” you silently praised and smiled to yourself

W-Wait a second…

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“What did you just photograph?”

you looked at him with slightly wide eyes, confusion spreading across your face as you answered: “Why of you of course”

and that’s when it clicked

all this time you’d taken pictures of what he thought to be the nature and scenery but in actuality, it was him you’d focused on

“W-Wait! You mean to t-tell me that I wasn’t in the way of your photos a-and that you actually photographed–“

before he could finish his sentence he realized something else that made him blush even harder

Perfect…Absolutely breathtaking…I’m so glad that I took my camera with me…The lighting and wind make you even prettier…What tranquility and gentleness, I’m in love…You’re so beautiful

all these comments that he’d brushed off, thinking that they were some kind of weird quirk of yours that resembled his captain’s whenever he talked about his samurai series, now made perfect sense

when the reality of the situation hit him he couldn’t help but bury his face in his hands and grunt at his stupidness, meanwhile, you tried to wrap your head around what Kagami had been believing up until today

looking at him being that frustrated with himself made you chuckle, but it also made you feel bad since you never directly told him so you decided that now might be the best time

with a gentle smile, you once again raised the camera to your face, waited until his figure became the focus and blurred the background, and gently pressed down the shutter

the sound made the young man beside you flinch and ever so hesitantly glance up to you with a dreading expression on his face

after pushing some of the buttons you cozy up to your boyfriend until your shoulders touched and showed him the image you had just taken with a proud smile

“I’m sorry for not telling you about it, but if I shared the fact that you’re my muse with you, you probably would’ve never allowed me to take any” you reasoned as you looked into his eyes and observed the way his cheeks reddened the moment you called him your muse

“I’m your muse…?”

you nodded and showed him a few other photos that all showed him do average everyday things such as eating something, chatting on his phone, warming up, etc. and even though they weren’t that special, the way you managed to capture him, his expression, and even some of the background made them all look professional

“Taiga, you’re such a nice guy that you would’ve probably offered to be my model if I had asked you to, but I wanted to capture that raw beauty of yours, the one that you display on every basketball match and that was the only way to do it…or at least that’s what I thought”

you paused before returning to the most recent image

“Having you being aware might be better after all…just look here at the way your eyes sparkle and your posture, both tense and relaxed at the same time gives off the impression of confidence and a tinge of uncertainty, both summing up your profound character that I love so much”

listening to your explanation made his heart beat harder against his chest and to stop you from fawning even more he covered your camera with his big hand and murmured: ”I-It’s fine already…I get it”

after seeing yet another unexpected expression on your boyfriend’s face you tried to get another shot of him, but this time he tried his best to avoid you and the two of you ended up chasing each other around the park, attracting the attention of many fellow visitors, but to you, it was as if only Kagami and you existed

Midorima:

one afternoon during the end of basketball practice, you had joined your green-haired boyfriend with his supplementary exercises, observing him and the perfect way he shoots one three-pointer after the other

you’d asked him long ago whether it was alright with him to take his photo and despite the many protests he’d agreed under the condition that it happened during basketball practice

unfortunately, the way he played didn’t manage to ignite the spark you needed to snap that one photo you’ve always been hoping for, neither his skills nor his playstyle were to blame for that, there was just something missing that you couldn’t name

the way you sighed caught Midorima’s attention and made him stop mid-throw so that he could take a glance in your direction and when he saw the disappointed face you made it made his heart ache

“Is something the matter (Y/N)?” he suddenly asked as he sat beside you, towel in one hand and his drinking bottle in the other

you shook your head and tried to play it off, blaming your bad mood on one of your earlier classes and the complaisant boyfriend he was he let it go (also partially because he was afraid that if he prodded further you’d get mad)

out of the corner of your eyes, you could see how he took off his glasses and started cleaning them

and that’s when your heart throbbed

the way his long fingers carefully handled the fragile black frames, the skillful and cautious way he removed any speck of dust from the glass, mixed with the way some of his green hair’s strands stuck to his slightly sweaty forehead, and lastly his beautiful long eyelashes were what won you over

before you knew it, you had grabbed your camera and had taken a photo of his profile, the shutter’s sound startling both him and you

“D-Did you just take a ph–”

“Shush! Stay just like that!” you blurted out, your hand on his chest to restrict his movements and keep him in that exact pose he was right now

with a reluctant expression on his face, he avoided looking in your direction, hoping that you wouldn’t notice the light blush spreading across his cheeks, meanwhile you smiled to yourself at his futile attempt and once again snapped another picture…

.

thanks to that one coincidental photo you managed to take back then, you finally knew what you have been missing all this time, namely your boyfriend being himself and not the Midorima Shintaro from Shuutoku who never missed a shot

in order to achieve that “normality” you had to take as many sneaky shots as possible, but they unfortunately never stayed as secretive as you would’ve wanted them to be because he either caught you mid-photo or your own comments betrayed you

Just like that Shin, look more to the side!

Leave your glasses be, you’re even more beautiful without them!

Don’t touch your hair! The way it is right now compliments your face perfectly!

Even if you scowl at me, you still look good!

he’d always run up to you afterward, blushing at the entire situation and no matter how much he ended up protesting, scolding you, or trying to take the camera from you to delete the photos, he never truly was upset about it

the reason Midorima let it all slide was because he enjoyed the way you smiled when you looked at the images you’d taken

the way your eyes practically sparkled mixed with the slight flush of your cheeks made his heart race every single time

“Is something wrong Shin? You’ve been staring at my face for quite a while.”

embarrassed of being caught by you, he squeezed your nose and stuttered: “I-It’s nothing, k-keep looking at y-your photos!”

Murasakibara:

taking Murasakibara’s pictures wasn’t an issue, you simply asked him and he agreed with no resistance whatsoever

you were over the moon at first and even made sure to have your camera with you at all times so that when an opportunity presented itself you’d be ready

from a pedestrian’s point of view, you looked like a cute touristic couple which consisted of the somewhat bored boyfriend, who agreed to have his photos taken for your happiness, and you, who couldn’t hold the excitement of being together with this young man back while happily snapping one pic after the other

their thoughts weren’t that off from the truth, you truly were delighted to be able to practice your hobby, and even having the tall young man as your model made it even better

thanks to the amount of muscles he’d gained from his daily basketball training, his height, his beautifully long and purple hair, his constantly relaxed expression, and his surprisingly gentle facial features, your boyfriend was already photogenic as is so any photo you took was downright breathtaking

and yet, those fulfilling feelings were rather short-lived

as time went by and you shot one photo after the other you came to realize that you hadn’t managed to take a single photo where he genuinely smiled or grinned

getting him to do either was nearly impossible, even for you

all you ever managed to summon was a very loving and gentle smile that resembled that of an angel; it was so pure that you could read all of his emotions from it, but that smile was reserved for your cuddle sessions that always ended up with him almost crushing you with his embrace and his low giggles as the result to your mixed reactions

“(Y/N)-chin, let’s go over there and sit down…I can’t walk anymore”

you giggled and took his hand that he’d extended to you, following him to a bench that was protected by a couple of trees, which cast down a perfect shadow on the wooden surface

the young man plopped down as if he’d ran for hours without a single break and wrapped his big arms around your waist, burying his face in your tummy

his childish behavior made you giggle and you softly caressed his head

“Didn���t you want to eat your snacks?” you asked after a short while, only to receive a silent growl as an answer

“Let me stay like this for a while…please”

his cute way of pleading with you only broadened your smile, which turned it into a grin as soon as an idea popped into your mind

with one hand still on his head, you used the other to aim the camera lens at the young man’s head as you asked your lover to look up at you

it took him a short while to comply because he kinda had the feeling that you wanted to ask for yet another photo, but he ultimately gave in and cast his purple eyes up to you

still smiling you glanced at the small screen on your camera in order to make sure that everything was perfect when you subconsciously blurted out: “Everything about you is charming Atsushi, the way the wind caresses your hair, perfectly accentuating your gentle face’s features…I’m so glad to have you as my muse”

…

…

your eyes went wide as you noticed the change in his expression

his cheeks had taken on an unexpected shade of deep red, one that you’ve never seen on him before; his eyes were a bit glassy and maybe equally as wide as yours, and his mouth was slightly agape

“Wha-! What are you saying (Y/N)-chin?!” he screamed out and once again hid his face before you could manage to snap a picture of this rare expression

“Atsushi, wait don’t hide! Let me take a photo!”

your protests fell on deaf ears and no matter how much you struggled or tried to loosen his grip around your waist, his strength made sure to make all of your attempts futile

“I-If I let you see me like that…I won’t be cool in your eyes anymore a-and I don’t want that” he finally admitted in a low voice

it took you a short while to comprehend what exactly he was trying to say; and when you did you couldn’t hold your laughter in any longer, ruffled his hair, and kissed the top of his head, waiting until he had regained his composure and returned your affectionate gestures

Akashi:

having the famous Emperor as your lover was like a dream, but when it came to keeping things a secret you were at a clear disadvantage because this man read you like an open book

no matter how hard you tried to act innocent or clueless, he’d always be able to add two and two together and expose whatever you were hiding within a matter of minutes

same goes for your fondness of photography and the fact that you had your eyes set on him as your muse

one day when you visited his home the two of you were in the living room and he was playing a round of shogi against himself while you sorted your camera’s gallery

when you took a glance at the young man your heart throbbed

the soft light of the sun that managed to come forth between the many clouds of that day shone right at him; in order to block the light from disturbing his vision, he’d leaned his chin on his hand and let his fingers extend to the corner of his mesmerizing eyes; a soft smile adorned his lips as his left hand stretched out to move one of the many wooden pieces before him

you couldn’t help it and immediately proceeded to take a picture, successfully catching him off guard

“Did you take a picture of me?” he asked without shifting his line of sight from the board, a hint of amusement in his voice

“Mhm, I did…sorry” you apologized before sighing to yourself, “it’s just that you looked really beautiful and I thought it’d be a shame if I didn’t use the opportunity.”

being called beautiful was something he wasn’t used to, so as he heard that word pass your lips, he froze up and finally tore his attention away from the game, and now gazed at you with a warm smile

“You can take more if you’d like.”

“R-Really?”

and with that, he became your conspirator in your mission to take as many photos of him as your camera’s storage could handle

.

“Just like that Sei…look more to the lef- yes, perfect!”

you spat one command after the other as the young man before you held onto the reins of his gorgeous white horse and let his hand gently run along the animal’s head

after snapping a few more photos you looked at them in silence, an unusual scene for your boyfriend

“Is something the matter (Y/N)? Aren’t you satisfied with these?”

your head shot up and you violently shook your head, explaining that it was nothing and you were just lost in thought; even though he quickly realized that you weren’t telling the truth, he chose to keep silent until you were ready to tell him what truly bothered you

unexpectedly, your silence lasted longer than he’d hoped for and no matter how unique he tried to organize these little photo sessions you did, your mood never seemed to improve which frustrated him

when he saw you sitting on the couch all sad and unmotivated while you scrolled through your camera roll, he immediately turned around and went back outside to his garden to mull over ways in which he could help you out

so to distract himself, he picked up his basketball, started dribbling, and began perfecting his shooting

the sound of the ball hitting the wall caught your attention, causing you to get up and search for its source

when you opened the front door you were greeted by a similar sight as the one back when you’d first taken Akashi’s photo which made you smile

“Sei-chan, that’s what I was looking for” you whispered as you subconsciously took a photo of the exact moment where the young man jumped and gently threw the ball against the wall, simulating a layup shot

still unaware of your presence the young man wiped his sweat with his shirt’s collar and the moment he felt your arms wrap around his body he jumped ever so slightly

before he could ask you anything, let alone say something, you kissed his cheek and whispered: “I knew it…you’re always beautiful, but the moment you shine the brightest is when you’re being yourself”

moved by your words he turned around, returning your embrace and kissing your lips as he then proceeded to hide his blushing face and glassy eyes from you by pressing you closer to himself

[fricklefracklefloof]

[lyrics: coffee by jack stauber]

i talk a lot about how i'll never get over s4 of tma a lot but i think there's just something really tragic about what jon went through in that season specifically. i think a lot about his struggle between trying not to hurt people and contributing towards a system that feeds off of people and just trying to live. i love the question that tma poses here and i love that there's no real right answer. i'm not.. trying to say that it's okay at all but i think jon was a victim and it's heartbreaking to think about how no one was really willing to help him at the time. also just, yknow, the addiction themes.

[image description: a six page song comic depicting characters from the magnus archives to the song "coffee" by jack stauber. the color palette is made up of shades of pastel pinks and browns with bright red and lime green accents.

the first page contains two panels. the first is long and pink with the handwritten words, "DO I NEED IT?" the second panel below it is square and depicts a tape recorder atop a dinner plate with a fork and knife. one of the buttons is bright red. there is a lime green square text box at the top that reads, "MOCHA" in courier new font. popping up from the bottom of the page is a drawing of jonathan sims looking down at a piece of paper with a worried expression. he is skinny and has brown skin, a goatee, circular worm scars on his cheeks, a long knife scar on his neck, and long dark hair with grey streaks running through it. he's wearing a red jumper that's a little too big on him. handwritten text beside him reads, "am i under control? / can i beat it?"

the second page has two panels split in triangular halves. there is a square lime green text box that reads, "WAKE UP" in handwritten letters. the first panel depicts a dark coffin with tape recorders on top of it with the lid slightly ajar as a hand (jon's) climbs out of it. the second panel shows an exhausted looking jon leaning on daisy tonner's shoulder. daisy has pale skin and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. she is wearing a brown hoodie and her eyes are closed. jon's orange speech bubbles say, "if it swallowed me whole / would i see it?" popping out from the bottom is a large lime green eye that's a physical representation of the beholding staring intently at a resigned jon with his hand on his chest. the eye says, "I CAN MAKE YOU FEEL ALIVE" in courier new font, to which jon replies in handwritten text, "i know / but do i need you to survive?" there is a sketched out background of a bookcase behind them.

the third page has five panels, with three in the middle split into triangles. the first rectangular panel is lime green and depicts helen distortion laughing delightedly (there's red crooked handwritten text behind her reading "HAHAHA"). helen has brown skin and curly dark hair that reaches down to her shoulders. the second panel is red and depicts a statement giver with light skin and dark hair in a bob gasping with her hand in front of her mouth. she yells, "JUST A SIP" in handwritten text. the third panel in the middle depicts jon with an imploring expression with his hand out as his lime green speech bubble reads, "does it still matter which one?" in courier new font. there are realistic pictures of eyes behind him on a brown background. the fourth panel depicts another statement giver with pale skin and short red hair and freckles with his hand in front of his mouth. his speech bubble reads, "JUST A DRIP" in handwritten text. the fifth panel is long and pink and reads, "am i dumbfounded when i slip?" in handwritten text.

the fourth page has six panels, five of which are rectangular and lined up beside each other. the first panel depicts the first statement giver crying as her wavy orange speech bubble reads, "you can't believe" in hand written text. the second panel depicts martin saying "i can't believe". the third panel shows basira, and she says "you can't believe". the fourth panel shows melanie, saying "i can't believe", and the fifth panel contains daisy saying "you can't believe." in a square panel at the bottom with a lime green panel jon says dejectedly, "i can't believe this happened". the background shows falling papers in muted colors.

the fifth page contains a fullbody drawing of jon with a scared expression holding a tape recorder being held up by puppet strings with a lime green web behind him and handwritten orange block text reading, "WOW". the single rectangular panel at the bottom is lime green with text in courier new font reading "french vanilla i think i should sit this one out" over and over again. there is silhouette of jon's face in profile with wide eyes that looks like he's yelling. a red rectangular text box at the bottom reads "no, no no" in handwritten text.

the sixth page has three panels. the first is rectangular and lime green containing another silhouette of jon with eyes all over his body clutching his head with a horrified expression. there are tears leaking out of many of the eyes. the handwritten text behind him reads, "maybe a cup of self control would be the route". in a square panel basira hussain holds out her hand in a question as she asks "but it's the flavor, it's the flavor you want". basira has brown skin and wears a tan long sleeved shirt and a dark brown hijab. the square panel next to it shows a closeup of jon's face as a speech bubble beside him reads, "maybe so". at the bottom of the page jon is sitting with his head in his hands with a box of files and a sheet of paper next to him with handwritten text reading, "but it feels better to check than to reflect". end id.]