#I KNOW THIS ISN'T HOW IT ACTUALLY WENT BUT THIS IS THE ONLY KIND OF RESPONSE I WANT HER TO HAVE
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Shirt Swap V
Magdalena Eriksson x Child!Reader
Fridolina Rolfö + Zećira Mušović x Hardersson!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: After the Denmark-England game
By the time you've been returned to Magda and the Swedish girls, you're high on sugar, still wearing Keira Walsh's shirt and finding everything unbelievably funny.
Pernille dumps you in Magda's arms, kisses her softly before hurrying off.
Magda looks at you with wide eyes.
"Where's Rocky?" You ask her.
"What?" She says," No hello for your Morsa?"
You shrug. "Hi, Morsa. Where's Rocky?"
She sighs. "Up in our room. Did you have fun at the match?"
You nod, pulling on your shirt. "Keira Walsh gave me her jersey, see?"
"I can see. And what's this one?"
There's another jersey bundled up in your hand and Magda has an inkling of whose it is.
"Mary Earps!" You chirp," She's England's keeper! She's going to win keeper of the year."
Magda laughs, hefting you a bit higher as she makes her way back into the dining hall. "Is she now?"
You nod. "She is. I know she is."
"You used to know Earps, you know. When you were little."
You frown as Morsa sits down at her table with Frido and Zećira. "No, I didn't."
"Yes you did. Earps used to play with your Momma at Wolfsburg. The same time as Caro did and you remember Caro."
"I don't remember Mary."
"That's okay." Morsa starts to place some food onto your plate. "You were very, very little. I'm still surprised you remember Caro so well."
"Caro's cool," You insist," She scores goals like Momma and talks like Ingrid."
"And Mary isn't?"
"She's cool!" You insist," But I didn't know I knew her when I was very little."
"I've got pictures." Morsa shows you pictures sent from Momma when you were younger.
You were a pudgy baby, you think. Your cheeks are full and your head is kind of big but Morsa's right. There's lots of pictures of you and Mary Earps.
She looks younger too, like you, but she is holding you and she is smiling.
You think for a moment. "Can I wear her shirt please?"
Moster Frido laughs. "I thought Keira Walsh is your favourite player in the world. Are you telling me you'll swap her shirt for someone else's?"
You rolls your eyes. "Keira Walsh isn't my favourite player in the world. My favourite player in the world is Zećira."
Zećira reaches out for a high five that you happily give her.
"Oh, silly me," Frido laughs," But Keira Walsh is your second favourite though. Are you sure you want to swap her shirt for Earps'?"
You give her another condescending look that really has Frido wondering if you were really Magda's because the expression was all Pernille.
"They're only shirts, moster," You say, patting her hand in a way that somehow makes Frido feel like a little child," I don't have to wear them forever."
Zećira snickers. "Yeah, Frido, she doesn't have to wear them forever."
Morsa laughs but helps you change right at the table as you cram food into your mouth.
"Can I wear this one to bed?" You ask her when your head pops through the neck hole and she laughs.
"You're asking me but I don't think you're actually asking me, are you?"
You give her a toothy grin and she ruffles your hair.
"Momma says it's always polite to ask."
"Yes, you can wear Earps' shirt to bed."
You go back to your food, interspersed with accounts of the game and how worried you were when Keira Walsh went down with her knee.
"Morsa," You say randomly," Can Rocky sleep in bed with me?"
Frido and Zećira start laughing, almost hysterically, at the stricken look on Magda's face at your question.
"No, princesse," She says," You can't sleep in bed with Rocky."
"That's okay," You reply," I was only asking to be polite."
Magda chokes on her drink, suddenly feeling out of depth in her parenting here. None of the books ever covered what to do when your child was asking (or really telling) you about sleeping with her pet rock.
"Princesse," She says," I don't-"
"That's a great idea!" Zećira butts in with a grin that makes Magda's eye twitch in outrage," Why don't we go bring Rocky down here and show him your new shirts!"
You quickly wiggle out of your seat and hold your hand out to Magda. "Keycard, please, Morsa."
"No," Magda says, still scrambling to keep in control of the situation," You're not bring the rock down here."
You shrug and turn to Frido. "Keycard, please."
Frido, the traitor, hands over the keycard and you skip off with Zećira to grab Rocky.
#woso x reader#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#fridolina rolfö x reader#fridolina rolfö#zecira musovic x reader#zecira musovic#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso#the big adventures universe
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Zoro Falling In Love With You Would Include...
Request: I've been binge watching one piece this Friday night so I could appreciate your recent requests and finally send one in! Please can you write for Zoro falling in love? 🥹❤️ I know you would do it amazingly!
Yayayay I've been waiting to write something like this for Zoro, thank you lovely!!! I had WAY too much fun writing this one I am so sorry if I went overboard on the imagery but also sorry not sorry I want to press a thousand kisses over this beautiful man's face
Okay this actually took way too much time to write so comments are much much appreciated!!
Warning: slightly suggestive if you squint, mention of scratching/ injuries and sword fighting
(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @starryyshadows.)
☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°
Oh, mosshead. What a dopey ass himbo you are. Istg this m*therf*cker right here (affectionate) would be so god damn ANNOYING when he's in love. Forget about Zoro nearly grabbing Sanji by his curly brows and swinging him like a ragdoll over the railings any time his continuous nosebleeds drip into his sake. Zoro is just as bad, just a needle swung in the opposite direction; he grumbles around the ship like a mopey, exasperated crocodile, snapping at anyone who comes near him that isn't you.
He wasn't built for love; hellfire roared through his veins, ravishing every cell in his body until his teeth gritted and lips bled in his struggle for self-discipline. He was a predator; rampant, ravaging, resolved in his fortitude. So why? Oh god, why? Why did he feel like he was being torn apart? Ravished by teeth that left rupturing silver punctures in his lungs, shredded by claws that streamed blinding light through the chambers of his heart.
He had felt like that: bent over doubled, clutching his chest in pain when the two of you first met as teenagers. If it hadn't been pitiful enough that you had bested him during your first sparring match at the Shimotsuki Dojo, you had to rub salt into the wound by being kind to him afterwards. He had scoffed when you had thrown your helmet to the ground and held out your hand to him, a scowl cloaking his face and making his teeth grind as you offered him advice on how to perfect your technique. Yet all you had done in response to his slight was to smile: a smile so shining, so unjustly kindly, so prepossessing and beautiful that the swordsman froze in shock, a fleeting flash of pure light haloing his eyes.
He knew. He knew, right there and then. That you were the only thing in all of the seas that could stand in his way. In that moment, he had decided that he would like to live forever in that strand of light: that one that strayed through a gap between the oak leaves, straying past its dark, dense leaves, foraging past the crawling thickets to instead brush against the tip of your cheek.
'What does it matter anyway?', Zoro had glowered, refusing to look back at you again. 'It's not as if you're going to stick around. Once your gone, I'll be the best fighter here again.'
'I'm not going anywhere. Not until I defeat you ten more times, at least', you added, once you noticed him rolling your eyes. You held your hand out, and Zoro glanced down at your outreaching fingers warily. 'No matter where we are or what happens to us, I'll always be a better swordsman than you.' His lips finally curl up in a smile then as he reaches out to shake your hand, and the feeling sends a spark of something running down his fingertips. His whole body feels alight, and he spends the whole rest of the day clenching his fingers into his palm and trying desperately to relish the feeling.
Which is why, for a while, Zoro seems to go extra hard on you: calling you away after lessons for private sparring matches deep in the woods, where only the crunchy bark could hear your swift steps and the fine mist wrapped around the pale trees and sent a cold shake down your hilted hand. The only way to warm yourself up was to butt the edge of your sword against Zoro's flailing torso, shoving him back so you could use the leverage to pin his panting face up against the nearest tree trunk. This time, though - this time, you surprise him.
If he was disappointed in himself for losing again, it soon melted away by the feel of your torso pressing up against his heaving lungs. For a moment, his lips tighten into a thin line as sees your approaching forehead and believes you're straight up just going to headbutt his sorry ass. He jumps even more when your skin lands... softly? against the burning side of his temple. He can't seem able to find his breath, the world seeming to be frozen in glinting threads of light as you linger against the young demon. All that exists is the soft push of your nose against his fluttering shut eyelid. The warm puff of breath as you sigh against the shell of his ear. The light scrape of the bark against his back as he shivers. The sound of his own heart, his blood scorching through his veins and convulsing against the sharp cage of his ribs.
He's so hyperaware of his body tantalisingly close to yours; his stiff elbows lay drawn up by his side, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly as he spreads and flexes his fingers, slowly drawing them to hover around your back. He was still too afraid to touch you.
Too afraid of the fire burning through his fingertips again.
But before he could muster up the courage you had pulled away, and the moment faded into a jaded dream that he nestled safely in the back of his memories.
It's impossible to shake Zoro from you after that moment. He hounds after you like a coveting beast: he stays tied to your hip like a disruptive dog harnessed on a leash. Your favourite activity is sneaking out of your dorms after hours and running down to meet by the riverbed: feet sprinting across the cream petals and sharp pine needles to collapse next to one another among the buzz of the fireflies nestling above the woven grass. For a while, as the two of you turn your tired heads to the skies, there's nothing but a silent affinity settling over the clearing. Nothing but the feel of the silk sleeve of Zoro's pyjamas brushing over the side of your cheek as unclasps his hands from behind his head and warily rests them in the short space between your hips. Nothing but the sound of your extolled voice as you point up at the bursts of sparks and swirls of silver against the darkness, enrapturing Zoro as you chart out the dips of your favourite constellations.
The reflection of the skies you had spent your younger years on the seas watching with wonder fill your eyes with a wonderous light, the delight drawing your attention away and allowing Zoro the opportunity to docilely turn his head to face you instead. His cheek freezes against the dew, but he's too revered in memorising the scrunch of your nose as you swat your hand at him for not paying attention: too busy watching the placid look that softens your smile as you look, too busy wishing he wasn't so cowardly. Wishing he didn't feel so feeble. Wishing, as his hand clawed at his thigh and dug in deep enough to leave bruises, that he could just reach out and touch you.
He jumps when you click your fingers in front of his crossing eyes. 'Zoro, are you even listening?'
He shrugged. 'Kinda. I don't know much about this stuff. If I can't hit it, I don't care.'
'You should! One day, when I become the greatest sword fighter in the world, I'm going to sail into those stars and discover all the secrets this world has to offer.' You flopped your free hand over your stomach with a content sigh, the spiralling glow of the heavens raining down and coating your face with sparks of silver.
He snorted. 'That sounds stupid. You can't sail into the sky.'
'You're just jealous because you're not invited.'
'Good. Who said I wanted to come.'
Zoro may be an idiot, but he's also a man who learns from his mistakes.
He doesn't know what overtakes him. Adrenaline? Rage? An overwhelming surge of fondness? The thought pounding in his head that if he doesn't do this now, he'll spend forever locked away in this cage? His fingers itch across the grass. His whole body squirms, the heat rolling through his body making the perspiration bead on his forehead, but still he keeps going. It's only when he feels your hand jolt back as his pinkie bumps against the side of your wrist that he begins to feel stupid.
Growing self-restraint be damned, as soon as you recover from the shock and shyly place your hand back down by your side, he pounces. Initially, the squeeze of his fingers as they wrap around your cool palm almost breaks bone, but all you do is rub your thumb over the edge of his knuckles.
You know its his way of telling you he loves you, even if he is too young and stubborn and proud to say it.
You both knew that one day you would leave him for the stars. When the time comes, and you leave Shimotsuki Village, to stop the sinews of his heart from completely scorching away with every knot of your ship, the demon suffocates any thought of you.
When he meets you again that fateful day: tied up to a Marine post in a dusty courtyard, tired, frustrated, solemn, for the first time in his life he begins to feel his judgement sway. When your face popped around the yard gates on your way out from meeting Axehand Morgan, your feet skid so comically across the ground the cloud of smoke it raised was so huge it even made Zoro sneeze. With a hand on your hip, and eyes widened in disbelief, you stepped out into the sunlight to survey the man bowed before you.
'I always knew I'd see you tied up one day', you smirked, shoving the handful of berries you had earnt from trading in your last bounty into the satchel by your hip before wandering over to untie him. 'Just thought it would be me doing the tying.'
'Y/n?', he asks incredulously, trying his best to dart his eyes nonchalantly up and down your body despite how fervently his voice was trying to waver. He sneered, tipping his head in the other direction and staring at the ground as you tug on the rather tight knots around his wrist. 'What the hell are you doing here.'
When you finally manage to tug him loose off the boards, his knees sag so quickly beneath him that the swordsman nearly goes collapsing headfirst onto the ground. With reflexes so quick they could only be rivalled by your own sparring buddy himself, a firm hand slaps against his sternum. A quick tug pulls him back, Zoro's knees dirtying with beige as he kneels back against you.
'Same as you, oh great swordsman', you laugh against his ear. 'I always told you you'd have competition. And from the looks of it, I'm winning.'
For a second you're concerned you've overstepped: the familiarity, the fondness you thought everlasting between you both a figment of your imagination when Zoro tilts his head back slightly to glare at you from the corners of his eyes. Placing a hand on his knee he braces himself, and steps up. For a moment, you're even more terrified he's about to kick you to the ground - or even worse, turn his back and walk off, ignoring you completely. But then he surprises you. The corners of his lips twitch in what - no way- could only be the beginnings of a smile?! before you're lifted off the ground and crushed in a hug so unyielding between his solid chest and taut arms that you can't help but bury your head into his shoulder blade and laugh.
It wasn't very hard to convince Luffy to let you join his crew - I mean, when you took down three Marines with just one punch, and he saw the powerhouse you and Zoro were as you fought back to back with Axehand Morgan, you were coming, and that was that. No buts. No excuses. Don't argue with your Captain.
I mean, bless his heart, Zoro is still a dumbass though, as perceptive as he is. And he's still sore. It takes a little bit of work to climb through the trellises of his grave heart. But little by little, he begins to open up to you again. He starts to grumble less when you climb up to join him during his late nights on watch up in the Crow's Nest. At first, as he burrows his back into the planks and crosses his arms in front of his chest, the steady breathing of his stoic body makes your job seem even harder. Undeterred, you rocked back on your heels and clucked your tongue in nervousness. But you should have known: even with his eyes closed, concentration edged into the furrows of his face, he's far too perspicacious for his own good. Even though he's doing his best to look brooding and bored, his foot shoots out and kicks his sword out of the way - launching it back across your heels and barring you from tumbling back down and falling down the hatch.
Every time you drag yourself up in the middle of the night to join him, you can tell his full concentration is centred on you, even if his eyes never even move behind their lids. He's pointedly listening out for your move, your every breath, your every heartbeat - which comes in very handy for darting out and catching in his massive palm the warm cups of cider you had precariously tried to carry up. Eventually, after a full week of you sitting up there Zoro finally relents his pride; even with Luffy's vest and Usopp's jacket wrapped around you, you clutch at the lapels of Sanji's suit jacket that your friends had very kindly lent you to try and stop shivering from the cold. Zoro doesn't even speak, just raises his elbow a little bit, and you don't need a second invitation to come clambering into the warmth of his side.
God, if he hadn't spent every moment of every day since he was thirteen years old dreaming of holding you in his arms. You pretend, for his sake, that you can't feel his heart thrumming wildly against your ear.
You catch the former bounty hunter staring at you from across the Lounge’s breakfast table most mornings. The intensity of his unwavering eye would be strong enough to make you blush, if you hadn't turned your attention back to stabbing at Luffy's grabby hands with the prongs of your fork. It's only when Sanji clasps his hands to his cheek, and in a faux sugary sweet sing-song voice professes 'how romantic mosshead can be! What person wouldn't love being stared at like roadkill!', that all hell breaks loose. Luffy's too busy munching on your pancake to truly register you and Nami nearly flying leapfrog over Zoro's back to try and stop him from throwing the poor cook through the window.
Although you succeed, Sanji does have to spend the rest of the morning sulkily smoking out of the corner of his mouth while wringing orange juice out of his hair.
Zoro is extremely, extremely protective over you. Even though you know how much he hates talking, he draws all the attention to himself away from Cabaji, even while tied up to Buggy' circus wheel. When the knives start whizzing past his head, he doesn't even flinch: safe in the knowledge that no matter what happens, you're safe from these buffoons. When Nami finally manages to pick her cage's lock and help free the two of you, you offer Zoro your hand as you cautiously steady him on the ground again. He jolts, and for a moment you're worried one of the knives actually did hit him; while you flip his palm trying to find any sign of a scratch, Zoro's eyes focus on you in wild shock. He feels fifteen again as he gently rubs your searching fingers between his coarse pointer finger and thumb, sobbing into his bed and holding the hilt of his sword, pretending it was your hand. Your warmth. And here you were, come back to him, offering it freely. He felt like falling to his knees, a pliant supplicant to your unwarranted mercy.
One time he nearly made you bust out laughing: since Zoro spends most of his day napping in such random intervals, during a rogue storm aboard the Going Merry one cloudy evening the swordsman was still awake. It was during your struggle to stop yourself pitching right off your bed and slamming into the wall, and planting yourself firmly from sliding to the left and body slamming a very irritated looking Nami, whose head was covered by one of her bunched up pillows, that you spotted a shadow flitting across the porthole on your door. Zoro's tall, awkward outline hesitantly moved as if he were about to rap at the door, before the sound of him yelling at himself under his breath made you snort aloud.
His head rises at the sound, and before he can take a step backward to try and abort his masterplan of sneaking into your room under the guise of checking if you were alright with the storm battering the rocking ship, you had slammed open the door and nearly flung Zoro into your hammock like a ragdoll. For a moment, Zoro lies there like a statue, unsure of where to put his hands or if it's alright that the sway of the ship means that he can't unsquish his cheek from against the side of your eyebrow. When his hand hesitantly begins to fall over your back and fold you tightly against his pecs with a squeeze, you know that's his trepid way of trying to let you know he still loved you.
Not to mention when you wake up and he's lying with his nose nearly indented into yours, his sleepy eyes looking so peaceful for once... just admiring you with the warm glow of the sun dousing him in holiness.
One time he got really lost trying to find you and Luffy after the two of you had the very sensible idea of setting off to the nearest island on a search for hidden treasure. After he had spent hours wading through muddy creeks and tearing some tangled thorns away from his face, out you come wandering from behind a tree. Thinking you were some kind of wild animal, Zoro has you pinned against the bark of the nearest tree before you even have time to blink.
Not one to be defeated, you kick out at his legs with a delighted laugh, knocking the man nearly ass over head onto his back. You grin, victorious, as you crawl between his legs like a ravenous tiger, knocking the hilt of his blade far out of reach of his clenching fingers. As your knee presses against the inner seam of his muscled thigh, you can tell by the forced gulp of his bobbing throat how hard he's struggling. When you dig your fingernails deeply enough into his wrists to elicit a throaty hum of approval, when his abdomen keeps bucking ever so slightly off the reeds to try and shake you off, you just know the man's imagined this scenario a lot of times, in a lot of different ways over the years.
(I mean this man could throw you off easily let's be real.)
When the Straw Hat Crew meet Kaya, this man - istg - he nearly goes weak at the knees when you come down the stairs in your brand new borrowed outfit. His breathless inhale earned him a distasteful glare from Klahadore, but he didn't even care that he was showing such careless, unmeasured adoration. It took Luffy nearly slapping him across the face with the shrimp he was waving in front of his nose to draw him back to some sense of reality.
'I know!', the Captain had smiled. 'The food here is so good, I was daydreaming about it too!'
Having the good fortune to uh *definitely by chance and not because you snuck into the dining hall earlier to switch the place cards* - to sit next to Zoro offers him the opportunity to make his feelings more plain, in a subtle way. Perfect timing! As soon as Luffy clambers up onto the table and draws the wrath of the strangely severe butler, Zoro's hand latches across yours under the tablecloth and squeezes. He blinks languidly, his face as unreadable as ever as he takes a sip out of his champagne flute and clears his throat, but you notice. You know every part of him: every idiosyncrasy, every bob of his Adam's Apple, the tensed pull of his jaw muscle as he clenches his teeth, the warm flush rising up his cheeks, you know them all. As if they were so innate, so interwoven with your own being, that you weren't sure of a time when your hearts hadn't been devoured by each other's. Each the predator. Each the prey.
He leaves his hand on your knee for the rest of the dinner, and you refuse to remove his latched fingers and let him go.
You kiss him for the first time that night: just a sweet little tease of lingering lips against the pure radiance of his cheek.
As he walks you down the 'confusing' corridors that are 'definitely a trap' by Zoro's own declaration, you unlink yourself from his arm to straighten the collar of his silk shirt. 'You look nice', you say sincerely, eyebrows furrowing as you trace the outline of his bare collar between the open buttons. 'Even though swords are more your style, you look good in a suit. You look good in everything.'
'Uh... thanks', he balks, his head emptying as his entire being instead focuses on the feeling of your fingertip scratching of his chest. 'You- your eyes look nice', he bluntly replies. 'Like two rice balls.'
Bless him, he meant well.
And then you kiss him with a raise of your tippy toes and final clutch of your hands against his shoulders, before retreating back into your room and leaving him extinguished within the shadows. He spends the next few hours almost deliriously wandering the corridors, trying to temper the tight ball growling in his belly. To try and find a sense of clarity, some kind of retinence. Looking past the billowing blue curtains and out through the slats of the casement windows lining the ornate, ostentatious glass cases, a warning pangs in Zoro's heart. How could he? How could he find restraint, when you had spent all these years driving his thoughts wild? How could he keep you safe, when he could focus on nothing but the wetness still lingering against his cheek? How could he fulfil his dreams, when all he wants right there. Just past the clear moonlight drifting silver into his eyelids, there your stars lay.
He wasn't about to let you sail away from him this time, to alight only in his memories: to pulse through the hollow beats of his hear and cool his charred veins like a cruel reminder of a salvation he had never deserved.
He wasn’t going to lose you to his callow cowardice. Not ever again.
When he comes knocking on your door, you don't expect the demon bounty hunter to blurt out a fevered 'I love you!', before turning and stamping off. But I suppose, as you ran after to him to drag him back into your room by the scuff of his neck and slam the wide expanse of his back against the door to shut it, he wasn't expecting to spend the night filling poor Kaya's house with unbridled moans.
#one piece#one piece imagine#zoro#zoro imagine#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro imagine#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro headcanons#roronoa zoro headcanons#sanji#monkey d luffy#nami#opla#opla imagine
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The Untrustworthy Fake: Disability Tropes
[ID: A screenshot of Willy Wonka from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as he limps towards a crowd using a cane. In the picture, he has a brown top hat in his hand, and he's wearing a suit with a purple jacket, multicoloured bow tie and cream coloured pants. Beside him is text that reads: "Disability Tropes, The untrustworthy Fake" /End ID]
Tell me if this sounds familiar: A new character is introduced into a story with some kind of disability - usually visible but not always. Maybe they're a seemingly harmless person in a wheelchair, maybe they're a one-legged beggar on the street, or maybe they're an elderly person with a cane and a slow, heavy limp. But at some point, it's revealed it's all a ruse! The old man with a cane "falls" forward and does a flawless summersault before energetically springing back up to his feet, the wheelchair user gets to their feet as soon as they think the other character's backs are turned, the one legged beggar's crutch is knocked out of his hand, only to have his other leg pop out of his loose-fitting tunic to catch him.
All of these are real examples. Maya and The Three introduces one of it's main protagonists, Ricco, by having him pretend to be missing a leg in order to con people (something that works on the protagonist, at least at first), Buffy The Vampire Slayer had the character Spike, pretend to be in a wheelchair, until the other characters leave and he gets up, revealing it's all a ruse and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory introduces Wonka by having him slowly limp out into the courtyard of the factory, only for his cane to get stuck, causing him to "fall" and jump back up, revealing that he's actually perfectly fine. Virtually every single major crime show in the past few decades has used this trope too, from CSI to The Mentalist, Castle, Law and Order and Monk all having at least one episode featuring it in some way. Even the kids media I grew up with isn't free from it; The Suite Life of Zack & Cody sees Zach faking being dyslexic after meeting someone who actually has the condition in the episode Smarter and Smarter and the SpongeBob SquarePants episode Krabs vs Plankton has Plankton fake needing a wheelchair (among other injuries) after falling in the Krusty Krab as a ploy to sue Mr Krabs and trick the court into giving him the Kraby Patty Formula.
No matter the genre or target audience though, one thing is consistent: this trope is used as a way to show someone is dishonest and not to be trusted. When the trope is used later in the story, it's often meant to be a big reveal, to shock the audience and make them mad that they've been duped, to show the characters and us what this person (usually a villain) is willing to stoop to. Revealing the ruse early on though is very often used to establish how sleazy or even how dangerous a character is and to tell the audience that they shouldn't trust them from the get go. Gene Wilde (The actor who first played Willy Wonka) even said in several interviews that this was his intent for Wonka's character. He even went so far as to tell the director of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that he wouldn't do the film without that scene because of how strongly he felt this trope was needed to lay the foundations for Wonka's questionable intentions and motivations. His exact words are:
"...but I wouldn't have done the film if they didn't let me come out walking as a cripple and then getting my cane stuck into a cobble stone, doing a forward somersault and then bouncing up... the director said, well what do you want to do that for? and I said because from that point on, no one will know whether I'm telling the truth or lying."
There's... a lot of problems with this trope, but that quote encapsulates one of the biggest ones. whether intentionally or not, this trope ends up framing a lot of actual disabled people as deceitful, dishonest liars.
Now I can already hear you all typing, What?! Cy that's ridiculous! No one is saying real disabled people are untrustworthy or lying about their disabilities, just people who are faking!
but the thing is, the things often used in this trope as "evidence" of someone faking a disability are things real disabled people do.
A person standing up from their wheelchair or having scuff-marks on their shoes, like in the episode Miss Red from The Mentalist isn't a sign they're faking, a lot of wheelchair users can stand and even walk! They're called ambulatory wheelchair users, and they might use a wheelchair because they can't walk far, they might not feel safe walking on all terrains, they might have unstable joints that makes standing for too long risky, they might have a heart condition like POTS that has a bigger impact when they stand up or any number of other reasons. Also even non-ambulatory wheelchair users will still have scuff marks from things like transferring and bumping into things (rather hilariously, even TV Tropes calls this episode out as being "BS" in it's listing for this trope, which it refers to as Obfuscating Disability).
A blind beggar flinching or getting scared when you pull a gun on them isn't a sign they're faking their blindness like it is in Red Dead Redemption 2. Plenty of blind people can still see a little bit, it might only be a general sense of light and darkness, it might be exceptionally blurry or just the fuzzy outlines of shapes, or they might only be able to see something directly in front of them, all of which might still be enough to cue the person into what's happening in a situation like that. Even if it's not, the sound of you pulling your gun out or other people nearby freaking out and making noise probably would tip them off.
A person needing a cane or similar mobility aid sometimes, but being able to go without briefly or do even "big movements" like Wonka's rolling somersault, doesn't mean they don't need it at all. Just like with wheelchairs, there's a lot of disabilities that require canes and similar aids some days, and not others. Some disabilities even allow people those big, often straining movements on occasion, or allow them to move without the aid for short periods of time, but not for long. Some people's disability's might even require a mobility aid like a cane as a backup, just in case something goes wrong, but that still means you need to carry it around with you, and unless it can fold down, it's easier to just use it.
Disability is a spectrum, and a lot of disabilities vary in severity and what is required of the people who have them day to day. This trope, however, helps to perpetuate the idea that someone who does any of these things (and many others) is faking, which can actively make the lives of disabled people harder and can even put them in very real danger, physically, mentally and even financially.
Just ask any ambulatory wheelchair user about how many times they've been yelled at for using accommodations they need, like disabled toilets or parking spaces. How many times they've been accused of faking and even filmed without their consent because they stood up in public, even if it was to do something like get their wheelchair unstuck or as simple as them standing to briefly reach something on a high shelf. I've caught multiple people filming me before, so have my friends and family, and it's honestly scary not knowing where those images have ended up. This doesn't just impact the person either, a friend of mine was filmed while standing up to get his daughter (who was about 4 at the time) out of the car. He was lucky to have stumbled across the video a few days later on facebook and contacted the group admins where it was posted to get it taken down, but had he not stumbled across it by chance, pictures with his home address and his car's number plate, his child's face and his face all visible would have just been floating around, all because a woman saw him stand briefly to pick up his daughter.
Many people don't stop at just saying a nasty comment or taking a photo though, a lot of people, when they suspect people are faking, will get violent. I have many friends who have been pushed, slapped in the face, spat on or had their mobility devices kicked out from under them. I've even been in a few situations myself where, had I not had people with me, I think the situation would have turned violent.
There's even been cases where those photos and videos I've mentioned before have been used against real disabled people and they've been reported to their country's welfare system as committing disability fraud. While cases like this are usually resolved *relatively* quickly, in many parts of the world, their payment will be halted while the investigation is in process, meaning they may be without any income at all because of someone else's ignorance. If you're already struggling to make ends meet (which, if you're only living off one of those payments, you probably will be), a few weeks without pay can mean the difference between having a home and being on the streets.
Not to mention that when there's so many stories about people faking a disability in the media, especially when the character is doing it to get some kind of "advantage", such as getting accommodations or some kind of disability benefit, it perpetuates the idea that people are rorting the systems put in place to help disabled people. If this idea becomes prevalent enough, the people in charge start making it harder for the people who need them to access those systems, which more often than not results in disabled people not even being able to access the very systems that are supposed to be helping them. A very, very common example of this is in education where accommodations for things like learning disabilities require you to jump through a ridiculous number of hoops, especially at higher levels, only to have some teachers and professors refuse to adhere to the adaptations anyway because they're convinced the student (and usually disabled students as a whole) is faking.
Yes, the "untrustworthy faker" is a fictional trope, and yes, it does occasionally happen in real life, but not as often as media (including things like news outlets) would have you believe. However, when the media we consume is priming people to look for signs that a disabled person is faking, it has a real impact on real disabled people's lives. "Fake-claiming" is a massive problem for people in pretty much all parts of the disabled community, and it ranges from being just annoying (e.g. such as people spamming and fake-claiming blind people online with "if you were really blind, how do you see the screen" comments) to the more serious cases I mentioned above. It's for this reason a lot of folks in the disabled community ask that people leave this trope out of their works.
#Writing disability with Cy Cyborg#Long Post#Disability#Disabled#Disability Representation#Writing Disability#Writing#Writeblr#Authors#Creators#Writing Advice#Disabled Characters#On Writing#Disability in Media#Tropes#Disability Tropes#faking disability trope
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𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐂: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞.
This gorgeous artwork of Marlene was made by my talented baby sister. Give her some applause for this! 🫶 I also made a taglist out of boredom, so don't mind me.
Taglist to those who inspired me to make this profile and ref. sheet: @revnah1406, @welldonekhushi, @littlemissclandestine, @alypink, and @darkhazard19.
⎯ 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡:
Name: Marlene
Full Name: Marlene Jamie Monroe
Alias(es): "Mona" (General nickname by her family), "Marlie" (childhood nickname), "Chicky" (Captain Price), "Squirt" or "Baby Girl" (Phillip Graves), "Marl" (David Mason).
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Irish, Native American, Welsh.
Hair Colour: Auburnish brown; natural brunette, but looks auburn in the sunlight a bit.
Eye Colour: Light brown
Height: 5’11” (181cm)
Weight: 187lbs (84.8kg)
Body Built: Athletically average.
Languages Spoken: English, Irish, Gaelic, Welsh, Cree, Spanish, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Bulgarian, Mandarin, French, German, Portuguese, etc.
Date of Birth: August 29, 2002.
Place of Birth: Fairbanks, Alaska.
Blood Type: AB-
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Marital Status: Single
Occupation: N/A.
Status: Unknown.
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⎯ 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦:
Myers-Briggs Type: INTJ-T (The Architect)
Calm and reserved: Despite having her moments of being a spitfire, she is actually a well composed individual and this really helps her in matters of survival. Although pretty social sometimes, then she can be completely asocial, Marlene is not exactly the kind of person who wouldn't instantly show her actual personality to others whom she'd just met. She handles stressful situations with the pressure very well most of time.
Selfless and loyal: Marlene may be an impassive and hardened young woman, but she has a good soul and heart. Those who are lucky to be a genuine friend of hers are privileged to see her display her true self at most times. Has the tendency to put others before herself. Marlene's love language is giving gifts, acts of service, and physical touch- which the latter is a rare thing of her to do frequently as a young adult now. Keeps it discreet though.
Tough as nails: She is unbelievably durable and endures a lot of life-threatening situations. Often gets underestimated by others, but tends to straighten them up with a surprise. It still hurts, yes, although she just quickly learns how to suck it up and keep going without letting it drag her down.
Jaded and weary: It's safe to mention that Marlene didn't had a normal childhood and went through a lot of hardships growing up with a paranoid survivalist of a mother. Kind of a sore spot for her to be asked about. Has a bad case of PTSD and denies her clinical diagnoses constantly. ("I'm fine." is her favourite saying) Has a complex relationship with her mother, her only parent that raised her this way, which means Marlene cares and resents her at the same time, yet she internally respects the woman who taught her most of everything she knows. She suffered from losses who were dearly significant to her... somethings she isn't ready to openly talk about. So the girl is just simply exhausted from existing.
Adaptable and intelligent, also a polyglot: If thrown into an environment that Marlene hadn't been in before, she will learn and adapt if it's necessary. Growing up traveling with her mother had taught her some things. She's quite a multilingual genius, speaks and read around 37(ish) languages, but also graduated high school at sixteen before attending Stanford University and finishing in three years for her computer science degree. So in a shorter summary, she's an eager and fantastic learner.
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⎯ 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗦:
Primary Weapons: Knife, Karambit neck knife, Remington 700PSS, HK-MP5K, HK-MP5A3, TP-82, XM177E1, and Pipe Bombs.
Fighting Style: Hand-to-hand combat, some MMA.
Special Skills: Great at reading others' body languages and sensing danger.
Talents: She can learn to speak at another language in a short span of time, craft explosives such as a pipe bomb within an hour if she has the resources, and create traps with the right stuff.
Shortcomings: Can get paranoid most of the time, chronically insomniac, has some trust issues, and suffers from terrible migraines.
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⎯ 𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗬:
"Born and grew up outside of Fairbanks in an isolated cabin for five years of her life with her mother, who had Marlene at eighteen, and mostly traveled around on the road after. She grew up with tough love and Melissa, her mother, was fiercely overprotective with her only child. Once they settled somewhere in California when she was eight where Marlene finally got enrolled in a public school where her peers would eventually learn about her intellect. She never knew how, or where, her mother earned her huge incomes to financially support themselves, but knows Melissa just has an every important job whenever she isn't home. Besides, whenever her mother was confronted, she was just met with a firm look by her and the woman stating that it's none of her concern as Marlene should just focus on herself. Eventually this led to her rebellious behaviour before incidents occurred and slowly shaped Marlene into a withdrawn teenager in college."
"Her history with Taskforce 141 was purely platonic. Met them through her mother, one by one when she was an teenager, before the group realized she was Melissa's baby girl and they all knew the same woman who met each of them outside of their occupations. She've met Phillip Graves when she was a kid when he came by to confront her mother before a father-daughter bond was formed between them since then. David Mason is her godfather and one of the people whom Marlene looks up to- much to Graves' dismay."
"When she was done with college at nineteen and the year 2021-[REDACTED]."
"Until 2022, she was brought into the CIA's custody in middle of a late evening walk, more like by Taskforce 141, and interrogated after some evidence of her was caught stealing some invaluable intel and secrets, appearing as one of their employees, before she was picked up by a black van after that. She kept denying the accusations and evidence for weeks until Graves, allegedly dead at the time, safely liberated her despite Marlene being in a frail condition with the help from David Mason and proof that she was truly innocent. Someone had framed her."
"Then not too long hours after she was brought into his protective custody, no one knew who helped her other than the fact that she escaped CIA's custody, as one of The Shadow Company's bases was attacked. Mostly everyone made it out, but Marlene who was soon announced dead after she passed out from the blood loss with the base getting bombed into nothing once they were forced to leave her behind. Leaving Graves and David angry, distraught, and vowed to avenge her once they find the culprits. Her remains were never found after that."
Theme song: Methods of Madness by Secession Studios.
*Profile will be be updated once the story progresses and kept her backstory vague(ish) for now.
#cod oc#cod oc: marlene monroe#my oc#call of duty oc#call of duty#cod#cod bocw#cod black ops#cod mw2#cod mw3
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A Little Chat
Jazz gets the chance to talk to the ghost boy before she knows he's her brother. When she talks to him after discovering the truth, their first conversation is still ringing in her mind.
For the prompts: What if Jazz had a conversation with Phantom before learning he was Danny? What does their next conversation look like when Jazz knows but Danny doesn't know she knows? [from atropos], and "What do you mean this isn't safe, I'm already dead" [from @princessfanonanona]
Read also on AO3
[Warnings for mentions of violence and death]
Casper High was all abuzz about the upcoming school dance, but Jazz couldn't care less. Dancing had never been her thing, much less at school where all her peers could watch her embarrass herself. That didn't stop her from getting asked, by Dash Baxter when she was tutoring him, by her lab partner in the middle of chemistry class (gag), by Danny's friend Tucker, who was asking out every girl in school and getting turned down every time.
Jazz was honestly more preoccupied by her ongoing existential crisis about ghosts being real, and her annoyance at how insufferable her parents had been since the revelation. She was nothing if not curious and determined, though.
Her parents said a lot of things about ghosts with very little research or evidence to back their claims, but Jazz wasn't going to just hop on the bandwagon and believe everything they said. If she could, she was going to get a first-hand source on this ghost situation.
Unfortunately, not intending to go to the dance didn't exempt her from the teen-girl bonding nightmare that was helping her friends shop for their dresses. She knew she was only a part of their little group because she tutored them, and she had very little in common with any of them. But she also knew that it was good and healthy for her to socialize with people her own age, and even if she couldn't really relate to them, at least they were nice, and always tried to include her.
That didn't stop them from gently ribbing her about how unhelpful she was being when she said they looked fantastic in every dress they tried on.
Shopping got a lot more exciting, however, when a dragon showed up. Jazz went to check it out, claiming she had to go to the bathroom so the girls wouldn't try to stop her. They were too busy changing to notice the commotion outside the store.
Jazz ran to the second floor railing to get a good look at the ghost boy fighting some glowing blue dragon with a huge amulet around its neck. Jazz watched and waited for the immediate Danger to be over before calling out to him.
"Hey!" she shouted. "Ghost boy!"
The ghost swiveled around in mid-air until he saw her. She waved him over. He shook his head and gestured over his shoulder like he needed to be somewhere.
"Come on, I'll be quick!" she shouted, waving him over more insistently.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, the ghost boy floated over to her.
"Can I help you, citizen?" he asked awkwardly
"Actually, yeah," she said. "I'm Jazz Fenton, you probably know of my parents. They have some very uh... opinionated views about ghosts, and I'm looking to learn more about ghosts from a first hand source. Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?"
"I uh... I don't know how much help I'd be," the boy replied. "To be honest, I'm kind of new to the whole 'being a ghost' thing."
"That's alright," she insisted. "If you don't mind, I still think I could learn a lot from talking to you."
"Uh... alright," he agreed, and settled himself cross-legged in the air just on the other side of the second-floor railing Jazz was still standing at.
This area of the mall had pretty much been cleared out when the dragon showed up, so the two of them were alone, even in the middle of a public place.
"Shoot," he said.
"Okay." Jazz considered for a moment what her first question should be before asking, "Do ghosts have obsessions that motivate all their actions, yea or nay?"
He hummed thoughtfully. "Sort of? Maybe? I don't really know. From what I've been able to get, it seems like ghosts have more of a tendency to be obsessive than humans do, but even ghosts with obsessions aren't motivated one hundred percent solely by those obsessions."
"So would you say that ghosts have free will?" Jazz asked.
"Yes, absolutely we do." There was no hesitation in that answer, no hint of doubt.
"I think I can guess the answer, but do you think ghosts are inherently evil?"
To her surprise, the ghost boy paused before answering, titling his head from side to side like he wasn't really sure what to say.
"Well... I'm not," he answered cautiously. "I haven't met too many friendly ghosts so far, but we're definitely not inherently evil."
"Why do you fight other ghosts?" Jazz asked. "Not that I'm not grateful, but... ever since you showed up, I've been curious about that."
"Why?" he repeated.
He looked perplexed, although Jazz couldn't tell if it was because he didn't know the answer, or because he didn't know why she was even asking because it seemed so obvious to him.
"Well who else is gonna do it?" he asked. That answer did nothing to clear up Jazz's uncertainty. "I can't very well let them just cause chaos around here. They could seriously hurt people."
"What about you?" Jazz asked.
"What about me?"
"I just mean, couldn't they hurt you, too?" she asked. "I saw how you got tossed around by that dragon, and the lunch lady a little while ago. This whole situation, you fighting off ghosts ten times your size to protect humans you barely know... this just doesn't seem safe."
The ghost boy huffed a soft laugh. "What do you mean this isn't safe?" he asked. "I'm already dead, what else can they do to me?"
Jazz frowned, her brows furrowing.
"You still bleed," she said. "I've seen it. You bleed green, but you still bleed."
"So what, I bleed," the ghost boy shrugged, though his expression took on a melancholy tone. "So do you. You're telling me if you saw someone in danger, even if you didn't know them, you wouldn't try to help?"
Jazz didn't really know. Her self-preservation was strong, but so was her compassion. She would have to make that decision in the moment, not standing in a mall across from a boy her brother's age... who had died.
Her brother had almost died, too, once, not that long ago. If she had been there... if she'd had the chance to save him from the pain of that accident at the cost of her own safety, would she have?
"Do you help others because no one helped you when you were dying?" she asked.
Even as it left her mouth she could hear how rude and personal the question sounded, but it was out there now... and she wanted to know.
The ghost boy shook his head. "No one could have helped me," he said. "Even if they were there, even if they wanted to. There was no saving me. It would have just ended with two ghosts instead of one."
She opened her mouth to ask a follow up question, but was interrupted when one of her friends appeared.
"Jazz! There you are!" Marci called out. "Oh my gosh, if you needed a break from dress-shopping, you could have just said so. You didn't have to disappear on a bathroom break for twenty minutes."
"Yeah, we were actually starting to get worried about you," Jenna added. "We heard there was some kinda ghost dragon somewhere in the mall a little bit ago. We thought you might've gotten hurt."
"I'm fine, I promise," Jazz told them. "I actually left to get a closer look, but I made sure to stay a safe distance away. I've just been talking to—" Jazz cut herself off when she turned and saw that the ghost boy was gone.
"Talking to who?" Marci asked, looking at the empty air.
"To whom," Jazz corrected absently. She shook her head. "Never mind. Did you girls pick out dresses you liked?"
"Marci did," Jenna said. "So far, I haven't found anything that speaks to me, ya know? I think I've decided on the color though, I want a pretty sunset orange, like a pink-ish, dark-ish color, maybe with glitter, you know?"
"That's a bold choice," Jazz commented. She didn't know much about fashion, but she did know she didn't see a lot of people walking around in orange most of the time.
"I'm a bold girl," Jenna agreed with a laugh. "I found one orange dress, but the shape made me look like a traffic cone, it was awful!"
Jazz snickered at that mental image and Jenna and Marci laughed with her.
"Come on, there's a couple more stores we can check out to see if they have something you like," Marci suggested. "And obviously we gotta stop at the bookstore, too. We can't leave our main girl Jazz without her lit fix."
Jazz laughed again and followed them toward the next store.
—
Ever since Jazz found out the ghost boy was her brother, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She'd decided immediately to wait until he was ready to tell her before bringing it up, but that didn't stop it from being on her mind all the time. She wanted to protect him but there weren't a lot of ways she could do that.
She nearly freaked out on him when they started doing ghost drills at school, and couldn't exactly explain why without taking away his chance to tell her his secret on his own. Luckily, she managed to change the subject and get away without giving herself away, but it was a close call.
She didn't expect to ever get the chance to talk to Danny as the ghost boy again before he told her it was him, because frankly, he did his best to avoid humans as much as possible in his ghost form, most of all his family.
A lot happened. Danny had a million dollar bounty on his head, everyone at school got sick with ghost flu, then a bunch of teenagers had to save all the adults in town (and, embarrassingly, Jazz) when they got kidnapped by ghosts using hypnotic music.
Then the town was sucked into the Ghost Zone, and the only thing protecting them all from a tyrannical ghost king was Fenton Works' ghost shield. And Danny planned to go fight the king himself. He hadn't said it yet, but she could tell by the grim look on his face when he went outside. Jazz followed subtly, but the time she got outside he was already in ghost form, staring up at the green sky.
"Hey, ghost boy, long time, no see," she said.
"Uh... what?" he said. "I don't... oh... right, yeah. Guess it has... been a while."
"You're gonna try to fight the ghost king, aren't you?" she guessed. "Please don't. Amity Park needs you, and if you go fight him... he could destroy you. I know you think you're invincible but this isn't safe."
Danny huffed out a bitter chuckle. "What do you mean its not safe? I'm already dead," he responded, just the same way as he had the last time she told him that.
But this time she knew it wasn't true, not completely.
She remembered the last time she spoke to him as the ghost boy, how he told her that no one could have saved him when he died. She remembered hearing him screaming in the basement from all the way up on the second floor and wondered if it was true. Sam and Tucker had been with him, and she knew they would have helped if they could have.
"You're right about one thing, though," he said after a moment. "Amity Park needs me. I can't flake out on them now."
With that, he flew off to god knew where, to fight the ghost king, or his skeleton army, or the Fright Knight. She just hoped he'd be okay. He was her baby brother, and she didn't think she could handle losing him for good.
He didn't deserve any of this.
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hmm not sure how to feel about obey me running the same pop quiz concurrently in both games
there's a weird disconnect - the new ui and sfx of nightbringer did a good job of giving that disjointed feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar, but given that the pop quiz seems to be taking place in the present that mc came from, the nightbringer ui just feels.... off in the wrong way
given that i've got more resources there i'll probably keep using the original game to play the pop quizzes, but since you can get devil points for s ranking a rhythm stage in nightbringer, seems like these events will be a good place to farm some!
(though in the first place i'd rather they finish the nightbringer story before adding supplementary content like this)
#obey me#i guess there's also the argument to be made that this kind of makes the original game defunct for players who've finished s4#if the pop quizzes are in both games there's no new content unique to the og to warrant keeping it#also i wonder (since the event nightmares are shared) are the devilgram stories the same?#i know that most people playing nightbringer came from the original but there's always going to be some people new to the series#and in the first place it just feels jarring to be midway through a story where the point is that the brothers are unfamiliar#only for the pop quiz to just kinda go 'yah forget that'#also the longer i've had to think about it the more worried i've gotten about whether or not mc's actually gonna go back to the present#given solomon's odd line about remembering that that's where you belong#in a way i guess i wouldn't want mc to leave the brothers behind in this more vulnerable phase#but in another if they stayed it kind of undoes what they've done from og s1 onwards#also i still wanna know how this isn't creating the world's biggest time paradox#if past asmo already has a pact with solomon now what's gonna happen when they meet at that bar where they're supposed to have made it??#depending on that bit in (was it s4 or s3??) where mc + satan end up in the celestial realm#was it that they went back in time or was it an illusion or something??#anyway i've seen some people say that the angel brothers don't remember exactly meeting them#but they still feel their influence afterwards#so maybe that's the case for mc in nightbringer??#anyway. sorry for rambling in tags again
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I may have lost all hope
#it's a weird feeling?#like since late 2022 it's been kind of like. bad vibes consistently#and i tried to stay somewhat positive throughout it#but idk there's this very distinct feeling now of like. i can't describe it but it's completely gone#like I've actually got nothing to live for#nothing I've done or wanted to do since i was 14 has ever really like amounted to anything#all the friends i made i never feel like i can talk to#once again in that state of 'only alive so my family don't get sad'#like even when i wanted to just stop existing when i was 21 there was this tiny bit of hope still there a little bit#like i remember for that whole summer i kept getting quick thoughts about suicide but I'd always push them out of my mind instantly#but there was one day where i let the thought stay in my mind for a little bit and like properly considered how i would do it#and then after a bit i was like FUCK and then went and walked like an hour away from my house to try and forget it#and then after that day i slowly got better. and it was annoying bc it meant now i had to walk a whole hour back to my house#but even if those 2 months there was still this feeling of this isn't gonna last#bc i knew i was back at uni in a few months and at least i had music to listen to#and all the other times I've been in that state there was still this sort of feeling that it'll get better bc I've got things to get me#through it#but it doesn't feel like that now. like no job no friends no hyperfixation and now i can't even enjoy any music#anything i create is pointless bc only i care about it#all my friends are busy doing other stuff I'm like not even second best I'm the most forgettable person anyone might know#the only thing that would fix me is getting a random train to like some place I've never been#just to see a new thing i guess#but anyway#ramble#suicide mention
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when i was like 16/17 just starting hrt still the ultimate high school drop out (never even went) my closest friends were my older brother who instantly decided his role as my older brother was to get me as drunk and or high as possible and sometimes by high he meant getting me to go on the roof with him + HIS best friend of nine years at the time who worked at an ice cream factory and would bring us a stacked free box and was the stoniest stoner you could ever encounter (the one with the awooga van horn) + also occasionally when he'd visit my other older brother who right now is living in the bush to "avoid covid". anyway i think this is exactly the kind of figures i needed at the time and i would be probably insane and annoying if i hadn't had his particular upbringing i think u need 3 25 year old men to learn how to skate in parking lots in the middle of the night w/ and find lost goats in the middle of the woods with. and watch them light each other on fire.
#drugs tw#it was FUN i'm glad i had that also i'm serious i needed this particular kind of male figures. probably#like brad (the one who isn't my brother) was the type who went from making gay jokes to being like Hey man dont say that#also i came out to him in a 7/11 parking lot and he's the only person i actually HAVE verbally come out to LOL everyone else was like told#and he was so nice about it i think he and my brothers had a pact of how to indoctrine me into like UGH well you know those stupid boys#will be boys = throwing rocks off a bridge posts. stuff like that . which is nice#he'd also always comment (nicely) on my transition and bring up when my voice changed or something#actually saw him recently for the first time in like 2 years and he was like wtf ur so different now IDK it was nice#u need to be friends with older stoners basically is what i'm saying
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renege when magi started off with spectacular pacing and worldbuilding and digestible and memorable political commentary and then went too abstract and tsubasa reservoir chronicle (derogatory). is anyone else mourning that or just me
#just thinking thoughts...#i went back to read its opening chapter a while ago and the only thing that stood out to me as bad was the breasts obsession#everything else was really good...#sorry. thinking abt this because i just started reading shoukoku no altair just now and like#i think it wants to be like midseries magi but is falling short in several aspects#firstly there's not enough love in the backgrounds imo.#the sense of the world isn't good (though i think part of it is due to the scanlators not translating the map labels?!)#but it's just like... it somehow feels generic even though there's a VERY specific time and place they're drawing from#and like the pacing of that first chapter... it's just so close. they didn't need that 1 page spread of mahmut trying to find evidence#if you were going to show that you needed to at least commit to the bit and show his thoughts getting more desperate#if the whole gimmick is that they used the wrong type of feather for the arrow this is how it should have gone.#he looks at the arrow early on (i don't think he looks at it until the end) ->#he starts looking for evidence and asking people around. during this time he is getting visibly desperate ->#at the end of the day he sadly pets his falcon feeling as though he had failed and WHILE HE IS STROKING HIS PET BIRD'S WINGS#he recalls the type of feather on the shaft. that's how it should have gone.#that's how it should have gone.#also since a lot of the words are turkish i think it also introduced too many unfamiliar thoughts names and concepts all at once#like it could have been clearer that pasha was a title and not a surname#i like that all the characters had monikers to help people remember them but again.#too much worldbuilding too fast#it's kind of giving de with the information overload but the key difference in that is#in de infodump is opt-in and not required for the actual plot#i think shoukoku no altair has a built world but everyone already knows how it works and it wouldn't make narrative sense#to explain it in depth through the dialogue#anyways. it IS interesting reading it because it's like. ALMOST there.#i anticipate it getting better rather than worse
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(half rant half story)
I'm a physicist. I work for a company that helps develop car parts. Essentially, car companies come to us with ideas on what they want from a part or material, and we make/test the idea or help them make/test it. Usually this means talking to other scientists and engineers and experts and it's all fine. Sometimes this means talking to businesspeople and board execs and I hate them
A bit ago when AI was really taking off in the zeitgeist I went to a meeting to talk about some tweaks Car Company A wanted to make to their hydraulics- specifically the master cylinder, but it doesn't super matter. I thought I'd be talking to their engineers - it ends up being just me, their head supervisor (who was not a scientist/engineer) and one of their executives from a different area (also not a scientist/engineer). I'm the only one in the room who actually knows how a car works, and also the lowest-level employee, and also aware that these people will give feedback to my boss based on how I 'represent the company ' whilst I'm here.
I start to explain my way through how I can make some of the changes they want - trying to do so in a way they'll understand - when Head Supervisor cuts me off and starts talking about AI. I'm like "oh well AI is often integrated into the software for a car but we're talking hardware right now, so that's not something we really ca-"
"Can you add artificial intelligence to the hydraulics?"
"..sorry, what was that?"
"Can you add AI to the hydraulics system?"
can i fucking what mate "Sir, I'm sorry, I'm a little confused - what do you mean by adding AI to the hydraulics?"
"I just thought this stuff could run smoother if you added AI to it. Most things do"
The part of the car that moves when you push the acceleration pedal is metal and liquid my dude what are you talking about "You want me to .add AI...to the pistons? To the master cylinder?"
"Yeah exactly, if you add AI to the bit that makes the pistons work, it should work better, right?"
IT'S METAL PIPES it's metal pipes it's metal pipes "Sir, there isn't any software in that part of the car"
"I know, but it's artificial intelligence, I'm sure there's a way to add it"
im exploding you with my mind you cannot seriously be asking me to add AI to a section of car that has as much fucking code attached to it as a SOCK what do you MEAN. The most complicated part of this thing is a SPRING you can't be serious
He was seriously asking. I've met my fair share of idiots but I was sure he wasn't genuinely seriously asking that I add AI directly to a piston system, but he was. And not even in the like "oh if we implement a way for AI to control that part" kind of way, he just vaguely thought that AI would "make it better" WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEANNNNN I HAD TO SPEND 20 MINUTES OF MY HARD EARNED LIFE EXPLAINING THAT NEITHER I NOR ANYONE ELSE CAN ADD AI TO A GOD DAMNED FUCKING PISTON. "CAN YOU ADD AI TO THE HYDRAULICS" NO BUT EVEN WITHOUT IT THAT METAL PIPE IS MORE INTELLIGENT THAN YOU
Posted by admin Rodney.
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just finished watching Blue Beetle & the dude who's lines were 90% "my name isn't Sanchez" is listed as "Sanchez" in the credits
#''you see she's racist because she calls him Sanchez even though that's not his name. anyways here's who played Sanchez''#oh also the dude who played him is Guillermo from What We Do In The Shadows#man idk maybe it's just cuz i watched Spiderverse again right before this#but i find superhero movies just don't do it for me anymore. not the modern ones anyway#like yeah it's fun for sure but also. it's 90% CGI & totally ignores the superpower aspect in favour of like. romance & explosions#like i wanna see him learn there's a fucking alien beetle speaking in his head rather than just ''yeah i can hear it. anyways''#i know i know we've seen origin stories a million times. but like. i LOVE origin stories. i'm sure other people do too#it's why i always rewatch the first movie in a series. i love the fucking around & finding out#also the amount of random flashing lights was kind of weird. made me realize how many climaxes just do that instead of actually like#making it visually appealing#man every time i watch a superhero movie that isn't Andrew or Toby's Spider-man or Spiderverse or RPat's Batman i get disappointed#the earlier Marvel & DC movies were alright. i think they still had the magic before Avengers went big#but like. dude. most of them just don't do it for me. there's something fundamental about heroes that they're missing#i think it's the like. actually wanting to help people just because they want to#a lot of them only help because they get the money & tech to do so#i think it worked with Tony because that's his whole character. he's an asshole billionaire who makes weapons#his (& Batman's) character development surrounds the tech & the money#but for friendly neighbourhood Spider-man for example it doesn't. that guy is poor. he defends the people#& they can't really do that when they've got a billionaire who works with the government breathing down their neck can they#idk i feel like a lot of this ''i'm just the little guy look at me i'm just a lil dude with a family who likes helping'' doesn't really wor#when the only reason they're helping at all is because a billionaire showed up & gave them a million dollars like#''i'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart <3 billionaires are people too''#sorry but billionaires need to die if you wanna actually help people. actually i take back that sorry. i'm not sorry#i did get some ideas for DIM though so i guess there's that#anyway yeah Blue Beetle is good as entertainment. i just feel like it could've been more Real ya know?#like. Spiderverse felt Real. New York & Miles's family felt so natural & seamless#''Batman's a fascist'' just didnt really do it for me
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my very soul demands you
sukuna x reader
summary: you introduce sukuna to cuddling and romance novels. meanwhile, he's still struggling to make sense of his feelings for you, despite wanting to commit murder because another man had the nerve to touch your arm (which earns him a lecture from yuuji).
w/c: 2.5k
tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst to fluff. jealous!sukuna. aged up!yuuji. features yuuji x reader. cursing. banter. hopefully not too ooc for sukuna. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers.
a/n: this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it'd flow much better with the context of the previous two parts. lots of denial and begrudging softness from sukuna here. definitely more fluff than anything tho. this series has been fun to write, so thanks for reading<3 i appreciate reblogs or feedback! let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any additional parts.
series masterlist // masterlist
when you crawl in between sukuna's legs and curl up against his chest, it's a foreign experience that makes his body stiffen.
he'd been with countless women during his lifetime, but while fucking is one thing, he never once found himself in a position that struck him as this... intimate.
"hold me," you whine as if you can sense his unfamiliarity with such matters.
he rolls his eyes, beginning to wonder if your habit of throwing orders at him is actually some sort of compulsive need. "didn't anyone ever teach you manners?"
despite his irritation, he acquiesces to your demand and once he envelops you in his arms, some of his rigidness dissipates.
you hum contentedly. "isn't that better?"
"it's tolerable," he asserts, his chest vibrating against your cheek.
"whatever you say." tangling your legs with his, you turn your attention back to the movie you've both been watching.
he doesn't understand this... tedious display of affection, nor does he particularly enjoy it... right?
and he only allows it because he can't rid his mind of the image of your tear stained face... right?
yeah, that has to be it. he figures he can endure this, given that he was the reason you were so upset earlier.
it goes without saying that he doesn't realize it when he begins to rub absentminded circles on your back.
and the way the warmth of your body forces his usually tense muscles to relax goes unacknowledged.
when the credits begin to roll, sukuna's wearing an expression of unimpressed disinterest. "that's seriously how it ends?"
you don't respond, so he looks down only to find that you're fast asleep.
"tch. you ask to watch a movie, force me to pick it, and then you don't even have the decency to stay awake." he's not sure why he's chiding you even though he knows you can't hear him, but he keeps his voice low enough that it won't disturb you.
sukuna's spent more time than he cares to admit watching your sleeping form, but this is the first time that it's actually him you're pressed against. it's the first time he can reach out and touch you.
your hair has fallen across your face, so he pushes it back behind your ear gently. the pads of his fingers brush against your cheekbone, a ghost of a caress, and his gaze lingers on your parted lips.
he lets out a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from you. "impertinent brat."
reaching for the remote, he flips off the tv and casts the room in darkness.
upon waking up in the morning, yuuji's confused once he notices that he's on the couch and you're sleeping against his chest.
he may have been half asleep when he arrived home, but he's still positive he went to bed. stretching his arms above his head, the movement jostles you from your slumber.
"mornin', baby."
"good morning, yu," you yawn in response, shifting to sit up.
"how'd i wind up on the couch?" he asks, though he's already got an inkling of the answer.
"oh," you blush. "sukuna kind of made an appearance last night."
"that so? how'd it go?"
you think there might be a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. is he teasing you?
"good," you offer. "we watched a movie."
"watched a movie with the king of curses," he muses before his face breaks out into a lopsided grin. "you sure are somethin', baby."
returning his smile, you lean in and press your lips to his. "hm. says you."
it's not uncommon for you to meet yuuji for lunch if his mission is short and nearby, and today is one of those days, so he eagerly makes his way to the cafe you agreed on.
he's still a few hundred feet away when he spots you through the window, chatting with a man he recognizes as your childhood friend.
his gaze drops to where his hand is wrapped around your forearm as you both share a laugh together.
it doesn't really bother yuuji, he trusts you implicitly and jealousy isn't an emotion that's really on his radar. the same can't be said for everyone, though.
sukuna watches on as well, his thoughts much darker than his vessel's. who does that wretch think he is, putting his hands on you?
you're not his to touch.
"give me control," sukuna growls, his mouth appearing on yuuji's cheek.
"and why would i do that?"
"so i can rip his heart out and gift it to her since he seems so interested in offering his affections."
"duuuude," yuuji begins, somewhat amused. "i don't think she'd be super crazy about you murdering her friend."
"fine," sukuna bites back, well aware that yuuji has a point. "but he can live without his filthy hands, can't he? perhaps i'll pull each arm from his torso—"
yuuji snorts. "you have some serious issues, man."
he can feel sukuna trying to take over and easily curbs the attempt, though that only fuels the king of curses' irritation. "my only issue lies in the fact you're allowing this to happen."
yuuji reaches the door, a bell chiming through the cafe as he pulls it open. "she's a big girl. she doesn't need either of us to dictate what can and can't happen to her."
once you see your boyfriend, your face lights up and you call out his name. you place a kiss on his cheek and snake an arm around his waist in greeting, and the space it puts between you and your friend is enough to keep sukuna from protesting further.
"you two have met, right?" you ask.
"yeah! hey, itadori! it's been a while."
"it has! good to see you, yamada."
"i'd love to stay and chat more, but i have to get going," he states, leaning in to give you a hug which you return. "we should all go out together soon!"
"absolutely not, you deplorable knave—" yuuji slaps a hand to his cheek before sukuna can continue and yamada gives him an odd look.
your eyes widen for a split second and you have to stop yourself from facepalming.
"what'd you say?" yamada asks, sounding a bit hesitant.
"i said absolutely, sounds like an enjoyable night!"
the men exchange a handshake before you and yuuji make your way to a table.
"sukuna, what the hell was that?" you hiss once yamada's out of earshot.
"i don't know what you mean," he responds smugly.
you meet yuuji's eye and he just shrugs his shoulders, but you swear the corners of his mouth twitch upward.
you can't imagine anything good coming from the two of them colluding with one another, but let it go anyway.
opening up your menu, you sigh in defeat. "if you say so."
"what do you mean you'd rather disembowel yourself?" you question the man sitting across from you.
it's becoming more commonplace to see those dark marks adorning yuuji's body during the nighttime hours. you sometimes wonder if he's letting it happen or if sukuna's just getting better at taking over, but you're too nervous to ask.
"do you need a dictionary? there's one over on the shelf—"
"no, asshole. i know what disembowel means! i just don't understand your refusal."
he raises his eyebrows at the obscenity, but doesn't comment on it. "i'm not reading some inane romance novel."
"but brontë's one of my favorite authors!"
"it makes no difference if it was penned by the gods. the thought alone is absurd. can we move on now?"
you don't respond. instead, you cross your arms and stare at the wall defiantly. your face is contorted into an expression that lets sukuna know you're clearly affronted.
"very mature, you silly little girl."
"sorry you find me and my interests so childish," you huff.
"oh, please. that's not what i said."
you continue giving him the cold shoulder, having no desire to argue further, but more than willing to die on this hill.
"fine, don't talk. it's no matter to me," he claims (despite it being the furthest thing from the truth).
as the minutes tick by, he keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye and exhaling dramatically.
eventually, he calls your name in an exasperated tone, and while it makes your heart flutter, you still don't spare him a glance. you just hold the book out for him and to your surprise, he rips it from your grasp.
"you're ridiculous," he grumbles, opening the cover to reveal the first page. "i hate you."
when he glances over to see you're beaming at him despite the insult, he adds (albeit half heartedly), "i mean it, brat."
the two of you sit in silence, each of you reading your respective books. a few chapters in, sukuna comes across the following conversation:
"do you know where the wicked go after death?"
"they go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer.
"and what is hell? can you tell me that?"
"a pit full of fire."
"and should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?"
"no, sir."
"what must you do to avoid it?"
i deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: "i must keep in good health, and not die."
to your astonishment, you actually hear him chuckle, but when he looks over and finds your self satisfied smirk, any hint of humor disappears from his face in the blink of an eye. your hand quickly moves to your mouth to stifle a giggle.
"something you want to say?" he baits you.
"nope, nothing at all!"
two nights later, he's already nearing the end of the story and you refrain from commenting about how quickly he's made his way through.
you doubt he'd allow your current position if you had— you're laying on your side, your head resting comfortably in his lap, one hand occupying the space above his knee.
when you asked if it was okay, all he offered you was a clipped, "i suppose."
your hair is splayed across his thigh and your eyes fluttered shut a while ago. when he agreed to this, he didn't realize how distracting it'd be. his gaze flickers between you and the words on the page with embarrassing frequency.
he's decided what you call cuddling is absolutely suffocating. how anyone could actually enjoy it, he's sure he'll never comprehend. he can hardly concentrate on the novel that's right in front of him—
"read to me, 'kuna," you mumble, interrupting his thoughts. it surprises him that you're still awake.
he scoffs. "what do i look like? your personal audiobook?"
"you didn't even know those existed until like a week ago," you laugh. "c'mon, pleaaaaaase."
he stays quiet for a few moments, so you're under the impression he may just ignore your request. as such, you're exceptionally pleased when his voice fills the otherwise still apartment.
you think the sound of his voice is comforting, an idea that would more than likely make him cringe, so you keep it to yourself. after all, you don't want him to stop.
at some point or another, he begins twirling a strand of your hair around his finger whenever he's not turning the page, an action that seems to take place without his noticing.
occasionally he'll pause to ask if you're even listening. it's an odd feeling that blossoms in his stomach when you assure, "mhmm. every word."
as he reaches the second to last chapter, he reads a line that makes you question whether your heart's stopped beating. you're not sure if it's because of the tone of his voice, the words he's imparting, or some mix thereof.
"no—no—jane; you must not go. no—i have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence—the sweetness of your consolation: i cannot give up these joys. i have little left in myself—I must have you. the world may laugh—may call me absurd, selfish—but it does not signify."
he stops reading, as if he too feels the sense of unease that's invaded the air. against your better judgement, you turn to look at him. his eyes are glued to the page, almost like they're avoiding you, and his jaw is tense.
"my very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.”
when his gaze finally lands on you, his expression is almost pained. it's a strange contrast to the warm fondness you spot in his eyes.
you quickly push that thought away, however. whatever you believe you may have seen, you're probably just deluding yourself. you know you aren't his least favorite person, but surely he'd never feel even half of that sentiment toward you—
your breath catches in your throat when his hand reaches up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. he still marvels at the fact you don't shy away from his touch, that you're usually the one to seek out contact with him.
perhaps the story is not as asinine as he expected it to be. rochester presumes jane will find him revolting, yet she still agrees to be with him, even after his selfishness has been made plain to her. after the sins of his past have caught up to him.
no, no, no.
to be so desperate for some woman's approval, or her devotion for that matter, is despicable. rochester's nothing less than foolish and sukuna isn't anything like him.
but you're certainly like jane, aren't you? fearless, passionate, and determined: all things he can't help but find endearing...
gods, what is this turmoil? it's making him feel pathetic and there isn't an emotion in the world he hates more—
you distract him from his internal monologue when your fingers wrap around his wrist and bring his knuckles to your lips. "you okay?"
"of course," he mutters, pulling his hand away. "just trying to get past all the mawkishness."
"really? you think it's that bad?" you question, the frown on your lips igniting that ache in his chest that appears whenever you're upset.
"it's not terrible," he sighs, realizing there may indeed be one thing he despises even more than feeling pathetic. "although i don't understand how jane is so taken with rochester."
you seem to ponder this for a moment before shrugging. "love is weird."
"what a clever analysis."
you slap his chest playfully. "oh, whatever. just keep going, you're almost finished!"
and you're right. he does reach the end of jane eyre that night, but not before you fall asleep on his lap. he closes the book, running a finger down the creased spine and setting it down carefully. it's obvious you've read it several times.
admittedly, he can see why, but he'd be caught dead before he'd ever tell you as much.
left alone with his thoughts, he considers the impossibility of jane and rochester: a charming, headstrong woman and a cruel, arrogant man.
leaning forward, he whispers your name to make certain you're asleep, then places a lingering kiss to your forehead.
"..sweet dreams."
#m!writes#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna imagines#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna imagines#ryomen sukuna fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#jjk fluff
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She Was Here - LN
Summary: There's one telltale sign Lando uses to know when y/n has been around.
This is kind of a sequence of events
Brain rot? Brain rot 🫣 Let's go.
Edit: I just realised the title of this fic might sound like the reader DIES. Ehhhh not to give away too many spoilers in case people think that is the case, but she doesn't die. It's just fluff.
No part 2 requests please
Lando really wants to believe his girlfriend doesn't have some natural talent in leaving a room right before he is about to enter it. Especially managing it every time he's actually looking for her.
The girl has some sort of sixth sense to just avoid him like the plague, despite insisting she loves him to pieces and really isn't doing it on purpose.
But he does have one telltale sign of y/n having been around in a room or a space. Even outdoors he managed to figure out she's been around from it.
Her perfume.
It's not as if it's especially strong or as if she's soaks herself in it.
But for some reason he can smell it in the air wherever she's been, it just lingers there and he can smell it above and before anything else. Even in the garage which can have all sorts of technical smells. If she's been around there, he'll know.
"Hey, was y/n just over here? I can smell her perfume." Lando frowns walking up to the pit wall while Will turns to look at him with Zak.
"She's right, you are a weirdo." Will comments with a laugh while Zak chuckles and points down the pit lane to the track.
"You just missed her. She was here for like 20 minutes talking our ears off about how the two of you have matching shoes." Zak states earning a smile from Lando as they all look down at her shoes. "Should get her a pair of McLaren shoes."
"She told me that she'd get me to sign them and then sell them online." Lando hums absently making the two men chuckle before he sighs. "I better go see if I can find her. Thanks."
-
Lando jogs over to the unit where the comms girls giggle as he seems to let his nose guide him at the scent of y/n's perfume, directly to them.
"She's not here."
"Oh for fu-where'd she go? I only just had her on the track yesterday and managed to keep hold of her. I stop for one conversation with Carlos and she's like a ghost." Lando groans since y/n really is iconic for her disappearing acts by this point.
"She said she had a gift for Ted because it's his birthday so she went to go give it to him."
Lando grumbles wanting to be mad that he's once again lost his girlfriend but really he knew she'd gone out of her way to be a sweetheart yet again and he knew she'd get herself on a mission to make sure she gave him the gift as soon as she could.
Nevertheless since Lando has a while till he needs to do anything for the team or preparing for being out on track, he goes out searching for her. It's really a never ending trail of essentially sniffing her out like a hound.
-
Lando sighs as he gets back from the gym, returning to his apartment where Max is currently hanging out. He arrived at the apartment while y/n was still there.
"Where's y/n? I know she's just been here." Lando frowns as he sits down next to his mate.
"How?"
"Her perfume. It's like she sprays it and just runs or something as soon as she knows I'm on my way." Lando sighs while sitting down. "Where is she?"
"Pretty sure she just went in the shower. I don't remember her spraying any perfume before she left though." Max laughs while Lando hums then rubbing his hand over his face. "No wonder she calls you a weirdo. Sniffing her out like a dog."
Lando would love to argue about it but he really doesn't think he can. He absolutely knows he's a weirdo for it. But he can't help it, it's the first thing he notices if he enters a room now.
His mind immediately seems to set out to try and figure out first if he can smell that perfume. Even worse, he couldn't tell you what perfume she wears. But he could pick it out from a million samples.
He could be blindfolded and pick her out of a line up.
"How long ago did she go in the shower?" Lando asks making Max puff out a breath since he really hasn't been counting the minutes and he didn't time stamp her disappearance.
"Maybe...10 minutes?"
-
Lando sighs as he wakes up the sound of soft padding of feet and the gentle click of the bathroom door stirring him from the depth of sleep before he rolls onto her side of the bed, relishing in the smell of her perfume residence on the sheets and especially on her pillow.
He starts to doze at the scent of her just surrounding him before he hears the door click.
"Hey. That's my side." A tired light voice giggles making him peak one eye open and lift the sheets. "I just needed to pee. What you doing on my side, weirdo?"
Y/n still climbs into the bed and finds herself suddenly position to lie underneath him with his face nuzzled deep in her neck as he inhales heavily against her skin.
"Do you like bathe in your perfume?" Lando asks, though his voice is muffled by her skin while she laughs.
"No. It's just a good perfume. Beginning to think it makes you feral or something from the way you react to it." Y/n jokes then yawning as she feels the heat of his body lulling her carefully to sleep. "Going to start spraying it on you before you go on track and on your clothes so you smell like me when you're around other people...especially other women. Like marking my territory."
Lando nearly chokes on his breath with that sleepy unfiltered thought.
"Are you sure you're not the feral one?"
"I definitely am feral. But so are you, weirdo." Y/n giggles then yawning. "Can we go back to sleep? You're so warm you're really sending me to sleep."
"Yeah." Lando mumbles since having his face completely buried into a direct source of her scent is such a comfort to him, he's entirely happy to sleep in this position.
Hell she might find that this is a new position they'll be sleeping in from here forward. Why he's never done it before suddenly makes no sense at all.
Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03 @harrysdimple05 @mellowarcadefun @cixrosie @scopeiguess @racingheartsposts @c-losur3 @jehun @bethanymccauley @randomnessis-mine-me @sunf1ower16 @8justme @bborra @igotnorrrizz @unknownmystery22 @aeri101 @neilakk @d3kstar
#f1#fanfic#formula 1#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#ln4 x reader#lando norris x y/n#lando x reader#lando#norris#lando norris one shot#mclaren#lando norris fluff#lando norris x you#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fic#lando norris mclaren#ln4 one shot#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 fluff#ln4 x you#mclaren f1#mclaren formula 1#ln4 fanfic#ln4 x y/n#mclaren racing#f1 fic#f1 x reader
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I... *deep sigh* I got an online dating app again (gay this time, not tinder again lol) for a couple different reasons. But I still don't get it. I enjoy talking to some of the people, it's just kinda fun get to know you stuff. Mostly I've been talking about anime or fantasy or cosplay, all stuff I like and it's cool to find so many people around me who are gay and into that stuff too! But like. I don't really have feelings about any of these people beyond maybe "nice!" or "attractive!" which to me aren't really special feelings? or idk actionable feelings? Like those feelings don't make me want to flirt with them or go on dates with them or do ~things~ with them. But I guess that's enough for other people? Because some of them have flirted with me or literally asked if I wanted to learn carpentry from them while they build a bed for their friends kid (which. one very gay. two that sounds very cool) but we literally started talking like an hour ago?? You are already telling your friends about me? Straight up told your friend I was sweet and respectful??? I am so confused.
#i don't know anything about youuuuu#i don't know how your voice sounds or what you laugh like#i don't know your favorite food or your pets names or where you went to school#or what you want to do with your life#i haven't done anything with you like hang out at a pool or gone on a hike or pulled an all nighter with you#or seen your house or know if you match your socks or have sensory issues or how you like to dress#or literally anything i know about my friends#and i don't know how i am supposed to have feelings about you just from this#sometimes it's hard for me to have noticeable feelings about people i have been CLOSE friends with for years#it's not that i don't want those feelings or that i don't ever want to be in love#but am i supposed to be crushing on you already???#that has literally only happened to me like once in my life and it was with a girl i actually saw irl!#(the most beautiful girl in the world tbh but sadly i never spoke with her because i was terrified 😭 rip)#but everyone else i have (maybe... kind of debatable) had a crush on has been on someone I have known for at minimum a year first#i don't understand this 'catching feelings' thing. and I feel bad#like I am giving them these tepid lukewarm responses to their flirting but it's not that i don't like them! I just don't feel like that yet!#and I wouldn't be on this app but I am.. lonely isn't the right word... yearning? no. umm Idk I want to kiss someone. horny? 😂#also not the exact right vibe... Idk I just want to be gay with someone and friends and hang out at each others homes#and watch anime together and make out. I want experiences that I haven't ever had before.#I want to get my turn at having the highschool friendship/relationship that I didn't get to have#and I don't know how to get this any other way#(yes i have had friends flirt with me.. sometimes VERY explicitly. you know who you are if you read this. but#sorry I'm not into you like that 😂 which tbh I think u are joking anyway so 😂)#and so like preferably I would start this whole thing from a point of friendship but I don't have that so like...#my options are apps or irl and that is terrifying and I have zero clue how that works at all. I feel like it involves me going to a bar#and that's so scary#so here i am. idk
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she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.
in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.
it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.
i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.
sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.
and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.
once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?
i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.
my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."
the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.
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I'm seeing some confusion out and about over the title A Companion to Owls (generally along the lines of 'what have owls got to do with it???'), so I'd like to offer my interpretation (with a general disclaimer that the Bible and particularly the Old Testament are damn complicated and I'm not able to address every nuance in a fandom tumblr post, okay? Okay):
It's a phrase taken from the Book of Job. Here's the quote in full (King James version):
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
--(Job 30:29)
Job is describing the depths of his grief, but also, with that last line, his position in the web of providence.
Throughout the Old Testament, owls are a recurring symbol of spiritual devastation. Deuteronomy 4:17 - Isaiah 34:11 - Psalm 102: 3 - Jeremiah 50: 39...just to name a few (there's more). The general shape of the metaphor is this: owls are solitary, night-stalking creatures, that let out either mournful cries or terrible shrieks, that inhabit the desolate places of the world...and (this is important) they are unclean.
They represent a despair that is to be shunned, not pitied, because their condition is self-inflicted. You defied God (so the owl signifies), and your punishment is...separation. From God, from others, from the world itself. To call and call and never, ever receive an answer.
Your punishment is terrible, tormenting loneliness.
(and that exact phrase, "tormenting loneliness," doesn't come from me...I'm pulling it from actual debate/academia on this exact topic. The owls, and what they are an omen for. Oof.)
To call yourself a 'companion to owls,' then, is to count yourself alongside perhaps the most tragic of the damned --not the ones who defy God out of wickedness or ignorance, and in exile take up diabolical ends readily enough...but the ones who know enough to mourn what they have lost.
So, that's how the title relates to Job: directly. Of course, all that is just context. The titular "companion to owls," in this case, isn't Job at all.
Because this story is about Aziraphale.
The thing is that Job never actually defied God at all, but Aziraphale does, and he does so fully believing that he will fall.
He does so fully believing that he's giving in to a temptation.
He's wrong about that, but still...he's realized something terrifying. Which is that doing God's will and doing what's right are sometimes mutually exclusive. Even more terrifying: it turns out that, given the choice between the two...he chooses what's right.
And he's seemingly the only angel who does. He's seemingly the only angel who can even see what's wrong.
Fallen or not, that's the kind of knowledge that...separates you.
(Whoooo-eeeeee, tormenting loneliness!!!)
Aziraphale is the companion.
...I don't think I need to wax poetic about Aziraphale's loneliness and grappling with devotion --I think we all, like, get it, and other people have likely said it better anyway. So, one last thing before I stop rambling:
Check out Crowley's glasses.
(screenshots from @seedsofwinter)
Crowley is the owl.
Crowley is the goddamn owl.
#good omens#good omens 2#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#aziraphale#crowley#there's probably a few thousand words more I could say about this but. I think I'll just hang the implications deliciously aloft for now.#something something tfw the embodiment of all your worst fears and self-doubts shows you the only real kindness you've known for centuries#you can't help but love him and you can't help but fear him but above all you TRUST him the way you're supposed to trust God but don't#brrrrrrr#do you think Crowley would vibe with being an omen of spiritual devastation or do you think he would get drunk about it#good omens meta
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