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maxcuntstappen · 8 days

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Landoscar, exes to lovers

"Is this a fucking joke?" Lando spits out, way too loud for the setting he finds himself in.

Always quick to meet him where he's at, Oscar replies, dry as ever, "Well, if it is, it's not a very funny one, is it?"

Lando's eyes narrow, a burning irritation as well as a familiar yet unwanted itch of adoration in his throat.

He feels frozen, watching the used-to-be love of his life dressed to the nines, sitting at the dinner table where Lando was supposed to meet his blind date.

It's stupid to think back on it, how excited Lando was for tonight. It's been a while since he's been out to a romantic dinner and he was genuinely looking forward to this.

And it's fucking annoying how perfect everything is. The bouquet of carnations on the table wrapped in white and yellow tissue, the soft music playing in the background in a foreign language so Lando cannot get distracted by it, the candle light giving the illusion of privacy even while being surrounded by other tables with other couples.

Everything is quite nice. Besides fucking Oscar Piastri being at the other side.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Oscar asks, making Lando realise that he truly is just standing there.

To be fair, what the fuck is he supposed to do? Sit down and have a lovely, romantic night with the guy who broke his heart?

Fuck no.

"Fuck no. I am leaving," Lando says.

Oscar sighs, his shoulders sinking down a bit, "Okay."

Lando turns around and walks out, trying not to think about how he wished Oscar had asked for him to stay.

Oscar didn't have particularly high hopes for his night.

He's a realist. He's well aware that his run of terrible date nights aren't going to come to a sudden halt on a blind date set up by fucking Logan Sargeant out of all people.

But he didn't think it would go as badly as this.

This being his ex-boyfriend showing up, hair curly as ever and face prettier than Oscar's mind could ever conjure up.

He's going to fucking murder Logan.

But those are his future plans.

For now, he asks for a bottle of red from the waitress, signs the cheque for it, ignores her curious yet pitying stare, and fucking walks out of that stupidly perfect restaurant.

Oscar takes a sip of the wine as he waits for his Uber to show.

"Dude, just taking a fucking cab. Don't be such a wannabe show-off," Logan had said to him when Oscar had complained about not having any of his transport of his in Monaco.

Fucking dickhead.

He knew Oscar was meeting Lando and he still made life difficult for him.

Oscar's going to run Logan's car into the wall. Road or F1, it doesn't matter. Logan's body is going to be finding a new home.

Oscar's made his way half-way through the bottle of wine, phone clutched in hand loading and searching and locating, when an obnoxiously bright McLaren pulls up in front of him.

The driver side's door opens, a familiar head of curls on an all too-familiar body popping out.

"D'ya need a ride?" Lando asks, sounding like each word causes him physical distress to let out.

Oscar should say no, should laugh in Lando's face and tell him to fuck off, should be mean and avoidant, really lay it on thick that Lando really fucking hurt him, walking away the way he did last time. And then again tonight.

He really should.

And yet, all he does is nod, stepping off the pavement and into the car.

"What do you have there?" Lando asks, eyeing the bottle of wine Oscar is so carefully cradling in his arms.

"Wine," Oscar says, about to offer some to Lando before glancing at the steering wheel and thinking better off of it.

He needs to make it home safe to be able to put Logan into the wall.

It's so...strange. How awkward and painful the silence feels, how the air is heavy and thick, stale and unmoving.

Yet the scent of Lando's car is familiar, so is the feel of the leather underneath him, the playlist playing in the background definitely one he's heard before.

It makes sense, Oscar's cologne mixing with Lando's.

It makes sense and it's devastating.

It's too much, all the conflicting emotions, getting to Oscar and making him open his big, stupid mouth to ask some big, stupid questions.

"So, a blind date, huh?" Oscar asks, "Didn't think you were that kind of guy."

Lando's eyes narrow and Oscar already knows that something nasty is going to follow. Lando is still so easy for him to read.

"I was just asking, Lan, it wasn't a dig or anything," Oscar jumps in, saving himself and Lando from the vitriol of the words that were sure to follow.

Lando glances at him, a lot surprised and a little bit... fond.

Yes. Fond.

Unfortunately, while Oscar can read Lando's expressions, he cannot read his mind.

So he really has no idea what he's said that makes Lando soften up, makes him ease his fingers around the steering wheel, his shoulders falling away from his ears, relief apparent in every part of him.

"I don't know," Lando replies, "Thought I'd try something different."

There's more to it, Oscar knows, but he's not privy to that kind of information anymore. So he bites down on the urge to ask.

He hums, "Yeah. Me too," he pauses, wondering if he should just let the conversation die down, let this crazy night come to an end in silence as Lando drops him to the Hilton Lando knows Oscar stays at when he's in Monaco.

But while he cannot get more from Lando, it doesn't meet he cannot give more.

And he wants to. Give, that is.

Even after everything, he would always want to give give give when it comes to Lando.

"It's been hard," Oscar begins, swallowing, forcing the nerves down his throat, "to go on dates that actually..." mean something, can hold a light to what ours were like, don't make me want to run and call you and tell you we got this all wrong but we can always get it right, "enjoyable."

Oscar watches as Lando glances at him from the corner of his eye. He watches Lando bite down hard on his bottom lip. Watches the bob of his throat and the twitch of his nose.

Lando has always been so beautiful, so pretty and handsome. A perfect mix of harsh lines and soft corners. A flawless design.

To be in close proximity to him after so long of being apart, Oscar feels overwhelmed by all of him. Feels like he needs to cover his eyes with his hands and peek through his fingers, ensure that he is only taking in a little of Lando's beauty at a time, savour it bit by bit while making sure he doesn't lose his mind over the curl hanging over Lando's right eye.

It shouldn't surprise him. Oscar's admission.

It really shouldn't.

Oscar had always been braver one between them, always more comfortable with being vulnerable, being open.

It's one of the things Lando loves about him.

Loved.

Loved about him.

Well.

Loves, he guesses, if the clenching of his heart is anything to go by.

"Yeah," Lando chokes out, his voice cracking and causing him to flush, "It's been the same for me."

The silence envelopes them again, and it's not as tense as before, but it's not where Lando wants them to be at either.

"It's not the same," Lando admits, pretending to glance at the right side mirror to catch a glimpse of Oscar's face, "You know..."

He cannot say 'as it was with you'. He cannot.

It would ruin him.

"Not the same as?"

Fuck Oscar for always being so good at pulling the softness out of Lando, at making him want to open up and show him parts that he would normally try to not even think of.

"As it was with us," Lando says, voice so low it's nearly a whisper.

He knows Oscar hears it anyway, can see the instant reaction of the tightening of the arms around his precious wine bottle, the shifting and moving of his body to slightly turn to face Lando.

Lando wonders whether Oscar notices he's doing it, opening up his body to Lando. Whether it was a conscious choice, or a habit, or maybe an uncontrolled but called-for reaction.

"It really isn't," Oscar says.

The air in the car is heavy, but not in the way it was when they left the restaurant. This one is more electric, more charged, just a pinprick needed to make it all rain down.

Lando wants to shove at it as hard as he can.

The next exit leads to the Hilton.

Lando drives pass it, and the spark goes off.

#THIS IS NOT A BLURB #IM SORRY #IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SMALL #IM BAD AT FICLETS APPARENTLY #BUT I WILL LEARN #PROMISE #landoscar #lav's ficlets

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starlostastronaut · 5 months

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DAY 10 | ALL WE ARE

PAIRING: kim seungmin x reader

GENRE: college au (not mentioned), rivals (more like annoyances) to lovers

WC: 1.70k

CW: reader finds seungmin annoying, dancer!reader, photographer!seungmin

PROMPT: "i don't need your help" "are you sure? cause it sure looks like it"

marking 22:16 and completing another day haha. somehow the biases get the long oneshots (*cough* day 3 *cough*) but i genuinely had so much fun writing this (while procrastinating learning bio lmao). anyway, i think i can see this having a part two, so maybe in the future... hope you enjoy <3

title from border - years & years

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

You threw your bag on the floor, not really caring where it was going to land. You rolled up your sleeves and made sure your hair was out of your face before you walked towards one of the barres in the dance studio. You and the dance team were going to take some promo photos for your Instagram, so naturally, as the captain, you offered to come early and set everything up. Hyunjin and Felix, two of your teammates, were supposed to arrive soon to help you move everything, but you decided you could start on your own.

You prepared the background and removed all unnecessary objects that would get in the way and pose as a distraction in the photos. Then you took out your own decorations and began carefully placing them around the scene to create the illusion of a frequently used place. You were sure the photographer would move at least a half of them because he was an annoying perfectionistic dick, but you needed to keep yourself busy somehow. It was better than just idly sitting and waiting for one of the guys to show up to help you move the heavy stuff.

But now everything you could do was prepared, and Hyunjin and Felix were still nowhere in sight. You were sitting on the spot of the photographer, trying to see if anything could be altered to look better or be pushed out of the way before the equipment was moved to its correct place. As you began to feel frustrated with the two dancers, you got up and walked over to your bag, digging through it to find your phone. A new message awaited you.

Hyunjin

got lost buying coffee. me & lix will be there in 20!!

hurry up!!

Shaking your head, you pocketed your phone. Trust Hyunjin to get lost at the most inconvenient times. You would bet anything that that wasn't even the real reason; Hyunjin could find the way to the studio blindfolded, given how much time he spent here. The more plausible reason was that the two dumbasses simply forgot, and Hyunjin was trying to cover their asses.

Well, the reason wasn't important. More importantly, the photographer would be here soon to set up his equipment, and the barres still needed to be moved. “How heavy can it be, right?” you murmured to yourself and wrapped your hands around one end of the barre. You managed to lift it up just fine, but the other end was still on the ground due to the barre's length. You tried to drag it across the floor, and to your surprise, it moved, but once you heard the ugly screech the floor made, you dropped the bar with a thud. It was not worth damaging the floor.

“Do you want help?” someone said as they walked through the door. A relief washed over you, thinking it was Hyunjin at first, but then you realized the voice and tone didn't match. As you turned around, the relief quickly turned to annoyance because the photographer had arrived.

Kim Seungmin, also known as the pain in your ass. He had been working with you for close to two years now. You weren’t sure how he even got the job in the first place, but you assumed it was Felix's doing since the two were friends. But Seungmin was good, so you kept him around. Much to your dismay, it was always Seungmin's photos and videos that went viral on social media. As a photographer, he was simply amazing, but as a person, not so much, despite everything Felix tried to convince you otherwise. Seungmin was always brutally honest, always had some witty remarks, and wasn't afraid to speak his mind. He would make jokes about anyone and anything. You weren’t an exception to his humor. When he committed to a vision, no one could tell him anything. His attitude made you lose your mind at times. He was an organized rule-follower, but at the same time so carefree, energetic, and just himself. You had to admire that about him. He didn’t care about anything, which was something you secretly envied. You were always too quick to crumble under the judgment of other people, another reason why his jokes affected you so much.

“I'm fine,” you spat out, turning your back to him again. “You can set up over there.” You pointed towards the empty spot close to the window, chosen carefully for natural light. You heard Seungmin scoff, but he did go set down his camera and other things he had brought. You heard footsteps, and then his face was back in your field of vision.

He got rid of his jacket, standing there in a simple t-shirt. He was never the one to dress up, preferring casual clothing, but he had this personal style that looked good on him. You had seen him dressed formally at events, but you liked this Seungmin much more. He looked more relaxed, more like himself. It was this soft style that enhanced his natural beauty the most. That was another thing you would never say to him. So what? You were allowed to think he's pretty while also thinking he's annoying, were you not?

Seungmin grabbed the other end of the barre. “Come on, on three.” He counted it, and together you lifted it up and carried it where it needed to be. You repeated the process with the other barre as well. What surprised you was that for the whole time, Seungmin hadn't uttered any wannabe funny jokes. That was unusual for him. But you could come back to that later. The costumes still needed to be brought in. You went to the hall to find the storage. As you entered the cramped room just down the hall, you spotted the box you needed right on the top shelf. “Perfect,” you muttered under your breath and stood on your toes, trying to reach the box. You managed to somehow wiggle it closer to the edge, and you were praying it wouldn't fall on your head.

Suddenly, you were pushed out of the way. “Wait, let me,” Seungmin said, effortlessly taking the box down. “Anything else?” Stunned, you wordlessly pointed to a smaller box, funnily enough also on top. With his height, Seungmin had no trouble reaching that one either. He placed the box on top of the first one, and before you could say anything, he carried both boxes back outside to where you were going to do the shoot, leaving you alone in the storage closet. You locked it up quickly, and you ran after him. You caught up to him just as he was setting the boxes down in the corner.

“Why are you suddenly nice to me?” you asked, leaning on the door frame. You were confused. Normally, Seungmin would take the piss out of you for your poor planning. But so far, he has been nothing but helpful and kind. “Are you feeling sick?” you added after a few seconds, feeling brave.

“What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “I don't know. Usually, you'd make fun of me. Tell some stupid joke.” You watched carefully his reaction. His body tensed up but then relaxed again. There's something defeated about his attitude now.

Seungmin ran a hand through his bangs. "The truth is, I was trying to get your attention. Clearly, that didn't work,” he mumbled, all of his usual confidence and ease gone.

Oh.

“Well, I'm not surprised,” you scoffed. “If that was your idea of flirting, it sucked.”

Seungmin laughed bitterly. “Yeah, Felix told me that much. Which is why I'm trying a new approach.” He looked up, and you found his eyes bright and sparkling with energy, despite his mood right now. He looked like a puppy, which was so adorable that it was unfair.

Double oh.

Kim Seungmin was trying to flirt with you? In what alternate universe have you found yourself? Never in a million years would you think that was what all his teasing meant, but apparently this was the reality. With horror, you realized you weren’t opposed to the idea. No, you were intrigued. This sudden change in his behavior, what he was telling you now... Looking back at your recent encounters, you realized he was, in fact, nicer than he used to be, but those were still a far cry from today. He still teased you at any given chance. And deep down, you knew that Seungmin was a kind man, but to help you without saying a word like he did just now must have meant something. Maybe what he was saying was really true.

Feeling genuinely curious as well as enjoying the feeling of finally having the upper hand and finally being able to tease him for a change, you voiced your next question. “Why? You like me or something?” You cocked an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. You peeled yourself away from the door frame and slowly walked closer to the photographer.

Seungmin seemed to go through all stages of panic in about three seconds. Subconsciously, he began playing with the rings he was wearing as a form of grounding. It was a rare sight to see Seungmin, always so calm and collected, fidgeting and feeling nervous. As evil as it might have sounded, a part of you enjoyed seeing him like this, being put down from the pedestal of confidence he himself built. It made him more like you, more human.

But before Seungmin could answer anything besides a stuttered "I", the door flew open. You had never in your life wanted to smack Hwang Hyunjin more than right now. He barged in, holding a half-empty cup of iced Americano and apologizing loudly. Felix trailed behind him like a lost kitten.

“We're so coming back to this conversation after the shoot,” you said in a hushed voice towards Seungmin, who just dumbly nodded and retreated back to his equipment while you went to scold Hyunjin (and Felix, but you could never be truly mad at him). As you made your way towards the two boys, you didn't notice the proud and amused smirk on Seungmin's face.

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings @darkypooo

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

#moony's countdown to christmas #mctc #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin

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completeoveranalysis · 30 days

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[10]

More of what I was saying just before - the peak contrast of Kyle’s actual dying blood falling through the air, while Evil Wolverine smiles confidently in his very best All According to Keikaku face.

The cleanliness of him, completely untouched by the absolutely devastating battle we’ve just survived, entirely unaffected by the blood of his closest ally literally right in front of his face.

And the look of it all! This is like the big expensive fancy portrait to hang in the drawing room of a noble estate. It’s gorgeous in a way that Evil Wolverine does not deserve but the Clamp of it all is fantastic.

Like I’m sorry Evil Wolverine, you weren’t even close to winning the villain poll the other week, but at least you get maximum CLAMP art attention!

I mean we know better than to actually listen to what Evil Wolverine says, ever, but kind of hilarious that Kyle dies in front of him and all Evil Wolverine can do is say, “Well, he wasn’t even good at that then, was he?”

Ignoring the fact that if the job is “body double” he quite literally performed that task perfectly. He DID take the hit intended to kill Evil Wolverine. No-one saw through the illusion. Not Lava Lamp, not Kurogane, not Fai. It genuinely worked.

Kyle did exactly what he wanted and Evil Wolverine is out here saying no he didn’t.

The sheer desperation of this man to always be right, to always be in control, when he can’t be, leading him to lie when things actually DO go exactly to plan.

Unless he was expecting Kyle Rondary alone to hold off the Tsubasa Family?

I suppose if he was counting on Syaoran by himself being enough to take them all out - which, FAIR, he absolutely did. But EVEN THEN he made Kyle sit in the disguise chair, looking like him, to clean up anyone left over? JUST IN CASE it didn’t work? Which is a lot left to KYLE RONDART of all people.

In which case Evil Wolverine is admitting that ONCE AGAIN his plans suck and fail and he can never get them to go right.

And all over again it’s because people love each other that his plans die and he never accounts for that.

And all he can do is blame Kyle Rondart instead, who was just supposed to sit there and not know what was coming for him.

Which... again, he did.

BUT WHY AM I DEFENDING KYLE RONDART OF ALL PEOPLE, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER NICK

Meanwhile Lava Lamp sees Evil Wolverine sitting there calmly with Sakura’s empty body and just begins to LOSE IT.

And honestly I probably would too if I wasn't so unreasonably THRILLED about the sudden Kyle Murder we were treated with

The triple use of Evil Wolverine's name? The SCREAMING as the background turns to static behind him?

UNDERSTANDABLE!

This would probably be devastating, to think it was finally over, just for a moment, only to find out that it was just a trick. To have Syaoran sacrifice his life to attack Evil Wolverine only to find out that he’s completely untouched. To see him still holding Sakura’s body like it's just another useful item to him, and wasting Kyle’s life almost needlessly and then insult him as he dies.

It would be, as they say, not a very good day.

And I’m absolutely FASCINATED by that last angle, with Kyle’s body in the foreground and Lava Lamp screaming behind it. As if even KYLE’S death is a wrong that Evil Wolverine has committed. As if even THAT has added to Lava Lamp’s distress in the moment, on top of the LIFETIMES of crimes he has committed against literally everyone in the universe.

Justice for Kyle?

Emotional Justice for Kyle Rondart in MY Tsubasa Reservoir?

It’s MORE LIKELY THAN I THINK

#A GENUINE SURPRISE that he is almost framed sympathetically here #Or at least sympathetic by proxy #Sympathy for yet another person used and discarded by Evil Wolverine #Never even knowing it until the end #WHO KNEW #Liveblogging the reservoir chronicle #Tsubasa #Vol 211 #AND ON THIS CLAMP DAY I CAN PRONOUNCE KYLE RONDART DEAD #A GIFT FOR ME PERSONALLY #…Oh no do I find this compelling #Oh no have they made me kind of care about the emotional arc of KYLE RONDART #Oh no I think they have #Clamp give me gifts AND THEN ALSO CURSES #But I will celebrate it all the same :D

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thewritingmagician2022 · 14 days

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Hello after seeing your post about breaking up with the bros I was wondering if you could please do a hc for the boys finding out that mc fell in love with someone else in the human realm and mc is really happy with their new s/o?

Thank you and have a great day ,and please take your time on writing this💞

This is one of my favorite kinds of prompts - I absolutely live for angst or bittersweet writing. What that says about me, I’m not willing to discuss. I know this is insanely late (got chronically ill) but I hope you see this and that it does your request justice.

Lucifer: It’s going to be hard for Lucifer to see initially; his ego is as hurt as his heart is. It’s very easy for him to fall into the role of bitter ex-boyfriend who talks about how you’ve absolutely downgraded. You’ve settled for a human partner and one that is not nearly as attractive, smart, charming, talented, etc. He disparages this new partner relentlessly to the point where Diavolo and his brothers know his rant by heart. He would definitely think about trying to win you back, to show you how much happier you would be if you came back to him, but…Lucifer knows that smile on your face. You’ve always seen the best in people and there’s nothing he could ever say that would convince you to leave your new partner so he saves himself the embarrassment of trying to win you back and decides to watch from the background, willing to bide his time until your new partner makes a mistake and he can come sweeping in.

Mammon: Mammon is heartbroken, there’s no way around it. You’re his and he’s yours, that’s how it has been since the beginning and that’s the way it’s always supposed to be. He has been so good for you, tried so hard, and he knows that you love him. Loved him? Mammon has been pining for you and waiting for you to one day return to the Devildom like he knew that you would and here you are, already moved on and in love with someone new. It makes him feel like he never really knew you at all because if you loved him even half as much as he loved you, you wouldn’t be with someone else. He tries to play off his feelings but everyone around him is aware of his devastation and they’re all doing their best to cheer him but no matter what they buy him or how much Lucifer raises his credit limit, he can’t stop thinking about how he lost the only thing he ever really cared about and feels like the absolute fuck up that everyone’s always told him he was.

Levi: Levi can’t stand to see it and he’s going to absolutely pull away from your friendship the moment he knows there’s someone else in the picture. He’ll play at normal for as long as he can but he’ll talk to you less and less as he drowns in his self-doubt and fears that you’re only talking to him out of pity while you secretly laugh about the stupid demon who is still hopelessly in love with you when you’re clearly not even interested. Hell, you were probably never interested in the first. You probably couldn’t wait to leave Levi and the Devildom behind and find some super cool, charming normal human who didn’t stutter or spend hours gaming or act like an idiot around you. There’s no way you ever loved him and Levi isn’t going to stick around where he’s not wanted. He goes back to hiding away in his room, swearing off love forever since it’s a stupid normie illusion, and there’s nothing anyone can do.

Satan: Wrath. It takes Satan several days to get out all of the fury he’s feeling and, honestly, everyone is afraid to be around him until he’s finally settled down. Satan can’t believe that you’ve been able to find someone new, especially someone like that. Satan, like Lucifer, knows he’s the better choice and he doesn’t understand how you’ve not only apparently gotten over him just like that but also chose a partner that was so utterly beneath you. Satan, despite his sin, is rational though and he actively avoids his urge to maimkilldestroy your new partner out of respect and love for you. However, he is keeping an eye on you two and he will make that partner of yours disappear if he gets even a hint of you being mistreated.

Asmo: Asmo thinks it’s a little cute honestly. You chose a cute new partner and Asmo can understand why you would be attracted to them. Of all people, he understands how attraction and affection aren’t limited or controllable. You’ve been home for a long time with no guarantee you’d come back to the Devildom, he can’t blame you at all for being with someone new. You seem so happy you’re practically glowing with it and Asmo thinks you look as beautiful as ever. However, that doesn’t mean Asmo is going to leave you alone. There’s always room for him, right? You and your partner could potentially even share, depending on how much he ends up liking them. It’s only if you reject Asmo for this new partner that he becomes both outraged and hurt. He can’t fathom you choosing anyone else over him and he’s going to stay your friend if only to wheedle at you constantly and try to temp you back to him.

Beel: Beel is really just happy that you’re happy. There’s this twinge in his chest when he sees you with someone else and the everpresent hunger in his stomach grows to an almost unbearable sensation as he starts to realize that you will never be his again. You’re gone and you have a new partner that you seem to love. That’s great, it really is. All Beel wants is for you to be happy and well taken care and safe; it seems like you’ve found someone who can give you that. He loves you enough to want you to be happy, wherever and however you find that happiness. As much as he truly believes that, he still can’t stop the pit in his stomach from growing whenever he thinks about you. He eats and eats, more than he has since he first came to the Devildom, but nothing is filling the emptiness inside him and he lives with the scary idea that nothing will ever be able to fill the space that you’ve left behind.

Belphie: Belphie doesn’t care. You’re just a stupid human. You hung out with his family for a while and you were great to have around for a while, it was…fun. That’s it. They all knew you wouldn’t be around forever and that you’d eventually go home. Belphie, of all the brothers, is the most aware of your humanity; you’re mortal and vulnerable and your time is so limited. Belphie knew to never put much stock in the idea of a future together; he expected this to happen one day and so he’s prepared for it well enough to not react when he sees you with your new partner. But, despite all of his internal preparation, deep down, Belphie feels the loss acutely. He’s reminded of Lilith and the loss of the one of the best people he’s ever known and he feels his walls against humans building back up; he always ends up hurt by them in one way or another.

If you decide you want the dateables as well (or if anyone does), just let me know!

#obey me #obey me imagines #obey me asks #obey me headcanons #obey me brothers #obey me Lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me Levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

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ereardon · 1 year

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Friends Don't || Chapter 7

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid]

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, angst, hospital scenes, illusion to smut

WC: 3.5K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“Bobby!” You practically skidded across the floor, making your way to the bed where Bob was seated, a small grin plastered across his face.

“Hey Sunny,” he whispered softly and you carefully flung your arms around him, trying to avoid hitting any wires connected to the monitors.

When you pulled back, Bob reached up, swiping away a small tear that had started its descent from the corner of your eye toward your cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Can’t help it,” you whispered.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, running your fingers down Bob’s face, over his arms.

“Do you have any idea how much you scared us?”

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” Bob said, threading the fingers of his left hand into yours. “Sunny, promise me you didn’t move out already.”

You shook your head. “I was about to when Bradley called and said you were in an accident.” You thought about it. The beach house was still waiting on your answer. Your boxes at Bob’s house were packed. “I’ve been here since they brought you in.”

Bob squeezed your fingers. “I fucked up, honey. I didn’t mean it when I said you should go. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I never think.” In the background you heard the soft beeps of his heart monitor as his pulse steadily rose. “Come back,” he begged. “Please, Sunny, don’t leave. Stay. I need you to stay.”

You glanced over at the monitor. His pulse was in the nineties and climbing. You placed one hand on either side of his head, your eyes locked on his. “Bobby, sweetheart, listen to me. I’m not leaving you. I am never leaving you. You understand that?”

He nodded and let out a sigh and you watched his heart rate start to fall back to normal. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his forehead, keeping them there for a moment, your eyes fluttering closed. Bob reached one hand up and laid it over yours.

All you could think about was how you had almost lost him for a second time.

You pulled away when the sound of the door opening forced both of you to turn.

Jake, Bradley and Natasha entered the room. “Can we come in?” Phoenix asked carefully.

You nodded, smiling back at Bob one last time before sliding off of the edge of the bed, making room for the others to visit with him. You watched as Phoenix scooted a chair near his side, holding his hand carefully, speaking to him in hushed whispers. Bob’s eyes were glued on Natasha as she spoke in rapid whispers and you watched as he squeezed her hand and she let her head fall to the bed with emotion. He patted her head softly until she sat up, revealing a face full of tears.

Bradley eased his arm around your waist softly. “She feels guilty,” he explained. “He’s her responsibility in the air.”

“It’s not her fault,” you replied. “It’s a risk all of you knowingly take every day. He trusts her. He trusts her with his life. She did the best she could.”

“You should tell her,” Bradley whispered. “She needs to hear that from you. She’s heard it from us, but it would mean more coming from you.”

The two of you watched quietly as Bob and Phoenix spoke in hushed whispers. Your eyes traveled along the perimeter of the room, landing on Jake, who had his gaze fixed on you. Quickly, you averted your eyes.

Finally, Phoenix pushed back from her chair with a sad, fragile smile, and Bradley and Jake stepped forward to speak to Bob. She stepped around the edge of the bed, joining you against one wall, and you reached out a hand, touching her arm gently.

“Let’s get a coffee,” you said and Phoenix nodded. You guided her out into the hallway, shutting the door behind you. “It’s never easy to see someone like that,” you said as the two of you wandered past the waiting room, out into the main lobby of the hospital.

She shook her head. “I feel responsible.”

You turned to her. “Listen to me when I tell you that it’s not your fault. Y’all take risks, it’s part of the job. I know that Bobby trusts you implicitly.” You paused. “He’s lost people before. If anything, I bet he was more afraid for you than you were for him.”

Phoenix opened the door to the cafeteria, following you toward the coffee cart in the corner. “He told me about her. Denver. Not a lot, but enough.”

You nodded, ordering a latte and moving over to wait for it. “He doesn’t talk about her too much anymore. But I know it broke him. Second time I’ve had to go to a hospital after an accident only to find him in a coma.” You looked up at her. “Thank God this time it was only him. I don’t know if he would have been able to function if you went down with him.”

Phoenix blinked. “I will always regret that I came out OK and he didn’t.”

You put one hand on her arm. “But he is fine. A few bumps and bruises, but he’s OK. That's what’s important.”

She smiled. “You know, when Bob told us about you we all thought what he was saying was too good to be true. And then you went out with Bradshaw and he couldn’t stop waxing poetic about you.” Phoenix grabbed her iced coffee and nodded politely at the barista. “I get it now.”

You laughed, following her back down the hall toward the double doors. “He talks really highly of you, too, you know.”

“You said y’all earlier,” Phoenix said. “Where are you from?”

You paused. “I, um, I grew up in West Virginia.”

“Wow, I didn't expect that.” Phoenix’s eyes rolled over your body, from your blonde wavy hair to your short denim cutoffs and oversized linen shirt tucked into them.

You nodded. “Yeah, most people don’t.”

The two of you were back at Bob’s door. Inside, you could see he was still chatting amicably with Jake and Bradley. You pushed open the door and three sets of eyes fell on the two of you.

“Are we interrupting a three-way?” you asked.

Bob laughed and Jake smirked at his side. Bradley stood up as you crossed the room, seamlessly swapping places with him so you were sitting on the bed next to Bob, kicking off your sandals and stretching your legs out next to his.

“Can I have a minute?” you asked, looking around the room. They nodded and said their goodbyes. Bradley pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I’ll call you later,” he murmured and you nodded at him with a small smile.

Once they were gone, you turned to Bob who had his free arm sans wires stretched out around your shoulders. You sunk down into his embrace, your head resting on the crook of his shoulder and arm. “Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

You looked up at him. “Stop almost dying after we have a fight. It’s fucking unsettling.”

He laughed, arm coming down and wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you in toward him. You flattened yourself against his side.

“I mean it,” you whispered.

“I know you do, darlin’. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“I’m sure you’ll do it again,” you replied softly. “Gonna spend the rest of my life worried about you, aren’t I?”

“Ask me to walk away from it,” he whispered and you froze.

“What?”

Bob pulled away and you sat up in confusion. “Ask me to walk away from the job,” Bob repeated quietly. “Tell me never to get in another jet in my life. Because if you ask me to, I will. I fucking will.”

“Bobby,” you whispered. His face was drawn. He was serious. “I could never ask you to do that. I would never ask you to do that. Give up your life? For what?”

He reached out, taking your hand into his. “Flying isn’t my life. You are. My family is. And maybe I don’t want to be doing something that forces you to possibly live without me every time I show up on the tarmac.”

“I’m not going to be the person who asks you to give up the thing you love the most,” you replied. “I love you too much to do that.”

Bob blinked softly and you watched a small tear slide down his cheek. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to go through this time and time again.”

You leaned forward, swiping the tear from his cheek. “I don’t care about what’s fair. All I care about is that you’re happy.”

Bob closed his eyes as you swept your fingertips across his face. “Promise me that you’re staying?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah, honey. I’m staying.”

"Then I'm happy."

***

The whole team showed up on the day you took Bob home from the hospital. He had a cast around his broken leg, but he was still in high spirits as you loaded him into the passenger seat of the truck.

Back at the house, you smiled when you saw the daggers had decorated for his return. A welcome home banner was strung up in the living room, and there was a cake sitting on the counter.

“What is the cake for?” Bob asked, sliding his finger through the edge of the frosting. You batted his hand away and he smirked.

Coyote shrugged. “Nat said get a cake so we got a cake.”

Phoenix looked around. “Oh fuck you guys, I was the only one who organized shit. I don’t know, cake feels like the kind of thing you have when you bring someone home from the hospital. What do I know?”

You slung your arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “I love cake.”

Bob had spent almost a week at the hospital, which meant you were away from the house for nearly a week. Once the party had died down, everyone went home except Phoenix and Jake. Bradley kissed you on the cheek and explained that he’d be back in two hours to pick you up for your date.

“I’m not a toddler,” Bob complained. “I am perfectly fine to stay home alone, I’m almost thirty.”

“Not happening,” you said, walking into the living room and clipping on a pair of gold hoop earrings. “You can barely get up the stairs by yourself. You were in a fucking coma three days ago. No, I’m not leaving you alone. Jake and Natasha are going to stay with you tonight and I’m not going to hear otherwise.”

Bob looked up at you from where he sat on the couch. “You look really nice,” he said softly.

You looked down at your dress, smoothing down the silky fabric and adjusting the strapless neckline. “Thanks.” You smiled. “Can I get you some water? Are you hungry?”

“Don’t worry about me, darlin’,” he said quietly. “Go have fun.”

You smirked. “You sound like my dad.”

Bob paused. You didn’t talk about your dad because you had never really known him. And that was a sore spot that most people didn’t know about. But Bob did. Bob knew everything about you.

He reached out and brushed his hand over yours.

“Don’t be home too late.” There was mirth in his eyes. It was so unlike the other time he had seen you getting ready to go on a date with Bradley.

You looked at him, wearing a pair of sweat shorts and an old hoodie, sitting on the couch with his casted leg propped up on the coffee table, a pillow underneath for comfort. You shifted from side to side. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked quietly.

Bob smiled, the action tipping his glasses to one side slightly. “I mean, selfishly, yes I want you to stay. Because I always want you around. And because that would mean I wouldn’t have to watch Top Gear reruns with Hangman.” You laughed, causing Bob to smile wider. “But no, honey, you go have fun. You’ve spent too much time taking care of me already.”

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, Bob’s hand cupping your waist gently. “You can’t spend too much time taking care of someone you love.” As you stood up, Bradley entered the kitchen and you caught his eye, grinning. “Call us if you need to.”

“He won’t,” Phoenix said, appearing from the other door of the living room, holding a bowl of popcorn and settling down on the other end of the couch. “I’ll body block him if he ruins your date.” Bradley laughed, slipping one hand around your waist, guiding you toward the door. You tossed one last look over your shoulder into the living room. Bob gazed back at you from the couch. When your eyes caught his, he nodded subtly, lips pulled back in a close-mouthed smile. You winked at him before turning back ahead.

***

“You’re pretty quiet tonight,” Bradley said, rubbing your knee over the black silk of your dress. “Doing OK?”

You nodded. “Sorry, it’s just been a week.”

“I know it has.” Bradley shifted his weight on the couch, his knees spread wide. The two of you had gone out for dinner, but you weren’t in the mood to go dancing or bar hopping. Instead, Bradley had suggested you go back to his house, a sweet little bungalow only a ten minute drive from Bob’s. The two of you were sitting on the small couch, sharing a bottle of wine, your legs slung over Bradley’s as you laid down with your head on one arm at the far end of the couch. “Hasn’t been easy for any of us.”

You sat up, your legs still flung over one of Bradley’s thighs. “Shit, I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I didn’t even stop to ask you how you’re doing.”

He reached out, rubbing one thumb over your cheek. “It’s OK. I know what seeing Bob in the hospital did to you.”

You lowered your gaze. “I just don’t know what I’d do if something really happened to him.”

Bradley slid his thumb down below your chin, tipping your face up until you were staring into his chocolatey brown eyes. “Thankfully he’s fine,” he whispered, voice thick and deep. “We’re all fine.”

Bradley’s finger drifted up from your chin to your bottom lip, pulling it down. “Bradley,” you murmured as he dragged that finger down your neck to your clavicle.

“I missed you, sugar.”

He was incredibly attractive. You couldn’t argue with that. So when Bradley lifted you onto his lap, hiking your dress up around your hips until you were sitting straddling him, your fingers connecting behind his head, his hands hot on your waist, you didn’t flinch in pressing your lips tightly against his.

It was like he was everywhere. Bradley’s hands on your hips, digging into your flesh, his lips moving over yours, his tongue pressing gently between your lips. You could feel how large and hard he was beneath you as you shifted on his lap, eliciting a groan that slipped from his mouth into yours.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging at his curly brown locks, pushing his face closer to yours as your chest slid against his until the two of you were touching at every point.

“Fuck, Reid,” he whispered hoarsley, pulling his mouth from yours only to latch it onto the side of your neck, suckling below your ear. “Been thinking about this for weeks. You taste so damn good.”

And then you were in Bradley’s arms as he stood up from the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist, your mouth on his as he carried you down the hallway, swinging open the bedroom door with one kick.

You closed your eyes, letting the feeling of Bradley wash over every inch of your body.

***

You opened the front door carefully. The house was dark. You slid off your heels, tiptoeing into the hallway and putting the shoes and purse down.

In the kitchen, it was dark and you frowned. Jake’s truck was still in the driveway.

As you turned to flick on a light, you heard a voice. “Hey.”

Jake sat up from where he had been lying down, rubbing at his eyes.

“Shit, Reid, what time is it?” he asked.

You checked your phone. “Three.”

He smirked. “Get lucky?”

You rolled your eyes. “I got it from here, thanks Hangman.”

“Wait.” Jake rolled off the couch, adjusting his shirt from where it had ridden up. You had to give it to him. He was fucking hot. There was a reason the girls at the bar went wild for him.

You put one hand on your hip. “If you want to stay the night please do. I’m just gonna go shower and go to bed. Did he do OK?”

“He’s not a kid we have to babysit,” Jake said. “He’s fine. Went to bed at eleven. I let Nat go home, she was drained.”

You nodded. “Thank you for staying.”

“Reid.” Your voice on Jake’s tongue stopped you short. You raised your eyes to him. “There’s something you’re not telling him, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jake stepped closer. “Why are you really here?”

“I live here, remember?”

He shook his head. “San Diego. Floyd told us all about how you’ve traveled the world. Lived in exotic places. Why would you want to give that all up for a boring desk job to live here?”

“To be with Bobby.”

“And why are you so dead set on spending time with Floyd?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s my best friend.”

“I do understand,” Jake said, pulling out his phone and swiping around before turning it to face you. “Her name is Erin. She’s been my best friend since we were eight.”

Erin was beautiful. Tanned skin, dark hair fluttering out in soft waves, her arms wrapped around Jake’s neck as the two of them grinned at the camera. You looked up at him in surprise. “I didn’t know.”

“They don’t know,” he said softly. “She’s a part of my life that I like to keep separate. She’s the reason I can do the stuff we do and not go crazy. So trust me when I tell you that I get it. And I love Erin, more than any girl I’ve ever dated. But I’m not going to drop my entire life and everything I’ve spent years working for to move back to Austin just to see her more. She wouldn’t let me.” Jake paused. “So tell me again, Reid. Why are you really here?”

***

You slipped on a pair of pajamas, tying your hair back into a braid as you stepped down the hallway toward Bob’s room. Carefully, you eased open the door, a thin slice of light illuminating the room. Bob laid on his side of the bed on his back, mouth open in a small snore.

Silently, you pressed the door closed behind you, stepping softly toward the bed, climbing in the other side.

You held your breath, waiting for him to wake up. But he simply let out a heavy breath, turning onto his side, his broken leg carefully propped up on a pillow at the end of the bed.

Gently, you scooted forward, pressing yourself up against Bob’s back, slinging one arm over his body, nuzzling your head down against him. He whimpered softly in his sleep, one hand coming out and grabbing yours where it dangled over his abdomen.

How many times had you done this? Slipped into Bob’s bed after a date or a night out instead of spending it with whoever you had gone home with?

You were always running. Hiding. Never letting yourself be happy.

Even with Bradley, you had laid in his arms, watching the fan above his bed whip in circles as he whispered in your ear. And even though he had asked you to stay, you had made an excuse and fled.

All you had wanted to do was crawl into bed and see Bob’s face on the other side of the pillow.

All you ever wanted was to come home to Bob.

You pressed your lips against Bob’s shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, squeezing him closer, feeling the warmth of his body where you were curled around him.

How much longer would you be able to hold him like this?

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drbased · 5 months

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A typical healthy consciousness wants two things: firstly, it wants to be viewed as a complete whole, separate from outside influence and fully responsible for everything it does; secondly, it wants the freedom to be able to completely dismiss certain behaviours as not part of the whole under the guise of 'I don't know what came over me!' 'I just lost control' 'I don't know why I did that' etc.

We see this in other people all the time: we all have a friend who insists their relationship problems are never their fault, or a relative who swiftly changes the subject when you bring up their wine-drinking habit. Everyone wants the safety net: I am always me, untouchable and knowable only to me, apart from when I do things that are totally unknowable to me. You see this phenomenon play out in the response to statistics: advertisement is a bajillion-dollar industry which shows that people do respond (like sheeple, if you will) to stimulus and buy the things they're advertised. But every single person, myself included, secretly thinks of themselves as a pure individual, who makes rational decisions and is unaffected by pathetic things such as pictures and words. But if someone has a subconscious personal ulterior motive for consuming certain products, say as the result of an addiction, that motivation stays unknown to them - and it's evident that they very much want it that way.

These two facets are as contradictory as they are complimentary, as are many aspects of this convoluted tangle of concepts we call the 'self'. It is these two facets that make things like advertising work - people have to arrogantly believe that they're responsible for every single one of their behaviours - but the moment you point this out to them and that their spending habits are damaging to them and they should take responsibility for their actions, suddenly you're the bad guy, because you've broken this very important psychological illusion. In fact, one might say that this is the primary illusion that makes up the self as we know it: too much awareness and the person is trapped forever in an existential terror, unable to make any decision because the weight of responsibility is too much; and too little awareness means you may as well be an animal driven by pure instinct. So the psyche constantly walks a tightrope between 'I am me and always accountable for my actions' and 'but I'm not accountable for this action because I don't like what it would say about me if I was'.

A huge social faux pas that leftism enacts is that it removes the safety net of 'I'm not accountable for this action/thought/belief' and instead cuts right through this fundamental illusion of the psyche. Historically, your average apolitical person could be safe in the knowledge that because they've categorised themselves as not racist, any racist jokes they say are not a product of racism, but rather lighthearted fun. They want to be judged on the 'content of their character' and they want the content of their character to be what they've decided, and the only thing they want to be held accountable for. But when you point out that making racist jokes is something that someone of their particular background does, and is typically done to achieve a certain affect, therefore their behaviour fits into a statistical pattern that says something about themselves from an external perspective - something about themselves that they don't like the sound of - they, uhh, really don't like you doing that. No one does, because you've smashed through the illusion that they're making conscious choices from their isolated brain; what you've done is you've observed their precious individuality and put it into a standardised pattern of behaviour. You've, in essence, told them who they are.

And you're probably right: patterns of behaviour, both within one person's lifetime and across populations, tell us a lot more about a person, their intentions and reasoning, than what they will ever want to admit about themselves. Unfortunately, in the case of politics, you can't really get past this hurdle. You have to make the awkward leap of telling people who they are, and pray and hope for the best that the discomfort they feel leads them to try to change their behaviour. But I believe that this is why you can't really change people in a one-on-one argument. You try telling someone something as simple and basic as this: 'the reason why you have a sudden mysterious urge to go the corner shop every tuesday at 7pm is because your husband brings his friend Bill over, and you really can't stand Bill' - they're going to immediately brush you off, and next tuesday at 7pm they'll be musing once again 'I always fancy going on a walk then, I don't know why!' and you'll want to bang your head against the wall in frustration.

On the more extreme end, it's very common for addicts to come out the other side and realise that they never healed their relationship with their parents, for example; but if you saw that connection at the height of their addiction, would you be able to tell them that? Oh, hell no: in fact, you might even say that this illusion is exactly what enables addiction so effectively within the human mind. The famous adage 'I can stop whenever I want' comes to mind - the person has to believe that their choices are a conscious reflection of their pure, untouched individual personhood. And this spans the entire gamut of human experience, from the cigarette-on-your-work-break to your political leanings, as influenced by your relative levels of privilege.

So, does this mean we're doomed to never change people, politically speaking? Well, I don't really know. On the one hand, society at large has seemingly managed to grasp the concept of behaviours as a result of inherent privilege, not conscious choice. But there's much evidence to suggest a huge, monumental backlash; the right-wing, who have historically clung to this idea that they have this safety net of merely believing they're good people, have now pivoted into a near-neurotic response to this cultural shift. Now, being good needs to be reflected in doing good; merely meaning good doesn't carry so much social capital - and this is something the right-wing completely lost their minds about, to the point where things such as wearing a mask in the pandemic were 'politicised'. The right-wing have always leaned heavily into the nebulous concepts of 'freedom' and 'individuality', essentially signalling to this exact paradoxical illusion of the self: after all, freedom and individuality are concepts that do not and cannot make coherent sense, but are useful safety nets to ensure a perception of onesself as necessarily untouched by 'outside forces'.

Meanwhile, the politics of the mainstream left have been gradually distorted to pay lipservice to the idea of doing good through certain stock phrases, sharing on social media etc., but a comfortable space is being carved out for that same 'need' of plausible deniability within the self. 'Social justice' language that traditionally held the self accountable for unsavoury behaviours driven by forces other than 'conscious choice' has been gradually pivoting to achieve the exact opposite aim of what it was originally used for. The concept of privilege is being slapped on scapegoats, used to legitimise their demonisation - meanwhile those who have the exact same privilege are able to dodge criticism for 'being wholesome'/'being unproblematic' in some nebulous manner (usually by sticking to those stock phrases, following cultural norms/expectations and generally staying out of the limelight, especially if they're women).

Additionally, certain privileges have been given less political/moral weight than others, allowing for people to evade any and all accountability by nature of them belonging to certain oppressed groups - and having that negate their problematic behaviour as a member of an oppressor group. The most nebulous and meaningless privileges have been fast and widely adopted, especially as they allow the person to completely avoid any accusations of 'classic x group behaviour'. In fact, huge swathes of 'classic x group behaviour' are being rapidly done away with.

The core fabric of the leftist argument, the one thing that held a mirror to society and said 'what you actually do says things about you whether you like it or not' are being rapidly unravelled. Is this a sign that this paradox of the psyche is so fundamental to the formation and perserverance of the self that any attempts to shatter the illusion are quickly patched up and explained away? Is this illusion truly necessary for a healthy psyche, or just a typical one? Can we live in a world where everyone humbly admits to the kind of things they would admit in therapy, but on a daily basis? Is this version of the psyche merely a stage in collective human development, and can we grow beyond this? And, more importantly, can we do so in time?

#my writing #theory posting

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doriians · 1 year

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FATE’S PROTÉGÉS!!

ARE YOU A SOLDIER OF THE NEVERWAR? A DISILLUSIONED, ADVENTURE-HUNGRY ACADEMIC? DO YOU HAVE A WORLD-ENDING PROPHECY WEIGHING HEAVILY ON YOUR SHOULDERS?

TAKE YOUR CHANCES IN THE FORESTS OF GWENAR AND RISK IT ALL FOR GLORY, WEALTH, AND POWER BEYOND YOUR IMAGINATION!

A prequel to my main series, Masks and Madness.

SUMMARY.

FOR LLEVAN AND ZIRA, THE POWER SOURCE DISCOVERED IN THE DARKEST CORNER OF GWENAR IS THEIR ONLY HOPE. JOINING FORCES WITH THEIR BEST FRIEND RIL, ZIRA’S SISTER ERZSE, AND ONE LONG-SUFFERING BANDIT DOMINI, LLEVAN AND ZIRA HEAD FOR THE KINGDOM THAT PROMISES A POWER STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE PROPHECY THAT THREATENS TO TEAR THEM — AND THE WORLD — APART.

BUT THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS, AND THE JOURNEY TO GWENAR PAVED WITH CHALLENGES. BEHIND THEM, THE NEVERWAR RAGES ON, AND A DANGEROUS FIGURE FROM THEIR NOT-SO-DISTANT PAST THREATENS TO DRAG THEM BACK TO THE FRONT LINES.

LLEVAN ISN’T SO SURE HIS BOYFRIEND KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING. THEY’RE IN OVER THEIR HEADS, AND THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE ENDS ARE VICTORY OR DEATH. ONE THING HE KNOWS FOR CERTAIN IS THAT FATE HAS ALWAYS PROVEN HERSELF UNKIND TO THOSE WHO DEFY HER. FOR THE FIRST TIME, LLEVAN KNOWS ZIRA’S ARROGANT NAÏVETÉ IS GOING TO HAVE CONSEQUENCES THEY MIGHT NOT SURVIVE.

INCLUDES.

An all-queer main cast; Found family turned found tragedy; Self-fulfilling fate; An unsettlingly desperate hunger for power; Four fantasy languages, Ambition & corruption, Outrunning destiny, fantasy horse girls, and unhappy unending endings.

THE RUNAWAYS.

LLEVAN ADEJ is twenty four years old and a recent graduate from Eirfin. Barred from the front lines of the Neverwar because of his parents’ villainous background, he works instead as a healer, saving the lives of those around him through his Hand of Theory. He is determined to break the prophecy that hangs over his and Zira’s heads at (almost) any cost. Llevan is quiet, but stubborn, and has (as expected) a serious complex about villainy.

ZIRA XAROSEN. Born to two of the kingdom’s most renowned war heroes, Zira wishes his life was as easy as people believed. The subject of a nasty prophecy, destined to bring an end to the war, and his rapidly increasing fear of dying, all lead him to some desperate — and dangerous — decisions. At twenty four, he already has the most powerful Hand in Life Magic ever seen, and Zira is entirely oblivious to the broiling consequences he is about to face.

ERZSE XAROSEN, on the other hand, has a Hand of Death, and at an angry nineteen years old, she’s not afraid to use it. Desperate to join the war and desperate to join her friends, Erzse knows following Zira to Gwenar is the first step on her path to greatness. Experiencing the world for the first time out of the safety of her kingdom leaves her rattled and uncertain—but it’s what happens after that changes her forever.

RILAN BRECCH has been followed by tragedy since his fifteenth birthday. Eager to please and even more eager to help his friends, he abandons his position as the first openly transgender soldier to make the journey to Gwenar with them. Rilan is Zira’s best friend, Llevan’s confidante, and possesses a powerful Hand over the Elements. Only twenty years old, he doesn’t think much about changing the world. He has no idea that he’s about to.

DOMINI LEROY is fucking tired. They didn’t ever imagine joining forces with the enemy, but as a Neverwar deserter, they know both sides would be willing to hang them for treason. Twenty-two, gifted with Illusion, and more street-wise than the rest put together, their resourcefulness proves invaluable in the journey to Gwenar. They might, however, have changed their mind if they knew what it would lead to.

DRAFT PROGRESS.

I started writing this novel in 2020 after developing the idea in 2019 (right after writing draft one of The Hero’s Protégé!), but it’s been on hiatus for two years since! Now, however, it’s a different story. I’m back and willing to grind to get it finished (hopefully this year).

I’m currently tidying up what I’ve got of the first draft (40k~ words), and then I plan to continue writing every day! You’ll be able to find my writing and development of this novel on my blog, probably under the #wip; fate’s protégés tag.

So SO excited to share this with people: if you want to be added to the Fate’s Protégés taglist, please let me know!!!

#wip intro #writeblr #writing #my writing #writing wip #wip introduction #fantasy wip #high fantasy wip #young adult wip #ya writing #fantasy writing #wip: fate’s protégés

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istadris · 1 year

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I am now craving a Bowser/Mario+King Boo/Luigi long fic with Bowser and Boo as the POV duo protagonists where some background Plot Shit goes down and the Bros get their memories wipes while also getting separated and the first people they find is their nemesis who they now feel they can trust and just. Absolute nonsense of them being terrifyingly efficient minions and the world is now in chaos while their king is now feeling weirdly conflicted about it

*shakes with interest* oh BOY you have no idea how much I LOVE this idea!!

Neither Bro knows exactly why they can trust their respective scary stranger, but they both feel they are "safe" around them, although not for the same reasons. King Boo wants to be the only one to finally destroy Luigi, so he won't let anyone else have this honor, and he wants to make sure Luigi recovers his memory before trapping him in a painting (the expression he would make would be cherished for centuries); Bowser wants the whole Mushroom Kingdom lose faith in their hero, and exploit Mario's strength as much as he can (and a part of him relishes in finally having such a powerful creature on his side)

It doesn't help that both bros are exactly what's missing to both kings to make them near invincible : Bowser is a slow-moving yet strong powerhouse capable of leveling buildings, and a commander of armies; a quick-moving, agile, precise assassin able to assert and neutralise his opponent's weaknesses is exactly what he needs in Mario. King Boo learned his lesson with E.Gadd : while he is a master of spiritual magic and illusions, even him can be defeated by precise technology, and Luigi, for some reason, always had a knack for it, especially when he's not himself. But he also has an affinity for supernatural effects and magic that makes him more similar, and thus more tolerable, to King Boo.

Mario easily conquers fortresses, breaking morale and opening the way to armies; it feels so familiar, so natural,and he doesn't know that where the Toads he's effortlessly dispatching stood, he was doing the same with Koopas not so long ago. It feels natural to take orders from a charismatic royal who's worshipped by their troops, while having free range and trust. He's a war dog you can let go off his leash, because you know he'll come back to his master.

Luigi is at his best in the shadows ; he's still a scaredy cat, losing his memory didn't change that, but once the boos and ghosts get the memo from King Boo to not harass him, he's more at ease with them than with the living, and he's always tinkering, testing, poking and prodding and finding new clever ways to advance King Boo's plans. Boos are not ones for large-scale attacks and loud displays of strength, unless you back them into a corner; they're masters of illusions, trickery, sending their prey into madness before jumping out of the darkness and trap them. It feels familiar to Luigi, both good and bad. King Boo can't help but listen to Luigi's suggestions for traps and illusions, and sometimes they're so messed up he thinks oh, I WILL keep him.

The inevitable clash between the two kings will be very, very interesting.

#super mario bros #booigi #bowsario #miscellaneous mario madness

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 11 months

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omg hi could you maybe do a high-school au where you're failing English lit and Tolya is assigned as your tutor and you had no idea he was good at English and just mutual crushing vibes over poetry and maybe he's a jock and you go to his games to cheer him on and yeah...

the song could be Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince by Taylor Swift

Okay, look. Normally I don't do AU stuff, because, so many reasons, but I looked at this request and thought about it, and then I thought about it out loud and it sent me and bestie spiralling so fast into a whole Shadow and Bone High School AU concept, that I kind of, have to write this. I kind of have to, but it will have a lot (A LOT) of AU background info so hold on tight buddy. It may get to the point where you're asking yourself "what happened to the original plot of the movie," and to that I say... Idk.

Between Classes And The Bell - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warnings: Explicit Language. Spoilers for Seasons 1 & 2 And Potential Book Spoilers Implied Throughout. Not Canon Compliant, As AU But Canon Referenced Throughout. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Word Count: 5k+

"My expectations are low," Kaz says, tapping his cane against the table as he passes Zoya, a gentle taunt. Zoya purses her perfect lips and taps her pencil against the table, refusing to take the bait. "But they can always go lower, of course."

"You really think this is an argument you'll win, Brekker?" Zoya asks, turning in her seat to look at him. He smiles, eyes darting to make sure there is no teachers to oversee the devilish smirk, and clasps his spare hand over the one holding the cane.

"Never been in a fight I couldn't," he says. Zoya looks ready to explode. And you can understand why, Kaz never loses Debate, and she was just beginning to think she had the upper hand on him, but he had only wanted her to think that.

"I don't think we need to take this so seriously," says another classmate, "we aren't being supervised."

"I think taking things more seriously when unsupervised is essential to a thriving environment," Kaz is mocking Zoya and she knows it. She wants to do something, and if she let her heated nature get the better of her, she might. But she just folds her arms, and takes in a deep breath. As Head Girl she has to be composed, and as Captain of the cheer squad she has long learnt composure. When Zoya breathes it is like even the air is competing for her attention, she is that kind of beautiful. You glance at her and she has her eyes closed, calming herself. She shouldn't let Brekker get under her skin so easily, but Zoya takes everything very seriously, whereas Kaz gives the illusion of caring about school, all the teachers think he is a perfect student, and his grades suggest as much, but it is more of a game to Kaz. But that would go unnoticed by most, after all, no body tends to look too closely at a boy with a cane. But you don't doubt he is probably the most threatening of all of you. You'd heard a rumour once that he was running a blackmail scheme and that's why his grades were perfect without trying. But you knew Kaz was smarter than he cared to display, and you didn't want to put too much stock in rumours. School is so full of them after all.

You get up as the class empties, and you try not to pay close attention to the way Kaz hovers in the room, awaiting it's empty, you cannot tell if he is waiting for someone or waiting for the silence.

Zoya is headed for cheer practice and you are quick to step out of her way, it is best not to get under her feet at the best of times, yet again when she is fuelled with rage from an argument and especially when she is running late at the expense of losing said argument.

You step to the side to let most of the crowd pass, but as the corridors empty you feel yourself getting confused about where you were going. You catch a glimpse of your science partners leather messenger bag, and watercolour eyes and you nod to yourself, science, you're sure you've got a science next... but which one? Probably Chemistry, you'll settle for Chemistry.

"You're getting all turned around again," comes a voice from behind you. You turn and the familiar face of Inej Ghafa, is closer than you expected it to be. Inej is one of The Dregs like Kaz, you hated that name, but High School will be as High School will be and names like that sort of stuck. They called them The Dregs because they were scholarship students who couldn't afford to be in the school without the scholarship, 'Dregs Of Society' as a senior had not so politely explained to you one day when you were fresh in and dumb enough to ask. You nearly jump out of your skin, seeing here so close to you, without sensing her at all. She has a tendency to do that, so light on her feet, petite and so quiet. You have often wondered if the ability to walk unheard came first or if it was something she had learned from being a gymnast. If the acrobatics came naturally and the silence was learned, you're not sure which would be more impressive. Inej is simply a marvel, her scholarship is based on her gym skills and you would never doubt why, you've never seen someone able to preform with such confidence and prowess as her. But more than that, it's her heart you've noticed most, so quiet and yet so endlessly kind.

"Am I?" you ask her. She nods.

"You have English," she tells you, pointing towards the arts block.

"I have Chemistry," you say quickly but Inej shakes her head.

"No you had Chemistry last semester in this time slot on a Thursday," she corrects you, "now you have English."

You pause, but you realise she is right. You don't bother questioning how she knows that, one of the things you were quick to learn about Inej was she seemed to know everything about everyone, it came with the quietness you guessed, that she can hear and learn everything about everyone while no one even notices she's there. You wonder if that's what Kaz sees in keeping her so close, but then again based on the way the boy looks at her, you'd guess that was something else.

You turn to thank her but she has already disappeared from sight.

You're not late but you are cutting it close when you make your way to your seat. Nina, who you know relatively well from the short time you spent in the drama department last year, at her own coaxing, throws you a smile. "Pass this back to the pretty one?" she asks, handing you a note.

You glance over your shoulder and you don't need to ask who she means, you should have guessed. Matthias is looking even less eager to be in this class than you feel, but you don't blame him. For an exchange student Matthias doesn't seem to be thrilled to be here at all, most of the time, except when he is with Nina, which he is every moment he has the opportunity to be.

Every time you hear him speak it is to tell Nina that something she is doing is improper, and where he grew up that would've never been allowed, and yet every time you see him he is staring at her with a look in his eyes that could make you believe in love all on its own.

"Please?" Nina asks, fluttering those long beautiful eyelashes at you. You've never seen anyone say no to Nina Zenik, it might not be at all possible.

"Of course Nina," you tell her and hand the note back. Matthias frowns, and you can see the thoughts bubbling to the surface. He mumbles something about etiquette and respect for educators and then recognises Nina's handwriting and stops his grumbling.

"I think I am winning him over yet," she grins before turning back to the front of class. Nina was studying to be a nurse, but after a particularly rough semester switched carer plans and now intends to be a mortician, most of her bubbliness has come back to her, but it's clearest enough when she has the blonde in her eyeline, he truly brings out the best in her.

You find yourself tuning out most of the lesson, which you know you shouldn't, your Literature teacher is old enough that you feel like you should be able to get away with not paying attention, but you know she sees everything, and you're more than a little convinced everyone is afraid of her. So you're knocked sick immediately when Miss Morozova asks you to stay behind as the class is finishing up. You hope for a moment you might have misheard her, but her cold eyes on you is confirmation that you didn't.

She beckons you to the desk with a flick of her wrist and you approach, wondering what misstep you took, but she just slides your previous paper across the wood at you, and you see your mark and goose bumps spread through your skin. Fuck.

"You're going to fail," she tells you. She has never had a knack for encouragement or being gentle with her students.

"That is not what I had hoped," you admit. She laughs, it's a cold type of laugh, all apathy and disappointment.

"Not about hope child, it's about application and effort, I am not sure if you're missing the point or if you are not trying to see the point at all, either way you're not getting where you need to be," she shuffles a few papers, "so I have assigned you a tutor, hopefully that should fix your shortcomings, if not you will fail this class."

"A tutor?" you ask, the cold feeling just continues to spread through your body. Please not Zoya, please not Zoya. You don't doubt she is good at it, you've seen the turn around of Zoya's tutoring, but she intimidates you if you're honest and you don't think that is optimal for your learning. "Who?"

"Tolya Yul Bataar," she says, not bothering to look at you, "I have already informed him, the rest he will sort out, you're dismissed."

"Tolya?" you ask. You hadn't thought about it, you know he is in the advanced class, but you'd never given it much thought. Always seen the jock first, which isn't surprising, his education likes to focus on his sports, they treat his twin sister Tamar the same. Their skills making your school highest in competitive sports, it makes the school want to focus on their athletics. But you're a little annoyed at yourself for not even thinking about it.

You've thought about Tolya more than enough to have justified thinking about his academics. But the slight crush you've had on the athlete who stands taller than you can reason and with arms you're convinced could move mountains, you have had time to think about him.

You had lunch with his sister once, just the once. Tamar is nowhere near as tall as her brother, with short cropped hair which is a contrast to Tolya's own, but her strength is just like his, even for her size she is fierce and unrelenting. She looks like she could fuck you up, and you know she has the power behind her to back that up, and she would, and is willing to if the need arises. Her girlfriend Nadia had also been present at that lunch and you'd wanted to talk more than you had. Tamar was a type of brave you often wanted to be, unapologetic in her braveness, equal parts bark and bite.

You don't try asking anymore questions, you're pretty eager to get out the classroom that you walk straight into the corridor, not thinking to look around you, and are met by a leaning Tolya, who is rested up against the notice board beside the door. If normally he makes your heart skip a few beats, seeing him waiting for you nearly makes your heart stop. You tell yourself that's a fear response, but you know you're lying. "Tolya," you say breathing a little too heavily.

"I didn't take you for the flunking English type," he smiles at you, "but then again how well do you know a person?"

You smile, trying to not blush too deeply and give yourself entirely away. "I didn't know I was flunking," you admit.

"That isn't reassuring," he says, but he isn't criticizing you, you know criticism when you see it.

"It wasn't supposed to be."

"I am sure we can fix it up, I am... fond of prose."

You're supposed to be studying Remains by Simon Armitage, but even in his tutoring state, you can tell Tolya is finding the poem just as painful as you are. You don't want to be difficult, you don't mean to be, you're stressed about the fact you're going to flunk English Lit, and you know Tolya wants to help. But this poem is driving your attention elsewhere, and in an attempt to not stare at the large, pretty, tutor doing his best to go through themes with you, you let your eyes wander around the library.

Jesper Fahey, the lean theatre student with the true talent for dramatics in every aspect of his life, right down to the way he is dressed with bejewelled collar pins and matching cufflinks, is leaning over your chemistry partner, giving him that smile you recognise. Jesper has always been a flirt, and he never misses the mark, you've seen him flirt with nearly everyone around, but he only ever gives Wylan those eyes. You'd seen it first the day Wylan has suggested pyrotechnics for one of their next play, the same day Jesper tried to pitch Rocky Horror, they were a strange match, but perfectly matched in their strangeness. You especially liked Wylan, as your partner in the sciences you spent enough time with him to know that he is so smart, the kind of smart that makes your head spin, he could be a scholarship student, but he actually is a Legacy, not that you'd know it by looking at him, or talking to him. He doesn't really talk about his family, and you never pushed, knowing he runs the tech for the drama kids and can make homemade fireworks is a decent amount of know about a person.

"Am I boring you?" Tolya asks, his voice soft.

"No," you chuckle, "but I won't lie Simon Armitage is, maybe to death."

Tolya offers you a chuckle in response. "In honesty, I would like to say there is credit in all poetry, and I think there is, something for everyone, but I am inclined to agree this is no Keats," Tolya concedes.

"Or Wordsworth, or even Larkin," you add. He smiles.

"So you do like poetry?" he asks. You frown.

"Did I leave you with the impression I didn't?" you ask. He tilts his head, and he looks so unreasonably large in that blue library seat that you bite your tongue to not giggle at it.

"I had to read your previous paper to prep," he says, "you made it sound like poetry was the lowest form of art."

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that, maybe that poem," you joke, "but not all poetry."

"So, what poems do you like?" he asks, closing the book.

"What poems do you like, I didn't take you for the type," you give that preconception willingly, hoping to dismiss it quickly, and get his true interests locked into memory in a hope to know him better.

"All muscle and no appreciation for art?" he asks. You shrug.

"I never thought you were only muscle," you say, "you've got height too."

He laughs a little too loud for the library but you're too busy smiling to care. "I like classic poetry, epic prose," he admits.

"Iliad?" you ask. He grins.

"Yeah, Homer is up there," he nods, "also The Cantos."

"Oh is that... Ezra Pound?" you check, genuinely unsure if you're right but the gleam in his eyes tells you that you are before his words do.

You sit for a while, swapping favourites and preferences and you don't hear the sound of the bell ringing, calling you to classes, you just keep listening to Tolya reciting from memory and you think you could listen to that forever.

"I hate to pull you away," comes a voice anyone would recognise. You look up and the resident Lantsov, Nikolai with his puppy grin and sparkling eyes is looking at Tolya, "but you are very late."

Tolya glances at the time, as long in you as you were in him, and gets up a little too quickly. "I lost track of time," he admits.

"I can see that," Nikolai spares you a glance, and smiles back at his friend. Nikolai is charming, charming in all the ways a politician might be without half the deceit and double the bravado. Handsome in the way that he knows he is handsome and leans on it, but doesn't rely on it solely like people as pretty as he often do. But it works for him, and you understand where it comes from. Lantsov is a Legacy student, which gets him a lot of allowances, but his older brother got expelled a few years back and he has been under a lot of pressure to not fuck up like Vasily did. So he goes the extra mile, does the extra work, head boy, and boy scout all in one, just to fix what his brother broke. The new girl Alina is hovering not far behind, Nikolai took a liking to her immediately, she looks lost in this place, she got in on a scholarship for a sport she didn't play and has been trying to juggle everything ever since. But she mostly talks about missing home, she has a boy back at her old school, a boy her heart aches at the absence of. Usually that sort of thing is a lie, but the way she talks about him, you would never doubt, you're not sure of his name, you've heard it once or twice, Hal, Mal maybe, you don't let your mind linger on the thought.

"I have to go, but I promise to meet you here tomorrow?" Tolya asks you, bringing you back to the library and out of your mind.

"I'll be here," you say. You watch the three of them walk away, the twins have been close to Nikolai as long as you've known any of them, thick as thieves and twice as protective of one another. You can admire a friendship like that.

"And the final stanza, ending with that imagery," Tolya is trying so very hard to stay on topic, but you are tapping your fingers across a very old copy of Odyssey and he knows you're trying to pull his attention away, and you know it's working.

"or six-feet-under in desert sand, but near to the knuckle, here and now, his bloody life in my bloody hands," you recite. "I know Tolya, it is ingrained in my mind I promise you."

"If you fail the next essay you won't be stuck with me anymore, you'll be failed," Tolya reminds you.

"I am very aware of my predicament," you straighten up, "fail and well fail, or succeed and be told the tutoring is effective and I must continue to spend these hours with you."

The way you tease him makes him want to forget the studying all together and just keep you in his company for longer, without explanation or reason beyond just wanting you there.

"This is such torture for you, isn't it?" He asks, not meaning a word.

"Not in the slightest," you confess. "My favourite part of the day, and not just because you bring really good snacks."

"I do," he agrees reaching to take a biscuit from the centre of the table. "Are you coming to the game?"

The question strikes you as odd, you have spent weeks with Tolya and you've discussed art and music and poetry at length, but you've avoided talking sports, you thought because he had wanted not to talk about it, but with this question you wonder if maybe you've been negligent in not asking him about that aspect of his life. If you've come across as uninterested in the athletics and dismissive because of it, and that thought fills you with an uncomfortable nervousness.

"I hadn't been planning on," you say slowly, "should I?"

"It's going to be a good game," he says, "a competitive one." You nod, trying to seem more enthusiastic than you're sure how to be about sports. "It's an important game," he admits, "and I would... like to have you there, if you want to come?"

"Are you asking me to come watch your game?" you ask, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. He smiles.

"Yeah, I kind of am," he admits, "is that okay?"

"Yeah," the blush creeps up your neck but has the respect to stay away from your cheeks, weeks alongside Tolya you've had to train yourself to blush more subtly, "I'd like that."

Genya and Nina are both fussing over Zoya in preparation for the game, Genya because she wants to be beautician and it is helpful, Nina because it's her prerogative to get involved wherever she wants to. Seeing Genya and Zoya be so friendly with one another is still a little unnerving, due to a not so friendly rumour about Genya and a teacher Genya had been the subject of a lot of hate from the girls at school. Zoya was among them. But the last year has brought everyone a lot closer, and everyone has become a lot more understanding, and Zoya with the help of Alina went around getting Mr Kirigan fired for his unprofessional behaviour, that which they could prove anyway. Genya weathered the worst of it all, and she never seemed to shake.

"Genya if you do not stop fussing me," Zoya warns her, but it's coming from a softer place than her normal warning tone. Zoya holds a lot of guilt when it comes to Genya, about not defending her, about not believing her, about not protecting her from the rumours.

Even Zoya had her fair share of rumours, the real reason as to why she doesn't date, the way her eyes linger moments too long on a pretty girl in the hallway, but again, you didn't like to put too much stock into rumours.

Genya twirls one of her red tendrils around her hand, trying to keep them off Zoya's long dark hair which she has pulled up into a ponytail. "Can I at least-,"

"No," Zoya says sternly. "David, please come get your girlfriend."

David, the reed thin brunette who rarely understands half of what is going on around him, looks up from the book he is reading, something on geology and metallurgy, to look at Genya who gives him a sweet smile, and he gives her a little wave, not having heard exactly what Zoya said. David and Genya are high school sweethearts, the type that you're not even aware you are rooting for at first, but at some point you realise the happiness of their relationship is the thing you are basing your idea of true love on.

"You're coming tonight right?" Nina asks you, throwing you a look across the room, you hadn't realised she noticed you being there, between trying to keep Genya from trying to colour Zoya's hair and Zoya from trying to kill Genya with a look.

"To the game?" Genya turns her eyes to you and they're glistening with anticipation. "I didn't realise you found your school spirit."

"I was invited," you explain.

"Yeah, by a tree with the muscles of a Saint," Nina quips giving you a wink. "I don't think it's school spirit they've found."

"Tolya?" Genya asks, tone shifting up a pitch with her eagerness.

"Don't say it like that," you say. Genya leans up on her elbows, resting her pretty face over her crossed hands.

"Like what?" she asks.

"Like," you gesture to her in her entirety, "like that, like you think you know something I don't know."

"If your truly flunking Lit, I think we all know something you don't know," Zoya says, "now can we get this show on the road, I cannot and will not be late."

"Ignore her," Nina mouths, "she's just cranky because... well because she is Zoya."

The air is brisk but you don't feel cold as you walk towards the field, you see Brekker underneath the bleachers talking with someone you don't recognise, but you pretend not to see anything.

Wylan has his arms around Jesper's neck in the back of the stands, and he looks less lost and more found. Matthias and Nina are bickering by the food queue about how acceptable sweet toppings are on savoury foods and she is too wrapped up in her fun game of wind up Matthias to see your wave, but you don't mind.

Zoya has corralled the cheerleaders and they're all pretty ready, Alina is staring trying not to get roped into anything as one of the cheerleaders in blue tries to tell her how good cheer is for the spirit.

Nikolai is trying to convince Zoya of something but you're not sure what, but you are at least sure it isn't working.

You are brought out of your people watching by feeling a presence close to your side, you turn your head and Inej is walking in stride. "Tolya is looking for you," she says, and you expect her to disappear into nothing as quickly as she appears, but she doesn't. She is a girl after all, not a ghost.

"When does the game start?" you ask.

"You have time," she assures you. She points south and you follow that guidance, and you see Tamar leaning on the gate, she is talking with some of the other players, and she looks so at home. It would be hard to believe there was a time when Tamar had to argue her way onto the team, given how much she has to offer.

Tamar gets a warning for cursing with enthusiasm and you cannot help but chuckle. If the other team wants a fight, they will definitely find one with her. You're about to ask if someone has seen Tolya when you feel the shadow casting across your shoulder.

"I'll get them back," Tamar is insisting.

"Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much," Tolya quotes, standing beside you. Tamar throws her brother an unamused look.

"Oscar Wilde," you say craning your neck up to look at Tolya. He looks different in his sporting kit, but his hair is still held back the same, and his arms are still exposed to the cold air, just not with rolled up sleeves this time. Looking at him makes you feel cold, and you want to ask him how he isn't.

"You're shivering," he points out.

"I am?" you ask, glancing down at your own body, "I hadn't expected it to be so cold."

"Here," Tolya reaches behind him into a bag and pulls out a jersey, it's for the team and is sporting his number on the back, he hands it to you with one hand. "So you're warm."

You take it slowly, mind racing with the many implications of such a small, kind gesture, and you don't want to jump the gun with this, with him. "Thank you," you manage, slipping the fabric over your shoulders. "I didn't even realise you had one of these."

"Everyone on the team has one," he says.

"No, a jacket," you tease, "you never wear one."

He shrugs. "I don't get cold," he explains, looking around to see how quickly he needs to make his way to the field.

"Then why did you carry it with you?" you ask. The jersey smells like Tolya, from being in his bag you'd guess, and you feel a weight in the side pocket, reaching in you find a small packet of dried mango. You let yourself smile at that.

"I've got to run," he says, "wish me luck?"

"Break a leg," you say, "or is that just something you say for theatre?"

"I'll take it," he says before joining the team.

You'd not given the sports of your school too much thought, but watching Tolya play you must admit you weren't giving the sport aspect much thought even now. You cheer for Tolya, not the game, you're watching Tolya, not the game. If anyone asked you what was happening you're not sure you'd be able to offer more than this name.

If you had any doubts about your schools victory they would have been quickly squashed by the victory cries from Tamar, all fervour and for more expletives than the coach is happy for there to be. She gets a whistle of a warning and a stern look which she just brushes off, letting her brother pull her into a hug.

You are leaning on the fence, which you hadn't noticed until now, with Tolya approaching you. The field is lower set than the stands but Tolya still feels very tall as he gets closer. You can understand why Nina described him as treelike. "Good game," you say. The warmth of his jersey on your skin feeling as secure as that embrace you watched him give Tamar, and it leaves you reaching out for him with eager thoughts and hesitant hands. You tuck them deep into your pockets- his pockets, trying not to give yourself away.

"Thank you," he says, the adrenaline in his smile is dizzying. "Thank you for coming by the way, it means a lot."

"Thank you for inviting me," you say. You want to say more, you want to find the words for this feeling, this gentle buzzing that is sparking between the two of you.

"Ask her you coward," Tamar calls from her place now sat next to Nadia, straddling the bench of a lower section of the bleachers, sharing a milkshake with her girlfriend.

Tolya laughs. "I made a bet with my sister, if we win I had to take that win, and take a risk," he says, and for someone so tall he looks so nervous. "And we won."

"You did," you nod, "quite well I think."

"Really well," he admits, laughter echoing in the spaces between the words.

"So what risk?" you ask, feeling yourself leaning onto your toes, needing to know, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

"I was wondering if you'd like to see me, outside of school hours?" he asks.

"Like now?" you ask, trying to keep the smile at bay. He tilts his head in a nod.

"Yeah, like now, but maybe more... just us," he says. You feel like you might fall down but you can't help but tease him.

"For studying?" you ask. He can tell you're playing with him.

"No," he says, "not for studying."

"Are you trying to ask me on a date Tolya?"

"I am trying."

"I would like that, I would like that a lot."

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zilabee · 1 year

Text

Jann Haworth was the artist who made the Sgt Pepper cover.

She will always happily say that it was 50/50 between her and her husband at the time, Peter Blake, but imo her name should go first in that collaboration. And instead she is so often not mentioned.

This is not one of those things where it was his work and she just helped a little. It was a joint project. Some people's account of it says that Robert Fraser originally brought the project to both of them from the very start. She was a known and brilliant artist who knew Robert well, and had already exhibited at his gallery, so it seems likely to me. But even if it was originally brought to Peter Blake, she was certainly involved from the design stages, right through to completion.

She freely gives Peter credit for the idea of it, the idea of the crowd of heroes behind the beatles, but she suggested they do it in her style not his - ie as standing silhouettes, rather than paper collage - which meant she had the experience and the skills to actually create the thing. She came up with the floral arrangements so it wouldn't be ruined with graphics. She did the majority of the work.

She's super well adjusted about the whole thing, she tends to set people right about it when they claim she's copying his work, rather than continuing her own in her more recent pieces. You can read interviews with her here, here, or here.

One of my litmus tests for beatles books is whether they mention her at all. They don't mostly, because they'd rather die than actually question anything. But if you think it wasn't known until more recently then know that George Martin in 'Summer of Love' in 1995 credits her fully as a co-creator. It was never a secret.

"Along with the Pepper tableaux cloth figures, Jann Haworth came up with a number of other original ideas for the venture. [...] She said that it would be very nice not to have real lettering on the Sgt Pepper cover but to do something like that kind of civic flower-bed lettering. [...] Jann spent a long time building a background, a scene against which the Beatles would be photographed, hanging the first row of photos on the studio wall, then fixing the other blow-ups on poles and spacing them in tiers at intervals of a foot or so, to give the picture the illusion of depth. Haworth also did all the hand tinting of the original black and white photographs." Summer of Love, George Martin

(Most of the sites where I found pictures of the Sgt Pepper making, DO NOT NAME HER at all, much less credit her in photos, but here she is, creating the album cover with her bare hands, while Peter Blake stands around.)

I know none of this is probably news to anyone much around here. I just needed to rant about it, having seen this quote from peter blake. It's just hilarious to me that he's complaining about the lack of money, after he's benefited from all the fame and credit for it over the years, and meanwhile she's left out of the story entirely... it's just so incredibly male of him. Any time he doesn't immediately set his interviewer straight about how that album cover was made is a disgrace. (Also his whining that he's only remembered for Sgt Pepper is a lot like when John would whine that people played Yesterday to him... if you're going to try and take ALL the credit for something, you can't complain when people tell you their favourite bit was the bit your partner was responsible for.)

#jann haworth #peter blake #sgt pepper #robert fraser #the beatles #george martin

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pastelwitchling · 3 months

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Kyle Valenti Weekend 2024 (1/3)

Kyle was exhausted. He sat in the breakroom, feeling only half-there as he chewed slowly on his granola bar, staring through the ceiling. He’d just done a double shift because his girlfriend was out of town for a Something Something Diamond Gala, and since he’d burned through the night again and they were well past midnight, the corridors filled with ringing phones and nurses’ voices and beeping here and trays and carts moving there, he knew that the last thing he should do was call her. He didn’t want to wake Isobel up, and he definitely didn’t want her to know that he was busying himself with work at the hospital because she wasn’t there to make sure he was actually resting.

He couldn’t help it though. He’d been used to working through nights that now that there wasn’t someone clinging to him in bed, keeping him there, he found it hard to stay away. There was always more people to help, more to protect, more to heal. Kyle slumped against the couch, head falling back as he allowed his eyes to close for a moment. He had no fear of falling asleep while he was here. The hospital’s ambience was a constant wakeup call.

Someone needs you, it seemed to be reminding him. Get up, get up, get up –

Kyle’s phone buzzed suddenly in his pocket, making him flinch. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he had to squint at the screen. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he held the phone to his ear.

“Yes, darling?”

Alex’s low chuckle sounded, and in the background, Kyle heard Michael snap, “He ain’t your darlin’, Valenti!”

“I’m just checking in,” Alex said, a smile in his voice that was trying to mirror itself on Kyle’s own lips. It was so good to talk to him, but he hadn’t managed it in days what with their busy schedules. “I know you have a late shift today.”

Kyle hummed, amused. “What’re you insomniacs doing up anyway?”

Alex sighed. “Nightmares. I tried not to wake Michael, but –”

“Can’t sleep alone,” Michael said, and Kyle could practically hear him shrug. Then he heard a pan on a stove.

“Are you guys having breakfast now?” Kyle raised his head and looked at the clock hanging on the wall. “It’s three in the morning!”

“Yeah,” Alex said slowly. “Our mornings are always kind of . . . early. We’re going to watch Notting Hill in a bit.”

“Ah,” Kyle’s smile widened. “A romcom. That definitely feels like you, Manes.”

“Screw you,” Alex said, voice muffled, and Kyle imagined him taking a bit out of a pancake. It was such a relief to hear him so relaxed after years of miserable late nights and haunted hours spent alone. “We’re saving Star Wars for tomorrow. It’s time you learned the value of the Force.”

Kyle’s brows furrowed, even as his smile widened. “Tomorrow?”

“Movie night,” Alex said like it was obvious, as though of course this was what they would be doing with Isobel out of town. He and Alex, enjoying a fantasy trilogy deep into the night, falling asleep together on the couch, and waking up to have an early breakfast together. A warmth spread through his chest at the simple reminder that he wasn’t alone, that he had a best friend, that there someone taking care of him.

“I’ll be there too!” Michael piped in suddenly, as though eager to shatter any illusion Kyle had of being alone with Alex.

Kyle managed to refrain from laughing at him. But just barely. “And yet,” he said, “I still think I’ll come.”

Alex, however, didn’t bother hiding his laughter, though Kyle knew it was much fonder than his own could be. To Alex, everything Michael did was either adorable or hot or both. Kyle supposed he would have to head over tomorrow night. After all, someone needed to knock the cowboy down a peg every now and then.

“Kyle?” Alex’s soft voice caught his attention.

“Yeah, Manes?”

“Go home,” he said. “I want you to be able to stay up tomorrow. Tonight?” He huffed, annoyed, “Time is so weird around here. Just go home.”

Kyle chuckled, nodding to himself. “Yes, sir. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“See you soon,” Alex said, and Kyle hung up with a smile. Tossing the rest of his granola bar in the minifridge, Kyle started taking off his doctor’s coat, still laughing to himself. Grabbing his car keys and bidding the receptionist goodnight, Kyle headed out to a sky full of stars, feeling as light as the night air.

#kylevalentiweekend24 #kyleweekend24 #kyle valenti #malex #kylex #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #michael trevino

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galderthefuzzy · 6 months

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The Cryomancer

I had the pleasure to work on this piece for the winner of the 14k Giveaway, Selanna. Congratulations! The character was quite exciting to depict - having a draenei battlemage cryomancer to work with was something new and enjoyable. I hope you like the final result!

Here is a background story for Cyana, provided by Selanna.

Cyana was born on Draenor, in a village called Embaari. Her mother is a tailor and her father a Talbuk rancher. She was a very shy a quiet child, having trouble to go to others, she started to think she was worthless. She sacrificed her happiness so other would be happy. It made her cry but that's how she grew up.

Some day she started to get interested in magic and more specifically the school of ice. Despite Draenei having a culture tied the arcane for millennials, they lost a bit of their trust in this magic after her people felt for power on Argus 25000 years ago.

Years of being introverted made Cyana think she wasn't welcome amongst her people.

When the burning legion struck Draenor, she hid in Zangar with her parents and other refugees until they flew from that world with the Exodar.

Due to a sabotage, the ship crashed on Azure mist. Luckily, she and her family survived, but being completely disoriented by everything that happen, she ran away from her people, finding solace with the alliance and more specifically the Kirin'tor who helped her to pursue her learning.

A couple years later, the scourge awakened. Being now an accomplished Cryomancer of the Kirin'tor, she was detached in battles against the undead. She fought well during many battles, but she met a young mage that would change her life.

This was the first battle of that mage. Being worried, Cyana tried to comfort her and stand by her side to watch over her for the upcoming battle. At first it was going well but it was before a Death knight managed to cross the front line and reached the back line. Cyana tried to protect the young mage, but her power sealed away by the death knight, she was powerless. A paladin killed the abomination but it was too late, he had time to stab the young mage, bleeding on the freezing snow.

Cyana crawled to her, cursing herself for all of this. She felt so weak at this moment and kept saying she was sorry. She received a smile and a few last words : "I'll be watching over you. Always".

This is Cyana's biggest failure in her mind. She realized that her power alone wouldn't be able to protect others. What if she can't use them. She decided this had to change. She would pick a weapon and wear an armor, combining it to her spells. She would get in the front line, risking her life so others wouldn't have to do it.

For years after that, she fought fearlessly of death, being convinced she had nothing to lose.

She stand against threats that appeared on Azeroth but without denying principles. She would not take part in the conflict between the horde and the alliance.

When Garrosh opened the timegate to Draenor, Cyana had the chance to see a homeworld once again.

This was as beautiful as it was painful. She swore to not let this Draenor fall like the Outland.

She fought again and again, until she had the lead of a small unit to attack the hellfire citadel in Tanaan Jungle. A big assault went on the citadel. Breaking the gates, they were here to take out the frontline.

The joint effort of every soldier managed to make an opening but the canon were still active, shooting infernal at them. Cyana protected her unit, with all her power and was badly wounded.

She survived and after months to recover, she went back to Dalaran. The burning legion soon came back as well, infiltrating the flying city. Cyana took place as a guard of Dalaran. Her only implication on the field was to infiltrate a camp, turning herself into an Eredar thanks to illusions and artefacts to disguised her aura.

She was proud of what she accomplished and yet she was feeling empty. All those years of casting away her emotions, she was slowly losing her light and her will.

The new conflict between the alliance and the horde didn't help and little by little she got weaker. It's only after she met a lightforged that she found some solace.

She felt in love with her, and after some time, a bound was born between the two Draenei. The lightforged reconciled Cyana with her people and her parents that she didn't see for 12 years.

She almost retired from fight only taking her armor back when the scourge and the creatures of the shadowlands attacked Azeroth. She was affected at the silver tournament in Northrend.

The scenario of her old fight almost repeated itself, a young mage being powerless against an enemy who could resist to her powers. Cyana took the hit, stabbed by a long spear.

This wasn't the end for her though. She had something to live for. She wanted to live. She was saved at the last second and healed in Dalaran.

Since the remaining of the war was taking place in the veil and most of people ignoring what was happening there, Cyana was just wandering on Azure Mist, trying to find a new goal in her life.

Being in love and in a serious relation for years helped her to become more mature. She decided she would help her people now. She started to teach magic to young Draenei and joined as an assistant in the townhall of Azure watch. The city has expended well with time and is now bigger than her home town Embaari.

Instead of protecting people, she now wants to bring light and happiness in their heart without sacrificing her happiness this time. She would still take her weapon if the situation ask for it like when the primalist were rampaging some region.

Cyana aims to be a beacon of hope. She'll guide people who needs her help or advice, she'll give her everything to bring a smile on a crying face. No matter who you are, you deserve a chance if you want one. She will forgive if you truly want to change things. But mostly, she won't let anyone down so they can see the peaceful future she wants to build.

#world of warcraft #gaming #warcraft art #digital art #fantasy #digital #wow #warcraft #digital painting #oc #draenei #mage #female #cryomancer #battlemage #warcraft oc #galder #stylized #stained glass

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