#absolutely no shade intended to the performers though they were lovely
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episode nine babes!!! it's the final stretch!!
this episode felt much more like the final round before the finale!! as always brave girls and hyolyn absolutely delivered on the drama and the panache! i had a lot of fun watching these stages, but i'm not gonna ramble on too much in the intro since this review is already a day late lmao.
hyolyn
costume
perfect. 10/10. LOVE the croptop based off a lifejacket, very inspired. plus the lil accessory pouches on her belt!! this is a really good example of how to theatricalize a uniform with a lot of flair, but still keep enough of the recognizable elements.
it's a very interesting choice that they went for bike shorts across the board than something skimpier (like the original styling), which would have been the easier choice to portray summer beach vibes. i don't think it was a bad choice, in fact i think it was a more challenging and creative one! it was the more conceptually difficult option and that's an uncommon avenue for kpop.
lighting
i feel like they blew the white balance out a bit too far on the cameras, which didn't help with all that bright bright red and magenta. those are very hot colours and there are a few moments were stuff blends together. human eyesight is the worst at identifying shades of red so it's especially a problem when it's in both costume and lights, but it wasn't egregious enough to really detract from the performance for me.
related: some of the more eyesearing red moments and the very strict red/blue colour palette paid off for the uv light dance break. and with the hats in the audience!!!
sound
literally no complaints. she sounded great, the arrangement of see sea was perfect and it was cute as hell that she substituted the 'babe' with 'bae'. slam dunk.
staging
looooooooooooooove the structure of this stage and the literal integration of the 'fan' aspect!!!!!! the steadicam intro with the fan on the subway car in the secondary area was the perfect framing device for the beach/lifeguard concept! also not gonna lie i got faked out by that backup dancer on the subwar car who had a very similar haircut to hyolyn, i thought she was gonna be on the subway car and do some kind of costume change lmao. i'm not sure if it was intended as a misdirect but it got me
i like that hyolyn travelled over to the subway car and it wasn't just used the one time, it kept her from being confined to the main stage, and it was a fun choreographic element to use
it's more of a general note but i liked that the three groups that went today had more significant set than we've previously seen. it made all the stages feel more worthy of being for the penultimate round and overall they were all fun. i loved hyolyn's lil lifeguard shack, it looked real sharp and added a set of levels that gave more oppurtunity to direct blocking. also the cannon on the top was a cute detail.
like with the touch my body stage, the projections are doing a lot of work with the limited set elements to build a very convincing beach, that then also transitioned very seamlessly into the cityscape for the fakeout/reveal at the end. the chainlink fence was a particularly inspired dual element choice! once again, a lot of careful and smart planning on the part of hyolyn and her performance director.
brave girls
costume
unironically i love these. they're a little bit ugly and a little bit ballet based but they so ridiculous and surreal that i do not even care. i love ugly. i really really appreciate that they were intending to go for a metaphor and they were extremely literal about it. they could have just sprung for a big flower on each of them as their spring has finally come but instead they opted for all flowers all the time and i love that. this is a go big or go home type of show and even though brave girls had a stellar track record so far, this costuming feels like both a natural evolution and needed exaggeration.
also the dresses pair so well with the all white of the dancers. i'm not even going to complain about how high the exposure is because they're meant to be snow.
lighting
speaking of snow, GOD the projection work here is SO fucking good!!!!!. they fully used the capacity of the screens to establish the boundaries of the space with the pillars and windows and drapery, and then also set the videos+'cinematic' elements within that established space! having that permanent setting kept the scale of the space feeling very grounded, and it made the widening of the 'hall' when spring came so much more visually impactful! you could actually feel how the change in perspective of the modeled space from a flat perspective to a rounded one opened everything up, even though there's basically no actual set
also i love love love a pastel sunset/sunrise palette like this. it's one of my favourites and they use it so well in the 'sky' and then carrying that throughline out into the stage lighting too
sound
i think this is the rearrangement of theirs that i like the least of all the ones we've heard so far, but it's still good. the encorporation of strings does a bunch of the heavy lifting in terms of tying all the numerous visual elements together. like strings (generally) imply classical music (they did actually use a classical piece also), which links the ballerina figure. classical music also links to the vaguely romantic type architecture of the 'building', which links it to a ballroom, which further links it to ballet, but also links it to the cinderella style slippers. 'classical' music also tenuously links the silent film type cinematic elements (even though silent film soundtracks were usually done on piano but i did say this was a tenuous link. i think the general 'old timey'-ness covers this one)
staging
speaking on how all the references in this stage are linked together, here's a continuation: there are several very famous classical pieces based around the seasons, and there are ballets of some of them. classical ballets often also have themes of transformation in them (giselle, swan lake). cinderella is also a story of transformation. the changing of seasons is always a transformation but winter into spring is associated with rebirth and success after a period of darkness and hardship. the classical piece that they remixed in is tchaikovsky's waltz of the flowers (duh) from the nutcracker (another ballet about transformation!!!) i feel like i need to make a diagram to map all the connections of the references out so that y'all can properly see how much thought was put into this. i'm literally so impressed.
it's so easy be haphazard with these types of stages because a lot of designers don't understand that spectacle requires as much care as any other type of stage or performance type. when you put the effort in to synthesis your ideas you can come up with something so beautiful and creative and it shows in the way that people respond to it! the improvement trajectory from the aimless concept of their first stage to this is so impressive, they and their creative team have clearly learned a lot and it's paid off for them.
loona
costume
i don't.........know how i feel about these? i don't think i like them because i don't think they make sense. while i appreciate that there was finally an effort to go a bit more surreal with it, why are they just plain ol' beige. you do a song literally called butterfly and you have all the costumes in unpatterned beige, a colour butterflies are famously very not. this was a perfect opportunity for bright jeweltones or interesting patterning or just some of those really big chiffon scarves with butterfly wings silkscreened onto them. you know, the ones they sell at the botanical/butterfly garden gift shops.
tbh my main issue is that the costumes are not saying anything. i don't know what the theme of this stage is. i've said it numerous times at this point but the fastest way to convey concept is through costuming and i just do not know what they're trying to do. sometimes that's not an issue and styling doesn't always have to be super prescriptive, but imo this stage is screaming for some proper visual direction and having more clarity in the member's costumes would have fixed that lickety split.
no notes on the backup dancers tho, those are perfect chef's kiss MWAH
lighting
say it with me babes: WE! LOVE! PROPERLY! UTILIZED! PRACTICALS!!!!!!!! yes turn off those overheads we want it DARK for those leds baby!!!!!!! it also helps that they used blue/cool toned leds, because it makes them cut through the warm/amber wash that they're using as the general stage light.
other than the excellent practical use there really isn't anything else special or noteworthy happening with the lights. the projections are very benign and inoffensive. i do like that that they did a could of nice cues with those floor cannons, it made some nice underlighting in a could of the darker sections
sound
i'm not familiar with loona's music so i have to assume there was some importance to choosing this song, but i really think they should have done some more arranging to it to make the song fit this type of spectacle performance more. it was very sedate and also it felt like it wasn't mixed properly? like the levels were alllll over the place: the mics were way too hot and the backing track was way too quiet and also very flat? like it was compressed down to a single channel and not stereo optimized. which could have just been a volume issue and it might have been fine in the space, we have no way of knowing since it's a recording, but there was the same problem in the fullcam, which is just the raw space audio.
staging
loona has the contact of a very good set designer bc the detailing on that platform and those stargate ass rings is really fucking good. like i was SHOCKED at how nice that platform looks. i'm also very glad that they went for a level in the back, it uses up some of that upstage space (this stage is weirdly kinda square) and forces a lot of the main action to take place closer to the audience. i've noticed it in a couple of stages over the course of the show but sometimes people and choreo has been getting lost in the upstage ether and it's much better for this type of performance to bring it downstage. and levels are always a bonus.
i liked the big spiderwebs! great way to shorthand conflict visually and it was a nice cutaway from main stage.
am i just tired or did this seem very similar to their choreo from their intro stage? i might just be watching too many too large groups doing big choreos.
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since i'm a day late on this and twitter was unhelpful i'm not entirely sure what the outcome of the episode was? my personal rankings were:
hyolyn
brave girls
loona
wjsn
kep1er
viviz
and it looks like the round three rankings were:
brave girls
wjsn
loona
hyolyn
kep1er
viviz
which i will agree with on first and last but NONE of what's going on in the middle HOW could you rank hyolyn so low!!! i also think this means that no one is getting eliminated? since i don't think anyone ranked last twice? which, hooray!! i think that was a dumb rule anyways and there's only six groups, just let them all perform there's no need for these fake stakes. anyways we love brave girls getting full points like they DESERVE. and now it's just the finale left!!!!
#queendom 2#queendom reviews#hyolyn#loona#brave girls#wjsn#viviz#kep1er#why does this feel like the second time i've referenced stargate in relation to queendom. i dont even like stargate!#i just watched a lot of it as a kid and also who isnt always thinking about christopher judge's voice#now just realizing that maybe people do not come from places that have#a butterfly garden AND a bunch of other famous gardens as tourist attractions#so perhaps maybe people have not seen chiffon scarves printed like butterfly wings on a regular basis#balanchine ballets r so batshit insane like fr. not to go off on a ballet tangent#text#me in my brain: i will not make this review about alexander i will not make this review about alexander i will not make this review about a
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Electric Love
Category: Romantic Fluff
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Ochako Uraraka
Hey, all! Here’s my story for the Izuku Big Bang! I had the pleasure again of working with my good friend @danyartime, so do be sure to check out her adorable art too!
Izuku bobbed his head to the upbeat poppy tune bumping from the small speakers of his desk radio. Though the volume was low to keep from disturbing his dorm mates, the thumping bass in the background of the happy lyrics vibrated the pencils and pens in the ceramic cup beside it. The little tink-tink-tinks of the writing utensils hitting the side of the cup added pleasant harmony to the song. Izuku hummed along as he scrawled notes into his hero notebook, recalling everything he could from the joint training they’d conducted with Class 1-B that day. Just as he was musing that it may be time for yet another volume of his detailed notes, the song ended abruptly to be replaced by a particularly loud yell from the radio host. Izuku jumped and looked at the radio, turning it up in curiosity.
“Thank you for tuning in this evening, folks! Today we have a very special offer for a lucky listener! Prepare to dial your phones, ‘cuz the tenth caller will win tickets to AKB48’s upcoming concert in Akihabara!” the host announced excitedly. Izuku wasn’t big into girl groups, but he’d often heard his female classmates discussing the idols. They must be really famous! He thought, pulling up his phone and typing up the radio station’s number as the host provided it. “All right, folks! Get ready to hit ‘dial,’ because time… starts… now!”
Izuku waited just a brief second before hitting the dial button and holding the phone up to his ear. He honestly didn’t expect much— there were probably hundreds of people calling in with the hopes of securing the tickets— but he did get a little excited when he wasn’t immediately greeted with a busy signal or a “sorry” message. The phone rang for a second, and then, much to Izuku’s surprise, someone picked up.
“Congratulations, Lucky Number 10! You’ve won yourself two tickets to AKB48’s concert next weekend!”
“R-really?” Izuku stammered in shock, completely floored that a whim of a call had actually won him something. “Oh, wow! Thank you!”
“Thank you for calling in today! What’s your name, Lucky Number 10?”
“I-Izuku!”
“Well, Izuku, we hope you enjoy seeing the dolls of Akihabara in action! Stay on the line so we can provide you with information on how to claim your tickets.” Izuku did as bid while the radio host switched to a private line, playing a song for those who had been unsuccessful in their efforts in claiming the tickets. They gathered his basic information and provided him with the address to the local radio station, stressing that he needed to bring a valid photo identification to verify that it was indeed him and not someone trying to make off with his winnings. They made an appointment to pick up the tickets the following afternoon, since it was too late in the evening for a student to be out and about. After hanging up the phone, Izuku found himself excited to attend the concert despite not really being passionate about the band— new experiences were always thrilling, after all!
Now… The real question is, who should I take with me?
By the time he had retrieved his tickets and returned to the dorm the next day, Izuku didn’t have the answer to that question. He perched on the couch eyeing the two cardstock tickets with a frown, debating who to invite. He didn’t imagine that any of the boys were that into girl groups, so he couldn’t take any of them. On the other hand, all the girls probably liked them in some capacity or another. I want to take the person who would enjoy it the most!, he thought with a sigh, flopping back against the couch as the riddle poisoned him from the inside out.
Just then, he heard Ochako and Kyoka’s voice drifting out of the kitchen. The two girls came shuffling out in their pajamas and fuzzy socks, probably getting ready for their weekly girls’ night as evidenced by the massive bowl of popcorn tucked in Kyoka’s arms. Ochako stared wistfully at her phone, petulant about something.
“Man… I really wish I could go to the performance next weekend, but the tickets are so expensive!” she moped. Izuku perked up, peering over the edge of the couch.
“Ochako, I told you that I would take you if you really want to go,” Kyoka smiled wanly.
“No way!” Ochako refused, shaking her head vigorously. “I could never ask you to spend money like that on me!” She stopped walking to look at Kyoka, then deflated like a balloon and looked back to her phone once more. “All I can do is hope that they’re still performing by the time I’m making money as a professional hero…”
“Hey, Ochako!” Izuku hurriedly piped up as the two girls turned to head upstairs. She whirled around to look at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. Izuku flushed as he sat up on his knees to look over the back of the couch, suddenly aware that it would sound like he was eavesdropping. “I-I couldn’t help but overhear… I, um, I won two tickets to the AKB48 concert next weekend in a radio contest. You’re more than welcome to use the extra ticket and come with me.”
“Oh my gosh, Deku, are you serious?” Ochako screamed and zoomed over to him faster than he’d ever seen anyone move, even Tenya. She grabbed his hands, clasping hers around his with the tickets still clutched in his fist. Her nut-brown eyes sparkled with delight as they bored into his emerald ones, which only made him flush darker. “You really mean it? Oh, thank you, thank you! I’m so excited; they’re my absolute favorite girl group! Oh, I’m so excited!”
Her animated reaction made a smile stretch across his lips and a warm, bubbly feeling rise up in his chest. When she let his hands go to take the ticket, she gazed down at it like it was the most special gift in the world; tears of joy even bloomed in the corners of her eyes. “Thank you so much, Deku,” she repeated again, softly and choked with emotion.
“Of course, Ochako! We’re gonna have a lot of fun!” He grinned widely. Ochako looked up at him shyly, batting her eyelashes to blink the tears away, before whirling on her heel to scurry back to Kyoka. Izuku leaned his cheek in his hand, smiling dreamily, as the girl jumped up and down giddily while showing Kyoka the ticket like it was nothing short of pure treasure. Cute, he thought, his smile growing more enchanted as Ochako’s own illuminated the room with the brilliance of a star. Seeing her so happy sent a light, fluttering feeling through his chest, and he couldn’t wait until next weekend so he could see that bright smile again.
The next week passed like a blur, chock-full of hero training interspaced with general lessons and heaps of homework. Izuku busted his behind to finish the week’s assignments by the eve of the concert, determined to have no obligations so he could enjoy the outing as much as possible. After penning his last page of a small history report, Izuku slunk downstairs to indulge in some much-needed human interaction. He sank down on the common room couch with a heavy sigh, right beside Denki and Hanta, who were spending the evening playing videogames.
“Well, well, well, look who decided to crawl out of their hole and join the world of the living!” Denki joked, nudging him with an elbow before returning his attention to the racing game he was playing. He cursed under his breath as Hanta’s car slammed into his side and sent him crashing through benches and trees on the sidewalk. “Hey, man! Not cool!”
“Ya snooze, ya lose, Denki!” Hanta cackled, leaning back on the couch and clapping the soles of his feet together excitedly. “Anyway, Izuku, you and Ochako are goin’ to that concert tomorrow, yeah?” he asked, sticking out his tongue and leaning his body as if it would make the virtual car turn harder.
“That’s right! She seems really excited!” Izuku nodded eagerly. He thought of that illuminating smile, of the joy simply radiating off her being, and couldn’t help but grin giddily. Denki caught his dreamy expression out of his peripheral vision and raised an eyebrow, then teasingly stuck out the tip of his tongue between his teeth.
“So, does she know that it’s a date?”
“What?” Izuku sputtered, throwing up his arms and curling his legs up on the couch in shock. His face had turned a bright shade of crimson in a mere instant, his freckles buried beneath the fiery warmth of his blush. “I-it’s not a date! I just had an extra ticket, that’s all, and it would have been such a shame for it to go to waste, so I was looking for someone to give it to, and I overheard Ochako talking about how much she liked the band, so n-n-naturally I would ask her if she wanted to go, because after all, I had the ticket and that’s the nice thing to do—” he babbled, his face reddening with each breathless phrase. Denki and Hanta just stared at him with matching expressions of pure skepticism, which only made his face more reminiscent of a tomato. Steam was practically buffeting out of his ears by the time he lost all semblance of words and just started gasping like a fish out of water.
“Anyway, does she know it’s a date?” Denki repeated, deadpan. Izuku slapped his hands to his face, utterly mortified. He hadn’t intended to ask Ochako on a date; he was just trying to be nice! What if she did think it was a date? He had less than twenty-four hours until they were set to go to the concert, but if she thought it was a date, then he had to make sure it was the best date ever! After all, it would be her first date, wouldn’t it? Oh, he would hate for her to have a terrible experience— and with him, no less! What should he do? What should he do?
“Now, Izuku,” Denki sighed magnanimously, chucking his controller onto the coffee table since his friend was clearly distressed. Hanta pouted, disappointed he could no longer clown Denki with the racing game, but paused the game so he could walk around the couch to plop down on Izuku’s other side and sling his lanky arm around his shoulders. Izuku’s emerald eyes, shining against his crimson skin, nervously peered through the gaps in his fingers. “Don’t worry! There’s still plenty of time to fix this sad, sad, sad situation you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“There is?”
“Indeed there is!” Hanta chimed in agreement, nodding his head and holding up his index finger confidently. “Rest assured, Izuku, the two of us are gonna transform you into the studliest of studs so that tomorrow you’ll sweep Ochako off her feet, guaranteed!” Izuku tentatively lowered his hands from his face, blinking uncertainly. Despite his misforgivings, Denki and Hanta were popular with the girls of the Hero Course; surely they at least knew something about taking a girl out on a date, right? Whether or not that was true, the two boys hoisted Izuku up to cart him upstairs, ready to give him a crash-course on wooing their adorable, bubbly classmate and taking her on the best first date ever…
The following afternoon, after a night of feverish courting lessons and last-minute reservations, Izuku was standing in Denki’s bedroom, nervously regarding himself in the mirror hanging on the back of the blond’s closet door. He was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting, slightly torn jeans and a graphic tee— a much different look than his usual cargo shoots and simple tees. Denki fluttered around him, biting down on his lip as he suppressed excited squeals of delight.
“Uh, Denki, are you sure about this?” Izuku asked, plucking at the white fibers of the shredded denim over his knees. “Shouldn’t I, like, dress for comfort?”
“No!” Denki scolded and flicked him in the forehead, making Izuku whimper and press his hand over the pink mark on his forehead. “You dress to impress on a date, dude. Rule #1! Ochako’s probably gonna be dressed to the nines for this concert; you don’t wanna embarrass her! Sheesh.”
Before Izuku could respond, Hanta descended upon him, spritzing him with cologne. Izuku hacked and coughed as the clouds of strong-smelling aroma wafted up into his face, stinging his eyes and throat. Hanta patted his shoulders and gave them an encouraging squeeze, grinning at him through his reflection.
“You’re gonna do great, Izuku! Remember your training,” he encouraged with another squeeze. Izuku momentarily panicked, his mind flushing the last eighteen hours of grilling the two boys had subjected him to in the art of wooing women. Denki rolled his eyes and thwapped him upside the head with an encouraging smirk.
“Relax, dude. You’re gonna do fine! Just remember to show Ochako a good time. That’s Rule #1!”
“I thought ‘dress to impress’ was Rule #1?” Izuku blinked in confusion.
“Every rule is Rule #1,” Denki tutted, but before Izuku could ask what good that did, Hanta steered him out of the room telling him that it was time for the show to start. They propelled him all the way to Ochako’s room, abandoning him there with no more than excited thumbs-ups and matching grins. Izuku watched them scurry back to the stairs, gulped loudly, and then nervously smoothed down his messy pine-green hair. He was already beginning to sweat; it beaded on the pads of his fingers as he smoothed them through his hair.
Okay, Izuku! You can do this!, he encouraged himself with a roll of his shoulders and a determined sigh. He’d already informed Ochako that he intended to take her out for lunch today, and she should be ready for their outing by now. He took one more moment to steel his nerves before knocking on her bedroom door before he could change his mind.
“Comi— oh dear!”
Izuku winced as the cheerful call was interrupted by a loud thump and a startled squeal. He could hear shuffling and muffled whimpers and stomping around the room; just as he was about to inquire if Ochako was all right, the door swung open to reveal a breathless and red-faced Ochako.
“Hey, Deku!” she grinned brightly as she swept a stray strand of her chestnut hair from her face, covering her anxiety with a nervous laugh. He could see her leaning awkwardly on one leg and the beginnings of a bruise forming on her other knee. “I’m ready to go!” she trilled, leaning in the doorframe and using her smile to try and hide the pained wobbling of her lips. He began to ask if she was really okay, but the words died in his throat when he finally took a moment to really look at her.
She was wearing a pink sundress with a white ribbon around the waist, tied in a big bow in the back with lace accents. Shiny white sandals framed her feet, her pink painted toenails shining in the fluorescent lights of the hallway. A big pink-and-white bow was tucked into her hair, which framed her round face. A blush rose to Izuku’s cheeks as he stared at her, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Ochako blinked perplexedly, eyes growing owlish. “Deku? What is it?”
“Y-y-you look really cute today,” he finally managed. Ochako blinked again, and then her face flooded the color of her dress. She fisted the skirt shyly, swaying back and forth and trying not to let her happiness show on her face.
“Thanks, Deku… You look nice, too…” She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger as Izuku continued to admire her beauty, her bashful little smile. After a minute of him just dreamily gawking, Ochako fluttered her eyes and politely pushed, “Um… Deku, shouldn’t we get going? We have a reservation at that sandwich place, don’t we?”
“O-oh gosh! Sorry, sorry! Yes, let’s go!” In his flurry, he instinctively grabbed Ochako’s hand to begin pulling her down the hall. He heard her squeak in surprise and could feel the nervous sweat flood her palm, but for some reason, he didn’t feel the urge to let go. Her hand felt so soft and nice against his, which was scarred and calloused from the harsh use of his Quirk. She was careful not to touch his skin with her padded fingertips; they wouldn’t get very far with him floating off into space, after all! He did look at her briefly, however, silently inquiring if she was okay. She only grinned bashfully and gave his hand a little approvatory squeeze— and his heart rate shot into the atmosphere as that warm joy bubbled up inside of him.
It was about a three-hour bullet train ride to Tokyo, where they would catch lunch before heading to Akihabara to attend the early evening concert before catching the train back. It certainly was a full day, but Izuku found himself excited as he joined the train with Ochako. Their curriculum was so demanding that it was rare they had a chance for an outing like this, and Izuku was happy it was with one of his best friends. Except… Best friends don’t go out on dates, he thought with a blush, looking down at where Ochako’s hand rested on the arm of the train seat. He’d let her hand go when they left the dorm, but his fingers had insistently itched to claim her soft hand once again. It felt like it had fit so perfectly in his own, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.
He looked away from her hand before she noticed, busying himself with the scenic landscape of Japan idling by through the window. He wasn’t sure how long he spent watching the buildings and roads and trees and hills roll by, but eventually he heard a soft thunk that pulled his attention away from the glass pane. He turned to see that Ochako had slumped over the edge of the seat to loll into the aisle, her mouth parted as she gently snored. The thunk had been her bracelet striking the plastic edge of the seat as her arm slipped off. She was bent awkwardly with the other arm of the seat digging into her side. It certainly didn’t look comfortable, evidenced by the way her face twitched in discomfort and she mumbled something unintelligible but laced with pain.
I can’t let her stay like that, Izuku thought. Gently so as not to wake her, he leaned in to loop his arms around her and pull her back into the seat. She immediately began to slip to the side again, head bobbing, and he reflexively caught the side of her head with his hand. He flushed at the realization of just how big his hand was in comparison to hers, so easily cradling her skull. Tenderly, he guided her head to rest on his shoulder. Ochako’s face slowly became peaceful as she sought out his warmth, smacking her lips as she nuzzled into his neck. Heat flooded his body when the tip of her nose brushed his neck, but he fought the urge to spaz out because Ochako just looked downright adorable snoozing against him.
Smiling sweetly, Izuku swept away a chunk of hair that had fallen into her face and tucked it behind her ear. Ochako hummed contentedly, her plump lips curling into a tiny smile.
“Deku,” she mumbled sleepily. He tensed, afraid he’d actually woken her up; however, Ochako didn’t move, just continued to doze peacefully. He relaxed and then immediately tensed again when the realization struck him— Ochako had just said his name in her sleep. What does that mean? Does that mean something? Oh my gosh! Surely that means something, right? He used his free hand to nervously fidget, twiddling his fingers and jumping his leg up and down. His mind whirled for the remainder of the train ride, struggling to comprehend the implications of such a simple utterance. He was in such a whirlwind of confusion that he almost missed their stop as it chimed over the intercom.
Izuku started with a gasp, then looked down at Ochako, who was still dozing peacefully. He gently shook her shoulder, looking up nervously as people began filing off the train.
“Ochako… It’s our stop!” he whispered loudly. Ochako stirred, her eyelashes fluttering to reveal hazy, sleep-addled eyes. She looked up at him drowsily with a sleepy smile on her lips. Izuku couldn’t help but return it with a sweet one of his own, charmed by how cute she looked as she rose into consciousness. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” he joked. “Sorry to wake you, but we’re in Tokyo.”
“Really?” she asked, looking around with her eyes still lidded with sleep. It took her a second to realize her head was propped on his shoulder, her short brown hair spilling over it like a curtain. When she did, however, she stiffened, and then bolted up with a squeak. Izuku only just managed to pull back in time before her head collided with his chin. Ochako covered her hands with her face, peering at him with appalled brown eyes. “I-I-I’m so sorry! How long have I been sleeping on you? That must have been so uncomfortable!”
“N-n-no, not at all!” Izuku stammered back, waving his hands in denial. “It felt kinda nice, actually.” A split second of silence passed between them as they processed what he’d just uttered. Both of them then gasped and looked away from each other, both covering their bright red faces. The announcer pleasantly initiated the last call, making Izuku stand up stiffly. “W-w-w-we need to go! We don’t wanna miss our reservation!”
“You’re right! Let’s go!” Ochako agreed, standing up and scurrying down the aisle while still covering her face. Izuku hurried after her, and they managed to hop off the bullet train just as the doors were closing. They stood awkwardly on the platform, heat radiating off them like a couple of steamed pork buns. They took a moment to recover from the embarrassing situation, with Izuku pulling up a map on his phone to navigate their way to the sandwich shop. He looked at Ochako, still slightly pink-faced, and coughed politely because she was still staring stressfully off into space.
“Sh-shall we head off? I don’t think that the train station specializes in sandwiches,” he joked lightly and rubbed the back of his neck. Ochako smiled at his wisecrack, her opal-pink cheeks turning a pleasant shade of carnation as her discomfort was replaced with happiness. She nodded in agreement so Izuku turned around, standing on his tip-toes to hunt for the stairs over the sea of heads. The subway was bustling as those departing the train and those preparing for the next arrival blended together in a writhing, cacophonic mess. He and Ochako stared dauntedly at the tightly-crammed mass and the stairs hugging the wall beyond the great sea of people.
“Um… Ochako… Would you like to hold hands?” Izuku offered shyly, looking at her with a sheepish smile. When her eyes blew wide like twin moons, his face blazed red and he hurriedly threw up his hands defensively. “I-I-I just don’t want us to get separated, that’s all! Th-there’s so many people, a-a-after all, and it would waste more time if one of us got lost!”
“Oh!” Ochako blinked, the blush in her face fading with a sheepish smile. “Sure, Deku.” She offered him her hand and Izuku took it, careful not to touch all five of the cute little pink pads adorning her fingertips. As easy as floating over the crowd would be, it would probably present more problems than it would solve in the end.
Clutching her hand tight and mildly self-conscious about the sweat that blossomed on his palm, he turned slightly to the side so he could shoulder his way through the crowd. He toted Ochako along, shouting “Excuse me!” and “Coming through!” over the chatter and mechanical din of the train station. Somehow, they wormed their way through the crowd and arrived at the base of the stairs, albeit a little breathless. He smiled at Ochako and moved to retract his hand, but surprisingly, she clenched down on his fingers. When he stared confusedly at her, she looked bashfully down at her feet.
“It might be crowded on the street, so… maybe we should play it safe?” She peered out of her lashes at him, pink tinging her cheeks. Izuku’s eyebrows crept up his forehead, too stunned to even have the sense to blush, but the hopefulness in Ochako’s timid gaze chased away any inclinations of refusing. He just smiled sweetly and squeezed her hand, prompting her to look up at him.
“Of course, Ochako. The last thing I’d want to do today is lose you.”
She gasped lightly, then used her free hand to hide her face as it flushed bright red. Izuku, realizing how flirtatious the simple declaration could sound, did the same and looked over his shoulder. I didn’t mean for it to sound so lovey-dovey, but Ochako thinks this is a date, so I guess I should be a little flirty, right?, he thought, peering out of the gaps in his fingers at her. Though her hand covered most of her face, he could see the edges of her blissful smile poking out from underneath her fingers. The fact she was so happy at just a small comment made his heart flutter and a bubbly feeling rise up in his body. I want to make her as happy as I can today… he realized, a soft smile spreading over his lips.
I’ll do my best to make this the best date ever for you, Ochako!
Finally, the two awkward teenagers gathered their wits enough to ascend the stairs to the street above. Like Ochako predicted, Akihabara was rather hectic; people streamed along the sidewalks, huddling close together as cars trundled by on the cobblestone roads. Flickering, bright neon signs towered over them advertising shops, deals, news, and— most importantly— the upcoming concert. Using his trusty map as a guide, Izuku weaved through the foot traffic toward the sandwich shop crammed in the small square space.
“Wow! Look at all the cosplays, Deku,” Ochako piped up suddenly. He looked up with a confused blink, having been absorbed in following the map, before glancing around. Sure enough, a lot of the patrons moseying around were decked out in cosplay of their favorite anime characters. They flocked to the electronics and manga stores, coming out laden with goods. Others stood outside of maid cafés, chatting amicably with the girls in black-and-white dresses, thigh-high stockings, and cute bonnets trying to entice them in for an afternoon snack. Electronic music and chimes bled out of the door of a pachinko parlor as it opened and closed continuously with gamblers walking in and out, most of them defeatedly.
“Wow! Akihabara really is as electric as they say,” Izuku praised. The air thrummed with energy; he could feel it vibrating under his skin, humming in his bones and sending a pleasant adrenaline pulsing through his body. He found himself with a prance in his step as he led Ochako on, both of them stopping occasionally to marvel at the eclectic displays that made Akihabara the haven for otakus and electronics enthusiasts. They paused so many times that they almost did miss their reservation, bundling into the shop with only a minute to spare and startling the hostess.
Like the rest of Akihabara, the sandwich shop possessed an anime theme, specifically a popular magical girl anime that he knew Ochako liked to watch with Tooru. The waitresses strutted around in colorful, lace-laden dresses, playfully waving their ornate wands and punctuating their conversations with cute poses and sayings. Ochako’s eyes brightened immediately when they walked inside, and she looked at Izuku surprisedly as they were escorted to a table.
“Izuku, did you pick this place because of me?” she asked as she eased into the booth seat, which was white and patterned with little pastel-colored hearts and stars. Izuku tried not to seem too proud of himself as he sat across from her, failing a little as the cheeky grin of satisfaction worked its way onto his face.
“Yeah! They were really nice about working us in for the concert today,” he explained as he picked up the salt and pepper shakers, which were styled like fluffy alien mascots, to examine them with amusement. He set them down before smiling at Ochako, who looked like she was about to cry with gratitude. “I wanted you to have a good time, so I thought picking a restaurant themed after your favorite anime would make you happy!”
She shrunk down a little in the booth. Her lips twitched as she tried not to smile too hard, but it broke free, stretching across her face until her eyes crinkled up into little half-moons. She played with the bow around her middle and shifted, her eyes trained shyly on the table. Finally, she murmured a soft, “Thank you, Deku. I really am happy.”
“I’m glad,” Izuku replied, just as softly. She shifted again, her smile growing wider, though her face strained to fit the absolutely overjoyed beam. It made that fuzzy, bubbly feeling rise up within him again. He picked up the menu to hide his pleased smile.
Everything’s going so well!
They spent an hour or so in the shop, chowing down on scrumptious sandwiches and fraternizing with the costumed waitresses. Ochako snagged a photograph with every single one of them, and she broke down crying when the manager gifted her a free cosplay wand of her favorite magical girl because he was so charmed by her enthusiasm. She clutched it to her chest as they walked out of the shop, her eyes glittering like diamonds and her skin practically glowed with happiness. As Izuku pulled up his map again to find the concert venue, Ochako dramatically flourished the wand and bopped him on the head.
“Am I a magical girl now?” He laughed while putting a hand on his head where she had tapped him with it.
“Yep!” She giggled, tapping him again on his hand. “You’d make a beautiful magical girl.”
“Thanks.” He laughed. “I’ll take that into consideration. Maybe I’ll make it my brand in a few years!”
“Oh my gosh!” Ochako laughed, covering her mouth with an obscene snort. “I can just imagine you prancing around in thigh-high boots and a skirt with little plastic wings…”
“I thought you said I would be a beautiful magical girl!” He whined. “What, is the image too beautiful for you to handle?”
“Yes!”
They both began laughing hysterically at the image of Izuku waltzing around in a girly costume with his magic wand touting about the power of friendship and love. It certainly was amusing. They continued to joke about it while they strolled to the concert venue, a building tucked into the towering mish-mash of specialty shops. It proudly displayed “AKB48” in bright letters of purple, red, and blue on the scrolling neon sign, followed by a “SOLD OUT” in white.
“It’s a good thing you won those tickets, Deku!” Ochako said when they filed into line. Izuku clutched the tickets in his hands; it would be a shame for them to come all this way only to have lost them at the finish line. They inched forward as the concertgoers were filed inside.
“Yeah! I’m happy you agreed to come with me, Ochako. Truthfully, I don’t know anything about these idols,” he admitted while bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I just called in for the heck of it. I was so shocked when I found out I actually won!”
“Really? This is gonna be so much fun, then! I can’t wait to see what you think of them!”
“Yeah?” he said, finding himself growing excited from her infectious enthusiasm. She began to ramble about the origin of idol groups in Akihabara and the rise of the latest, AKB48. Though Izuku really didn’t understand much of what she was talking about, the way her eyes lit up and a smile painted her round face made him listen along anyway. He watched her dreamily, more watching her mouth move than paying attention to the words coming out of it. She really is pretty, he thought absently, marveling at the sheen of her glossed lips. He wondered what flavor it could be. She seemed like a strawberry or cherry type of person, but maybe she opted for something unique.
“Tickets, please.”
Izuku was startled out of his daydreaming by the attendant, who had apparently been asking him for the tickets for several seconds, based on his annoyed expression and demandingly outstretched hand. Izuku hurriedly handed over the tickets while sputtering apologies, but the greeter only dismissively waved them through. Ochako encouragingly patted Izuku’s back as he shuffled on, sulking with embarrassment.
I just couldn’t help but get so engrossed in her talking, he thought with a light blush dusting his cheeks. His eyes were still engrossed with her, trailing slowly to watch as she scampered up to the merchandise table to ogle the band tee shirts. A dreamy smile automatically appeared on Izuku’s lips; she just looked too cute, her index finger pressed against her pursed lips as she carefully surveyed the selection. He moseyed up behind her, hands clasped behind his back and his eyebrows raised meaningfully.
“There’s a little time before the concert starts… Would you like a shirt, Ochako?”
“What?” she cried, jumping at his sudden appearance. “O-o-oh, no, I was just looking! You already paid for lunch, Deku. I couldn’t possibly ask for more!” she refused, waving her hands. She was still holding the wand from the sandwich shop, so she accidentally bopped herself in the head with it during her nervous flailing. Her face turned bright red, but she continued to insistently refuse his offer. “Seriously, Deku, don’t worry about it. I don’t want one that bad.” Yet, her eyes slid longingly back to the table.
“Yeah, you do.” He laughed and pulled out his wallet. He danced away when Ochako tried to swipe at him, dodging her grabs while pulling out a few bills. It took a few seconds for him to get back to the merchandise seller, who was watching them amusedly, but once Izuku dropped the bills into his hand, it was over. Ochako slumped defeatedly and sheepishly slid the shirt she wanted off the table, while Izuku grabbed another that had caught his eye. Izuku slipped his own over the tee-shirt that Denki had loaned him, and Ochako followed suit by sliding hers over her dress. The fronds of her bow stuck out awkwardly underneath, making Izuku chuckle and bat at them.
“What? Do I look funny?” she pouted, grabbing the hem of the shirt subconsciously.
“No,” he chuckled while rubbing the soft, wilky fabric of the bow’s tail between his thumbs. “I think it’s cute how big of a fan you are that you’ll wear it over your dress.” Ochako flushed and ducked her head, the edges of her smile peeking out of her swathes of brown hair. He reached out to tuck it behind her ear, and as his fingertips brushed ever-so-softly against her cheek, she froze. Normally he would grow flustered and flail about, but… there was something about the electric energy of this place that made him bold, that made him act on the warm, fluttery feeling that had been filling him up all afternoon.
Slowly, that bubbly warmth had become sharper, stronger, turning into volts of electricity that shot through his bones every time Ochako gifted him that beautiful smile and cute pink face. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to make her happy simply for her sake anymore, but rather a selfish desire to fuel the electricity pulsing within him, those sparks of affection slowly coalescing into an electric storm.
“W-we should go find our seats,” Ochako gulped after a few seconds of staring at him in stunned silence, as his hands were still resting in her hair. He hummed in agreement and pulled back, sliding his hands in his pockets as he led the way. They walked into the concert hall proper to find rows upon rows of seats surrounding a spacious stage. Large black speakers lined its circumference and purple-blue lights basked the area in a dusky glow. Thanks to winning the special promotion, Izuku and Ochako’s seats were near the front— not too far up to be deafening, but close enough to still provide a great view and ambience. They pushed past the other concertgoers to take their place among the throng. They were just in time, as the lights soon dimmed and a hush descended upon the crowd.
The silence was instantly replaced by deafening cheers as a group of young women in school uniforms skipped out on stage, smiling and waving enthusiastically. Izuku and Ochako barely had time to jam in the soft foam earplugs provided to them before the crowd erupted into their roars; even still, Izuku’s eardrums rang with the cacophony. After greeting the crowd, the girls set up in formation, prompting Ochako to touch Izuku’s arm excitedly.
“Ah, they’re starting!” she squealed over the cheers. “I’m so excited!” She jumped up and down, standing on her tip-toes to watch the idols with sparkling eyes, and that’s when Izuku stopped paying attention to anything but her.
Really, if he’d paid for the tickets, they’d have been a waste. Izuku spent the entire concert gazing at the girl beside him. The strobe lights played over her form in hues of pink and purple and blue, the light playing over her round cheeks pink with exhilaration and glinting off her bright smile and shining eyes. Sweat sheened on her skin as she danced excitedly in place and belted out the lyrics to the songs as loud as she could. Every time she looked at Izuku with an expression of sheer elation, he felt his breath leave his lungs. How a girl could be so utterly breathtaking doing something so simple as having fun, he wasn’t sure, but Ochako was.
The electricity coursed through him, simmering under his skin and filling him to the brim with his own sense of joy. I think I love her, he realized with an adoring smile, just watching her sway her hips and toss her arms as she danced to the beat. No, I know I love her. Maybe he always had. How could he not? She had been there for him from the beginning of his journey, supporting him and encouraging him. She was the perfect balance of soft and strong, a kind heart ready to harden like steel whenever she needed to. And, God, she was beautiful, so beautiful his heart ached looking at her. She was a masterpiece underneath these flashing lights, the shining sun, the glowing moon— a soft and natural beauty that was as pure as the rest of her.
Izuku found himself reaching out to her without realizing it. He gently touched her cheek, a feather-light trace of her skin. She dropped her arms slightly to look at him in confusion, and that’s when he closed the distance to press a kiss to her mouth. He felt her tense and then melt into him with a soft hum. Her body molded against his like it belonged there, her arms winding around his neck like they’d found their way home. The poppy tunes of the idol band faded into the background as they kissed slowly, sweetly, passionately, in the thralls of a love so electric it could power cities for all time.
Eventually, they pulled apart, a little breathless and pink-faced. Strawberry, he thought absently when he licked his lips. Ochako stared coyly up at him and batted her eyelashes.
“I didn’t know this was supposed to be a date,” she admitted quietly, so much so that Izuku almost didn’t hear her over the blasting music of the ending set. He did, though, and his eyes went wide in shock.
“You… you didn’t? But Denki and Hanta said…” He trailed off with a groan, realizing just how big a mistake it was to listen to those two clowns. Ochako laughed when he face-palmed. She reached up to pull his hand away, still chuckling. The show had just ended with the crowd erupting in applause around them, but the two of them made no move to leave.
“It’s okay,” she smiled sweetly. “I had an amazing time, Deku, really. This is more than I ever could have asked for.”
“I’m glad, but…” He chewed nervously on the inside of his check. “Are you okay with it being a date? I mean, I thought… Which is why I kissed you, but if you didn’t want it, that was totally not okay of me—!” Before he could descend into sputtering rambles, Ochako silenced him by putting a finger over his lips. He crossed his eyes to blink at the digit, while she chuckled warmly.
“Izuku, do you think I would have kissed you back if I wasn’t okay with it?” she teased. He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true… So… does this mean we’re dating now?”
“I suppose it does,” Ochako nodded bashfully, turning from side-to-side. Something about that made Izuku exceptionally giddy, so much so that he swooped in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. She squealed in surprise and delight, returning his affections with a nose nuzzle. Filled to the brim with more happiness than he thought humanly possibly, Izuku just took a moment to admire his pretty new girlfriend, and her deep brown eyes that were staring at him, so in love.
They were practically glued to one another’s side as they exited the concert hall. Dusk had descended, with the last rays of the sunlight spearing into the lavender-blue sky. Though Akihabara probably had much more fun to be had, they unfortunately had to return to the dorm before curfew. They headed straight for the station and boarded the bullet train. This time, Ochako nestled purposefully into his shoulder, watching with lidded eyes as he scrolled through his news feed on his phone. Izuku looped his arm around her waist to hold her close to him, enjoying her warmth blooming against his side with the nighttime cityscape basking them in streetlight.
It wasn’t long until she dozed off. Her shoulders rose and fell with gentle breaths. Izuku petted her soft hair with a smile, still on his phone as he idly wove the silky strands around his fingers. His phone chimed suddenly with a text message from Denki, asking how the date went. Smirking, Izuku raised his phone to snap a picture of them— Ochako dozing against him, held securely in Izuku’s grip.
If Izuku had to say, it went very well indeed.
Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!
#izuocha#izuku x ochako#ochako x izuku#izuku midoriya#midoriya izuku#ochako uraraka#uraraka ochako#my hero academia#mha#boku no hero academia#bnha
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CONGRATS ON 300!!
Can I request 1.10 with Kyoomi please? Fluff if possible ❤️❤️
さぁ恋の魔法かけるから目を閉じみっつかぞえて
“i’ll cast a spell of love on you so close your eyes and count to three”
- ☆gimme gimme☆, SuG
(thanks on the congrats :) it became a bit longer than intended lol)
sakusa kiyoomi had to be one of the greatest sorcerers in the land, both in battle and in potion making.
great lords would hire him for his skills and most scholars would give anything to be able to have a conversation with the sorcerer.
he was rumoured to be so powerful he could do anything; from healing entire armies to being able to see the truths of the universe using the complexity of the stars, he could do anything.
but there was one thing he couldn’t do.
“good morning, sakusa-san, are you looking to buy more flowers for your potions today?” you smiled brightly.
“yeah. i just need a small bouquet of hydrangea and some dandelion seeds,” he replied while fiddling with his little coin pouch.
that’s right, he couldn’t get you to fall in love with him.
of course, for someone like him it would be easy to control your mind or to make a love potion but that went against his morals. using magic of that caliber for this kind of selfish personal gain was absolutely despicable.
not to mention once you fell out of the spell, you’d despise him.
“here you go, sakusa-san!” you smile and handed him the bouquets.
“mm, thank you, l/n. here’s the payment.” he drops a few coins into your hand, making you smile ever so brightly.
“it’s a pleasure, please come again, sakusa-san!”
the sorcerer took a few stops away from your little stand before suddenly stopping and turning around.
“is something wrong, sakusa-san?” you ask, cocking your head.
“from uh... from now on, you can call me kiyoomi. if you wish.” he says, his cheeks turning a light pink. he’s glad that his mask covers his blush.
“huh? but you’re the great sakusa kiyoomi! i’m just a little florist who happens to live in the same village as-”
“i see you almost everyday so... you might as well.” sakusa quickly insisted. you were shocked but quickly began to smile again,
“okay, kiyoomi-kun! you call me y/n!”
his cheeks had never felt warmer.
he found himself returning to your store almost everyday. though he didn’t always need the flowers, he would make a journey to your stand to purchase at least a small bouquet just to see you.
“you know at this rate, you’re gonna be the one running a flower stand, omi-kun!” you joke while packaging the sunflower seeds he requested alongside the three cotton flowers.
“i don’t think i buy that many, do i?” he asked while taking out his payment.
“well, i’d say i’ve seen you more often than everyone else combined.” you laugh and accept his payment.
his expression worried you a little though, did it seem like you were making fun of him?
“a-ah, don’t get me wrong! there’s nothing bad about it! it’s nice to have a friend! especially since like... you know... you’re really famous so sometimes people come because you use my flowers. then they ask me about you and wow, it’s funny. i realised i see you everyday but i know almost nothing about you!”
you did have a point. he would only ever come to buy what he needed, would make a bit of small talk, and leave.
but sakusa saw this as his chance.
“this saturday. are you free?”
“um... yes, that’s usually my rest day!” you replied, though you guessed he already knew that.
“then would you like to have tea with me? there’s also an interesting place outside the village i think you’d like to see.” sakusa asked.
though he looked absolutely calm, his palms were beginning to sweat horribly and his knees were locked in place to prevent them from shaking. he was very glad you had already completed the transaction so you wouldn’t have to see the way his fingers would uncharacteristically fumble with his coins.
“w-woah... is the famous sakusa kiyoomi asking to have tea with me? my, i’m going to be targeted by at least five foreign scholars now!” you joke, “but yeah! i’d love to!”
your cheeks were a little pink. sakusa thought it must have been due to the suddenness of the question, but you were rather cute with that tint. aside from that, he was ecstatic that you had accepted his offer... and very relieved his mask hid his smile - a sight that nearly no one had seen before.
a couple days later you found yourself standing in front of a portal in his potion room.
“step through this door.”
“it won’t take me somewhere weird will it, omi?”
“no. quite the contrary. i think you’ll like it.” sakusa calmly went first through the wavy purple portal, disappearing from your vision.
it was scary, but you knew he wouldn’t try to trick you so you held your breath and closed your eyes before stepping through the glowing light, hoping to land somewhere safe.
but you felt the floor give away and in that split second you screamed for your life... only to land in something warm?
“like i said, it’s nothing to be afraid of,” sakusa’s familiar voice sighed as he let go of you, allowing you to stand straight as he dusted himself off (a little habit he had whenever he touched someone).
you open your eyes and gasp as you take in the scenery - the biggest glade you had ever seen in your life, dotted with wildflowers of varying colours. a gentle breeze blew, making your sundress flow in the wind. in the distance you could even see a snow-capped mountain, one that was not even slightly familiar to you. and a few meters away in the glade sat a large white blanket with two baskets in the middle of it.
“omi... where is this?” you managed to speak in awe.
“it’s a far off land,” sakusa simply replied and made his way to the blanket, “come here.”
you walked towards the blanket, careful to remove your shoes before sitting on it beside the wizard, wondering what he had brought along in the baskets.
the question was quickly answered as he pulled out a mini stove, teapot, and tea cups. wrapped pastries and fruits followed, and soon a full meal was set up on the blanket.
“i’ll heat the tea. wait a bit,” sakusa said and with a snap of his fingers, the stove was lit to heat the water in the teapot.
the rest of the picnic passed by peacefully and in a blur. you didn’t even notice as the sky darkened into shades of pink and orange before slowly becoming a dark purple illuminated only the moonlight and a few candles he had brought. it was fun.
“i feel like i should’ve brought something,” you pout, “you really set up such a fancy picnic!”
“i was the one to invite you so i think it’s only fair really...” the wizard replied while packing up his belongings.
“still... i only brought a little loaf of bread,” you held up the cloth which was once used to wrap said bread with a sigh, “maybe next time i should prepare the picnic.”
sakusa blinked. did he hear you right? ‘next time’?
you seemed to realise it too and pink dusted your cheeks. “t-that’s only if you wanna! i mean... i wouldn’t! not that i’m asking you to take time out of your busy day to go, i just-“
“it’s fine. i’d like to- i’m not opposed to having another picnic like this.” sakusa smiled softly as he blew out the candles and put them away too.
his smile didn’t exactly go unnoticed by you though, and you couldn’t help but to grin to yourself.
as you two made your way to the door from where you two entered, you suddenly stopped right in front of it. sakusa looked over and raised an eyebrow, “what’s wrong?”
“i almost forgot!” you exclaimed, “since you showed me those flowers, i want to show you a bit of magic, kiyoomi!”
“magic?” he was surprised you had done that but even more surprised to hear his name from your lips. still, he kept his calm demeanor. “alright. show it to me.”
“close your eyes. it only works like that,” you instructed.
sakusa wondered what it could be, but did so anyways. even if he closed his eyes, he could probably predict the process of your magic and copy it tenfold. he could hear the hesitation in your movements and the nervous breathing. a spell of light? or a simple ‘magic trick’ for children? or perhaps it could be-
sakusa’s eyes opened when he felt something press to his cheek. were those your lips?!
his hand flew up to his cheek once you pulled away, gently caressing the spot you kissed which was now very warm.
“it’s a spell of love! i like you, kiyoomi!” your face was practically a tomato with how red it was. he knew his was probably the same. but to think... you liked him too?
he was only standing in shock for a few seconds, staring at you and unable to comprehend what just happened until you spoke up, “oh this is so cheesy, maybe i shouldn’t have done it. oh no. you don’t like sudden touch like that do you? you probably like me less now... wait, let me find a handkerchief.” you hurriedly searched your pockets for your handkerchief, fingers fumbling with worry in case you had just ruined your relationship with sakusa until...
you felt his lips pressed to yours.
he was certain he could perform any spell you could tenfold after all.
#sakusa#sakusa x reader#haikyuu x reader#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#sakusa imagines#sakusa scenarios#kiyoomi sakusa#misoramsby#sakusa fluff#☆.request#haikyuu#haikyuu imagines
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Galactica, Chapter 79 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica
A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫
Previously: Violet and Sutan showed up for Bob’s drag show. Courtney had a disastrous day at work before Galactica shut down for the holidays.
This Chapter: Violet parties a little too hard, Sutan gets sick, and Miss Fame finds out about her precious sketches.
***
Violet wasn’t surprised that Bob was an amazing and hilarious performer. What had surprised her was how into it Sutan seemed, slapping his thighs at every joke, cheering loudly, tipping all of the queens generously.
It was so unlike how he behaved at the adult parties they normally frequented, so unlike how he normally spent a night out mingling and networking, his charm laid on so thick sometimes that the real him barely even poked through.
At one point, after watching him stuff a couple of bills down one queen’s corset, Violet must have had some kind of strange expression, because Sutan caught her eye and gave her a wink, saying, “Not my first drag show, darling.”
Violet smiled, shaking her head at him, though she gladly accepted the kiss he offered up, Sutan’s lips tasting like whiskey and those horrible green shots. It was great to see him, to watch the grown man she cared so much for light up with boyish delight, Sutan throwing himself wholeheartedly into the show.
By the time Bob came up to their table after the show, she was starting to really feel the effects of all the drinks she’d had throughout the night, her speech sounding much slurrier than she intended when she accepted a sweaty hug from Bob.
“You were so good up there,” she said, trying to get out her words without sounding as crazy drunk as she felt, “Best one by far.”
“Wow,” said a voice nearby, and Bob let out a hearty laugh.
“You heard her, Thorgy, I’m the best. By far,” Bob cackled, turning and sticking his tongue out at a green-haired queen.
“Your friends are so sweet, Bob, you should bring them more often,” she said snidely, and Violet’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake.
“No, I just meant, uh, that...that you-” she stammered out, and Bob laughed even harder.
“No, we heard you,” continued Thorgy, giving an exaggerated eye roll. “As if Bob needs anything else to make his fat head even bigger.”
“Would you chill, bitch? She was just giving me a compliment! Nobody murdered your family.”
“Shut up, Bob!”
Violet tried to shrink as they continued to bicker, Maxwell slipping her another shot and whispering, “Don’t worry, they’re just like that. Bottoms up.”
Violet picked up the shot, toasting Maxwell with a little shrug, just as Sutan returned to the table with a fresh round for everyone.
***
“Sutan,” Violet groaned, and Sutan couldn’t help but smile, his girlfriend under his arm, snuggled against his side, an open bottle of water in her hand.
“Yes darling?” It had been a bit of a struggle to get to the taxi, Violet suddenly a whole lot drunker than he had ever seen her before, but they had had an amazing night.
It had been literal years since he had last been to a drag show, and he had forgotten how much fun they generally were.
It had been good to see Violet’s work friends, and to get to know them a little better, to know for certain that his girlfriend was surrounded by good people when she went to work.
“I don’t feel good…” Violet whined, the tone so new for her Sutan had to bite his cheek not to chuckle.
“I know lovely eyes.” He held her hand, gently lifting it and the bottle to her lips so Violet could drink some more water. He should probably have stopped her about 5 shots ago, but he hadn’t wanted to cut off her fun, which she was now paying the price for.
Violet took a sip, her nose scrunching up like it tasted all wrong, Sutan holding her in place even as he took the bottle.
“We’ll be home soon.”
He had been smart enough to change the sheets before they left, the task one he normally left for his housekeeper but she was on vacation, painkillers and water bottles ready on the nightstands - fresh sheets and a cracked window a guaranteed recipe for a good night’s sleep, something they both truly needed.
“Mmh,” Violet tried to pull away, her hand pushing against his leg so Sutan let her, his girlfriend sitting up straight.
“I really don’t feel good,” Violet dumped her head back against the headrest, “like I think, I might-”
The taxi rounded a corner, and Violet’s hand flew to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with panic, and Sutan knew instantly what was about to happen.
“Stop the car!” Sutan reached over Violet, opening the door and unbuckling her seatbelt in one fluid motion, a hand on her hip pushing her out on the street as he yelled over his shoulder to the driver. “Stay!”
Sutan followed behind Violet with practiced ease, the maneuver one he had done hundreds of times, models often drinking way too much if they didn't snort something worse during the first year of their career.
“Over here,” Sutan hated that he was forcing Violet to stand on her bad leg, but he didn’t have much choice, one hand finding her waist as he turned her in an attempt to support her weight, “How are you feeling-”
He was cut off as Violet grabbed his arm and bent forward to throw up, the majority of it landing directly on Sutan’s shoes, his fingers only just catching her ponytail.
“Oh god,” Violet choked, “I’m so sorry-” She didn’t finish, as she puked again and Sutan sighed, the second round of vomit soaking his shoes completely, the leather officially beyond salvageable.
“I’m sorry,” Violet’s forehead was leaning against his stomach, Sutan’s hand on her neck, a hiccup leaving her, her voice quivering with tears. “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry-”
“Hey, hey,” Sutan tightened his grip, using his other hand to gently push on Violet’s shoulder to get her to stand up. Her face was an absolute mess, tears streaming down her cheeks, “Lovely eyes, don’t worry-”
“You’re wearing Prada.” Violet sobbed, her hand coming up in a desperate attempt to wipe her tears, and Sutan knew it was wrong, he just couldn’t help but laugh.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Violet hit his chest, but she still allowed him to move her so she was leaning against the taxi, the tip he’d need to give their driver growing by the second. Violet had thankfully not thrown up on herself, which was a true blessing combined with the fact that he had shoved the water bottle into his pocket. He took it out, uncapping it to pour the water over his shoes, washing them to the best of his ability.
It wasn’t perfect, but he had dealt with a lot worse.
Violet was pale, but she didn’t look like she was going to throw up again, so Sutan helped her back in the car, giving the driver a hundred as a thank you for not leaving them stranded.
“Lovely eyes?” Sutan felt a moment of panic when he realized Violet hadn’t said a word since they got back in the car, “Is everything-“
“I’m so embarrassed, I can’t believe I-“ Violet groaned, frustration heavy in her voice, “I threw up all over your Prada shoes.”
“You know,” Sutan grinned, the few times someone had thrown up in his hands so much worse than what he had just experienced. “You’re the only girl I know who’d care about the brand of shoes I’m wearing right now. The vomit would have been plenty for most.”
“Can we please just, not?” Violet sighed heavily, but she did lean her head against his shoulder, which Sutan took as a very good sign. “I’d love to pretend all of this never happened.”
“Violet. They’re just shoes.” Sutan pressed a kiss against her temple, “You’re so much more important.”
***
Raven flipped through the dresses she hadn’t worn in public yet, looking for the one she was going to be wearing for New Year’s. She had gotten several options for her and Raja, but they hadn’t had the chance yet to try anything on and make the decision, glittering suits and the more theatrical pieces Raja preferred on her side of their walk-in closet.
“What do you think of a green theme?” Raven looked over her shoulder and over at Raja, who was sitting sideways in one of the arm chairs, her legs over the armrest, a bouquet of lilies on the side table.
Raven loved their gigantic walk-in closet, the room so big they had to take down a wall when they moved in, but it was one of her favorite rooms in their apartment, so it was well worth it. It was all done in shades of beige and gray, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the couch and the arm chairs almost making it feel like a miniature store.
“Raj?” Raven waited for a beat, but when she didn’t get a reply, she turned around.
“Hello? Earth to Raja?” Raven crossed her arms, annoyance curling in her belly. She hated being ignored, and right now, she was being ignored by her favorite person. “Urgh!” Raven huffed, stomping over and grabbing the phone from Raja’s hands.
“Hey!” Raja’s eyes widened in surprise and she sat up, her feet hitting the floor. “Give me my phone-”
“You promised-” Raven held her hand up so Raja couldn’t get the phone, her fiancée grabbing her hips and pulling her in between her spread legs, “you wouldn’t work.”
“I’m not,” Raja tightened her grip, and Raven had to bite back a moan as she felt her short nails dig through the fabric of her dress. “I’m texting Tan.”
“Please,” Raven turned the phone, still holding it over her head so she could see the screen without Raja snatching it away. She had expected to see her emails pulled up, Raja often working at the strangest of times, but instead, all she saw was a row of text messages in Indonesian.
“... Okay, so,” Raven hated admitting that she was wrong, but this once, it seemed like Raja wasn’t actually ignoring her for work. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Raja smiled as she was handed her phone, her hand guiding Raven to sip on her lap, which she gladly did. “Tan says he has a cold.”
“What?” Raven raised an eyebrow, her arms around Raja’s neck. Sutan never got sick, like, never ever, so this was an unexpected turn of events. “Really?”
“Mmh,” Raja nodded, “He woke up with a fever, but it seems like Violet is there.”
This time, it was Raven’s turn to smile, her hand gliding under Raja’s open shirt. “So you’re going to go check in on him?”
“Oh definitely.” Raja grinned, “Who do you think I am?”
***
“Keep the change.”
To say that Violet was feeling guilty would be an understatement. She did her best not to spill the soup as she made her way back towards the living room where Sutan was sleeping on the couch, the TV running on the news channel.
It was terribly unfair, but she had woken up without as much as a headache, while Sutan was coughing his lungs out, her boyfriend hot with fever. Raja had done a pharmacy run, buying every medicine under the sun for her brother, which was now spread out on the coffee table. Raja had offered to stay, but Sutan had sent her away, telling her with a smile that Violet was taking care of him.
It was equal parts unexpected and amazing that he trusted her, that he still wanted her around after she had literally thrown up on him, the ruined shoes something Violet knew would be haunting her nightmares.
It was truly a miracle that she hadn’t fled the apartment, but she didn’t want to disappoint Sutan, so she stayed.
Violet put the bag down, returning with utensils and bowls from the kitchen, when Sutan cracked an eye open, her boyfriend looking up at her.
“Hey,” Sutan smiled, his hair adorably messy, the blanket all the way up to his chin, a small mountain of used tissues in the bin Violet had put by his head.
“I got you lunch.”
“What?” Sutan sat up, grabbing his glasses from the table to put them on. He was wearing a gigantic sweater and a pair of sweatpants, thick wool socks on his feet. “Wait, is that? Did you get me chicken soup-” He didn’t finish, a cough cutting him off, and Violet felt her heart clench.
“Bread too.”
“Ha,” Sutan snorted, a grin on his lips. “You’re the best,” he tilted his head for a kiss, but Violet reacted on instinct, putting a hand on his forehead, pushing him back, which made Sutan laugh.
“What?”
“You’re all...snotty…” Violet tried not to wrinkle her nose, but it was hard not to, his skin hot to the touch.
“So you can throw up on my shoes, but I can’t get one little kiss?”
Violet rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile over Sutan’s attitude. “Fine.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against Sutan’s forehead. “And I really am sorry, I promise that I’ll replace them-”
“Lovely eyes,” Sutan looked up at her, her hands on his shoulder. “I meant what I said last night. I don’t care about the shoes.”
“But-” They hadn’t actually talked about it sober, and while Violet wished that the earth would swallow her up, she pushed on, “You always make excuses for me, and forgive things you shouldn’t, and I-”
“Violet,” Sutan reached up, touching her elbow, “That’s what you do when you love someone, and I happen to love you.”
“...You love me?”
“I do,” Sutan smiled, “I really do.”
“I-” Violet didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, but as she looked at Sutan’s face, she realized that he meant it. This man, this strange, wonderful, amazing man, loved her, and Violet had no idea what she had done to deserve him. “I love you too.”
***
PEARL: How would you feel about a NYE party at 230 5th?
DAHLIA: Well that sounds fuckin posh. How’d you get on the list for something so chic?
PEARL: I’m chic as fuck
DAHLIA: Lol if you say so
PEARL: Lol, is that a yes?
DAHLIA: Sure, why not.
PEARL: Perf. You wanna come over early and get ready together?
DAHLIA: Don’t want to wait until the end of the night to get lucky, huh?
PEARL: Nope ;)
***
Symone yawned, leaning against a column in the Terminal 5 baggage claim, her sunglasses hiding her face as she was waiting for Gigi to appear on the escalator.
Her flight from Little Rock had arrived less than 2 hours before Gigi’s, and even though she could have easily gone back to the apartment, she had told her that she’d wait for her.
Symone was exhausted, but she was also psyched to see her friend, their time apart feeling much longer than a week, so staying at the airport had felt like the obvious choice.
Finally she spotted her, in what looked like a brand new forest green coat with fur trim, Gigi’s red hair hidden under a green hat, her friend carrying herself like a starlet who had stepped off of an old Hollywood movie set.
“Geeg!” Symone called out, waving, and her face broke out into a huge grin as she waved back.
Once Gigi got to the bottom of the escalator, she raced forward, nearly tripping in her platform boots as she ran towards Symone, flinging herself into her arms for a huge hug, squealing out, “Hiiiii!”
“Hey girl, long time no see,” Symone said, laughing, holding her tight. Gigi smelled like airport but underneath it, she was exactly herself, her skin warm and soft, and Symone had missed her more than she was willing to admit.
Soon, the two girls were standing in front of the baggage carousel, arms linked, giggling like crazy as they caught each other up on the latest family drama and antics from their siblings while waiting for Gigi’s bags to show up.
It felt good to be back together, and Symone basked in Gigi’s attention.
It wasn’t like she had never had friends, wasn’t like she hadn't had best friends, but Gigi was special, and Symone felt her heart skip a beat as she took her hand, intertwining their fingers.
“So,” Gigi looked at her, a smile on her face. “Pizza?”
Symone laughed, but nodded, Gigi a terrible but also amazing influence. “Pizza.”
***
“Sutan told Violet he loves her.”
“What?” Trixie looked up from the onion he was chopping, and over at Katya who was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand on her stomach, her thumb rubbing back and forth, her phone in the other.
“She just texted.” Katya titled her screen, though she didn’t actually show the text.
“Haven’t they been dating for months?” Trixie turned around, pretty sure that he had heard the earliest rumors about them going out together from Pearl all the way back in september.
“Not everyone says love you after the second date sugarbutt,” Katya grinned and Trixie smiled, a delighted flush filling his cheeks.
***
Fame sighed, a sense of restlessness and uneasiness lying heavily over her. They had come back from The Farm that morning, Fame spending the early afternoon in her study rearranging her chicken figurine collection.
Patrick had found the most gorgeous ceramic Plymouth Rock figurine, the black and white chicken absolutely a masterpiece, and Fame knew that she should be happy, tinkering with her collection usually an instant source of joy, but today, she just felt…unwell.
Fame wanted to talk to Bianca, but she also didn’t want to talk to Bianca, annoyance at how she had behaved at the dinner party still dancing under her skin.
Bianca hadn’t said sorry, not beyond the hurried apology she had thrown over her shoulder as she left, in fact, she hadn’t contacted her at all besides a single text on Christmas morning.
Fame closed the glass door to her chicken cabinet, walking over to her desk to pick up her phone. She knew it was torture, but she opened her messages, tapping Bianca’s name.
BIANCA: Merry Christmas, Blondie. Let’s hang out when I’m back in Jan. XO
Fame hadn’t replied, annoyance wheeling up in her at how casually Bianca dared to act, how she attempted to sweep how hurtful she had been under the rug yet again. She had overheard Juju and Detox discussing that Bianca had left the country, but Fame had very intentionally not checked any of Bianca’s social media, though Pearl swore to her that a simple look was untrackable.
She began typing out a message, but then stopped, deleting it again. It was too late to respond now without seeming petty, and Fame hated whenever Bianca accused her of that, but they still needed to talk, needed to actually talk about what was going on.
She needed an excuse, some reason to contact Bianca and lure her into a meeting, so she wouldn’t have to show her how she was feeling in text.
Maybe she could find out if one of their regular brunch spots had added anything new to their menu, and then ask if Bianca wanted to join her.
Fame sighed yet again, the plan seeming impossible as she took a seat in her chair, the latest paper deliveries from Galactica lying in a neat stack.
If nothing else, her bad mood could be useful for tearing through some of the more dull and dry parts of her job. Fame took the top one, the weight of it depressing in itself since Fame knew it wasn’t anything fun, Alyssa amazing at her job though she also insisted on being a pain in Fame’s ass.
She made it two thirds of the way through the report before boredom overwhelmed her. She needed something interesting, something fun, and if she was lucky, she knew just where she could find it.
FAME: Hi love, I know you’re still on vacation, but if you have some time today, I would love to hear your thoughts on my sketches. :)
TRIXIE: Your sketches?
FAME: Yes. The Met ones that my office sent to you before we shut down.
TRIXIE: Let me check my computer
Fame took a bottle of Pellegrino from the little office fridge under her desk, twisting the cap and grabbing a glass as she waited for Trixie’s reply.
TRIXIE: I don’t want to get anyone in trouble
TRIXIE: But the last email I have from Courtney is about the investor meeting.
Fame rolled her eyes, absolutely exasperated at Courtney’s inability to follow through with the simplest of instructions, since she was positive that she’d told her to send the sketches.
It took three calls for her to answer her phone, and by the time she did, Fame was fuming.
“Why doesn’t Trixie have my sketches?”
“Um...well, Miss, I…” Courtney’s voice sounded shaky and tearful, which Fame didn’t understand. If she would just follow simple instructions like any assistant, she wouldn’t get scolded or lectured. Her victim act made Fame even more irritated than she was already.
“Tell me! Because Trixie says he doesn’t have them and I know I told you to take care of them-”
“I-I think they might be gone.”
“Gone?” Fame froze, a few seconds ticking by before she really understood what Courtney had said. She felt her heartbeat speed up, dread collecting in her stomach. “What do you mean gone?!” Fame could hear her tone grow shrill, and knew that there was a good chance that Charles would come running any minute, her dog always showing up when she was upset.
“Well, I was in a cab on the way back to the office and then when you called, I-I was distracted and I must have not seen them on the seat…”
“Oh god…” Fame tried to take a deep breath, tuning out Courtney’s ridiculous explanation, her incompetence so staggering that she hadn’t even been able to do something as simple as not losing Fame’s original work.
She couldn’t believe it.
Her sketches were really gone, her work lost somewhere in the city, defenseless against whoever might happen across it.
“...and I have messages in to every company that operates-”
“Enough!” Fame exploded. “I don’t care for your pitiful excuses. How could you be so absolutely irresponsible?! I have put up with all of your mistakes, your incompetence, but this is beyond anything, those were- You’ve done, this, this is unforgivable Courtney-”
The door opened, Charles annoyingly enough clever enough to work out door handles.
“Miss, I’m so sorry-”
Fame could hear that Courtney was crying, but she didn’t care, her heart hammering away in her ears, words spilling from her lips, the only thing stopping her when she heard Bianca’s voice in her ear.
“Blondie!”
“Put Courtney back on the phone-”
“No.” Bianca’s voice was stern, and Fame couldn’t believe that she was taking that tone with her, especially considering her little sex toy’s latest fuck-up. “We’re trying to enjoy dinner-”
“Bianca-”
“You can finish this rant on Monday, but for now, she’s mine. See ya soon!”
Fame heard the beep of a phone being hung up, and as she lowered it from her ear, she saw that Bianca had done just that, cutting her off, and her blood boiled.
Bianca had betrayed her yet again, and Fame could feel her heart breaking, the whole thing so terribly fucking unfair.
Fame threw her phone down on the carpet, and put her arms around Charles neck, the heavy breath of her dog in her ear as she clung to him.
***
Courtney gaped at Bianca, mouth open in shock.
“What?”
“You just hung up on Miss Fame!” she exclaimed. She wiped the tears still trickling down her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Yeah, so? She deserved it.” Bianca sipped her cocktail, shrugging.
“Bianca! That’s my boss!” The truth, that Courtney wouldn’t admit out loud, was that witnessing it had been a little bit thrilling. No one had ever defended her like that. If she wasn’t so terrified of the repercussions, she’d have been delighted.
“You wanna call her back?” Bianca asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Well...no.” Courtney lifted her hand to her mouth, smothering a nervous laugh. “Oh god, she’s gonna kill me.”
“She won’t.” Bianca reached out and took Courtney’s hand. “At least not until next Monday.”
Courtney gave a rueful smile, shoulders sagging a bit. She’d been having the best time with Bianca, every day filled with joy and excitement and love. Part of her wished that it could last forever.
But of course, it couldn’t. It was just a vacation. And tomorrow they were flying back to New York. Which in and of itself wasn’t a problem. After all, they had a fabulous New Year’s Eve party to go to, which was being hosted by Jinkx Monsoon. (The Jinkx Monsoon, who Courtney was thrilled to finally meet; she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by being too much of a fangirl.)
And then a few days later, the movers would come to help her get all her things from her apartment, and she could say goodbye forever to the apartment that her friends called “The Dungeon.”
So things were looking up--at least better than they had in a long time.
But then there was work.
Courtney knew that she should be grateful for all the wonderful things in her life, but the feeling she’d gotten when she saw Fame’s name pop up on her phone had been sheer, unbridled panic. And it hadn’t gotten any better once she’d answered. The thought of going back to all that, where every move she made was wrong, where she was nothing but a fuck-up and a disappointment, was upsetting and frustrating and beyond anything just exhausting.
“What’s wrong, sunshine?” Bianca asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Nothing,” Courtney said, attempting a smile, which Bianca clearly didn’t buy from the way she tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “No, it’s just...a bit of a bummer to think about work.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“I feel like someone just threw a bucket of ice water in my face and screamed at me to wake up from a beautiful dream.”
“Well…” Bianca twirled her glass by the stem, then asked, “What if you didn’t have to wake up?
“What do you mean?”
“Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do about your job, but...it just seems like it’s making you miserable, with no upside. And worse, it’s leaving you no time to pursue the things you actually care about, like music.”
“I know, but what choice do I have? I have to work.”
“Do you?” Bianca asked, a smirk on her face, and Courtney rolled her eyes.
“Well, yeah. How else will I pay for stuff?”
Bianca shrugged nonchalantly. “You know your rent just decreased dramatically.”
“I know, but it’s not just rent. There’s my phone and student loans and credit cards and legal bills and-”
“Angel…” Bianca pulled Courtney closer, into her lap. “If money is stressing you out, then I can help you with all of that. Actually, I’d be thrilled to help you, if it allows you to follow your dreams.”
“I’m not asking for your money, B,” Courtney said, looking away. Bianca had already given her so much, and now this? What could she possibly offer in return?
“I know.” Bianca took her chin and turned her face back gently, looking into her eyes. “I know you’re not, but I’m offering. There’s a big difference.”
Courtney bit her lip, eyes falling closed as Bianca kissed up her jaw. Was this really happening? Was Bianca really offering her such an easy out to all of her problems? What was the catch? Courtney felt her throat tighten, tears pricking at her eyes.
“Let me take care of you, angel…” she whispered, and Courtney sighed against her.
“You don’t know how badly I want to say yes,” Courtney whispered back. And it was true, she did. She’d always been independent--in fact, she’d prided herself on it, and so had her parents. Even before she left home to study in America, she’d been self-sufficient. In a way, it felt like a cop-out to accept so much help from Bianca. But Courtney was tired, so very tired, of everything being hard all the time.
“Then say yes. Or at least, say you’ll think about it. You don’t have to decide tonight.”
For a few moments, Courtney gazed at her, too overwhelmed to speak.
“What?”
“Um...you just…” Courtney couldn’t say what she wanted to say, which was that Bianca was every single one of her dreams coming true. That she was sheer perfection. So instead, she said, “You just...look really cute tonight.”
A grin broke out on Bianca’s face as she asked, “Oh yeah? You approve?”
Courtney nodded. She very, very much approved. Bianca was wearing a vivid tangerine-colored dress, the color something she herself would have loved to wear (although she had to admit, it looked so good against Bianca’s skin that she’d probably hesitate to ever wear it again), and everything, even her accessories, were bright and fun and joyful. She was so beautiful, thinking about it made Courtney feel choked up once again.
“I...I don’t deserve you,” Courtney finally said, as a tear slipped down her cheek.
“You deserve the world,” Bianca told her earnestly. She leaned forward and pressed a soft, tender kiss to Courtney’s lips before moving to her cheeks, kissing away her tears.
#rpdr fanfiction#thedane#veronica#galactica#vitan#raja x raven#dahlia x pearl#gigi x symone#bitney#violet chachki#raja gemini#raven#dahlia sin#pearl liaison#gigi goode#symone#miss fame#courtney act#bianca del rio#trixya#trixie mattel#katya zamolodchikova#thorgy thor#miz cracker#bob the drag queen#lesbian au#m/f au#fashion au
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tv rewatch: gg edition, ep. 10
“Hey, so has Blair mentioned who’s escorting her?” Nate, you cannot be serious.
“Every time I see her, she’s lighter, she’s happier, she’s less ... ... Blair.” Nate, sit down.
“With my dad in rehab, the pressure is off and I can see Blair clearly” but the pressure wasn’t on for your entire relationship, Nate. Shut up.
“Jenny, what are you even doing here?” Serena, that sounds way more hostile than you intended.
“Oh, hello, mother.” LOL Lily. She is SO unsung.
“Isn’t she’s great?” “She’s ... she’s great, she’s something.” LOL READ BODY LANGUAGE, SERENA.
This Chair makeout is one of my favourites just because in the bloopers, they kept going and going until someone was finally like, “You take your own cue!” and Leighton was like OH!
“And the prince, you know, he’s a great dancer and all.” Lmao, Nate, shut up.
Cece’s manipulation is kind of low stakes tbh, like she uses her illness just to get Serena to do cotillion?
Blair in jeans!
Blair texting Chuck while with Nate is pretty cute. Ah, I always get in my Chair feels in the first two seasons.
“Allison, I didn’t expect to see you ... here.” LILY’S SHADE.
Dan in his striped shirt.
His hair is steadily becoming less offensive.
LOL Sebastian Stan in this is always funny now.
“Where were you?” “Where wasn’t he? Gossip Girl even had a designated Carter map on Spotted.” Shouldn’t you know this, Dan, since, you know, you’re gossip girl?
“I also went pheasant hunting with the sheik while I was there.” I thought you disowned your parents and didn’t have their money?
Jenny’s dress is awful.
“Then you are grounded for a week” “WHAT???” Lol OK, Jenny.
I know I keep saying it but kdramas do class divides so much better. Cece’s speech is too pointed.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, I just became your escort to the ball.” Lmao I feel like Dan and Lily are the same person.
“I would just like to say how proud I am of Miss Waldorf and her commitment to Mr. Archibald EVEN THOUGH HE RUINED HER 17TH BIRTHDAY...” this is the most teen thing Chuck has ever done.
I LOVE HOW OLD THE PHONES ARE and they were hot shit back then.
Serena does not look incredible, Dan.
“Serena, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, that woman is the most manipulative person I’ve ever met.” Except for me BECAUSE I’M GOSSIP GIRL.
OK but honestly, what Cece is doing is bullying not manipulation, it’s too direct for it to be manipulation. Telling Lily about that she’s sick so Serena can go to cotillion is manipulative, yes, but the rest of it is just straight up intimidation tactics, she’s using her money as a weapon. They could’ve also gone further with the Lily thing by telling Lily that this is what she wants but she doesn’t want Serena to know that she’s sick so Lily puts her foot down about cotillion and says she has to go or else, thereby making Lily the villain while she remains the cool, free-spirited grandmother because when that DOES happen, it’s too late. It should be an ongoing thing.
“She makes your mother look like Gandhi.” “That’s my grandmother you’re talking about.” LMAO LILY GETS NO LOVE.
“Let’s get Carter on the phone.”
This scene could’ve been better. Dan’s delivery of this revelation was pretty bad because his sarcasm took precedence that he didn’t try to speak to Serena delicately and Serena wasn’t asking the right questions. Dan is like “she offered to buy my dad off so I wouldn’t come tonight” and she’s just like “Nope.” Dan could be like, why would I lie? and Serena could talk about how there could be a mistake, she could call out Dan’s tone and then he leaves and when Cece comes instead of her automatically being like, k time for Carter, she could milk the grandmother routine and say how she’d never do such a thing, she doesn’t understand why he’d lie about this etc. Like manipulation takes a lot more subtlety than what’s going on. This is all way too direct.
Lmao Nate is so unbearable this episode.
“Make it stop, you sound like me.” LMAO, BLAIR.
Chuck is more manipulative than Cece.
Cece does look like she’s about to go catatonic after that “beds as many billionaires as she can” line though. Well done.
How did TVD do a better ball scene than GG?
I also prefer The O.C.’s cotillion. Lmao because it actually tried to look like a legit cotillion.
But The Pierces in the background is pretty atmospheric even though it’s also absolutely ridiculous that they’re performing at a debutante ball.
“SHE’S MY GIRLFRIEND.” oh, nate.
“And you said if I did this I could be myself but you don’t really want that do you?” “That’s not entirely true.” I DIED. LILY.
“All you care about when people look at me is what they think of you” but the thing is I need to see this? Like I need to see Lily being directly affected by Serena’s choices, see how society looks at her and their family for this to be more than dialogue.
I totally forgot that Serena had already slept with Carter.
“When I was your age, I would’ve been lucky to find a guy like you. And I kind of did.” That’s his father, Lily.
Also really, what was Rufus like in the past then? Like what kind of rockstar was he?
Oh Chuck, just can’t win.
Serena turning around to see Dan at cotillion is pretty sweet, ngl.
The problem with this cotillion plot line is that it’s too small. Like if this is about legacy and if this is actually about introducing Serena to society then we need to see what cotillion actually means in this world, we need to see how big of a deal it is, one reporter showing up to interview Blair doesn’t mean anything. We need to see Lily’s and Cece’s peers gossip and talk. Also if this is all about how Cece’s values are old-fashioned then either cotillion needs to be the traditional white dress, white gloves ball
or it’s what we see and Cece complains about how modern/contemporary it’s getting.
Chuck is so Chuck. “Hey! Have you seen Blair Waldorf?” reminds me of when I went up to an acquaintance and I didn’t say hi I just asked where my friend was, I was like “Where’s Scott?” and from then on he - the acquaintance - just called me “Where’s Scott?”
Chuck looks genuinely heartbroken at seeing Blair and Nate. *sigh* too bad they get absolutely terrible.
Nate’s grin is so cringe, lol.
Rufly angst! “I never should’ve let you let me go.” DE could never.
APOLOGIZE, YASSSSSSSSSSSSS. SONG IS STILL A BOP DON’T @ ME.
I’m holding on your rope got me ten feet off the grouuuuuuuuuuuuund.
I know this is a Derena moment but what makes it for me is Serena looking at Lily to see if she can go with him and Lily saying yes. It’s a Serena/Lily moment for me.
Oh Blair, Nate doesn’t deserve sex with you.
Chuck, leaving the city, you are so DRAMATIC.
xoxo, zalrb.
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Hey darling, do you think you could do a DamiJon one shot with the sentence starter "Are we on a date right now?" Where Damian is very oblivious to his and Jon's feelings and doesn't understand crushes/love much to Jon's frustration?
Sorry This took so long! It doesn’t exactly match up with the last pat of the prompt, but here you go!
It was a sunny day, as was the usual for the bright and busy city of Metropolis, and Damian swore he was the only one for miles who was not enjoying the lack of cloud cover and gloomy weather. Everyone they passed by on the streets wore blinding smiles and talked with too much enthusiasm for a Monday afternoon. People waved at strangers and stopped for street performers, and in general acted as the Utopian image of city life.
Damian almost found himself missing the dark and very real streets of Gotham. Almost.
Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying the day so far.
At that particular moment, he was walking down a sidewalk with a certain Kryptonian boy who was laughing far too hard for someone who hadn’t been told a joke.
“The acting was unrealistic, the CGI was terrible and the props and costumes were the work of anmitures,” Damian persisted, still hung up on the awful movie they had gotten out of half an hour before. It had been the newest installment in the Sunrise series, and it was so bad Damian would have been at a loss for words if he were forced to watch just five more minutes.
He had only gone to see it in the first place because Jon had loved the first movie and he, Raven and Todd had all loved the books. If the books were anything like the movie had been, Damian would have to have a serious talk with his friends and brother about their taste in media.
“Stop laughing, I’m serious,” Damian huffed, but despite his annoyance he was fighting a smile of his own.
“It’s good bad,” Jon said through his laughter, wiping tears from his eyes and clutching his side.
“That wasn’t ‘good bad’ it was a disgrace to all of cinema!” Damian scoffed. “I knew you were tasteless, but I had no clue it was this atrocious.”
“You just aren’t getting it because you’re taking it too seriously,” Jon insisted. “If you stop looking at it as an actual romance and look at it from a comedic angle, it’s the best thing ever.”
“The protagonist was bland, her love interests behaviors were unrealistic, and the message of the story is disgusting,” Damian continued to list off the movie’s flaws.
“Damian, stop for one second,” Jon said, finally freed of his laughter. “Remember, we aren’t the intended audience. The intended audience is teenage girls. It wasn’t meant for a message, it was meant for escapism and wish fulfillment for its intended audience. When you keep that in mind, it’s an absolute masterpiece.”
“Tt, whatever you say farm boy,” Damian rolled his eyes. He checked his watch while Jon laughed a little more. “We still have three hours before we have to meet Drake and the Clone.”
“Perfect,” Jon bounced. “That means we have time to stop by the arcade, sweets shop and my favorite cafe!”
“If you insist,” Damian sighed.
“Don’t be like that, I’ve had this day planned for weeks!” Jon whined, tugging on his arm. “I even did extra chores this week so we would have enough money.
“You could have just asked me to bring my wallet,” Damian said.
“Nu-uh, there is no way I’m letting you pay for our first outing together,” Jon shook his head.
“This isn’t our first-” Damian was quickly cut off as Jon pulled him into the arcade, his super speed and strength slipping ever so slightly so that he had to rub his arm and catch his breath afterwards. By the time he regained his balance, Jon had rushed over to the coin machine and was feeding in a twenty he had earned from mowing the lawn and washing the dishes.
When he came back, he took Damian’s hand and dumped about half of the coins into it with a grin. He had been practically glowing ever since they had met up that morning, an effect that Damian could easily write off as being due to the shining sun and not his presence, as Drake had insisted. Even inside the arcade, shaded and away from the sun, the fifteen year old was still shining brighter than any of the neon lights around them.
Damian just shook his head but relented as Jon dragged him around the arcade, showing off his gaming skills and earning tickets. Damian was decent at most of the games, but was too unused to the mode of gaming compared to the consuls he played on with his family to truly be any good. He would never admit that out loud of course. It would go right to Jon’s head he was sure.
Damian had run out of coins and only had a fistful of tickets by the time Jon was down to his last two had had a plastic bag filled.
For his last game, Jon took Damian by the hand and pulled him towards an arm wrestling game that reached to the ceiling with a bell at the top. Damian had seen such a game in a cheesy movie Brown had shown him and the rest of the family. After asking his father more about the game, he was informed that, as many carnival games were, it was completely rigged and impossible to win.
“Those don’t actually work you know,” Damian said, leaning against the machine with an unimpressed raise to his brow. “Even for your strength it won't budge.”
“Want to bet?” Jon asked, his grin growing wider, a far cry from the shy and timid Jon Kent and much closer to the Superboy he knew from their late night escapades.
Damian snorted but gave a single nod. A simple dip of his chin, never breaking eye contact.
“All of the loser’s tickets to the winner?” Jon asked.
“Whatever you say,” Damian agreed.
Jon rolled up his sleeves and, gaze still on Damian, took hold of the fake hand and started the simulated arm wrestling contest.
Damian actually gave a jump when he felt something rush past him inside the machine and hit the bell at the top with an almost deafening ding ding ding!
While he stared wide eyed up at the bell, Jon cheered and collected the tickets spilling out from the machine into his plastic bag. When Damian turned back to him, still slightly in shock, Jon was holding out his hand expectantly with a self satisfied smirk.
“The machine must be broken,” Damian said as he handed them over.
“Whatever you say,” Jon teased. After taking the tickets, he took Damian’s hand again and went up to the prize counter to feed the tickets into a machine to get a receipt. He handed off said recit to a tired looking teenager, only a year or so older than Damian, bouncing on his heels.
“Could I have that bear?” he asked, pointing up to the ceiling. Damian followed his finger’s direction and found a large bear that was at least five feet tall hanging from the ceiling. It had a superman symbol on it’s chest in the shape of a heart, which was more than enough to make Damian roll his eyes. It was very much something the young Kent would waste his tickets on as a gag with his family.
The teenager behind the counter smiled through their clear as day lack of sleep and scanned both the recibt and the little sign that announced the bear’s price. He had to pull over a ladder and get a long hooked pole to unloop the bear from where it was hung up, and struggled with handing it to Jon over the counter.
As soon as the bear was in his arms, though, Jon immediately pushed it to Damian’s chest. He struggled at first, with the bear being as big as himself, but managed to get a good hold on it and look around it to furrow his brows in question.
“I won it for you,” Jon said like it was obvious. “If you need me to carry it it can.”
“I am perfectly fine carrying the monstrosity on my own,” Damian said. “You couldn’t have chosen a more impractical gift?”
“It's not an impractical gift,” Jon said. “It’s cute.”
“Can it not be both?” Damian asked, but relented in following Jon out of the arcade the fastest he could with the monstrous stuffed animal in his arms.
“Sweets shop or cafe next?” Jon said allowed, though it was clear he was asking himself.
“We only have time left for one of the two,” Damian said after checking his watch again.
“Cafe it is then!” Jon said. He guided Damian back down the Metropolis sidewalk, pointing out different stores and vendors along the way as he told stories about them. Damian only heard half of the stories, his sight too focused on Jon’s lit up and expressive face for any of his other senses to properly function.
Halfway through a story about a noodle store he liked to visit with his older brother, Jon noticed Damian’s staring. He ducked his head, his cheeks flaring bright red, and Damian couldn’t help but give the smallest of smiles at the reaction.
The rest of the walk to the cafe, Jon’s voice was back to its usual shy softness as he chatted on about the city he so clearly loved. Damian didn’t stop his staring, but did end up lost in his own thoughts about the past years’ events.
He could still very clearly remember the day when he was thirteen and his father had carefully sat him down in his study for a talk. During that talk, he was told of one of the most disturbing things yet to happen in his life, which was saying something considering his childhood.
Through dimension hopping events that Damian never bothered to understand, Jon had gone from ten years old to seventeen overnight. He was different now that he was so much older, and Damian found a hole grow in his chest from the loss of his closest friend.
The event was possibly the thing that finally cemented his bond with Drake, and they had both lost their kryptonian friends under circumstances completely out of their control. The only problem Damian saw with the bonding they had done was that Drake had gotten Conner back. Not only had he gotten him back, but the two had started dating not too long after his return, which brought Damian an odd sense of jealousy he had never been able to understand.
After a year of consideration between himself and his parents, Jon had gone to Zatanna for help in reversing his physical age. The magician had agreed, but had only been half successful in her daunting task. The next time Damian saw Jon, he was only a year younger than him, still with his ever present height advantage, now coupled with his mental age.
Damian was still ashamed when he remembered his initial reaction of slamming the door in Jon’s face. He had refused to speak to the Kryptonian for months on end, so unsure of how to feel about the entire situation he had found himself in. He had gotten his friends back, but he wasn’t sure if he was still really his friend.
He still wished that his family could have stopped being so damn unconditionally supportive for one moment and knocked some sense into him so he could have accepted Jon’s returned presence in his life earlier than he actually had.
It had been a year since the two had fully reunited, apologies coming from both ends despite Damian’s admit denial that Jon had anything to apologize for. He was big enough to admit he had been the one fully in the wrong even though everyone repeatedly told him his reaction was perfectly reasonable for a fourteen year old presented with such a stressful situation. Even at sixteen, he couldn’t understand Jon’s easy forgiveness of his behavior.
“Dami?” Jon pulled him from his thoughts gently, cheeks faded to a much softer pink, but the blush still clearly present.
“I’m okay,” Damian nodded, ignoring the clear pull in his chest. Jon had been so gentle with him the past year no matter how much they had both moved on, and it was enough to drive him crazy “You were saying?”
“We’re here,” Jon smiled, nodding to the cafe now in front of them.
Damian gave a small smile in return and followed Jon to the outdoor table he claimed to be his favorite. While Jon placed their orders at the front, Damian set the super bear up in one of the seats at the table. He pulled out his phone while he waited, finding texts from Grayson, Todd and Brown all asking him a variation of ‘how’s the date going?’
Damian responded to all the texts from his prying siblings with ‘it’s not a date’ and put his phone away again to look around at the others sitting outside of the cafe.
There were a few younger high school and older middle school students hanging around the tables and benches outside the cafe, enjoying the nice weather and food Jon had claimed to be some of the best in metropolis (“Besides that one time Conner brought me with him to a custody required dinner with Lex a few years ago. That was the best,” he remembered the teen chatting on the walk there). Damian realized Jon had probably learned about the cafe from friends he knew from school.
As he looked around, though, he noticed more and more that the other teens around him were all there in pairs. Sipping on milkshakes and coffees together while they ate a split pastry. Some were holding hands over or under the table, or kissing on benches or leaned against the cafe’s garden walls. Subconsciously he found himself beginning to go into panic, because this was clearly not a place a normal friend from school would take Jon.
He didn’t understand why he was panicking at the notion of the boy having a boyfriend or girlfriend, or having gone on dates before. He was mentally aged to nineteen, even if he was currently dwelling in the body of a fifteen year old.
Maybe it was because sitting among these couples brought out something in him that had nothing to do with Jon. At least, he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with Jon.
He had never felt threatened or out of place when at events that had many couples, his age, younger and older, all gathered and acting as couples. He knew the divorce, widowing and murder rates in Gotham meant that very few couples actually lasted for life. Even around his family he never found himself upset because he was too happy for their pairings. His father and Selina had made a great match despite his earlier doubts, Grayson and West were married with kids of their own, Todd and Harper as dysfunctional as they were still held Damian’s vote as the best fit couple in the family, and Drake and Jon’s cloned older brother were engaged to be wed in the spring.
But these couples were affecting him in such a way that he started to squeeze his stuffed bear’s paw under the table.
What’s wrong with Gotham? He thought, rerunning every statistic and horror story of love he knew from the city. The thought quickly morphed into What’s wrong with me?
It had been a long time since he asked that question, two years to be exact, and it was quickly waved away back to his first question. It had taken years of extensive therapy ordered by Alfred and plenty of love and care from his family, colleagues and friends to help him accept there wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was raised in harsh circumstances that his mother had gotten him out of and to his father the soonest she could. He had built walls and defences, and he knew now at a more mature age that they were all just for show and were unneeded now.
He looked around at the couples again and forced his heart not to harden in the presence. It was beautiful what youth and a good city could do to grow love, and he would be damned if he let a coping mechanism from his childhood make him view it as any less.
“Sorry I took so long,” Jon’s laugh caught his attention and he gave a soft smile up at his friend.
“Not at all.”
Jon took his seat across from him and sat down the tall pink and white milkshake between them as well as a napkin with two cookies on it. Just with a glance Damian could tell Jon had gotten him a dark chocolate variety, and couldn’t help but let his smile grow.
His attention on the cookies of course made him belatedly notice that the milkshake was singular and had two straws sticking up from the top.
“I wasn’t sure what flavor you wanted,” Jon admitted while Damian’s gaze whipped around them, knowing there must be a mistake. Instead of an explanation, Damian’s eyes locked onto a few couples who had a drink or milkshake set up the same way. One drink, two straws, with them drinking from them happily as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“It’s strawberry and cream,” Jon said, drawing his attention again. The teen across from him was nervously adjusting his glasses and pushing back his dark curls, looking anywhere but Damian. Damian noticed the faint blush dusting his cheeks and smiled, before his entire face went red at realization that he had just smiled at his friend blushing.
His brothers’ and Brown’s texts suddenly came back to mind, along with a few romcoms they had watched together and his own observations of his family and their significant others. The movie with a shared bucket of popcorn, the holding hands, the bear purchased and given after winning an arcade game, and now the obviously romantic cafe with a two straw milkshake and a blush.
“Are we on a date right now?” Damian blurted, eyebrow furrowed but eyes wide.
Jon’s head snapped up so quick Damian had barely seen it, compliments of super speed, his eyes equally as wide, “I thought we were, but your expression is telling a totally different story. You don’t have any kryptonite batarangs on you right now, right?”
“Why would I-” Damian shook his head, “We’re on a date no one had the decency to tell me?”
Well, technically Grayson, Todd and Brown had told him, but that wasn’t important. What was important was how shrill his voice was to his own ears, and the sympathetic glances a few couples were giving him.
“I asked Tim to ask you if you go on a date with me since my phone broke,” Jon was babbling now, hands flying around as he tried to explain. “I thought when he told Conner that you said yes you were saying yes to the date!”
A set up, Damian realized. Drake had fully intended for this mess to happen just to spite him. The man was lucky Damian now accepted he loved him, or he would never live to see his spring wedding.
“I need a second,” Damian said, resting his head in his hands. His face felt hot under his fingers, and he feared to imagine just how red it had become. A lifetime of training was all falling apart all because he had spent an entire date with a cute boy completely in the dark to the fact that it was a date.
Wait. Cute boy?
Did he think Jon was cute? Jon was cute, he had always known that, but did he really think he was cute in the way that Drake found the clone cute?
He had been jealous when Tim got the clone back but he lost Jon. That meant something, he had always known that, but he had never really looked into it. If he thought Jon was cute in that way, it explained the jealousy. The feeling of emptiness the half kryptonian boy’s absence had left him with. The reaction of honest to god fear when Jon came back in a way that was definitely socially unacceptable for him to be with.
Jon is cute. I like Jon. Jon likes me…
“Dami?” Jon said quietly, nervously. No, it was more than nerves now, he was afraid. He was afraid in the same way Damian had seen him in his older form. Rejection and heartbreak surly making the taste in his mouth bitter as apologies he didn't need to say weighed on his tongue.
“We’re on a date,” Damian finally said, peeking up from behind his finger. He said it as the statement it was and not the question from before.
“If you want to be,” Jon nodded, some of the fear falling away.
Damian took his hands away from his face but kept his eyes on the milkshake instead of Jon’s face. It was already starting to melt and turn sluggish in its tall cup.
“I want to be,” he said, a soft smile falling on his lips.
“Thank goodness, because I don’t know what I would tell Mom if I went home single,” Jon sighed in relief, then stopped. “That does mean you want to be my boyfriend, right?”
“I want to be your boyfriend,” Damian affirmed, smile growing wider. There was something fuzzy and warm and safe growing in his chest. It reminded him of Jon, as silly as it was considering Jon was the one who put it there.
“Thank goodness,” Jon repeated, letting his head fall on the table. “I think that was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done.”
“Jon, you’ve fought gods.”
“That was a hundred times easier than this was.”
“The milkshake is melting.”
Jon bounced up at that and quickly leaned forward to start gulping the sugary drink from his straw. Damian shook his head with a smaller smile and leaned forward as well.
His face lit up in heat once again when their noses brushed and Damian realized just how close there were, but he didn’t pull back. The milkshake was good, but it had nothing on the bashful and overwhelmingly happy look in Jon’s eyes. Damian was sure it was a look he could get drunk off of if he tried.
“We should probably get going,” Jon said with heavy remorse after they finished the milkshake.
“Probably,” Damian agreed, checking his watch. He wished he had the ability to make time stop, just for a second. He had just found out this was a date, and it was already ending. He would have to use the walk back to Drake and the clone to make up for that lost time.
As they walked down the sidewalk they finished their cookies and stared ahead at the near setting sun. When they were both finished, Damian took Jon’s hand and intertwined their fingers without looking towards him.
“Our next date you should take me to that sweets shop you’ve been talking about,” Damian said with a smile teasing his lips. He glanced from the corner of his eye just in time to catch Jon smiling a close lipped but wide smile. Domain was sure he would never get over how shy Jon could get in his civilian persona.
“I will,” Jon promised.
They reached the fountain they were meeting their brothers much too soon for Damian’s liking. Drake and clone spoted them right away, surly partially due to the oversized stuffed bear Damian was hulling along, and smiled upon spotting their intertwined fingers.
“I see the date went well,” Drake said with a devilish grin.
“No thanks to you,” Damian glared.
“He was just having a little fun,” the older Kent boy waved off Damian’s anger. “You figured it out before it ended at least.”
“Barely,” Damian rolled his eyes.
“But we still had fun,” Jon interjected. “Thank you for bringing Damian with you. It was a good first date.”
“First date as in there will be more,” the clone’s grin matched his fiance’s as he looked between them. “Jon you sly dog, did you get yourself a bat boyfriend?”
“Oh my God,” Jon mumbled, face going red in a new way for that day that was more familiar to Damian as his My Family is Embarrassing me Please Send Help face, as titled by his brother.
“He did,” Damian spoke up for him with a slightly puffed chest.
“I did,” Jon repeated with a smile down at Damian.
“Well, it’s time for me to get your little bat back to Gotham,” Tim interjected.
“Who are you calling little?” Damian raised an eyebrow. He was as tall as Drake and still growing. If it weren’t for Cain, Drake would have been the shortest of the bats.
“Can you please let me live in a fantasy where my little brother is still little for five minutes?” Drake pleaded with him.
Damian rolled his eyes again as Drake kissed his fiance goodbye.
Together they started to walk away from the Kent brothers and back to Drake’s car. Drake allowed the kick that came to his shins as they walked off and even smiled. When they got to the car, Damian had made up his mind.
“Hold this,” Damian said, passing the bear off to Drake as quickly as he could with a stuffed animal of it;s size. “If you drop Jon Jr. I won't hesitate to stick a blade in your shin.”
“Got it, no dropping,” Drake grinned at him over the bear. “Go get him.”
Damian nodded and ran back in the direction they had come from until he reached the fountain and spotted the Kent brothers walking in the other direction. He had to rush to keep up with even just their walking speed, reminding him of how much Jon had to control himself and slow down the entire day. Luckily his own speed, as human as it was, was enough to reach them before they got to the clone’s car.
Without a word, Damian grabbed Jon’s arm as he turned to face him, and pushed up onto his tiptoes to lock their lips together. Jon froze under his hand before melting into the kiss and sliding his hand into Damian’s hair and his other arm around his waist for support.
Damian pulled back with Jon chasing after his lips with his eyes closed. He smiled at the sight and pecked Jon’s lips one more time before parting fully and starting his run back in the direction of his brother’s car.
“You’ll call me, right?” he heard Jon yell behind him.
Damian turned on his heel to look back, “Get your phone fixed and I will.”
Then he kept running, a wide grin on his face.
Maybe sunny days in Metropolis weren't so bad after all.
#damian wayne#jon kent#jonathan kent#damijon#jondami#willow writes prompts#willow writes#tim drake#kon el#conner kent#timkon#batfam#batfamily#superfam#robin#superboy
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Participated in the following challenge set by @mercurygray
Using one of my Central Casting generators or another random generator of your choice, pick an a name, and, if desired, the backstory given, for a new character. Write a short snippet or create a drawing/sketch that introduces them to the fandom property of your choice, and establishes them as a leading person worth paying attention to. (Bonus points if they play opposite to a canon character you don’t usually write. Blind dates for the muse, remember?)
My character is one Frances Elliott who is a USO performer based in Paris. And since she is in Paris, I went with the character that I absolutely cannot write one Richard Winters. So hopefully this makes sense.
Care to dance?
They came for Marlene Dietrich. They always came for her.
It didn’t surprise her really since the woman was stunning and magnetic. There was something about her that just demanded attention whenever she even as much as walked into the room. Every woman paled into insignificance next to Marlene Dietrich. Not that Fran thought that she wasn’t worthy, not at all, she just wasn’t Marlene. But since the Hollywood star was currently putting on a show in Rheims, the men would have to settle for her and the other girls tonight.
“Frances.” Looking up from her magazine, she watched mister Ward walking up to her and since he had a slightly pained expression on his face, she wondered what was going on. “You went to a conservatory, right?”
“Sure did.” Despite not knowing why he was asking her this, she beamed him a large smile regardless since she knew that he had said on multiple occasions that the girls should be happy at all times. “Studied at Ellison-White in Portland, sir. I can play the piano and other instruments too if you want me to.”
“We already have a girl on piano, no plans for any other instruments, but we don’t have someone to sing the solo tonight.”
“But Anna always does the solo whenever miss Dietrich is away.”
“She does, but she fell down some stairs and twisted her ankle so she won’t be able to make it tonight. You’re taking her place.”
“Okay.” The word came out a lot softer than she had intended, but she collected herself fairly quickly. “Okay, sir. I’ll do it.”
“I wasn’t exactly giving you the option to refuse.”
“I know you weren’t, sir.”
Frances Elliott had essentially been persuaded into joining the USO. Their search for pretty American girls who knew how to sing or had other talents had brought them to various colleges up and down the country and that was where they had found her. Apparently she had instantly impressed with her rendition of Smoke Gets In Your Eyes and the talent scout had practically begged her to join the USO. Her teacher, miss Silverstone, had really made it very clear to her what an excellent opportunity this was when she seemed slightly reluctant to take the offer.
“Just think of the millions of girls up and down the country who would love to be able to join the USO, but won’t even get a chance. And now someone has shown up and they want you and you’re unsure about whether you should take this opportunity or not.”
Fran hadn’t been treated to a speech of such magnitude since her mother had lectured her on the importance of finding herself a good husband. Her mother had naturally been ecstatic that her daughter was joining the USO, because it would be putting her in the path of single men, men in uniform even which seemed to be a step up from normal men, and surely she would find a good husband there. It was all her mother asked her about in letters as well. Because here she was, almost two years on and she still didn’t have a ring on her finger.
Truth be told, all that Fran wanted to do with the rest of her life was play guitar and write songs. Maybe get a job being a backing guitarist for a good vocalist or join a big band. Though the big dream was to be able to compose a song for a singer. Maybe this line of work would put her in the path of Helen Forrest and she’d be able to impress her enough that Helen would ask her to write something just for her. She knew it was a long shot, but that was one dream that she wasn’t willing to let go of just yet.
There were some plans between some of the girls to start their own act after all of this, but she had a feeling that it was all talk since most of the girls were perfectly content doing this. Singing, dancing and meeting men in the armed forces. Many of them ultimately fell for a man in a uniform despite rules clearly advising against it.
The girls should be lucky that they were a lot less supervised in Paris then they were back on American soil. She’d started out in a USO club back home and they wouldn’t have tolerated any of the things that the girls up to in France. She could name at least four girls who regularly accompanied service men back to their hotel rooms.
All Fran did was sing, dance, talk and write the occasional letter. And this evening she’d be one of the headliners and she had to do everything in her power to make sure that she was going to be as unforgettable as Marlene Dietrich.
*****
Her performance went brilliantly if she said so herself. She’d sung Cheek to Cheek and I’m in the Mood for Love and got an applause of a magnitude that was usually only reserved for the big names, not for some nobody from Oregon. When she made her way out into room, several men came over for a chat to compliment her on her singing and how entertained they had been.
During these talks she noticed that there was one man in the room who remained seated, looking slightly unsure of himself. Fran had never seen him before so maybe he didn’t know how it worked here. When she found herself otherwise unoccupied about twenty minutes later, she approached his seat and he looked up momentarily, probably thinking that she was going to be refilling his empty coffee cup.
“Care to dance?”
“I’d rather...”
“Every soldier that walks through these doors has to dance, sir.”
“Oh. Well, I... I had no idea.”
With a smile she extended her hand to him and he took it graciously, letting her lead him onto the floor and then awkwardly putting one hand on her back, taking care not to put it down too low. She looked at the badges on his jacket, having learned to recognise a few during her time here.
Airborne. Infantry. Combat infantry. She was positive that he was an officer, but she wasn’t sure about the rank. There were no bars, stars or oak leaves on his lapel and she didn’t know how to read the other pins on his jacket.
Her partner was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. She’d learned to do the talking for them, tell them what they wanted to hear. About how Marlene Dietrich’s legs really did look that nice up close. Believe her, she had checked. Or the time that she had seen Rita Hayworth from a distance and how fiery red her hair was. And yes, Bob Hope really was that funny and how hard he had worked to make them feel at ease, to make them laugh. Or how he was the same height as Clark Gable and how handsome mister Gable was, but not as handsome as the man in front of her of course. Tell them what they want to hear, but don’t make them feel inadequate.
“And what about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
His question took her aback momentarily. She hardly ever answered questions about herself. Instead always telling men about the big stars, because she was convinced that they’d rather hear her talking about them instead of the mundane life that she lived back home.
“Nothing special. Wouldn’t you rather hear more about miss Dietrich?”
“She’s not here. You are.”
“Well, I... I’m not sure where to...”
“You have a beautiful voice.”
“Oh. Why thank you. I was just filling in for another girl, sir. She twisted her ankle and couldn’t make it.” Anna was far better at working the crowd then she ever was. “You should come back tomorrow to hear her sing if you’re still here, sir. Anna’s got the voice of an angel.”
“Your voice sounded beautiful enough.”
“Thank you, sir. Very kind of you to notice.” She could feel a blush begin to rise on her cheeks. She was used to being a chorus girl and blending into the crowd, not this. She found herself blurting out the only thing about herself that her mind could come up with to talk about on such short notice. “I-I’m from Salem, sir. Oregon. Not east coast Salem. Wouldn’t know anything about witches or anything like that, sir.”
He looked faintly amused and she briefly wondered whether he was on the verge of laughing at her before he opened his mouth.
“Lancaster. Pennsylvania.”
“Oh. I’ve never been there, sir. Nice?”
“It is. Why do you keep calling me sir?”
“Well, because you’re an officer, sir. I wouldn’t know about rank or anything since I don’t know how to read these,” she briefly brushed her fingers over the pins on his jacket. “But I know an officer when I see one. Officers carry themselves differently, sir.”
“You’re not one of my men. The sir isn’t necessary.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know what else to call you.”
“Dick. Richard Winters.”
“Dick.” She repeated his name once before telling him her own. “My name is Fran. Frances Elliott.”
“I don’t really know how this works, Fran.”
“You’re doing fine, Dick.” So he was new in town. Probably arrived that very day. “How long are you in town for?”
“Two more days.”
“Oh well, you have plenty of things left to see then! The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Sacré-Coeur...” She stopped herself. Most of the men that came here weren’t exactly looking for culture, they were looking for entertainment. “Or if you... you know, were looking for a companion...” His face instantly went as red as his hair. “Oh! I wasn’t... I didn’t... not me!” And now her face turned a similar shade. “I just meant, that I know what district you can find that in. If you’re looking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Oh thank god.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I didn’t mean to imply... oh god. This is awkward. But at least you’re smiling. No man is allowed to leave without a smile on their face.”
“I won’t. That one of the rules?”
“Yes. Mister Ward’s quite clear on that one. Not that you have to smile until your face hurts or anything. I’m pretty sure they don’t want to that to happen. No matter how handsome you are when you smile.” She bit her lip because of what she’d just blurted out. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Anna tells me off about having no filter all the time.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Not just saying that to be nice?”
“No.” His answer was short and to the point and she found herself believing him. “So where should I go?”
“What do you mean? After leaving?”
“In Paris.”
“Oh. I’d recommend Notre-Dame. It’s a very beautiful building and there are some other places nearby that you could visit.” She loved spending time near the large church herself. “There’s a beautiful fountain nearby that should be on your list. Oh and a smaller 13th century church that you could visit if you like that sort of thing. A few squares. I could spend hours there without ever getting bored.”
“Do you give tours as well?”
“Well, I... Would you like one?”
“I’d love one.”
“Oh.” She started blushing again. She thought she’d been making an ass of herself, but he didn’t seem to share that sentiment. “I should probably...”
She moved him away from the dance floor and noted the relief on his face over not having to dance anymore. She wondered why, because he was an excellent dancer and should clearly be doing it more often. Leading him to the bar, she asked for a pen and a piece of paper and started writing on it.
“Here.” She handed him the bit of paper that she had just scribbled her address on. “Call on me at ten. I mean, if that’s a good time for you. Is it? A good time for you?”
“Yes.” He really wasn’t giving her a lot to work with here, cool as a cucumber this one. “See you tomorrow at ten.”
“Okay. Hope I’ll be able to sufficiently entertain you tomorrow.”
“I have no doubt that you will.” In a gesture that seemed like it might come from another age entirely, but was strangely apt for Dick Winters from Pennsylvania he took her hand and kissed the back of it quickly with a slight blush on his cheeks. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
Fran watched him go and briefly wondered whether this was the start of something beautiful or if he was just being polite. One thing was for sure, he sure was a proper gentleman.
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Mass Effect Trilogy Tag
With all the discourse on Mass Effect: Legendary Edition, let's spread some positive vibes by remembering what we love about the trilogy. Fill in and tag your friends. Feel free to add your own categories to this survey.
I was tagged by @a-cosmic-elf Thank you!
Let me take a sec and tag @jediwalkerw, @queenfrostgirl, @estalfaed-archived, @starthefoxhound and anyone else who’d like to participate! No pressure, friends, this is all voluntary, good natured fun.
I’ve been a fan since: When I first played it, which was... five years ago now, wow. It’s holding me in tight clutches and doesn’t wanna let go. I was in a dark place in my life when I played the games and to this day I maintained they have changed me for the better.
Favourite game of the series? Tough one, but ME3. The tension, the feeling of absolute stress, loneliness and helplessness I experienced while playing the third game were downright personal and although I absolutely love ME2 and ME1 has a huge nostalgia factor for me, ME3 wins this round.
Mshep or Fshep? Listen, I’m one of those folk who have a very specific way they play the games and it’s always the same. I played the trilogy as FemShep the first time around, then as MaleShep and I haven’t gone back. John Shepard has my heart though I absolutely adore Jennifer Hale’s performance and love seeing FemShep in gifs, fics and art pieces.
Earthborn, Colonist, or Spacer? Spacer, all the way. I love space and have had extensive daydreaming sessions about Shep’s childhood aboard Alliance ships and stations.
Biotics or Tech? Biotics, all the way. There’s something satisfying about ramming into your enemy with a wave of cosmic energy.
Paragon or Renegade? Paragon, though I have a few Renegade moments I can’t say no to. I always cheers the Alliance soldier in Purgatory, I always shoot Kai Leng in the face and always bonk the Krogan with my head.
Favourite Class? Vanguard. Shoot ‘em, then throw ‘em across the room. No other way to live for me. So fun.
Favourite Companion? Kaidan. I’m biased, he has my heart.
Least Favourite Companion? I’d have to think hard to pick. All of the companions have grown on me over time, but I’d say the ME2 companions have done that the slowest. I ended up liking the ME2 characters by the time half of ME3 was over. I think I’d go with Miranda, completely contrary to my warm feelings towards her now and the character arc she has. As a companion in ME2 she’s definitely not my fave, comes off as a little standoffish (which, I’m aware, was intended), which is not helped by the fact she keeps dying on me every time I take her on a mission. Over time I got to like her well enough, however. Pretty sure my Shep shares my feelings on the matter.
My Squad Selection:
I tend to rotate the squad depending on what feels right - I like to take my Alliance squadmates on N7 missions, I always take Liara to anything remotely archeological or Asari-related and so on. For the sake of the argument though, here are the ones I probably pick the most often:
ME1 - Garrus and Kaidan.
ME2 - Garrus and Grunt
ME3 - Garrus and Kaidan. (my bias is showing)
Favourite in-game Romance: Kaidan. I can’t help myself - the soft, helpful, kind Canadian man has me completely infatuated ever since I first played the games.
Other pairings I like: I am very partial to FemShep with Liara. It’s my best friend’s fave ship, besides that I think they fit very well together.
Favourite NPC: Nyreen Kandros. She got criminally little screen time but she was the first Turian lady to ever exist in the games. I enjoyed her company thoroughly and liked her cousin, Tiran, very much as well.
Favourite Antagonist: Saren. He had the most “shades of gray” kind of personality of all ME villains I feel and I love me a complex antagonist.
Favourite Mission: The Arrival DLC, mostly because it's the only level in the trilogy you can stealth. And you get to see Admiral Hackett in person so that's amazing as well.
Favourite Loyalty Mission: Tali's. I loved learning about the flotilla and their rituals, plus defending a friend and proving she's every bit as amazing as we say she is is something I'm always happy to do. Yelling at a few admirals definitely helps with the appeal.
Favourite DLC: I struggle with this. I love Citadel, but I think part of me loves Leviathan a little more. There's just a perfect mix of soft LI interaction, plot, lore and mystery that just has me completely enthralled. Citadel is almost tied though.
Control, Synthesis or Destroy: Destroy, all the way. I don't make deals with the Reapers.
Favourite Weapon:
ME1: Katana the shotgun.
ME2: Valkyrie the assault rifle.
ME3: Valkyrie the assault rifle. It shoots three shot rounds, hammers the enemies, has high capacity and sounds like actual heaven with those satisfying pops.
Favourite Place: All of the Normandy. Every part of that ship tells a story and I can't help but think about the people we've known, laughed with and lost whenever I walk through it.
Favourite Quote: "I think were gonna need a bigger boot, commander" - Kaidan Alenko.
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A Congress of Newts and Serpents
Shoutout to cassieoh for the title, which I quite like and never would have thought of on my own.
I really wanted to write Newt getting romance advice from Crowley. It didn’t turn out the way I was expecting it, but I like how it went. It’s quite fluffy and has a very happy ending - one shot only.
Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944687
Or continue reading below:
“The point is,” Anathema continued, “That you had no right to say that!”
“I'm just saying, maybe we should go back home to discuss this?” Newt glanced at Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale looked concerned. Crowley was smirking in that way that meant he thought he was about to get a lot of free entertainment.
“Home?” She was seething. She grabbed his keys off of the table in the entry way. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I will absolutely see you at home. You can find your own way there.”
She slammed the door behind her and Newt stood there, watching her go. He had some inkling he was meant to chase after her, but another part of his brain was arguing that it was something that one only did in romantic comedies. She would calm down. Eventually. Right?
“What exactly did you do?” Crowley couldn't hide his delight. Sure, he was very kind for a demon, but he was still, at heart, a demon. “I don't think I've ever seen her so mad.”
“It's not like we've known them that long, Crowley,” Aziraphale poked him.
“I just said that I thought it was silly to go around lighting sage in the cottage. She said it would cleanse the air or something, and maybe get rid of demons?” he ran his hand through his already messy hair, somehow making it worse in the process. “I pointed out that might mean Crowley couldn't come around and she said something about well of course it makes exceptions for him he's one of the good guys. And it's just...I believe in science and I don't understand all of this new age stuff. I'm trying, I swear!” He spared a quick glare at the leftovers from tonight's dinner – sage encrusted chicken. It had brought the fight from this morning right back, after he'd thought they'd already worked it out.
“Well, dear boy,” Aziraphale chuckled. “It may be 'new age' to you, but I can assure you it's existed for centuries. Nothing new under the sun, as they say.”
“Who says that? I don't say that,” Crowley shook his head and went to get himself a drink. They were all in his flat. Aziraphale had thought it would be a good idea to get the humans to come around every so often while they all waited to see if Heaven or Hell would make another move. So far, all that had happened was that they'd learned Newt was a lightweight and that Anathema got angry after just one drink (though she never seemed actually drunk ...just ...angry).
“You do have to meet in the middle,” Aziraphale continued as though Crowley hadn't interrupted him. “It's alright if you don't quite believe the same things, but it isn't kind to patronize.”
“I didn't think I was being patronizing...”
“But you may have come across that way, even without intending it. How long have you known Ms. Device?”
“I mean...we met the day we all had to stop Adam from blowing up the world.”
“So just a few weeks, then. It can be hard to build a relationship that quickly.”
Neither one of them could see Crowley rolling his eyes behind his shades. “It was quick,” Newt admitted. “Do you think it means we're wrong for each other?”
“I think, Newton, that you should go home, get some sleep and talk to Anathema in the morning. Perhaps you should sleep on the couch tonight, let her have the bed,” Aziraphale clapped him gently on the back. “Crowley will take you, since she took your car.”
“I'll take him? News to me. Why don't you take him, angel?”
“I couldn't – what would be the point? I don't have a car. He'd have to take the bus and at this hour those can be impossible to come by!”
“You could miracle one up for him-”
“I will not perform a frivolous miracle when you could just take him in your car,” Aziraphale insisted. “It would be much faster than the bus, anyway. The way you drive, so long as you don't get yourselves into an accident, you'll probably be there and back in half an hour.”
“I'm sorry, so long as we don't get into an accident?” Newt repeated.
He was ignored. “Fine!” Crowley threw his hands up. “I'll take him. Are you going home now, then or did you want a ride, too?”
“No, no, I thought I'd stay here until you get back. I have some thoughts I wanted to run by you.”
“Fine,” Crowley said again. “You, awkward human,” Newt frowned but didn't correct him. They both knew that Crowley knew his name. “Let's get going. The sooner we leave the sooner I can get back and take a nap.”
“Haven't you been drinking?”
“He's right, Crowley. Sober up, first.”
Crowley groaned and shook the alcohol from his system. “There? Happy? All back in the bottle for later. Can we please just go?” He flung the apartment door open and gestured for Newt to go out. Newt scurried along, out the door, through the hallway, down the stairs and finally to where the Bentley was parked in all its glory. He'd seen the car before, but he'd never been in it. He didn't know very much about cars, but he knew just enough to know this was expensive and old.
He climbed into the front seat and buckled in. Crowley got in on the driver's side and started the engine.
“Wait, don't you need to turn the headlights on?”
“Ugh...if it will make you feel better,” Crowley nodded and the lights came on. Then he reversed the car and headed off in the direction of Tadfield.
“It's just...” The words poured out of Newt before he could think better of it, “I don't see what the big deal is. I really wasn't trying to upset her or anything. I thought relationships were about sharing your opinions. But ...maybe it's not a great idea to form a relationship based on a book...”
“A book?”
“Yeah. Agnes Nutter. She predicted us together. Apparently marriage as well.”
“Ah.”
“So. Stupid reason, huh?”
“Well, yeah.”
Newt hadn't expected that. “But she got everything right! Agnes predicted every little thing we needed to survive. How can you say that it's stupid?”
“Because you said that it's stupid. I was just agreeing with you. Did you want me to say 'oh, no, you're wrong. Perfectly logical to let an ancient witch decide who you should be with and who you should marry. Most obvious thing in the world, that'?”
“Maybe not,” Newt shrunk into the passenger seat, vaguely aware that he was sulking. “I guess it's not as good as overcoming everything you and Aziraphale have, but you can't really compare us – we're just human. I mean, she's a witch but -”
“I'm sorry, what was that?” Crowley had brought the car to an abrupt stop. Newt's whole body jerked as they went from impossibly fast to standing still. He felt a little fuzzy, but fully aware that had Crowley not cushioned the blow that could have done some serious damage to him.
“She's a witch, literally. I'm not calling her names-”
“Not that, I know about her being a witch,” Crowley was acting funny. His tone of voice was bored, like he didn't want to have the conversation. But Newt knew enough about body language to gather that Crowley was very interested in what Newt had to say right now. “What's that about me and Aziraphale?”
“Well, you're together, aren't you? So I figure you had to fight all of Hell and maybe all of Heaven, too, just to be together.”
“We're not,” Crowley didn't finish his argument. “He and I are friends. I mean...really good friends.”
“Aren't you in love with each other?” And now Newt was absolutely baffled. He'd had best friends before. None of them looked at him the way Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Not that he'd ever seen, anyway. “I thought you were together. Anathema-” now he trailed off, suddenly reminded of the fight. “Look, no matter what you two are to each other, I know you've fought before. How did you deal with it?”
“Probably the same way you dealt with fights with your mates in the past,” Crowley started his car back up again but didn't start driving. They were sitting still, parked on the side of the road. He looked deep in thought.
Newt was many things. Awkward, bad with electronics, maybe a little on the odd side. But he wasn't dumb. “Look, if I fight with friends it's never about anything important. And they get loads of time away from me, so if they're mad at me I don't have to worry about going to bed alone.”
“Those aren't things I have to worry about. I mean, I don't worry about going to bed alone. I do go to bed alone... I just don't worry about it, I mean.” The car started moving, but it wasn't lost on Newt that Crowley was driving the speed limit. He wondered for a moment if it was the first time Crowley had ever obeyed traffic laws.
“Fine. Indulge me. Hypothetical. If you and Aziraphale were in love and you had a fight-”
“Why do you need to bring him into this hypothetical? Why not just say 'if you were in love with someone and had a fight with them'?”
“Fine! If you were in love with someone, anyone, doesn't matter who, and they were very angry at you, what do you do about it? Especially when you never put in the ground work to be together in the first place?”
To his credit, Crowley did seem to be pondering the question sincerely. “Complained to the wrong people, mostly.”
“Complained? Not ...would complain? You're talking like you have been in this situation.”
“Not the part about being fated to be together by someone, obviously. Um...you've heard of the,” Crowley snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the correct phrasing. “The friend zone!” he looked triumphant when the word came to him.
“Yes,” Newt said slowly. He'd used the phrase himself as a teen once, and had been quickly reprimanded by his mother. He had learned to be wary of the kind of people who used it.
“That was mine, but it was an accident, swear it. I was just in a bar complaining to someone, and obviously I'd had a bit too much ...I said to this guy, 'you know, an out and out rejection would be fine, but it's not like I haven't been obvious about the whole thing. I may not have said the words but all my actions were you know...implying, and this person is smart, they can do book analysis and tell you why the curtains were blue or some such so why can't they read between the lines for me?' And this ...this asshole comes up with a story about some girl he was friends with and was being nice to all the time and how she only wanted to be friends and it was obviously the same as my thing, she'd lead him on by being nice to him. And, Newt?”
“Er-yeah?”
“I was just drunk enough and feeling just evil enough to goad him on with that. That was...I want to tell you the seventies – the nineteen seventies, but I can't remember for sure now. It was stupid.”
“So who was it then?”
“I already told you. Some asshole in a bar.”
“Not the friend zone guy! Who were you complaining about not realizing you're in love with them?”
“You know damn well,” Crowley grumbled. “Everyone knows except that idiot. Especially all the other people in bars I've complained to for the last several thousand years. He's so clever but he's so stupid-”
“Are you sure you sobered yourself up all the way?” Newt checked that his seat belt was fully secure.
Crowley ignored him. “The point is, Agnes got everything else right so she's probably right about you two. Do you like Anathema?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then take an interest in her interests. You ever seen something that makes her just,” Crowley clenched one fist for emphasis, the other remaining lazily on the wheel, “Just light up? Something that makes her so excited it's like the rest of the world drops away and maybe it does for you, too, because you're so focused on how happy she looks?”
“Once or twice...”
“And you don't want to do everything you can to make her look like that any chance possible?”
“Yes. ...Yes, I do. But I'm a little surprised you're willing to give advice on this. Or talk about it at all. You don't usually say much to me.”
“I talk when there's something worth saying. ...what do you know about glaciers?”
Newt stared at Crowley like he thought the demon had gone completely mad. “Uh- just that they're melting awfully fast, what with the greenhouse gases and-”
“Remarkably slow things. Used to be, at least. Then global warming and the polar bears dying and – not my point. My point is, the glaciers were here when we got here. Him and me, I mean. Him and I? Me and him? ...right, anyway, there's this big one that's been there the whole time and it's moving really slowly. Like ...snails are out pacing this bastard, right? That thing is going to somehow circumnavigate the globe multiple times before he's going to want to talk about us.”
“Us?”
“Not you and I us, me and him us!”
“Oh, right. Right. So are you admitting-”
“Yes, yes, we're past all that. I'm in love with Aziraphale, big whoop, you figured it out. Again, you're not the first one to say something to me about it.”
“And you've ...told him since then?”
“Not technically. We got kind of close to talking about it once... He says I go too fast for him. So if I go too fast and there's a glacier out pacing him, where do we meet in the middle?”
“Is that where the 'glacial pace' phrase comes from? I never thought about it before,” Newt admitted.
“Sorry. We're supposed to be talking about you and your witch, right? Look...I don't know what to tell you. Other than that she's an angry drinker so I would keep the stronger stuff out of the house. You can't be with a person just because a prophetess says you're meant to be. If you want to be with her, it should be because you want to be with her. But make that clear to her.”
“I was trying. That was part of the argument, really. I was trying to point out that my not believing in everything was a good sign for us, because it meant I wanted to be with her for her and not because of Agnes.”
Crowley frowned, “Well, I do actually see your point on that one. But sometimes it matters how it's said.”
Newt tried to look less astonished than he felt. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had decided to take the conversation seriously and actually offer help. Some part of the back of his brain tried to remind him that this was a demon, one who wasn't above still messing with people (though usually in mostly harmless ways). But he couldn't see if this was a trap or not. It seemed like friendly advice.
Judging by how Crowley sped the car back up to his normal speeds (the speedometer was not at an angle Newt could see, and even if it were, they were now going a lot faster than it could measure), Newt figured the conversation was over. Crowley turned the radio on, which went from classical to “Bohemian Rhapsody” without either of them changing the station.
They both pretended to be focused on the music until the car rolled up to Jasmine Cottage. “You'll be all right. I think you're kind of good for each other. Just make sure you're listening, but also make sure she listens to you. When you got together the world was ending so you had to do it quickly, but it's not ending anymore, all right?”
“Yeah, all right,” Newt got out but left the door to the car open. “Crowley? Um. Thank you. For the advice and for being honest with me about you and - ...about your stuff. I hope all that works out for you. For what it's worth,” He wasn't sure he should continue. Newt was very good at putting his foot in his mouth, and he hoped this wasn't another one of those situations. “I think if you spoke to Aziraphale... he might be ready now. You wouldn't be rushing him or anything, not if you just told him what you want to talk about and then let him decide if he wants to have that conversation. I'm pretty sure...look, you don't see the way he's looking at you some of the times, but everyone else has noticed.”
“Whatever you say,” Crowley had adopted that bored tone again. He flicked his wrist and the car door shut itself, making Newt jump back in surprise. But the window was still open. “You and Bicycle Girl have a good night. Hope things work out.”
“Thanks, I-” But Crowley was already driving away. “Thanks, anyway. Right.” Newt squared up his shoulders and headed into the cottage, ready to talk. But he heard a honking noise and realized Anathema was pulling up in Dick Turpin now.
“How did you beat me home?” she demanded as she got out. “I was just about to turn around and go back for you, but I got this feeling that I shouldn't and-” she shook her head.
“Crowley gave me a ride. Literal speed demon, that guy. Look, I wanted to talk to you..”
“I wanted to talk to you! I've done some reflecting and-”
“Anathema?” He interrupted. “I promise I'm going to listen this time, but can we please go inside first? We're literally in the middle of the road here.”
“Right...right.” She moved the car to its appropriate parking spot before they both went inside. And talked. And listened. And talked some more. They took turns talking and listening for the next several hours before they went outside to watch the sunrise the next day, neither of them having gotten any sleep.
“Think we'll be all right?” He asked, putting an arm around her shoulders and squeezing.
“Yeah, I think we will.”
Crowley had headed back immediately after dropping Newt off. Aziraphale, as he'd promised, was still in the flat where he'd been left. He'd brought a whole collection of books to keep himself occupied. He was curled up in a chair Crowley hadn't had before today (“Heaven's sake, more tartan?! Crowley thought to himself as he saw the plush chair Aziraphale had conjured up). He was reading an ancient looking book, a steaming cup of tea next to him.
“Crowley! How did it go?”
“S'Alright. I got him home in one piece, anyway.”
“Do you think they'll be alright? Human relationships can be so ...fickle.”
“Angel?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I still moving too fast for you?”
The question hung between them momentarily. Aziraphale sat up and put his book down on the floor. He seemed to be carefully considering his options. “I -what brought this on?”
“Does it matter? We've never talked about it. I am asking if you are ready to talk now – and telling you that if you aren't, it's ok.”
“No, I want to talk about it,” Aziraphale wiggled so that he was sitting up straight. “I'm sorry. You've done so much for me all these centuries and at first I thought – ah, well, this must be a trap. Then we had the Arrangement and I thought, well, fine, he just wants some time off from doing this work. But it was never about that, was it?”
“See, I thought I had been astoundingly obvious about it. Too obvious. Like one of those American John Grisham novels-”
“I don't like John Grishams-”
“I know, I know, cause they lack subtlety and all have the same plot. You've told me. But that's my point, isn't it? You were the Enemy, but you were the enemy who gives away a flaming sword God gave him because the humans might need it. I thought you were intriguing.”
“I'm not sure I'm ready yet. Not fully,” Aziraphale admitted. “I think my feelings are obvious enough at this point?” His eyes met Crowley's. “I hope so, at least. And if not...you can consider this a formal declaration.”
“A formal declaration?” Crowley repeated. He tried very hard not to smirk. The smirk won. “So this is your ...declaration of Intent to Begin Woo, then?”
“Ah, yes, exactly!” Aziraphale looked delighted by the idea. All these centuries and he still didn't always get sarcasm. Or he purposely chose to disregard it, in Crowley's case. Crowley could never be certain which one it was.
“And how would that look?”
“It would be slow, but I could start coming around and bringing you flowers and talking to you about your day-”
“Other than the flowers, how is that different from what we're currently doing?”
“Because my intent is stated, of course!” Aziraphale looked affronted. “And now you know I'm not doing it just to be your friend, though I do still quite value your friendship. I rather like this idea...”
“It does let you set the pace,” Crowley admitted. “I want you to be comfortable with this.”
“I am quite comfortable, thank you. Comfortable enough to suggest that I ...sleep over?” A blush crept to his cheeks, but before Crowley could start teasing, he corrected. “I just mean sleep in this chair. It's quite comfortable. Not the bed. You'd take the bed. But it would make it easier for me to begin my wooing of you.”
“All right, then, Angel. You're on. But I expect to be uh...thoroughly woo-ed starting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow morning, then! It's a date.”
#good omens#my writing#ineffable husbands#crowley#anthony j crowley#aziraphale#newt#newton pulsifer#anathema#anathema device#fluff#romance advice#getting advice from a demon can be surprisingly helpful
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waffles - zhong chenle
genre: highschool!chenji, fluff
word count: 2.6k
synopsis: a snitched secret leaves you feeling guilty, but there’s always chenle (and food).
lowercase intended.
disclaimer! mild swearing (as teens do) and apologies in advance if it’s cringey. i’m new to this!
"fuck chaeri, they're going to kill me!"
"she needs to know! someone likes her!"
"but you don't know the name, though? what's the point?" at this moment, you realise it would've been better to have never told chaeri anything at all. damn it. who knew the same person who was able to keep all of your crushes since the seventh grade was now willingly announcing someone's feelings to the one person they shouldn't be announced to - at least, not yet.
"that's exactly the point. it's even more exciting to guess!" chaeri continues, "also, it's about time she gets a love life. i'm pretty sure ballet gets tiring sometimes."
you pull her shoulder, hoping to hold her back. your effort ignored, she instead approaches your friend, hong mijung, sitting on the leftmost seat in classroom 1-C. you watch in defeat as chaeri's lanky figure sways her way to the girl on the other side of the room. she tells mijung in squeals, a mix of excitement and shock. you could practically see mijung's heart drop after hearing her words.
mijung stands up, following chaeri to the hallway. her face is flushed bright red and her mouth moves fast. chaeri only reassures the shorter girl, trying to calm her down from the flustering news. it's an amusing sight; seeing mijung jump out of her calm, relaxed demeanour.
thankfully, you'd managed to stop yourself from spilling any names, and if mijung's already skipping beats at the idea of someone crushing on her, you can only imagine her usual ballerina bun undoing itself once she found out the hip-hop dancer from the studio upstairs had feelings for her.
feeling bouts of guilt and relief, you decide to head to your locker. exams are finally over; that means emptying your backpack of multiple textbooks and freeing you of weighted hell - even if that meant you would lose your only means of exercise.
"boo." you jump at the familiar voice behind you.
"halloween's so last season, zhong chenle," you turn around and get an eye-roll in response.
chenle cocks his head at the two girls heading downstairs, "what's going on with mijung?"
"why do you want to know?"
"because she doesn't usually do..." he trails off into silence. you begin to hear mijung's voice echo from two stories below, and chenle snaps his fingers, "...that."
"point taken," you try to find something in your locker to fiddle with, wanting to dismiss the conversation.
he folds his arms, leaning on the lockers in front of you. "anyways, what happened?"
you feel his gentle eyes waiting on your answer, and that's when you realise it's too late to scram.
"would you be mad if someone leaked your feelings for someone without your permission to the person you have feelings for?"
chenle thinks for a moment, "yeah."
"...don't tell me you did that," you can hear his cheery tone drop.
"to my defence, i didn't tell it was jisung," you pause, "i told chaeri, and chaeri only, that someone likes mijung." you began.
"should i tell jisung? mijung has class after this and i don't want her getting all giddy talking about crushes in front of him."
chenle tilts his head in thought, "yeah. just give him a warning. and an apology, because, you know, duh."
"fuck, i'm sorry." you sigh as you text jisung, letting a string of curses follow throughout.
"i feel like he likes her. like, like likes her. a lot." chenle nods, moving to face your back. he places his chin on your shoulder as the two of you watch jisung react with a sequence of 'oh my god's, 'shit's, and numerous variations of a keyboard smash.
chenle's hands go to your arms, rubbing it in an attempt to soothe you. "what's done is done."
still, you feel nervous. like, a queasy-weird nervous feeling from your gut or somewhere around there. somehow, it's familiar.
"yeah, i know, but-"
"have you tried the new café downtown?"
fuck. looks like the feeling isn't going away today.
"is 'not enough pocket money' a valid excuse or does that phrase just not make sense in your head?" you say sarcastically, turning your head to find him weirdly sweet-smelling. he chuckles in response, and you feel him beaming his usual ear-to-ear smile.
"i'll pay." he says nonchalantly, lifting his head from your shoulder, "plus, i don't want you to sulk over one thing you did for the next week."
"you can't buy me happiness," you retaliate, almost as if guarding your shame.
"hey, science says chocolate releases dopamine. makes you happy." he puts his arm around your shoulders. at this point, it's hard to tell whether he actually wants to get closer to you or if your shoulders are just the perfect height for an armrest. you wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter, but you're never sure about the former.
still, it feels nice.
it turns out the "café" chenle referred to was more of a "waffle and coffee stand" downtown, its tables and seats taken by groups of content faces already. chenle insists the two of you line up anyways, your and chenle's eyes targeting a certain chocolate waffle. you could practically feel the warmth radiating off of the food, and your mouth waters at the thought of fudge filling your tastebuds as an abundance of sweet and bitter scents fill your nostrils.
you see him huff cold air as he speaks, his nose turning a light shade of pink. his cheeks follow, and it's only when his eyes meet with yours that you realised two things: your face is also tinted pink, and you've been staring. panicked, you swiftly avert your eyes. you had expected an obnoxious laugh or a direct jab from his part, but to your surprise, he only smiles.
randomly, you blurt, "have you ever thought of bleaching your eyebrows?"
he laughs, and then says, "only during exam season. you know, i think it would fit on you - actually you’d look good in anything." he shrugs, earning him a confused look from you.
the worker inside the stand shouts the number on your receipt, and it takes a while for the two of you to recover from the first bites you take. it was like medicine, and the side effects were: jumping, letting out less than appropriate sounds, and annoying others around you. in other words, the waffles were stupidly good. and you watched chenle space out like he's never eaten food before.
and he gave you the stupidest smile and the stupidest laugh and did the stupidest thing: he cupped your cheeks and looked straight into your eyes and made you believe this might be about more than waffles - thankfully, he'd swallowed his bite and you laughed it off.
he calmed down a bit after that, but you still can't fathom his warm hands on your face. it just made you want to reach into your stomach with a giant net and catch all the little butterflies.
"i'll walk you home," he says, out of the blue. you knew his house was located around the block, but you didn't want to point it out. besides, he's walked you home before, and he knows his way around town by now.
"okay." you smile.
"i kind of want to get back on stage again."
"really?"
"yeah. i miss the thrill of it all, you know? just having so many peoples' eyes on me, and i honestly just love to hear everyone cheer or cry or react," he continues as the two of you wait before the crossing, "i think the most powerful thing about performing is just knowing that you're making someone feel something, whoever it is. i just- i don't know."
"no, i get it. i don't really perform at all, but i've seen how happy you get on stage."
you remember that one class trip after midterms, in the talent show. chenle and jisung signed up to perform a parody of soulja boy's "pretty boy swag" as a joke, and as stupid as the lyrics were, the crowd absolutely loved it.
you also remember surfing the internet to find videos of him singing all throughout his childhood, spamming him with links of the videos in a group chat with him. though you made fun of him, you were sure of one thing; he had a talent for it.
the light turns green, and the two of you bathe in seoul's city noises once more, different aromas of street food and soju lighting up several sections of the block.
"Y/N," he calls.
"yeah?"
"i feel like i've known you for a while," he says suddenly.
you suck in the cold air as the two of you brisk walk; you barely have any time to process what he's just said. quickly, you respond, "yeah, me too."
he catches your reaction and says again, "it's like i was meant to know you, y'know? something about you just makes me feel like i've spent lifetimes with you."
he waits for your response, but there's none. you don't know what to say.
'something about you.' something about me? what is there about me?
"how- how do you know?" it's normal for him to speak so straightforwardly, but today feels different. you can't quite put a finger on it.
"this is weird, but your voice is familiar... and comforting, now that i think about it."
how does he say that so casually?
just as you're still trying to understand his words to you, chenle gradually intertwines his hand with yours.
at first, it's okay, and you feel like the butterflies have multiplied by the hundreds. but slowly, questions start to infiltrate your mind, and you have no choice but to pull him over to talk. fortunately, you're close to your house, and where you live, the streets are much quieter than his.
you stop abruptly, turning his calm face confused.
"zhong. chenle."
"that's my name?"
"yeah," you nod, "care to explain?"
he leans in closer to you (which made two seconds seem like two years), asking for you to repeat it again. you take a deep breath.
"why do you do anything? like- with me?" all you see is a confused look.
"because i-"
"you're so casual about everything and i don't know how to feel about it because one day we're project group partners that never talk and the next you walk me the long way home!"
you start to look him up and down as you speak, your pupils going in a zig-zag pattern across the boy. you're frantic and spewing words you don't even remember wanting to say, but you're focused on him, and only him. not the sunset that's tinting his violet hair blue; not the neighbouring house gates that make him look taller than he actually his; not even the puddle he's so close to standing on it's a hair strand away from staining his jordans.
you know him, and only him and how much his hair's grown it's covering his eyes; him and how his blazer, when pulled to his elbows, makes him look a bit like a k-pop idol; him and his red, unpierced ears, which colours' still show through his hair.
"and you buy me all these treats and put your fucking arms around me and basically back hug me so many times and act like it's no big deal that i'm getting confused whether or not you want me close or if i'm just a convenient armrest?"
you genuinely feel yourself getting lightheaded. am i going crazy?
"wait, but i thought you liked that because i saw jisung do it-"
"it's different! jisung's a friend - more like a brother - and yeah, of course i like it, but with you it's different! it's like- it feels some way, like- it's just-" you trip up on your words and give up.
"i- have feelings for you." you slow down your pace.
you look up at him and realise his eyes saw you first. he smiles, again, and it's only then that you get the urge to hold his hand or snuggle into the crook of his neck.
luckily, zhong chenle's a mind reader, and he goes on to wrap his arms around you, letting your head rest on the crook of his neck as you mumble, over and over again the words i like you like you're getting used to its vowels sounding out of your throat. it's some type of warmth you don't think you'll ever get with five layers of padded jackets or stupidly good waffles - and it smells like sandalwood.
"you don't have to return my feelings, just- know that i feel this way."
"i thought it was obvious?"
you pull away from the embrace, "what was obvious?"
"i've liked you since after that trip. you know, when i injured my ankle after the talent show," he shrugs, "you just came to the nurse's area, where i was, and you just- stayed there to be with me the entire night. and from then you just always approached me and, i don't know, treated me like a person instead of a walking bank."
"and i guess it didn't seem so obvious for you because we only really got close because of jisung, who you've known for forever. but i did go out of my way a few times, though."
"wait, when?"
"for starters, i walked you home a lot, bought you lunch a few times, paid for the cake on your birthday-"
"that was you?"
he scoffs.
"oh, i see." you hit him playfully, "that's why chaeri wasn't complaining about her wallet."
"but honestly," you began, "i think i've always thought you were a great, funny guy even before the trip. i remember you on the first day of school, basically shouting through the halls with your other friends from the second and third years. and i just remember, the first time hearing you talk and thinking: you're so damn confident. and when you got hurt and nobody really came to see you, i was just like, shit - nobody's going to check on him other than jisung?"
you continue as the two of you are nearing your house, pouring out the unspoken after months and months of bottling it up.
suddenly, chenle's phone rings. it's jisung calling.
"jisung-ah! call me later-"
unable to hear jisung, you read the call through chenle's face.
"wait... HOLY SHIT SERIOUSLY?"
"DUDE-" he looks down, unintentionally meeting your eyes. his tone softens, "dude, tell me later tonight, kay? i'm... in public right now."
you raise an eyebrow at him.
"well, i'm with Y/N."
then jisung speaks again, and chenle replies with a "yeah."
"oh- okay," he puts the call on speaker. the second he does that, the first thing you hear from jisung is "Y/N! GOD BLESS YOU."
"wait- why?"
"MIJUNG JUST ASKED ME OUT!"
you look to chenle, "i-is he kidding?"
"NO I'M NOT! I ALREADY PINCHED MYSELF THRICE- THIS IS INSANE!"
chenle laughs, "when and where?"
"movies and dinner... i'm never getting over this."
"wait so... does that mean you're not mad at me anymore?"
"well, you were kind of a snitch but i guess that ended well, so... no."
"i won't snitch next time, i promise. unless-"
"Y/N, there won't be a next time! there's no way i'm gonna stop liking mijung."
"proud of you bud. call us later, yeah? we're getting on the bus right now." chenle says nonchalantly, ending the call just like that.
"why did you lie?"
he grins and takes your hand in his, "why do you think?"
"oh, shut up," you laugh, reaching up to peck his cheek goodbye.
he looks at you, shocked, making you two simultaneously burst into laughter together.
“ya! your breath smells like waffles!”
#nct#nct dream#chenle#zhong chenle#park jisung#waffles#fluff#nct dream fluff#kpop imagines#kpop#fanfic#imagine#au#high school
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Clan colours
Ended up writing this instead of going to bed last night. For day 2 of the Good Omens Celebrations.
Prompts: Contrast (and Cotton)
"…What?" Not-quite-Crowley-Crowley stared at him, mouth agape, an expression which did Aziraphale's poor old corporation absolutely no favours.
"I said, could you give me a twirl?"
"I'm still a bloody demon for a few hours longer, Angel, I'm not gonna twirl. Do me the favour of letting me die with my dignity intact."
"Crowley." The sharpness of Aziraphale’s admonishment was swallowed by the concrete walls of Crowley's living room. Their owner sighed.
"I'm kidding Aziraphale, we're gonna be fine. Just a nice little trip up- and downstairs for us, a cosy heart-to-heart with some archangels and the dukes of Hell." Crowley's voice softened at the angel’s disapproval, sounding oddly mild in Aziraphale's throat. "And then we'll be right as rain."
"I know that, dear. I hope you do too. Have a little faith."
"Erh, 's a bit of a touchy subject for me."
"Have faith in Agnes Nutter, then."
Crowley shifted awkwardly in the foreign corporation. The lofty sniff he managed was more his own. "I've met quite a lot of witches in my time and believe me, most of them are not to be trusted. The things they tried to do to us poor devils. Tricky bunch. Verrrry tricky bunch. Quite a few of them were positively debauched, and that's coming from a demon who's terrifically debauched himself, you know."
Aziraphale managed to disguise his snort as a throaty sneeze.[1] "Ble- gesundheit. Did I ever tell you about that weirdo with the black cat and massive warty nose up in Staffordshire?"
"You did, yes. Several times a century for the last 400 years. I believe you've told most of the northern hemisphere by now."
"She tried to fly on a broomstick, Aziraphale. A broomssssstick."
"Yes, dear." Crowley mimed vaguely at sweeping the floor and shook Aziraphale's head before falling into bewildered contemplation. Aziraphale took the opportunity to hike up the metaphorical bootstraps of Crowley's unruly corporation to circle around Crowley and his own corporation. It was an odd reversal of their ritual, familiar and disconcerting all at once. The reflection in the dark glass windows at the end of the room belied the oddness of the scene, the undercurrent of worry in both of them. And still, there in the window was the comforting lankiness of Crowley, though a little stiffer than normal. And there, his own slightly stuffier corporation.
Aziraphale turned to look at the real version of it. It had been close to thirty years since the last time he'd really looked at himself. He liked his corporation, always had. It was nowhere near as disarmingly lascivious as Crowley's, yet it had its own charm, a warmth and comfort which easily won over humans and, it seemed, at least one otherworldly being too.
It may have very recently undergone some major restorative work, but it looked more or less the same as it had for the last 6000 years. His clothes, however, caught his interest.
"Are you checking me out, Angel?"
"No, dear, I am taking the opportunity to, ah, check out myself."
"Ah. Can't blame ya, good call."
"Oh hush. I'm taking a look at my attire, Crowley."
Aziraphale's garments told a story themselves, reminders of little not-so-chance encounters and long-planned secret evenings together. Which genre the story belonged to he couldn’t bear to contemplate tonight.
Aziraphale knew Crowley's clothes, even the new ones, could have recited every tailored line had he had the audience.[2] He had never really paid his own clothes the same courtesy, and now, he may not have the chance again.
The demon stood still, let him survey his beloved khaki coat, find the innocent-looking shoulder that Crowley had blown clean only days earlier. The fraying waistcoat that might seem past its expiration date but had at least another decade in it. He hoped it would get it.
The cotton-blend bowtie he'd started wearing just before that evening in the church when…-
It had quickly become his favourite accessory. He'd tried out a cravat during some years in the 1950s and 60s. It had suited him rather well, he'd thought. And yet, he'd kept coming back to the bow tie, to the beloved lines of the tartan and their soft reassurances around his neck. He hadn't gone a day without it since 1967.
Heaven’s Dress. He'd rather liked the look and feel of his uniform during the Celestial War (it had been the only part of the War he'd been enthusiastic about). The tartan had seemed like a revelation; a rare surprise in those small days before Earth. After an eternity in strictly monotone fabrics - eggshell, vanilla, ivory or sheer white - the audacity of different shades mashing up together in such close proximity had been thrilling. It had made such a big impression on him that he'd seized the opportunity to popularise the pattern when it arose a few millennia later.
He’d got the chance when he developed Edinburgh in the 16th century. Crowley had been too busy working on Glasgow himself to bother Aziraphale much and so, he’d had plenty of free time.
Now, contrary to popular belief, it was Aziraphale who introduced tartan to Scotland, not the other way round. It had been a simple enough thing to slip in, during his town planning meetings, and the Scots had taken to tartan like, well, like chickens to water or whatever it was Crowley had said. His tartan venture had been quite the success for the Principality.[3] So much so he’d decided to have a go at the weaving himself and reproduce the one he’d seen in Heaven an eternity ago.
And he really had gone in fully intending to weave up the beige-on-beige tartan in honour of Heaven. When he’d looked at the result, however, it had seemed just a little off. After a week's contemplation and rather more than just the angel's share of whisky, he'd realised that Heaven's pattern was bland. It was too beige, lacked any form of nuance or depth. What it was lacking, he’d come to realise, was a bit of contrast.
And so, Aziraphale had played around a little, had added a little darker shading here and there, then wound a gentle red line from left to right across the pattern. Before he knew it, thin twin red-and-nearly-black lines had slithered up from the bottom of the pattern too, wrapping themselves around the softer diagonals, and Aziraphale’s tartan had come together. It was certainly unusual, but to Aziraphale, it had felt just right. He'd named it Heaven's Dress as he’d set out to do. The blessings and protections he'd wound into the fabric had had nothing to do with Heaven, however.
A rather pointed cough roused him from his musings. "Am I witnessing the dawning realisation that tartan’s really terribly unstylish?" Crowley was looking at him, fretting hands tucked into loose linen trousers.
"Not quite." Aziraphale offered up a little smile at the sight of his tartan now guarding Crowley’s neck. The demon looked at him expectantly, but Aziraphale left out his usual retort.
Eventually, Crowley sighed and crossed his arms. "I do have faith, you know."
"You do?"
"Yeah." The demon looked down at himself. "I have faith in you." He picked up his wineglass and staggered over next to Aziraphale to flop down into his throne with as much flair as Aziraphale's corporation could manage. "Tell you what, Angel. If we make it out of there ali- unscathed and get to Berkeley Square as planned, I'll twirl all the way from there to the bloody Ritz for you, how's that?"
"Very well, dear. You know, I think I'll indulge in a slice of their Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte. When we get there. And we will. I have every faith in both of us." Aziraphale straightened the bow tie and gave Crowley's cheek two quick pets. He set off on a practice saunter through Crowley's cavernous apartment to perform a little stylish miracle where it wouldn't be heard, doubling back on the way out of the door. "I'll look forward to your whirligigs."
“...What?!”
[1] To his knowledge, neither he nor Crowley had ever sneezed in the entirety of their existences, but Crowley seemed too preoccupied to notice.
[2] Aziraphale had found receptive audiences on a few occasions. One time in 1979, in a bar with a bunch of UCL students in SoHo, he'd spoken so passionately on the nuances of black in Crowley's wardrobe he'd been rather alarmed to find he'd accidentally started Goth subculture.
[3] Aziraphale had been really very miffed indeed when the English conjured up the Dress Act of 1746 and banned the use of tartan. He'd made sure to block every subsequent attempt by the English to change their national anthem to anything more stirring than the dull monotony of "God Save the Queen". Even he can see the pettiness of this, and yet he keeps at it to this day.
I’m collecting all my Celebration ficlets over on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037873/chapters/57837565
Inspired by this lovely meta post on Aziraphale’s tartan: https://bluebandedagate.tumblr.com/post/187971072711/a-discourse-on-tartan
#goc2020#good omens celebration#goodomenscelebration#good omens ficlet#tartan#ineffable husbands#aziraphale and crowley#aziraphale#not a lockdown fic should probably be doing a lockdown fic today
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The Dark Knight Trilogy: Horrifying Scenes That Still Make Us Cringe
https://ift.tt/eA8V8J
Later this month, Zack Snyder’s Justice League is hitting HBO Max. Despite the anticipation and a near-guaranteed positive reception from the vocal #ReleaseTheSnyderCut fan contingent, this will likely be Snyder’s last foray in the DC Universe. Indeed, one of the studio’s chief complaints with Snyder’s vision, which they believe impacted box office receipts, was his darker tone when compared with the quippier MCU. However, Snyder’s approach only mirrored many of DC’s most popular storylines, from Frank Miller’s violent The Dark Knight Returns to the on-screen The Dark Knight Trilogy from director Christopher Nolan. Snyder can hardly be blamed for expanding on what audiences were already responding to when it came to DC characters on film.
Less than a decade ago, Warner Brothers was hot off of the success of Nolan’s trio of films that no one would describe as light-hearted or quippy. The Batman of Nolan’s films was not inspired by the kid-friendly or campy iterations of the character found in the Batman TV series from the ‘60s or Joel Schumacher’s films, but by Miller and David Mazzucchelli’s Batman: Year One, and Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale’s Batman: The Long Halloween. That is to say Nolan and Christian Bale’s Batman sought to be a street-level, gritty, interpretation of the character that emphasized noir and a grounded reality.
Snyder didn’t make Batman too dark for film audiences, that was already done by Nolan. Below are just a few examples of the darkest, most horrific moments from The Dark Knight Trilogy.
“Swear to me!” – Batman Begins
Audiences knew they were in for a different type of Batman from the moment they heard Bale’s gravelly voice while he was in the suit. Whether Bale goes too far with his growly tenor and into comedic territory is up for debate, but the choice is certainly memorable.
Bale really gets to rough up his vocal cords during a specific scene in Batman Begins where the Dark Knight confronts crooked cop Arnold Flass about Dr. Jonathan Crane’s mysterious drug shipments. After failing to strike fear in Flass, Batman hangs the portly man upside down from a building. When Flass swears to God that he doesn’t know anything, Batman replies, “Swear to me!” his face tremoring with rage. This is the opposite of one of George Clooney’s one-liners during his time under the cowl. Bale’s Batman establishes himself as something to be scared of and as an all-seeing force to be reckoned with.
The Demon Bat – Batman Begins
While horror has seeped its way into Batman comics many times, particularly during Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo’s recent run with the character, there hasn’t been a ton of nightmarish imagery present in the film adaptations of the character. However, the hands down scariest portrayal of the Caped Crusader on screen comes in Batman Begins. When Bruce Wayne said he wanted to strike fear in the hearts of criminals, this must have been what he was talking about.
In the climax of the film, when Cillian Murphy’s Scarecrow attempts to poison Gotham City’s water supply with his fear toxin, the good doctor is confronted by Batman and given a taste of his own medicine. The fear toxin takes effect and Crane begins to see Batman as a demonic, literal interpretation of the Batman, with black goo dripping from his mouth and jet-black eyes. This monster version of the Bat was certainly a step in the right direction for comic fans hoping the Batman films would get the terror element of the character right.
Bruce Attempts to Kill Joe Chill – Batman Begins
This scene from the first film in Nolan’s trilogy is the darkest because of how real it feels for the main characters. The moment happens not when Bruce Wayne is masquerading as a vigilante dressed as a bat, but when he’s a young man still trying to come to grips with the murder of his parents. Bruce learns that Joe Chill has been paroled so that he can testify against Gotham crime boss Carmine Falcone. Bruce waits outside of the courtroom with a gun, intending to kill Chill after his testimony. But when Chill arrives at the public lobby, one of Falcone’s goons beats Bruce to the punch, shooting Chill dead.
Bruce’s childhood friend Rachel Dawes discovers Bruce’s intentions and slaps him across the face. She berates Bruce and tells him that his father would be ashamed of him, something that undoubtedly must be hard to hear for the angry, grieving young Bruce. This moment serves as a sort of rock bottom for the character before he decides to leave Gotham behind and travel the globe, immersing himself in the criminal underworld, a journey that would inevitably lead to him becoming… the Batman.
Joker’s Pencil Trick – The Dark Knight
No one needs to spill more ink about how brilliant Heath Ledger’s portrayal of the Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker, was in The Dark Knight. It’s an iconic performance that has forever shaded the public’s perception of Batman’s greatest nemesis. He’s simultaneously funny and scary, brutal and sniveling, chaotic and cunning. He can make you smile then suddenly want to shield your eyes.
It’s all right there from his first real introduction in the film when he struts into a meeting between Gotham’s crime lords and offers his services in killing the Batman. Nailing the core components of the character, his penchant for showmanship, his violent tendencies, and his twisted sense of humor, the Joker pulls off a “magic trick” by slamming a gangster’s head through a pencil that was stuck upright on a desk. Not exactly the kind of party trick that you’ll see Ant-Man performing in the MCU!
The Death of Rachel Dawes – The Dark Knight
While the Joker hatches many unsettling schemes in The Dark Knight, like televising himself murdering Batman imposters, threatening to blow up hospitals, and the game theory ferry experiment, his most despicable crime is also his most personal one. After being taken into custody, the Joker reveals that he has set up a no-win trap for Batman, forcing him to choose between Rachel, his love, and Gotham’s White Knight, district attorney Harvey Dent. The Joker has them tied up in different locations, rigged to explode on the same timer, and Batman only has time to save one of them. Joker gives the hero their addresses, but in a cruel twist, switches who is where. Bruce believes that he’s saving Rachel but saves Harvey instead. Meanwhile, the GCPD tried to rescue Harvey, but arrives just in time to watch the building holding Rachel burst into flames.
While Rachel may have been an underserved character, only really used as a victim and love interest until her ultimate fridging, her death was still a shock and a dark turn that other superhero movies, barring the otherwise forgettable The Amazing Spider-Man 2, have always refused to make. Rachel served somewhat as Bruce’s moral compass, and her death left the vigilante adrift and prone to his darkest impulses.
The Transformation of Harvey Dent – The Dark Knight
The flipside to the above is that Batman’s last-minute rescue of Harvey Dent leaves him scarred, traumatized, angry, and fundamentally changed. It’s not just that Harvey loses half of his face and becomes a grotesque victim; it’s that the minute Rachel dies, all of his idealism and motivation to be a force for good and change dies with her. With one act, the Joker takes away the hero that Gotham really needs to end corruption and injustice.
It’s not just that Dent falls; he falls hard. He murders police officers (corrupt though they may be), kidnaps children, and introduces as much anarchy into Gotham as the Joker. Ultimately, he’s stopped by Batman, but his death and fall from grace is a demoralizing moment, and the decision to lie and prop up Dent as the hero he was rather than the monster he became is a necessary but deeply troubling withholding of the truth. Don’t let the triumphant score and imagery at the end of The Dark Knight fool you; this is a supremely downbeat ending.
Bane Breaks the Bat’s Back – The Dark Knight Rises
Batman is a badass who is rarely bested on screen. Even in Zack Snyder’s interpretation of the character, he’s able to subdue a figurative god in Superman. However, in Nolan’s third and final Batman film, The Dark Knight Rises, Batman finally meets his match, and it’s not pretty. After being lured into the sewers by Selina Kyle, Batman walks right into a trap and fight with Bane, the jacked terrorist who was excommunicated from the League of Shadows, and is every bit as badass as Batman. After eight years sitting on the shelf and a career of crime fighting that has left him battered, Batman is absolutely demolished by Bane, who pummels Bruce before finally picking the hero up over his head and snapping his back over his knee. Heroes occasionally lose on screen, but not like this.
Alfred’s Arc – The Dark Knight Rises
Alfred Pennyworth is a crucial character in the Batman mythos, and he’s typically portrayed as a compliant, if slightly disapproving, enabler. However, that’s not so in The Dark Knight Rises. Portrayed by Michael Caine, Alfred breaks hearts by revealing to Bruce that Rachel intended on marrying Harvey Dent and sternly telling his surrogate son that his war with Bane will eventually lead to his death and that he “won’t bury” another member of the Wayne family.
It’s one of the most emotional moments of the film. Alfred basically abandons Bruce, a decision that heightens Bruce’s isolation and hero’s journey. Alfred only returns toward the end of the film for Bruce’s funeral where he tearfully confesses to the late Waynes’ gravestones that he “failed” them. While Alfred’s story ends on a hopeful note, with him spotting Bruce alive and well in Italy, it’s still quite the breakup between Master Bruce and his most loyal advisor.
The Story of Talia al Ghul and Bane – The Dark Knight Rises
While the best villains typically have sympathetic backstories, few have as a traumatic and scarring one as The Dark Knight Rises’ villains, Talia al Ghul and Bane. Toward the end of the film, it’s revealed that Talia grew up in the same place that Bruce found himself in after Bane broke his back. Born in a primitive prison known as the Pit, Talia watched as her mother was assaulted and killed by the other prisoners. The pair were placed in the Pit in exchange for Ra’s al Ghul, with Talia’s mother agreeing to take his place in exchange for his freedom. Talia only survived through the protection of Bane, who eventually helps Talia escape the prison, but he’s badly beaten and disfigured in the process.
Following Talia’s escape, she locates her father and he returned with the League of Shadows to exact revenge on the prisoners that killed his wife and the men who put her there. Afterward, Ra’s and the League saw to the treatment of Bane, but were unable to stop the continual pain he experienced. Eventually, Bane is recruited into the League, wherein he is given a mask which supplies him with analgesic gas to curb the constant pain from the injuries he sustained while protecting Talia. If you thought Bruce had a traumatizing backstory, you must have merely adopted the dark.
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HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-04-02
Alright I’ll fix the broken images later right now lets goooooo read the updaaaate I’ve been only spoiled on the chapter title
I don’t even wanna guess. Jake? This makes me think of Jake for some reason, even though that doesn’t make much se-- oh right the Vriskas are locked in a school closet with a dead clown.
> CHAPTER 7. Distress Call From the Closet
Yep.
Also, this is how a car design looks when it was invented to have its first appearance be it flying with a human named Tavros looking out from an open side door.
(I’m not ENTIRELY against designing something for its immediate-art-use-purpose first and functional or historical-origination thought later, but usually when you make it that obvious that that’s what your doing it’s best to make that fact funny. Like the Conveniently Shaped Lamp.)
Also I appreciate this using of Candy as kind of more lighthearted breaks in the action?
> (==>)
I thoguht that protruding fang (?) was drool for a second and wondered what the fuck they were up to in this closet all of a sudden.
Vriska, thriving on it, has not felt so decadently alive in a very long time. Tavros has never in his tragic existence felt so close to death, which is surprising to him.
Vrissy is trying her best not to grapple with any cosmic truths at the moment, since she’s getting a phone call in the middle of hiding for her life.
Vrissy’s implied to be somewhere in-between all that by this joke. I bet she’ll be comparing herself to Vriska and Tavros alike throughout this mess, wondering where on the spectrum she lands and being ashamed of it AND both of them regardless. Vriska Original had a ghost version who went on a fair bit of a Page dress-up thing and personality shift, so maybe we could expect Vrissy to struggle with being caught in the middle of the scales... or does that qualify as overthinking it classpectways?
VRISSY: Yeah Harry I would say we are Extremely Aware of the Situ8ion.
VRISSY: As it Unfolded the fuck all around us.
Good Christ, Vrissy’s selectively-capitalized Kanaya-isms continue to be cute.
Oh, he’s on speakerphone.
> (==>)
Yep, telling Rose and Kanaya would be the smart thing to do, but it isn’t the Them thing to do.
--ROXY’S PLACE?!?? Hoo boy. On the other hand, though, we get more Roxy, so it evens out.
Also, I like how Harry Anderson has to spell out Harry Anderson’s entire name for his Harry Anderson chat tag every single time. Harry Anderson.
> (==>)
Part of the reason, Tavros thinks, that he’s been so game to continue on with the worst plan anyone has ever concocted, is that the more bullshit they endure, the longer they can put off actually doing anything that matters.
If he’s getting sprayed with a sprinkler and getting clown feet in his face, it’s a farce. It can’t hurt him. But if they get to the part where he’s shoving the uncooperative weight of his uncle’s corpse in an incinerator, he will stop floating in protective semi-consciousness above his body and it will all be real.
Ouch.
Can’t one of you assholes just captchalogue him? Or did you leave all the appropriate-strength moduses at home? Even you Vriska??
Oh, right. Everyone knows and you can just leave him here. Good call. I mean you don’t really have to worry about forensic evidence with the pictures circulating.
> (==>)
VRISKA: 8ye 8itch.
Oooh! That feels satisfying! Yeah, tell off Gamzee’s corpse!
...Wait.
If they just leave Gamzee there, Jane can revive him, can’t she.
Fuck. Maybe it’s up to Jake to try and stop that.
> (==>)
Karkat and Meenah resistance-time, then, with them presumably hearing about this development on the internet. Wow, Meenah’s horns are getting long fast. Plus a hint more of her grown-up self’s height. I didn’t think she’d keep maturing so fast with her absurd lifespan ahead of her.
Oh shit, I didn’t see at first--
Right, Candy might still be lighthearted compared to the broader plot just due to lowered stakes, but it’s still the Carpet-Bombing-and-War-Filled Shituniverse.
Trolls are made for the battlefield.
From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub’s pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.
But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.
Is... is Meenah narrating right now? Because fuck.
Or so all the pamphlets say.
The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.
Or is this one of the trolls on the side narrating who’s kind of internalized the stories of trolls’ prior warlike nature?
> (==>)
MEENAH: yo nubs is that u
MEENAH: pretty rank
KARKAT: OH MY GOD.
KARKAT: I FLATLY REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN SMELL MY NATURAL MUSK OVER THE STENCH OF BLOOD AND BURNING FLESH.
I guess it probably was Meenah narrating, then. Unless it’s a really biased alt!Callie doing the talking.
MEENAH: didnt i warn u bout thinking tho?
KARKAT: GOD DAMMIT MEENAH, DON’T MEME AT ME.
I don’t know what meme this is and I really don’t want to know.
They have had this argument more than once. In fact, both of them could play either side of it. Karkat has done his time in the field, of course, leading small guerilla operations to free prisoners and sabotage Crocker’s supply chains, but Meenah and the rest of the council is right. Which is why he’s here, instead of at the front lines with his rebels, where he belongs.
His true value is his face. His symbology. At the end of the day, he is a fucking ad campaign.
...is KARKAT narrating here???
SWIFER: boss check the news!
Oh shit, right, Swifer is in the resistance in Candy instead of just a breeding assistant in Meat as the bonuses remind us.
KARKAT: OH FUCK.
MEENAH: what
KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST.
MEENAH: nubs i swear 2 god
KARKAT: IT’S GAMZEE.
KARKAT: HE’S DEAD.
MEENAH: oh
MEENAH: well shit
KARKAT: I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS.
MEENAH: u okay
KARKAT: NO!
Huh. Them’s some complicated feelings that could fall in basically all directions at once.
Also, I can’t believe Karkat has hung around humans enough to fully internalize the full-throated exclamation “JESUS CHRIST”, which wouldn’t even really be a thing on Earth C with people who aren’t from Earths B or A.
MEENAH: u outlawed fishpuns i gotta make my own fun
How could you, Karkat.
KARKAT: AND I GUESS IF YOU CALL AN OBSCENELY PUBLIC PALE ACT, PERFORMED IN A FUGUE OF DESPERATE PANIC INTENDED TO PREVENT HIM FROM MURDERING ALL OF MY FRIENDS INSTEAD OF JUST HALF OF THEM “A THING”.
KARKAT: THEN YES, I GUESS WE HAD A THING.
KARKAT: BUT IF YOU’RE ASKING ME IF I’M SAD THAT HE’S DEAD?
KARKAT: ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.
Okay, I’d hoped not, good...
KARKAT: THAT’S NOT WHY I’M SAYING FUCK A BUNCH OF TIMES.
MEENAH: u need a reason to say fuck a buncha times
KARKAT: SHUT UP.
KARKAT: LOOK AT THE PICTURE.
--Right! That’s a good reason to not be okay.
KARKAT: I DON’T THINK SO? I CAN’T SEE HER EYES IN THIS PICTURE, BUT SHE’S COVERED IN BLOOD, AND SHE’S CARRYING GAMZEE, SO SHE’S CORPOREAL AT LEAST.
I love this form of analysis somehow.
KARKAT: OKAY...HERE. OH. OF COURSE. CROCKER IS CLAIMING HER SON WAS KIDNAPPED AND FORCED TO PARTICIPATE.
KARKAT: AND THEY’VE NAMED ME AS THE MASTERMIND.
MEENAH: well we woulda taken credit for it anyway so this saves us the time
MEENAH: thanks jane owe u one
Meenah isn’t the “concerned” type. Lemonade out of lemons.
> (==>)
That middle tweet is my favorite.
Oh dear, “#GamzeeAnon”...
KARKAT: SHIT. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAVE TO DO WITH FUCKING SERKET.
KARKAT: LITERAL MONTHS OF PLANNING, HOURS AND HOURS OF LOGISTICS, AND ALL OF IT GOES UP IN SMOKE BECAUSE OF ONE SPIDERY ASSHOLE.
KARKAT: SHE *WOULD* FIND SOME WAY TO WRECK MY SHIT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.
indisputable
KARKAT: NOW?
KARKAT: NOW WE PIVOT FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS.
Um...
What does that mean?
I’m having a lot of trouble not only understanding the basic meaning of what he’s saying, here, but understanding why KARKAT of all people would employ it.
......it’s a meme, isn’t it. Gotta be.
> (==>)
(Ooh, an eyepatch designed to invoke a Strider-shade. Nice.)
KARKAT: I NEED TO TALK TO EGBERT.
But....... why??
> (==>)
Oh right, cause his son’s girlfriend is involved.
> (==>)
Oh my goooood what a pair of John and Roxy caaaars! :D
He is too busy with these mental gymnastics to notice his father’s car parked outside.
Ah right. John’s... not on the best terms with him, I recall that.
> (==>)
Ohhhh myyyy goooood what an image!!!
John, Roxy, and Harry Anderson proceed to have the tail end of a conversation they had before, in another medium.
What the fuck!? Harry had that conversation WHILE this dead body situation was going on?! Let me reread that linked bit...
(And she has such a somber smile on her face, but given the conversation content it’s not surprising.)
Harry Anderson looks at the two of them all teary and laughing and hikes his bag higher on his shoulder, shifting his weight. Roxy sees a muscle tighten in his jaw. Her beautiful, smart boy. She wants to run over and hug him, to protect him from the possibility of pain at talking to his father, but she doesn’t. She knows how much he’s wanted this, no matter how much he jokes about it.
She looks back at John, and sees her own awe mirrored in his face. She wills him not to cry, not to fall back on his self-imposed suffering and blame loop. Something about the last hour must have done the trick, though. John stands up, brushes his hands on his jeans, and walks, back straight, toward his son.
JOHN: hey harry anderson.
JOHN: it’s really, really good to see you.
JOHN: do you wanna go for a drive?
The muscle in Harry Anderson’s jaw clenches a few more times, but when he smiles, it is genuine.
HARRY ANDERSON: yeah, dad.
HARRY ANDERSON: that could be cool.
Oh son of a bitch. Well isn’t that entertaining. Harry you’re just going to ditch your friends for I’m kidding, this is life fulfillment you’re aiming for, of COURSE you’re going to agree. (Too bad bringing the current situation in is gonna throw a wrench in things.)
> (==>)
Oh right, that means more of THIS Vriska and THIS John. They’ve had a good start talking already, I wonder what more they can learn from each other.
HARRY ANDERSON: but no worries, i asked my mom to pick me up some snacks so she’ll leave to go to the store in a sec.
HARRY ANDERSON: just sneak in after she leaves and hide in my room, and i’ll be back in a bit.
Harry you enormous shortsighted asshole. And John’s about to learn all this from Karkat over the phone to blow his cover.
> (==>)
aaaaa roxy art i cannot :D
Wonder if her stealthiness attunement is gonna catch them in the act?
> (==>)
From this jealousy bit, I wonder to what degree Earth C humans are used to Troll quadrants and their various interplay mores.
> (Room: Examine yourself.)
Oh, a proper room introduction for Harry Anderson! Very fashion-focused, very liking the spotlight--
Oh wait, shit. This is traditionally where classpect associations are hinted more obviously than anywhere else. Time to stop holding back on the classpect stuff and take in every fucking word with capital-C Classpect fully in mind.
A bedroom stands empty. There is no boy standing in this bedroom, or indeed anyone else. However, if the boy whose bedroom it was were here, one might remark that his name was HARRY ANDERSON.
And FUCK, one might say, does he like MUSICAL THEATER.
Spotlight, definitely. But is it for the attention? The possibilities? The acting?
He has been in his fair share of school plays, but he has LOFTY ASPIRATIONS to STAR in bigger and better productions. He especially appreciates modern MUSICAL REMAKES of classic OLD EARTH MOVIES. It's a craze that not everyone is happy about, but in the absent boy they have found a DEVOTED FAN. There is also just enough overlap between his taste and his father’s to allow for SOMEWHAT STILTED CONVERSATIONAL BONDING from time to time.
Hmmmm. Is it about the majesty of important works of media (I see “Pokémon” and “Alien vs Predator” up there...), or is it about the fact that they’re remakes of past works? Those are a lot of awards and stage lights now that I zoom in to look... and hats... hats could be important......
The boy who is not yet here has also been known to dabble in ACCESSORIZATION. He could be described as a COBBLER ASPIRANT, a NEOPHYTE MILLINER, or even a BIT OF A WHIZZ WITH A NEEDLE AND THREAD.
Oh, interesting! Not just putting out different outfits, but making them? And Milliner is hat-specific creation...
His mother got him his first SEWING MACHINE when he was 10, to keep him from using hers all the time. His looks are HAND-CRAFTED, often IMITATED, but never DUPLICATED.
Space is obviously possible from sewing, but-- A focus on uniqueness!!! The broader theme is getting VERY specific. You might feel where I’m leaning already.
His COSTUMES appear in various AMATEUR PRODUCTIONS, the devising of which takes up most of his FREE TIME. His friends are usually LESS APPRECIATIVE of his attempts to dress them up than he would like, though.
Holy fucking shit. He dresses up and makes unique HATS for his friends and others. Specifically so they can use them as COSTUMES to act parts!!!!
And the other unique thing mentioned about him here took the time aside to note how he appreciated the intersection in personal interests between him and his father for it.
So you all know what I’m thinking, right? HATS??? It’s got to be Heart, isn’t it. Maybe even a Page of Heart, with his long-off aspirations and talent for arming others with it. Any other additive/giving class might do the trick, too, like Sylph or possibly Maid. Knight could technically still fit pretty well, but I feel Page is better given what little we know so far, what with so much outward focus bleeding out.
(You can comb through the saga on my infamous hats tag or the summary on the Aspect Duality post, but the gist is that hats (and others’ clothes, but especially the hats. even shoes -- SO many shoes in that picture!) represent the gist of an expressed identity, personal uniqueness whether innate or affected ala a costume. Nepeta, Dirk, Terezi, and even Stitch have given us examples, some of them deeper than we realized, MOST of them probably overthought bullshit like I thought when I first created the hats tag and started tracking the wonderful importance of hats. ¬_¬)
I’d like to see anyone else’s interpretation. (EDIT: One more potential Nep-allusion in this room.)
> (==>)
Oh nooooooo!!!! Tavros’s sprite is the saddest looking thing I’ve ever seen!! D: Like a mix of Jane and Jake that thoroughly regrets his entire existence! Which he practically does! D: Why the Caliborn-like clothes though?
(Some hint at “how different alt!Callie’s Caliborn must have been” like the commentary suggested exploring in fanfiction? Was the suggestion meant to divert attention from the idea that it’d be addressed in the plot? Andrew pulled that trick a time or two, why not these authors?)
Also:
Pffff. Vriska just accessorizing immediately-- Oh, wait. That might just be a bandana she had at some point coated in Gamzee’s blood.
Tavros is looking at the news on a borrowed phone -- nice call on disabling the tracking on yours, Tavros.
> (==>)
TAVROS: It’s getting a bit surreal to see my, uh,, frozen mask of horror on every news site,,
TAVROS: It’s a good shot of you,,, though, Vrissy,
VRISSY: It really is Shockingly well composed.
Heheheh. It’s fun that Tavros knows exactly what Vrissy/ka would care about.
And yes, Vriska is over there trying out ALL the bandanas.
> (==>)
VRISSY: Oh, is trying on all my 8oyfriend’s accessories not passing the time well enough for you?
VRISKA: Desper8 times call for desper8 measures, Vrissy.
VRISKA: And this is some dire shit.
They stare each other down. Did she mean the fugitive situation, or Harry Anderson’s fashion choices? Vrissy feels silly wondering this, but despite the situation they’re in, she can’t help but feel more acutely anxious about Vriska’s presence.
She likes her life, and she trusts her own choices. But now, looking at everything from Vriska’s vantage point, it all feels silly. Unimportant. Childish.
She can’t tell if she wants Vriska to rip in to Harry Anderson or if she wants her to stay silent. To put off the moment where she has to defend him or join in.
Real interesting. Like she’s caught between these worlds after all.
> (==>)
They say it was a long drive, but...?
...WOW. What a chill, disinterested-looking affect his sprite makes for. Huh.
He kisses Vrissy’s temple and she leans in to the warmth of him.
HARRY ANDERSON: aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.
HARRY ANDERSON: so sorry it took so long.
HARRY ANDERSON: can’t rush a heart to heart, you know how it is.
Stop making me deliberate whether you’re trying to drop teasing Heart-aspect hints. You already know I’m going to be obsessively scrutinizing every word of dialogue around Harry to see if it fits, story. No need to rub it in.
VRISSY: You actually had a Heart to Heart with your dad? How many times did he Cry?
I DIDN’T EVEN READ THE NEXT LINE QUIT SAYING HEART TO HEART YOU EVEN GAVE IT PROPER CAPS THAT TIME
HARRY ANDERSON: but god, it was a mess. i had to keep talking to keep him from looking at his phone or turning on the radio.
HARRY ANDERSON: i may have told him more about my deep passions and emotions in the last hour than the whole rest of my life combined, just to keep him from hearing the fucking news.
Holy shit. You exploited conversation about your deep passions and interests for a separate goal???
Aaargh! Classpect everywhere! I’ve relapsed!!! D:
> (==>)
JOHN IS SO HAPPY
John Egbert has not had a day like this in a very long time. He can barely keep track of this series of epiphanies he’s having. He stretches out on his couch to relax and process the gifts of advice and connection his friends and family and ex-family have just given him.
OH RIGHT TIME TO RUIN IT WITH MAXIMUM SHENANIGANS
JOHN: hey karkat! great timing!
JOHN: so much just happened and im kind of reeling about it.
KARKAT: YEAH NO SHIT.
Ohhhh. Much of the time I hate dramatic irony, but those moments before someone is about to be let in on the discrepancy... oh man I love that.
JOHN: is something going on? i just spent the afternoon with my son, and i think he would have told me if something was up with his friends?
KARKAT: OH MY LUSCIOUS SHITTING CHRIST JOHN LISTEN TO ME.
JOHN: listening!
"Luscious”?? Did they try to type “Lusus” and get autocorrected?
Who’s writing Homestuck on their phone???
> (==>)
J...John?? Are you okay?? XD
This picture. These two paragraphs. I fucking love them.
(Wow, being closer to the “canon” story due to ridiculous shenanigans right after his back-to-back self-insights and outlook changes have really been healthy for him huh. He can probably sense HS^2 reaching him out here. And you can see the helpless comedian his probably-still-depressed ass became on Earth B in his reaction here. EDIT: Also, how appropriate that even by DYING, the Bard of Rage managed to fulfill his role and shatter the last vestiges of John's narrow-outlooked despair?)
John can’t answer. He can’t speak. His body has given itself over to the long-lost feeling of manic euphoria. It had felt like Harry Anderson was holding something back on the drive earlier, but he had already told John so much. He hadn’t wanted to press for more.
Yeah... after what John’s gone through across his life and session, finding out Harry managed to hide THIS for a whole car-ride is the best sort of punch-line for him.
John can’t breathe. Something is happening. Something is finally fucking happening, and he’s finally awake enough to appreciate it.
--yep. I was just guessing earlier, but this kind of confirms it’s in part a closer-to-relevance, closer-to-canon feeling bleeding in. Something is happening that’s important enough to SHOW onscreen and not skip over. I guess he really does like being anchored in Light after all.
> (==>)
John wheezes himself into relative calm. He has to get Karkat to understand. He clears his throat and breathes.
JOHN: karkat, this can be how we win.
JOHN: i know what we need to do.
...holy SHIT.
Karkat, how did you know calling JOHN about this would work out this well??
John actually taking confident action to solve a problem, in a way that isn’t going to end up depressing like his attempt to provide Tavros escape in the Epilogues... this should be interesting.
See you next time. (I had to image-fix some stupid linked hat posts for this blogpost and I’m out of energy, so I’ll fix the other old post I promised that asker to fix in like, a day or two; I’ll post when I do.)
#Homestuck#hs2#Homestuck Liveblog#upd8#Homestuck^2#bladekindeyewear#blastyoboots#hats#Heart and Mind#Harry Anderson
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Authority Online : Ch 1
4:50 PM on a Friday
Just ten minutes left in the day and there was still a three inch stack of things sitting on her desk that needed her immediate attention.
Jaune ran her fingers through her once carefully combed, short, blonde hair with one hand and flipped through the deposition from her last session of court with the other. It was a fairly cut and dry case, the defense was merely dragging their feet and wasting her time. She grunted before sliding the offending documents back into their case and glancing up at her laptop as her email dinged almost simultaneously with her phone.
A quick tap on the track-pad began opening up her email as she glanced down at her phone and grimaced the second she glimpsed her mother’s contact photo. She couldn’t ignore it forever, as much as she wished she could, but she could certainly put it off for a little while.
Amber eyes instead turned to the now three new emails sitting in her inbox, two from clients and one from her assistant who chose that moment to step into her office, a tablet in one arm and quickly flicking at something on the screen.
“Ms. Roche, I sent the contracts you wanted and scheduled your meeting for Monday morning so they can be signed.” She continued to tap at the tablet without even looking up.
“I got them,” she mumbled almost distractedly as she quickly typed out a reply to the other two emails and downloaded the documents to her hard drive before closing the laptop and sliding it and the rest of the papers and various manilla folders on her desk into her bag before finally looking at her phone and opening her mother’s text.
‘Dinner will be at 6. Don’t be late.’
Jaune rolled her eyes and sighed. She had forgotten about the dinner she had tentatively agreed to on Monday for no other reason than to get off the phone with the older woman so she could get some work done in peace.
Honestly she had barely been listening as her mother had blabbered on about some show she was dying to go see and was unconsciously humming in agreement while reading through some paperwork when she had apparently agreed to dinner at her family’s estate.
What she really needed to do was go home, order takeout and look over these files for her Monday meeting. She’d never hear the end of it though if she did. With another, more resigned sigh she stood from her desk and shouldered her bag, shutting and locking the drawers of her desk.
This was her assistant's cue to look up from the screen she nearly had her pointed nose shoved against.
"Goodnight, Daisy, I'll see you Monday." She nodded to her assistant as she walked out.
"Have a nice weekend, Ms. Roche." Her assistant's nasally, high pitched voice followed her into the hall.
"I wouldn't bet on it," she grumbled to herself as she stalked out to the elevator.. Hitting the ground floor button a little harder then she had intended.
Dinner with her mother was the absolute last thing on her list of things she wanted to do this evening.
Especially with the kick her mother had been on for the past few months.
Apparently she had been single much too long, in her mother’s opinion, and had started trying to foist a random assortment of women on her at every social gathering, function and event they ever went to together anymore. It was becoming tiresome to say the least.
She didn’t have time to date, even with two partners and about a dozen other lawyers beneath them, she had an ever-constant stream of work making its way onto her desk every week.
True enough, she could assign a number of her cases to the more junior lawyers, but then she rarely got all the results she wanted.
Perhaps she was a micromanager...
It got results though.
In seven years she had turned her father’s successful practice into a proverbial giant in their field with a series of successful high profile cases.
Ever since they had a constant inflow of cases and clients that did not leave her much of a social life. Which was her mother’s main complaint.
How many times now had she watched her mother lay on the antique fainting couch in her drawing-room and lament her only child’s lack of a love life with the kind of over the top melodrama that one could expect from a retired cabaret dancer?
Several times that she could think of off the top of her head at this moment.
Just last Tuesday, in fact.
Tonight would probably be much of the same if she cared to wager on it.
She wasn’t against dating, but besides not having much time for it, it wasn’t as though she knew anyone who was worth even making the effort for. Certainly not the often, vapid women her mother had been trying to push onto her.
Rich and affluent, but the kind of woman that Jaune knew she had nothing in common with. Most of their interests, like her mother’s, included spending all day at spas, and country clubs. Where her mother usually met them. Several she had run into at the opera.
Something she couldn’t stand.
She had a penchant for music and performing, as to be expected considering her mother’s influence on her as a child, but all opera did was give her a headache.
When the elevator finally stopped, she walked quickly through the front lobby, glancing at her watch.
The sight of the golden yellow Mercedes parked in her reserved spot on the ground floor of the parking garage made her relax a little as she pulled out her keys to unlock it.
She tossed her bag into the backseat of the car and slid into the driver’s seat with a tired sigh.
She would bear dinner for the bare minimum she had to, but it certainly wouldn’t be with a grin.
~ ~ ~
By the time she managed to navigate the 5 o'clock traffic and pull up the gates of her grotesquely large childhood home it was only five till six. The large black, wrought iron gates with the stylized ‘R’ in the center swung open when she pulled up, allowing her to drive up the immaculately kept, two hundred yards up to the main house.
The large, white, American colonial styled mansion had been large to start with but had been added onto several times over the last eighty years it had been in her family, resulting in a twelve thousand square foot, two-story, fifteen bedroom and twelve bathroom monstrosity that was much too large for the number of people that lived in it. Namely her mother and a handful of staff, some of which had been working on the estate since she was born. This didn’t even account for the land the house was sitting on.
She mostly didn’t even notice the sprawling acreage all around her anymore, but she did notice the unfamiliar, black Ferrari, parked in the driveway next to her mother’s white Aston Martin.
Was someone else here for dinner?
Her mother would have said if she had bought another car, and she knew the older woman well enough to know that she would never buy a car in any shade but stark white.
Jaune frowned, her instincts telling her to just turn around and go home, but she swallowed them knowingly and put her car in park behind her mother’s before climbing out of the car and moving up the walk to the front door.
She didn’t bother with knocking and let herself in. The foyer was empty but she could hear her mother’s cloying laughter from down the hall.
Inhaling deeply through her nose she followed the noise till she found the woman in the drawing-room, sitting across the room in her favorite chaise lounge, smiling at the two people sitting across from her. A much older, balding man and a woman with long black hair, perhaps around her own age.
The man, even from the back, she recognized as an old friend and previous business partner of her father’s. The woman though was not familiar.
It was at that moment that Blanche Roche happened to glance up and spot her daughter standing in the hall.
“Jaune! We’ve been waiting for you.” She smiled, clapping her hands together, prompting the guests to turn and look at her.
“Jaune, how good it is to see you again.” The man smiled brightly and walked around the couch to stick out his hand, which she grabbed more out of reflex than anything.
“You as well. I didn’t know we were having guests this evening...” Eyes flickered to her mother who was smiling coyly at her.
“Ah, Well, we happened to run into your mother at the club this afternoon and she was kind enough to invite us to dinner, which reminds me, I don’t think you’ve ever met my daughter, Alice.” He held out an arm as the woman who had been sitting on the couch came around to shake her hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” The woman smiled.
“Dear, Alice here has been planning a trip to Spain, perhaps you could tell her about some of the things you did when you went last year,” Blanche suggested and Jaune immediately caught onto her mother’s game.
This was a setup.
She kept a carefully neutral look on her face even as she seethed inside at this ambush.
It was at that moment that her mother’s favorite maid, Penny, a tall, thin woman who kept her light colored hair in tightly coiled buns on the sides of her head, walked into the room to announce that dinner was ready to be served.
Their guests followed her to the dining room, allowing Jaune to glare at her mother from across the room before having to follow.
~ ~ ~
The next hour seemed to drag by for Jaune as her mother made not so subtle attempts to create some kind of connection between her and this woman that just did not exist.
Her answers were short and to the point. Verging on curt, but just shy. Not shy enough if the looks her mother was sending her were any indication.
It took everything she had not to sigh in relief when they announced they needed to be going. They walked them to the front door, saying their goodbyes before walking out.
Alice stopped in the door just long enough to turn to Jaune and hold out a business card with her number on it., which she took.
“When you have time we should get together again.” She smiled before walking out the door. Jaune glanced down at the card.
“Well, you were perfectly surly, this evening.” Her mother’s annoyed tone cut the silence.
“I don’t appreciate being ambushed.” She turned to her mother with a scowl. “Did you plan this all week?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffed, turning on heel and walking to her study, Jaune following, stalkingly, right behind her. “I ran into them today and thought it was a good opportunity.” She tossed a hand flippantly as she sat at her desk and reached for the decanter of brandy sitting on the desk and poured herself a glass.
“That you tactfully did not mention to me.” Amber eyes glared into black ones for a long moment before Blanche sighed, resigned at being caught red handed in duplicity.
“It was just one dinner, dear.” She picked up the glass and swirled the liquid around. “You act as though I had planned an entire wedding.”
“If you could I’m sure you would.” Jaune snorted, crossing her arms.
“I’m only trying to help…,” she started.
“I don’t need help!” Jaune snapped, making her mother’s eyes widen a fraction. She sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to warn off the headache she could feel coming on. When the tightness finally receded somewhat she opened her eyes to look at her mother.
“We have talked about this several times, and I know you just want me to be happy, but I’m perfectly fine as I am now, mother,” she assured, though it was said in a level tone, there was certain pointedness to the words.
Blanche looked at her for a long, quiet moment before sighing tiredly, seemingly more to herself.
“I know you are, Jaune, but fine and happy are not the same thing,” she said before finally lifting the brandy filled glass to her lips and taking a deep drink.
~ ~ ~
It was only when she was home, sitting in front of her laptop in her home office and nursing a large glass of wine after a near boiling shower that she cared to think about what her mother had said.
She could, grudgingly, admit that while she wasn’t unhappy, that didn’t mean she was happy either.
She was…content, perhaps would have been the right word.
Content could be improved, of course, she’d just never really cared to try. Though it was now becoming apparent that if she didn’t put in some kind of effort, even minimal, she was going to continue to be ambushed at dinners. She drummed her fingers on the wooden desktop, nails clicking on the high polished surface.
Where would she even start, it had been a while, and she was short on time most days, not even mentioning that bars and clubs had never been her style to start with.
She glanced at her computer for a long moment and took a long drink before setting the glass down and tapping the screen, bringing the device to life. She hesitated only a moment before she opened the browser and typed.
‘Online dating’
Several hundred pages popped up, making her grimace and take another long drink.
She scrolled through about half a page, unimpressed with the majority of the offerings.
Especially Tinder.
She was about ready to close the computer and walk away when one website happened to catch her eye, if for no other reason then the bizarre name.
‘The Authority: Online dating for adult professionals’
Curiously, she clicked the link.
It had a similar look to some of the other dating sites she’d seen before but perhaps more streamlined and with less frills, not that she was going to pretend to be an expert on web design, dating or otherwise.
It touted a large user base of professionals all over the world and a superior matching algorithm. She rolled her eyes, scrolling through the front page.
With a final sigh she clicked the signup and started filling out the various questions. Height, weight, hobbies, the standard affair. If nothing else, the next time her mother inevitably brought this up she could tell her that she was at least making an attempt.
It took her longer than she cared to admit to find some photos of herself that were both recent and not dressed for trial, though she added one in anyway. The other two, her on the beach and in the markets in Spain last year.
It wasn’t a vacation, it was work, but they had finished a couple days early and Daisy had convinced her to do some sightseeing.
She couldn’t off the top of her head think of the last time she had traveled that wasn’t for work purposes.
Putting that aside for now, she finished putting in her personal information and moved on to the questions about what she was looking for.
She was relieved to see the women seeking women option. She remembered all too well when all the lawsuits had been going on against a popular dating site that had adamantly refused to cater to any sort of LGBTA clientele.
She’d considered taking some of the cases at the time, but had been swamped with other things at the time.
Clicking the right box and selecting her desired age range and city before it finally took her to her newly created profile and prompted her to write a short bio.
She quickly typed out a short paragraph, just the basic information, her profession, where she went to school and a few random tidbits about herself.
The screen began to buffer before a message popped up.
‘Congratulations, your profile is complete! Now send some messages!’
“Not tonight…” She shut the computer and stood, taking her wine with her as she flicked off the light and closed the office door behind her.
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hello!! just thought I'd stop by and say thank u for making content for us!! your little creations help make my day go by a little better :) also I thought I should ask whats your favorite thing about each tbz members if you dont mind? I'm in the mood to adore these boys more! 💞🥰
ahhhh i’m glad i’m able to brighten someone’s day with my content ! that’s all i could ask for ^~^ hmm i might end up writing an essay so here goes:
(also i might mention two things for some just bc 1 is more about them as a person in general and the second thing is about them as performers!)
sangyeon - for sangyeon, it might be a bit on the nose but i really think my favorite thing about him is his leadership, esp when oneus were collabing with tbz on rtk, he has really good people skills and knows how to talk through and guide conversations and group dynamics !
jacob - this is a bit,,, tough ,,, as a performer jacob is a good all-rounder, i absolutely adore his vocals and his dancing and i think he’s one of the strongest members in both categories... in general terms though, my favorite thing really is what everyone probably said too which is how kind, considerate, and angelic he is... i know he said he likes keeping his own problems to himself because he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with it, but then he goes around trying to take a little of everyone else’s problems to try and make them feel better,,, he really loves and cares about everyone around him;;; and he never really complains or take it out on anyone else and i just- ... yea i’m love he :((
younghoon - i think my favorite thing about younghoon is how unique (?) / eccentric he is,,, he tends to think very divergently / outside-of-the-box and considers stuff i never would have even dreamed of coming up with,,, and he’s just proud and unapologetic about it too ! he’s silly but bright and i think that’s the really cool thing about him :))
hyunjae - my fav thing about hyunjae is his tendency for acts of service ...? if that makes sense,,, he uses actions to express things just as much as his words ;;; like he did this vlive with haknyeon once where he adjusted the camera to include hak even tho it wasn’t intended to be a two person vlive anyway, or on chanhee’s bday vlive where he told off bbangkyu for blocking chanhee,,, it’s really just how much he tires his best to take care of others even when he’s jokingly teasing them despite it !
juyeon - my fav thing about juyeon is his ... what i’d call a perfect combination of self confidence and humbleness haha,,, he knows his strong points and he knows how to utilize them best and to his advantage but he never lets it inflate his ego bc that’s just how down-to-earth he is :,,))) you can kind of tell in the way the other members always prank him but he’s just so trusting of the people around him, he never shows off without immediately getting a bit shy after and i think that’s very admirable and wholesome of him :,)
kevin - HHHH okay let’s see... my favorite superficial thing about kevin is this one smile he has where,,, when someone says something he finds funny or he’s talking to fans and he smiles so wide it looks like his cheekies are about to burst from how happy he is and ..... yea ok i’m- going to say something serious now,,, this is also from his gen z interview video but i think the thing that i love the most about kevin is just how aware he is... of those around him,,, during mafia games for example, he’s always peace keeping and giving members the chance to defend themselves and he’s always trying his best to adjust his own behavior to fit in with what he thinks other people want ;;;; and i just,,, really adore him for that,,, i hope he can feel comfy and unapologetically himself too of course, and i think he is when he’s drawing and being artistically active and so i’m just *heart eyes* i guess *sigh*
chanhee - hands down my favorite thing about chanhee as a performer is his voice... i talk about this a lot bc i was a choir kid for 4 years but, chanhee is a spectacular vocalist, and his voice is so distinctive too,,, falsetto king, he’s got this light airy / breathy timbre and it’s so beautiful to me ;;;; and his. adlibs!!!!! as a person... this is actually really difficult for me to put into words bc i just want to say my fav thing about chanhee is he’s tinie LOL but what i mean by that is,,, he’s got this,,, delicate sensitivity ? idk i feel like we’re similar in many ways which is probably my fav thing about him,,, he clings to the other members despite their teasing but he always tries his best to avoid embarrassing stuff and he’s introverted ... ok yea please give me one pass i cannot pick just one fav thing about chanhee i am a mess
changmin - hmm i think my favorite thing about changmin is just how genuine he is,,, i think he likes to just... talk ! about anything he wants which is why he goes on vlive so often, and i’ve noticed he is pretty straightforward and says stuff directly ! it’s not a bad thing i admire him a lot for it, actually, he really just talks with so much open honesty about how he feels and what he thinks that it’s almost second nature to him... i really love just listening to him talk about anything honestly his vlives are like having 3am conversations over the phone with your best friend... that kind of feeling
haknyeon - THIS IS THE HARDEST T^T i love so many things about haknyeon... ok as a performer, my favorite thing about haknyeon is how adaptable he is and how he completely (?) absorbs a concept,,, like it doesn’t matter if it’s cute like keeper or darker like reveal,,, he fully embodies whatever concept it is almost to the point you would never guess how he is irl,,, i really think he’d make a great actor just bc his stage presence is so powerful and convincing and his facial expressions are killer... as a person,,, i think my favorite thing is something i’ve talked about before but he has this natural wonderment in his worldview... i think it’s his confidence like he talked about in the generation z video but he treats everything as something new he can learn from,,, he gets so so excited over the smallest things and is easily intrigued by anything and everything around him and he treats it all as a personal challenge, like if he tried hard enough he could do literally anything (i compare him to a cat going outside of its house for the first time and getting to see a butterfly that kind of vibe ;;;;)
sunwoo - my favorite thing about sunwoo is how caring he is ? i’m not sure a lot of people catch it but despite his endless clowning and bullying of the other members, he’s also always one of the first members to praise them or shower them in compliments. he’s also so whipped for all of them T-T he (mostly) always laughs at any of their jokes, dumb as they may be, or agrees with whatever they’re saying, the teasing and shading is all a front almost :,)) it’s really cute of him
eric - my favorite thing about eric is his pure earnest enthusiasm for everything,,, i know all the tbz members work their hardest at everything they do as performers, but eric,,, he tries his hardest and then 54396 times more,,, i think it comes from him being the youngest member maybe, but he works so hard at anything and everything, may it be games or performing... he just acts as if he’s always trying to prove something, our energy eric T^T ! he never lets up even for a second and i adore him so much for that, goofball that he may be !
#i wrote A HUGE ESSAY read under the keep reading cut !#i think if you didn't know who i biased#you could take one look at this ask and figure it out LMFAO#anon#asks#not tbz#jess.replies#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WROTE SO MUCH T-T HH
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not to drag out the situation, but i really appreciate you speaking up about the whole dick as a poc. i really dislike dick as romani because, as you've mentioned, it's overall racist and Not Good, but i'm always worried about pointing that out and getting called racist, even though most of those dick stans are the ones actively ignoring actual poc characters in favour of his shitty, hackjob romani background.
god....... you hear that? that’s the sound of the tea being poured
I used to feel the exact same way, but at this point, when you have people barging onto other people’s posts specifically to call them racists for daring not to kiss the ground Dick Grayson walks on, enough is really enough
I love Dick. he’s my second favorite DC character after Jason. but we all need to face it: he’s a white boy. they both are. Devin Grayson’s shitty “backstory” that she forced on him just to have an excuse to 1) reinforce carnival worker stereotypes and 2) write Bruce as a racist does not erase the fact that he’s a white guy in 98% of his appearances, and that he has white privilege (as much as a fictional character can).
I mean, even if he’s “Romani” in Rebirth, look at how DC handles it: I love Raptor, too, but his entire character is one absolutely cringe-worthy racist caricature of the standard “evil leper g*psy.” fucking LEPROSY. they gave him fucking l e p r o s y!!! and that’s in addition to his “capitalism is the enemy so I will become a terrorist” deal. is this the representation people want??
Dick is white (save for a few racist retellings). Jason is white. Tim is white. Bruce is maybe Jewish if you squint, but still white af. no amount of clambering to try and make them POC will actually make them POC, you are not stanning an actual POC by insisting that these white characters are not white.
know who isn’t white in the batfam? Damian. Talia. Duke. Cass. the Fox family. Helena (in some versions). and yet, naturally, these same people who champion “POC Dick” fall silent when it comes to these characters. where were they when those assholes were bitching about Duke being in the batfamily portrait? when Cass got Batgirl taken away from her so she could be some stupid “Orphan” as if her relationship with Bruce as a father figure doesn’t exist? when modern comics still today have background gang members drawn as stereotypical black/Latino “thugs” getting the shit kicked out of them by the (white, white, so super white) main batfamily members?
it’s performative to a sickening degree. you don’t care about POC characters, you care about having a justification to drool over your favorite white boy (looking at “Jason is Latino/Tim is Asian” people too). and there’s nothing wrong with liking white characters, but jfc, cop to it! don’t draw them a few shades darker and pretend you’ve done something revolutionary, and that anyone who doesn’t do the same is somehow Less Woke Than Thou.
wow, that came out longer than I intended. whoops. but yeah, at least now there’s a record on here of where I stand!
#ask#the shitscourse#u know what? let's invite disaster#I'll put this in the tags#DC#Batman#Dick Grayson#Anonymous
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