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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 7 months

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Love's a Game, Wanna Play?

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 1

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

2.9k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking/partying, Roy being kind of pathetic for Keeley

A/N: Ahh I'm so excited for this series! I was inspired while watching the Eras movie and it just kind of spiraled from there. I am so, so excited to share this with you ❤️

As always, @agentstarkid is an absolute angel for letting me yammer about this thing nonstop!

The tabloid headlines screamed up at me from my publicist’s office coffee table, all about how Everett, my idiot boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now- had punched out some guy in a club. And in every photo, there I was behind Ev, holding two drinks and laughing. Granted, one of those drinks was his. And the laughter was because in my drunken state, I genuinely thought Everett and the other guy were just goofing around. But none of that mattered when people had magazines to sell.

“Babe,” Lanie, my publicist, was saying from her spot next to me on the couch. “We need a serious image makeover.”

“I already broke up with Everett for continuing to be the world’s biggest jackass,” I reminded her as I grabbed some M&M’s from the coffee table. “Not sure what else there is to do.”

April, my personal assistant, picked up one of the magazines and began to flip through it. “It’s not just Everett,” she started slowly, opening up to the article all about mine and Ev’s ‘wild night’ at the club. “It’s you. You party, you go out with guy after guy, this Twitter thing with, well, you know…” She shrugged. “You’re getting something of a reputation, love.”

I sighed and popped another candy into my mouth. “I bet Ev’s people aren’t having this conversation with him right now,” I grumbled childishly.

“Because everyone already knows he’s garbage,” Lanie snorted. “This is exactly the kind of behavior they expect from him. But you-” She grasped my hand, her face full of affection. “-you are amazing. You’re a great writer and performer, and you’re a role model. So what the hell you were doing with that rat, no one could ever understand.”

“Hmmph.” I slouched further onto the couch, pretending that she wasn’t completely correct about Everett being scummy. He was cute, in that skinny, pale, undernourished, unshowered way rock stars tended to be. He was famous and had a commanding stage presence with a swagger he really hadn’t earned. And he was always ready to have a good time. But he wasn’t exactly sweet. Or sensitive, unless someone was criticizing his art. Or really all that intelligent, although he liked to talk like he was.

April cleared her throat. “Lanie and I think we might… need some outside help.”

I narrowed my eyes, always suspicious when these two were in cahoots without me. “What kind of outside help?”

“Keeley Jones,” Lanie said simply, pulling out her phone. “Has her own firm. I’ve worked with her before. The woman’s a bit… quirky. But she’s brilliant, babes.” She showed me a picture of a woman I was sure I’d seen before. “We’ll meet with her the day after tomorrow to talk strategy.”

“She’s a fan,” April added in that helpful voice of hers. “She loves your music.”

I studied the picture carefully. “Keeley Jones,” I murmured. “She’s a model, right? Or was, I assume?” Before either woman could respond, it clicked. “Oh shit,” I hissed. “She’s one of those poor women who got her photos and videos leaked last year, isn’t she?”

“She was,” Lanie confirmed. “So, she completely understands how ruthless and, frankly, unfair the press can be to a woman. It’s one of the reasons I think she’ll be a good fit. She’s pretty passionate about defending women from unfair treatment.”

“Well,” I sighed, leaning back, “guess we can hear her out, see what she has in mind.”

Lanie cleared her throat, glancing at April, who looked just as anxious. “Actually,” my publicist said slowly, “we already know what she has in mind.”

Keeley sat in Roy’s chair, feet casually up on his desk, scrolling absently on her phone while she waited for the gaffer to come in from the pitch.

“Oh. Uh, hi Keeley.” Roy Kent stood stiffly in the doorway, the way he often stood when he saw his ex-girlfriend. Fuck, she looked pretty today, in a stupidly fluffy pink sweater and ridiculously high heeled boots. Keeley always looked pretty.

Either Keeley didn’t notice the way his eyes softened at the sight of her, or she chose to ignore it. “Hey there, Roy-o!” she greeted, swinging her feet off his desk and sitting up straight. “D’you have a minute?”

For Keeley? Roy had all the minutes in the fucking world. To an extent, she knew that; he did come stumbling to her house with Jamie Tartt, begging her to choose between them, after all. And she cherished Roy, she really did. He treated her better than anyone else ever had. But she also knew that the way he loved her wasn’t the way she loved him or was even the way she wanted to be loved.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use his softness for her to her advantage every now and then.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” she started slowly as Roy leaned on his desk, not growling at her to get out of his chair like he would to anyone else. “See, I’ve got this client, and she needs some help in the PR department.”

Roy smirked. “She wanted the best, so she came to Keeley fucking Jones for help?”

Keeley shrugged off his praise. “Well, kind of. Her people came to me for a consultation. I know her publicist, she’s fabulous, they’re just a bit at a loss right now.”

“Can I ask who it is?” Roy vaguely recognized the name Keeley responded with. “That fucking pop star, right? With all the boyfriends?”

“Pop phenomenon, you mean,” Keeley snorted. “She’s only one of the biggest names in the world.”

Like Roy gave a fuck about some pop princess. “If she’s so big, why does she need PR help?

Keeley sighed. “She’s got some bad press right now. Her gross boyfriend- ex-boyfriend now, thankfully- got into a fight at a club, sent the guy to hospital. And somehow, this is her fault. Not to mention that this actress that she used to hang out with is all over Twitter badmouthing her, saying she’s trying to steal her boyfriend. She’s just… got a lot going on at the moment.”

“Fucking trainwreck,” Roy mumbled, starting to wonder where the fuck he came into play.

“She’s really not,” Keeley insisted. “Her publicist- Lanie- says she’s actually really great. Very kind and intelligent. She just goes out a lot and apparently has shit choice in company.” She lit up. “That’s where I need you, Roy.”

I need you, Roy. Those four words had Roy sitting up taller, smirking a little as he gazed at that pretty face. “And what, exactly, do you need me for?”

Keeley bit her lip. “D’you know what a ‘publicity stunt’ is?”

I drained the last of my giant coffee cup as I approached the elevator, sighing when I realized it had not made my tequila-caused headache disappear. While I’d promised Lanie I wouldn’t be going out for a bit, she’d never said anything about me having people over. Just a dozen of my closest friends, laughing in my living room and losing track of shots. Definitely what I needed to take my mind off the headlines, but probably not the best idea before an early-morning breakfast meeting at KBPR.

“You need to press the button.”

“Excuse me?” I turned in the direction of the voice- the growl, really- that pulled me out of my thoughts.

The bearded man let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his brown eyes. “You need to press the fucking button,” he repeated slowly, as if to a toddler, “if you want to call the lift.”

Behind my oversized sunglasses, I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring my initial observation that he was pretty damn cute. “Are you really implying that I don’t know how to use an elevator?” I scoffed.

He reached around me, completely invading my personal space, and hit the button in question. “Well, you’re standing here just fucking staring,” he grumbled. “So, either you’re a fucking zombie, or you don’t know how to use a lift. Either way, you’re making me fucking late.”

With a scowl, I turned to face the doors, desperate for them to open- although less desperate to get into the enclosed space with this man. As soon as the elevator dinged, I stepped inside the still opening doors, smashing the floor number Lanie had texted me and settling myself into a corner with crossed arms. The man stepped on after me and reached for the buttons, but stopped, thumb hovering over the number I had just hit. With a small hmmph, he slouched in the opposite corner, mirroring my closed-off body language.

It was a silent ride, filled with scowls and impatient huffs from both of us. I tried to remember the last time someone was so snide to me; it definitely didn’t happen often, at least not away from the safe anonymity of the internet.

When the elevator got to our floor, the man glared at me, a grunt urging me to step out first. I gave a hum of acknowledgement, matching his curt tone and refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

What a dick.

Unfortunately, that dick was about two steps behind me as I walked down the hall to the KBPR office. I tried to ignore the heavy sounds of his footsteps and focus on the insane idea this supposedly brilliant PR expert had come up with.

That PR expert smiled at me when I approached, sticking her hand out. “I’m Keeley Jones,” she chirped, her professional tone and handshake contrasting with her bright pink dress and sparkly shoes. “It is so nice to meet you!” Her eyes shifted behind me. “And I assume you already met Roy in the lift!”

Oh no. Oh hell no. There was no way this was the guy, this scowling, rude, son of a-

“Can we start this meeting?” the man- Roy- grumbled as he approached. “I’ve only got like an hour. I left Beard in charge of training, so the team’s probably in the fucking sewer again.”

“Come on in,” Keeley Jones hummed, gesturing for us to follow her. We walked through the bright office, following her into what I assumed was her personal office, one as brightly lit and colorful as her.

Lanie was already on the plush couch, scrolling on her phone. She raised her eyebrows when she saw me. “What’s up with the sunglasses? Not hungover, are we?” Her bored tone was annoyingly familiar.

I rolled my eyes and plopped down on the couch next to her, removing the shades. “Didn’t want to be recognized on my way into a public relations office,” I muttered, tucking them into my purse. “Figured that would defeat the purpose of this whole operation.”

Keeley Jones smiled at me, an admittedly lovely, friendly smile, as she took a seat behind her desk; Roy hovered nearby. “She’s a smart one, Lanie, just like you said.” She looked up at Roy. “You two got acquainted on the lift, then?” When he simply grunted in reply, she turned back to me. “Now, I understand if you think this idea is crazy,” she started slowly. “And it kind of is. But believe me when I say, it’s been done, and I’ve seen it work.” She cleared her throat. “Celebrities fake-date all the time. To promote projects, to deflect bad press, to hide secrets. So you wouldn’t be the first ones to do this, trust me.” She gestured towards Roy. “And I think Roy here is perfect for you. He’s older and more mature than your previous boyfriends, so none of that party-boy stuff. He’s dated plenty of celebrities- including myself- so he knows what comes with the territory. Absolute football legend, so I think you’re suitably matched in terms of fame. And he’s pretty damn private these days.” Her smile softened. “And if I’m being candid, he’s probably the best guy I know. He’s so protective and trustworthy. He’ll have your back.”

“What’s in it for him?” I couldn’t help the way I narrowed my eyes at the brooding man; he returned the glare in kind.

“He could use the press too,” Keeley chuckled, gazing up at him. “I love you, Roy, but you’re not the most poised with the media.” She turned back to me as he rolled his eyes, something close to affection on his face this time. “He could use some of your charm and charisma to bolster his own reputation with the papers.” She nodded firmly. “It’s a match made in heaven. Or KBPR.”

Lanie nudged me. “What d’you think babes?”

I thought it was insane. Fake dating to get the press off my back? There were so many ways this thing could backfire. Not to mention the fact that my potential fake boyfriend was already on my nerves, with his probably permanent scowl and annoyed eyes.

But, as my mind wandered to the headlines I’d passed at the newsstands on my way to this meeting, I knew that I had to at least try.

“Yeah,” I murmured with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

Roy only vaguely heard her agree to the plan. He was too busy trying not to smile at Keeley’s praise; that he was mature, a legend, protective, and trustworthy. As ridiculous as he thought this whole publicity stunt business was, he was willing to give it a shot- for Keeley.

“Well, since we’re all onboard,” Keeley hummed, pulling out her tablet. “All that’s left to do is sign NDAs and plan your little romance.” She glanced at the calendar on her desk. “I’ve got a meet-cute in mind, actually. You’re friends with Dani Rojas, right?”

Roy blinked as the pop princess nodded, showing enthusiasm for the first time since he found her in front of the lift. “Dani? Oh, I love Dani! He’s such a sweetheart.”

“Oi.” Roy frowned at Keeley. “If they already know each other, why didn’t you ask Rojas to do this shit? The press like him a hell of a lot more than they like me.”

A snort came from the couch. “Don’t think his girlfriends would like him adding another woman to their relationship, even if it’s just pretend.”

Keeley nodded. “Exactly. And again, you’ve got this steady older guy thing going on, Roy. You manage a professional football team, you coach your niece, you sit at home and read. You’re very domestic, and I think she needs to be seen that way.” She grinned. “Dani doesn’t exactly have that same reputation. But he does provide you two with a connection.” She turned her attention back to her visitors. “Here’s what I’m thinking: you get Dani to invite you to a Richmond game and go out with the team afterwards. Win or lose, those guys pretty much always do something after a match. And that’s where you two can meet and connect.” She leaned back comfortably, looking every bit like the boss she was. “Then we’ll get you two seen together, get you to a few more matches, get Roy to a show, make some cryptic social media posts. Soft launch. Then we’ll do your debut as a couple, have you attend events on each other’s arms, gush about each other online and in interviews. Maybe you write Roy a song, maybe you go on holiday together, that kind of thing.” She flipped through the planner on her desk. “All in all, I’m thinking four to six months, then you can end things amicably and stay friends.”

“Six months?” Roy carped. “Keeley, you didn’t mention-”

“That’s a respectable period of time,” the ex-model interrupted. “Long enough for you two to get attention, be believable as a serious couple, and to get everyone to forget about these headlines.” She shook her head at Roy. “What, you thought you’d go on one date and that would be it? Come on, Roy. It took at least three weeks for us to start making headlines together. You know this takes time.”

Roy’s voice went low. “Keeley-”

Keeley stood and grabbed Roy’s arm; he wondered if she could feel that same little surge of energy at the contact. “Will you ladies give us one moment?” She dragged Roy out of the office, out of earshot. “Come on, Roy,” she huffed, letting go of him. “You said you could do this.”

“That was before I met her,” Roy grumbled, folding his arms and missing her touch. “This isn’t gonna work. No one’s going to believe us. We’ve barely met, and already she’s a right fucking nightmare-”

“You’re not exactly my daydream either, Kent.”

Roy whipped around. She stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. She walked over and gazed up at him with nothing but determination on her face.

“Listen,” she started. “I get it. This is stupid. The press is stupid. I think Keeley and Lanie are insane for this scheme, and I don’t really believe it’s going to work, if I’m being honest.” She looked at Keeley. “No offense, Miss Jones.” She turned her eyes back to Roy. “But this whole fame thing is an absolute fucking game. And apparently we both need help playing it.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m in if you are.”

A slow sigh escaped Roy’s lips. He really could use the positive exposure. Despite his growing comfort in front of the cameras, he still had years- decades- of shit press to make up for. And the Greyhounds could always use whatever positive publicity they could get. It’d be good for the club, and Roy would do just about anything for the club.

And he’d do absolutely anything for Keeley.

All it took was one glance over at that face, the face he missed waking up to, and he was done for. “Fine,” he huffed, shaking the popstar’s hand. “I’m fucking in.”

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @ladygrey03 @book-of-roses @thatonedogwithablog @misshall14 @wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff @akornsworld @itswhateveripromise @purecinnamonextract @oceanncurrent @dearvoidgoodnight @hopefulromances

#roy kent i'll write your name #roy kent iwyn #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso fanfiction

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bloody-wonder · 26 days

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I found this interesting books ask :

https://www.tumblr.com/dnana-2809-blog/749706502296813568/bookish-asks?source=share

Do you mind if I ask, no. 13, 14, 15, 18, and 50? Thanks...😁

thank you! i love talking about books :)

13. name a book with a really bad movie/tv adaption.

i just finished another book by celeste ng so the one that springs to mind right away is little fires everywhere. imo ng's biggest strength is that she writes about identity politics in a very accessible but nuanced way and the show adaptation just took all that nuance and threw it out of the window. my personal little nitpick is that they turned the mc who is aroace-coded in the book into a bisexual. yes, one could argue that her ruminating on how she can't help her daughter deal with romantic heartbreak bc she has never been in love herself is just a throwaway line but it's one of those lines that completely reframes the character and makes everything we learned about her make more sense in hindsight - that is, if you're open to seeing someone as aroace. if not, as a reader, you will assume she has probably had relationships which she just never mentions bc they're not relevant to the story (see: dumbledore rollerblading in every scene). as a showrunner, you will fill in those alleged gaps in her romantic and sexual life with bisexual drama which will give you more content for the show's runtime, if nothing else. so that is an interesting example of aroace erasure - it's not intentional but the fact that a person's deliberate lack of love life is something they, consciously or not, decided just not to represent speaks to a larger problem with aroace rep. if you straightwash a queercoded character people will likely notice. if you allo-wash an aroace-coded character no one will even blink.

14. name a book where the movie/tv adaption actually was better than the original.

i can't think of one that is better than the original off the top of my head but there are some adaptations i'm attached to much more than i like their source materials. the lord of the rings movies, for example. a re-read of the series i did a few years ago proved to be a slog but the movies will forever remain a special quality time i can share with my dad. the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy is another example. i know for a fact that the fans of the book don't like the adaptation but i'm biased bc it's one of my comfort movies and i don't get why the book is supposed to be better, despite having read it two times🤷‍♀️

15. what book changed your life?

all for the game changed my life bc by reading it and becoming part of the fandom i have discovered the aroace spectrum and realized i'm on it (on the far end of it, in fact lol). i'm pretty certain the same couldn't have happened via just learning about asexuality from some educational materials bc neil's headspace and the subsequent frustration with how he got twisted in fanon were essential for my aroace awakening🖤🩶🤍💜💚

18. which character from a book is the most like you?

lol idk. i think if i encountered a character who is a lot like me it would make me so uncomfortable i'd erase this from my memory immediately. so instead of an answer please kindly accept this meme i made for my friends and draw your own conclusions😅

50. why do you love to read?

i read for escapism. that's why entertainment and immersion are the main two factors that make or break a book for me. granted, i have weird tastes and often find entertaining the things other readers find boring and vice versa. and i like when fiction is so immersive i can feel my soul leave my body and get transported to a different world, a different life. bc of this one might think i yearn for adventure but that's not true - i love my boring life and i love the illusion of control one has as a reader compared to the lack of control one often experiences irl: if the adventure is not to my liking i can simply close the book.

bookish asks

#says the girl who never dnfs lmao #is allo-wash even a word #well it is now #i coined the term ur welcome #book tag

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askmerriauthor · 1 year

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Pokemon S/V - How Would I Improve It?

I've whinged plenty already about Pokemon S/V not actually being an Open World game despite its claims. It's the same linear turn-based semi-RPG it's always been, just with the illusion of freedom because the narrow hallways you have to walk down are spread out across a big, empty map instead of being just a single corridor that loops back around on itself.

But it's easy to complain without being productive, so let's switch that up and examine how S/V could've been with some different gameplay elements. Please note we'll not be discussing the game's glitches or stability, and I'll work to keep criticisms in general to a minimum, as those are a whole other matter. Similarly I won't be discussing combat mechanics. This is just about how to make this game more of an Open World along with how I'd improve the overall gameplay experience and story presentation. More after the jump since this is going to run long.

Limited Pokedex and Expanded Dex Entries There are 400 Pokemon in the combined S/V Pokedex and that's the first thing that needs to go. I'd personally much rather each region focused specifically on its own native Pokemon rather than trying to put in a bunch of previous generations' Pokemon as well, though I suppose concessions must be made for the sake of fan-favorites like the Eeveelutions, Pikachu, Gardevoir, and Garchomp lines. I'm pretty sure a lot of Players, particularly those in the competitive sphere, would implode if those Pokemon didn't appear. New evolutionary lines or regional forms given to existing Pokemon get a pass as well.

Between new Paldean-native Pokemon, new evolutions/regional forms, and Paradox Pokemon, the game introduces just over 100 Pokemon total. The majority of Pokemon in these games are from older generations and thus can be cut. Let's go ahead and glom onto tradition by deciding the Paldean Pokedex should be 150 Pokemon, just like in the first games (with the unannounced Third Legendary being 151 ala Mew). Some new Paldean Pokemon need revisions as well. For example, the Pawmi line can be reduced from a 3-stage to a 2-stage; there's simply not enough difference between Pawmo and Pawmot to justify its presence. On the other hand, Flittle/Espartha and Varoom/Revavroom could stand to become 3-stage lines. Flittle feels like it needs a middle evolution and Varoom feels like it could use a big final evolution, especially given what we see in the Team Star story. Meanwhile, the Bramblin/Brambleghast and Rellor/Rabsca lines both need to be reworked. They're too similar to each other in design right out the gate (they even both evolve using the same gimmick), and there's not enough visual difference between Bramblin and Brambleghast. It should either be a single-form or have a much more drastic change when it evolves.

So with the Pokedex trimmed down considerably, the follow-up is to polish what is there to a brilliant shine. The Pokemon's models and animations should be given an abundance of attention for the sake of granting them as much personality, interactivity, and unique qualities as possible. Pokemon - both in the wild, belonging to NPCs, and belonging to the Player - should react to the world, to the Player, and to each other in a variety of ways based on different circumstances. Further, the Pokdex Entries should be heavily expanded upon given S/V's scholastic focus in the setting. Instead of a single one-or-two sentence blurb and a photo, each entry should have a lot more lore, flavor, and general information about the Pokemon, as well as hints about how to evolve them for some of the more esoteric evolution gimmicks. Since there's a camera function afforded to the Player, it would be nice to allow the Player to take their own Pokedex photos of a given Pokemon, as well as for different types of information to be revealed in the Pokedex based on photos taken of them in their natural habitat ala Pokemon Snap.

Reduced Map Size and Centralized Locations One of the biggest issues I have with S/V is that it falls prey to a flaw of Open World game design that the industry as a whole has generally grown out of by now. A big, unremarkable map with lots of empty space does not make a game Open World. It just makes everything bland and a slog to get around in for the Player, along with watering down the overall design and presentation from the Dev's side of things.

S/V's core focus should be on the Academy and its surrounding city of Mesagoza. This should be the core hub that the majority of gameplay is centralized around, with the Academy itself being a home base the Player relies on for various functions. I'd expand Mesagoza into a tiered city focusing on verticality with the Academy at the very top, and each tier housing a different theme. Four of the eight Gyms should be located within Mesagoza while the remaining four, as well as the Pokemon League, should be out in distant, hard-to-reach locations in the overworld. Further, those locations outside of Mesagoza should be given a considerable amount of care in their design; the nature of the Gym and its Leader should inform the theme of the city.

I'd put Larry, Iono, Katy, and Tulip in the expanded Mesagoza, each helping give theme and personality to the tier they appear in. Katy would be at the outermost/lowest nearest the overworld given her rural/agricultural theme. Lots of nature and farmland to play up to her Bug theme and the olive-based challenge. Larry would be in the next tier up, which would have an old-fashioned vibe, showing a blend of Paldea's past and how it's integrated outside influences throughout its history. Iono and Tulip would share the innermost/highest, which would be the most metropolitan and modern. The Academy, meanwhile, would directly neighbor Mesagoza; still near enough to be considered part of the city but apart enough to hold its own presence. Outside Mesagoza, Brassius and Kofu would have their Gyms in Artazon and Cascarrafa, albeit with a ton more attention given to the towns to make them more involved. Cascarrafa especially should be a major port city with a ton of economic presence, foreign NPCs from other regions traveling through, and a lot to do. Grusha and Ryme, like Iono and Tulip, share a location in the Glaseado mountains; that's basically how it already is, but it needs to be further expanded on. Montenevera needs to feel like an old-fashioned, long-lived remote town full of personality and history that's gained a huge surge in popularity/tourism thanks to Grusha, but has recently had its economic bubble burst because of Grusha's sports career failing. Grusha's Gym, meanwhile, should be WAY up in the mountains, which should be far more hostile and remote. Getting there should be a challenge in and of itself.

The Pokemon League itself being made a more corporate/standardized presence in Paldea, thus having a more easily-accessible HQ, can stay. That's an interesting take compared to past Leagues. But, in return, the League itself should house a ton of Paldea's history on display as a monument to how far the warring region has come. It should be as much of a museum as it is an arena.

Characters and Time Well-Spent Open World games NEED good characters. When the world is so big, it's vital to have interesting things to do and interesting people to interact with. There's way too much to be said about side-quests and mini-game content in Open World games, so I'll just leave that as "this game needs a ton of it since it currently has none whatsoever" on the broad scale. As for more specific examples:

Every class at the Academy and every Gym Leader should have its own individual quest line. The classes of the Academy should be revamped entirely based on their subject, such as Biology having you go out into the world to photograph and capture certain Pokemon in their native habitats. Home Economics should introduce Players to the Sandwich/Picnic mechanics (which should be expanded into more of a Camp mechanic ala SW/SH and Monster Hunter World where the Player sets up a temporary home base in the field they can use as a central location), as well as how to care for Pokemon. History should be equal parts lore and archeology, sending the Player out into the overworld to explore, take photos of the iconic wonders of Paldea, and recover items of interest. Going over the course of each subject should not only give us a chance to really get to know the teachers, but to also see interactions between them. Over the course of doing a subject, each teacher should basically get a minor story/character arc all their own, then cross over with one another for combined stories in the postgame. For the Gym Leaders, we need so much more time with them. Taking on each Gym should similarly be a string of quests and events where we get to spend time with the Gym Leader a character, ultimately culminating in the battle for the badge at the end. Similarly to the teachers, we should get plenty of interactions and crossover between the Leaders, both during the main game and in the postgame.

Rather than being occasionally-seen NPCs, Nemona, Arven, and Penny should each be able to accompany the Player on their adventure and join them in battle. Nemona would be a striker-type focused on combat, Arven would be a support-type focused on providing buffs/healing via food, and Penny would be a control/debuff type focused on inflicting status/field/elemental effects to hinder an opponent. Outside of combat, Nemona would give the Player greater access to combat-related/training options, Arven would boost the Player's item-finding and food-making abilities, and Penny would give the Player access to more areas within civilization and aid in puzzle-solving. We've already seen all four characters riding comfortably on the Box Legendary, so it's not as if one couldn't easily accompany the Player at any time. Which Companion you bring with you changes NPCs' responses and challenges, as well as what sort of options you have available to you. Additionally, you should be able to interact with each Companion with plenty of conversation options, gift-giving, and companion quests to learn more about them. This is a Pokemon game so obviously we can't go having Romance Companions, but we should be able to be the best friend we can be to them.

Tera Pokemon, Paradox Pokemon, and the Box Legendary While this may seem a bit drastic, I say do away with the entire concept of Terastalization. Into the bin with it and its giant hats. Paradox Pokemon are more interesting by far and have much more design potential. Focus instead on that; instead of making a Pokemon all sparkly and giving it a giant gawdy balloon hat, the Player instead induces a Paradox on their Pokemon in battle that transforms them into a Past or Future form, complete with a different typing and new abilities. This should extend to the Box Legendary as well. Have it just be a Cyclizar that, depending on which version of the game you play, the Player can Paradox into its Legendary form. Additionally, you shouldn't get access to the Cyclizar or its Paradox state until a quarter of the way into the story.

Traversal around the overworld via the Box Legendary should change too. Instead of unlocking new modes of travel via Arven's quest chain, those should be upgrades. Your Box Legendary should already be able to dash, climb, glide, and swim from the get-go. The upgrades should simply improve those considerably; your Dash now scatters overworld Pokemon in your path so you don't have to worry about running into a random battle while traveling. Swimming now allows you to dive and explore underwater zones. Climbing is upgraded with a super-jump so you can get a ton of verticality and quickly scale mountains. Finally, borrowing Soaring from OR/AS - the final form of Gliding should be complete Flight, allowing the Player to soar all around Paldea by the postgame.

Story Progression and Level-Scaling S/V fails at being an Open World game because it requires you to check off all the content boxes before it lets you into the endgame, and the challenges don't scale to your level. This needs a full revamp; wild Pokemon having a specific level range based on their area is fine, as that can be used to reflect how dangerous certain spots in Paldea are. But Gym Leaders and the Elite Four should have different teams of Pokemon that are at different levels/evolutionary stages and have different combat mechanics based on the strength of the Player. Also, in the postgame, the Player should be allowed to challenge these opponents for a rematch and specifically ask for a given team to go up against, for funsies.

If the Player wants to go through all of the story lines and gather the Friendship Trio before challenging Area Zero, that should have its own presentation. Similarly, if the Player goes in solo or only gathers some of the Friendship Trio to accompany them, those approaches should change the experience accordingly. This doesn't necessarily mean there need to be multiple endings, but there should at least be an acknowledgment of the options during gameplay. For example, in the final conflict with the Professor, having Pokeballs be locked to force the use of the Box Legendary for an artificially cinematic final battle should be done away with if the Player takes time to do some extra preparation around Area Zero beforehand. Having Penny along and going through a side-quest to disable that function in the AI systems prior to challenging the Professor, thus allowing the Player to use their own team if they so choose.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon sv #game freak #nintendo #game development #discussion

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silentsundown · 6 days

Text

The future of this blog

Hey, long time no see ole Central Asia-loving Sundown, for those who remember me :) I haven't popped in a super long time. I'm still not playing (or hardly, updating my DLCs every now and then), but I also don't think I will be keeping this blog in its entirety. I still want to have it around in case I decide to return to my old ways, and to Tumblr, but the truth is, I'm not sure I'm entirely thrilled about coming back. In fact, I think I'll put this blog on an indefinite hiatus. I may or may not make a comeback at some point, but I'll private many of my posts as to be left with only the best and/or most important stuff.

Problem number one being, I feel like posting on social media and such inevitably makes my posts less authentic. I have it in me to pressure myself and fall into a cycle of wanting notes and likes and posting stuff just to keep my blog alive and keep my followers from getting disinterested. A fairly common thing, after all, those platforms are designed to make you behave like this. Second, I don't entirely like Tumblr's atmosphere. Simblr is a good idea and a nice little community when you're on the good side, but I constantly feel like I have to censor myself, hide a lot, or that I would have to do so at some point, and it takes one thing phrased awkwardly, or simply having a non-left or just divergent opinion to potentially start something that blows way out of proportion. It's a sentiment I had even before creating this blog, btw. But I decided to give it a try anyway.

(Side note: I had no idea what a sundown town was, lol. But still not changing this username. It rolls off the tongue nicely and if you don't see sundown as in sundown town, it's a beautiful-sounding word that conveys the softness of evenings well.)

Third, the site itself is just unusable now, at least in my view. The more time passes, the more bloated and unintuitive it gets, and needless to say I dislike logging on. Writing posts back in the day was a drag. I'd have to write it all on Notepad and then copy paste on here and edit, but even the editing was laggy and slow no matter what I would do. Maybe that's just my laptop, but I'm not really a fan of the buggy bloated modern websites.

Four, aesthetic screenies are beautiful, but... I just probably will get rid of Reshade. I'll keep NoBlu/NoGlo and other lighting mods but Reshade is just a pain to work with. It takes me a full five or six minutes to launch the damn game. Granted I probably have too much CC, lol. But that doesn't help.

And five... well, with my writing, and my new little universes, I guess I've just moved on. It's just not so much in my focus anymore. That might just be the biggest reason as to why I'm also not sure I'll be back. If I do in say, a year from now, will it be the same as it was then? I don't know. I'll probably restart a new save and rebuild worlds with my characters, and will add new ones, but I want to play in the intimacy of my room, without anyone peering. Just seeing my characters live as sims. Just spending time building houses if I feel like it. Not post or feel pressured to make it good anymore. I really think it can be summed up to that. Who knows, if I come back I may open an entirely new simblr. I'll see what the future holds but am not committing to any option as of now.

Needless to say, if I were not to come back, I had a lot of fun with my original followers, and I still peek at your blogs every now and then ;)

See you... sometime?

Plot twist: I'm saying I go on hiatus and then go on to become super active. Lmfao. Not that it can't happen. I've seen it sometimes.

#non-sims #hiatus #indefinite hiatus #blog update #i'm uncertain about the future #but whatever happens #this blog will stay up #just with many privated posts

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guqwrvte · 3 years

Note

hi, this is for the quote game: "you're perfect for me." thanks in advance :)))

⨽ pairing: jungkook x reader

⨽ genre: fluff (i think) , angst

⨽ warnings: y/n gets insecure, mean and rude comments, strong language (again it’s like one swear word)

You frowned deepened as you read the hundreds of comments left under his post about you.

"Maybe it wasn't a good idea to announce our relationship," you mumbled.

Jeon Jungkook happened to be a member of one of the biggest boybands in the world, if not the biggest boyband in the world, BTS. The group had millions of fans across the globe and such a diverse fandom, with ages ranging from as young 8 to as old 60 plus.

But the same Jeon Jungkook, who was a part of this spectacular group, was your boyfriend. Your boyfriend of 3 years.

The two of you had been dating in secret. Only the members and some of the staff were aware of the relationship you had with their dear maknae.

Well, that was until yesterday. Jungkook had finally got permission from the company to reveal his relationship with you, and he was overjoyed.

The world would finally get to see the woman he had fallen for, the woman whom he loved and cherished with all his heart.

"y/n!" he exclaimed once you opened the door to your apartment. "You seem excited. What's making you so happy, hm?" you asked, stepping aside so he could come in.

Jungkook quickly removed his shoes and made his way inside, placing his backpack on a stool.

"They granted me permission," he said, and you raised your brow. "Permission to do what?" you ask, and he smiles. "Permission to reveal my relationship. Permission to finally show off my beautiful girlfriend."

You bitterly smiled as you remembered yesterday. "Not everyone thinks of me as your beautiful girlfriend." You whispered as you continued to you read the comments on his post.

comments:

user21: please tell me this is a joke...

user2: how could someone like jungkook end up with someone like her?

user 34 replying to user2: I know right, she's not even pretty

user 3: what are you guys on about. she's so pretty, and they look so cute together! i'm super happy for them.

user 25: no way, i knew Jungkook wasn't single!

user 6: this has to be a joke, no way THE jeon jungkook would be someone like her! xD

user 7: i wish jungkook was with someone more like him. this girl is kinda ugly :/

user 18: BWAHAHA JK WHO IS SHE LMAO. release a statement saying this was a joke already.

user 10: WTF

user 9: she's so pretty, @/user 13, find her account for me. PLEASE

user 11: y'all are so disrespectful. you guys be the same people wishing him happiness and the do shit like this.

user 12: fuck her, date a pretty idol instead.

user 15: uhh, i don't see it...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . view more

"Am I really not pretty?" You asked yourself, staring down at your body and looking up at the mirror.

"What are you looking at?" You turned to see your boyfriend. "Nothing. Just my face," you said, looking back at the mirror. "Jungkook," you say, and he hummed in response, sitting next to you and looking into the mirror. "Is there something wrong with me? I mean with the way I look, dress or act?" you asked, and Jungkook looked at you with his brows raised. 'No, why would you think that?" he asked, and you let out a sigh.

"Well, I was looking at the comments under the pictures you posted yesterday-" "You should ignore them," he says, cutting you off. "They're comments are useless and irrelevant. They have no right to say horrible things about you," he said, placing his hand on your cheek, making you look at him.

"But," "No buts, baby, those people aren't perfect themselves. They say things like that because they wish they were in your position," he said.

"Okay? Plus they can talk all they want because I don't care what anyway says. You're perfect for me," he says, placing a kiss on your forehead and pulling into his warm embrace.

hii anon, sorry if this sucks :/, i just haven’t feeling like myself these days lol. i’m might take a break or something idkkk.

part of quote game , submit request here

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #kpop fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drabble #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #short fiction #asks

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misskittysmagicportal · 4 years

Text

All You’ve Got Is Gold Part 1

FandomAU!: Billy Delaney/Cormac McNamara x Female OC

Warnings: Slight NSFW, mostly steamy fluff. Guys this ended up being long as fuck. And it’s really only chapter one. Or Part 1.

Jeanie leaned over the bar at Ewan's to pour herself another whiskey, ignoring the bartender as he chastised her. "C'mon lass, don't the wee ones file in to the grounds tomorrow?"

"Wee?" she gulped around her swallow. "Ewan, they're pubescent. You know me though, I like to have a bit of a glow every new semester. That way the parents think I'm truly invested in the well-being of the brats." Jean waved her glass around in the air. "Ok, not brats. Most of them are well-behaved and genuinely interested in learning. Not like the little bastards in America. I'd have 40 to a classroom back there. Saint Fergus barely has 40 students in the entire school."

Ewan took it as a sign and gave her a generous pour one more time, "Heard you cannae keep any professors for the pay. But your husband-"

"EX. As of last spring," Jean corrected.

"EX-husband found some new blood in a few of his University students."

"Aye," Jeanie imitated the Scottish brogue with perfection. "They're all in the corner over there with Dr Purves now."

She had half a decade to assimilate to the culture of the small, boring town just outside of Aberdeen where she followed Gordon and married him without any family or a job. He became head of the Physics and STEM department at the University of Aberdeen, working on projects and female students alike. Jeanie, having abandoned her Master's in Education, was really only qualified to student-teach at a local boarding school. Before long, lack of interest and the economy drove the numbers down to four or five dozen and a position of Headmistress open. At least it was a place to live and an existence that kept her mind off everything else.

"I would say don't look now, because here comes one of his students, but my darling who can keep their eyes off him." Ewan pointed behind his friend with damn near literal hearts in his eyes.

Jeanie glanced over her shoulder as a young man, early 20s? She couldn't tell. But he approached her at the bar. Her first glance became a double, and nearly a stare. Embarrassed, she whipped her head around quickly and blushed in Ewan's general direction. "Sweet Virgin Mary," she exhaled under her breath.

"I normally go by Delaney, but I suppose in certain company Mary will do," a soft Irish lilt.

Jean slow blinked as the bartender broke into a cheshire grin. She took a deep breath and turned towards the man now beside her and held out her hand. Blood pulsing in her ears because.. he was stunning. "Brave of a Celt to set foot in the land of Picts. Even braver for him to be in the presence of the biggest asshole in all of Scotland."

"Well from what I've heard she's more of an Ice Queen than an asshole," he squinted before smiling brightly. Green eyes sparkling in the low light of the bar. "Your.. partner put me up to it anyways. You know, say the bit about the ice. Sorry," he blushed but still held on to her hand firmly. "I've heard you're rather pleasant from the others. Just aloof as it were"

"EX!" Ewan and Jean exclaimed together, and the young man blinked responsively. "No sorries. Cold-hearted bitch is what some of the 6th years call me when I confiscate their illegals. Headmistress Jean Turner, but the two friends I have call me Jeanie. Drink?"

"Just one? I'll take 5. I have to catch up with the others." He hooked a thumb at the group of obnoxious men groping the female students who hung off of them as if they were celebrities. Taking what he was offered, chugging it quickly and shuddering. "Billy. Delaney it is. Well occasionally."

Jeanie and Ewan watched as he basically pounded every shot placed in front of them. Squinting off and on, as if he was trying to adjust to the ambiance. "Is it hot? It's hot in here. God I hate people. Those people. I will never fit in with the misogynists and knobs who prefer rugby and football to actually learning about the world." He pulled at the collar of his sweater before taking it off and draping it over Jeanie's chair. He wore a striped tee shirt underneath "Sorry. Sorry. I've got my nose in tech and books and maths algorithms most days. I forget how to socialize, so I really just want to blend in with the norms."

"You.. are.. fit." Ewan sputtered.

Billy snapped back to attention, his mind having drifted off to the same group Jeanie's eyes kept staring at. "What?"

"He's saying you are fucking fit, mate" Jeanie gaped.

"My body? I'm not really certain about that. I'm rather spindly wouldn't you say?” he shrugged while his cheeks flushed profusely. "My arms? Is it my arms? I swim. Clears my head from all the clutter." He was rambling now.

Jeanie and Ewan started laughing. "Relax! we're taking the piss, love. Your every move is being scrutinized. Now why abouts did Dr Purves send you over here? Surely he has fucking with me on his mind. Not unusual, humiliation has always been the name of the game."

Billy made a gesture that resembled adjusting non-existent glasses. He immediately dropped his hand and pulled a tenner out of his pocket. "To melt the ice, Gordon said. He gave me ten quid to hit on you."

"One of his students. What a lovely parting gift. I guess you're worth the loss of the house and the car," Jeanie stood back slightly to properly size him up.

Billy bit the entirety of his bottom lip, furrowing his brows, "I reckon you're worth more than a tenner to sleep with."

Jeanie blinked a few times, head tilted to the side to make sure she heard correctly. "SEX?!" she laughed, unable to help herself. "I don't exactly know what all of this," she waved her hand down his body, "would be doing even in the vicinity of sleeping with this," pointing to her own.

Confusion came over his face, "Am I supposed to be.. Is there something wrong with you that I don't notice? I, I can be kind of oblivious to loads. I think, really, Gordon goaded me into coming over here for my benefit as much as his amusement. I don't have too much experience, but you seem quite lovely you know. Your hair is," brows furrowed again but in thought, "Nicely red in this lighting. Reminds me of my friend from Ireland. Hannah."

Jeanie pinched the bridge of her nose as Ewan audibly guffawed from beside her. "Saints preserve us," the Scotsman said between gasps for air. "Donnae if you are taking the piss now, bloke, or are you really this bad at pulling birds."

Billy grimaced, the entirety of his face beet red. "Honestly, I never make it this far. I guess they usually pull me and I let them?" He started to fan his face, "seriously,,how fucking hot do you keep this pub?" His forehead bent forward to rest on the metal and wood counter of the bar.

Ewan covered his mouth and ruffled the curly head in front of him. "What a wee babby, Dr Purves sent into the lion's den. You just drank half a bottle of my best whiskey and mortified yourself in front of my favorite woman in this whole country. Maybe you ought to drink some water and have a sit for a few. We'll give you something to take to the bell-end in the back."

Jeanie and Ewan's eyes met, and she bit back a smile before leaning over to wrap an arm around her husband's latest protege. "Oh Ewan, I don't think it should be only a story. Why not give the evil genius a bit of a show. Right now he can see Mr Delaney is headed towards a spectacular crash. Im embarrassed. Mr Delaney's embarrassed. You're without very expensive whiskey. Gordon will never let anyone live this down for the semester."

She put her mouth near Billy's ear, "Ten quid is worth SOMETHING. Don't you think? Just look at me." He obliged quicker than she expected. Emerald eyes gazed upwards at her while the heart banged wildly in her chest. "What comes next?"

"I reckon I ought to put my arm on your waist. Right?" his voice now low in her ear and a hand slipped around her hips to draw her as close as possible.

No further guidance was needed as the liquid courage kicked in. Billy stood up and took Jeanie's face in his large hands before he drew her into a rather passionate kiss. Hers instinctively buried in his hair, their tongues dancing as the thought he hustled her entered the back of her mind. How was it that just a few minutes ago he looked ready to vomit at the thought of trying to come on to anyone, not just her. Now he was kissing her like they were Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Jeanie’s back slightly arched as Billy dominated her personal space with his height, a hand dangerously on the curve of her backside.

Ewan held his own face, eyebrows lost in his bangs as he watched the two of them go at it for well, he lost time. Glancing up he noticed just about everyone else in the pub was watching too. Gordon positively green with envy and turning purple with anger. Ewan saw him lean to a colleague and mouth, "That wasn't the fucking deal."

"Job done you two," he cleared his throat and practically shouted to break them up.

Jeanie's mouth was cold as it kissed the air. Billy had stumbled backwards a bit, mouth turned down ever slightly in a whoops motion. He walked, swayed really and floated by every single patron, including the group of men he came in with earlier. Fingers pulled at his bottom lip before he passed a devilish grin over his shoulder in Gordon's direction.

Jeanie and Ewan gobsmacked, but pleasantly amused, looked at one another. Mischief in their eyes as Jeanie noticed Billy's sweater draped over the bar. "Mr Balderston, I think I have a grad student to visit this week. It seems Mr Delaney might need his sweater because the Scottish nights get awfully cold."

Orientation came and went, and the students seemed to settle in quicker than normal. Quite possibly because this was the lowest attendance in the school’s 150 year history. They had been in danger of shut down, but Jeanie was informed that first Monday by the Board of Directors that an anonymous group of donors had decided, against their wishes, to purchase the school. Even if no students came back the following school year, or they were down to only 15 or 10 or 5, Saint Fergus would remain open for unknown reasons.

To say she was relieved was an understatement for Jeanie. Much needed repairs were being made, and someone had come to put together a state of the art security system. Which really confused the faculty and dwindling staff. Who would steal anything from this junk heap? Even their books were falling apart. Except they weren’t.

By the end of the first week, the girls in their dormitories and in the hallways were abuzz with brand new Literature and Maths books. They were suddenly interested in Oscar Wilde and Pythagoras. Jeanie watched as three 4th years sat in the windowsill and audibly cracked open their copies of “The Happy Prince,” stars in their eyes.

“Have you ever seen anyone as good looking as Dr McNamara? Honestly, I don’t know how I’ll pay attention to anything else but that voice,” she held her book against her chest.

“Oh c’mon Siobhan. It’s all about the eyes. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like them. Proper green. If he sticks around, I’ll tell Daddy to talk to all of his barrister friends. Get them to enroll their kids here next year.”

The third girl was clearly in a daydream out the window, “All I heard today was blah blah blah ‘important in oratory history of Ireland’ blah blah. Lemme tell you, he can give me an oral exam any day.”

Jeanie cleared her throat and the students jumped nearly a mile high. “It would do you girls a kindness not to sexually harass our newest teacher at Saint Fergus.” The smallest hint of a smile on her lips. “Honestly, how is it that I'm headmistress here and have no bloody clue who this mysterious Dr McNamara is?”

“Well rumor has it, Miss, that he bought the school. Dr Purves hired him for a project at the uni, and he asked to be right in the thick of the school.” Siobhan shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh he’s installing the security system and having a new science laboratory built,” the daydreaming girl chimed in.

“I thought it was a grad student that was teaching here this semester? Have any of you heard the name Billy Delaney? I’ve been looking for him the last week or so, but I can't find him in Aberdeen housing. I’d like to return his sweater.” Jeanie’s face flushed pink, and the girls all cast a knowing grin in her direction.

“Has Miss got a crush herself?” Siobhan teased. “There’s no student teachers this year, but did you say Billy Delaney?”

“Yes. Does that name sound familiar to you too?”

The girls stood and handed Jeanie paperback books one by one. A stack of them, young adult novels that had grown incredibly popular the last few years. A stone wall with a glowing green and gold light graced the cover. “A Green Pool of Light: Emerald City to Oz Book 1” blazed across the top in that standard stereotyped font that represented all things Irish. The daydreaming girl, Aila Jeanie would come to find out, opened her copy and ran a finger down the page. “Yeah, he’s like a gender bent Hermione in these books.”

Jeanie frowned and flipped through the pages. The girls all started to laugh, not mean-hearted but in the way kids do at adults when they become lost in the world of anyone under 20. “That’s Dr McNamara, Miss Turner, and he’s living in the Boys Dorms.”

Jeanie blinked a few times, too many times in disbelief. The girls dissolved into hysterics and headed off to their next set of classes. Things maybe just got a bit easier but harder at the same time.

--------------------------------------

Jeanie stared incredulously at herself in the mirror. When exactly was the last time she showed up to any man’s room wearing only a coat and her underwear? Or well, a sweater in this case. She waited until the school was dark and quiet, she couldn’t risk one of the students seeing her dressed this way. On her way to do a dance of seduction. No, that’s humiliating. This was all humiliating.

What in the hell am I even doing? She thought. But it was too late, her legs carried her into the halls and across the floors and up into the West Wing where the boys slept. Tip-toeing quick and stealthy to the only source of light on this side of the school.

Jeanie took a deep breath and knocked on the open door. His back was to her, sitting with one foot up on the chair, a knee drawn up to his chest in the most awkward of positions. His dark head was bent over an abundance of little digital boxes spread across a desk that he tinkered with under a magnifying glass. Several computers and laptops spread around the room running codes attached to various projects simultaneously. Lost in his work, he ignored her.

Sighing heavily, Jeanie knocked louder this time. She raised one hand up the door frame, leaning in the most tempting pose she could muster at 11pm on a Thursday. His head popped up, and he only glanced over his shoulder in her direction before going back to his work.

“Well took ye long enough to find me, Miss Turner. Wanna see what I’ve put together for the school?” he queried without paying any attention to her attire.

Jeanie felt the bile rise in her throat. How in the hell was she ever going to feel better about herself when this man wouldn’t even acknowledge her? Was it too late to just slip back down in the shadows and melt away like she never existed? Still she took a breath and made her way to the desk and stopped directly behind him. She bent forward over his shoulder, her hair brushed against his face and neck. There was a nearly inaudible hitch in his breathing as she picked up one of the boxes. Did she make him nervous? Good, she thought and chewed her lip to prevent a smirk sneaking through.

“Well Mr Delaney. Or is it McNamara?” She studied the box carefully and poked at it with her nail.

“Doctor” he interjected huskily. He was nervous. “I’ve got a PhD,” he corrected.

“Are you even old enough for a doctorate?!” she retorted.

“I’m 24, thank you very much. I suppose that’s quite young to have several PhDs, but I don’t really keep track. If it makes you feel better, I'm also a chef. Cooking is just science after all,” he said almost dismissively. “Oh, That is L.I.S.A. you’re holding. Large-scale Interface Security Application.”

Jeanie snorted; she couldn't help it. “Do you mean an alarm system?”

“No it’s a specified security application that only I know how to program and,” he caught himself. “Yes. It’s an alarm system.” He rolled his eyes and gently took the machine back from her and placed it amongst the others.

“If you're working with Gordon on some kind of secret project, why are you teaching Literature?” Jeanie launched into everything without really meaning to. “You know Dr Delaney or whoever the hell you are, several of the girls brought to my attention that there’s a character in those young adult novels written by Hannah O'Flaherty. “A Pool of Green Light?” They are quite popular with our 1st-4th years. You're Billy Delaney aren't you? That’s why you gave that name in the pub the other night instead of your real name. That being Cormac McNamara, am I correct?” She placed her hands on hips hidden in the mass of wool and cable knit.

"Delaney is part of my last name. Hyphenated.” once again correcting the headmistress.

"Don't see much of that in men"

"Well it and my brain are about all my parents left me,” he moved to face his chair towards Jeanie and abandon his project.

"Well I bet they're proud of you, Cormac. Or Billy. Whatever.” she waved her hand dismissively. “You lot discovered.. what's it called?"

"Dimensional Dark Matter Transport with the possibility of Inter and Temporal"

"I mean, Portals. Or to put it in tv nerd terms: Beam me up Scotty"

"Precisely!” Cormac exclaimed and stood up excitedly. “And your ex-boyfriend-"

"Husband"

“Yes, husband. Well couldn't have been good at it if he's your ex.” He bit a finger absently, staring off towards the ceiling. Then snapped back to attention quickly, “Well he wants to find a way to make it.. Portable. Not just in plotted locations around the globe. And my business partners, em Hannah and Brett if you will, would like it privatized. Dr Purves, he wants the highest bidder."

"Military?” Jeanie blanched at the thought. Then her voice drifted off, “So the books ARE real.. You three are real. Hannah hid the stories in plain sight for the entire world to discover" And for the first time, she noticed a framed photo on the vast desk. A trio of happy young people: red-headed girl, pretty with large blue eyes. A floppy haired, tan surfer type. And a tall, lanky boy with oval glasses and severely parted hair starting to curl. Jeanie took the frame and traced her fingertip along the glass. “Sarah, Zack and Billy. This is like finding out Harry, Ron and Hermione are living, breathing people. And here you are, in my school.”

"I could show you if you want but.. Miss Turner, why are you only in a sweater?" Cormac stepped back and lifted his glasses and put them back down. He took them off hurriedly as if he was embarrassed to be wearing them. Turning once more to face her "Is.. Is that MY sweater? You're only in. Jeanie, Where are your pants?"

"Well I planned on seducing you Mr.."

"Doctor" -

Jeanie sighed as if she had been defeated, "DOCTOR Delaney-McNamara"

"Well Ive mucked that up I suppose,” a deep crimson set across his ears.

" I mean you can have your sweater back,” Jeanie arched an eyebrow seductively. Pulling the sweater over her head to reveal only a pair of her nicest black panties and bra underneath. Nothing else.

"Thank you it's quite my favorite-" Cormac’s eyes widened when he noticed the headmistress in front of him wearing nothing but lingerie. He squinted briefly while scratching his head. “Oh.. Jeanie. That’s..” his voice drifted off lost in shock.

Ignoring the embarrassment growing in her chest, Jeanie crossed her arms over her chest. “Why in the hell did you take your glasses off?”

“Oh, em.. Hannah always tells me I’m far more attractive without them.” he shrugged.

“Just like how Clark Kent is only slightly, by a molecule,” Jeanie pinched her fingers together, “less sexy than Superman with his glasses"

"But his glasses are fake,” Cormac ignored the obvious joke. “Right now I can just see shapes. Lovely, curved shapes! but only shapes." waving a hand in her general direction again.

Jeanie sat down on his bed without the sweater, to protect her now she just decided to go with her original plan. She crossed her long legs and leaned back with one hand back on the mattress. "Ok give us a look with the glasses on, Delaney.. Mcnamara?" This was frustrating.

"No, I reckon I'll have the kids call me Cormac" his hands on thin hips as he glanced upwards in thought

"Yes, erase that line of authority between yourself and 11-15 year olds. Don't underestimate them, Billy. Or Cormac. Or whatever. You are probably the smartest professor Saint Fergus has ever had, but you’re handsome. My girls will eat you alive"

"I wouldn't go that far!" he was exasperated for some reason.

"You have five PhDs and can’t even legally rent a car in America yet," Jeanie pointed out.

Cormac waved her off dismissively. “No! Not the smart or genius part. That is true,” he agreed without pretension. “It’s the handsome part,” he rolled his eyes in frustration.

“Look McNamara, I can’t tell if you’re being humble or an asshole. Your constant squinting and inflamed cheeks are ruining my perception.”

"Inflamed.." he touched his face "It's rather distracting. You in your. I may realize now that's your intent. I'm not really NEW to this, uh women coming on to me. It's just not always quite so forward?"

"Had I known you were a doctor of Quantum Mechanics, my approach would be a little less intense. 10 quid or not, you were the one kissing me last night." Jeanie got up off the bed "Ill go, but can I take your sweater with me? The students don't need to see this"

"Oh, em do ya have to? You're already here, and I'm sure quite lovely to look at."

"Cormac put your glasses on"

"Really?" he was adorably confused "I would have to take them off if we-"

"Have sex?"

"I didn't mean to imply- I've never really-" he nervously put his glasses back on. Then started fiddling with his hands and chewing on one.

"No fucking way!” Jeanie sat up quickly “But you're-"

"Oh please don't say hot."

"Well-travelled?"

"I am not completely virginal, I'll have ye know! I've done tings. SEXY tings. I've put my mouth and fingers in places on a woman. I'm just picky about where I’d put my penis."

Jeanie’s amused now, she can’t help it. An eyebrow raised and a laugh ready to escape because he's pacing around and gesticulating wildly now. "Are.. are you getting more Irish?"

"MAYBE I AM!" he shouted louder than he meant to, then unexpectedly pulled his shirt over his head.

Jeanie laughed at the absurdity now. "Cormac. Or Billy, whatever you are more comfortable with." She kneeled on the bed coming to the edge of it. "We don't have to do this. I'm not asking you to justify your virginity; that your business. It’s a patriarchal construct anyways to make us feel like we have to engage in sexual activity. Then when we do, we’re trash. It’s a no-win situation for anyone. I LIKE you. We have all school year to get to know one another better."

“I think Dr Delaney-McNamara, but Cormac works just fine for you” his tone all at once softer and deeper.

There was a weird electricity in the air, which very well could have been the obscene amount of tech equipment in the small dorm room. It could have also been that the atmosphere switched so fast from mortification to that moment your body knows something is going to happen. Jeanie’s head began to swim when she realized the young man in front of her was unbuttoning his jeans to step out of them.

“Bloody hell...” was all she could utter before he wrapped her up in his arms.

Jeanie’s hand on Cormac’s hip and the other tangled in his hair as they found themselves in another kiss. Mouths dancing together. She sat back and pulled him down so that he was laying completely on top of her now. His skin was hot almost like a sunburn. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Jeanie thought maybe a literal electricity had settled in him from using the portals so often all these years. Their tongues pushed back and forth, she realized his body began to feel similar to one of those static glass balls. The kind you press your hand against and every single hair on your body raises? It was strange and exhilarating and comical all at once.

The thought was fleeting though because Cormac’s lips made its way down Jeanie’s neck. The breath caught in her throat as he bit softly before trailing to her chest. His large hand gripped the flesh of her hip, snaking it around to grab at her backside before settling it between her thighs. The other struggled to unhook her bra while in their current position, his annoyance eliciting a giggle.

Managing to roll them so that she was on top now, Jeanie deftly reached behind herself to finish the job. Her breasts free, Cormac took one in his mouth. His tongue was warm against her skin as he began to suck and lick at a nipple and the flesh around it. Alternating between each hungrily, hand still lost in between her thighs. A finger began to trace the fabric of her panties.

Audible gasp now, as Jeanie fumbled to reciprocate any way she could. Kissing his forehead? or rocking her hips against his hand, she began to float outside of her body. What was she doing? Trying to feel wanted after all of this time? Maybe give the other adults something to gossip about over the weekend. Attractive new professor, the benefactor of Saint Fergus, fucking the boss his first week in. Jeanie was his boss, but also his subordinate? Because Cormac, with Brett and Hannah, owned her livelihood now.

“What a fine mess we’re in, Delaney,” she managed amongst the new spate of kisses.

Ignoring Jeanie’s frank statement, Cormac took to nibbling her throat again. Exchanging now for harder bites, just enough to let her know he had the upper hand. Fingers deftly pumping rhythmically with the pulsating of her body. He found that part of her with ease. The button Gordon never could without neon arrows.

“I walked through an alien portal at sixteen and made one of the greatest scientific discoveries none of us can talk about,” That Irish lilt heavy in her ear. “A fine mess has been the last decade of my life, Ms. Turner.”

There was almost a reckless abandon as Jeanie unexpectedly came. She cried out; it echoed off the dorm walls briefly before Cormac clamped a hand over her mouth. Their eyes both wide before they lost themselves in a fit of giggles.

Lying beside each other now on the bed, Jeanie felt self-conscious while Cormac absently twirled a finger in her mass of red hair. She felt his green eyes staring as she traced the infinity symbol with the tip of a nail on his chest. Their breathing patterns quickly marched in time together.

“Not sure why I have a gut feeling your timidity was a fucking game,” Jeanie spoke without a hint of anger. More like curiosity.

“Only just a little. I am far more capable of handling people in small doses. There's a certain anxiety hanging around the average university student. I finished undergrad in a year and graduate school in another. Never really fit in with most people my age. I thrived in a boarding college like this one. Never more than 15 children a class. Miss Murphy let me do as I please because I kept mostly to myself, even when she and the others were strangely codependent on my brain.”

Cormac’s eyes still trained on Jeanie while he spoke. “I didn't mind. I DON'T mind. My tinkering and projects work bloody fantastic now!” he exclaimed with pride. Those long fingers combed through Jeanie's hair. His gaze became nostalgic, “I transferred my AI tech into the lab at Aberdeen. There's my personal version. She's asleep right now,” he chuckled, gesturing towards the wall of monitors.

Jeanie grimaced, “She?!”

“Oh yes! SILVIA! I suppose she'll become LISA’s big sister.”

“You invented a primitive android.” her response was incredulous.

“No no. SILVIA was a lie detector I installed artificial intelligence in to play ch-..” Cormac caught himself. For the hundredth time that evening, “I suppose. Yes,” he tapped a finger against the soft dimple in his cheek.

“You suppose!” Jeanie reeled with laughter once more.

Cormac’s face flushed pink, “You know what I did to you was just basic anatomy that’s easily taught by reading a damn book. I reckon you'd be interested in what else reading has taught me about a woman's body.”

And so it began.

#robert sheehan #billy delaney #me and mrs jones #fluff #steamy?#cormac mcnamara #robert sheehan character fic

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natromanxoff · 4 years

Text

Queen live at Colston Hall in Bristol, UK - November 18, 1975

The photos could be from either night.

This article from the November 29 issue of Sounds chronicles the second night in Bristol.

Queen triumphant

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.

Maniacal

The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.

As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.

Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an acapella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.

It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.

Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"

'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.

'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.

Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.

The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.

Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.

On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of 'Sheer Heart Attack', punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.

Ambition

That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.

But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular h-m bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.

Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.

See you at Madison Square Garden.

~ You can see the photos which was mentioned on the article, from the link on the title. ~

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

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privilege-archives · 7 years

Photo

ISABELLA BERRY ➝ THIRD SIBLING

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

❖ FULL NAME: Isabella Maria Berry. ❖ PRONOUNS: She/Her. ❖ AGE: 22. (December 18th). ❖ BIRTH ORDER: Third. Quint. ❖ GRADE: Junior. ❖ MAJOR: Graphic Design, with a minor in Publishing Arts. ❖ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual. ❖ ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic. ❖ FACECLAIM: Lea Michele.

I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

Isabella wasn’t for sure what to think being born into the spotlight, since she felt like they needed her to put on a show or something for them. Over time, she had learn to be on her best behavior since she wanted to make sure that the to be on her best behavior throughout her childhood since she didn’t want to ruin her fathers and grandmother’s reputation. She gathered that people would get her and her siblings mixed up, which didnt hurt her none because she loved her sisters. Even though she felt like she was the black sheep of the family.

Granted, she still had her manners that LeRoy and Hiram installed their children, but one thing she was worried about was fading into the background. When she was growing up, she remembered having a hard time staying out of trouble with having paparazzi following her every move and keeping her nose clean. However, being the tom boy of the family had its ups and downs. She would ride motorcycles, ninja bikes when she was older and wanted to join the motocross team along with being a graphic designer for her high school yearbook. If you saw dirt trails leading up to the Berry household, that was from Isabella and she was proud of them. She would often play the guitar or even sing some tune, so that way she would balance out her academic side and her new found love for music.

As she grew up, she found it hard to live in the spotlight. When Isabella was in middle school, she had told her dads that she had a Motocross event but sometimes they couldnt make it. She would get her hopes up, but then all of them were shattered by the end of the event. All of the kids were calling Isabella, the “forgotten” Berry and it stuck with her until they showed up for her national basketball championship game her freshman year. During high school, she found detention to be her second home away from home. It seemed like every day around lunch time, she would be defending her sisters and protecting the Berry name and would be sent to the office because of her mouth. She was quickly labeled the trouble child but she was lucky enough to have her childhood best friend by her side the entire time. She would escape from the house, and sleep over at his house until the morning where she would sneak out of his house.

During the summer between her junior and senior year of high school, Isabella had discovered she was pregnant with her best friend’s child and didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want the pregnancy to be leaked to the press, so when her parents found out, they sent Isabella to Vancouver, Canada and made sure that they were careful. She knew that she couldn’t raise her child, knowing that she would become a teen mom but she knew bette so she had found a loving family who had tried to get pregnant but she couldn’t. So after meeting them, Silas and she had agreed to do an open adoption between the parents. She had become a Canadian resident, despite still going to school in America. Isabella gave birth to a healthy baby girl, Lyric Aria Faith Russo who was born on April 4th 2014, four months after her 18th birthday. After the pregnancy, Silas and she flew back to Los Angeles to walk with their class at graduation. There were a lot of rumors that Silas didn’t want the open adoption but Isabella figured this was better than instead of the baby growing up in the spotlight and that way they could make sure Lyric had a loving home. Isabella went through a period where she didn’t want to get up, until Hiram introduced her into the things she once loved. The summer after she graduated, she went to a camp where she could build up her motocross career and graphic design. After a while, she was becoming her old self again and broke up with Silas shortly after she found out that he was cheating on her. She packed her bags, and headed backed to Canada, knowing that she could be close to Lyric while she could put her life together.

When she heard about Pacific “Privilege” State, she wasn’t so certain if that was for her but the more she looked into it. The more she liked it and wanted to go there, but due to her crazy schedules, she couldn’t attend personally so she signed up for a few online classes to see what it would like. After a while, she fell in love with the school and packed up her bags after she found out that her sisters were attending. Once she arrived, she liked the atmosphere and glad that it was refreshing. However, she couldn’t attend classes since she didn’t have her visa but luckily enough, she gotten her visa right before the deadlines were for school. During her sophomore year, she fell in love with a girl named Lacey and experienced a whole new world with her. She fell into the bad crowd but she didn’t care because for once. She could care less what people thought about her except for Lyric’s adoptive parents. So now she’s struggling to get out of the rabbit hole but apart of her doesn’t want to get out of the rabbit hole. She had also found an underground street racing scene, where she had fallen in love with it and would often go to the fights that they have.

BABY, THERE'S NO OTHER SUPERSTAR

Isabella stands at 5'2, noting that a lot of people have been calling her cute and adorable ever since she could walk. She has black fingernail polish, like her sisters, she has long brown hair but she has blue and hot pink highlights in it. She also has two double helix piercings, and she has five tattoos. She has a music note (in honor of Lyric) on her left shoulder, Imagine on her right foot, one on her inner finger that she had gotten when Silas and her were together, a bird on her left hip bone and a small tattoo on her inner left wrist. She also loves her kickboxing class, even though her abs are becoming more defining then they have been. She often wears beanies, flannels with her sunglasses and leggings along with Marvel, DC comics and Star Wars shirts. She likes high heels, but she loves wearing her boots and flipflops along with her sneakers. She wears a leather jacket once in a while with jeans and a t-shirt.

YOU KNOW THAT I'LL BE YOUR PAPARAZZI

The Berry family have had their name in lights for as long as anyone could possibly remember. Cynthia Franklin, the Berry’s grandmother, was a legend in the acting industry. She was devoted to the screen, and worked under names like Alfred Hitchcock and Frank Capra. She was also notably known for her many love affairs on the sets of her feature films; her most significant being with Gerald Berry, a up and coming screenwriter. They were married not long after they met, and ended up spending a beautiful life together. They had a son - Hiram - and he spent most of his childhood living in hotel rooms and spending summer days in trailers and in studio sets. A Hollywood career was set in stone for him, but he gravitated towards being behind the scenes. Leroy Berry (nee. Washington) is a notable fashion designer who is based LA and mostly known for his styles of wedding dresses. Their biological mother, Shelby Corcoran, is a model that worked with Leroy in the beginning of his career and volunteered to be their surrogate.

#privisabella #privberry

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junker-town · 7 years

Text

The Marlins home run sculpture might go away, and I'm devastated

Derek Jeter will have a lot to answer for if this goes through.

The new Miami Marlins owners are likely to remove the gaudy, 60-foot tall home run sculpture, according to Jon Heyman, and you should be devastated. The gory details:

One thing someone connected to the Jeter group has suggested will likely go: the home run sculpture in left-center field that was designed by artist Red Grooms and has been the subject of controversy.

Hopefully, this is just the idle speculation of someone who hasn’t even seen the thing in person. Hopefully, this is just someone who believes his business card gives him or her the unilateral authority to suggest such a thing. We don’t have a name attached to the proposal. We don’t know what Derek Jeter thinks. We doing know anything except for the second-hand note that “someone connected to the Jeter group” maybe isn’t the biggest.

Because at the risk of being solipsistic, this might completely ruin my brand. More so, even. I enjoyed being the Howard Cosell to the sculpture’s Muhammed Ali, poking and prodding, partly skeptical and mostly a true believer, as I used way too many words to describe this gift to the world. Really, we should be concerned about the people most affected by this. Namely, me.

EDITOR: Grant, real quick, I was just checking the standings, and did you realize there are 10 possible playoff teams in the American L

What will happen to my metaphor? What will happen to my precious words?

In 75 years, the Home Run Sculpture will be iconic. It will be a destination. the ballpark will be ancient and adored, and people will walk into this classic piece of Americana, walk through the tunnel to get to their seats and see it in the distance, with 80 years of weather and air conditioning aging it more than a touch, but in the most charming way possible. A father will put his arm around his son or daughter and just stare.

And, fine, I guess the Marlins and their fans might possibly be affected by this. It’s only fair to note that the majority of sports fans hate the home run sculpture.

But that question was posed to a national audience, and I’m telling you, the thing grows on you. Here’s what Marlins Park looks like without it:

Steve Mitchell-USA TODAY Sports, Staff

That looks like a domed stadium with windows on the side, which is better than a domed stadium without windows on the side, but just barely. That’s a stale ballpark. New, clean, and stale.

Restore it to its natural state, then.

Steve Mitchell-USA TODAY Sports

There’s no mistaking where you are. It adds scale to the cavernous park. It adds a landmark. It takes it from, “Watching baseball in a dark stadium with a retractable roof that wouldn’t be opened if it were 72˚ and zero percent chance of rain” to “Hell yeah, Marlins Park, let’s see Giancarlo Stanton break one of those stupid flamingo beaks off with a 110-mph dinger.” It’s exactly the kind of spice the ballpark needs to stand out.

Have you ever stopped to think about just how stupid the Mets’ Home Run Apple is?

PETE: Got an idea for the new stadium, Carl. Gonna put in a home run apple.

CARL: A home run apple, eh? Reckon it’ll be the size of an apple.

PETE: Nope. It’s gonna be a big apple. The size of two elephants.

CARL: A big apple, you say?

PETE: To celebrate the Big Apple. And it’s going to pop out of a top hat whenever there’s a home run.

CARL: A gigantic apple popping out of a gigantic top hat. Are there words on the top hat with the home run apple?

PETE: There are. “Home Run,” the words will read.

CARL: I can see it now. This is completely normal and definitely not stupid.

It’s not aesthetically different from the Cubs putting a gigantic inflatable dancing car dealership thing in right-center to celebrate the Windy City. Whooooosh, look at those suckers go whenever Kyle Schwarber hits a home run, ha ha! It sounds ridiculous, but it’s not stranger than a gigantic apple emerging from a top hat like Cthulu from the briney deep. We’re just used to it. See what will happen when Mets owners buy the team from Gxys Wilpon in 2494 and threaten to take the apple away. It’s not going to be taken lightly.

Without the Marlins sculpture, it’s incumbent upon the new owners to figure out a new brand for the team and the stadium. We all should have known this was coming, that the first order of business would be to de-weird the Marlins. But there’s a difference between an ownership group undoing the sins of the previous owners and the new guys coming in with a sledgehammer and turning the Jim Rose Circus Sideshow into Jim Rose’s Face Painting and Bouncy House Emporium. Is the plan to completely button the team down? If that’s the case, they’ll need to get rid of the fish tank behind home plate and the making-of-Star-Wars-bonus-features green around the ballpark. They’ll need to get rid of these guys:

Photo by Marc Serota/Getty Images

They’ll need to get rid of everything that makes the park unique, because otherwise they’ll only be a quarter-weird, the Hot Topic shirt of baseball. Just strange enough to make you furrow your brow, not strange enough to elicit a chuckle. Not strange enough to stand out and have a purpose in life.

In a just and pure world, a division rival would purchase the sculpture and repurpose it to cheese off the Marlins. The Nationals could have spinning eagles and American flags. The Phillies could have a Phanatic-themed sculpture. The Mets could make the whole thing out of apples. The Braves could put ... actually, let’s not see what the Braves would slap on there. But if the Marlins sculpture is going away, it needs to survive somewhere. Like the Hall of Fame. Or Marc’s house.

Again, this is all premature. Heyman is a fine reporter with plenty of contacts, but this is still just one anonymous source close to the new ownership group. It might be that Derek Jeter gets to tour the inside of the thing and suddenly understands it. It might be that the new owners talk to the fans and realize they enjoy watching baseball clarnk off it in batting practice and in games. Or maybe Jeter watched baseballs pepper it during the Home Run Derby, fell in love just like most of us, and hasn’t had time to seek this sculpture-hater out to set him or her straight.

If it goes, it goes, and there will still be nine innings played at Marlins Park every day, give or take. The foul lines will still meet at a 90-degree angle, and the balls will still be home runs when they go over the fence. But it won’t be the same Marlins Park. It’ll just be a park. How the new owners plan to make up for that will be mighty interesting, because I’m not sure how removing it helps them at all. The Marlins need to get less weird, but they don’t need to get duller. And it’s a fine, fine line between those two.

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privilege-archives · 7 years

Photo

MILO FABRAY ➝ FIRST SIBLING

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

❖ FULL NAME: Milo Knox Fabray. ❖ PRONOUNS: He/Him. ❖ AGE: 25. (April 7th). ❖ BIRTH ORDER: First. Adopted. ❖ GRADE: Senior. ❖ MAJOR: Bioengineering and Medicine, with a minor in Epidemiology. ❖ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual. ❖ ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic. ❖ FACECLAIM: Jack Falahee.

I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

He was born to a Mother too young. Born to an absent Father. He wasn’t unwanted, in fact, he was loved enough that his Mother wanted to give him a life she couldn’t provide at her age, and that was how Milo Knox Francis was destined for adoption only 3 months after his conception. Angelina was just a high school drop-out working late nights in a bowling alley, and wanted her son to have a life that she wouldn’t be able to give him.

Milo Knox was the first child to the Fabray family. Though not their child biologically, he was their first nonetheless, and was raised to believe that Judy was the one to give birth to him. He had no idea of the existence of Angelina Francis, and that was how Russell and Judy wanted it to stay. In attempt to ensure that he felt as though he were their family, their real family, they smothered him with love, affection and gifts. He had the best clothes, latest gadgets, the best toys. He was treated to days out, expensive trips, and given all the attention in the world.

Of course, for a child, this was the best thing ever. Getting everything he wanted, when he wanted, was taken for granted, but it was less fun and games as he grew. As he went from a kid to a teenager, the smothering was more bothersome than anything else, and he started to resent the constant pressure that he felt was placed on his shoulders by his family. He had sisters, too, but that didn’t change anything. Judy and Russell still pushed him too much, and it began to push him away, as opposed to making him feel included. Slowly, he pushed himself out of the picture.

At the age of 14, he made a friend. A friend who was older, 16 and a junior, unlike his freshman self. His name was Joseph Carson, and Joey was his best friend, despite the two years between them. Milo spent more time at the Carson household with Mary and Louis, Joseph, and his two twin sisters, Bethany and Brittany. Having dinner there, having family time, and spending the night, Milo was more of a Carson that he was a Fabray. And it was perfect, because being an honorary Carson meant time out of the public eye, which was greatly appreciated.

When he turned 16, Joseph was going to college at UCLA. Milo visited frequently, even spending multiple nights a week in Joseph’s dorm. Though neither of them drank, or took part in recreational drug use like the others, they still went to the college parties and mingled, made friends, enjoyed company and music. That was their scene, and Milo preferred it to anything else.

They had been running late to a party one night— Joseph was nearing the end of his sophomore year, and Milo had just turned 17. Needing to hang a late assignment to one of his professors, the boys had headed to the main building, to the office of Professor Jenkins to hang it in, before heading to the dorms for a rager. Instead of the normal, professional, intellect that was Jenkins, they found a man with white knuckles and whiskey on his breath. He was angry, living in his office while going through a messy divorce, and it was clear the moment they walked in, that he was angry, and aggressive.

An argument ensued— or less of an argument, more Joseph trying to calm Jenkins down, while Milo fidgeted nervously by the door, his eyes darting back and forth between the men, and then to the door to the side of the room that they’d came in through. Jenkins, drunk and paranoid, made a move for Milo, but was stopped by the paperweight colliding with his skull gripped in Joseph’s hand. Jenkins hit the floor, a pool of blood slowly starting to surround his head, the red reflection in Jenkins’ open eyes fading as did the light in them.

They took the paperweight, and took off, hiding the object in Joseph’s dorm before slipping off to the party. Everyone was already too far gone to notice the boys joining late, and though they were terrified that they would be caught, they got away with it.

After that, they stopped hanging out on campus, instead choosing locations in Los Angeles to chill instead. Skate parks, public parks, cafes and the beach, anywhere other than the campus. The image of Jenkins laying there, however, was burned into Milo’s mind, appearing every time his eyes closed, torturing him with the reminder of what he’d witnessed, of what they’d done. He didn’t sleep. He barely ate. He didn’t partake in any of the activities that he had before, and he didn’t tell a soul.

The sleepless nights pushed him to do things he’d never expected of himself. When the exhaustion made him start passing out in classes, and in both the Carson household and his own, before awakening shaking and scared, he gave in to a suggestion from one of the burnouts at school, and that was how his dependency on amphetamines began. It wasn’t anything bad, at first. But soon, the high that got him through the day, and the comedown that helped him crash at night, was something he learned to depend on.

The attic of his home had become one of his favourite places to hang out in. He’d sneak up there, sit in the dark with minimal light filtering in from the small window overlooking the front garden and a few rows of houses where they lived. The attic was filled with random junk, but he sifted through it most days regardless, curious of what he might find. He never dreamed that he would find adoption papers, which stated that Judy and Russell, in fact, weren’t his real parents.

It wasn’t long until his 18th birthday when he found them, and his graduation was fast approaching too, meaning he’d seen get the inheritance he’d been told he was entitled to when he graduated from high school. A couple of weeks later, he told Judy and Russell that he intended on taking a two year break before he would attend Pacific State at their wish, and he would be gone for those two years, travelling across the globe to “find himself”. Really, it was an escape, and an attempt to clean himself of what he’d been taking to get him through the last year.

It was a blissful two years, when he got over the withdrawls. With minimal contact with the Fabray’s, he spent his time travelling from city to city, country to country, meeting new people, trying new food, experiencing new cultures. He threw powder paint in the streets of India, drank beer during Oktoberfest, and walked barefoot on fields in New Zealand. He learned languages, worked with locals to make extra money, and had the time of his life.

But that couldn’t last forever, and when the two years were up, he returned to Los Angeles, and began his freshman year at the age of 20. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, but being intelligent, he decided to pursue something that required just that, something he could be successful in. He decided to double major in medicine and bioengineering, with a minor in epidemiology. It would keep him busy, and give him good prospects for when he would eventually leave school and begin his career.

But with a heavy workload, he found that the old habits were exactly what he needed to help him cope at school, and so he slipped back into it again. It’s just another secret, but he was used to keeping those by now.

Now, graduation approaches, and he plans on getting his Masters in Biomedical Engineering come the next year. He still struggles with the same addiction to help him get through every day. He still hasn’t told Judy and Russell that he found the papers 7 years ago, nor has he told his siblings, and he hasn’t told them he’s looking for his real family either. Problem is, he doesn’t have a clue where to look, with no idea that they’re right under his nose.

BABY, THERE'S NO OTHER SUPERSTAR

Milo has dark hair, that is usually slicked back, though he occasionally lets the loose waves fall over his forehead instead. Typically, he looks quite formal, he likes to wear suits and look professional, but he also likes to try a more casual look, normally just fitted jeans and button-up shirts. He doesn’t have any piercings, and his only tattoo is the words “Adventure is out there” on the side of his left foot.

YOU KNOW THAT I'LL BE YOUR PAPARAZZI

Russell is a famous entrepreneur, who owns most of Hollywood’s big brand businesses. Judy is an Oscar winning movie actress, and the children had small roles in movies as children.

#privmilo #privfabray

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