What about a plot of a personal assistant and a celeb? One where she’s been working for him since he had gotten famous. He can’t go anywhere without her and brings her everywhere he goes. They are more like best friend than boss and assistant. The media jokes about how they act like a married couple. And he can’t help but mention her during interviews. Sometimes they even sleep in the same hotel room when she’s working late. BUT NO IT’S TOTALLY PLATONIC!! That cuddling they did the other night?? Completely what friends do!
one might wonder: what is a star?
some say, they are a thing of beauty.
and certainly - they are pretty
but only if you watch them from afar.
many have written about the stars above
and about darling girls who are stars
yet most of them focus on the obvious,
on the shallow, superficial beauty.
but when you get close, too close,
you'll see this:
a star is too destructive to be just pretty
for all their beauty is a burning, golden glory,
suited to lay waste to everything in its way,
burning too bright to do anything but ruin.
stars map out our fates, some sages say,
some are born under lucky stars, others aren't,
and so it begins, the dance of fate and stars,
stars and fate, fate and stars - an unbroken chain.
and so there is this star girl who might even
call herself a star-crossed, an ill-fated girl,
someone who was cursed from the very moment
her lungs were first filled air and star dust
but there is something no one ever told her
when she was born, under these unlucky stars
stars that make everything a fight, a challenge,
she was born to rattle the skies.
ooh, so i saw your jeltear Instagram aesthetic and i must say, it was wonderful! if you don't mind me asking, may i request a grayza instagram aesthetic too? i don't really have an fc but i hope you don't mind. creative freedom y'know XD but yeah, thank you~
title. tear down the walls
ship. jeltear
summary. there are about eleven reasons why all of this is a bad idea.
prompt. "I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight"
verse. everything is legal.
requested by. @vastiaisms
notes. this is set in some historical vague setting and it’s the start of a series
The boss’ daughter was smoking as she sat on the bench in the garden, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a steaming beverage in her hand. Ever so often, her eyes flickered over to the windows of the mansion that stared like golden eyes into the night. Ever so often, her jaw clenched before she scoffed. She was not happy, but that was hardly a surprise. Jellal Fernandes had not been assigned to watch the daughter duty for more than a month, but he had already realised that she always disapproved, no matter what was asked.
He had been Miss Ultear’s guard and driver for a while now, for long enough to know a few things about her by now. He knew that she was Trouble ( capital T ) and that if the job would not kill him first, she had a good shot at being the cause for the heart attack he would certainly get by the time he was thirty.
“You’re too smart for all of this,” she remarked shortly as she looked up at him, lifting her cigarette and taking a drag. The cherry bloomed for a moment, a scream of red against the darkness, and Jellal sighed inwardly.
This was part of the reason she was trouble, her way of luring others into conversations, of making them feel like for a moment, they were what she was focusing on. Other times, it was the way she placed her hand on his shoulder, seemingly trying to capture his attention although she knew that it had never left her to begin with.
“Am I, now?” he asked, crossing his arms and resisting the urge to check his watch. He knew by now that he was on duty until he was dismissed --- and he doubted that he would be dismissed anytime soon today. Not with the way some --- he suspected Dragneel, maybe Redfox, too --- were fighting in the yard on the other side of the mansion, their shouting disturbing the night. It was annoying, Jellal supposed, but nothing out of the usual. Ever since the Lady had departed to tend to business in the capital, things had been tenser than usual and some fists were sitting looser than usual.
( Jellal preferred to stay out of range when they were fighting. Unlike the others, he remembered that he had a job to do. )
“Too smart for this kind of scene, really ... we could run away,” she suggested, still looking at the stars above as she took another sip of her drink. “Start over somewhere else, far away from this --- trouble,” she added, her voice a grave sigh as a glass shattered somewhere nearby and the shouting in the yard subsided somewhat. “You could be an astronomer somewhere up north ... I could pretend to be your wife and we could --- breathe,” she ended, her eyes fixed on the moon now.
“I see one problem with you being happy while pretending to be my wife: you don’t love me,” he said slowly, his freezing fingers aching for something to hold --- a cigarette, a glass of whiskey, a hand. Something. Conversations like this were not rare; she often mentioned that a part of her wanted to run and leave the family business far, far behind her. And while he had once figured that she was kidding, that it was her way of complaining about her current situation, he was increasingly less certain about this.
Because --- what if she was serious? Her father would have his head if she disappeared, and this was nothing he was looking forward to. And this was why he constantly kept reviewing and analysing her words when she contemplated a departure. He supposed that technically, he should be telling his boss about these plans, no matter how vague they were, but --- to do so would mean to break her trust. And he had no interest in making her his enemy. He had seen what happened to people who made this mistake.
She shook her head, slowly, solemnly, before she stopped moving altogether, dark eyes resting on the house again where her brothers were shouting, fighting once more. A marble statue would have nothing on the silent grace of her stillness, of how stoic she was in that very moment. “I don’t think so,” she said as she pulled a loose thread off the blanket. “I probably could pretend, though.”
“Again, you wouldn’t be happy and I suppose you consider leaving because you feel --- unhappy here.” Jellal sighed. His assignment was to keep her safe, to keep her out of trouble --- especially now that the Lady and the boss were both absent --- but as of late, he had turned into more of a confidant and less of a bodyguard, something that baffled him.
“It wouldn’t be a golden cage like this,” she mused aloud, her fingernails tapping against the rings she was wearing.
“I’ll be blunt for a moment,” he said, his fingers digging into his suit’s jacket as he stared down at her, trying to pick the right words to avoid upsetting his charge. Not because he feared her father; Miss Ultear was all too capable of settling her own scores. “This life may be a golden cage, but running away? It wouldn’t set you free. And this golden cage means that you live in comfort.”
For a moment, she did not move. Instead, she was completely motionless, like a --- like a statue, like a relic from times long gone. Then, she angled her head, laughter spilling from her lips and into the night, in perfect sync with the drink that had slipped from her hand. “You really are too smart,” she said, her hand once more reaching for his arm. “And too smart means smart enough to keep around. Walk with me?”
Jellal, still dazzled by her sudden shift in behaviour, frowned as he pulled her to her feet, the shattered glass forgotten as she pulled him into the night. No, he would never understand her, but this was just fine by him. She had been right about one thing, from the start: he was too smart and he was curious. Curious enough to want to learn the mystery that was Ultear, curious enough to want to understand what drove her.
“So,” Sherry started, her hands on her hips as she kicked a pebble out of her way, “my family thinks we’re dating.”
For a moment, Lyon stared at her, unable to breathe properly. He barely knew her family, had only met her cousin — bubbly and cheery and scarily similar to Sherry — twice and her brother ( ‘he’s not really my brother but things are complicated’ ) ONCE so he was not sure how to feel about it. Of course, he could see where the idea that he was dating his lab partner came from; his own aunt had come to similar conclusions when she had met Sherry.
“Oh,” he decided to choke out moments later, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s, uh, unexpected?”
She scoffed, shaking her head and grasping her bag with both hands before she jumped, walking over a slim wall as if it was a tightrope. “Not really,” she groaned. “Jura found you napping on my bed in my room.”
“You said it was okay for me to sleep there while you were getting pizza,” the white-haired engineer hurried to say, lifting both hands to shield himself from any accusations she might hurl at him.
“I know, I know,” she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “But, honestly — what will I tell them?”
title. the funny tricks of time
ship. sherryon
summary. rules make a fun noise when they snap in half.
verse. time travel. i guess. best description: lyon wanders through time and messes things up/fixes them without meaning to.
requested. by @vastiaisms
According to a first, vague estimation, Lyon Vastia was currently breaking three and a half laws, was on his best way to terribly upset his teacher-turned-mother-figure and risked being locked up for the rest of his life. But, hey --- whatever. Because as he was staring at his --- idol, someone who had died long before he had been born, the concept of punishment seemed to be highly irrelevant. Of course, when he had stepped through the gate, centuries in the future, he had considered the possibility that he might end up meeting her as he went into the past, but he had not thought that it was very likely.
Time travel was fickle business, something that usually went more wrong than right, and he had been quite sure that with his luck, he would end up in the week after her death, but --- there she was, still alive and just as lively as he had imagined her to be from the letters of contemporary artists he had read, something that now started to feel quite awkward.
“Excuse me, miss,” he started, biting down on his lip as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. “What --- what’s the date?”
Her eyebrows arched as she reached for the pocket watch that had been safely tucked away before. “It’s the 15th of July, 1756,” she finally said, angling her head as she reached out, grabbing his arm as he staggered backwards.
“Shouldn’t you be --- I don’t know, somewhere else?” he chocked out, trying not to say out loud what he was thinking, what he was dreading: shouldn’t you be at the theatre where you will die, as the sole casualty, in a fire, for example?
His head was spinning and he felt how everything inside of him was twisting. The first rule of time travel was not to change the events that were meant to happen, but apparently, this rule had been broken the moment she had stumbled over him, because --- it had caused her not to be where she would die. Because --- that she had stopped to help him had delayed her. In the distance, he could see hungry flames reaching into the calm afternoon skies.
He had messed with the flow of time, had changed history --- and he had not even planned to do this, but he supposed that this was what his teacher had meant when she had said that until there was a way to move through time with accuracy, time travellers would always lack control.
“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug, blue eyes her contemporaries had always raved about gleaming as she tucked back a strand of her hair. “I’m an artist, I don’t like schedules very much.”
Sherry Blendy had been, no, was obviously an artist. The most famous sculptor of her century, famed for her œuvre that, in spite of her originally untimely death, had been impressive due to its size and diversity. When Lyon had been twelve and first stumbled over her name in a book, he had not been able to truly understand why she had been this admired, but by the time he had been twenty-three and not only a time traveller but also a sculptor himself, he had understood why people had adored her work so much.
A part of Lyon wanted to tear out his hair; he had surely done the world a favour by keeping her from dying but this did not change that messing with time was a dangerous thing, something he had been taught to never even consider because these things always got messy and never ended well for anyone. And everything was connected, meaning that if she stayed alive, other things would never happen --- and this, of course, meant that a lot of work was coming his way because he would have to personally ensure that history stayed on a basic track. But even though the easiest way to keep history from going wrong would be to simply kill her, he knew that he was not going to do that.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” he muttered as his eyes flickered to the gate he had come through, fear grasping his heart when it was GONE.
“That,” Sherry said, deep blue eyes that had followed his gaze wide and faintly terrified, “was your road home, wasn’t it?”
Lyon was frozen inside as he pressed his hand against the wall, wondering if maybe, he could feel a last spark of magic inside the stones, but finding nothing. “Yes,” he confirmed with a solemn nod though he wondered how on earth she had known this. “I guess this means I stay.”
he is a man who walks with shadows, who breathes and thrives within the dark. to cross him is dangerous; everyone knows how the dark hides what nightmares are made of. → rogue cheney, requested by @shadowveiined
tired of bumping into each other in the coffee shop? try these:
muse a tries to stand up for muse b in a bar but unfortunately cannot fight for shit.
muse a is having plumbing troubles in their new house and muse b says they can fix it: except they can’t, they just wanted to spend more time with the cute neighbor. (bonus if muse a has to spend the night at muse b’s place because of it)
muse a works somewhere that’s open late and muse b comes in to take shelter from the storm.
muse a is assigned to be muse b’s partner in an undercover assignment.
muse a needs money and signs up to be in muse b’s clinical trials. (bonus if some kind of accident gives muse a superpowers and unwittingly makes muse b their accomplice in their goals)
muse b is a siren and muse a is one of the few people immune to their song, so after drowning the rest of the crew the two are stuck together.
muse b accidentally creates muse a, the world’s very first AI. (Can work with or without a body for muse a, or muse b can struggle to build a body for muse a)
muse a and muse b as Olympic athletes forced to do PR together, photo shoots, interviews, cheese montages.
muse b is an anent for a time travel protection agency and has been assigned to protect muse a after they have been targeted by another time traveler.
muse b is in love with muse a, but muse doesn’t love them back. At some point the two have a one night stand and makes matters more complex (via rachel).
she is like the sea on a sunny day, many say, seemingly serene with hidden depths that seek to ensnare those who lack caution to pull them under. like a spider, others say, she waits in the web she has put into place. → arania webb, requested by anon
Hello! I was wondering if I could request a modern au jeltear-themed instagram edit with Ultear's posts and Jellal's. If possible, with Vanessa Hudgens!Ultear. I saw an rp account have her as her fc and that seemed really nice. I don't have a specific faceclaim for Jellal so go wild nor any color scheme requests! Thank you!
to be entirely honest, since i know exactly which rp account you mean, i would have used her as fc in any case because it is really nice, i think. also — the work is done
title. time for the encore
ship. jeltear
summary. it seems the last dance has been saved for you.
verse. the obscure dance au
requested. by @vastiaisms
The dance centre had been her mother’s responsibility before the older woman had retired, quitting dancing altogether to enjoy what was left of her bones, but it was Ultear’s now and she was trying to keep up the reputation and the fame her mother had brought to the Rosengarten, once, while giving it her own twist. Because in spite of looking a lot like the record gold medalist, Ultear was her own person with her own ideas and a lifelong ambition to be different from her mother.
(An ambition that had gotten her into trouble, more than once, but she preferred not to talk about that.)
One similarity she could not deny was that just like her mother’s love life (something Ultear generally preferred not to think about) had been sacrificed to the dance and Ultear, of course, the younger woman’s own private life was a sad thing as well. There was not much time for dating and she had known most dancers who trained at the centre for ages, many even since childhood --- Lyon Vastia had crawled back, less than a year after his fight with her mother, Gray Fullbuster and most others had never left --- and there had always been an atmosphere at the Rosengarten that had made all dancers feel like family.
(And to date within such a close-knit structure was to ask for disaster.)
Arriving early in the morning on a grey and rainy July Thursday, she nodded at two of the ballroom dancers and one coach who were chatting by the door before she stopped and frowned as her full attention was captured by the sight that presented itself in the hall. Behind her, the chatter of Erza Scarlet and Mirajane Strauss seemed to be miles away all of a sudden, because for the moment, what mattered was the rare sight of Jellal Fernandes, talking with a visibly swooning Lucy Heartfilia.
Now, Jellal Fernandes was a bit of a legend at Rosengarten --- and in the entire dance scene of Fiore --- because he had made it into the rows of the ten best dancers of the country and on the covers of all kinds of magazines with ease. Having been recruited by Ur’s former partner (who was never talked about due to the way that partnership had ended) at the age of ten, Jellal had been around quite a bit when Ultear had been still training under the strict supervision of the instructors who had worked at the studio then.
They had never been really close as their specialties had never been the same, but since Everyone at Rosengarten is family, ‘tear, there had been many occasions for them to have short conversations and she had always considered him likable. However, when she had been sixteen, she had attempted to bypass her mother’s veto to let her change her focus from ballroom to ballet --- and things had gone sour. Because when this had been revealed --- Ultear’s career-altering injury being the cause --- Jellal had taken the fall, had claimed to have been aware of it from the start. And while this lie had salvaged her relationship with her mother and he had not been told to leave the studio, everyone knew that his decision to leave Era to train with the national team in Crocus had been due to the cold shoulder the former head of the studio had given him.
(It was a pattern that people who left Rosengarten and its leader went to Crocus to become part of the national team in some form; the aforementioned former partner had done the same.)
Turning away from Lucy now, he approached Ultear with the light steps judges everywhere were raving about, running a hand through his blue hair as he shot her a carefree (yet faked) grin. “Ms Milkovich,” he said as he adjusted the strap of his bag. “I hear you’re in charge now.”
“Have been for a few months now,” Ultear replied, her voice cooler than she had intended it to be, and tugged on her scarf as she was far too aware of the eyes focused on them. Usually when she was on a stage, she did not mind people looking at her, but this was different. The people who were looking now were also whispering behind their hands, swapping the rumours they had heard about the both dancers in the middle of the foyer.
“I was out of the country,” he said with a shrug as he glanced at the dancers on the stairs and the floor above, “so I couldn’t congratulate you earlier.”
“So are you---” She never got to finish the question because in the door behind her, the formerly absent part of the studio’s elite, the four top performers who had mentioned they would be late had arrived --- and before anything else could happen, Lyon Vastia’s bag hit the ground with a booming noise, shocking everyone into perfect silence as Sting Eucliffe cleared his throat and Minerva Orland presumably glared at the gossiping crowd.
“I believe quite a few of you should be in their sessions so scram,” the blond man said with his always audible smirk before he passed Ultear, saluting shortly before disappearing in a locker room as his best friend and rival silently followed. And since Sting was a leader, his command was followed and the hall emptied quickly, leaving the new head of the studio looking at the legend and wondering why he had come back.
But as so many times before, the answer came although the question had not been asked. “I quit the national team, pulled a muscle in the shoulder again and figured it was time to fold before I spend as much time at the doctors’ mercy as your mother did in the past few years,” Jellal said with a forcibly casual shrug as his hand rested on the shoulder in question. Right, she had heard the rumours that the injury he had suffered on screen a few months earlier had not been the first and that it had been more severe than most had guessed.
“You aren’t even thirty,” she said with a slight grin as she mentioned towards her office where tea and a stack of paperwork was waiting for her.
“Dancing is hell for the body, you know that better than I do,” he replied with a sigh as he followed her. Then, he stopped and lowered his voice after looking over his shoulders to see if anyone was around, but there was only Mirajane who was wearing headphones and preparing for the class she would hold later. “And the coach said it might be time for me to come back here,” he finally said.
She swallowed as a bitter taste filled her mouth. Just like her, Jellal had been there on the day his former coach had quit the studio, had witnessed the terrible fallout of a fight that should never have escalated like this. Neither of them had picked sides, neither of them had ever mentioned the incident afterwards. “Don’t talk about him here --- there’s still bitterness here,” she hurried to say before she held out her hand, squeezing his as he took it. “But --- welcome ho--- back.”
“So he’s still blacklisted?” the man sighed as he shook his head before he smiled again, this time a genuine one. “And well, I’m happy to be back home.”
The blacklist was no topic she liked --- because while she could understand the first reaction, she firmly believed that by now, it was no longer about the matter but rather about the involved egos. And this bothered her because in her opinion, there was a point at which people had to contemplate their actions and start to get things go. “Yeah, and I don’t see that changing --- but it’s great to have you back,” she said with a forcibly casual shrug, opening the door to her office and throwing her handbag and her scarf onto the small couch before her fingers grasped the sturdy desk in the middle of the room, anchoring her as she looked at Jellal again, observing carefully how he rested his bag on the floor, shrugging off his coat and sitting down.
“I was wondering,” he said as he rubbed the back of his head, “if you’d happen to---”
“---need a right hand man?” she interrupted, a faint smirk playing around her lips. The studio doubled as national dance centre, harbouring offering training space for members of the national opera’s dance troupe and for some of the members of the national dance team, and while she could easily handle the business part and the less competitive angle, she had never danced on the same level as quite a few others had --- the aforementioned injury being the cause for this.
For a moment, he blinked, angling his head to get a better look at her. “...that was actually not what i was going to ask, but i guess i do need a job,” he said after a beat.
“Oh.”
“I mean, I heard that you need a glorified assistant,” he continued quickly as embarrassment coloured her cheeks in hues of pink, “and I was going to ask for that, too, but --- I want to keep dancing. a bit, at least, nothing dramatic, nothing that includes lifting anyone.”
She flinched, dark eyes flickering over to his shoulder. she had recoiled into her seat when she had watched the mishap during his last competition, had spotted the split second when his face had scrunched up as pain had shot through his arm. It was nothing she liked to remember, but she quickly caught herself and cleared her throat. “Yes, i am banning you from lifting anyone until you provide me with a doctor’s statement that it’s without risk,” she said grimly.
“You are your mother’s daughter,” he sighed, his hand hovering in front of her, either offering a dance or challenging her to accept the offer. She had never really gotten into his head the last time they had been in close quarters --- and since then, a few years had passed.
“Can’t remember that she ever took if this far,” she huffed as she absentmindedly accepted his hand, following him instinctively as he moved, slipping into the all too familiar pattern of a waltz. She had been --- missing this, she realised. Around the centre, there was always someone dancing and asking others to join in so it was no surprise, but it had been a long time since she had accepted such an offer.
“Yes, exactly,” he replied, his other hand resting on her back, only a few centimetres above the scar that marked where exactly her career as a competitive dancer had ended when she had been too young to realise what she had been losing there. “She should’ve banned herself,” he explained with a sigh before he sped up the movement.
“They were part of a generation that never learned when to quit,” she sighed, the old resentment towards her mother’s careless attitude seeping into her voice as her gaze flickered over to the old picture on the wall, framed by the cases containing her mother’s gold medals. “I’m happy to see you aren’t like them,” she added, her focus returning to Jellal who was steering her safely through the office.
“There are other hills that I’d prefer to die on,” he shrugged, a mischievous grin adorning his face as he broke form, twirling her around before dipping her low and pulling her back up with his uninjured arm.
“Oh, really?” she asked, her left eyebrow arching gracefully.
“Yep.” he grinned as he let go of her and took a step back, “but you’ll have to find out what I mean by that ... boss.”
the sky spans seemingly endless above her,
stretching out farther than her eyes can reach,
and her heart trembles inside her ribcage
like a bird, desperately trying to escape.
it is her throne, it is her birthright, some say,
but she looks at it and feels small, insignificant.
the skies in their deceptive beauty need a queen,
someone who can rule with a firm hand---
and she is only a girl at the beginning of her path,
a girl who has been left behind too many times,
who will not allow this to happen ever again
(because there is only so much loss she can bear).
but she keeps losing what matters, who matters,
and when she can no longer carry this burden,
she throws it down, digs her heels into the ground
and as it anchors her, she takes a stand.
for what she believes in.
for what she wants to protect.
for what is worth the pain and the sacrifice.
she still feels a little small as she finds her wings,
wings that have been hidden so well, even from her,
wings that let her take on the limitless skies on her own,
to finally soar amidst the clouds and feel magnificent.
even a sky girl needs stable ground before she flies
do not try to fix her. she is not broken, only a bit scarred and a little bent. ( life is not kind to everyone. ) if she needs to be fixed, she will fix herself, will glue her broken bones together with the blood she has shed. don’t treat her like an ordinary human, please, because ordinary people would shatter if they had lived the way she did. → minerva orland, sherry blendy + survivor, requested by @theladyminerva
where one person is actually famous and sets up a dating account with their real picture and the other sees it and is like, oh dude you are not fooling anyone with that picture (because srsly trying to catfish someone with a really famous person is hilarious and cute because the profile also had some really dorky info about liking model trains and farmers’ markets) cue an online romance and when they actually meet the other is pissed because DUDE YOU’RE THAT FAMOUS PERSON and the other is like, yeah, i mean, i thought you knew…
