#foreign!reader

theodore nott x foreigner!reader.

i believe theodore faced some prejudice when he first arrived at hogwarts—an outsider not by choice, but by origin. italian, not british. the judgmental and curious looks from kids in his own house (and all the others too, if we're being honest) nearly pushed theo towards a spiral of bullying. but theo already wore a hard shell at eleven, built from a childhood that forced him to grow quickly, combined with the unconditional support of mattheo—a boy a bit more violent than any other kid at his age should be, who received those same chauvinistic looks because of the person who brought him into the world. together, they made it clear that theodore was no boy to be mocked. and so, he eventually earned his place at hogwarts.

with that said, i think theo would subconsciously gravitate toward a foreign girl. who could understand an immigrant better than another immigrant?

you would understand him in ways that anyone ever could. better than anyone when it came to language barriers. even though both of you were very strong english speakers, some questions about prepositions—in, on, or at, please, which one now, for the love of god?—and uncommon words always sneak their ways into you. he’d help you with grammar, because theodore had always been exceptionally gifted at writing and understanding the logics of language, and you’d help him with his pronunciation, because his thick italian accent sometimes bothered him, no matter how many times you told him it was cute. step by gentle step, the two of you would climb your way to the top of the staircase of complete english fluency—or at least something close enough to it.

when it came to cuisine, theodore would try his best to step into your world, because cooking was one of the purest forms of love he knew. if you are from asia, for example, the flavors of seaweeds and exotic condiments would catch him off guard a bit, because they were uncommon from the western culture he grew up in; yet he’d discover tastes that reshaped his palate. if you are latina, theodore would be somewhat horrified by the variations of the typical italian dishes he was raised with—but he would fall in love with your cuisine all the same. mexican tacos, feijoada, brigadeiro, and the bright, intoxicating and alcoholic caipirinhas from brazil (because of course theodore would love the mix of alcohol and local fruits), argentine alfajores… he would savor them all. after a trip to meet your parents, he would definitely need to work out thrice as hard to lose the weight he gained from being spoiled by those he now loved.

theo would be tender—achingly respectful—when it came to clothing and physical touch. if you came from a more conservative cultural background, theo would adjust his clothes and behavior accordingly without hesitation, aiming for the highest respect. wherever in the world you were from, he’d honor your cultural etiquette and boundaries about affection that might be considered too intimate for public display; that part would be the hardest for him, because italians are naturally warm and expressive. still, he would never risk to cross a line—and honestly, he’s terrified of appearing a poorly raised boy. during your holidays, theo would strictly follow the guidelines he read online about your country with comical seriousness, but once the festivities began, everything would simply come naturally to him. like a chameleon, he’d blend in among your relatives, and if his heavy accent weren’t so obvious, maybe one day he could even pass as one of them.

wherever you came from, theodore would do everything he could to integrate himself into your culture—and bring you into his. he would love learning about your customs and traditions, absorb your stories and seek, always, to know you more deeply.

Pt.2

Pt.1 <- lore Pt.3 <- pure NSFW

You’d landed on this small uninhabited island with the other dragon riders. It was only day three of traveling and you could already feel the sharp air creeping in on you. Where you lived with your father was relatively warmer, and from what you’d heard Fishlegs rambling on about Berk was a rather harshly cold place. Not entirely though, just right of course.

Your hair was still damp due to bathing in the large hot spring you all wondered upon. And it was the best thing you’d ever experienced. Obviously you had baths in your father’s castle but you weren’t allotted much time for personal pampering. It was always work.

Ruffnut sat behind you, leaning against her dragon as she braided your hair intricately, adding little beads here and there. She was talking your ear off while you cut up special little herbs and vegetables that only grew in your part of the archipelago. A fire boiling a large pot brimming with salivating vegetable stock and cooked meat.

Everyone was eyeing it with curious gazes and rumbling stomachs. They’d all been eating their rations of dense bread and uncut vegetables they’d packed for the long journey, so a hot meal was something they didn’t know they needed until it was taunting their noses.

“So uhm. *Name*, what a-what flavors do you usually get out of the spices from your island?” Fishlegs said abruptly, breaking everyone’s empty conversations and putting the focus on you. “I mean of course Berk has simple spices like thyme and wood avens root but I mean what do you get out of these spices that you can’t get from the basics?” He asked curiously.

You we’re ready to answer, being a very well versed botanist and herbalist due to having to cook and make medicine for your father (he truly believed anyone else would poison him or try and kill him). But you were interrupted by the sudden figure blocking your vision, or father figures. Tuffnut and Belch were leaning over you and Ruffnut to look at you upside down. “What he means to say is, when will the food be ready.” He quipped before Belch maneuvered them upright again and back to their original position.

“What-No! That’s not what I was saying at all!?” Fishlegs tried desperately to defend himself but was betrayed by the growl of his stomach.

You laughed, a real laugh, and stood up after feeling Ruffnut tie of the end of the braid she’s been working on. “Well technically the soup can be done now,” you say as you scrape the chopped herbs and vegetables in the cauldron. “But the flavor of the add-ins just might not be as prominent-” you weren’t allowed to finish as the fire pit was instantly crowded by the hungry group.

You just stepped back and watched everyone get their share, smiling when even Astrid seemed to abandon her timid demeanor and eat to her heart’s content. You walked over and leaned against your own dragon, sliding down slowly agains him before plopping on the ground. It felt so nice. It was as if you felt finally able to release all the love you’d pushed deep down when you were locked away in that damed castle.

You were snapped out of your heart eyed trance trained on your new group of friends by a heavy thud right next to you. Snotlout. You’d felt his gaze on you since he entered your father’s castle. He really was quite handsome, but his ego dulled his attractiveness just a little. But his blind kindness made up for that.

He’d gotten you a bowl of soup and gently placed in your lap, situating himself and his own bowl before breaking the silence. “Just an fyi, I love a woman who cooks,” he said with a smirk that you knew in your mind he thought made him look irresistible. Which made you burst out laughing. Open mouth cackling as you friend not to spill your food on you. “Oh wow you’re funny,” you say with an exhale as you wipe a tear from your eye. “Heh, yeah, I get that a lot,” he said with confidence, not even acknowledging your laughing fit directed at him.

You both sat like that for about an hour, everyone settling in and just relaxing. Something you’d all not have been able to do since you left your homeland. You’d actually had some pretty nice conversations with Snotlout, and you’d learned he’d thought pretty highly of himself. But that’s okay, he was able to back it up about 25% of the time, which was good enough.

You’d stood up with a groan, walking around the campsite and picking up everyone’s dishes and going to rinse them off in the hot spring so you can put them back in your large traveling trunk. And of course Snotlout insisted on helping(following) you. Trying to continue your previous conversation.

“So you said something about fighting right? You must be highly trained, right? I mean come on, we all know who your dad was, what all do you know how to do?” He asked you as you were drying off a clean bowl with the edge of your clothes. “It would probably be easier if I showed you,” you said mindlessly. Implying that you could teach him what you’d learned.

But oh boy that’s not how he took it.

You had stood up, patting yourself off after kneeling on the ground. “Pfff, that a challenge lady?” He said with a smile as he raised his brow. You really had meant to correct yourself, tell him that’s not what you meant and offer an apology. But all it took was a glance to see that that’s what he wanted, that’s what he expected, so why not give it to him.

Snotlout doesn’t remember much, just a blur of sky and ground and the unpleasant feeling of water up his nose. Hot water. You’d thrown him into the spring once he’d thrown and good punch or two your way. And in any other circumstance, he’d be utterly embarrassed, angry and upset at the humiliating sound of his friend’s laughter at him. But no, all he could focus on was you, you and your strength. It was as if your figure was surrounded with a pink hue and floating hearts. He was in sooooo much trouble now.

•.° •.° •.° •.°•

The next morning everyone took off at dawn when the sun had just barely began to peek over the horizon. If you all moved efficiently, you’d be in Berk by early sunset. And you were.

And Berk was even better than you could’ve hoped for. Dragons galore, ones you’d never even seen before. Tiny little cute ones and round fat ones that served no other purpose than just being house pets or little assistants. You saw foreign merchants selling exotic clothing and jewelry on their traveling caravan dragons and little shops for anything you could possibly need. The stone path worn by heavy foot traffic of people who were free to do as they pleased when they pleased. It was so foreign, yet so beautiful.

You were introduced to Gobber, the one who’d end up teaching you how to do the basic things for yourself rather than for others. You were never taught to mend leather, your father had subordinates for that, but now you could choose to learn how to mend leather, and make swords, and clothing, and jewelry. It was all so much fun.

“Well, you’re a beautiful lass ain’t ya?!” You heard Gobber shout as you had approached him with Hiccup. “Why thank you,” you said sweetly as you looked down at the shorter man. “When Hiccup told me he was going to visit Dragos’ daughter I’d called him a fool, but seems to me it was all worth it!” He said with gleaming fervor as you two began to talk as if you were old friends meeting up again.

Then there was Gothi. You’d met her a few days after being in Berk, and it only took so long because Hiccup and Fishlegs had an ‘a-hah!’ Moment in the dragon riders quarters once you began to spew out medical information like it was a typical hymn.

Her cottage was quaint and tiny and full of even tinier dragons. Hiccup and Fishlegs did you the honor of carrying your books to her house for you. They’d both been bragging and chatting about how excited she’d be to learn about all the things you’d written about and all the foreign plants you’d done medicinal research on. Oh boy and she definitely was.

At first she was confused, why were the dragon riders and this strange women dropping book after book into her house? “Hey Gothi! This is our new dragon rider!” Exclaimed Hiccup as he set down the stack of heavy books on the floor. “Hi there! I heard you’re the villages doctor and herbalist! I wanted to get to know you more and introduce you to all my research!” You said happily. Ogling at her abundant spice racks and her twine lined ceiling that held bundles or rare exotic herbs. She looked at you skeptically before glancing at the pile of books. She began to read the books titles, and gradually began to flip through a couple pages, and it wasn’t long before she had thanked you profusely before ushering you all out so she could read in peace.

•.° •.° •.° •.°•

And last but certainly not least. You’d met Spitelout. It was in the Mead hall. It was your first real time you’d been in there since you’d arrived on Berk. You’d just gotten somewhat settled in at your makeshift room at the headquarters with the help of Snotlout, so you treated yourself to an outing.

You don’t know how you spotted him, but you did. Snotlout, among the loud crowd and bustling tables, was sitting next to an older man that he was the spitting image of, except he’d looked a bit bummed out, bored even.

So you took it upon yourself to go sit with them. You’d squirmed your way between Snotlout and the guy sitting close to him, your shoulders shoved together as you watched Snotlouts face contort in all different kinds of emotions. Happiness first, then blush, most likely due to the close proximity, then, once it all set in, anxiety.

The table vibrated as an empty stein of beer slammed against the table, Spitelouts. He was drunk out of his mind, his cheeks rosy and his speech slurred. “My, look what my sons dragged in,” he said cheerfully as he waved his empty mug around and announced to all of his drinking buddies. “Quite the beautiful doll you are, pretty ladies can’t help but be attracted to my bloodline, that’s a fact,” he said as he and his friends erupted in laughter as Snotlout seemed to shy away from everything, he couldn’t even seem to look you in the eyes.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit brash to say to a lady you’ve just met? You haven’t even bought me a pour yet!” You say in a teasing way, trying to get a joke off but it didn’t really stick…Tough crowd…

Spitelout broke the silence with a hearty laugh, followed by his friend’s laughter. Apparently the joke did land. “Bartender, fetch the lass a mead on my tab won’t you!” And that’s how you ended up in a vicious drinking battle with one of your best friends’ father.

Somewhere along the way you’d somehow gotten Snotlouts helmet placed on your head, and your shoes had disappeared as well. You’d never even drank before, why were you even doing this? It was somewhat fair because Spitelout was already shitfaced when you’d had your first drink, but now? Oh boy everyone was out of it. You had just slammed down your sixth stein of beer, the one you’d managed to finish before Spitelout. Snotlouts arm was around you as he laughed uncontrollably and kissed your cheek in a drunken celebration. You wiped the bitter foam from your mouth as you obnoxiously pointed your finger in Spitelouts face and began to egg him on.

“You’re really gonna let a young lass beat you in a drink off?” You said lightheartedly, or so you thought. Maybe it was just the Jorgensen boys, or maybe you just had a bad way with words, but they always seemed to take your jokes a little bit too seriously.

“Like hell I would! I’d never let a woman beat me!” Spitelout said almost angrily, making the hand gesture for another round of mead. People continued laughing and held up conversations around you, but you were locked in a staring contest with Spitelout. “What’s so wrong with getting beat by a woman?” You ask a bit skeptically. “Are you serious, that’s embarrassing!” He yelled out “don’t get on your high horse woman because you’re out drinking a shitfaced Viking, a weak lady like you could never beat me, not even in a drinking contest!” He exclaimed. And it was as if everyone around you had felt the atmosphere change.the air charged with something unreadable. It was quiet.

Maybe it was the mead talking. Thinking back, it was absolutely the mead talking. You were over come by a sense of urgency, urgency to shut this man up. So without warning you lunged across the table, landing a blow on Spitelouts face, a good one, a really good one, followed by a few more.

The next morning was a blur, and so was the rest of the fight. You just remember waking up in the same bed as Snotlout. His arms clung to you as if you’d float away and his face was buried in your bare chest. Your hair messy and your knuckles aching. You and Snotlout woke up around the same time, only to both be startled by the figure of his father standing in his doorway with a brace made from a special technique you’d recognized from your books you’d lent to Gothi. You yanked the sheets up, covering your naked body. Spitelout looked like shit. He had a large black eye and a big cut on the bottom left corner of his jaw.

You’d hissed and expected the worst as you watched him approach you in Snotlouts bed swiftly. But before you or Snotlout could even get a plea out, you were enveloped in…a hug?

“Welcome to the family!” Spitelout shouted with a hoarse voice filled with something that could only be interpreted as love.

“Man the Jorgensen’s have always loved em feisty but you’re something else lass!” Spitelout shouted as Snotlout buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. “Oh boy when you meet my wife you’ll know what I’m talking about, that being said when do ya think you’d want to move your stuff in?” Spitelout said abruptly.

“Wha-What?” You said confusingly. “Well no daughter of mine is sleeping a building away from dragon stables, that’s no living space fit for a Jorgensen!” He said happily as he patted your shoulder encouragingly.

“Wait dad-no, that not what-” Snotlout tried to interject but it was pointless. His dad had already made up his mind. “Oh no no don’t worry about moving your belongings in I’ve already hired a crew!” Spitelout said without much thought.

You and Snotlout were a bit speechless. The silence filled the room, not awkward, just, confused?

“Did…Did we sleep with each other?” Snotlout says, and you can almost feel the heat radiating from his red face. “Well I don’t think we got drunk and stripped just to cuddle.” You say without thought. Letting the sheets drop as you yawn out, not really giving anything much thought. Only to be interrupted by the harsh clash of Snotlouts lips on yours, again apparently. Needless to say it was a loooong morning.

All in one night, you’d beaten Snotlouts father up, slept with Snotlout, been accepted into the Jorgensen family, and you were now scheduled to move in with Snotlout most likely by the end of the day? What had you gotten yourself into?

•.° •.° •.° •.°•

Not a lot actually. Well, in retrospect, not a lot. You’d do your work as a dragon trainer and fly home with Snotlout, only to go and help his wonderful mother cook dinner for everyone. And Spitelout was right, you and his wife were so much alike, in the sense where you were both as brave and beautiful as they came.

Life only seemed to get better from there. You go to experience what it was like to be a girlfriend, a wife, a child to parents who adored you, and friends of people who loved you.

It makes you tear up every time you talk about how much you appreciate it all to Snotlout, his friends and his help and his support, all while he cradles you in your shared bed in the dim candle light.

marvel cast x teen!reader

summary: you decide to make the cast one of your family's traditional meals and worry about how they'll react.

warnings: none

notes: this is another old one, so, again, go easy

masterlist

✩ ✩ ✩

You were excited. It was finally your turn to make the cast dinner. Every week, someone volunteered to have dinner at their place with the rest of the cast. Sometimes they cooked, other times they ordered in, but it never really mattered to the cast.

You had been waiting for the right time to volunteer. You grew up in the States, but your parents didn't, which meant your home-cooked meals were rarely of the American variety. You really wanted to make something for the cast, but felt like you had to make sure you could do it right first. So you practiced- you practiced a lot.

Call me?

Spencer Reid x Foreign!GN!reader(no specific pronouns)

Summary: Reader bumps into Spencer while looking for a book in the foreign language section.

Warnings: none!

A/N: Thanks so much for your request! I really hope you enjoy this, I tried my best. Let me know what you think! x

You push the glass door open, a bell acknowledging your presence as you step into the small book shop.

It is nobody's business but Terry's.

And considering how covetous and acquisitive he is, nobody would even know beloved is not American for the longest time or literally forever if he could have his way (and if they do, they aren't sure just where they're form exactly on the world map because nobody bothers or more precisely, dares telling or asking --- mostly due to the fact that people aren't sure how Terry would react and he is not an enemy you want to make for yourself, even if it is merely due to the fact that you merely asked a very normal, commonplace question), yet, at the same time people simply assume they are local because beloved's his and if he's one thing, that courtesy inherently extends to beloved as he seamlessly blends them into himself as a mark of ownership. They are one and the same out in public. Any other information is no secret, but it is also nobody’s issue to pry into, seeing as how he sees that as showing a bit too much interesting concerning someone his. Nobody but his closest inner circle would know. They're a Californian from LA otherwise. The story ends and begins there for everyone too curious. Funny how I imagine him being innately territorial around the issue even though he does have major bits of bigotry and prejudice himself, which means he has a hypocritical side seeing as how there’s one set of rules for others and an entirely different for him. 

I’m literally begging you to forgive me for taking so long to finish this T_T

Also, this turned into a scenario of the class meeting the new student and then a couple HC points, hopefully that’s alright with you and hopefully you enjoy this. Again, I’m really sorry for taking eons to do this and I’m sorry if they’re not that good either.

~

Class 1-A w/ a Psychic Quirked Italian!Reader 

"Everyone take your seats..." Mr. Aizawa sighed, his voice thick with sleep as always. Like clockwork the entirety of Class 1-A quieted down and were ready to begin yet another day of school. It was a routine that they've all fallen into, and since it was the middle of the semester, it's now second nature to stop as soon as their home room teacher started talking.

It's become so repetitive and mundane that no one had expected big news to be thrown at them.

"Before we start today's lesson I'd like all of you to meet someone..." without another word the raven haired teacher glanced at the door, beckoning someone into the classroom.

Gently the grey doors slid open fully to reveal a new face.

"Introduce yourself then please take a seat so we can start the lesson..." They nodded, flashing a quick smile at the class before introducing themselves.

"Ciao! I'm (Y/N) (L/N) and I recently moved to Japan from Italy!" Almost immediately questions were erupting left and right, voices mingling into one loud, unintelligible jumble.

"Enough!" Aizawa's eyes turned red and his hair started floating - an indication that they should stop while they still could. When everyone calmed back down the raven haired Pro mumbled something about going one at a time before he crawled into a yellow sleeping bag, falling to the ground with a thud.

After a moment of silence the rowdy group was somehow able to ask their questions calmly and orderly. Some asked what it was like in Italy, others hoped that (Y/N) could say something in they're native language just to hear how it sounded. There was this one purple haired kid that nearly said something but was promptly cut off by several classmates.

None could help themselves, it was someone new that would be with the class for the rest of the year, it's only natural that all of them would be curious.

Finally, the question that everyone wanted to know was brought up - truly, it was a wonder how it wasn't the first thing to be asked.

"What's your quirk?" They, the new kid, smiled, leaning back against the teacher's podium.

"My quirk? It's called Psychic. It's exactly what it sounds like, I'm a psychic." Immediately a curly haired boy - Midoriya - pulled out his notebook and pencil, ready to write down every aspect of his new classmate's quirk.

A blond with a black lightening streak in his hair spoke up, "That's so cool! ...Uhhh, what's a psychic though?"

"Kaminari you dunce it's... uh... yeah what exactly does it mean?" A girl beside him with elongated earlobes asked. A chuckle rumbled throughout (Y/N)'s body, they'd already guessed that an explanation was going to be needed. After all, it happens every time.

"I can do many things as a psychic, but right now, I'll only give you one example. After all, we have training later today right? It would be unfair if you all knew what I could do but I didn't know any of your quirks."

'Tch, just get on with it already damn it...'

'I was about to spiky~'

"What the hell!!" Bakugou, who on the outside had been completely calm for once, suddenly jumped in his seat, eyes full of shock.

"Bakugou!?" Kaminari laughed, slamming his fist repeatedly against his desk, along with a few others who were also trying (and failing) to hold in their giggles.

"S'cusa... I can read minds for one." (Y/N) chuckled, a smirk on their face. The angry blond shot them a glare but didn't comment. To him, it wasn't worth the trouble.

"What else can you do!?" Hagakure questioned.

They thought a moment, "I guess I can show you one more trick..." Everyone waited in anticipation.

"A-Asui!!" Mina exclaimed.

"I told you to call me Su..." the frog like girl sighed.

"No, look!" Nearly ever pair of eyes widened at the sight in front of them. Tsuyu's hair, which was neatly done in a bow like style, bobbed gently in the air.

"Ribbit?" Immediately all the girls started poking at the levitating hair in childish curiosity.

"Ochako, this isn't you is it?"

"No, it can't be. My seat is too far for me to have touched it."

The snapping of fingers caught the ladies attention, and the effect ceased.

"It was you!" Mina pointed dramatically.

"It was"

"Mindreading... telekinesis... what else can they do? What are the drawbacks? Conditions of the quirk?" Midoriya could be heard mumbling off to the side.

"Show us more!"

"Yeah!" A majority of the class shouted, eager to see more.

"Ah ah ah~ You'll have to find out during training, sorry!" they smiled, beginning to make their way to the door, "one more thing. Can one of you help me find the English room?" The bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the exchange student smiling, walking out the door.

"I like them!" Uraraka exclaimed, Kirishima nodding in agreement.

"Yeah! They were even able to scare Baku-Bro!"

"Shut up!"

----

-> After that the more prankster students (Denki, Sero, Mina, etc) would definitely ask them to mess with others using their quirk (mainly Bakugou)

-> At the same time though everyone was curious about what else they could do, after all it's a very slim chance to get into the hero course with a quirk like mind reading or simple telekinesis. Plus, (Y/N) said that that they could do many things.

-> And Oh boy they can

-> Teleportation, Pyro/Cryo/Hydrokinesis, Hypnosis

-> Many of the students (even some of the teachers) were amazed by what they were capable of.

-> Some remarked that it was a lot like Todoroki's quirk, his a two in one while theirs's is like a full on box set.

-> Going back to the topic of Baku real quick, he may get pissy with getting pranked all the time but the boy has mad respect for the new kid. Their quirk is strong, he can admit that (reluctantly and not out loud of course) and he sees them as a worthy opponent and an obstacle in his journey to become the Number One Hero.

-> Midoriya asked them any questions he could regarding their quirk, he's never seen or heard of a quirk like theirs's so of course he's insanely interested.

-> More times than either can count (Y/N) had to initiate a conversation seeing as Mido is shy and didn't want to offend/bother them with all the questions he has.

-> Regarding being Italian, no one in Class 1-A cares that their not from Japan, accepting them as they would anyone else. They will, however, kick someone's ass into next month if someone was to bully them because of it *cough* Monama *cough*

-> Adding onto that, everyone loves their accent (even those who won't admit it). It might have to do with the fact that it's something new to them, they've heard both Japanese and some English but never Italian.

-> The Class would swoon every time you said something in Italian even if it's insulting - they don't know any better!

~~~

Requests are closed right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy my other works while you wait for them to open! You might find something you like, who knows :)

Cultured and polished as Terry is, he learns beloved's native tongue singlehandedly, but  on the downlow, privately and all on his own time, doing so to perfection, much like any other ability he tackles and he indulges in the endeavor mainly so he can eavesdrop on beloved's conversation's when they think nobody around understands them; a belief he wants to enforce, at least for a while; while it suits his fancy, more like. And also so he'd be in touch and on the same wavelength with them as much as he humanly can be. That is his language now too. It belongs to him, in a sense --- same as beloved and every aspect of beloved does.

He wants to sample every syllable, feel it on his own tongue as he speaks, crack every idiom that cannot be translated, every meaning that fluctuates, understand why beloved speaks English the way they do compared to their native language, why their accent sounds the way it does due to how they learned to pronounce words in their original language --- you name it. Terry has an innate fascination with how things tick and furthermore, how beloved ticks; and getting to know someone’s language gives one an exclusive scoop one can only have through learning. If that means getting into linguistics, then so be it.

Beloved misses food from their home country? It is imported. They miss the cuisine of their childhood. A special chef is exclusively flown over to cook it just for them. They miss a, say, peach tree that grew in their home’s backyard? It might be sappy to Terry, but fuck it, he’ll order that sucker planted for the devotion of his heart. Books and music and media and fashion --- everything that surrounds beloved can be something they’re familiar with purely so he can coax them into his sphere and wrap them around his finger until their old home and their new home with him are one and the same and there is no distinction to be had.

If beloved has a peculiar, foreign sounding name that is perhaps difficult to pronounce, out comes him introducing them as ‘Mr. Silver’ or ‘Mrs. Silver’ to avoid the common place cretin butchering it, not withstanding that he is innately possessive over it and doesn’t like it said in general, even if it is said correctly. It just grates on his nerves. That, or he’ll flat out stare someone down and have them accurately pronounce it on the spot for him, even though beloved might not be all that bothered. Common mistake, is all. But, Terry is absolutely (violently) bothered in their stead. He is a territorial perfectionist, and a despot and a hard-ass. It will be said correctly and with the utmost respect or not at all.

Implying Terry wouldn't just private jet to whatever country beloved's from?

Implying he doesn't have of the hotels around the Valley on check?